Hard Landing

by Stephen Leather

  He turnedon to his back and staredupatthe ceiling. What was done was done. All he could do was make the best of the hand he'd been dealt, no matter how shitty it was.

  He showered and went downstairs. Moira was in the kitchen wearing Sue's white towelling bathrobe and nursing a cup of coffee. She gestured at the robe. 'You don't mind, do you?' she asked. 'It's just . . .'

  She couldn't find the words, but Shepherd knew what she meant. It smelt of Sue, her perfume, her sweat, her essence, and wearing it allowed Moira to hold on to her just a little longer.

  'I know,' said Shepherd. 'It's as if she's just popped out for a while, as if she's going to be back at any moment.'

  'I dreamed about her last night,' said Moira. 'I hardly slept but when I did I dreamed she was back, that it had all been a terrible mistake and that someone else had been in the car.' She smiled ruefully. 'Stupid, isn't it?'

  It wasn't stupid. Shepherd had dreamed about Sue, too, and in his dream she'd told him she'd had to go away on a job for Sam Hargrove, a job so secret she couldn't tell him about it, but it was over now and she'd never be working for him again. Even asleep he'd known that what she was saying didn't make sense and he found the dream slipping away from him. He'd fought to keep her, even though he knew it wasn't real, but he'd woken up calling her name, wanting her back.

  'I'll go down to the shops, get what we need for lunch,' said Moira.

  'I'll take Liam to the park.'

  'Aren't you going to shave?' she asked.

  'I can't. It's part of the role.'

  Shepherd went back upstairs and sat on the bed next to his son. Liam's face was stained with dried tears and he was hugging one of his pillows. Shepherd stroked his forehead. 'Time to wake up, kid.'

  Liam rolled over sleepily. 'You're home?' he said.

  'Of course I'm home,' said Shepherd. Liam's eyes widened, and Shepherd saw that on waking he'd forgotten what had happened. Now it was all flooding back. Shepherd lay on the bed and wrapped his arms round his son. 'It's all right,' he whispered into Liam's ear. 'It's going to be all right.'

  'Mummy's dead.'

  'I know. But she's watching over you.'

  'In Heaven?'

  'That's right.'

  'I want to be with her in Heaven, too.'

  'It's not your time to go to Heaven,' said Shepherd. 'You have to stay here with me and your gran.'

  'It's not fair.'

  'I know. I know it's not.'

  'Is she really in Heaven, Daddy?'

  Shepherd gave his son a small squeeze. 'Of course,' he said. 'She's with Jesus, and Jesus is taking care of her.' Shepherd didn't believe that. Sue was dead. A body on a slab somewhere, being prepared for burial or cremation. She wasn't sitting on a cloud playing a harp and she wasn't looking down on Liam. She was dead, and one day Shepherd would be dead, too. But what Shepherd believed and what he wanted his son to believe were two different things. He'd had an argument with Sue when Liam was three and he had wanted to tell the child that there was no Father Christmas. Father Christmas was nothing more than a marketing exercise, Shepherd had argued, and telling Liam otherwise was tantamount to lying. Sue had disagreed and insisted that children needed their fantasies. Shepherd had asked her if that included God and she'd given him a frosty look. She'd won the argument, and it had only been when schoolfriends had put him straight that Liam stopped believing in the fat man in the red suit. Shepherd rated God on a par with Father Christmas, but he had no wish to add to his son's despair by telling him there was no such place as Heaven and that he'd never see his mother again.

  'I love you, Mummy,' Liam shouted. 'Don't forget me!' Then he said, 'Did she hear me, Daddy?'

  'Of course she did,' said Shepherd. 'And she loves you.' Liam snuggled up to him. 'I love you, too, Daddy.'

  Gerald Carpenter turned up the volume of his personal stereo. He was listening to a news programme on Radio Four, but even with his headphones on he could still hear pounding rap music from one of the cells below, the click-click of balls on the pool table, the clanging of doors closing, raised voices, forceful rather than angry, sarcastic laughter - all the sounds of association, when prisoners were let out of their cells to socialise. But even when everyone was banged up there was never a time when the wing was silent. Even in the middle of the night radios played, there were muttered conversations, snoring, the squeak of boots on the landing as an officer walked by, the rattling of keys. Even with his eyes closed there were constant reminders of where he was. His inability to control his environment was one of the worst things about being in prison. At least he had the money and contacts to ensure that his confinement would only be temporary. He could think of nothing worse than to be behind bars on a long sentence, knowing that for the next ten or twenty years everything you did was controlled by people who thought you were no better than an animal to be caged, fed and occasionally exercised.

