By two o clock he felt wrung out, had a bladder bursting with too much tea, and thoughts tumbling and moiling in an overfull brain.
The bladder sending too insistent a message, Andy pulled over at a farm gate and discreetly relieved himself behind his car. Afterwards, he paused for a moment, leaning on the gate and enjoying the view across the rolling field and out to sea. He loved this place, had been born and cherished here, and he could think of nowhere better. He thought of the Franks and their daughter and her foreigner, their refusal to reconcile, and compared them to the Reeds, who he’d just left, still grieving for their teenage daughter and who would have given anything to know that she’d just run away with someone. He thought of his younger sister, Lizzy, and what their mam would think if Liz chose someone she might not approve of. Lizzy was sixteen and currently their mother didn’t really like any of the assorted boys vying for her attention. But that, Andy knew, was just parental anxiety. Once Lizzy chose someone their mam’s only concern would be that her child was happy and that her man was good to her.
Andy knew that he or his siblings would have to do something really drastic to earn such radical disapproval, and even then he suspected their mam would go all out to protect them, even if that meant doing something drastic like breaking the law. Not, Andy admitted, that his mum had a lot of time for what might be called conventional morality as represented by the local police. He was well aware of how much his own career choice bewildered and amused her. He also knew that she was proud of him, and that mattered a great deal.
Reluctantly, Andy got into his car and drove to the last person on his list. He knew Ted Eebry quite well, having been in the same school class as his youngest daughter and part of the same loose group of friends. He’d fancied Gail something rotten when they’d both been fifteen or so, but she’d always gone for the better looking – and older – boys. Then she’d gone off to uni and he’d gone to do his police training, though they were still friends on Facebook.
He pulled up in front of Ted’s house, wondering if he’d be in at this point in the afternoon. Ted had always kept rather odd hours. He rang the bell and waited, noting the For Sale sign nailed to the front gate post. So Ted was moving on? Andy found it hard to imagine him living anywhere else. This had always been the Eebrys’ house, one of a small group built in the seventies by some developer or other who, so his mum said, had planned to create a full estate on the outskirts of Frantham, only to fall foul of the local planners or not have enough money or something like that. In the end there’d been a half-dozen homes built around a green crescent, about half a mile from the Jubilee Estate where Andy had grown up; a hundred miles away in terms of class and affluence.
‘He’s not home,’ someone shouted from across the road. ‘Went out about an hour ago.’
Andy turned and wandered over to where another familiar from his teenage years smiled across at him. ‘How’s it going, Andy?’
‘Fine, thanks, Mr Jones. How’s Bee?’
‘Oh, still engaged, still as empty headed.’ He laughed. ‘You looking for Ted?’
‘It’ll keep,’ Andy said. ‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’
‘Sorry, no. He can’t have gone far. He didn’t take the car.’
‘Right.’ So, should he wait? Andy wondered. In the end he decided he’d come back another time. He’d had enough for one day and wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t going to be offended by his questions or overwhelmed by the grief they caused, and he wasn’t sure which camp Ted would fall into.
Getting back into his car, Andy cast his mind back to when Kath Eebry up and left. He and the Eebry girls had still been in primary school . . . No, that was wrong, Stacey had already gone up, hadn’t she? He recalled Kath Eebry as being a happy, friendly woman who always kept chocolate bars in the kitchen drawer, but he could bring little else to mind apart from the distress her daughters had suffered when she had gone away. They’d stopped coming to school for a while and he sort of remembered that they’d gone off somewhere and come back after the summer holidays.
Such a major event, Andy thought. In their lives and so, by proxy, in his. The more he pressed the memories, the more he could recall of the local gossip and speculation and one odd thought he’d had a couple of years later when he’d lost his own father in very different circumstances. He’d thought, at least I know where my dad’s gone. It would have been terrible if, one day, he’d just not been there and he’d always had to wonder if and when he might be coming back.
