‘If, as you say, he’s got the police onside, does he still need a retinue of thugs? That bloke Gabriel tried to beat the shit out of me.’
‘Ah, thereby hangs a tale.’
‘Like to explain?’ He felt too tired for cryptic clues. The events of the day, the week, the month were starting to catch up with him.
‘Not at this precise moment.’ And on that mysterious note, Asim hung up.
18
* * *
SEVERAL days passed. It was after the weekend and Tallis was over at his mother’s, helping tidy up the garden. It was still and warm, with only a hint of chill as the afternoon descended into evening. Copper-coloured leaves peppered the ground. A sickly smell of overripe fruit and decay scented the autumn air. The heavy roar of tractors from adjoining roads and fields clamoured in his ears.
He’d mowed the lawn, weeded some of the beds and got a nice bonfire going with the garden remains. It was an old man’s job, he thought, layering more twigs and leaves onto the mound, yet strangely satisfying. He understood the allure of the fire and the heat and the burning, and the way the pile was slowly reduced to ashes. His mother came out to him with a mug of tea and a plate of digestives. He took them from her with thanks. She looked at him and smiled. It was a rare moment of love and companionship, son and mother together.
All too brief.
Tallis noticed it first, growling down the narrow lane outside the house, as out of place as a Georgian mansion in the middle of the Sahara. His mother followed his gaze, mouth slack with wonder as it pulled up outside the cottage. ‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘A Maserati.’
‘What’s it doing here?’
Tallis didn’t answer. He was watching, mind racing, trying to work out how they knew where his mother lived, what message was being sent.
Gabriel climbed out of the car. He wore a charcoal-grey suit, well cut, white shirt, black tie, sunglasses to hide his ruined face. He walked slowly round to the passenger door, opened it and reached inside, taking out a vast bouquet of flowers packaged in cellophane with a big yellow satin bow tied round the base. With a sober stride he walked to the wooden gate, unhitched and pushed it open, walking through. He looked neither to his right nor left. His focus was Tallis’s mother.
‘Who is he?’ she said, a tremble in her voice.
‘It’s OK. I’ll take care of it,’ Tallis said, stepping in front of her, putting the solid weight of his body between Gabriel and his mother. A cold, awful anticipation of something quite horrible spread through his entire body. Pressure built inside his head. He felt as though someone was scraping a metal file against the inside of his skull. Had Gabriel come for payback? Did he carry a weapon beneath the bouquet? Tallis couldn’t tell anything from the man’s body language and without seeing his eyes it was impossible to work out the motivation. His only fear was for his mum. His mouth went dry.
Gabriel stopped, held out the flowers. ‘These are for Mrs Tallis.’
‘For me?’ Tallis heard his mother exclaim.
‘From Mr Kennedy.’
‘But I don’t know a Mr Kennedy,’ she said, popping out from behind Tallis. ‘Do you know him, Paul?’
‘Yes,’ he said, shooting an arm out to protect his mother, eyes trying to bore through Gabriel’s lenses.
‘He wishes to express his condolences for your recent loss,’ Gabriel said respectfully.
Tallis’s mother reached over and took them. ‘Well, that’s very kind of him. Who is he, Paul, someone you work with?’
‘That’s right.’ Gabriel’s smile was glacial.
‘Paul, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you say?’
‘Well, erm…’
‘Is this the man you were telling me about?’ she said, more animated now. ‘The client who gave you the company car?’
Tallis remembered the lie, opened his mouth to speak.
‘Mr Kennedy is a very generous employer,’ Gabriel butted in, clearly enjoying Tallis’s distress.
‘He certainly is,’ Tallis’s mother agreed, beaming happily. ‘Do thank him for me, won’t you?’
Gabriel said he would, indeed, then turned on his heel, walked back the way he’d come, climbed back into the car and, engine growling, drove away.
Tallis stared after him. He was reminded of an old Chinese proverb: be careful what you wish for.
He’d certainly got what he wanted, but not the way he wanted it.
In the early hours of Wednesday morning, Tallis’s mobile phone rang. It was a summons. He was ordered to look out of the window. Grabbing a pair of boxers and stumbling into them, he went into the front room and hitched back the curtains. A black taxi was waiting outside in the road, light on, a figure in the back.
