Loose Ends (The Acer Sansom Novels Book 2)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘After the burial,’ she went on, ‘there will be a small private gathering, somewhere that my daughter has organised for close friends and family members to eat too much and drink too much at our expense.’

  She seemed not to relish her obligation to attend and Sansom got another glimpse of the bitterness that pervaded this woman’s final years. They had more in common than he had at first realised. Perhaps he did owe her the opportunity for some sort of role in retribution.

  ‘I will not be staying long,’ she said. ‘Our arrangement is to spend the night here as we did last night. My daughter and her husband are staying on for a couple of days to sort out Stanley’s home and possessions. I might have too, but now I shall go home and you can drive me. I have something far more important and far less depressing to involve myself in. And you’ll look much less conspicuous driving across the country with a little old lady than on your own.’ It was Istanbul all over again and like Eda the old woman was quite right. ‘Do you think you can manage to keep yourself hidden for a few more hours?’

  ‘Yes. I think I could manage that.’

  If she detected any hint of amusement in his reply she did not show it. ‘Then you should go. I am going to pack my bag. After the funeral, I will make my excuses and ask for a taxi to take me to the Havant railway station. It’s not far. Can you find it?’ He nodded, beginning to see that Eda and Tallis’s mother had plenty in common as women. ‘You will meet me there. Do you have a mobile telephone?’ He shook his head. ‘Then you can take mine. I’ll call you with instructions when I’m ready.’ He had followed her out of the girl’s bedroom and back into the hallway. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Actually, yes. My new life in Turkey. She’s in hiding. We thought it sensible. I can’t contact her directly but I can leave a message for her. She’ll be worrying, anxious that I’m safe. I worry about her too.’

  ‘You would like to use the telephone?’

  ‘Please.’

  She indicated the home phone and left the room.

  The number at Eda’s newspaper offices rang twice. A woman answered and identified herself.

  ‘I’d like to leave a message for Eda Ulusoy,’ he said.

  ‘Of course. I tell her.’

  ‘Please tell her that Daniel rang. Everything is fine.’

  ‘That is everything?’

  ‘Have you heard from her recently?’

  ‘She is only calling me every hour for messages. She will be happy, I think, for this.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll be in touch again when I can, but please tell her everything is going to be all right.’

  He rang off. Tallis’s mother came back into the room holding out her mobile phone. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Now I think you really should go. I’m not in the mood for chatting or explaining why the man the whole country is looking for is in the house if my family return home to find you here.’

  She walked him to the front door.

  ‘You kept my thoughts occupied, Mr Sansom, during what would have been a most horrible period of waiting. I should thank you for that. I should also thank you for providing me with an opportunity to engage myself in something other than sitting and stewing over my son’s death.’

  Sansom could think of no suitable response. He said, ‘Incidentally, where is “‘home’”?’

  ‘Norfolk.’ Then she fixed him with a serious look. ‘You wouldn’t be thinking of running out on me, would you, Mr Sansom? I need this and I hope you can see that an alliance of sorts with me might prove beneficial to you. As well as credibility, there’s something else that I can provide you with.’ He looked at her and waited. ‘Somewhere to hide. That’s two things I’m guessing that you have in short supply.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting for your call, Mrs Tallis.’

  She opened the door. He adjusted his hat and sunglasses, tucked the envelope under his arm and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunshine.

  ***

  13

  Sansom retraced his steps to the car without incident. His mood, like the weather, was improving with every minute. He took satisfaction from the booty that was accumulating on the front seat.

  He left to find the railway station, check the route, way in, way out and then find a secluded place to park up and wait. As he drove he reflected on the old woman’s reasoning and, again like his experiences with Eda in Istanbul, he couldn’t fault her, despite what it meant for him.

  The soldier understood that he was a loner at heart. His incarceration on Jackson Island for over a year had proved that to him. Even when he was married with a baby, he regularly needed time and space to himself. The idea of saddling himself with Eda in Istanbul – a young, fit woman – had been hard enough for him to accept. The thought of an old woman to hinder him was bordering on insanity. But this was just his vanity at play. She was clearly wily and intelligent – and she was right: she could offer him two things that he desperately needed and had no other way of getting. He could imagine a far less stressful and conspicuous journey back up the M3 and around the M25 with a little old lady sitting in the front passenger seat for all the cameras to look at than if he had been travelling alone.

  He offered up a thank you to the memory of Detective Inspector Stan Tallis who had seen fit to confide all in his mother. Sansom inwardly winced at how things might have been different if Tallis had kept his own counsel, what he may have been forced to do to preserve his freedom and get what he needed from the dead man’s home.

  Havant railway station was situated in a busy street. Access was not a problem and nor would it be to collect the old woman from outside it.

