They drove via Battersea, where Katra picked up her suitcase and said goodbye to her friends.
Shepherd let them into the house and switched off the burglar alarm as Liam rushed upstairs with Katra to show her his room. He went into the kitchen. There was a photograph of Sue and Liam on the refrigerator door, held in place by a magnet in the shape of an apple. It had been taken at Hallowe’en the previous year. Liam had been invited to a school-friend’s fancy dress party and Sue had made him a pirate’s outfit. Shepherd had been away on an assignment in Bristol and the job had kept him away overnight so Liam had insisted that he and his mother take a photograph. It was the best photograph he’d ever seen of his wife and child: Sue’s arm was around Liam’s shoulders and they were both grinning from ear to ear.
He heard Liam and Katra laughing upstairs and suddenly felt guilty. He kissed the first and second fingers of his right hand and pressed them to his wife’s face. ‘I’ll always love you, Sue,’ he said softly. ‘She’s just here to keep us together as a family.’
A wave of sadness rushed over him. He was never going to see her again. The photographs and memories were all he had now.
‘Dad!’
Shepherd jumped.
‘Dad, come here!’
Liam was standing at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, the other pressed against the wall, swinging his legs backwards and forwards.
‘I’ve told you not to do that,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s dangerous.’
Liam stopped. ‘Where’s Katra sleeping?’
‘The spare room.’
‘Can’t she sleep with me?’
‘It’s not a sleepover party, Katra’s here to work,’ said Shepherd. ‘Anyway, boys and girls don’t share rooms.’
‘You and Mum did,’ said Liam.
‘Well, if you and Katra ever get married, you can share,’ laughed Shepherd, ‘but until then she has the spare room.’
Katra came up behind Liam and stroked his hair. Liam giggled. ‘Will you marry me, Katra?’
‘Of course. When you are old enough.’
Shepherd went up the stairs and opened the door to the spare room. ‘Have a look, Katra, see what you think.’
There was a double bed and a built-in wardrobe with mirrored sliding doors and a small teak dressing-table. ‘It’s lovely,’ said Katra. ‘Perfect.’
‘You’ll have to share the bathroom with Liam, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘In Portoroz we had one bathroom for the seven of us.’
‘Seven?’ said Liam.
‘My father and me and five brothers.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘Katra’s mum died when she was young,’ said Shepherd. He patted Liam’s shoulder. ‘That’s something you’ve got in common.’
‘Was it an accident?’ Liam asked Katra.
‘She was sick.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Liam. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it.
‘It was a long time ago,’ she said.
‘It’s not fair, is it, when things like that happen?’
She looked down at him and nodded. ‘No, it’s not fair.’
‘I’ll keep the bathroom tidy,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’ll be a first,’ said Shepherd.
‘Dad!’
Shepherd went back outside to fetch Katra’s suitcase and his overnight bag, then took them upstairs. Katra was sitting on her bed. ‘This is so nice,’ she said.‘Thank you.’She pointed at the two black plastic bags at the foot of the bed. ‘What are they?’ she asked.
‘My wife’s . . .’ began Shepherd, but Sue wasn’t his wife, not any more. How was he supposed to refer to her now? ‘They’re Sue’s clothes,’ he said finally. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do with them. I’ll find somewhere else for them.’ He picked them up, one in each hand, and took them down to the garage. He put them under the tool bench, then showed Katra the freezer, which was packed with ready meals. ‘You eat these?’ she said, picking up one of the ice-encrusted boxes.
‘Only if I can’t get a takeaway,’ he said.
‘Takeaway?’
‘You know. Chinese or Indian food. You buy it and take it away.’
‘I will go shopping tomorrow for real food. And you have herbs in your garden?’
‘Are weeds herbs?’
She either didn’t understand the joke, or ignored it. ‘I will need garlic, parsley, marjoram, tarragon and horseradish,’ she said.
‘I guess the supermarket will have them,’ he said. ‘We can go tomorrow. We’ll drop Liam off at the school, then we’ll shop and then I’ve got to go to work. I start at two and my shift finishes at ten so I’ll be back at eleven.’
