by Tom Bale
‘Then why …?’
‘Because,’ he said, and for a moment Jenny thought that was it. A one-word answer; the response of a petulant child.
Because.
Then he said: ‘Because she tried to make me her friend, same as you’re doing. When that didn’t work, she mocked me. Said I didn’t have the balls to go through with it. So I taught her a lesson.’
‘You killed her to prove that you could do it?’
‘I told you, I didn’t kill her. She died. There’s a difference.’ He grunted. ‘You’ll learn.’
Fifty-Two
SUNDAY BEGAN IN a panic, Cadwell banging on the door at eight o’clock. Leon was never really one for a lie-in, but this was taking the piss …
He padded downstairs in time to see the night-shift man, Opie, hurrying across the hall. Opie looked like shit: worse than Leon felt.
‘You’ve been sleeping at your desk again.’
‘I weren’t, Leon, honest,’ Opie gabbled. ‘I was in the bog.’
‘Is Glenn up yet?’
‘Dunno. Haven’t seen him.’
Cadwell marched in, flapping his arms to indicate the urgency of the problem.
‘Office,’ Leon said, because Opie wasn’t part of the inner circle. The door was barely shut when Cadwell turned on him, red-faced and spluttering.
‘Someone was spying on me.’
‘What? When?’
Cadwell looked at him as though he was stupid: a look that Leon wouldn’t forget.
‘Last night. An intruder on the roof of the damn preparation room, while I had your bloody victim on the table.’
‘Keep your voice down. Jesus.’ Refusing to be worked into the same frenzy, Leon walked over to his desk and sat down. ‘You sure there was somebody on the roof?’
‘Ben was with me. We both heard it. He saw a man running away.’
‘Any description?’
‘No. Too dark.’
Joe, Leon thought. But he didn’t say as much. He teased out the silence, staring coolly at the undertaker until he stopped pacing and collapsed onto the sofa.
‘So you had a body on the slab. So what? I take it the cops didn’t turn up? And you’ve got a plan to get rid of it?’
Cadwell nodded. ‘A burial Tuesday. Elderly man, no family to speak of.’
‘Room for a small one.’ Leon chuckled. ‘See? Two days and it’ll be done with.’
‘This went well beyond the call of duty, Leon. I hope you appreciate that.’
Leon said nothing. A sudden yawn split his face open. Not much chance that Cadwell would piss off and let him go back to bed. He summoned Opie, who looked like he’d been splashing his face with cold water.
‘Put the kettle on, and do me some juice and a bagel. And wake Clive and Glenn. Lazy bastards should be up by now.’
Fenton’s arrival coincided with the coffee and bagels, which Leon suspected was no accident. He’d shaved, but hadn’t put his contact lenses in: he wore Harry Potter specs with Coke-bottle lenses, blinking at Leon like something from an aquarium. He stank of the cigars they’d shared last night, partly in celebration, partly to chase the smell of Victor Smith from their throats.
‘Where’s the fire?’ he drawled, only half in jest.
Cadwell responded: ‘There was an intruder last night, while I was cleaning up your mess. Literally, I might add.’
‘It’s what you do for a living, Derek,’ Leon reminded him. ‘It’s your vocation.’ He managed to make it sound like a dirty word. Cadwell caught his meaning and went pale.
‘Have you checked the CCTV?’ Fenton asked, and Leon had to conceal his annoyance: he hadn’t thought of that.
‘Nothing remotely useful,’ Cadwell said. ‘At one stage you see a shadow flitting between the cars, and that’s it.’
‘Perhaps you need to upgrade,’ Leon said.
‘The new high-res cameras offer stunning quality,’ Fenton added, helping himself to a bagel.
‘Can we forget the sales patter for now?’ Cadwell snapped. ‘This could jeopardise everything. Thirty years I’ve worked in this town.’
Leon ignored the comment. ‘Where’s Glenn?’
‘Snoring to wake the dead, as of five minutes ago,’ Fenton said.
Leon got back on the intercom and was bawling Opie out when Glenn sloped in, wearing jeans and a T-shirt but barefoot. He rubbed his jaw and sighed.
