by Tom Bale
‘How fast have you been driving?’
‘Quite fast,’ he conceded. ‘A couple of the bastard cameras got me – oh no, they got Pa! What a shame.’
As he grinned, Jen said, ‘He won’t mind. Anger to Gerard is like insulin to a diabetic.’
‘And he’ll get a column out of it. Speed cameras make him furious. And fuel taxes, parking charges, the congestion zone, bendy buses. . .’
‘Hm. Whereas child poverty, not so much.’
A heavy silence followed. Freddie had always been touchy where criticism of Gerard was concerned. He could say practically anything about the man, but woe betide Jen if she weighed in.
But now he changed the subject completely. ‘After this, what do you reckon’s gonna happen?’
‘I can’t think about anything beyond seeing Charlie. Everything else is a blur at the moment. Irrelevant.’
‘Yeah.’ A thoughtful pause. ‘I like what you said yesterday, about the two of us trying to sort an agreement.’
‘Glad to hear that. It really hurt me to believe you’d want to spirit Charlie away to Greece.’
‘I was never gonna spirit him away,’ he said, defensively. ‘But the idea of moving out there sort of made sense. It’s not like I have much going on here, do I?’
It isn’t just about you. Jen thought better of voicing the rebuke, but she didn’t have to. In a morose voice, Freddie said, ‘Till yesterday I never realised what a selfish wanker I’ve been.’
58
When he heard that Jen had left his Audi at the station car park, Freddie suggested they pick it up before they went to hers. They reached Brighton at around nine thirty. Jen drove the Audi home, with Freddie following. She parked outside the flat, then searched according to Dean’s instructions and, sure enough, quickly found the GPS tracker: a chunky black box attached by magnets to the underside of the car.
Freddie groaned. ‘This is really shitty. I had no idea.’
‘I believe you. But didn’t it strike you as odd when he suggested lending me the car?’
‘I just thought he was being reasonable, for once in his life.’
He sounded so innocent that Jen couldn’t help smiling. ‘Oh, Freddie...’
She asked that he stay in the car while she ran inside to change clothes. The silence from Dean was a growing agony. Debating whether to chase him again, she picked up her phone and found that she’d finally had a reply. The message was no more than a mobile phone number and two words: Call me.
She stared at the email, wondering why he suddenly wanted to communicate by phone. Had something happened?
She was so nervous, it took her three attempts to tap on the number. She heard the call connect, but first there was only the sound of rapid breathing. Then someone spoke, and it wasn’t Dean, but a small voice, shy and reluctant and perhaps slightly fearful. ‘Hello?’
‘Charlie?’ Jen almost yelled his name. ‘It’s Mummy. Are you all right?’
Another pause, and a sense that he was listening to instructions. ‘Y-yeah,’ he said. ‘When are you coming?’
‘Soon, darling. A bit later today.’
‘The man says—’ He stopped. ‘Dean says we’ve got to drive a long way.’
‘Quite a long way, but I’ll be there in a few hours.’ A thought struck her. ‘Are you worried about being ill in the car?’
Another silence; she could easily picture him shrugging. ‘He gave me some medicine.’
‘Did he? Well, in that case I’m sure you’ll be fine, and it won’t be long till I can give you a huuuge big hug!’
He snorted, as if stifling a laugh, but then she heard what was unmistakeably a sob. Dean quickly took the phone and said, ‘Charlie’s okay – aren’t you, matey? I gave him Kwells, isn’t that right?’
‘Uh, yes. Thanks. Where are you?’
‘On the move,’ he said darkly, as though she was prying into something that didn’t concern her. ‘I saw your emails but couldn’t reply right away. How did it go at Gerard’s?’
‘Quite well, I think. I got the bug back this morning. It should have caught any phone calls he made last night.’
‘Excellent. You’ve done a good job there.’
‘Gerard is still claiming it could take a while to get the charges dropped. I’m due at the police station in about an hour.’
