by Tom Bale
Robbie was months away from thirty. Not a milestone that had troubled him unduly. His rational mind accepted that eventually he’d grow old and feeble, but at some fundamental level he hadn’t begun to consider what such a concept might entail.
Now he saw the future with grim clarity, saw how his body would bloat and sag and hang, and how, as a consequence, it might seem quite unremarkable to sleep with a woman like Maureen Heath.
One day, he thought, this will be good enough for me.
As if she’d read his mind, Maureen slid down until she was straddling his knees, her belly hanging over his thighs. Disdainfully she said, ‘I thought it would be bigger.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Look at it.’ She flopped his dwindling cock from side to side. ‘My husband gets harder than this. The way Bree was talking, I expected a superstud.’
‘That’s ’cause Bree ...’ he judged it unwise to say turns me on ‘... exaggerates.’
‘Well, I ain’t shelling out two hundred quid for this. You can have fifty.’
‘No way. What do you think I am?’
‘On this evidence? A fucking disappointment.’
****
Suddenly Robbie couldn’t bear that she was touching him. He half sat, still able to admire the way his stomach muscles rippled with the effort, hoping she would notice and be all the more regretful that she had ruined their liaison.
‘This is a mistake,’ he said, and he twisted, pushing her sideways on to the bed. He wasn’t rough with her. Just firm.
Maureen gasped as she hit the mattress, rolling on to her back and slapping her arms up across her chest. Robbie didn’t know if she was merely concealing her breasts – no chance there – or maybe she was ready to ward off an assault.
Ignoring her, he jumped up and grabbed his clothes. She must have realised he presented no threat, because she growled at him: ‘Get out of my house, you wanker.’
‘Glad to. There’s no money in the world that would make this worth doing.’
Over the years he’d had plenty of practice at dressing in a hurry, usually after far more pleasurable encounters. With underwear, trousers and shoes on, he grabbed the rest of his clothes and buttoned his shirt as he descended the stairs. Maureen stayed where she was. A cat padded silently through the hall and paused to regard him with solemn contempt. Robbie was tempted to kick it, very hard.
Once outside, he checked his phone. Bloody Bree again – a text: Hope your havin fun. I helped with makeup & fashn. Looks hot dont she?
Hot? Jesus, he thought. Gazing into Hank O’Brien’s dead eyes had been more erotic than this.
CHAPTER 76
The sun had broken through by the time Dan stepped off the bus at Saltdean. It was a proper taste of spring, and there were plenty of people out to enjoy it, walking or cycling along the promenade that ran beneath the tall chalk cliffs all the way from here to Brighton Marina, three or four miles to the west.
Dan let the fine weather and the general air of relaxation work on his mood. Perhaps this was a good omen.
Hayley was waiting for him by the low concrete wall that separated the promenade from the shingle beach. The moment she spotted him, the barriers went up. She crossed her arms and greeted him with a curt nod. No hugs, no kisses.
‘Feeling better today?’ he asked.
‘Not really. You look like you were on the piss last night.’
‘Yeah, I had a few beers.’ He started walking, leaving it to Hayley to choose whether to accompany him. ‘How about Rottingdean and back?’
She caught up, but was walking sluggishly. ‘I don’t want to go that far.’
‘Halfway, then?’
‘This was supposed to be a chance to talk, not go on one of your route marches.’
‘We can do both at the same time, can’t we?’
‘No. Because I want to look in your eyes when I ask you this.’
The serious tone brought him to a stop. ‘Ask me what?’
‘You’re having an affair with Cate, aren’t you?’
Dan laughed, from a kind of relief. The accusation was predictable enough, after all. But if he had anticipated her suspicion, he should also have anticipated the way his reaction would be received.
‘You think it’s funny, cheating on me with her?’
‘No. I laughed because the idea of Cate and me ... it’s just absurd.’
‘Sometimes absurd things happen.’
A neat touch, he thought. She wasn’t denying the improbability of it.