‘Early for a Sunday.’
‘Lazy bastard,’ Leon muttered. ‘Sit down. We’ve got things to discuss.’
They gave him a quick recap, and between them concluded that there was no serious harm done. No other candidates in the frame but Joe Carter.
Glenn swelled a little at that. ‘Told you he might be undercover, didn’t I?’
Leon shrugged. ‘He was undercover. I don’t buy the idea that he’s still a cop.’
‘Neither do I,’ Fenton said. ‘But that’s not to say he doesn’t represent a danger.’
‘Did you search his stuff?’ Leon asked.
Glenn twitched uncomfortably. ‘What? No. Not after you offered him a job …’
‘It needs doing, Glenn, but carefully.’ Leon stared at each of them in turn, a look of fierce determination on his face. ‘Every step from now on has to be bloody careful.’
The previous night, after his brandy and cigars, Leon had been too wired to sleep. Instead he’d gone online and trawled for information about the Morton family.
He found plenty to corroborate what Vic had told them. The Mortons were a serious outfit, successful over many years. Wealthy and powerful, with a reputation for extreme violence. Not to be taken lightly.
The media had been up in arms over the bullion robbery shoot-out that had left one of the cops dead and a couple more badly wounded. Markedly less concern for the four gang members who’d died, one of whom had indeed been Gary Morton.
Some of the longer investigative pieces confirmed that an undercover cop had infiltrated the gang. There were suggestions that the operation had been compromised by the existence of one or more corrupt officers on Morton’s payroll. A couple of the top brass were mildly reprimanded for various procedural failures, and the world had moved on.
But Doug Morton hadn’t.
Now, chomping on a bagel, Glenn made what he obviously believed was another brilliant suggestion. ‘We know this guy’s a risk. Why don’t we just keep him prisoner till we’re ready to do the deal?’
Fenton weighed in: ‘We must bear in mind the outside possibility that Victor lied to us. Even if he genuinely encountered Morton in prison, Joe’s involvement could be a fabrication, or even an error. He admitted that the photograph he saw wasn’t very clear.’
The thought made Leon feel sick. Sighing morosely, he said, ‘Good point, Clive. But we’ve gotta keep a close watch on him. Can’t let him slip from our grasp now.’
‘We mustn’t spook him, either. This is a man on the run for his life, remember?’
Leon nodded. He said to Glenn: ‘Go round Diana’s, check how the land lies. Reckon you can do that?’
‘Subtlety is the order of the day,’ Fenton added. ‘One sniff …’ He fluttered his stubby fingers in mid-air, like no bird they’d ever seen. ‘And he’ll be away.’
Once Glenn had left, they discussed how to approach Danny Morton. Leon had identified an associate in London who would be tasked with securing a phone number. Making contact with the man wasn’t the hard part. It was what they actually said to him.
‘If a penniless no-hoper like Vic Smith was going to roll us, you can bet Morton would jump at the chance.’
Fenton agreed. ‘Play our hand too early and he’ll bite it off.’
‘The way I see it, we’re gonna have to tell Morton who we are up front. But not a word about Joe until we’ve met this feller face to face and seen what we make of him.’
‘What will you say, then?’ Cadwell asked. Leon had reluctantly agreed he could have a share of the proceeds, in return for his assistance in disposing of Smith’s body.
Fenton said, ‘I’m sure we can work out some sort of generic business proposal.’
They were still talking it over when the phone rang. Leon put the call on speaker. It was Glenn, sounding panicked.
‘He’s not here.’
‘What?’
‘I’m at Diana’s. Well, I’m outside. Said I had a call to make. Joe’s not here.’
‘Where is he?’
‘She doesn’t know. He wanted to use her car. Didn’t say where he was going.’
Leon took a deep breath. ‘So he’s coming back, though?’
‘I hope so. But after what you said about last night. If it was him at Cadwell’s …’
Leon glanced at the other two, both looking to him for an answer. He gritted his teeth. ‘She must have some idea. Make her tell you.’