They headed back to the kitchen. ‘What time does Liam go to bed?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘So long as he’s up for school, I leave it to him. What do you think? Ten?’
‘Nine might be better.’
‘Nine it is,’ said Shepherd.
Back in the kitchen she opened the fridge and checked the sell-by date on a box of eggs. Then she opened a carton of milk and sniffed it. ‘I can make omelette tonight,’ she said. ‘With chips.’
‘Great,’ said Shepherd.
He switched on the kettle and reached for two coffee mugs, but Katra beat him to it. ‘You relax,’ she said. ‘I will make coffee.’
Shepherd moved out of her way. ‘That grace you said at dinner yesterday, what was it?’
Katra turned pink. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.’ She busied herself spooning instant coffee into the mugs.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Actually, my family isn’t religious,’ she said. ‘My mother was, but after she died my father refused to set foot inside a church and threw out my mother’s Bible and crucifix.’
‘What about the grace?’
‘I thought Mrs Wintour might like a prayer, so I said a poem.’
‘A poem?’
‘Well, it was a traditional Slovenian song.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘You really want to know?’
Shepherd was enjoying her embarrassment. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I think it’s important that I know.’
Katra looked as if she was in pain. ‘Well, it’s about a young man who is planning to visit his three girlfriends. The first is a waitress and she will give him something to drink. The second girl is a cook and she will give him something to eat. And the third . . .’
‘Yes?’ said Shepherd, encouragingly.
‘The third is the one he really loves and she will take him to her room.’
Shepherd bit his lower lip to stop himself laughing. ‘Her room?’
Katra looked even more uncomfortable. ‘You know,’ she said. ‘She loved him, so . . .’ She shrugged.
‘And you pretended to be saying grace?’
‘You’re not angry, are you? I am so sorry. I just wanted to please her.’
‘No, Katra, I’m not angry.’ He couldn’t contain himself any longer and burst out laughing.
Liam came in from the sitting room. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
Shepherd grinned at Katra. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Everything’s fine.’
One of the mobiles in his jacket pocket rang. He was carrying three and he fished them out. It was Hargrove, and he went through to the sitting room to take the call. The superintendent wanted to know if he’d spoken to Angie Kerr.
‘I’ve tried every hour but her phone’s off. I don’t want to leave a message.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. If she’s had a change of heart she’d have got back to me. It could be as simple as a lost phone.’
‘I’ll check to see if she’s reported it,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll put a tail on her as well. But if all else fails you’ll just have to go up and front her.’
‘I’m starting with SO19 tomorrow,’ said Shepherd. ‘Two until t
en, it won’t give me much time.’
‘You could get your mates to helicopter you.’
Shepherd grinned. ‘You heard about that.’
‘I wish I had SAS resources,’said Hargrove. ‘Worst possible scenario, you could call in sick and drive up. We’ve got to nail her, and soon.’
‘Let me know about the phone,’ said Shepherd.
‘You got the Stuart Marsden legend?’
‘Sure. It’s fine.’
‘And everything went okay at Hereford?’
‘I’m up to speed. I don’t expect any problems.’
‘I meant with your boy. Is he okay?’
‘Yeah, he’s fine. He’s back here now.’ Liam came running into the sitting room. ‘Can I play football in the garden with Katra?’ he asked.
Shepherd waved him away. ‘I’ve got some father stuff to do,’ he said to Hargrove.
‘Enjoy it while you can.’ Hargrove laughed. ‘Teenagers are a whole different ball-game.’
Shepherd cut the connection and went back to the kitchen. Katra and Liam were running around the garden, chasing a football. Liam was whooping and waving his arms. Shepherd hadn’t seen him so happy for a long time. It was good to have a woman back in the house, even if she was an employee.
Shepherd woke up with a start. He looked at the bedside table and cursed. He hadn’t set the alarm. He grabbed a dressing-gown and rushed down the hallway to Liam’s bedroom. He wasn’t there. Shepherd hurried downstairs. His son was sitting at the kitchen table, washed, dressed in his school uniform and demolishing a plate of scrambled eggs and cheese on toast. His favourite. Katra was pouring coffee.
