Shepherd had driven down from Manchester in his own car, a dark green Honda CRV. He’d left the Volvo in the car park below the city-centre loft where his alter ego Tony Nelson lived. Once the operation was over and he had Angie on tape, the surveillance equipment would be removed and the Volvo would go back into the police pool with new licence plates and registration details.
On the back seat of the CRV a carrier-bag contained two PlayStation cartridges that he’d bought in a toy shop in Manchester. He’d spent the best part of an hour there but hadn’t been able to think of anything else to buy his son. He climbed out, walked to the front door and rang the bell. He saw a blurred figure through the frosted glass, then Moira opened the door, smiling brightly. As always, her makeup was immaculate. ‘Daniel, you made it,’ she said.
Shepherd smiled back and forced himself to ignore the implied criticism. He felt bad enough that he had had to cancel his last two visits at short notice without his mother-in-law reminding him of his shortcomings.
Moira was the only person who used his full name. She always had, ever since they’d first met. He’d asked her to call him Dan but she’d paid no attention and Daniel he had remained. Friends and colleagues alike used Dan or his army nickname, Spider.
‘Liam’s in the garden,’ she said.
‘How is he?’
‘Fine.’
‘He sleeping okay?’
‘Daniel, he’s fine. Really. Can I get you a cup of tea?’
Shepherd declined her offer and went through the kitchen into the garden. Liam was kicking a football against a low brick wall. His face broke into a grin as he saw his father walking across the lawn. ‘Dad!’ he yelled, and rushed over, grabbed him round the waist and hugged him hard. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d really come.’
‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ said Shepherd, but he felt guilty. He never deliberately set out to let his son down, but the nature of his work meant that he rarely knew what he’d be doing or where he’d be from one week to the next. He gave his son the carrier-bag. ‘I got you these,’ he said.
Liam let out a whoop as he saw the PlayStation cartridges. Then his face fell. ‘Gran doesn’t let me play video games,’ he said.
‘Never?’
‘An hour a day,’ said Liam, grimly.
‘That sounds reasonable,’ said Shepherd.
‘Mum always let me play as long as I wanted.’
‘No, she didn’t, and you know it,’ said Shepherd. ‘She said it was bad for your eyes.’
‘Can I play them now?’
‘Let’s go to the park for a kickabout.’
Liam picked up his ball and they went back into the kitchen. Moira was standing by the kettle, waiting for it to boil. ‘I’ve got cake,’ she said.
‘Liam and I are off to the park. We won’t be long,’ said Shepherd.
For a moment she looked as if she was going to protest, but then she forced a smile.
The park was a five-minute walk from the house. Liam bounced the ball as they walked.
‘So, are you okay?’ asked Shepherd.
Liam shrugged.
‘You know your gran and granddad love you, right?’
Another shrug.
‘And the school here is okay, right?’Tom and Moira had arranged for Liam to attend the local school until Shepherd had things sorted in London.
‘It’s okay.’
‘It’s not for ever.’
Liam was clutching the ball to his chest. ‘Are you sure?’
Shepherd stopped walking, put his hands on his son’s shoulders, then knelt down in front of him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Are you dumping me?’ He was close to tears.
‘Dumping you?’
‘With Gran and Granddad.’
‘Of course not.’
‘They say I can stay with them for ever.’
‘They’re just being nice.’
‘They keep saying it’s my room. But it’s not my room. My room’s in our house, isn’t it?’ His lower lip trembled.
‘No question about that.’ Shepherd ruffled his son’s hair.
‘Why aren’t I living with you?’
The question’s blunt simplicity was like a knife in Shepherd’s chest. He pulled Liam into his arms and buried his face in the boy’s neck. Liam dropped the football. ‘You’ll come home soon, I promise.’
‘I miss you, Dad.’
‘I miss you, too.’
‘Why aren’t I living with you?’
‘Because I’ve got to find someone to take care of us.’
‘I can take care of us,’ said Liam earnestly.