EIGHTEEN
‘How’s it going?’ Mac asked later that afternoon, popping his head into Andy’s cubby hole.
‘It’s not,’ Andy told him forlornly.
‘You want to tell me about it?’
‘It’s just all so overwhelming. I’m asking all these questions and some people don’t want me to rake everything up again and others, well, you can see they’re just waiting for news, like their entire life has been put on hold, just waiting for me or someone to come and give them answers.’
Mac sat down in the other chair. ‘It’s tough,’ he said. ‘You’re doing a good job, Andy. None of this is easy and you should really have more backup on this, not be handling it on your own.’
Andy sighed. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It all got a bit much today. And I’m not getting anywhere, that’s the frustrating thing.’
Mac listened while Andy filled him in on the day, about the Franks and the rest and his remembrance of Kath Eebry.
‘You going back to talk to him?’ Mac asked. ‘Feel like some company?’
Andy nodded. ‘That would be welcome,’ he admitted.
‘Tomorrow morning, then. I’ll pop along with you and then I think we ought to pay a visit to the dig site, I’ve not had a chance to see the crime scene yet.’
Andy nodded. ‘Anything on that David Jenkins?’
‘Not yet. Stan Holden has seen the police artist and taken a look through our pictures of Haines’s known associates. He’s given us some additional details, but . . . Kendall’s keeping me informed.’
‘Does that feel frustrating?’ Andy wondered. ‘I mean, kind of being on the outside.’
‘A little,’ Mac told him. ‘But not as much as you might think.’
Ted Eebry had been out to fetch the evening papers when Andy had called. He’d taken a walk to the newsagent for the local papers and one of the nationals and then nipped into the little convenience store and added others, popping them guiltily into his shopping bag. He’d never found time to read more than one paper a day, often not that, and here he was scouring half a dozen some days, searching for any little scrap of news.
Of course, the few bones found at an archaeological dig had been soundly beaten into second place by the news of some man’s death out at Teston. The man’s picture appeared in the papers this time. His name was David Jenkins. Ted glanced at his picture and at the artist’s impressions of the men who had been with him, and then moved on, searching assiduously for any glimmer of news about his bones.
There was nothing new. Nothing.
He’d driven past the site every day. Seen the police cordon and, before this David Jenkins got himself killed, the little encampment of journalists and even a television news crew down at the road end. Even they had gone now, chased off after richer pickings, and Ted supposed he should be relieved. This might all blow over.
Then he looked again at the friendly little note that Andy Nevins had left, asking Ted to give him a ring when he had a minute, and he knew it wasn’t over yet, however much he might wish it to be.
Haines was also reading the newspapers. They lay scattered across the impressive desk in his hotel suite, together with the report from the pathologist and the latest faxes and emails pertaining to the police investigation. Haines liked to be well informed; he paid good money to be kept up to date. So far, though, he knew nothing that he hadn’t known yesterday.
‘Stan Holden talked at length to DI MacGregor,’ Tomas said. ‘We can guess what he’ll
have told him.’
‘Perhaps. Our Mr Holden always had an agenda of his own. He may well be selective in what he decides to impart. I don’t believe he has a great love of authority in any form, least of all the law.’
Tomas gestured impatiently. ‘I still say we bring him in and find out.’
‘And I agree. Where we disagree, Tomas, is in the timing. I need to think about this. It may be that we can make some use of our Mr Holden.’
‘Use? How?’
‘With regard to Parker’s daughter,’ Haines said.
‘And I’ve already told you. We can take care of that.’
‘Oh, maybe you could, Tomas, but it would amuse me to watch Stan Holden have a go at solving that particular problem. It would amuse me and it would save you the trouble, shall we say.’
‘What trouble? She’s a kid. A little girl.’
‘Who most probably killed Jenkins, don’t forget that.’
