by Roberta Kray
Taking it through to her father’s bedroom, she sat down on the floor and tore the knot open. Carefully, she took out his clothes, his T-shirts, jeans and trainers, and laid them tidily on the bed. She collected his CDs and put them in a pile. There were no books but then he had never been a great reader. She found his mobile, a slim silver pricey model, and was instantly reminded of her father. Was there someone out there using his phone now – someone who had bought it cheap in a pub, indifferent to the fact it had probably been stolen? She shuddered at the thought of someone else’s hands around it.
Eve had almost emptied the bag when she came across the passport. Frowning, she flicked through the pages. Yes, it was Terry’s. She ran her thumb across his photograph as if she could smooth out the tiny frown between his eyes. She hadn’t even known he’d possessed a passport or that he’d ever been abroad. It had been acquired two years ago but there were no stamps inside. Still, that wasn’t proof of anything; there were plenty of places he could have travelled to. Although he’d have told her – wouldn’t he – if he’d been away? Maybe he’d never used it. She’d have to remember to ask when she saw him next.
Eve transferred all his things to an empty drawer. Now she was living with the property of three other people: her father, Terry and Martin Cavelli.
It was mid-afternoon when they dragged the second body from the river. Eddie Shepherd glared down at the sodden mess and groaned. Jesus Christ, two bodies in a day. But at least this one didn’t look suspicious. Well, no more suspicious than Peter Marshall usually looked.
Eddie had recognized the bloated features almost immediately. It didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened. A few hundred yards from the bank was the timbered frame of The King’s Head, not one of Marshall’s usual drinking haunts, but a pub all the same – and any place that sold alcohol was a draw for an old soak like him. He must have had a skinful, maybe stepped outside to clear his head and then wandered too close to the water’s edge. The ground was soft, slippery, and for a man whose sense of balance would have been less than perfect …
The body might have floated downriver if it hadn’t got caught in some mooring ropes. A nice surprise for the owner of the Mary Anne when he’d come out on deck half an hour ago and peered over the rail of his sparkling white motor launch. Still, that was Peter Marshall for you; no bloody consideration for anyone else.
Eddie turned his head and spat into the rippling grey water. It would have been cold in there, dark and deep; the chances of scrambling out, especially when you were three sheets to the wind, were pretty slim. And even if he’d shouted, no one would have heard. The pub was too far away and the owner of the boat hadn’t returned until after midnight. On a warmer evening there might have been the chance of a passer-by but last night the rain had been falling steadily.
He lit a cigarette while he waited, yet again, for Raynor to arrive. His eyes felt tired, scratchy, and his head had a fog in it. And, even worse, he knew it wasn’t over yet. He still had the onerous duty of breaking the news to Sonia Marshall. It shouldn’t exactly break her heart – if what she’d told him the last time they’d met was true – but you could never tell how people, and particularly women, would react. Unpredictable, that’s what they were. Of course, he didn’t have to do it, he could always shift the responsibility on to someone else, but he knew that he wouldn’t. However, he would take a female officer with him just in case it turned uncomfortably emotional.
Eddie glanced behind him, just in time to see Jack Raynor strolling down from the pub. He quickly threw his cigarette into the river. The last thing he needed was another lecture on the importance of ‘appearances’ or the state of his lungs.
He nodded. ‘Guv.’
Raynor emitted one of his familiar world-weary sighs. ‘Another one?’
They walked together towards the covered corpse laid out on the ground.
‘Yeah, but an accident by the looks of it. Probably had one too many and fell into the water late last night, after closing time maybe. No suspicious injuries. No one saw or heard anything.’
He was still talking, about to tell him who it was, when Raynor knelt down and slowly pulled the cover back. He reeled back suddenly, his face growing pale.
‘Jesus!’
Eddie tried not to grin. The body had only been in the water for about fifteen hours, barely time for the fishes to start nibbling. Compared to some he’d seen, it was positively pristine, but the inspector clearly didn’t feel the same way. He stood up, took a few deep breaths, and lurched unsteadily towards the water’s edge. He had the unmistakable appearance of a man who was about to throw up.
Well, everyone had their weaknesses and had it been anyone else, Eddie would have left them alone, given them some space, a chance to catch their breath, but this was an opportunity too good to miss. He had never seen anything affect Jack Raynor before. He was always so cool, so smoothly professional. Following him, he asked disingenuously, ‘Are you all right, guv?’
‘Fine,’ he croaked, with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ That he was about as far from fine as it was possible to be was obvious from the violent tremor in his voice. Eddie stared up at his face. It was white as chalk. A fine film of sweat had invaded his forehead and his mouth was hanging open.
Eddie took a step back. It had been his intention to exploit the situation – Jack Raynor was hardly his favourite person – but now he was having second thoughts. Death was a part of the job and they all had to deal with it. But they all had their personal horrors too. It was enough, perhaps, to know his weakness without rubbing his nose in it.
‘I’ll tell them they can move the body.’