‘There’s a lot to do, Liam. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping. I’ve got work, you’ve got school. We need someone to do that sort of thing for us.’
‘Like a maid?’
‘Yeah. An au pair they call them. She’ll take care of the house and us.’
‘Like Mum used to do?’
‘Yeah.’
‘But she won’t be my mum, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Because I don’t want a new mum.’
‘I know.’
‘I keep dreaming about her.’
‘Me too.’
Liam sniffed. ‘Where’s my ball?’
Shepherd released the child and looked around. The ball had rolled into the gutter. He retrieved it and gave it to his son. They walked in silence to the park. Shepherd didn’t know what to say to him. Yes, he wanted him back in London, but there was no way he could take care of Liam and carry on working without domestic help. Liam was only eight, too young to be a latch-key kid, and public transport where they lived was so unreliable that he’d have to be driven to and from school every day. There was no way Shepherd could make that sort of commitment while he worked for Hargrove.
There was a football pitch at the park and they wandered over to the closest set of goalposts, passing the ball back and forth between them. Shepherd stood in the goalmouth and Liam took penalty shots but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. There was no power in any of his kicks and he didn’t seem to care whether he got the ball past his father or not.
Shepherd tossed the ball back to his son. ‘Give it some stick, Liam.’
Liam placed the ball on the penalty spot, took a few steps back, then tapped it towards him. The ball rolled across the ground and stopped at Shepherd’s feet. ‘That’s terrible.’ Shepherd laughed. ‘The worst shot I’ve ever seen.’
‘This is stupid,’ said Liam.
‘What’s stupid?’
‘This.’
‘Football? You like football.’ Shepherd picked up the ball and threw it back to the boy.
Liam caught it and held it to his chest. ‘You don’t really want to play.’
‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to play with you,’ said Shepherd.
‘Remember when you were in prison?’ asked Liam.
‘Sure.’ Shepherd had been working undercover on the remand wing of HMP Shelton, trying to get close to a major drugs importer who was sabotaging the case against him from behind bars. Sue had brought Liam to visit him. It was against all the rules, but Shepherd had needed to see them both.
‘Well, that’s what this is like,’ said Liam. ‘It’s like I’m in prison and you’re visiting me. And once visiting time’s over you’ll go and I’ll be here on my own.’
‘You’re not on your own. You’re with your gran and granddad.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Liam. ‘You don’t want me.’
‘Liam!’ protested Shepherd.
‘It’s true! You never wanted me!’ Liam dropped the ball and ran away.
‘Liam, come here!’ Shepherd shouted. One of his mobile phones rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. ‘Liam, wait for me!’ It was the Tony Nelson phone. The caller had blocked their number. ‘Liam, God damn it, stay where you are!’ Shepherd yelled.
Liam stopped and turned to look at him. Tears were running down his cheeks. Shepherd pointed a warning f
inger at him, then pressed the button to accept the call. It was a woman.‘Is that Tony Nelson?’
‘Yeah,’ said Shepherd.
‘Larry said I should call you.’
‘He told me I might be able to help you,’ said Shepherd. ‘What do you want?’
‘I think you know,’ she said.
‘I hope you’re not a time-waster.’
‘It’s just difficult. On the phone.’
‘Do you want to meet?’
Liam stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Shepherd. ‘Dad!’ he shouted.
Shepherd pointed at him, then pressed a finger to his own lips, telling him to be quiet.
‘I think so,’ she said.
‘You’re Angie, right?’
She caught her breath. ‘Larry told you my name?’
‘Just that you were Angie, that’s all. Look, Angie, you called me so that means you’ve already put a lot of thought into this. If we’re going to go through with it there are things to discuss and that’s best done face to face.’
‘I’m not stupid,’ said the woman.
‘I’m not saying you are,’ said Shepherd, ‘but this is outside your normal experience so you’re anxious. I understand that. But I can’t afford to have my time wasted so you have to decide if you want to move forward or forget the whole thing. And to move forward, we have to meet.’