A pause from Glenn, as though he was tempted to bite Leon’s head off. ‘You said to be subtle.’
‘Have you checked his room?’
‘How can I do that without her knowing …?’
‘For fuck’s sake. Just go and have breakfast with her. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
Fifty-Three
JOE TOLD HIMSELF he was doing it for Alise, but the reality was a lot more complicated than that – or so he finally had to admit.
The road conditions were perfect for a long journey: dry and sunny, hardly any traffic, inviting the sort of autopilot driving that allowed him plenty of opportunity to think.
Of course he knew it might prove to be a waste of time. A 250-mile round trip, perhaps five hours or more, for nothing. He’d decided not to call ahead, fearing an unhelpful or hostile reaction. But what else did he have to do on a bright and brittle autumn Sunday?
Not stay in the B&B with Diana, that was for sure.
He’d opened his eyes at six o’clock, instantly wide awake. The first thing he remembered was the kiss. A wonderful image, immediately superseded by that of a dead body on a stainless steel table.
What had possessed him? He couldn’t even count on having made a lucky escape – not until he knew whether Cadwell’s security cameras had picked him up. If they had, at the very least Leon would fire him. No more than he deserved.
Back to that question. The answer wasn’t so difficult. He’d done it because Alise had believed every word she’d told him about Cadwell, about Leon, about the darkness that they brought to Trelennan. And at the time, listening to her, his instinct had been to believe it, too.
But there were also inconsistencies, not least the contrast between the Leon who had allegedly abducted Kamila, and the protective employer described by Carl, meting out punishment to a driver who’d been accused of a sexual assault. Or was that just Leon acting to safeguard his own reputation, his own secrets?
While Joe brooded, one of Ellie’s observations kept bumping against his conscience. It stayed with him while he showered, dressed and crept downstairs.
He had the details of Kamila’s former lover. What was to stop him making his own enquiries?
Diana was already up. Her hair had been brushed, but she wore no make-up. She looked pale and drawn. There was a pot of tea in front of her, and a half-read John Grisham paperback propped open, face down on the table as though in disgrace.
‘Not having a lie-in?’ Joe’s voice had the forced bonhomie of a chat-show host.
She shook her head. He tried again, toning down the enthusiasm.
‘Hope I didn’t disturb you last night?’
‘No.’
‘Good. I got back around midnight. Safely unmolested.’ He tried a grin, but there was no response.
Joe poured some juice, slotted bread into the toaster, waiting for the questions that didn’t come; instead, an icy silence, crystallising the air around them.
It could be that she wanted him to make the first move. After all, she must have anticipated that Ellie would reveal the link with Glenn. Maybe she’d spent the whole night fretting.
‘Would you rather I hadn’t gone?’ he asked.
She made a non-committal sound, while trying to appear unconcerned.
Joe sighed. ‘If I’d known what I know now, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to it. But I didn’t know. Because neither of you told me.’
Diana carefully put her cup down. ‘I don’t want to discuss it. I can’t.’
‘What do you mean?’
She stood up, heralding a burst of anger unlike anything he’d witnessed from her.
‘I won’t be interrogated, Joe. This is my house. I gave you shelter, and I was glad to do it. But there are limits. I can’t deal with this … this continual pressure.’
She gave him a look of pure despair. He didn’t really understand what she meant, but saw that yet more questions would be counter-productive.
‘All right. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.’
The toaster popped, an almost comical intrusion. Diana’s temper fizzled away as quickly as it had flared. But she remained standing, as if poised to flee.
‘I was hoping to borrow the car,’ Joe said, ‘but that seems like adding insult to injury.’
‘Take it. You’re welcome.’
‘Are you sure? You weren’t planning …?’
‘No. Take it.’ She walked over to the units and found the keys. Dropped them into his palm and gave him an awkward, conciliatory smile.
‘I think it would be better if you went soon. Perhaps another two or three days?’
He nodded. ‘Okay. Fine.’
Diana’s eyes were shining with tears. She held Joe’s gaze for a couple of seconds, then left the room without another word.