‘Well, not this time.’
He turned and walked on. Probably a tactical error, but standing in the middle of the promenade, so obviously involved in a confrontation, was earning them a lot of inquisitive glances.
Hayley hurried in pursuit, and even the busy clicking of her footsteps sounded indignant. ‘So was it my imagination that I saw you kissing her in the William IV on Thursday night?’
****
Instead of coming to a halt, Dan veered off towards the sea wall. Here at least they could sit down and enjoy a little more privacy.
‘Thursd— hold on – you followed me into town?’
She nodded, unrepentant. ‘Only because I knew you were lying.’
‘But I’m not. Cate was there first, and Robbie joined us almost straight away. It was a peck on the cheek, for God’s sake.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been following me.’
‘After the way you’ve behaved this week, do you really blame me?’
There was a stand-off, a long sullen silence. Dan experienced a creeping horror at the thought of what else Hayley might have done to corroborate her suspicions.
‘Where did you go yesterday lunchtime?’
She blinked rapidly, and he knew that his fear was about to be confirmed.
‘I popped up to your house,’ she said, ‘to see what was wrong with your car.’
Dan put his hands down on the cold concrete wall, aware that he needed to cling to something.
‘What did Joan say?’
‘She wasn’t in. Neither was Louis.’
‘So you came back?’ A hollow laugh. ‘Or did you break in?’
‘No.’ Hayley stared at the ground, one foot toying with a fragment of chalk. ‘I borrowed your keys. You’d left them in the office.’
‘I left them in my jacket.’
‘You’ve no idea what it’s been like. What you’ve been like.’ There wasn’t a trace of shame in her voice. ‘Nothing made any sense.’
‘So you followed me and stole my keys?’
‘Don’t get all moral on me, Daniel. I saw the damage to the bodywork. You had an accident.’
He cupped his face in his hands, overcome by weariness.
‘All right. I had a couple of beers with Robbie on Tuesday night. I drove home when I shouldn’t have done, and I pranged the car.’
She gasped. ‘Those photofit things ...’
‘What?’
‘On TV. I thought one of them looked a bit like Robbie ...’ She faltered, her bottom lip trembling.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Dan had no idea where the bluster came from. ‘I misjudged the turn in a car park. Scraped the barrier in a couple of places.’
She gazed into his eyes, wanting to be convinced. ‘So why did you lie?’
He shrugged. He didn’t know if he could sustain the facade for much longer, but Hayley saved him with another accusation.
‘Because you were with Cate. And I bet Robbie agreed to give you a cover story. He’d lie to me as easy as breathing.’
‘Hayley, it’s nothing like that—’
‘No?’ She stood over him like a prison guard. ‘Then tell me how it really is.’
He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a groan.
‘You can’t, can you?’ she said. ‘Not even to save our relationship.’
‘After knowing you’ve been snooping around, I’m not sure we even have a relationship any more.’
Dan expecte
d this to incite another barrage of criticism, but instead Hayley took a deep breath, as if steadying herself, and said, ‘I thought you’d say that. And I agree with you.’
‘Do you?’
She nodded. ‘I think it’s over.’
****
And with that, a peculiar calm descended. By now the cool breeze had turned cold, and when Hayley suggested they go to the cafe which overlooked the beach, Dan agreed.
The cliffs were a dazzling white in the sun, forcing them to shield their eyes as they approached the steps. They climbed in silence, Dan sensing that they needed this opportunity to recharge their emotional batteries.
The cafe was busy, with a vibrant hum of conversation. After ordering coffees at the counter, they found a table and sat down. Hayley picked up a menu for tapas and idly began turning it over in her hands. Dan didn’t think she was about to suggest staying for lunch.
‘Do you want us to split up?’ he asked.
‘It’s what you want,’ she countered, although – perhaps unconsciously – she was nodding as she spoke. ‘I think you’ve been too scared to admit it, because you thought it meant so much to me.’
