Buried Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘I still have a few mates out that way. If you think there’s anything I can do . . .’ He let the sentence hang.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mariner, briefly, not at all sure what Griffith had in mind. ‘Anyway,’ he said, pulling himself together. ‘This isn’t helping you.’

  ‘This man Zjalic, he’s into organized crime?’

  ‘Everything you can imagine,’ Mariner said. ‘Has anyone come forward to claim Jeremy Bryce?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Not yet. The mocked-up photo isn’t ideal, but even so . . .’

  ‘Early days,’ Mariner said.

  ‘Yeah.’ Griffith tucked the funeral brochure back into his pocket. ‘Although strange that no one should have come forward.’

  ‘Well, if you get stuck there’s always the locket.’

  ‘Locket?’

  ‘I found it in the foot well of my car the morning after I gave Bryce a lift. It’s a gold locket, like a woman or girl might wear around their neck. I didn’t get round to giving it back to him, so it’s still in my rucksack. You must have it. It contains a lock of his daughter’s hair. Something happened to her, but again, he didn’t get the chance to explain what exactly.’

  ‘You mean he was hiding something?’

  ‘No, it was just late at night when we had the conversation. The timing was wrong. It’s a long shot, but if hers was some kind of unnatural death there might be something on record, and it would be a start.’

  ‘It would. I’ll get someone on to it.’ Griffith looked momentarily sheepish. ‘We should be able to let you have the rest of your stuff back soon.’

  ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ said Mariner. ‘And let’s hope that in the meantime Joe Hennessey decides to show his face again.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Tony Knox had learned that wherever Kat might be she was still accessing her bank account. At least he hoped it was her. When he finished work on Wednesday he returned to her apartment building. As he was inserting the key in the door he noticed that the lock had been patched up, as if it had broken, or smashed. He tried not to worry too much about that, but, opening the door, he walked into an odd scene, as if a burglar with a conscience had been at work. Drawers and their contents had been pulled out, but haphazardly replaced again. There was no sign of a handbag or phone or any of the personal items that women were in the habit of carrying round with them, nor was there much evidence from the kitchen that anyone had cooked or even eaten there for some time. The place had a strange feel to it and Knox’s intuition told him that something here was very wrong. Having gleaned nothing from it, Knox let himself out again and as he stepped into the hall he heard the clunk of a door being closed, very carefully. He walked along the passage to Saira’s apartment and rang the doorbell. There was no response.

  ‘Saira,’ he called impatiently. ‘It’s DS Knox. I know you’re there, I heard you close the door.’ He was rewarded by the door opening just a crack.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I knew it was someone in Katarina’s flat, but I didn’t know who.’

  ‘Can I come in?’ Knox asked.

  ‘All right,’ she said, eventually, though she didn’t sound too keen.

  They sat across from each other on Ikea reclining chairs.

  ‘How long ago was Kat’s flat broken into?’ Knox asked.

  It hit the spot and she blushed. ‘About a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘And given what’s been happening, you didn’t think that was worth telling me?’

  ‘Kat made me swear not to tell anyone . . .’

  ‘Even someone who’s trying to help her?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said a voice from behind where Knox sat. He spun round to see Katarina standing in the doorway. ‘Is my problem, so I must explain.’

  Katarina looked a very different young woman from the one Knox had first met. Today her hair was healthy and strong, growing down to her shoulders. Her face had filled out a little and she had a hint of a tan. But the haunted look that Knox remembered so well had returned to her eyes.

  ‘That would be a good start,’ he said, unsure whether to feel relieved that she was here in front of him, clearly safe and well, or annoyed that he had been led a dance. ‘So, what’s going on? Where have you been?’

  Katarina came to sit beside Saira, who immediately took her hand in a gesture of support.

  ‘I went to see my friends in London, just for a short time,’ Katarina said. Maybe it was having been among fellow Albanians but Knox noticed that her accent was more pronounced today. ‘I had to get away from Giles and mostly from his friend Hugo.’