‘Jenkins was thinking of getting his end away.’ Jerry Mason laughed. ‘Jenkins was always—’
‘Probably,’ Haines said, cutting him off. ‘We all know Jenkins has history with Parker and his family and, frankly, if this was a simple matter of revenge, I might well let it go. The girl showed skill and nerve and, remember, Tomas, she may be young but she’s thorough and about as conscienceless as you are. Parker was trash, Jenkins not much above that. I allowed Parker to take his shot at his daughter; the way I figured it, I owed him the chance to get even. She tried to kill him, it was only fair he got the opportunity to return the compliment. Karen won that round and I’ve got to admit to a sneaking sympathy with her attitude towards Jenkins. So, as I said, had it been possible, I might just have let matters lie. However . . .’
‘However?’
‘I have friends who would like to see Karen Parker retired.’
Tomas laughed. ‘Vashinsky.’
‘Among others. But Vashinsky is, shall we say, a better payer than most. So, I thought we could let our friend Stan have first go, and then, when he fails, Tomas, you can take your best shot. Look,’ he added, raising his voice for the first time, ‘Karen Parker is just a sideshow, an amusement. Yes, I’d like her out of the picture, and if that’s a profitable course then it’s worth looking at. What she isn’t worth is time and effort we don’t have to expend. Don’t lose sight of why we’re here, of the bigger picture.’
There was a brief silence and then, as it became clear that their audience was over, Tomas and Jerry Mason wandered out of the hotel suite and back towards their own rooms, adjoining those of their boss.
‘See the whole picture,’ Tomas mimicked. ‘Don’t lose sight of the main game. Maybe we’d keep a better eye on the game if he actually bothered to tell us what it was.’
Jerry laughed. ‘Like that will ever happen,’ he said. ‘International man of mystery is our Haines.’ He frowned. ‘What the hell do you reckon is going on?’
Tomas shrugged. ‘So long as he keeps paying me I’ll keep not asking daft questions.’ he said.
Jerry Mason sat alone in his room, television on, drink in hand, but he wasn’t watching the screen and he’d barely touched his drink. He was a worried man. Six months, his handlers had told him. Just six months. That had been close on three years ago and here he was still playing paid thug to Haines’s master criminal, using his connections to keep his current boss fed with the intelligence that was like meat and bread to him. Sending information back the other way.
It occurred to him that he was no longer sure which side he was on, which persona now dominated. Who he’d take note of if one side tried to set him against the other. It had been three weeks since he’d been able to make proper contact with his handler, if you didn’t count that one brief phone call. Three weeks since that anchor point had been reinforced. Right now he felt like a participant in some bizarre S&M role play who had forgotten his safe word and wasn’t convinced the other participants would care even if he managed to remember it.
And there was more. He had followed Dave Jenkins to the toilets at the back of the pub a few minutes after he had made the excuse and left the table. He too had recognized Karen Parker that night and had guessed something was going on when she had left and exchanged that look with Jenkins.
Jerry had been the one to raise the alarm, come back to the table and tell them Jenkins was not in the toilets, but by that time, of course, he was dead and Karen gone. Jerry Mason had made sure of that and he was still not certain why. He had followed Jenkins out into the yard, watched from the shadow of the wall as he had crossed the road to where Karen had been standing. Watched as she had stuck the knife between his ribs and then walked away. Watched until she had turned the corner and then disappeared from view; only then had he returned to the table and expressed surprise that Jenkins was still not back.
‘I could have stopped her.’ He took a sip of his drink. The ice had melted and the spirit was dilute and insipid. ‘Could have, didn’t.’
So what side of the law had that put him on? True, he didn’t want to blow his cover – he was under no illusion as to what would happen to him should he do that – but he could, quite legitimately, have shouted a warning to Jenkins, have tackled Karen himself or drawn the attention of the others to the fact that she was there. So why hadn’t he?
He had sanctioned Karen’s execution of David Jenkins. Perhaps even aided it.