‘Get dressed,’ the voice said. ‘We’re going for a ride.’ Click.
Washing his face with cold water, he tried to think out the moves, another game, or confession time? In five minutes he was dressed with no answers.
‘Mr Kennedy, do you know what time it is?’ Tallis said, waving his hands around, standing outside the cab on the pavement, indignant.
‘’Course I do. Now, get in.’
‘Look, I’m not really up for this. I don’t want to cause offence or anything and you can have the car back if you want to, but I don’t want any bother.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Oh, and my mum says thanks for the flowers and you shouldn’t have,’ Tallis said, plunging his hands deep into his jacket pockets, hopping from one foot to the other in a pantomime of anxiety.
‘You going to keep standing there, or what?’ No threats, no anger. ‘Come on.’ Kennedy suddenly grinned, making it sound as if he were offering the chance of an irresistible adventure. ‘We’ve both done our homework so where’s the problem?’
What homework? Tallis shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t have a clue, and clambered in beside Kennedy. The driver was told to move it.
‘I love a city at night,’ Kennedy said with passion. ‘Especially Birmingham. Can’t beat it. Powerhouse of Europe, I say.’
‘Thought London was the centre of the universe,’ Tallis said, pulling up the collar of his leather jacket. Christ, it was cold.
‘No way.’
‘The centre of commerce, then,’ Tallis persisted.
Kennedy snorted with derision. ‘You can do business anywhere these days.’
Drugs, guns, trafficking, Tallis thought. He disagreed with Kennedy. London was the hub, always would be. Birmingham, Liverpool, places like Bristol were young pretenders by comparison.
‘No congestion charges,’ Kennedy continued, ‘overheads are lower, expenses cheaper, not so likely to be blown up by terrorists and no sodding Met to contend with.’
All hugely interesting. ‘Why am I here?’
‘Because I invited you.’
Tallis gave him a slow sideways look. ‘And why does everything you say sound so reasonable?’
Kennedy burst out laughing. Whether it was tension, or the infectiousness of Kennedy’s laughter, Tallis joined in. ‘I like you, Tallis,’ Kennedy said, putting an arm around him, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Shame you were a copper. Not my favourite people’
Tallis felt himself freeze. Did he imagine the extra dig into his shoulder blade? ‘Mine neither, not any more.’
The pressure on his shoulder didn’t ease. ‘I guess that was why you were able to handle yourself so well.’
Tallis said nothing.
‘Gather you had a spot of bother,’ Kennedy said elliptically, his face pale, almost green, in the moonlight.
How wonderfully understated, Tallis thought, remembering the young woman he had been ordered to kill in the mistaken belief that she had been a suicide bomber. ‘Still bitter?’ Kennedy said.
‘As battery acid.’
‘Not sure I know what that tastes like.’ Kennedy laughed lightly. He removed his arm. Tallis realised how physically powerful Kennedy still was. ‘So, what have you done since?’
‘Bit of this and that. Worked in a warehouse as a security man for a while.’
‘Bloody waste.’
‘Bloody stupid,’ Tallis cursed. ‘We’re on high alert for terrorism, and the police get rid of their best people.’
Kennedy looked out of the window. He wasn’t biting, Tallis thought. They were driving in the direction of Aston University past the student bedsits.
‘Ever go to university?’ Kennedy asked him.
‘No, after school I went straight into the army.’ Then joined the police and trained as a firearms officer before a spectacular fall from grace, eventually fetching up with the security services, Tallis thought, mentally ticking off the list.
‘My son went to university.’
‘Your son?’
Kennedy didn’t seem to hear, just carried on looking out of the window. ‘Are you a religious man, Tallis?’
‘No.’
‘So you don’t believe in punishment for wrongs?’
‘Not by a divine force, no.’
Kennedy nodded as though seriously considering Tallis’s answer. A thoughtful man, Kennedy had a way of making everyone he talked to feel special, Tallis suspected.