  Knox shook his head in disgust. ‘I’ve come across him, although we weren’t exactly introduced. He seems like bad news all round. You were worried about the drug-taking?’

  She nodded. ‘When Giles first brought him to our house I thought he was an okay guy. Right after he came Giles said he has to tell me something, and Hugo says that he has been addicted to heroin but he is trying real hard to get clean. Giles says he needs somewhere to stay away from that shit, so he is going to live with us. From the start I didn’t trust him. He was living with Giles and eating his food, watching his TV, but he didn’t offer any money and soon I know he’s taking drugs again. Giles is out at work all day, but sometimes I came back in the afternoon and I would see what Hugo has been doing. Money and things start to disappear from the flat and sometimes he stays out all night. I tried to talk to Giles but he says he must help his friend. One day I came home and Hugo is rushing round the flat in a panic. He says I have to help him. There are some men after him but he doesn’t know why. He thinks it might be his dealer made a bad deal. I try to find out what men, but he says I won’t understand. They are from Tirana. Is a big shock. Now I think maybe they are not after him, but they are after me. The next day I came home to get some things and my door is broken down and my flat is wrecked. I was afraid. I had to go away.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call Tom?’ Knox asked. ‘He could have helped you; we both could.’

  She stared down at her hand, twisting a ring around her middle finger. ‘Tom has already been too good to me. I didn’t want to get you involved again. I don’t want him to think I can’t take care of myself.’

  ‘I think Hugo took your key to Tom’s house and has been hiding out there,’ Knox said. ‘I went back a couple of days ago and it was trashed too.’

  ‘Oh God, is my fault.’ She looked up at him, distraught.

  ‘It might not be,’ said Knox. ‘Tom has been caught up in some stuff out in Wales. There’s a possibility that someone is after him and they may be after you too.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back to my flat. Hugo has been there and he might have made a new key.’ She shuddered. ‘He knows some bad people.’

  Knox was thinking on his feet. Partly he was imagining what Mariner would do. ‘You can come and stay at my place for a couple of days, at least until you can get the locks changed on your flat,’ he said. ‘It’s right away from here and I can keep an eye on you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Both girls looked relieved and Knox realized at that point the risk that Saira had been taking in helping her friend. Knox waited while Kat collected together her things then, as quickly as possible, they left.

  * * *

  Mariner had just seen Griffith on his way and was considering where he might go for the afternoon, when the door of the bar swung open and Suzy came in. For a moment he thought she was going to avoid him, but then she came directly across to where he was sitting. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘No, you’re fine.’ She sat down beside him on the edge of the bench but made no effort to take off her coat. ‘I’m not staying, I just came to apologize.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘No apology needed,’ Mariner protested mildly, wondering with some apprehension where this might be going. ‘It was a great stir-fry and the wine was my fault.’

  ‘That’s
not what I meant.’ She was finding it hard to look at him. ‘I shouldn’t have come on to you like that. I realized afterwards that I made some big assumptions about you, and I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘What kind of assumptions?’ Mariner was intrigued.

  ‘Oh God, you’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?’

  ‘I just don’t understand,’ Mariner said, genuinely baffled. ‘What assumptions?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Well, firstly that you’re straight, and secondly that you would have any interest in me. I’m really quite embarrassed now. I made a fool of myself.’

  ‘No, you really didn’t,’ said Mariner gently, but with a growing awareness that he was going to have to somehow explain his way out of this. ‘You were right on both counts. I am very straight and I am also very attracted to you. But . . . there’s a complication.’

  ‘You’re married,’ she smiled, suddenly understanding, ‘or at least in a relationship. See, I’ve thought through all the possibilities.’

  ‘No, it’s not that either. It’s an even worse cliché.’

  She read his hesitation. ‘Oh look, I’m sorry. If this is something you don’t want to talk about . . .’

  ‘No, I owe you some kind of explanation at least,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Is it to do with that “some other time”?’

  ‘Sort of,’ said Mariner, relieved that she was helping him towards the obvious escape route. ‘I was in a serious relationship. But it ended suddenly, and not because I wanted it to,’ he said. So far so true. ‘I’m still coming to terms with it. It just doesn’t seem like a good idea to get involved . . .’