He was taken aback. ‘Didn’t it, then?’
She tapped the menu against her chin, shielding her face.
‘I think I was kidding myself, too. I’m starting to believe that relationships are more about habit than love. And habits are comforting. Safe. Breaking the habit of a relationship is like pricking your skin with a needle to remove a splinter. You know it’s for the best, but you’ll still put off doing it to avoid the pain.’
****
The waitress brought their coffees over, while Dan struggled to absorb what Hayley had said. He was deeply ashamed that he’d had no inkling she felt this way.
‘You know, I hope you are with Cate,’ she said.
‘I’m not.’
‘But you’ve always fancied her.’ She had gone very red, and Dan guessed what was coming next a fraction of a second before she said it. ‘I went out with Tim last night.’
‘You broke off surveillance, then?’
‘Don’t be like that. Anyway, it was only a meal. He’d noticed how upset I was.’
‘Did you pour out all your troubles to him?’
‘Not really.’ She took a sip of coffee, wiped her lip with her thumb. ‘He’ll be discreet, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Dan shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about Tim Masters.
‘He tried to kiss me, but I wouldn’t let him. Not until ... I’ve told you.’
Still Dan didn’t respond. He wasn’t trying to antagonise her: he just had no reaction to give.
‘He’s asked me out again.’
‘Okay.’ Dan wondered if this was his cue to beg her not to go.
She regarded him coolly. ‘You know, what always worried me was your reluctance to buy somewhere together. The cafe just seemed like the perfect excuse to avoid making a commitment.’
‘It wasn’t an excuse. Having our own business would give us a far better chance of earning a good living.’
‘Maybe. But the fact is, it was always your big ambition. Not mine.’ She held his gaze. ‘Yeah, I could do with more money. Who couldn’t? And I know Denham’s will probably go under in a year or two – that’s what Tim says. But when it does I’ll get a job at Currys, or Argos, or Asda.’
Dan shook his head. ‘You can do a lot better than—’
‘Maybe I don’t want to,’ Hayley cut in, her tone sad rather than sharp. ‘My big ambition isn’t very big at all, really. I want to be with someone I love, and to live in a nice house, and have a couple of kids. To be like my mum and dad, basically.’ She laughed, and its warmth seemed to surprise her as much as it did him: an echo of the bubbly enthusiasm that had captured his heart in the first place. ‘You want more than that, which is fine.’
Dan sat back, aware of a tension within him that wouldn’t quite dissipate; a lurking fear that surely the end couldn’t come so easily.
‘I ought to leave Denham’s,’ he said.
‘No. Not until you’re ready to buy your cafe.’ She grasped his hand. ‘The past week has been a nightmare, but now I’m sort of glad it’s happened this way. I feel like it’s given us both a fresh chance. A chance to have the future we want.’
She smiled, and it took quite an effort for Dan to smile back. He couldn’t possibly tell Hayley how wrong she was: that his future continued to depend on factors that were completely beyond his control.
CHAPTER 77
Stemper slept late and checked out of the hotel in Woking just before midday, by which time he’d received three urgent messages from the Blakes. There was a change of plan.
Their anxiety had been ratcheted up by a rumour that Templeton was due back in the UK within a few days. After fretting overnight, they decided that the search for the paperwork must take priority over identifying Hank’s killers.
‘What about the sister?’ Stemper asked.
‘We’ll handle her,’ Patricia said. The call was on speakerphone, so Gordon was able to chip in: ‘By employing tact and charm, of course.’
They arranged to rendezvous in the village and drive to the farmhouse in one car. Gordon had concocted a ruse that entailed posing as partners in a secret financial venture, anxious to ensure that Hank’s proportion of the profits found their way to his rightful heir: Cheryl Wilson.
‘In other words, we’ll buy her off,’ Patricia said.
****
But that wasn’t necessary. They met an hour later, in a quiet lane that ran along the side of the village churchyard. A bright sun shone high in an almost cloudless sky, and only a cool wind marred what should have been a perfect spring day.
