Blood Falls

by Tom Bale

  Diana looked pained. ‘Helen always said you were addicted to risk. She told me once that she had a recurring dream where you were killed in the line of duty. But I expect you just laughed that off, the way Roy did when I used to worry about him?’

  Ruefully, Joe nodded. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to regret it since, believe me.’

  He continued with the story: how the lack of contact meant he was unable to contribute vital intelligence to the team responsible for foiling the robbery. As a result, the operation ended in disaster.

  ‘One police officer killed, two more badly wounded. Four of the gang died, including the son of the gang’s leader.’

  He paused again. Diana said, ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to say who they are.’

  ‘No, but I think I should. The gang was led by Doug Morton.’

  Ten

  UNTIL THE MOMENT he uttered Morton’s name, Joe hadn’t been completely sure if he was going to tell her. Once he had told her, he wasn’t completely sure if it had been the right thing to do.

  Diana put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God. I remember it on the news. And Roy knew of him, from way back. Said he was a monster …’

  ‘The whole family are monsters. Doug Morton went to prison but made it known there was a price on my head. I was offered a new identity, then languished in a safe house for months while they carried out an internal investigation. Finally they told me I wouldn’t face prosecution, but I was no longer welcome to remain in the police service.’

  ‘Oh, Joe.’ Diana stared at him, unable to take it in. ‘Helen must have been devastated. I wish I’d known. There might have been some way I could have helped …’

  ‘Helen really withdrew into herself at that point. Because I’d killed Doug Morton’s son, it was fair to assume that our own kids might be a target.’

  ‘But they’re safe, aren’t they?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  Now she looked puzzled. From the hallway, a phone began to ring. Diana flinched, but her attention remained with Joe.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Helen was also given a new identity. She and the girls moved away to set up a brand-new life. I wasn’t part of the deal.’

  ‘What? Was that your choice?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  The phone went on ringing. ‘I’ll let it go to answerphone,’ Diana said, shaking her head. ‘Your beautiful little girls. How on earth could you live without them?’

  The question stung Joe more deeply than he would have thought possible. He sat back in his chair, clearing his throat into a sudden heavy silence as the phone stopped ringing.

  ‘Helen insisted that I wasn’t to know where they were going. After putting their lives in danger, I couldn’t blame her.’

  ‘And you’ve seen nothing of them for four years?’ Diana winced. ‘I must admit, I was hurt when you both seemed to break off contact. With Helen, I wondered if it was … well, if maybe she’d heard rumours or something …’ Blushing, she stared at her lap.

  ‘I don’t think so. It was one kiss at a party. And no one saw us.’

  ‘No, you’re right.’ A brisk nod: eager to move on. ‘But you must feel such bitterness, knowing your daughters are growing up without you?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Joe agreed. ‘Bitterness. Anger. Self-pity. You name it, there’s not a negative emotion I haven’t felt. But for all that, I still think it was the right thing for Helen to do. And after what happened today,’ he added heavily, ‘I believe that more than ever.’

  There was a buzzing sound from one of the kitchen units. A mobile phone skittered across the polished worktop.

  ‘Somebody’s keen to reach you.’

  Diana looked fretful. ‘I’d better take it. Sorry.’

  Joe waved away her apology and took a gulp of coffee. It was lukewarm. ‘Do you mind if I get us another?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine, but help yourself.’

  He followed her across the room. Diana picked up her mobile, checked the display and gave an audible sigh. She answered with a soft ‘Hello’ and wandered out to the dining room. A tiny click as the door was discreetly shut.

  Joe tipped the dregs of the coffee into the sink, rinsed his mug and poured a fresh cup from the jug on the hotplate. He added milk and sugar and then, instead of returning to the table, he crept over to the dining-room door and listened. Gradually the murmur of Diana’s voice coalesced into words he could understand.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ she was saying, quietly insistent. ‘Ancient history.’