‘Look what Katra made for me,’ said Liam through a mouthful of egg. ‘I showed her how to do it, but she uses water instead of milk.’
Katra handed Shepherd a mug of coffee. ‘There’s no need to get up,’ she said. ‘I can take him to school.’
‘I said I’d show her where to go,’ said Liam.
‘Are you sure?’ Shepherd asked Katra, and sipped his coffee. She’d made it just as he liked it.
‘It’s no problem,’ said Katra.
Shepherd forced a smile. It was the first time he’d entrusted his son to anyone other than family, and he barely knew Katra. ‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Is the white car yours too?’ asked Katra.
‘It’s for work,’ said Shepherd. ‘You can use the CRV.’ He hadn’t told Katra the exact nature of his work, but she knew he was a police officer.
Liam finished his breakfast and Katra helped him put on his coat. Shepherd kissed him. ‘You be good, yeah?’ he said.
‘I’m always good,’ said Liam.
‘I’ll do the shopping on my way home,’ said Katra.
Shepherd took out his wallet and gave her two fifty-pound notes. Then he knelt beside Liam. ‘I won’t be here when you get home,’ he said. ‘My shift finishes at ten, so I won’t be back until you’re in bed.’
‘I could stay up,’ said Liam.
Shepherd laughed.‘You’ll be in bed by nine,young man.’
‘But you’ll come in and see me, even if I’m asleep?’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.
He stood at the front window and watched Katra and Liam climb into the CRV. Panic gripped him and he fought to control it. Liam had been in the back of the car when Sue had jumped the red light and crashed into a delivery truck. He’d emerged from the accident unscathed but he’d seen his mother die and Shepherd couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for an eight-year-old boy.
Liam waved. ‘Seatbelt,’ mouthed Shepherd. Katra turned and said something to the boy, then Liam clipped on his belt.
The CRV was a big four-by-four with airbags and anti-lock braking system and it was high off the ground, more crash resistant than the VW Golf Sue had been driving when she’d died. Even so, Shepherd had to fight the urge to run out and tell Katra he’d drive Liam to school. It was ridiculous, of course. Moira had been running Liam to and from school in Hereford and Shepherd hadn’t given it a second thought. Sue’s accident had been a stupid mistake, coupled with bad luck. Liam was no more at risk in the CRV with Katra than any other child on the school-run that morning. He’d be fine. Katra beeped the horn and Shepherd raised his coffee mug in salute. Suddenly he remembered that he hadn’t given Katra a mobile phone so that she could contact him in an emergency. ‘Relax,’ he whispered. ‘He’s in good hands.’
He stood at the window until the CRV was out of view, then changed into his running gear and the black army boots. He ran on auto-pilot, barely aware of his five-kilometre route through the streets of Ealing and on to Scotch Common, skirting three golf courses, a circuit he’d run almost a thousand times during the four years since he’d bought the house. Sue had suggested he joined the local gym or even put a treadmill in the garage, but Shepherd wanted the ground beneath his boots and the wind in his face – the smell of grass and trees, or even car exhaust, was preferable to the perfumed deodorants that pervaded the gym. He wanted to run outdoors and he wanted to run hard; he wanted peace and quiet so that he could think. He had to become Stuart Marsden.
By the time he got back to the house he was in character. He shaved, showered and changed into his off-duty policeman clothes: blue denim shirt, black jeans and leather jacket. He put the boots into the black nylon bag with the rest of the SO19 equipment, set the burglar alarm, locked the front door and headed for the Toyota.
He called Miss Malcolm as he drove along the A40 towards the SO19 base at Leman Street and told her he wanted to hire Katra. She said she’d put the paperwork in the post to him.
He reached Leman Street at midday. He’d been told to report two hours before his shift was due to start so that he’d have time for a briefing with Rose. There was a confusing one-way system and he passed Aldgate tube station twice before he got on to the northern end of Leman Street. He found a space and bought a pay-and-display sticker that gave him an hour’s parking.