‘He’s stalling. But it doesn’t matter. Even if you’re charged, it won’t be long before we turn the tables on them. I’ll put a copy of the recording on a memory stick, and you’re free to take it to the cops – or even keep it for blackmail.’
‘I just want a level playing field, a chance to negotiate—’
‘That’s because you’re a decent person, Jen. Unlike Gerard. Was he asking about me?’
‘A little bit. He was pushing for details about where you’re going, and how we communicate—’
‘Isn’t that what I said he’d do? He can’t be trusted for a second. Which is why we’re having to meet so far away.’
‘But where, exactly?’ She might have sounded a little too exasperated, partly because Dean kept interrupting.
He hesitated, and she could sense the doubt humming through the phone. ‘You are alone, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. I’m back home.’
‘Okay. It’s Cumbria, close to Lake Windermere.’
She whistled. ‘How long will that take?’
‘Maybe five or six hours, depending on the traffic. Listen, I’m only talking to you now because I’m on the road. After this call, I’ll have to switch the phone off. Hamilton has people who can trace the signal.’
‘So how will I find you?’
‘Set off for the Lakes. I’ll call again, maybe on another phone, at six o’clock, and give you the address. But you must come alone.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Before her nerve failed, she said, ‘Last night, Gerard was asking me about Russell Pearce—’
‘You don’t have to worry about him.’
He said it so dismissively that Jen could only issue an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Right now, I’m worried about everything.’
‘I suppose you are. But don’t be – we’re nearly there.’ He chuckled. ‘You and me, Jen, we make a hell of a team.’
She ended the call with the thought that this was just what she’d been craving: a chance to talk to Charlie and make sure he was all right. And yet, out of nowhere came a lurking suspicion that she was being played.
She put together an overnight bag for herself and Charlie, on the basis that they probably wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. Then it struck her that tomorrow was Thursday – and Charlie was meant to be at school. One way or another, they’d have to drive back tonight.
That knowledge made it harder to resist Freddie’s offer to accompany her. She decided to wait and see how she got on at the police station, though when she agreed to be driven there in the Mercedes, it felt like her mind was made up.
Despite that, she was oddly reluctant to tell Freddie about the phone call, perhaps because she needed time to process it herself. And that couldn’t happen until after her appointment with the police.
Freddie dropped her off, and said he’d park in the nearby Asda car park. Her solicitor, Tim Allenby, was waiting on the pavement. He greeted her with a friendly nod, but his demeanour was sombre. ‘All set for this?’ he asked, gently.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Try and remember there’s still a long way to go.’ He described how he’d known clients to feel faint, or vomit, or break down at this stage, though most were just mute with shock. ‘Best thing after this is to get right away. Once you’re ready to talk, give me a ring and we’ll go through it in detail.’
Jen nodded, hoping that wouldn’t be necessary, if Gerard played it straight.
Allenby led her into the reception area. The custody suite seemed busier than last week, and their appointment time of eleven o’clock came and went. Too tense to make conversation, Jen sat with her head down, and tried to think about nothing exc
ept being reunited with Charlie.
Finally she was met by DS Howard and DC Reed, who took her through to the main room. At the counter, the custody sergeant booked her into the system, ran through the familiar questions and cautioned her again, before reading out the charges.
If she’d been told a couple of weeks ago that this would be happening, Jen might have thought her world had ended. Now, in the midst of so much drama, it felt like just another burden to carry.
She was asked if she had anything to say, and told them, ‘No.’ She was then released on bail, and informed that she would have to attend a magistrates’ court within fourteen days. If her plea was not guilty, the case would be referred to the Crown Court.
With the formalities over, DS Howard offered a neutral smile. ‘Do you have time for a quick word?’
Jen felt her stomach flip. Tuesday’s road rage incident flashed into her mind: the driver vowing to report her to the police.
She turned to Allenby, who had joined them and was frowning at the detectives. ‘A word about what?’ he enquired.
