He took his CD player off its shelf and used the metal clip from his ballpoint pen to unscrew the back. He laid the four screws on his blanket, then eased off the plastic casing. The tiny Nokia phone was tucked behind the left speaker and the battery behind the circuit board. Carpenter's cell was rarely turned over, and even when it was he was usually given plenty of notice. Any search was generally cursory, but that didn't mean there was any point in taking risks so the mobile was always well hidden. He always kept the battery out of the phone to minimise the risk of it accidentally discharging. He clipped the battery into place, switched on and tapped out a number. The phone rang for some time and Carpenter cursed. 'Come on, Fletcher, you lazy bastard,' he muttered.
Just as he was convinced that the answering-service was going to kick in, Fletcher answered. 'Yes, boss?'
'What's happening, Kim?'
'We've found Roper.'
'Where?'
'Milton Keynes.'
'Safe-house?'
'Seems so. We're taking a run up today.'
'Softly, softly, yeah? If they know that we know, they'll bury him so deep we'll need a submarine to get to him.'
Shepherd tucked the duvet under his son's chin and kissed his forehead. He smelt of spearmint: Shepherd had made sure he'd cleaned his teeth for a full two minutes, despite Liam's protests that his mother never made him do it that long. Now Liam mumbled something in his sleep, then started to snore quietly.
Shepherd closed the bedroom door and went downstairs. There was a bottle of Jameson's in the kitchen cupboard over the fridge and he poured himself a large measure. He added a splash of tap water and took it through to the sitting room where Moira was sitting on the overstuffed sofa in front of the television. She frowned critically at the drink in his hand but didn't say anything. Moira was a confirmed teetotaler and always had been.
'Straight off to sleep,' said Shepherd, and sat in an armchair. There was something hard under the cushion and he pulled out a paperback book. Philip Roth. The Human Stain. She'd folded down the corner of the last page she'd read, about midway through. Shepherd sniffed the book, wondering when Sue had last held it. He wondered if she'd enjoyed it, and if she'd planned to give it to him to read. She'd always done that when she found a book she enjoyed. She'd loved to sit down with him and talk for hours about something they'd both read. She'd drink white wine, he'd have his whiskey, and truth be told it was Sue who did most of the talking. Most of the time Shepherd would just sit and listen to her, loving the enthusiasm in her eyes, the excitement in her voice. He'd kept telling her she should try writing herself, maybe do a course or join a book group, but she'd always insisted that it was reading she loved, not writing.
'I've spoken to the school,' said Moira. 'They said he can stay off as long as he needs to.'
'Good,' said Shepherd, sipping his whiskey. 'Thanks. Dinner was lovely.' He took another sip of whiskey, then put the glass on the coffee-table. 'How's Tom?'
'It's hit him hard,' said Moira. 'His deputy's away on holiday so he has to stay with the branch. He'll be here at the weekend.'
'I should phone him.'
'I'd leave him be,' cautioned Moira, 'for a day or two. The doctor's prescribed something.' She grimaced. 'He wanted to give me something, too, but I said I didn't need it.' Tears were in her eyes again and she dabbed at them with a white handkerchief. 'It's been twenty-six years since I've been to a funeral, and that was my father's,' she said. 'I've been so lucky. My brother's family all well, Tom's relatives seem to go on for ever. It was like we were blessed. But now this . . .' She sobbed into her handkerchief.
'What do we do? About the arrangements?' Shepherd had never had to organise a funeral, and didn't know where to start.
'I've spoken to a local firm already. They'll arrange everything. I gave them my credit-card number. They said . . .' Moira dissolved into tears.
Shepherd looked around the sitting room. Sue's presence was everywhere. The book she'd been reading. The TV Times on the coffee-table, open at the listings for two days earlier. The video she'd rented was still on the sideboard, in its box ready to be returned. A scribbled note to herself - a reminder of shopping she had to do: shampoo, rubbish bags, tea. Sue's memory wasn't a patch on his, he thought, and she was forever making lists of things she had to do. He'd always teased her about it. When they'd gone shopping together he'd taken a brief look at her list and wouldn't have to refer to it again. She had a Filofax and an electronic organiser for her phone numbers, but Shepherd had never forgotten a number in his life. Other husbands might forget birthdays and anniversaries but not Shepherd. He could recall the date of every event in his life, important or otherwise.
