‘No. His wife died ten years ago and they had no children. There was no one to leave a note to. It was the gun that triggered the investigation.’ He grinned. ‘No pun intended.’ He pointed at the croissant in front of Shepherd. ‘Are you going to finish that?’ Shepherd pushed the plate towards him. ‘The gun was an automatic, a Browning Hi-power. But it wasn’t his official gun. He’d handed that in when he left the service. Turns out that the gun he used to kill himself had been used in the murders of four IRA men.’
Shepherd grimaced. ‘Unsolved murders, right?’
‘One was, but three were sorted,’ said Sharpe, breaking off a piece of croissant and shoving it into his mouth. ‘The UFF did the actual killings and eight of their men were sent down for them. All are now out under the Good Friday Agreement. The cops have a pretty good idea who did the fourth but the two guys responsible did a runner to the South and are thought to be OTRs in Limerick.’
‘OTRs?’
‘On the run. There’s several dozen IRA men in the States and Ireland who haven’t served any time for their crimes. In theory, they could still be sent down to serve the two-year minimum required under the Good Friday Agreement. Sinn Fein’s trying to thrash out a deal with the British Government to allow the OTRs back.’
‘Hang on, you’re saying the gun was involved in all four killings, but it was different men each time?’
‘Exactly,’ said Sharpe. ‘Which means that the gun went back and forth. It was used in a killing, then given back, used again and returned. Backwards and forwards like a bloody yo-yo.’
‘And it ends up with this guy Devlin.’
‘The question is, did it end with Devlin or did it start with him? That’s what Staniford’s looking at. The suspicion is that Devlin was supplying the weapon and the intel, and that the UFF were doing the dirty work.’
‘And how does this involve Carter?’
‘The second killing took place when Devlin was on holiday with his wife in Spain, ten days after he’d left the country. And Robbie Carter was his aide at the time.’
‘So it’s circumstantial?’
‘Devlin and Carter were tight, from what Staniford’s been told. If Devlin was up to something, it’s unlikely Carter wouldn’t have known about it.’
‘Knowing and taking part are two different things, Razor.’
‘Assuming it was Devlin who was looking after the gun, someone must have given it to the UFF while he was out of the country.’
‘But now both men are dead, what’s the point?’
‘Yeah, that’s what Staniford thinks. But the powers-that-be want to be seen to be evenhanded. Every single case has to be closed.’
Shepherd finished his coffee. ‘And how close is he to fingering Carter?’
‘Not very,’ said Sharpe. ‘That’s why he was talking to the wife. He’s tried interviewing the UFF men involved, but they’re not talking. Truth be told, Staniford reckons he’s banging his head against a brick wall.’
‘His sidekick was asking Elaine for her husband’s diaries. I guess he’s trying to pin down where Carter was during all the killings. You don’t think he plans to get a search warrant for the house, do you?’
‘He didn’t mention it. At the moment it’s softly-softly. How is the merry widow, then? Given her one yet?’
‘You’re a class act, Razor.’
‘Best place to get her talking’s in bed, you know that.’
‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Shepherd, standing up, ‘and thanks for talking to Staniford for me.’
‘What are friends for?’ said Sharpe. ‘I’d better be going. Don’t know how long the security checks’ll take. It’s bloody nonsense, isn’t it? Look at me. I’m a middle-aged white male with a Scottish accent. How the hell could anyone think I’d be a bloody suicide-bomber?’
‘Middle-aged?’ repeated Shepherd, in disbelief. ‘What? You’re going to live to ninety-six, are you?’
Sharpe opened his mouth to retort but Shepherd had already walked away.
Liam pretended to kick the ball to his left, but at the last second he shifted his centre of balance and sent it sailing past Billy Bradford. ‘Nice kick!’ called Bradford.
‘I’m on the school team,’ said Liam, as Bradford retrieved the ball from the hedge.
‘I can see why,’ said Bradford. He threw it back to Liam, who caught it on his chest, dropped it to his foot, then kicked it up and headed it half a dozen times before letting it fall to his feet again. Bradford clapped enthusiastically.