  ‘No, of course,’ she said. ‘I get it.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll let you finish your lunch in peace. I hope we can still be friends?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘Of course,’ Mariner said. ‘When’s your next day off?’

  She shrugged. ‘I could probably sneak some time off on Friday.’

  ‘Well how about a walk then?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you Friday at ten. You can call for me.’

  ‘Great.’

  She headed towards the door. ‘For the record,’ she said, hesitating in the doorway. ‘It was only sex. I wasn’t expecting any long-term commitment.’ Mariner stared after her as she walked out of the bar, leaving him with a smile and the sudden sense that an opportunity had been missed.

  * * *

  Knox must have picked up Mariner’s message, because when he got upstairs that afternoon he found a text to say that Kat had been found, safe and well. Mariner rang him from his room.

  ‘Kat is fine, but her flat’s been turned over too. She’s come to stay with me for a couple of days.’

  ‘Good,’ said Mariner. ‘So where has she been?’

  Knox told him about Giles’ unwanted guest. ‘I think she just heard “Tirana” and panicked. It may have nothing to do with Zjalic at all. Her flat has been turned over in the same way as your house, but it sounds as if this Hugo has been behind all that.’

  ‘Any progress on the drugs thing with Charlie?’

  ‘I haven’t heard about any new developments,’ said Knox. ‘But I have had a message from Rick Fraser about your soil samples. It sounds complicated, so you may want to give him a call yourself, get it from the horse’s mouth.’

  It was a good idea, and when he’d finished speaking to Knox, Mariner rang the lab. Rick Fraser was typically laid back, something that belied his thoroughness and the speed of his thinking. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked, as if this was a social call.

  Mariner wondered if Fraser knew anything about the situation he was in. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘Two bags of soil, right?’ Fraser confirmed. ‘On the parsnips; on its own.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Right. The soil on its own is just about chemical-free,’ Fraser said. ‘A bit of homemade compost but that’s about it.’ The soil was from Elena’s garden, so no surprises there. ‘The soil on the parsnips is a different story,’ Fraser continued.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Mariner in anticipation.

  ‘There are compounds present there that are consistent with most of the commercially available pesticides — the same stuff that’s used all over the place.’

  ‘Pesticides?’ Mariner echoed. ‘That doesn’t sound very organic.’

  ‘Depends on your definition of organic, I suppose,’ said Fraser. ‘But no, I wouldn’t class them as particularly natural or wholesome.’

  ‘So what about this supposed magic formula that this guy is meant to be developing?’

  ‘I didn’t find anything magic or even unusual. There was one weird thing though,’ said Fraser, typically saving the best till last. ‘The two soil types are totally different.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘The soil on its own is a heavy, clay-based soil, of the type you would expect in that part of Wales,’ Fraser told him. ‘But the soil stuck to the parsnips is a much lighter, sandy soil. I’m not an expert and I wasn’t sure what that meant so I talked to someone who is. She said that the parsnip soil is characteristic of what you’d find in the east of the country, Norfolk or Kent; those kinds of areas.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Mariner asked, wanting to be clear.

  ‘I’m saying that those parsnips were not grown where you found them, nor anywhere near it.’

  * * *

  Letting Katarina into his house, Tony Knox was suddenly ashamed of the way he’d let things slide. Housework had never been his forte. But Kat was so delighted to meet Nelson that she seemed not to notice. He showed her where everything was and told her to make herself at home.

  ‘I hope it won’t be for long that I get in the way,’ Kat said, her English suffering under the stress of it all.

  ‘You’re not in the way,’ Knox reassured her. ‘Me and Nelson are glad of the company.’

  ‘And Tom, he’s coming back soon?’ She seemed anxious about it and Knox wondered if she realized herself how much she missed his presence.

  ‘I hope so,’ he said. There was no option but to explain to her what had been happening in Wales.

  ‘But he is innocent!’ she insisted, without knowing any of the details.