Gordon was at the wheel of their Mercedes, dressed in slacks, a pale pink shirt and a navy-blue blazer. Patricia was wrapped in a brown winter coat, her hair pulled back and piled up in some elaborate arrangement. The interior of the car was a heady mix of their competing perfumes.
So far this morning, Jerry’s death hadn’t featured in Stemper’s thoughts, except in terms of the additional workload which now fell upon him. But this was an interesting sign – a mark of their desperation, perhaps – that the Blakes were prepared to roll up their sleeves.
‘We’ve heard from Jen-Ling,’ Patricia said as they set off for the farmhouse.
‘She was barely intelligible,’ Gordon said. ‘A friend of hers had to take the phone.’
‘We put her in touch with an excellent funeral director and said we’ll meet the cost.’
‘A severance payment,’ Gordon quipped.
‘Did she mention how he died?’ Stemper asked.
‘“A bad accident”, that’s all she would say,’ Patricia told him.
‘A bad accident,’ Stemper repeated. ‘Exactly.’
****
They drew up some way short of the gates. Stemper approached on foot to check the lie of the land and returned with good news. ‘No cars out front.’
They walked back, putting on the gloves that Stemper had told them to wear. A little incongruous on such a fine day, but better than leaving prints everywhere. Stemper became aware of Gordon, nervously casting about as if fearing an ambush.
‘We belong here, remember.’
They rang the doorbell, then knocked loudly. Gordon was sent to check the rear of the building, and when he confirmed there was no sign of activity inside, Stemper tried the key he had taken from Jerry on Thursday night. It wouldn’t fit.
‘Do you think all the locks have been changed?’ Gordon asked.
‘I’m sure they were.’ Stemper had brought his lock-picking set and a selection of bump keys. ‘Let’s leave the house for now, and take a look at the outbuildings.’
They set off across a large expanse of grass, somewhere between a lawn and a field, Patricia expressing bitterness that a man of only moderate talents had acquired such a vast property.
It was Gordon who first picked up on the smell, when they wer
e some twenty or thirty feet from the barn. He gave Patricia a querying glance. She in turn looked at Stemper, who frowned but said nothing.
The side door was padlocked. Stemper found a suitable key to use with his Brockhage bump hammer, and had the padlock open within seconds. Patricia emitted a sigh of admiration as the shackle popped up.
He opened the door and the acrid stench rolled over them, causing Gordon to recoil, gagging and spitting. Inside, the air was stifling, the block walls cracked in places where the tremendous heat had buckled the roof trusses and shifted the entire building on its foundations.
The source of that heat still smouldered in the centre of the barn: the burnt-out remains of a small car.
****
Taking care to avoid the oily residue that blackened the floor, Stemper and Patricia studied the wreck up close, their hands covering their mouths, while Gordon hung back, bobbing on his toes like the lookout man at a robbery.
‘There’s been quite an effort made to destroy it,’ Stemper observed. ‘They’ve pummelled the bodywork with a sledgehammer.’
The registration plates had melted, and although he was able to find one of the VIN plates, only part of the number was legible. There would be little chance of identifying the owner.
‘What’s it doing here?’ Gordon asked.
Stemper mused on it as they retreated to the exit in search of fresh air. ‘In my view, this is the car that killed Hank.’
Patricia nodded astutely, but Gordon looked sceptical. ‘How do you reach that conclusion?’
‘Robert Scott. We believe he was one of the men in the pub on Tuesday evening. He was at the accident scene the following night, when Jerry got the photograph. And he was here yesterday morning, with Hank’s sister. As such, I think we can assume that he’s behind this.’
‘But why?’
‘Because it’s the perfect place to dispose of the evidence.’
‘You’re saying that Scott did this last night?’ Patricia said, and he knew what she was thinking: If we hadn’t been sidetracked with Jerry Conlon ...
