Paying the Ferryman

by Jane A. Adams

  FORTY-FOUR

  Maggie and Tel were at the hospital when Steel arrived.

  ‘I should never have let him go home. Or I should have driven him there. I should—’

  ‘Maggie, there is no way you could have known. It isn’t your fault.’

  Tel’s face was white. ‘Will he be OK?’

  ‘I don’t know, Tel. I honestly don’t know.’

  Joey was broken. No one yet knew the extent of the damage he had sustained. He had shown no sign of regaining consciousness.

  ‘His mother?’

  Steel shook his head. ‘Dead when we arrived, dead before Joey got home, we think. The best guess is he walked in on his father either during or just after, and Hughes was still in a rage.’

  There had been no sense of moderation in what had been done to Mrs Hughes. Her husband had beaten her with a nail bar. They had found it at the scene, still covered in her blood and hair. He’d kept hitting her until her face was pulp and her bones shattered. It was a small thing to be thankful for but the nail bar had been dropped on to the bedroom floor and not used to attack Joey. For that Hughes had employed fists and feet. That, Steel feared, might well have been enough.

  ‘It’s like someone spread a virus,’ Maggie said. ‘Like the whole place has been infected.’

  ‘Does Sarah know?’ Tel asked.

  ‘Not yet. Maggie, it’s a lot to ask but—’

  ‘Of course I will. Poor little thing. She’s going to be devastated all over again.’

  The evening papers and news reports carried pictures of Ricky Lang and rehashed the story of the hospital shooting. Some also carried news of the murder of Marilyn Hughes and the attempted murder of her son, but this was way down the list; the murderer was known and public interest, though expected, would, according to the media, be focused on the section of the report that said Hughes was a dangerous man and should not be approached.

  Tragic as this was, it lacked the mystery and speculation appeal that made it truly newsworthy.

  The one major incident during that evening was a neighbour of the Griffins calling in to the incident centre with a printout from an Internet news site clutched in her hand. It was a picture of Ricky Lang.

  ‘I told you,’ she said. ‘Or I told one of you anyway, about the two men Lisanne was arguing with? The two who kept knocking on her door? Well, he was one of them. I never really saw the other. But this was one of them.’

  This was relayed to Steel as he stood in Sarah Griffin’s room, watching Maggie do her best to comfort Sarah and Tel.

  Stacy came to stand beside him. ‘All this on top of everything else,’ she said.

  Steel nodded. He called up one of the news reports on his phone and sat down on the bed beside Sarah and Tel. ‘Sarah,’ he said, ‘can you take a look at this picture and tell me if you’ve ever seen this man?’

  She lifted her head from Maggie’s embrace and clumsily wiped her eyes. She took the phone from Steel and looked at the picture of Ricky Lang. To Steel’s surprise, she nodded her head. ‘I think Vic might have worked with him or something,’ she said. ‘He called round one day and picked up some paperwork or something like that.’

  ‘Can you remember when? Was that recently?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago, I think. Mum wasn’t pleased. She said she didn’t like him bringing work home. At least I think that’s what she said.’

  ‘Can you remember more precisely?’

  Sarah stared at him. ‘Is he the one?’ she said. ‘The one who shot my mum and Vic?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Steel told her. ‘But I think he was involved somehow.’ He didn’t think now was the time to tell Sarah that this young man who had called at her house was the one who had come to the hospital to try and kill her, nor that he was her dad’s half brother. He also suspected Ricky had been there when her parents had died, that it was Ricky’s voice she’d mistaken for her biological father’s.

  He could see she was trying to think but she finally shook her head. ‘I didn’t take much notice,’ she said. ‘He was only there for a few minutes. I think I thought it was work because Vic had put it in one of the folders he uses for his files. It had the works stamp on it.’

  Steel thanked her. It was, he thought, yet another connection … but to what, he couldn’t yet decide.