  Sansom was developing a severe aversion to crowds. Even from the isolation and sanctuary of his car and from behind his sunglasses and beneath his cap – the methods of concealment that were now fixed features of his physical appearance – the tour of the built-up and populated district made him uncomfortable and anxious. Any temporary stop at a junction or a red light that might encourage pedestrians to glance casually in his direction ratcheted up his feelings of exposure and fear of recognition. In the end, he had to make a determined effort to conquer these negative and unhelpful sensations, aware as he was that furtive and nervous behaviour might just be enough to trigger a second wondering glance from a passing pedestrian with a memory for a face and an itch for a substantial cash reward.

  Satisfied with his reconnoitre and with a few hours at least to kill, he headed out into the countryside. The day had turned into a balmy late summer’s afternoon; the only cloud on the horizon a metaphorical one in the form of his friend’s burial.

  Sansom felt the urge to get some sunshine on his face and some nature under his feet, some space around him and some fresh air in his lungs. He followed a road that looked like it could lead him to what he was looking for – somewhere he might find some peace and privacy.

  A signpost let him know that he was not far from Southleigh Forest. It struck him that this would serve his intentions for the afternoon. He followed directions and was soon cruising along a quiet country road running through mature woodland. Off this he took a narrower lane and with the windows all down forgot himself for a few minutes in the rush of forest fragrances moving in and out of the car.

  He pulled into a small lay-by that looked as good a place as any. He put what he had recovered from Tallis’s home into his own treasure box of memories and grabbed the plastic bag of snacks and drink. He considered taking the weapon and, for the comfort it gave him, the knowledge of what it could do for him, even without being fired, he took it. He locked and left the car in search of some peace and tranquillity.

  He baulked at the idea of calling what he was about to indulge in a picnic. His circumstances could not accept that frivolous term. But he did intend to find a quiet spot, spend some time remembering his family with his photo album, sort through a few important personal papers and – batteries permitting – revisit his debrief by Harris and his encounter with Bishop using the Dictaphone and the tapes.


  He picked up a trail and followed it away from the ribbon of tarmac and into the heavily wooded area. It was cooler under the shade of the lush, dense canopy. Greedily, he breathed in the smells of the forest. The afternoon sun pried through the leaves overhead, dappling the ground beneath. He wished he could have been back in England under different, more normal circumstances. He greatly missed it.

  Eventually, he came to a clearing – a little oasis of light, warmth and seclusion – and, not having passed anyone at all since leaving the car, made it a place to stop. He took off the hat and glasses and for a few precious minutes turned his face to the sky and closed his eyes.

  In the following few hours he ate hungrily, drank thirstily, reviewed the tapes diligently, sorted essential paperwork that he would need and, unable and unwilling to help himself, shed tears over family photographs as he felt he always would now. He saw no shame or weakness in this. They had been his life, his loves, his future and they and he had been denied each other. For him that was beyond despair. It always would be.

  He dozed a little too. When he broke free of that inclination, he collected his things together and prepared to make his way back. The sun had started to go down and Sansom felt the need to return to the car in preparation for the call from Tallis’s mother.

  He worked his way back along the track with little regard for the noise his progress made, his thoughts preoccupied with the immediate future. Because of this, he strayed further than he might otherwise have done had he been paying more attention and been more cautious. Quite suddenly, he found himself exposed in full view of a police patrol car and two uniformed officers who were looking over Gerald’s car. He heard with some clarity then the chatter of their radio sets. His one saving grace was that they hadn’t seen him. He dropped to the forest floor and was hidden from their view.

  In an instant, Sansom went from rested and relaxed to alert and survival mode. As he lay there, a memory of another recent forest encounter nudged him. There could be no repeat of that performance. He had a pistol but he would not use it against unarmed men not set on ending his life.

  He edged himself and his box backwards, crawling through the dank carpet of dead leaves and broken twigs. His movement released a heady cocktail of rotting organic matter.

  After a few yards, he eased himself up and behind a stout trunk. One of the policemen was still peering through the windows. The other was standing in front of the car reading the registration number into his shoulder radio set. Sansom’s mind pounced on questions regarding what could have made them stop at the car. What could have attracted them to it? What was a police car doing out there in the middle of nowhere?

  Was it possible that they were looking for the car? Had someone done some ferreting, discovered Gerald had a car and then that it was missing? Had they then put two and two together and understood that maybe Sansom had taken it? Had a vigilant member of the public recognised him and alerted the authorities?

  The thought that Tallis’s mother had turned him in was quickly dismissed. And then inevitably his paranoia resurrected it. It would all have to wait. What the soldier understood with absolute clarity was that he was now without transport and very soon, if the connection with him hadn’t already been made, it would be and then the whole area would be swarming with armed officers, police dogs and helicopters with heat detection cameras. He also understood that he had to put as much distance between himself and where he was now as quickly as possible.

  He took in the position of the sun and glanced once more at his watch. Then, tucking the small plastic box under his arm, he trotted away into the forest.

  He found his track again and, favouring the opportunity of speed that it would afford him over exposure, he took it and increased his pace.