‘Russell Pearce.’ Howard looked grave. ‘We’ve found something that’s giving us concern.’
59
Allenby took in Jen’s expression, and said, ‘Perhaps I’ll come with you?’
Reed seemed to scowl, but DS Howard said he was welcome. ‘We’re hoping you can help us,’ she told Jen.
The four of them moved to an interview room. As they took their seats, Jen said, ‘I take it you haven’t found him?’
‘Not a single sighting,’ Howard admitted. ‘He’s made no contact with anybody, as far as we can tell. Hasn’t touched his bank account or tried to leave the country.’
‘That’s unusual, isn’t it?’ Allenby asked.
‘Very. With what looks to have been a spontaneous attack, you’d expect a degree of panic, and the killer’s attempts to cover his tracks would be quite rudimentary, even chaotic.’
‘Instead he’s just vanished off the face of the earth,’ said Reed. ‘Which usually means something else altogether.’
‘Suicide?’ Jen asked.
‘We haven’t ruled it out,’ Howard said, cryptically. ‘You spoke to his wife, Kelly, at about five o’clock on Sunday. Did you see Russell at any time?’
‘No. Though I suspect he was in the house.’
‘Not even a glimpse, maybe from the window?’ Reed asked.
‘Nothing at all, sorry.’
Howard: ‘So the last time you set eyes on him was, when, Friday?’
‘Yes.’ Jen glanced uneasily at Allenby. ‘Can I ask why?’
Howard pursed her lips. ‘We wanted to know if you’d noticed any kind of injury, but Friday’s probably too far back.’
Jen went to reply but Allenby coughed, and said, ‘I’m going to recommend we terminate this here, unless you can tell us the purpose of this conversation.’
The detectives exchanged a look, before Howard said, ‘The forensic examination has revealed blood spatter on the wall and floor in the hallway. It was cleaned up, quite effectively, but the traces still showed up under UV light.’
‘And it isn’t Kelly’s,’ Reed explained. ‘We’re still waiting on DNA, but the assumption is that it’s Russell’s blood.’
‘So they fought, perhaps, before he killed her?’ Allenby queried.
Howard nodded. ‘Possibly several hours before.’
Reed: ‘Which means it might not have been Kelly who inflicted the wound.’
Jen didn’t like the sound of that. Neither did her solicitor, who said, ‘If my client’s under suspicion, this is very irregular—’
‘Calm down, Tim.’ Howard gave him a tense smile. ‘It’s an informal chat, nothing more. But you can see our problem? If they fight, and Russell gets hurt, then murders Kelly in retaliation, why does he only clean up his own blood?’
‘And why clean it at all if he’s about to do a runner?’ Reed added.
‘On the other hand,’ said Howard, ‘if he’s injured, and then things calm down enough for him – or both of them – to do the cleaning, what is it that sparks the fatal attack on Kelly?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jen said. ‘I can’t explain that, either.’
DS Howard nodded. ‘Don’t worry, we’re not expecting you to have the answer.’
‘It’s got us stumped,’ Reed said. ‘We just hoped you might have seen him on Sunday afternoon.’
Again Jen shook her head, but didn’t trust herself to speak. Neither of the detectives gave any sense that they were judging her, but surely it had occurred to them – as it was now occurring to her – that Russell’s injury may have been a direct consequence of Jen turning up on the doorstep.
‘We won’t take any more of your time.’ DS Howard rose from her seat. This was the moment that Jen might have asked about her own case, but all she could think of was getting out of here and going to meet Charlie.
‘Here’s hoping you find him,’ Allenby told Howard as they were leaving the room.
‘I’m sure we will eventually – either alive or dead.’
Once outside, Allenby gripped Jen’s hand in both of his. ‘Be aware that the full shock doesn’t always hit until a few hours later. Is there somebody who can be with you today?’
Jen realised he was referring to the charges against her; she was more preoccupied with what she’d just heard about Pearce.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Good. Do you need a lift home, at least?’