  ‘Maggie, are you all right to stay for a while? I’ll go and see what I can find out about Joey and I’ll come straight back. Stacy, do you think we can smuggle takeaway pizza past that nurse on reception? I’m guessing we could all do with something.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said. She followed Steel out into the hall. ‘Isn’t he the one that shot you?’

  ‘Terry Baldwin’s half brother, yes. It seems one of the neighbours recognized him as one of the two men hanging around in the days before the shooting. He was seen arguing with Lisanne and now it seems he actually visited the house.’

  ‘But to see Victor Griffin.’

  Steel nodded. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ he said.

  On his way down to ask about Joey, Steel called Alec. He’d had two missed calls which events had made it hard for him to return. Alec told him they now knew the identity of Victor Griffin. Quickly, he summarized what they knew. Steel promised to come and see them later that evening. He told Alec about Joey.

  ‘Douggie told us about it,’ Alec said. ‘He says it’s no surprise, but—’

  ‘But it’s still a tragedy. I’ll see you later, Alec. Good to know you still have useful contacts.’

  Isn’t it? Alec thought as he ended the call with Steel.

  ‘What did he say?’ Naomi asked.

  ‘That he’ll come over later and we’ll exchange information. I’ll put the news on and we’ll see what the world has to say about all this. Then I suggest we go and get something to eat and then maybe take a walk.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Naomi said.

  They switched on the small portable in their bedroom and waited for the headlines. A plane crash in the Philippines and the latest political scandal pushed the news of Roddy Baldwin’s death into third place. Shot in his study at his north London home, the reporter said. Discovered by his security, shot through the head.

  Gregory, Naomi thought.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Sophie Willis met Steel on the stairs. She’d stayed in the waiting room on Joey’s floor while he went up to see Sarah.

  ‘Any news?’

  ‘They’ve stabilized him enough to take him into surgery,’ she told him. ‘It’s not looking good. That bastard. How could anyone do that to their wife and kid?’

  He could see she had been crying. Steel touched her arm. ‘We’ll go looking for him,’ he said.

  ‘No we won’t. Because if we did we’d kill the fucker.’

  She laughed and poked gently at Steel’s injured arm. ‘Fine pair of vigilantes we’d make. Sorry, boss, I just can’t get the image of that woman’s face out of my head, you know?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So what now? We can’t just hang around here, waiting.’

  ‘Have the family liaison officers been organized?’

  ‘What family? Who the hell is there to liaise with?’ She sighed. ‘Yes, Jennifer Stone. You know her?’

  Steel nodded.

  ‘And Phil Ackroyd is taking over at midnight. I know him slightly. He’s come in from Kingsmere. He’s a good man.’

  ‘I’ve got Stacy organizing pizza in Sarah’s room.’

  ‘Don’t think I could eat.’

  ‘You need food. We all do. And company. Maggie and the boys are staying on for a while. Meantime, as I don’t have to go down and enquire about Joey, I suggest we find a quiet spot and take a look at what Madeleine Jeffries gave us earlier. See what Thea Baldwin thought was so important she had to stash it at her sister-in-law’s.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we take it to the incident room?’

  ‘I’ll get you to do that later. I know we said we’d wait, but that was befor
e events overtook us. I’d like a look now.’

  Deciding that the car would afford them the best level of privacy, Steel followed Stacy back down to the car park. He’d slipped the envelope into an evidence bag, intending to open it up when they returned to Ferrymouth, but he felt an odd sense of urgency now and he couldn’t begin to guess what time they’d be able to get away from the hospital.

  The envelope was standard brown manila, large enough to take an A4 sheet of paper folded into thirds. It had Madeleine’s Ipswich address on the front, but looking at the gummed-down flap Steel decided that Madeleine had probably been telling the truth when she said she had never looked inside.

  Steel laid it on the evidence bag and placed that on the car dashboard. He photographed it from all angles before taking it up again and looking apprehensively at Sophie.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘You make it sound like it might explode.’