The nondescript building halfway down the street looked as if it had once been a police station but the only indication that it was a Metropolitan Police building was a sheet of paper stuck to the glass door that had the force’s blue and white logo in one corner. It was a six-storey concrete and glass block, bland and featureless except for a forest of radio antennae on the roof. Three Vauxhall ARVs were parked in front.
Shepherd pulled open the glass door and went over to the reception desk to find out where he could park for the duration of his shift. A bored uniformed constable checked his warrant card and gave him directions to an underground car park.
After he’d moved the Toyota, he walked back to Leman Street with his kit-bag and went in search of Keith Rose. A civilian secretary told him he was in the indoor range in the basement. Shepherd had to ask for directions and felt like the new boy at school.
As he went down the stairs he heard the sharp cracks of an MP5. He let himself in. Six men in black overalls were standing twenty-five metres from bullseye targets. They were all wearing bright orange ear-protectors. Shepherd took out a small plastic case containing yellow foam earplugs and fitted them as he headed towards the group. He recognised Keith Rose from the photographs in the file Hargrove had given him. He was just under six feet tall and broad-shouldered. His head was shaved and he had a sweeping Mexican moustache. He was talking to one of the men who had been shooting at the targets.
They looked over at Shepherd. ‘Stuart Marsden,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m looking for Sergeant Rose.’ He had to pretend he didn’t know what Rose looked like.
‘Guilty as charged.’ Rose stepped forward and held out his hand. Shepherd shook it and dropped his kit-bag. Like the rest of the men, the sergeant had an MP5 hanging off his shoulder on its nylon sling. ‘Stuart’s here to show us how the Jocks do it.’
‘I’m not Scottish, sir,’ said Shepherd.
Rose frowned. ‘Strathclyde, they told me.’
‘That’s right, but I was born in London.’
Rose handed
his MP5 to Shepherd and gestured at the targets. ‘Show us what you can do, then.’ He grinned.
Shepherd checked the weapon, then slid the safety selector to fire. He swung the gun smoothly up to his shoulder and fired six single shots into one of the targets. His grouping was good, all within the two inner circles.
‘Nice,’ said Rose. Shepherd gave him back the carbine. ‘Let’s go into the canteen for a chat. Then we’ll get you fixed up with a Glock.’
Shepherd picked up his kit-bag. Rose held open the door and took him along a corridor. ‘Word is you were in the army,’ he said.
‘For a few years. The Paras.’
‘Why did you leave?’
Shepherd smiled easily. ‘Didn’t realise I was being interviewed for the job. Thought I was being transferred here.’
Rose didn’t smile. ‘In the Trojans it’s all about knowing your team,’ he said. ‘If we go into a building and there’s bad guys with guns, we all have to be on the same wavelength and that’s down to knowing everything about each other. No secrets.’
‘Same in the army,’ said Shepherd.
‘So why did you quit?’
‘Difficult to answer. Boredom, for one. The training got to me, running up and down mountains, waiting for the shit to hit the fan. And when the shit hits, it’s pretty shitty. Afghanistan wasn’t much fun.’
‘What about Ireland?’ They reached the canteen.
‘A couple of tours, but the IRA had pretty much called it quits when I was there.’
Rose pointed at an empty table. ‘Drop your gear and we’ll grab some food. You hungry? No haggis but the chef can probably stuff a sheep’s stomach for you if you ask him nicely.’
‘I guess I’m stuck with the Scottish jokes.’
‘For the foreseeable future, yeah. Until we find something else to pick on. Newbie syndrome.’
‘No sweat,’ said Shepherd. He dropped his bag and joined Rose in the queue for food.
‘So, you reckoned the cops was a cushier number?’ asked Rose.
‘I wouldn’t have to sleep in a barracks, and I’d be dealing with real people. The army’s a closed community – you’re either in it or you’re an outsider. I was fed up with the same old faces, day in, day out.’
Soft Target ss-2 Page 21