  She laughed, and Joe frowned, not wanting to jump to conclusions. There was a longer pause, then: ‘That’s silly, there’s no need. Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow …’ Another laugh. ‘You too. Now bog off.’

  Joe just made it back to the table as Diana came in. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. I’m the one who’s come here and disrupted your life.’

  ‘It’s not that bad.’ Then she registered his grave expression. ‘What?’

  ‘There’s another reason why I felt I had to confide in you.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was a policeman’s widow: it didn’t take her long to guess. ‘Doug Morton?’

  ‘As I said, he wants vengeance for the death of his son, Gary. Doug’s still in prison, but he has another son, Danny. Gary was like his dad, vicious but relatively straightforward. Danny Morton is a stone-cold psychopath.’

  ‘And he’s coming after you?’

  ‘He tracked me down today, in Bristol. I only just got away.’

  ‘But he didn’t follow you here?’ There was concern in Diana’s voice, but not panic.

  ‘No, I’m certain of that. Nobody else knows I’m in Trelennan, either, and I intend to keep it that way. But it’s only fair that I tell you. If you want me to leave, just say so.’

  Joe didn’t think she would turn him away, although there was a moment when she seemed to consider it, perhaps for reasons that had nothing to do with Danny Morton. He thought about the call he’d eavesdropped on; the way she’d blushed while referring to that foolish lapse at Roy’s retirement party.

  Then she smiled and said, ‘Of course I’m not going to chuck you out. After a sob story like that?’

  ‘Thanks. By the way, I’m Joe Carter now, not Joe Clayton. That’s very important.’

  ‘Of course.’ Diana slapped her palms on the table and stood up. ‘All right, Mr Carter. I expect you’d like to clean up?’

  She gave him a room on the top floor, where the roof space had been converted into three additional bedrooms. Joe’s was at the northern corner of the house, a cosy attic room with sloping ceilings and a single dormer window, covered by a Roman blind.

  ‘It’s nice and private for you up here. The bathroom’s not en suite, but it’s right next door.’

  ‘Believe me, this is the height of luxury compared with some of the places I’ve stayed.’

  After showing him the bathroom, she fetched fresh towels and flannels from a cupboard at the end of the narrow landing. He told her he’d probably take a long bath and then go to bed.

  ‘Diana, I can’t thank you enough for this. And I really hope it hasn’t caused you any problems.’

  It was the closest he dared get to the subject, but Diana blithely dismissed his concerns. ‘Oh, I was just being silly earlier. I think it was the shock of seeing you.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t want to be a nuisance. If there’s anything I can do to help you during my stay, you only have to ask.’

  ‘Thank you. I will.’

  Lying in a bath of almost scalding water, the reality of his new predicament enveloped Joe like steam. He knew nothing with certainty: how they had found him, who they had spoken to; whether other people had suffered as a result of their search.

  Most alarming of all, he had no idea whether Helen and the girls were safe.

  That thought nagged at him like a toothache. He knew it wouldn’t go away until he’d found the answer. But he was taking a risk ever
y time he talked to Maz, and now that risk itself had to be reappraised.

  He chased his concerns in pointless circles while the water grew cold and began to settle like slime against his skin. It wasn’t until his chin slipped beneath the surface and he jerked upright that Joe realised he’d begun to doze.

  He pulled the plug, wrenched himself to his feet and ran the shower for thirty seconds to rinse off. He wrapped up in a towel and opened the bathroom door to find a dressing gown and a pair of old-fashioned pyjamas, folded neatly on the floor. On top of them lay a toothbrush, toothpaste and a unisex deodorant.

  In the bedroom, Diana had left him a pair of jogging pants and a couple of plain white T-shirts: medium size, which might be tight across the shoulders, but they would do for now. He’d rinsed out his underwear in the bathroom sink and hung it to dry on the radiator. Tomorrow he’d have to sort out some new clothes.

  After turning off the light, he stood at the window and lifted the blind. He could faintly distinguish the shape of the buildings that sat below him on the hill. As before, he had a sense of the sea as no more than a brooding space beneath the sky. A void.