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘So, do you need my help or not?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘I hate you!’ Liam shouted. He turned and ran across the playing-field in the direction of Tom and Moira’s house.
‘Where are you?’ asked Angie, suddenly suspicious.
‘In a park. There are kids here but no one’s listening.’
‘Who was that shouting?’
‘Just a kid. Where do you live?’
She didn’t reply.
‘Are you there?’ asked Shepherd, wondering if he’d lost the connection. Liam left the playing-field and ran along the pavement, arms pumping furiously. Shepherd wanted to run after him but he knew that if he spooked Angie there was a good chance she wouldn’t call back. It was like reeling in a fish: he had to keep just the right amount of tension on the line. Any hint that there was a problem and he’d lose her. He forced himself to ignore Liam and concentrate on the voice at the end of the line.
‘I’m here. I just don’t like you knowing too much about me.’
‘If I don’t know where you are, I’m not going to be able to help you, am I?’
‘I guess not.’
‘So tell me where you are and we’ll arrange a meeting.’
He heard her take a deep breath. ‘You know Piccadilly Gardens?’
‘Of course.’ It was the square in the city centre, terminus for the city’s tram system.
‘We’ll meet there. This evening. Five o’clock.’
‘It’s too crowded,’ he said. ‘Too many people.’ He looked at his watch. It was eleven thirty. Plenty of time to drive back to Manchester.
‘I want there to be people around,’ she said. ‘Safety in numbers.’
‘Look,Angie, this is my field of expertise. We need a place where we can talk. Piccadilly Gardens will be mobbed.’
‘That’s why it’ll be safe. No one will pay us any attention.’
Shepherd cursed under his breath. He wanted her in his car so that he could record their conversation. If they were in a square filled with trams, daytrippers and shoppers, he’d have to wear a wire, and personal wires were unreliable at the best of times. But if he pressed the point too far she’d get suspicious.
‘It’s my way or we forget the whole thing,’ she said, more confidence in her voice.
‘Okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘Piccadilly Gardens, five o’clock. How will I recognise you?’
‘You won’t,’ she said. ‘I want to take a good look at you first.’
‘What are you worried about, Angie? Didn’t your friend vouch for me?’
‘Larry thinks the sun shines out of your arse, but I want to see who I’m dealing with.’
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll be wearing a black leather jacket, grey pullover, black jeans, and carrying a copy of the Financial Times.’
‘This is like a blind date, isn’t it?’
‘Not really,’ said Shepherd, coldly. He had to stay in character and Tony Nelson didn’t flirt, didn’t joke, didn’t make small-talk. He was a stone-cold professional killer. ‘I’ll be by the fountain at five on the dot. If you haven’t contacted me by ten past, I’m out of there.’
‘I understand, Mr Nelson. And, believe me, I’m not wasting your time.’
She cut the connection and Shepherd put the phone back into his pocket. ‘Game on,’ he muttered. He picked up Liam’s football and headed for Tom and Moira’s house.
Moira was waiting for him at the door. ‘Daniel, what on earth happened?’
‘Nothing,’ said Shepherd.
‘Liam came back crying his eyes out.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Shepherd, squeezing past her.
‘In his room.’
Shepherd went upstairs, carrying the football, and knocked on Liam’s door. When there was no reply he tried to open it, but it was locked. ‘Let me in, Liam.’
‘Go away.’
‘Please, Liam, I want to talk to you.’ Shepherd pressed his ear to the door.
‘Go away.’
‘Look, I have to go back to Manchester.’
‘So go.’
‘It’s work.’
‘I don’t care.’
Shepherd sighed. He looked at his watch again. ‘I’ve got time for a coffee. Or we could have a go on the PlayStation.’
Moira came up the stairs. ‘Daniel, maybe you should leave him be for a while,’ she said quietly.
‘He’s my son, Moira,’ said Shepherd. ‘I know how to handle him.’