  ‘He is,’ said Knox, mirroring her confidence. ‘But he needs to stay around there for now, in case they have to speak to him again.’

  ‘And he is safe?’ She seemed almost afraid to say it.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he is,’ Knox said, with more certainty than he felt.

  There was no reason to believe that anyone other than Knox, Saira and Kat herself, was aware of where she had moved to, but when the doorbell rang it startled them both. ‘Wait here,’ Knox said. Opening the door, he found Michael on the doorstep.

  ‘Wondered if Nelson wanted a walk,’ the boy said awkwardly.

  ‘That’d be great,’ said Knox, keen to re-establish communication. ‘Come through, he’s in here.’ Michael followed him into the kitchen where Knox introduced him to Katarina.

  ‘Can I come with you?’ she asked, seeing what Michael’s plans were, ‘Then I will know where I can take him too.’

  She took Michael’s indifferent shrug as encouragement and they both set off with Nelson trotting along beside them. Before they left Knox gave Katarina a spare key. ‘I need to go into work for a couple of hours to catch up with a few things. Don’t answer the door to anyone you don’t know, and if you’re worried about anything, you call me straight away.’ Unnecessary precautions, he felt sure, but it made him feel marginally better about leaving her.

  * * *

  When Mariner went downstairs, he found the pub uncharacteristically empty. Ron Symonds was on his own behind the bar replacing clean glasses, replenishing the chiller cabinets and preparing for the evening’s business. ‘Police have put people off probably,’ he speculated, casting around the empty room.

  ‘Any sign of Joe Hennessey?’ Mariner asked, knowing the answe
r.

  ‘Not yet, but I hope for his sake he turns up soon,’ said Symonds. ‘He’s not a bad young man to have around. What’ll you have?’

  Mariner indicated one of the pumps and Symonds drew him a pint. Perhaps because it was quiet, for once the landlord had his own drink on the go, and passing Mariner his pint, he lifted it in a toast. ‘Joe Hennessey,’ he said.

  ‘Joe Hennessy,’ said Mariner, reciprocating. ‘How’s Megan coping?’ he asked.

  ‘Not well, if I’m honest,’ said Symonds. ‘I don’t know why but Joe seemed to have taken a real shine to her and she’d got very fond of him too. If he’s done a runner she’ll be gutted.’

  ‘You get your veg from Abbey Farm, don’t you?’ Mariner said conversationally, handing over the payment for his drink.

  ‘We do,’ said Symonds. ‘We like to do our bit to support the local economy.’

  ‘So Willow sells direct to you, or is it part of the mail order service?’

  ‘Mail order? That must be something new. I didn’t know he was into that too.’

  The door swung open to admit a group of customers, and Mariner hoped that the sudden rush might include the returning Joe Hennessey, but when he retired to his room and the rather hard bed, the Irishman still hadn’t put in an appearance.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Day Ten

  After breakfast on Thursday morning Mariner went up to his room and had a look at his maps to try and decide on a walk for the day. He squinted out of the window trying to ascertain how likely it was that the rain would hold off, and at the same time noticed the Abbey Farm van parked outside. Ron Symonds must have been taking delivery of his vegetables. The legend on the side read: ‘Abbey Farm Organic Vegetables; all products locally grown.’ Not quite accurate after all, if what Rick Fraser had learned was true. Something else Mariner noticed: there was no email or website address given.

  Today Mariner took the local bus a few miles up the valley, with a view to walking back along the footpaths. He returned to the Hart in the middle of the afternoon to find a police squad car parked outside and officers loading evidence bags into the boot. Mariner walked inside with a sickly, sinking feeling, knowing that whatever had happened here, it wasn’t going to be good. Eventually Ryan Griffith appeared. He took Mariner to one side. ‘We’ve found Hennessey,’ he said. ‘Something about his disappearance was bothering me, so I took your advice and had a trace put on his mobile phone signal. His car was parked at a picnic site off the road a couple of miles up the valley. There was blood on the ground immediately behind the car, so we opened up the boot. He’d been stabbed, cleanly and fatally, in the chest.’