  Carpenter took several deep breaths and forced himself to relax. He filled his mind with images of his wife and son, on their motor launch at Malaga, soaking up the sun and enjoying the envious looks of the tourists on the quayside; Bonnie riding her horse, looking damn good in her jodhpurs and boots; himself walking into his local pub and buying a round, talking football with guys who had no idea what he did for a living. If everything went to plan, it wouldn't be long before Carpenter was on the outside enjoying those things for real. He'd already spent the best part of two million pounds on destroying the case against him, but if it took another twenty million it would still be a small price to pay for his freedom.

  After breakfast - scrambled eggs and cheese on toast, Liam's favourite - Shepherd took his son for a walk on the local common. Liam was talking about his mother. Mostly he started with 'Remember when . . .' then relate a story from start to finish. The time she'd locked herself out of the house and had to break a window to get in. The time she'd taken him to hospital thinking he'd broken his collarbone after falling off his bike. The time they'd eaten oysters on holiday on the Scottish coast. He told the stories happily, and Shepherd listened, ruffling his hair.

  They kicked the football around, then took it in turns to be in goal and had a penalty competition, which Liam won. They walked to a copse and Liam said he wanted to climb an oak tree with spreading branches. Shepherd stood underneath anxiously, but Liam was surefooted and fearless. He sat on a branch and waved to him. 'Come on, Daddy!'

  Shepherd climbed up and joined him. Liam pointed off into the distance. 'Our house is there, isn't it?'

  'I guess so.'

  'Can you see it?'

  'No, I can't.'

  'Mum never let me climb trees,' said Liam.

  'She was scared about you falling, that's all.'

  'But I won't fall,' he said.

  'I know,' said Shepherd.

  'Will we live in the same house?'

  'I don't know.'

  'I don't want to live anywhere else,' said Liam firmly.

  'You can stay with Gran for a bit, though, can't you?'

  'Do I have to?'

  'It'd be a help for me. There are some things I have to do.'

  Liam nodded seriously. 'But when you've finished, we can live at home, right?'

  'Sure.'

  'Can I sleep in the big bed?'

  'Of course you can.'

  As Shepherd walked back along the road to the house with his son, he saw the blue Vauxhall Vectra parked at the end of the driveway. Jimmy Sharpe climbed out of the back and waited, his hands in his overcoat pockets.

  'Who is that man, Daddy?' asked Liam.

  'A friend,' said Shepherd, putting his hand on his son's shoulder.

  'He looks like a policeman,' said Liam.

  Shepherd smiled. Sharpe had spent a good ten years working undercover and would have been most put out to learn that he'd been rumbled by a seven-year-old. 'Why do you say that?' he asked.

  Liam looked up at him. 'He's got cold eyes. Like you.'

  His son's words cut Shepherd to the core. Was that how
his son saw him? A policeman with cold eyes? 'He's a good guy,' said Shepherd. 'His name's Jimmy Sharpe.'

  'Sharp like a knife?'

  'Yeah, but with an extra e at the end.'

  'Are you going to go with them?'

  'I think so. Yes.'

  'Okay.'

  'But we'll have lunch first. Your gran's doing fish fingers. Your favourite, right?'

  Liam shrugged but didn't say anything.

  When they reached the Vectra, Sharpe nodded at Shepherd. 'Hargrove wants a word,' he said.

  Shepherd patted his son's head. 'Go and tell your gran I'm on my way,' he said.

  As Liam ran up the driveway to the house, Sharpe tapped out a number on his mobile phone and handed it to Shepherd. Hargrove answered within a couple of rings. 'Have you decided what you're going to do?' he asked Shepherd. He sounded tired.

  Shepherd looked at Sharpe. Sharpe looked back at him. Shepherd turned to the house. Liam was standing at the front door, watching him, still holding the football. Moira was behind him. 'I'm going back,' said Shepherd.

  'Thank you, Spider,' said the superintendent. 'I know you're doing the right thing.'