Various landmarks came and went. Kennedy raved about the planned redevelopment of the Rotunda and the area around the Mailbox. ‘It’s going to be a real asset to the city, bring a bit of class, good for the economy, too.’
‘Seat of capitalism,’ Tallis said, testing Kennedy’s reaction.
‘Nothing wrong with that.’
More streets, more turnings. ‘See this,’ Kennedy said, at last, pointing out of the window at a building site. ‘This is my baby.’
‘Yours?’
‘I put the money up for it. Know anything about construction?’
‘Not much, other than I’d like to live in something other than a bungalow.’
Kennedy let out a laugh. ‘Construction’s the business to be in,’ he said with enthusiasm. ‘Ever heard of the Concrete Club?’
Something dinged in Tallis’s personal database of criminal activity. Mafia hoods, he thought, States, way back.
‘It’s where a contractor adds a percentage to bids and passes the inflated costs to a developer or overall contractor. Ever considered why the cost of the Olympics has spiralled?’ Political incompetence, Tallis thought, shaking his head. ‘Because you can bet your life some crook has got his fingers in the pie. Won’t be obvious,’ Kennedy said, in answer to Tallis’s astounded expression. ‘It will be deep down at sewer level. Urban Dark Arts, I call it. Been going on for decades.’
‘What are you suggesting exactly?’
‘I’m suggesting even the brightest stars of the law-en-forcement agencies haven’t got a fucking clue whether it’s Wednesday or Thursday. They’re good at convicting the minnows—makes the crime statistics look nice and tidy—but the sharks…’ Kennedy shook his head with vigour. ‘They get away with it time and time again. Believe me.’
Tallis took a deep inner breath. ‘Are you a shark, Mr Kennedy?’
Kennedy turned towards him with a smile that bore a striking resemblance to a hammerhead. ‘Think of me as a great white.’
‘Then how come your wife and child almost fell into the jaws of a barracuda?’
He was taking a risk. For half a second Tallis swore the earth stopped turning. He could feel the older man’s breath on his face, his own breath caught in the back of his throat. Kennedy had acted agent provocateur in the conversation, throwing him lines, challenging him. What was he playing at? ‘Fair point,’ Kennedy said at last.
‘Have you any idea who was behind it?’ Tallis asked softly.
‘Ideas, yes. Evidence, no.’
The cab ground to a halt. Tallis looked out and saw that he’d been driven round in a circle. ‘Your patch again,’ Kennedy said, reaching across and opening the door. Tallis climbed out, crossing round the back of the cab to the pavement, wondering if he’d blown it. Illuminated by dingy street lighting, the bungalow looked even more depressing. A rear window slid down. Kennedy poked his head out, looking at the street. ‘See what you mean. What you need is a proper job with a proper salary.’
‘Not that easy to find.’
Kennedy agreed, stuck his head back inside.
‘Well, thanks,’ Tallis said uncertainly, turning on his heel. Was that it? Interview over? Yup, he’d definitely blown it. He started to walk up the path. He was almost at the front door when he heard Kennedy call out his name. Tallis turned.
‘Do you like boxing?’
‘Performing or watching?’
‘I know how you perform.’ Kennedy grinned.
‘Watching, of course. There’s a fight on tonight at the gym I use. You up for it?’
‘Sure.’
‘Be ready for nine. I’ll send Gabriel round to collect you.’
Can’t wait, Tallis thought.
19
* * *
HE’D never seen anything like it. This wasn’t boxing. It was carnage. Two men locked in sweaty no-holds combat, six fights in all.
Booze flowed. Money changed hands. Strict antismoking legislation was ignored with flamboyance, a thick fug of cigar smoke sucking out any oxygen in the heat-infested gym. As for the crowd, he thought he’d been transported back to ancient Rome. They wanted ears torn off, noses bitten, hair ripped out. They wanted blood, of which there was plenty. Like modern-day Shylocks, they demanded their pound of flesh. And the women were considerably more vociferous and foul-mouthed than the men. Tallis looked across the table to where Samantha Kennedy was sitting, caught her eye, saw the twinge of embarrassment, or was it something else? She looked quite beautiful, regal almost, a honey-coloured glow to her skin.