‘Billy, what do you want to eat tonight?’ called Katra, from the kitchen door.
‘Bacon sandwich’ll do me fine.’
‘You had that last night,’ said Katra. ‘And this morning for breakfast.’
‘What can I say, sweetheart? I like bacon sandwiches.’
‘You’ve got to eat vegetables,’ said Katra.
‘Put ketchup on it,’ said Bradford.
Katra laughed and went back into the house.
‘Come on, Liam, take your best shot,’ shouted Bradford.
Tariq put down the binoculars. He had parked his hire car on the brow of a hill overlooking the road where Daniel Shepherd lived. Earlier that afternoon he had seen Shepherd get into the dark green Honda CRV with a young woman he had assumed was his wife. They had returned half an hour later with a boy of twelve or thirteen, obviously Shepherd’s son. But Tariq thought the girl could only be in her mid-twenties, which meant she was too young to be the boy’s mother and too old to be his sister. That meant the boy’s mother had gone and the girl was probably Shepherd’s girlfriend. Not that the exact relationship mattered. They were clearly a family, which meant Salih wanted them dead.
The digital clock in the dashboard showed just after five, which meant it wouldn’t be dark for a few hours. He couldn’t stay parked where he was until then. There were several houses nearby and the road was reasonably busy. An old man had walked by twice with a small terrier on a leash and the second time he’d looked at Tariq’s car. Tariq had quickly lowered the binoculars and he was fairly sure that the old man had been curious rather than suspicious, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He knew where the house was, he knew who the targets were. There was nothing to be gained from sitting in the car and watching the house. He decided to drive to the nearest motorway and find a motel. There, he could bathe, pray and prepare himself. Once it was dark he’d come back and keep the house under surveillance until he was sure everyone was asleep. Then he’d do what he had to do.
A silver Volvo was parked outside Shepherd’s house. A man sat in the driving seat, his coat collar turned up. Shepherd slowed as he drove by and recognised the driver. It was John Maplethorpe.
Maplethorpe climbed out of his car as Shepherd parked in front of his garage. ‘How’s it going, Jamie?’ he asked. He put his hands into his coat pockets.
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you here to see Elaine?’ Her car wasn’t outside her house.
‘Thought I’d drop by and say hello to you, as it happens,’ said Maplethorpe.
‘Sure, come on in,’ said Shepherd. ‘Everything’s okay, yeah?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ said Maplethorpe. His right hand reappeared from his coat pocket. Shepherd tensed, but relaxed when he saw Maplethorpe was holding a packet of Benson & Hedges. Maplethorpe lit a cigarette and offered one to Shepherd.
He shook his head. ‘I’m a Marlboro man.’
Maplethorpe chuckled. Shepherd took him into the house. ‘Beer or something stronger?’ he asked, as they went into the sitting room.
‘Have you got whiskey?’
‘Jameson’s,’ said Shepherd.
‘Perfect,’ said Maplethorpe.
‘Ice?’
‘Just a splash of water,’ said Maplethorpe. He stretched out on the sofa.
As Shepherd poured a whiskey and soda for himself, then a whiskey and water for his visitor, he wondered what Maplethorpe wanted. No red flags would have flown when the detective ran a PNC check on
Jamie Pierce. He gave Maplethorpe his whiskey, then sat in an armchair facing him. ‘So …’ said Shepherd.
‘Yes,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘So …’
‘Is there anything in particular you wanted? Or is this purely social?’
‘Elaine’s a good friend of mine,’ said Maplethorpe.
‘I know that.’
‘I was best man at their wedding.’
‘I know that, too.’
Maplethorpe’s eyes narrowed. ‘How?’
Shepherd had made the cardinal error of an undercover agent – he had revealed that he knew something his character shouldn’t. He knew that Maplethorpe had been Robbie Carter’s best man because he’d seen the wedding photographs in the trunk in Elaine’s attic. ‘Elaine mentioned it,’ he said. He cursed himself because now he’d been forced to tell a direct lie – which Maplethorpe could check.