  'Just make sure there are no screw-ups on the outside.'

  Hargrove thanked him again and Shepherd handed the phone to Sharpe. 'I'm going to have lunch, then we'll head back,' said Shepherd. 'I can't ask you in. The mother-in-law's a bit anti-police at the moment.'

  'That's okay,' said Sharpe. 'Tim's got more M and S sandwiches. And another bottle of Jameson's. We'll be fine.'

  'Liam's going to stay with my in-laws in Hereford. Look in on him now and again, will you?'

  'It'll be a pleasure.'

  'You know there could be a few bad apples we don't know about?'

  'Carpenter's a shit-stirrer, that's for sure. With enough money to stir a whole lot of shit.'

  'Have you got a pen?'

  Sharpe gave him a ballpoint and a small notebook. Shepherd wrote down a telephone number and a name. 'This guy's SAS,' he said. 'Any hint that there's a problem, call him and explain the situation.'

  Sharpe slipped the notebook and pen into his overcoat pocket.

  When Shepherd walked into the house Moira was placing food on the table. Fish fingers, chips and frozen peas. Shepherd had barely any appetite and Liam only played with his food. They made small-talk as they ate, but Shepherd was already back in prison, entering the end game. He forced himself to chew, swallow and nod as Moira talked about the work that needing doing in the garden in Hereford, how peas never tasted as good as they used to, and how she hoped her husband had remembered to unload the washing-machine.

  When they'd finished, Shepherd hugged Liam and kissed him. 'Be good for your gran,' he said.

  Liam said nothing. There were no tears, no recriminations, no pleading for him to stay. He just looked at his father blankly.

  'I won't be away for long,' Shepherd promised.

  'I want to play with my PlayStation,' said Liam, looking away so that he didn't have to meet his father's eyes.

  'Okay,' said Shepherd.

  The child walked out of the kitchen, his hands limp by his sides.

  'He'll be all right,' said Moira.

  Shepherd nodded slowly. All it would take was one phone call to Hargrove and he'd be out, able to spend as much time as he wanted to with his son. One phone call. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  'You've made your decision,' said Moira, softly. 'Don't make it worse by hesitating now.'

  It was only with his eyes closed that Shepherd realised how alike Moira and Sue sounded. He wanted to freeze time, to hold the moment, because standing in the kitchen with the sound of Moira's voice, it was as if none of the bad things had happened, as if Sue was still with him, about to nag him to do the dishes and, afterwards, lie with him on the sofa watching a movie on television, falling asleep in each other's arms.

  'Daniel . . .' said Moira.

  Shepherd opened his eyes and the spell was broken. He pecked Moira on the check, then rushed out of the house. He hurried over to the Vectra and climbed into the back. 'Drive,' he said to Rosser. 'Just get me away from here before I change my mind.'

  Hamilton escorted Shepherd from the reception area back to the remand block, swinging his keys like an aeroplane propeller. 'Word is that you shot a little old lady,' he said.

  'A case of mistaken identity,' said Shepherd. 'Sorry to burst your bubble.'

  'No skin off my nose,' said Hamilton. 'The Gatwick robbery's going to mean you doing a twelve-stretch, minimum.'

  'You do understand how the British trial system works, don't you, Hamilton?' said Shepherd. 'Innocent until judged guilty by my peers.'

  'That's the theory, Macdonald. But I can count the number of innocent men in here on the fingers of one hand.'

  Hamilton unlockedthe gate to the remandblock and ushered Shepherd through. Lloyd-Davies was in the bubble and she smiled when she saw Shepherd. 'I was worried that the Jocks might not let you back, Macdonald,' she said.

  'Mistaken identity, apparently,' said Hamilton.

  'Just in time for tea,' said Lloyd-Davies.

  Shepherd was about to say he wasn't hungry, but that would have been a mistake: as far as the prison staff were concerned, he'd been in the custody of cops who wouldn't have given him much in the way of food and drink. Not when he had been involved in the shooting of one of their own. 'Thanks, ma'am,' he said.

  Hamilton unlocked the door to the spur and Shepherd walked through. It was association time. Down on the ones four prisoners were playing pool, and there was a card game going on. Shepherd stood at the stairs, looking for Carpenter. No sign of him. He walked back to the bubble and asked to have Jimmy Sharpe's name and telephone number on his approved list.