Fifty-Four
WHEN SHE HEARD a tap on the back door, Diana assumed it must be Joe. Either he’d forgotten something, or he’d come back for another attempt at the conversation he was so desperate to have – and which she was so desperate to avoid.
To find that it wasn’t Joe, but Glenn, should have lifted her spirits. Except that he was part of the problem, too.
‘Hey, sweetheart.’ He stepped inside, kissed her on the mouth, holding his lips on hers for that extra half-second that always set the furnace burning within her.
She studied his face. ‘You look shattered. Tell me you’ve been to bed.’
‘Work kept me up.’ He kissed her again, hugging her tight. She wasn’t certain, but she thought he might have sniffed, tentatively. ‘Did you have a late night?’
‘Not especially,’ she said, puzzled and a little disturbed. ‘Just didn’t sleep well. I was up by half past five.’
‘Wish I’d known. I’d have come over and taken you back to bed.’
She had a light-bulb moment: He was sniffing for aftershave. Joe’s aftershave …
‘I doubt it, if you’d seen the state of me.’
‘You’re beautiful, Di. Anyway, with you it’s inner beauty.’ Flashing his eyes as he emphasised the word. He was being especially charming, which usually meant he wanted something – or had bad news to deliver.
In this case, as it turned out, it was both.
Diana made a fresh pot of tea, although Glenn said it wasn’t necessary. She wished she could slip away, put on some lipstick and mascara, if nothing else.
He followed her to the counter, standing close behind her, his groin almost but not quite touching her bottom. He placed his hands on her shoulders, nuzzled the side of her neck, chuckling as he made her shiver.
‘Don’t.’
‘We could go back to bed now.’
She squirmed, wriggled him off. ‘Maybe later. Do you want toast?’
‘No. I want you.’ His voice changed as he spotted the plate with crumbs. ‘Is Joe up?’
‘He’s gone out. I lent him my car.’
‘I thought it must be in the garage. Where’s he off to, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, thinking: Thank God I didn’t ask.
‘You must do. You wouldn’t just let him take your car.’
‘Why not? I trust him.’
‘What if he does
n’t come back?’
She moved sideways, so she could turn and confront him. What she saw in his face made her take another step back.
‘Joe’s an old friend. He’s not going to steal my car, for goodness sake.’
‘Did he say how long he’d be?’
‘No. We’re not joined at the hip, Glenn.’
She knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it. Any reference to physical contact between them was bound to set his mind racing. He gave her a dubious glance and reached for his phone.
‘Gotta take this,’ he said.
She nodded, but she hadn’t heard it ring or vibrate. He’s making a call, she thought, and the implications filled her with dread.
He was back a couple of minutes later, finishing a cigarette and looking even more strained. Sitting at the table, he accepted his tea, then reached out and stroked her arm. Diana made to move away but his fingers curled around her wrist and held her tightly.
‘Sit down. Let’s talk about this.’
‘What?’
‘Joe. How much do you really know about him? You say he used to work with Roy, but then he left the force. Well, is there any proof of that?’
‘I don’t understand what you mean. Or why you need to know, for that matter.’
‘You understand,’ he said, his voice so quiet that she might have imagined the note of menace. ‘It’s not just me, is it?’
‘Leon, then. Why does Leon need to know?’
Glenn shook his head, as if thoroughly disgusted. ‘Use your brain, Di. Imagine the shit I’ll be in if it turns out he’s still a cop?’
She gaped at him, aware that she had to get a grip on her panic. ‘If Leon had any worries on that score, why on earth did he offer him work?’
‘Christ knows. But if it goes wrong it won’t have been Leon’s idea, will it?’
‘Frankly, Glenn, I wish neither of you worked for him. Maybe it’s time to get the construction business up and running again …’
Glenn’s withering look told her what he thought of that. He drank his tea, slurping greedily. The noises Roy had made when he ate and drank had always irritated Diana beyond reason, whereas with Glenn it only seemed to emphasise his masculinity: such a big strong man ought to devour his food like a wild beast.