'This job you're doing, what is it exactly?' asked Moira.
'I can't tell you,' said Shepherd. 'I'm sorry, but it's a sensitive operation.'
'It was tearing Sue apart, you being away so much.'
'I know,' said Shepherd, 'but there wasn't anything I could do about it.'
'Well, whatever it is, it's over now.'
'Moira!' protested Shepherd.
'He's your son,' said Moira emphatically. 'He comes first.'
'Of course he does. You don't have to tell me what my priorities are.'
'Maybe somebody has to,' said Moira. 'Your family always played second fiddle to your army career and things weren't much better when you joined the police.'
'I gave up the army for Sue,' said Shepherd quietly. He didn't want an argument with his mother-in-law, especially one that he'd had a thousand times with his wife.
'Sue wanted you to have a regular job. She didn't expect you to start working as an undercover policeman doing who knows what.'
'She shouldn't have told you what I was doing,' said Shepherd. 'There's no point in my being undercover if people are shouting it from the rooftops.'
Moira looked at him scornfully. 'The thing you don't seem to realise, Daniel, is that family comes first. Sue had no secrets from me.'
Shepherd knew that Sue had kept dozens of secrets from her mother. The time they'd made love in the bathroom while Moira and her husband had been downstairs watching EastEnders. The lump he'd found in her breast, which had kept her awake for weeks with worry until the specialist had pronounced it benign. Shepherd knew that family was more important than anything, but what Moira didn't seem to understand was that he had been Sue's family. Him and Liam.
'This job's important, Moira.'
'I knew it. You're not coming back, are you?'
'It's more complex than that.'
'No, it isn't!' hissed Moira. 'You've got a simple choice to make. Your job or your son.'
Shepherd put his head in his hands. 'Moira . . .' he said.
'Sue's not even buried and all you can think about is your pathetic little job. You're an adrenaline junkie, that's what you are. We warned Sue that nothing good would come of getting involved with a trooper. You're all the same. You thrive on danger, on putting your life on the line. That's what you did in the SAS and that's what you're doing now. You're like a junkie who needs his fix of heroin and you put that fix ahead of everything else in your life.'
'That's not fair.'
'You're right it's not fair. You're putting your job ahead of your son's welfare - and for what? It's not as if it pays well, is it? The amount of hours you're away from home, you'd get more working in a factory.' She waved her hand around the room. 'Look at this! It's the same furniture you had in Hereford. Tom and I bought your bed and the wardrobes. And look at the state of the carpet - you can almost see through it. Whatever it is that you get from your job, it's not money.'
'It isn't about money,' said Shepherd.
'Exactly. It's about you getting your kicks, that's what it's about.'
'It's about making a difference,' said Shepherd. 'It's about making the world a safer place.'
Moira laughed harshly. 'Oh, the world's a safer place now than it was twenty years ago, is it? I don't think so.'
'It'd be a darn sight worse if i
t wasn't for the work we do,' said Shepherd, but even as the words left his mouth he wondered how true they were. Much of his undercover work involved putting away drug-dealers and traffickers, yet the volume of drugs entering the country had consistently increased year after year. For every dealer that Shepherd had helped put behind bars, another two had taken their place. But Gerald Carpenter had to be dealt with. It didn't matter who replaced him, there was no way he could be allowed to get away with what he'd done. Moira opened her mouth to speak but Shepherd held up his hand to silence her. 'There's a man in prison,' he said, 'who deserves to stay behind bars for the rest of his life, but the way things are going he's going to get away scot-free. He brings millions of pounds' worth of drugs into the country every year, and he kills anyone who gets in his way.'
'If he's in prison, that's the end of it, isn't it?'