  He carried a Swiss army knife in his pocket and he used the smallest blade to slit the envelope along its length, being careful to photograph the envelope again.

  Inside was a single sheet of paper and two business cards.

  ‘Naomi Blake, again,’ Steel said. With gloved hands he turned it over. In neat script, Thea had written, ‘If anything happens to me, tell her.’

  He raised an eyebrow and looked at Sophie. ‘What’s the other one?’

  ‘Looks like a solicitor. Maxwell, Clarke and Roper. She’s written on the back of this one, too. “If anything happens to me, they know who did it.” Did what? Killed her?’

  ‘Perhaps. We know she was running scared. What’s on the sheet of paper?’

  Sophie slid the cards back into the envelope and unfolded the sheet. It was plain white copier paper, cheap and thin. On the top third was a list of numbers. Beneath that, Thea had written two names. Below that four more numbers. And taped beneath those was a key.

  ‘She obviously expected Madeleine to open the letter,’ Sophie commented.

  ‘And probably expected her to understand what all this was about.’

  ‘So, we have to talk to her again.’

  Steel nodded. ‘Won’t be too hard. I took her number plate. Whether she’ll be willing to talk is another matter. Sophie, I think this needs to get to the incident room now. Could you do the honours?’

  ‘Sure. I agree. You owe me pizza, though.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t hungry.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘And Sophie, I want a copy of all this taken to Alec and Naomi. They might recognize a name, have a theory about the numbers. We know Thea sent this to Madeleine around the time she disappeared, so it’s in the time frame of their investigation.’

  ‘Will do,’ she said. ‘I’ll come back across and give you a lift home later.’

  Steel nodded. He crossed back over the car park and into the hospital, thinking hard. The day’s events had added a new dimension. Finding out who Victor Griffin really was, getting the letter Thea had sent, it all added layers to something that was already complex. Finding out that Ricky Lang had visited the Griffins at home and that Lisanne had not been pleased about it.

  So had Victor Griffin or Marcus Karadzic, or whatever he called himself, been the one who had instituted the contact? Brought Ricky into play? Given away their location? Or had Ricky found them and made threats to tell?

  And on another note, where the hell was Steve Hughes, and did he realize that he’d left his son alive?

  FORTY-SIX

  Steve Hughes hadn’t gone far. He’d changed his clothes and put the blood-stained garments into a carrier bag, then left the house. He had some vague idea that he should remove evidence from the scene, then remembered he’d left the nail bar on the bedroom floor. He decided that it didn’t matter anyway; the police, the neighbours, the blokes he drank with down the pub, his workmates, they’d all know he was the one. That he did it. And he found that he really didn’t care.

  His meandering eventually brought him to the street where Sarah Griffin and her family had lived and Hughes walked for a while along the path beside the river. He dumped his bag of clothes in a bin in the picnic area, not really that bothered about who would find it, but deciding it was a nuisance to carry. Only then did he think about where he might go.

  It had never really been in Hughes’ nature to run from anything. He’d learnt early on in life that running seldom solved anything; it was nigh on impossible to run so hard or so fast that you could get away. He looked out across the muddy river, down towards where the old ferry had once taken people and their goods and chattels across to the other side; the other county. The other country, in a way. Wherever you went, he thought, you had to pay the ferryman. Nothing was free.

  Had someone asked him at that moment why he had killed his wife and beaten his son so badly that he might well not survive, what would he have replied? Hughes found he had no preference one way or another about the boy. If he lived, who cared? If he died, ditto. Why he had done it? Well, it had happened, hadn’t it? What was the use in asking stupid questions?

  Someone had once told him, back in the days when they still took an interest in possible futures for Steve Hughes, that he had to acknowledge his guilt. Face up to it in order to make room for change to happen in his life.

  Hughes had laughed in the man’s face, and he would have laughed now. Truth was, Hughes felt no guilt. He felt no shame. He felt nothing, not even the need to run.