  The rain was coursing down the glass, but he wanted fresh air. He opened the window an inch or so, waiting a moment to make sure it wouldn’t let too much water in.

  As he climbed into bed, an image of Danny Morton came to him: the fury and disbelief on his face as Joe had slipped from his grasp.

  He won’t give up, Joe thought. After today he’ll be even more determined to get his revenge.

  But, for now, he was safe. Joe shut his eyes and told himself he’d been lucky today and he would be lucky again: that the next time he and Danny Morton came face to face, it would be on Joe’s terms.

  Eleven

  A PHONE CALL at midnight. Diana was in bed, the mobile gently gripped in her hand, knowing that he would ring. She had nothing to say, but better this than have him come hammering on the door.

  ‘You in bed?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Her voice sleepy, hoping this would keep the conversation brief.

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘He’s good-looking, that’s what I hear.’ And when she didn’t rise to it: ‘But not as good-looking as me?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘He’s staying over?’

  ‘Just a couple of days.’

  ‘Even a couple isn’t great, Di. Not right now.’

  ‘It won’t make any difference.’

  ‘Who’s to say? It’s my livelihood at stake.’

  ‘It was my decision to take him in. Do you think Leon’s going to hold it against you?’

  Silence. So that meant the answer was probably yes.

  ‘Come on, love, I don’t want to take the chance. If he hears about this and I’m not up to speed … well, you know how it’ll look.’

  ‘I can’t throw him out now, Glenn. And I won’t do it just to keep Leon sweet.’

  A soft tutting in her ear. ‘You know, you should be more careful what you say.’

  ‘Glenn, it’s late and I’m tired.’ Diana could hear the breathlessness of panic in her voice. ‘Can we discuss this tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, we’re going to. I want to know everything about him.’

  ‘I told you, it’s been years since Joe left the force.’

  ‘He’ll still have a cop’s instincts. In Leon’s eyes, that makes him trouble. Just like your Roy, eh?’

  ‘Stop it. You don’t have to say that.’

  ‘Sometimes you need reminding. Without me, you’re only a copper’s widow. And in this town that’s not a good thing to be, is it?’

  Alone in the dark, Diana shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know you are, sweetheart. And I am, too. I don’t mean to sound so harsh.’

  She heard him blow a kiss and she blew one in return, trying not to feel ridiculous. Then she put the phone down and lay back on the pillow, and only then did she realise there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered again, to the silent room. ‘I’m so sorry, Roy.’

  Twelve

  THE CRY OF seagulls woke him, dissolving a dream that left no clear images. For a moment Joe was a child again, waking on the first morning of a holiday at the seaside: Paignton, or Weymouth, or Cromer. That sound represented optimism and joy: swimming and sandcastles and ice cream and, for one glorious week, his parents saying yes more often than they said no.

  He opened his eyes, blinked a few times, took in his surroundings and reconsidered the optimism and joy. He was thirty-eight, living under a false identity and on the run from people who wanted to kill him. No one’s idea of a holiday.

  And yet, somehow, that knowledge didn’t feel quite as oppressive as it had last night. Perhaps it was the tang of salt in the air, wafting through the open window. Just knowing he was by the coast seemed to lift his spirits.

  Opening the blind, Joe was greeted by a fine view of sea and sky, framed by a patchwork quilt of rooftops and chimneys in rain-washed reds and greys. He opened the window wide and leaned out. The air was cool and delicious. He could hear the slow drip of water in gutters, the distant wash of the sea against the shore. The sky was streaked with blue and grey cloud, glowing softly as if lit from below. The departing rain was no more than a yellowy haze on the horizon.

  He thought about Ryan, how he’d have welcomed the dry weather to finish the house in Clifton Village. Joe realised how much he was going to miss working with the young entrepreneur.

  On the subject of work, and the lack of it, he counted his money. Just over fifty-five pounds left. That wasn’t going to last him long.