'It's not as simple as that. He's been caught red-handed, but there's a world of difference between being caught and being sentenced. He's on remand while he waits for his trial. And he's killing witnesses, destroying evidence, doing everything he can to make sure that he never gets to trial. I'm the last line of defence, Moira. If I pull out, he walks.'
'Would that be so bad?'
'He killed an undercover policeman, a friend of mine. Shot him dead in front of his pregnant wife.'
'That's not your problem.'
'Then whose problem is it, Moira? If I don't do something about it, who will?'
'You're not the only policeman in the country. Let someone else put themselves in the firing line for a change.'
'There isn't time. Look, I can't tell you exactly what I'm doing, but it's something only I can do. There isn't time for someone else to get close to this guy. If I pull out, he gets a clear run. He gets away with murder.'
'You keep saying that. You keep saying he's done this and he's done that and he's having people killed. If you know that, why don't you just charge him with it and have done with it?'
'Because life isn't like that any more,' said Shepherd. 'This guy's got the most expensive lawyers in the country. Any wrong move, any mistake, and they'll get him off. The case against him has to be one hundred per cent watertight.'
Moira's shoulders slumped. She suddenly looked a decade older than her true age.
'I need your help, Moira,' said Shepherd. 'I need you to take care of Liam for a while.'
'He needs his father,' said Moira, but Shepherd could tell that the fight had gone out of her.
'And he'll have me,' said Shepherd. 'Just let me get this thing out of the way.'
'How long?' asked Moira.
'Weeks rather than months,' said Shepherd. 'As soon as his case goes to trial, my job's over. And if I can find out how he's getting his orders to the outside, I'll be done even sooner. Can you stay here? There's no one else I would trust to be with Liam.'
Moira studied him. 'I hope you're less obvious with the criminal fraternity,' she said. 'What do you think, Daniel? That you can soft-soap me with a few sweet words? That might have worked with Sue but I find it an insult to my intelligence.'
'It's the truth,' protested Shepherd. 'There's no one on my side of the family close enough to Liam. He barely sees my brother and I've never been close to my parents. He thinks the world of you and Tom. I know that sounds like I'm trying to sweet-talk you again, Moira, but, hand on heart, I mean it.'
'I'm not sure I can leave Tom on his own.'
'He can stay here.'
'He's got his job. Same as you have.'
'Why not take Liam back with you?'
'What would his school say about that?'
'You said they were okay with him taking some time off, and there are schools in Hereford. In a way it might be better to get him out of this environment for a while.'
'You mean it might make it easier for you to be away?' Moira sighed. 'I'm too tired to argue any more,' she said. 'You do what you want. Tom and I will take care of Liam until you're prepared to accept your responsibilities.' She pushed herself up off the sofa. 'I'm going to bed. What time are you away tomorrow?'
'I don't know. Early afternoon, I guess.'
'I'll do lunch,' she said. 'I was going to do a roast but Liam said he wanted fish fingers.'
'Fish fingers is fine.'
Moira went out, leaving Shepherd nursing his whiskey and water. He stretched out his legs and groaned. Prison felt a million miles away, and there was no doubt he wanted to walk away from the job and let someone else bring Carpenter down. It was true that there wasn't time to get someone else in place, but Moira had been close to the mark when she'd accused him of being an adrenaline junkie. A big part of him wanted to pit his wits against Carpenter's, to put his life on the line as he had a hundred times before. If he was truly honest with himself, Shepherd had to admit that he never felt more alive than when he was in combat, facing an enemy with a gun, knowing that it was his life or the life of his adversary, that there could be only one winner and one loser, and that more often than not the loser's life was forfeit. Undercover work wasn't the same as combat, but the thrill was similar. And nothing compared with the elation of winning the game, of seeing a target led away in handcuffs wondering where it had all gone wrong, while Shepherd knew it had been down to him, that his skills and maybe his luck had made him the better man on the day. There were men, and women, sitting in prison cells around the country because Shepherd had put them there, a living roll-call of victories.