  'Who is he?' asked Lloyd-Davies. 'Family?'

  'He's the cop who took me to Glasgow,' said Shepherd. 'Said he might have something to help with my case.'

  As Shepherd walked away from the bubble, Lee came over to him, his hands in his pockets. 'How did it go, Bob?' he asked.

  'Blind as a bat, she was,' said Shepherd.

  'Couldn't identify you?'

  'I doubt she'd recognise herself in the mirror,' he said. 'Much happen while I was away?'

  'You weren't away long.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Traffic must have been good to get to Glasgow and back so quick.'

  Shepherd frowned. 'We drove to King's Cross and got the train from there. Bastards wouldn't even let me have a hot meal on the journey.'

  'Where did they take you?'

  'Some hospital.'

  'What about the cop shop?'

  Shepherd frowned, not understanding the question.

  'They must have taken you to a cop shop for questioning, right? Craigie Street, was it?'

  'Not much to question me about. It was a waste of time. She said it wasn't me. Not by a mile.'

  'Still, you got a day out, didn't you? Raining, was it?'

  'What?'

  'Raining in Glasgow, was it? Always rains in Glasgow, it does.'

  Shepherd's eyes narrowed. 'Why the sudden interest in the weather, Jason?'

  'Just making conversation.'

  'Sounds more like the third degree. What's going on? You planning on writing my biography?'

  Lee put his hands up and took a step backwards. 'Fine, I'll keep my gob shut,' he said. He pushed past Shepherd. 'It's teatime, anyway.' He joined the queue at the hotplate.

  Shepherd hadn't selected his meal so he was given the vegetarian option - mushroom pizza. When he got back to the cell, Lee was sitting at the table. Shepherd apologised for snapping at him. 'It's been a shitty couple of days,' he said.

  'Gave you a lot of grief, did they?'

  'You know what cops are like.'

  'Was your brief there?'

  'Phoned him to put him in the picture, but I'm a big boy, Jason.'

  Lee chuckled. 'Good to have you back, anyway. It was too quiet without you. Nobody got their legs broken.'<
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  Carpenter waited until one o'clock in the morning before he got out of bed and took the Nokia phone and battery from their hiding places. He slotted the battery into the phone and switched it on. About a quarter of the power had already gone.

  He went over to the door and listened. There'd been a check at a quarter to one so there shouldn't be another for at least forty-five minutes. He tapped out a number. Fletcher answered on the second ring.

  'How's it going, Kim?'

  'He's there,' said Fletcher. 'We've eyeballed Roper.'

  'Much in the way of security?'

  'A couple of Cussies. No guns, as far as we can see.'

  'I need him taken care of, Kim.'

  'I'm on it, boss.'

  Carpenter massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. He had a headache. 'Wait a minute. Kim.'

  'What's up, boss?'

  Carpenter took a deep breath. He had a bad feeling about Roper, but couldn't put his finger on what was troubling him. 'Get in a couple of freelancers,' he said.

  'I can take care of it myself,' said Fletcher.

  'I don't doubt that. But just in case, yeah? Get blacks. Muddy the waters.'

  'Okay, boss.'

  'Soon as you can. If there's a grass inside, I could get turned over at any moment. And if I lose this phone, we're back to passing messages.'

  'Tomorrow night, boss. On my life.'

  'We've given him plenty of chances to back out, anything that happens from now on is his own bloody fault.'

  'What about the wife and kids?'

  'Unless they get in the way, leave them be,' said Carpenter. He had no wish to hurt the man's family. In fact, he had no wish to hurt the man. He wasn't killing Roper out of anger or hatred, simply removing the last remaining obstacle to his freedom.

  Hal Healey opened the cell door at a quarter to eight. Shepherd had put in an application to shower and he was on the way out when Healey stopped him and handed him a plastic bag. It contained a Walkman and a set of headphones. 'Your lawyer sent this in,' said Healey. He thrust a clipboard at Shepherd. 'Sign for it.'

  Shepherd did so and put the bag on his bunk.

  He went along to the shower room, and after he'd changed into a clean polo shirt and jeans, he waited until Lee had left for labour before checking the Walkman. It was a device he'd used before. It functioned as a cassette-player and radio, but the pause button activated a separate recording system that could store up to twelve hours of audio on a hidden chip.