  He used the bathroom, and was glad to find his underwear had dried on the radiator. He dressed in his own jeans and one of the T-shirts that Diana had loaned him, then went out on the landing. It was seven-thirty: not too early to get up.

  As he descended the stairs he heard activity from below. A conversation between a man and a woman.

  Last night Diana had briefly described the accommodation on the first floor. There were four guest bedrooms, two of them en suite. Diana’s own bedroom and bathroom were at the end of the corridor, separated by a glazed partition and a door marked ‘Private’.

  A window on the landing looked out over the front garden. When Joe checked it he found a dark blue Toyota Hilux on the drive, slewed across three parking bays. Just beyond it, a young man in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt was idly kicking at a clump of pampas grass while he smoked a cigarette.

  After a few seconds he turned and squinted at the house. His face was thin and surly, instinctively hostile. The man made eye contact with Joe, then turned and spat ostentatiously into the flower bed. Joe had no doubt it was done for his benefit.

  A moment later a door closed somewhere downstairs, and Diana’s early-morning visitor strode into view from the side of the house. He was a good twenty years older than his associate: early forties, tall and stocky with a hard, chiselled face. He wore a well-cut grey suit, collarless shirt and brown leather shoes. His thick black hair was slightly unkempt, and just long enough to give him a somewhat bohemian air.

  Reaching the Toyota, he opened the driver’s door and paused as the younger man tossed his cigarette away and said something, nodding towards the house. Both turned to the landing window just as Joe stepped out of sight.

  He thought of Roy Bamber as he heard the car doors slam and the big Toyota roared away. As a sergeant with eighteen years in, Roy had taken the rookie Joe under his wing. At that stage Joe still held firmly to the view that snap judgements about people were often unfair, sometimes bigoted and prone to all kinds of lazy assumptions. What he’d quickly learned was that, in Roy’s case, those initial assessments tended to be spot on.

  Not the sort of people you’d welcome into the house, Roy might have said about these two. Or to sum them up in one word: Trouble.

  Diana was in the kitchen, putting a plate and a coffee mug into the dishwasher. In the
hall Joe had found a Daily Mail on the mat. Now he offered it to Diana as she turned to greet him. She smiled, only vaguely flustered.

  ‘Morning! Oh, you can read that. I barely look at it.’

  ‘Don’t blame you. Isn’t it a permanent cry of “The world’s gone to hell in a hand basket”?’

  ‘Probably. I only keep it for the TV pages and the showbiz gossip.’

  Joe crossed to the table, where Diana had set out a jug of orange juice and a couple of glasses. He considered asking after her visitor but didn’t want her to feel he was spying on her. Better to see if she volunteered the information.

  ‘Cooked breakfast?’ she said.

  He hesitated. ‘This seems more and more like I’m imposing.’

  ‘You don’t know what rate I’m charging you yet,’ she shot back. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving.’

  ‘Full Cornish it is, then.’

  Over his enormous breakfast – while Diana nibbled on a wafer-thin slice of wholemeal toast – they reminisced without venturing too close to the night of the party, preferring instead to speculate upon the fate of various dimly remembered colleagues and their spouses.

  When the conversation moved on to the trials of running a business in the recession, Joe saw his chance. ‘What is your daily rate, by the way?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I intend to pay you. This is a B&B, after all.’

  ‘But you’re staying here as my guest. In any case, what are you doing for funds?’

  ‘I have money. I just can’t lay my hands on it straight away.’ He decided to test the water. ‘Usually, wherever I land up I’m able to find myself some casual work.’

  ‘Really?’ If the idea of him sticking around worried Diana, she hid it well. ‘Do people still get away with working for cash?’

  ‘More than ever when times are hard.’ Joe gave her a flavour of his experiences over the past year: backbreaking farm work in Norfolk, Lincolnshire and Humberside, a few months as an assistant in a hardware store, which fortunately coincided with the harshest spell of a bitterly cold winter, and then, prior to Bristol, the thankless task of kitchen porter in an exclusive Manchester hotel.