He sipped at his drink again and mentally added that to the list of other ambiguities, other times when he had well and truly crossed the line, and he acknowledged that it was not the fact of crossing that line that troubled him. Undercover, you didn’t always have a choice of what rules to break. It was the fact that he no longer cared.
NINETEEN
The meeting on Thursday afternoon with his probation officer, Tina Marsh, had not gone particularly well, but he had survived it, Stan thought. It seemed to have centred on the question of him getting a job, and as Tim Brandon had already spoken to the owners of the Palisades and they had agreed to give Stan a trial, he at least had something positive to offer in response.
The job didn’t really have a title. They needed someone to do general maintenance and be an all round dogsbody. It would only be part time and it was subject to everyone getting on and them being reassured that Stan was not about to rob guests or murder anyone, but it was a start.
‘I went up and had a chat with the owners,’ Stan reassured Tina Marsh. ‘Look, this is their phone number, they said to phone if you’d got questions.’
Tina Marsh pursed her lips and looked doubtful. ‘And how did that go? The conversation with the owners.’
‘Well,’ Stan said. Able to answer that with some confidence. ‘Rina told them about me—’
‘Rina. Mrs Martin.’
‘Yes.’
The pursed lips thinned even further. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘Look, she’s a friend of DI MacGregor, ask him for a character reference if you like. Fact is, she’s helping me out with a place to stay and helping me to find work. I really don’t see what you could have a beef with?’
Tina Marsh shuffled her papers and set them aside in a Manila file. ‘I have your interests at heart here, nothing more.’
‘And I appreciate that.’
‘Then you’ll keep me informed. Same time next week?’
Stan nodded and made his escape, trying to figure out if Tina Marsh was actually trying to help or if her default setting was just disbelief in any kind of positive humanity.
His preoccupation was probably the cause of his lack of alertness, and that momentary absence of attention was enough. He had turned down the side road at the corner of the building when it happened. Someone grabbed him from behind. Another someone hit him hard and Stan sagged, stunned. He struggled, but dazed and confused could not break free. Another blow took even that consciousness away. The world went black and Stan was bundled, helpless, into a waiting car.
TWENTY
In the end it was without Mac, who’d been cal
led away for a meeting with Kendall, that Andy finally caught up with Ted Eebry. Having not heard from him, Andy had taken a chance on knocking at his door on the Thursday afternoon. Ted had opened it and looked momentarily shocked, a not unusual reaction in Andy’s experience.
‘Hi, Ted, how you doing? It’s been a long time. How are the girls?’
Ted seemed to relax. ‘It has,’ he said. ‘A very long time, our Andy. You’d best come in.’
He stood aside and Andy stepped into the once-familiar space. It had changed little from what he remembered, apart from a few extra photographs on the wall of the hallway and an absence of school bags and coats on the hooks just inside the door.
‘I’m making a brew,’ Ted told him. ‘Mind if we go through to the kitchen?’
‘’Course I don’t. How are you keeping? I saw the For Sale board. I never reckoned on you moving?’
‘Oh, there’s a time for everything as our Stacey keeps telling me. I’ve put in an offer on a little bungalow just down the road from her and the babby. I’ve been doing a lot of work with her Sam just lately and it all makes sense, you know. Closer to family and all that. You see much of your mum?’
Andy sat down at the kitchen table. The same table, he noted, same chairs. Even the same canisters for tea and coffee, though the black writing had now worn so badly it was hard to make out which was which. ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ he said. ‘Kids are growing like weeds and she’s doing more hours at the pub now and a bit of an early morning cleaning job.’
Ted poured boiling water on to the tea. ‘She always did work hard,’ he agreed. ‘So what can I do for you? Neighbours said you called the other day and I found your note, I’ve just not got around to—’
‘Oh, that’s all right. Tell the truth, Ted, it feels weird to be coming round here all official.’
‘I expect it does. Last time you sat at that there table you were stuffing your face with beans on toast.’
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