It occurred to him, as he walked away, that it hadn’t been so long since Alex Weston had been pulled from the same stretch of water. He and Peter Marshall were two men who must have known each other, who had once lived not just in the same building but right across the hall from each other. And Eddie had suspected Marshall of breaking into Weston’s flat. Now they were both dead, both drowned, and in almost the same place. But there had been nothing suspicious about Alex Weston’s death either. On the contrary, it couldn’t have been more straightforward; he had walked into the river with his bones full of cancer and his pockets full of stones.
Just a coincidence?
It had to be.
Except Eddie didn’t like coincidence, never had and never would.
Chapter Nineteen
Eve was driving back from the south side of the city. It was almost seven but the roads were still busy. A car had just cut her up but she’d refrained from giving her usual response. Instead, she rapped her fingers against the wheel and cursed softly under her breath. She’d had a couple of glasses of wine and although she hoped she was still under the limit, she couldn’t be entirely sure.
Best not to draw attention to herself.
The second knock on her door had come an hour after Vince had left. She’d opened it to find Sonia standing there.
‘He’s dead,’ she said.
Eve had stared back at her, bewildered. Sonia’s face was bleached white, her eyes wide, and for one crazy moment Eve had thought she was talking about her father, that she was suffering from some weird kind of delayed reaction. It was only as she shifted her gaze to acknowledge the two people standing behind her – a man and a woman, clearly a pair of cops although only the woman was in uniform – that she’d realized who Sonia was actually referring to.
‘God, Peter?’ she murmured.
‘He’s dead,’ Sonia said again. ‘He—’
The tall brown-haired woman moved forward. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid there was an accident.’
Eve gently pulled Sonia inside. She raised a hand to stop the other two from following. ‘It’s okay. Thanks. I’ll take it from here. I’ll take care of her.’
Had she taken care of her? She had tried. She had put her arms around her, had given her the last of the brandy, but there were n
o suitable words to say, nothing to do that could change what had happened. And for all the hate Sonia had felt towards him – and Christ, that man had made her life a misery – there was no getting away from the fact that he would always be the father of her child.
Eve had just dropped Sonia off at her daughter Val’s house. She was feeling strange herself, a bit disoriented. Perhaps it was the way Peter Marshall had died that she was finding so hard to come to terms with. The river, that bloody river. First it had claimed her father’s life and now …
She started thinking about the note she had rescued from her jeans pocket. Miraculously, or perhaps simply because she had folded it into such a tiny square, the code had survived. It was pale, washed out, but still legible. This time she had tried to memorize the sequence – W1/267/32/BC/8PR – before refolding it and placing it safely in the toe of her winter boots.
But what did it mean?
Taking a left turn, she twisted round the quieter back streets. If W1 was Soho, then what could the rest refer to? Or maybe it wasn’t Soho at all. She shook her head. There was every chance she’d never find out the answer. If it was some kind of cryptic clue, she hadn’t got the brainpower to solve it.
And there was another question she was asking herself too. Why, oh why, had she agreed to meet Jack Raynor tonight? He’d called shortly after Vince had left and for some bizarre reason, although her head was busy saying no, her mouth had mutinied and uttered the word ‘Yes’ instead. Now she was regretting it.
She had tried to get in touch with him, to make her excuses, but his phone was turned off. She could have left a message but, as much as she didn’t want to see him, she did want to talk to someone. And she was worried that if she went home, if she finished that bottle of wine, she might be tempted to ring Patrick. And that was a road she really shouldn’t be walking down again.
She pulled into the small car park by the side of The Drifting Swan. They weren’t due to meet until seven thirty. She glanced down at her watch. Another fifteen minutes to wait.
Eve had not intended to stay for long but it seemed Jack Raynor was in even more need of company than herself. If her day had been less than appealing, his had been positively dire. As he sat across the table from her, he looked tired and crumpled, not quite his usual sartorial self.
‘I don’t know how you do your job,’ she said.
His mouth staggered towards a smile. ‘What, nicking criminals? Oh, it’s not so bad. There are worse ways to make a living.’
She lifted her eyebrows, wondering – and not for the first time – just how much he suspected about her own past. Did he trust her? Did she trust him? ‘You know what I mean. Having to deal with …’ She shrugged, picked up the bottle of wine, and emptied the last of it into his glass.
‘Bodies?’ he said, finishing her sentence. ‘I’d like to claim you get used to it but you don’t. You just find a way of coping.’
It struck Eve that his coping mechanism had developed something of a glitch. He looked like a man who had been to hell and back. But then two corpses in one day was probably enough to challenge anyone’s self-possession.
‘Did you know him?’ she asked. ‘Peter Marshall?’
As if the question was a complicated one, he hesitated for a moment. ‘Not really.’ Then he took another sip of his drink and added, ‘Only vaguely. We’ve picked him up a few times in the past, just for petty stuff, nothing serious.’ He paused again. ‘And you?’
‘No, we never met. He moved out a while back. Sonia’s upset but I think it’s more shock than anything else. From all accounts, he wasn’t the nicest bloke in the world.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not that she’d have wanted—’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I know what you mean.’
She glanced at her watch. It was twenty to nine. There was no chance now of driving home; she’d have to leave the car and pick it up in the morning.