‘Robbie was like a brother to me,’ said Maplethorpe.
‘And Elaine?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Maplethorpe, leaning forward.
‘You obviously care a lot about her. That’s why you’re here, right?’
‘There’s something not right about you.’
Shepherd’s mind was racing. What had he done to make the detective suspicious? ‘Specifically?’
‘That’s the thing, Jamie,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘There’s nothing I can put my finger on. Bit by bit everything makes sense. Education, work record, no criminal offences. You’re a model citizen.’
‘You checked me out? Isn’t that against the Data Protection Act?’
‘Elaine’s a good friend of mine, and I want to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.’
‘I’m a good guy, John,’ said Shepherd.
‘That’s what the stats say,’ agreed Maplethorpe. ‘But it’s a sum-of-the-parts thing. It doesn’t add up.’ He winced and put a hand to his temple.
‘Are you okay?’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘Headache.’
‘Do you want an aspirin or a paracetamol?’
Maplethorpe fumbled in his pocket, brought out a small plastic bottle containing white tablets and shook out a couple. He swallowed them and washed them down with whiskey.
‘Sure you’re supposed to take painkillers that way?’ said Shepherd.
‘Yeah, well, you’re a website designer, not a doctor.’ Maplethorpe put the bottle away. ‘Are you with MI5, Jamie?’
Shepherd laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘There’s something about you that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I don’t think you’re a serial killer or a paedophile, but I don’t think you’re a computer geek either.’ He swirled his whiskey in his glass as he studied Shepherd with hard eyes.
‘I could show you my CV.’
‘If you were a spook, your CV would be perfect. Which it is.’
‘I swear to you I don’t work for MI5,’ said Shepherd. ‘But if I did, why would that concern you? I’m hardly likely to be spying on Elaine, am I?’
‘It’s a question of honesty, Jamie. I don’t think you’re bad, but I don’t think you’re being honest with her. And I don’t want Elaine hurt. She’s taken to you. She’s not exactly been celibate since Robbie was killed, but she’s very selective, and the few relationships she’s had haven’t lasted long.’
‘I’m not surprised, if you paid her boyfriends a visit like this,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m looking out for her,’ said Maplethorpe.
‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’
Maplethorpe thrust out his chin. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘Are you married, John?’
Maplethorpe scowled at him. ‘You want to be careful, Jamie,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t believe all the PR crap about Belfast being a changed city. It’s still a very dangerous place to have a cop mad at you.’
‘And are you?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Mad at me?’
Maplethorpe gave Shepherd a long, hard look. ‘Not yet,’ he said.
‘That’s a relief,’ said Shepherd.
‘You see, that’s what worries me, Jamie,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘You’re not intimidated by me, are you? I mean, you pretend to be, but under that soft exterior you’re as hard as fucking nails, aren’t you?’
‘Wanna arm-wrestle? Or slap dicks on the table and see which of us has the biggest?’
Maplethorpe put his glass on the coffee-table and stood up. ‘I’ll be off,’ he said.
‘You’re not drinking and driving, are you?’
Maplethorpe ignored him. ‘Let me leave you with one thought,’ he said. ‘If you are up to something, if you have some agenda I’m not aware of, then leave Elaine out of it. Because if you cause her any pain, any pain at all, it will be revisited on you a thousandfold.’
‘Message received and understood,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’ll let myself out,’ said Maplethorpe, heading for the front door.
Shepherd watched him drive away. His mobile rang. ‘What the hell was that about?’ Button asked.
‘Marking his territory, maybe,’ said Shepherd.
‘There’s no suggestion there was anything between him and Elaine Carter, is there?’
‘I haven’t picked up on it from her.’
‘And if there was, you would, right?’
Shepherd frowned. Did Button know how close he and Elaine had become? ‘She talks about him but always as a friend.’
‘So maybe he’s just looking out for a friend.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Any idea what set him off?’
‘He’s a senior police officer. You don’t get to be a detective superintendent without being a good reader of people.’
‘Suspicions are all he can have because your legend’s watertight,’ said Button.