‘Do you?’ said Moira archly. ‘Well if that’s the case, why’s he in there with the door locked, sobbing his eyes out?’
Shepherd glared at her, then turned back to the door. He knocked on it gently. ‘Come on, Liam. Let’s not be silly. I don’t have long.’
‘I hate you. I just want you to leave me alone.’
‘Daniel . . .’ said Moira.
Shepherd ignored her. ‘I didn’t want to answer the phone, but it was important. I had to take the call. I wanted to talk to you, but this person might not have called back and it was important.’
There was no answer from Liam, but Shepherd heard a sniff.
‘Liam, I love you more than anything. I’m sorry if I’m a bad father at the moment but I’ve a lot on my plate and this is all new territory for me.’
Shepherd put his ear against the door but Liam didn’t say anything. ‘I’ll count to ten, okay? Then you can come out and we’ll be friends again.’
Moira went back downstairs. Shepherd was ashamed at the way he’d spoken to her, but there were times when his mother-in-law’s holier-than-thou attitude got on his nerves. She meant well, but she hadn’t worked since the day she’d married Tom, and the grand total of her life experience came down to her suburban friends, a weekly game of bridge and an annual holiday to either France, Spain or Italy. She had no idea of what Shepherd’s life was like or the pressures he was under. Yes, he wanted to be a good father. Yes, he wanted to do the right thing by his son. But it was easy for her: she had Tom, his bank manager’s salary and an index-linked pension a few years away. Shepherd had a job to do, a living to earn, and a woman in Manchester who wanted her husband dead.
Shepherd started counting. When he got to five he tapped on the door in time with the numbers. ‘Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.’ Shepherd took a deep breath.‘Liam?’The door was so flimsy he could have knocked it down with one kick. ‘Liam, please. At least give me a hug before I go.’ He rested his forehead against the door and sighed. ‘Okay. Look, I have to go, but I’ll phone you this evening. I promise.’
Shepherd started down
stairs but he had only gone a few steps when the bedroom door opened. Liam stood on the landing, his cheeks wet. Shepherd rushed back upstairs, bent down and picked up his son. ‘I’m sorry I’m such a rubbish father,’ he said.
‘It’s okay,’ said Liam.
‘I’m trying, I really am. Bear with me, until I get things sorted.’
‘I just want to be with you, Dad.’
‘I know you do.’ He kissed Liam, then sniffed his hair. ‘You need a bath,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘And wash behind your ears.’
‘I always do.’
Shepherd lowered his boy to the floor. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Cross your heart?’
Shepherd solemnly crossed his heart.
‘And you’ll phone tonight before I go to sleep?’
Shepherd crossed his heart again. Liam nodded, satisfied. Shepherd went downstairs.
Moira was in the kitchen, filling an earthenware teapot. ‘Have you got time for tea, at least?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got to go, Moira. I’m sorry I snapped.’
‘You didn’t, Daniel. You just told an interfering old woman to mind her own business. Nothing wrong with that.’ She finished pouring water into the teapot and replaced the lid.
She wanted to be mollified, Shepherd could tell. Self-criticism was one of the overused weapons in Moira’s extensive psychological armoury. ‘You’re not interfering, and I know you’ve only got his best interests at heart,’ he said.
‘We all have,’ said Moira. She began wiping down the worktop, even though it was spotless. ‘He’s been through a lot and what he needs now, more than anything, is stability.’
‘I’m getting there,’ said Shepherd.
Moira opened her mouth, then evidently decided not to say anything. She carried on wiping.
‘I’ll phone tonight from Manchester,’ he said.
‘What’s happening up there?’
‘Just a job. It should be over this afternoon, then I’ll be back in London.’
‘What about Sue’s things? I could come down one weekend. Help you sort out the clothing and shoes. There are charity shops that will take them.’
Soft Target: The Second Spider Shepherd Thriller (A Dan Shepherd Mystery) Page 4