Jack noticed her looking. ‘Sorry, do you want to get home? I get the feeling I might have been boring you for long enough. I’m not exactly great date material tonight.’
‘Are you ever?’ she said, grinning.
He laughed. ‘Thanks.’
‘It’s a pleasure.’ And she might have been joking but she wasn’t lying. It was a pleasure to see that amazing smile again. For all her reservations, she was finding it increasingly hard to come to terms with her instinctive attraction to him. ‘Anyway, I’ve not had the greatest day either and I haven’t even begun to bore you with my trials and tribulations. I was just thinking that maybe we should order a few plates of food, try and soak up some of this wine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Unless you’re looking for an excuse to escape?’
He widened his pretty blue eyes in mock astonishment. ‘What, and miss out on the story of all your woes?’
‘It would be a pity,’ she agreed.
Neither of them had eaten much but at least there was something in their stomachs. And Jack, perhaps glad of the opportunity to stop thinking about his own problems, seemed to have rallied a little. She told him about Vince’s visit in the afternoon, about how Lesley was determined to cut Terry out of her life.
‘I know he’s been in trouble, that he’s hardly the perfect son, but—’
‘Maybe there’s more to it,’ he suggested.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that there may be more to her decision than the fact he’s serving a prison sentence.’
She stared at him, frowning. ‘What are you saying?’ Suddenly, she was recalling those comments Lesley had made when she’d gone to see her. You don’t understand. You have no idea … ‘Do you know something I don’t?’
The tone of her voice must have startled him because he drew back and raised his hands defensively. ‘Hey, no, not at all. I promise. I wasn’t suggesting … Sure, he’s been in trouble with the police before but never for anything too serious. All I meant was that every family has its own difficulties, that maybe it’s a crisis that’s been building up over time. From what you’ve told me, they were never that close.’
Eve expelled her breath in a low frustrated sigh. What was the matter with her, jumping down his throat like that? Too much wine, probably. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. And you’re right, the two of them have never had the best of relationships. I guess Terry going to jail was just the final straw.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much. He’ll be out in a few months. Perhaps they can start to build some bridges then.’
‘It’s a nice idea but I wouldn’t count on it.’
‘Was he close to your father?’ he asked.
And she wished, really wished, that she could say yes, that the tragedy of his cancer might excuse, or at least begin to explain, how Terry had managed to get involved with a pair of vicious thugs like the Rowan brothers. But she didn’t have the heart to lie about it. ‘Not very.’ She picked up her glass and took a sip of wine. ‘Well, they had their ups and downs. The thing about my father …’ She paused, her eyes slowly focusing on the glass ashtray sitting on the side of the table. The nicotine devil was whispering in her ear. ‘Look, would you mind if I had a smoke? I know it’s a vile habit and I’m really trying to knock it on the head but …’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s fine. Go ahead.’
She quickly got the new pack out of her bag, ripped off the cellophane and placed a cigarette gratefully between her lips. As she took out her lighter, he reached across and took it from her fingers.
‘Allow me.’
Their hands met briefly, a fleeting touch, as the flame ignited. ‘Thanks.’ She took a deep breath, a grateful inhalation, turned her head and blew the smoke out as far away from him as possible.
Instead of moving back, he lingered for a few seconds. She was overly aware of his proximity, of his face still only inches from hers. She felt his eyes searching but preferred not to meet them. Instead, she glanced around the bar, looking at the tables, at the couples surrou
nding them. And she found herself launched into the past again, if only to a short time ago, to that moment she was last in the prison visiting room with Cavelli. She had looked over at Amber and Dan and seen them leaning close together, talking, touching, kissing. She had seen their intimacy and envied it. She knew what it meant to be in love, to be oblivious to everything else, and …
‘You were saying,’ he prompted, ‘about your father …’
She looked back at him. ‘Yes. Sorry.’ Dragging herself into the present, she shook her head and smiled. ‘The thing about my father is that he was always good at the grand gestures, the big surprises, but not so great at the mundane day-to-day stuff. He wasn’t the kind of dad who’d ever be standing at the school gates or offering to help with your homework. He struggled with the basics.’
‘But you were close to him.’
‘Yes, but that was different. I was more like him, we understood each other, but he and Terry …’
‘They didn’t get on?’
She took another drag on her cigarette. ‘No. Sometimes. I don’t know. It was more complicated for them, because of Lesley, because of all that other angry adult stuff. When I was growing up it was just the two of us, until I was thirteen, just me and him – but it was different for Terry. He was always in the middle of a war zone.’ She picked up her glass. ‘Not that there’s ever a good divorce but theirs was definitely less than friendly.’
A waitress stopped by their table and gathered up the empty plates. ‘Would you like anything else?’
Eve shook her head. ‘No thanks.’
‘Coffee?’ Jack suggested. ‘They do a great cappuccino here.’
‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Just the bill then,’ he said.
By the time the taxi pulled up outside the flats, Eve still hadn’t decided what she was going to do. Say goodbye? Invite him in? It wasn’t late, barely ten, but they were both a little drunker than they should have been.
She turned to him. ‘You’re welcome to come in, have a coffee, so long as you don’t think …’