‘It had better be,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s right about what he said. If I fall foul of the cops here I’ll have to get out sharpish.’
‘If he was sure of anything, he wouldn’t have come round for a chat,’ said Button.
‘That’s true,’ agreed Shepherd. ‘Look, can you check on why he’s taking early retirement? He said it was because he was fed up with the job, but he has bad headaches.’
‘You think he’s got a medical problem?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘I’ll get on it.’
Liam frowned at the book in front of him and chewed the end of his biro. Billy Bradford was sitting on the other side of the kitchen table, munching a bacon sandwich. Liam smiled hopefully at him. ‘Do you know about factor trees?’
‘I was never any good at biology,’ said Bradford.
‘It’s maths,’ said Liam, scornfully.
‘I knew that,’ said Bradford.
Katra put a mug of black coffee in front of him, then went to the sink and began to load dirty plates into the dishwasher.
‘Did you used to work with my dad?’ Liam asked Bradford.
‘Me and Jack joined just as he left.’ Bradford sipped his coffee. ‘He was a bit of a legend, your dad.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Because of his nickname, Spider. He ate a tarantula when he was on a jungle training exercise.’
‘A tarantula?’ Katra queried.
‘It’s a big hairy spider,’ said Bradford. He used his free hand to mime a spider scurrying across the table. ‘They still talk about what a mad bastard he was.’ He grinned apologetically at Liam. ‘Sorry.’
‘My dad’s a mad bastard?’ said Liam in mock-horror.
Suddenly Bradford was serious. ‘Don’t ever tell him I said that.’
‘Your secret’s safe with me, Billy,’ said Liam. He pushed his exercise book across the table towards Bradford. ‘If you help me with my homework.’
‘Let’s wait for Jack,’ said Bradford. ‘He’s the smart one.’
‘I thought you were the smart one,’ said Katra.
Bradford shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m the good-looking one,’ he said. Headlights flashed acro
ss the hall window. ‘Speak of the devil.’
Tariq watched through his binoculars as the black Range Rover drove up in front of the house and parked. He hadn’t seen it before and the dark green CRV and the BMW SUV were parked in front of the garage. A man in a padded jacket climbed out and headed for the front door. It was Shepherd, Tariq realised. The man looked round, then slotted a key into the lock and let himself in. Tariq grinned. He’d made the right decision in waiting for it to get dark. While he’d been showering and praying in the motel, Shepherd must have left the house and just returned. If Tariq had gone straight in he’d have missed him. But now he was there, with the boy and the girl. The dashboard clock told him it was just before nine. His heart began to pound and he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. A light went on in the front bedroom, and a few minutes later, it went off. The boy was going to bed. Tomorrow was a school day so he’d be up early. Except that tomorrow he wouldn’t wake up. He’d be dead like his father.
Tariq’s mouth had gone dry and he cursed himself for not bringing a bottle of water. He had a packet of chewing-gum in his pocket, though, so he took it out and popped a piece into his mouth.
An hour or so later the lights went out downstairs, except for the one in the hall. A moment later the upstairs lights went on. The girl and Shepherd were getting ready for bed. The lights stayed on for about half an hour and winked off just after eleven, leaving the upstairs windows dark.
Tariq watched the house as the digital clock ticked off the minutes. Midnight passed. Then one o’clock. His palms were soaked with sweat and he wiped them on his trousers. Then he took the back off his phone, removed his Sim card and slid in the pay-as-you-go card he’d bought from a shop in London’s East End. He switched on the phone and took deep breaths as he waited for it to boot up.
Headlights moved slowly up the hill and Tariq lay across the passenger seat until the car had gone by. Then he sat up and tapped out Salih’s number. He answered on the third ring. ‘Now,’ said Tariq. ‘I’m going to do it now. They’re all in bed. I’ll call you when it’s done.’
The line went dead.
Billy Bradford tossed a can of lager to his brother and popped the tab on his own. ‘Are you heading off?’
Dead Men: The Fifth Spider Shepherd Thriller Page 28