‘Thanks, but my ex is waiting for me.’
‘Your ex?’ He frowned at her. ‘I thought you two were at loggerheads?’
Jen gave a shrug. ‘So did I.’
She checked her phone as she walked away. No messages, but it was nearly one in the afternoon. Dean had said he’d call at six, by which time she needed to be three hundred miles north of here.
She found the Mercedes in the bottom corner of the car park at Asda. Freddie got out to greet her, and his face fell. ‘They charged you?’
‘That was always going to happen.’
‘No, I thought Pa. . .’ He made an angry growling noise. ‘I thought for once he might do the right thing.’
‘There’s still time.’
As she moved to the passenger side, he said, ‘You’re gonna let me take you?’
He could tell she was wavering. Dean had insisted, repeatedly, that she must come alone, but that was because he feared Gerard and his associates. If Freddie could be trusted – and Jen, right now, would vouch for him – then surely that stipulation wasn’t quite so important?
There and back in a day: it would help to have another driver. . .
‘Where is it, anyway?’ he asked.
‘Cumbria. The Lakes.’
‘Oh, jeez.’ He nodded towards the fuel station. ‘We’d better fill up.’
She nodded, then abruptly dropped out of sight. Freddie yelped, thinking she’d collapsed; he came running round the car and found her examining one of the wheel arches.
‘I want to be sure there’s no tracker.’
He looked bemused, but helped her to check. While he was getting petrol, Jen tried to work out why she suddenly felt so afraid; almost on the edge of a panic attack.
The bloodstain, cleaned up with bleach. Russell Pearce missing, and Dean’s easy confidence as he said, You don’t have to worry about him. Was she exaggerating, upon recollection, the assurance she’d heard in his voice? A phrase like that was usually a platitude, not something to be analysed for a deeper meaning.
But if it wasn’t a platitude. . .
If Dean knew that she didn’t have to worry about Pearce. . .
And he had Charlie. He had Charlie.
60
Gerard struggled to concentrate on his work, when his mind wanted only to obsess, furiously, over the dangers posed by Dean, Jen, Hugo Hamilton or even by this man Stemper. What he’d envisaged as a small, tight operation had ballooned into something unwieldy and potentially explosive.
Through the mo
rning he texted Freddie a couple of times, but received only curt, grudging replies: We’re in Brighton. Jen’s with the police. Gerard was anticipating a stream of abuse when they charged her, but midday came and went without any word.
He was in the garden, smoking, when Stemper called. A friend of Dean’s had given up the information that Dean was an only child, whose mother had died when he was ten. His father, who had never remarried, lived in Carlisle.
‘Dean talked about returning to that part of the world. I’ve traced an address for the father, so Cumbria had better be my next stop – unless you have any objections?’
‘Not at all. We’re getting closer, then?’ Gerard spoke with rather more optimism than he felt. ‘Though we, er, we haven’t yet discussed what happens when you find him.’
‘I’ll be guided by you, of course.’
Gerard coughed, plagued by a tickle in his throat. ‘Yes, well, recovering my grandson, that’s a big priority. But there are a certain number of. . .’
‘Loose ends?’ Stemper supplied, helpfully.
Stemper had known it was coming. Most jobs of this nature reached a stage where the client came to understand that the ‘cleanest’ solution meant taking things further. It was at the point of no return that Stemper’s original fee was liable to multiply; on this occasion he asked for another hundred thousand.
Gerard was stunned, then outraged, then wounded. ‘I was assured of your reputation,’ he whined. ‘I wasn’t expecting someone who’d lead me in this far, then try to do me over.’
Stemper let him fall silent, and said, ‘You’re worried about blackmail. Let me put your mind at rest. I’m a wealthy man, and have zero interest in extorting money from you. There’s only one thing liable to endanger our working relationship, and that’s if I perceive my services to be insufficiently valued.’