  He jogged comfortably along the meandering path for fifteen minutes. A twisted ankle would not help him now. He regularly checked the sun. He had no desire to discover that he had been literally running around in circles and suddenly find himself faced with his car and armed police. Given the nature of his public profile, he expected that if he were unlucky, if people were doing their jobs properly and speedy connections were made between him and the car, then fifteen minutes would be long enough for the law to be mustering forces in the vicinity – thirty minutes at most. They wouldn’t know for certain that he was in the forest. Maybe they would believe he had simply abandoned the car there for another. But they would have to consider the possibility. They would have to investigate. And the quickest and easiest ways to do that would be dogs and helicopters. The thought sent a wave of crippling anxiety through him and he felt his legs momentarily weaken under him.

  The terrain became harder and the path less travelled and more dangerous, which demanded a reduction in his pace and greater focus on where he was putting his feet. If it had been another more inclement season he could imagine that his progress would have been hampered by pools of water and mire.

  He realised that the outlook to his left was brightening. The forest was thinning. He made out a low wire fence and beyond that a field of tall crops. The forest was coming to an end there. He stopped, breathed hard twice and then held his breath, searching around him with his eyes and ears. It was quiet. He released the breath, left the track and pushed through the undergrowth and hanging branches to the fence.

  The sweetcorn crop was high – over six feet. He had a decision to make and not much time for it. Staying in the forest could see him trapped sooner or later and then, if they came for him, there would be nowhere to hide – a fish in a barrel. Leaving the cover of the trees would expose him from above. But going across farmland could provide other opportunities – a road perhaps, or a settlement. He straddled the fence and after one last look back into the blackness of the trees slipped into the vegetation.

  The sweat was running freely down his face and back as the closely-planted crop had trapped the heat of the day in its thick foliage. The lush green fronds flailed at and hindered him. He was forced to slow his pace, holding the box in front of him as a buffer.

  He soon realised with a surge of claustrophobic frustration that he could no longer see further than a couple of feet in any direction. And the sun was lost to him. He could be etching one huge curve in the plants and he would have no idea about it until he broke free of the field.

  He wished he’d stayed in the forest, wished he had pushed on along the track and looked for a road. With a road, he might have been able to procure a vehicle at gunpoint. His chances of escape in the critical early minutes of his discovery were ebbing away. The longer he was there the greater would be the organisation and numbers of those who he had to assume were now alive to the possibility of his proximity and in pursuit.

  He stopped and considered turning back. The phone in his pocket began to ring. He retrieved it. An unfamiliar female’s name showed in the display. He answered cautiously.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Tallis’s mother.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Is everything all right? You sound different.’

  ‘No, it’s not. The police found the car. I’m on foot.’ He stopped for breath.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I don’t know. In a field. I’ve just left Southleigh Forest. If I don’t find a vehicle soon, I’m finished. I’m sorry.’

  The line was quiet for a long moment before Sansom said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ she said. He could hear the noise of a muted social gathering behind her. ‘Can you see any landmarks?’

  ‘I’m in a field of sweetcorn. It’s taller than me and I can barely see two feet in any direction.’

  ‘Are you being pursued?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not yet. But it won’t be long.’

  He needed to get going but she was his only lifeline.

  ‘Find somewhere that you can tell me about,’ she said. ‘A landmark, a village name, something. I’ll get hold of a car. I will need to know exactly where you are. Do you understand me?’


  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You haven’t hurt anyone, have you?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘And I’m not going to.’

  ‘Good. Call this number as soon as you have something to tell me. I shall be heading in your direction soon. We might get you out of it.’

  We, he thought and hoped it was simply a figure of speech. He pushed the phone back into his pocket, picked up his box and resumed his battle against the plants with something like a glimmer of hope to guide him on.

  The mud of the field was hard and he was grateful at least for that. By parting the plants that towered over him and checking the sun periodically he was able judge and maintain a constant direction. Wherever he was heading at least he was sure that it was away from the forest.

  The field was large. After five minutes, he was still battling his way through the mature stalks. It put him in mind of jungle – the almost impenetrable wall of plant life pressing in on him and the thick suffocating heat. His spirit, like his strength, was being sapped by the delay and the struggle.

  And then, without warning, he was through. He stood at the edge of the field overlooking a narrow channel of water – a drainage ditch. Beyond that was another field but the crop had already been harvested. Only the short golden stubble remained. In the distance he made out a church tower. That would mean people, suburban cover, roads, vehicles. It was also a landmark.

  He threw the box across the dyke and leapt the short distance after it. Now he would be very exposed and remarkable, a lone figure running across the barren ground. But he had to move fast.

  The freedom of movement was bordering on exhilarating. He found reserves of strength and motivation and picked up a steady, ambitious pace. The field in front of him was perhaps a few hundred yards across to hedgerow and cover. From somewhere behind him, he caught the excited barking of a dog. It floated across on the still late-afternoon air sending a jolt of terror coursing through him that liquefied his insides. Focussing all his energies on putting one foot in front of the other, he ran.