They were nine others at the table, the Kennedys, a racing trainer and his wife, and another older couple who Tallis hadn’t caught the names of, Gabriel, the thug in the lift who Tallis had found out was called Justin, and a strange wiry character, Donald Brooker, Kennedy’s solicitor. It was clear from the way they were talking they’d been many times before. Kennedy introduced Tallis to the others as a personal friend. The elevated association worked like a protective charm. Nobody asked him questions. Nobody put him on the spot. Even Gabriel treated him with respect. Tallis was one of them for the night.
While Kennedy ordered more champagne, a drink Tallis wasn’t fond of, Tallis tried to get a feel for the dynamics. Gabriel and Justin were definitely on duty. Neither drank. Neither smiled. Eyes clicking from Kennedy to the other punters, both watched for something out of place, for a spark of trouble. Gabriel’s place as second-in-command in Kennedy’s empire was self-evident. Justin, Tallis reckoned, was next in seniority.
The couples were all over the Kennedys, the men, dressed similarly in dogtooth check jackets particularly nauseating in their admiration. Clearly delighted to be part of the circle, and wanting to impress, each was trying to outdo the other with gags and horseplay. Kennedy smiled politely but Tallis, catching his eye, saw no warmth in his expression. Signalling for Tallis to join him at the makeshift bar, Tallis pushed his chair back, made his excuses as another heavy bounced off the ropes and onto the deck, his opponent descending on him like a hyena on a wounded antelope.
‘God save me,’ Kennedy growled. ‘If I have to listen to another one of those so-called jokers, I swear I’ll throw the pair of them into the ring.’ Something about the venom in his voice persuaded Tallis he wasn’t joking. ‘Now, let’s have a proper drink. I can’t abide all that gassy stuff. Recipe for indigestion.’
‘Why order it, then?’
‘Got an image to maintain.’ Kennedy winked. ‘And,’ he said more seriously, ‘Sam loves it.’
Tallis pulled out his wallet. ‘My round.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Kennedy said, staying his hand. ‘Whisky all right?’
Tallis said it was. Hell, was he going to suffer the next morning.
In spite of the bar being three deep, it was like watching the Red Sea part as Kennedy m
oved through the throng. Nothing was said. Nobody really looked. Kennedy’s presence alone appeared to cause a chemical reaction. Blokes simply glided out of the way. Bartenders vied to serve him. Tallis was beginning to think he could get used to this kind of celebrity treatment.
Then he saw her.
Christ, she was walking straight towards him. Instinctively, he turned away but he’d witnessed enough to know that she was dressed in an indigo-coloured silk trouser suit, the cut of the jacket revealing that she wore nothing beneath it. Bracing himself as she passed within a hair’s breadth of him, he noticed she wore no definable perfume. He thought her skin smelt of warm sand, of heat.
Once they’d got their drinks, Kennedy walked him over to a quiet spot away from the noise and action. Tallis gave a surreptitious glance around the hall. No sign of her. Lavender, the great illusionist, he thought. Not a great believer in coincidences, he wondered whose idea it was to have her follow him.
‘Never got the chance to talk much about you last night.’ Kennedy’s heavy-lidded eyes studied him over the rim of his glass.
‘Nothing much to tell.’ Tallis shrugged.
Kennedy looked surprised. ‘Served in the armed forces, worked as a copper, became part of an elite undercover firearms team—nothing much to tell?’
Tallis resisted the strong temptation to ask from whom he’d got his information. ‘Ancient history.’
‘And losing your dad?’
Tallis flinched. He was the one supposed to be exploiting the emotional angle, not the other way round. ‘No big deal.’
Kennedy arched his eyebrows.
‘We didn’t get on.’ An understatement.
Kennedy leant towards him, his voice almost a whisper in Tallis’s ear. ‘You hated him.’
‘I didn’t care enough to hate him.’ Tallis found himself flushing with the lie. To hate, you had to care. Tallis felt wrong-footed by Kennedy’s intuitiveness. It wasn’t what he’d expected. He snatched at his drink. An uncomfortable silence descended between the two men. Finally, Kennedy broke it.
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