Shepherd drained his glass, then went into the kitchen and refilled it. He wondered what Carpenter was doing. Probably lying on his bunk, listening to the radio. Reading, maybe. Planning his next move. Planning what he'd be doing when he got out, how he'd spend his millions. 'The best-laid plans . . .' he said, and raised his glass in tribute. If Shepherd had his way, Carpenter's plans would come to nothing and he'd spend the rest of his life behind bars, never knowing who had betrayed him.
Jason Lee was sitting at the table when he heard his door being unlocked. He frowned. It was half an hour early. Then he remembered that his cellmate was due back and twisted in his wooden chair, expecting Macdonald. He was surprised to see Eric Magowan, one of the hotplate men, standing in the doorway, holding a plastic canteen bag. A prison officer was standing just behind him but Lee couldn't see who it was.
'Not me, mate, I'm spent up,' said Lee. He leaned back in his chair but he still couldn't see the officer's face, just a black-trousered leg and a glimpse of white shirt. He couldn't even tell if the officer was male or female.
'Don't look a gift-horse in the arse,' said Magowan, tossing the bag at him.
Lee caught it. He was about to argue with Magowan when he saw what was in it. Three Pot Noodles. Two bars of chocolate. A jar of coffee. He hadn't ordered the treats. They were a pay-off - from Carpenter.
Magowan walked away and the prison officer slammed the door and locked it. Lee stared at the bag. He knew that Carpenter never gave anything for nothing. He would be expected to keep a close eye on his cellmate. God help him if Macdonald was up to something and Lee didn't come up with the goods.
Shepherd woke up and rolled over, half asleep. He could smell Sue's perfume and reached across the bed for his wife, murmuring her name, but before his hand touched the pillow he snapped back to reality. The cold emptiness returned and he curled up into a ball as the memories of everything he'd lost washed over him. Shepherd had lost people before, and he'd seen more than a handful of his friends killed, but nothing compared with the loss of the woman he loved.
He'd been splattered with the blood of an SAS captain whose head had exploded in the Afghan desert, and he'd been cradling the man in his arms when a sniper's bullet had slammed into his own shoulder. He'd seen a young trooper die of a snakebite in the Borneo jungle on a survival training course, a stupid mistake because the medic had brought the wrong anti-venom pack with him. The trooper had died in a helicopter just ten minutes away from hospital, his spine curved like a bow, bloody froth at his lips, while Shepherd held his hand and tol
d him to hang on, that everything would be okay. He'd watched from a cliff-top on the Welsh coast as a trooper laden with gear fell to his death during a training exercise, another stupid mistake that had cost a life. But the death of friends and colleagues at least made some sort of sense: they were fighting for their country or pushing themselves to their limits, and it was the occasional price to be paid. Like any member of the armed forces, Shepherd accepted death as a possible outcome of his career choice. And as a policeman, he accepted that from time to time he'd be confronted with violence and possibly death. But Sue's death had been so unnecessary. A simple road accident, two vehicles colliding, and Shepherd was without the wife he loved, Moira and Tom had lost their daughter, and Liam his mother.
Shepherd rolled on to his front and buried his face in the pillow. Images of the last time he'd spoken to Sue filled his mind. Sitting in the visitors' room, he in his stupid fluorescent sash, she in her old sheepskin jacket and blue jeans, the small gold crucifix at her neck, arguing about what the hell he was still doing in prison. He remembered every word she'd said to him, every grimace, every flash of her eyes, the way she'd tapped the table with the nail of her wedding-ring finger, the way she'd glared at the prison officers as if they were to blame for his confinement. It was a lousy memory, one that filled him with guilt and self-loathing. If he hadn't been inside, if he'd been with Sue and Liam, maybe he'd have done the school run that day, maybe he'd have seen the truck, maybe he'd have braked sooner, but even if he hadn't and he'd hit the truck full on, then better that he'd died instead of Sue. Moira was right. Shepherd was just a policeman, one of many, and there were dozens who could take his place at a moment's notice, but Liam had only one mother and she was irreplaceable.
He cursed into the pillow, he swore and blasphemed, but even as he did so he realised the futility of his anger. There was no one to blame, no one to wreak vengeance on.
Hard Landing Page 28