  It was dark now, he could no longer see the river, and he thought about finding somewhere to stay for the night or about fetching his car and driving off. He walked back through town, along quiet streets. Everyone seemed to have gone home for the night, shut up in their bright rooms behind their thick curtains, living their safe little lives and watching endless soaps, just like his wife had done. He despised soaps, he despised the people who watched them. He passed the end of his own road. Police officers stood outside his door and all the lights were on. A white van marked ‘Scientific Support’ told him the forensic crew must be inside. He smiled; they’d have plenty to work through in there. He continued on to where, a couple of streets away, he had parked his car. Satisfied that no one had linked it to him and that there were no nasty police-shaped surprises waiting round the corner, Hughes got in and drove away.

  But he didn’t go far.

  Hughes still had one more score to settle.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘So why did you kill him in the end?’ Nathan asked.

  Gregory considered. ‘I had a number of reasons lined up,’ he said. ‘In the end I’m not sure which of them won out. But the man was unpleasant and I doubt the world will miss him.’

  ‘He’ll leave a hole,’ Nathan predicted. ‘Nature and organized crime both abhor a vacuum.’

  ‘True,’ Gregory said. ‘Nathan, can you find me anything more on Alphonso Vitelli?’

  ‘Victor Griffin’s grandfather. Yes, what are you looking for?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I picked up some paperwork from Roddy Baldwin’s office before I left. It looks as though he and the Vitellis had some sort of business arrangement planned. I’ve not had time for a proper read through yet but on the surface it looks like a property deal. It could be a front, of course.’

  ‘Well, it’s probably safe to assume that’s now scuppered. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, it’s being handled by a firm of solicitors. Maxwell, Clarke and Roper. See what you can dig up.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as. What are your plans now?’

  ‘Head back to Ferrymouth and be on hand for whatever breaks. I have a feeling it’s about to.’

  Sophie Willis sat in the snug drinking coffee and eating a sandwich Douggie had prepared for her. It was, she thought, better than pizza. At her right hand was a glass of red wine that Douggie had insisted she have alongside her coffee. She was sorely tempted but thought it might be wiser to coerce Naomi into finishing it for her. She didn’t want to hurt Douggie’s feelings, but she did
n’t want to go to sleep either and Sophie felt that even a small glass of wine might be enough to finish her off.

  Truth was, she was exhausted and really wanted her bed.

  ‘The numbers could be bank accounts,’ Alec said. ‘Though the last four look more like phone numbers.’

  ‘Tried that,’ Sophie told him. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘They might need area codes,’ Naomi suggested. ‘It’s possible that whoever originally wrote them down knew the area code but didn’t memorize the numbers.’

  Sophie shrugged. They had tossed ideas back and forth for a while now and this was the best they had come up with.

  ‘The names,’ Naomi said. ‘Roddy Bishop and Karla Brunel. I really can’t place them. I think you may be right about them, you know.’

  ‘Aliases,’ Sophie said. ‘It sort of fits. I wondered if Roddy was Roddy Baldwin, but that doesn’t really make sense, does it? Thea knew who they were, so she presumably thought Madeleine would know who they were too. But Madeleine didn’t look at the letter.’

  ‘So you’ll be speaking to her again.’

  ‘Oh yes, and I don’t suppose she’ll be best pleased.’ Sophie stood up and stretched. ‘She obviously thought a lot of you,’ she told Naomi. ‘You were her defence if anything happened to her. You must have made an impression.’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe she didn’t have that many options left. I was one on a list of one. You heading back to the hospital?’

  ‘Yes, pick the boss up, see what’s happening with Joey Hughes. You ask me, they’ll never catch up with the father. He’ll be over the hills and far away.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Naomi said. ‘If I had to put money on it, then my bet would be on his hanging around, seeing how it all plays out.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s that stupid. Surely.’