A Half Remembered Life (The Lakeland Murders Book 9)

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘So what now? Is my family in any danger, do you think?’

  ‘Assuming that they really do know nothing of your previous life, then no, they’re not. Don’t worry about that, and don’t change your routine. But stay alert, and let me know straight away if anything happens.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Anything unusual, anything at all. As things stand there are just too many possibilities, too many plausible hypotheses. For example, one quite tempting idea that I haven’t even mentioned to you so far is that our gumshoe pal doesn’t know you used to be a cop, but whoever is employing him does. And he wanted you to spot our pet PI. But one thing I am sure of is this, Pete. There’s something we don’t know, something really significant, and we’ll make no sense of all this until we find out what it is.’

  ‘And you’ve got a plan to do that, have you?’

  ‘Of sorts, yes. Just leave it with me for another day or two. Meanwhile just ignore this bloke if you see him again, OK? Stick to your usual routine, and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Are we being watched now, do you think? Is there someone, you know…’

  ‘Why, did you just see a tree move?’ said Hall, pointing at the line of stunted trees on the limestone pavement skyline ahead. ‘Because I don’t think that this is Macbeth, mate, I really don’t.’

  ‘All right, point taken. I’m getting a bit paranoid, and jumpy, too. It’s just bringing it all back, you know, after all these years. Playing the role, but never being certain that I was taking everyone in. So thanks again for getting involved, Andy. I appreciate it. I really do.’

  Monday, 15th September

  The Spedding residence, Kendal, 10.15am

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’, said Alice Spedding, walking back into the living room. ‘Are we expecting a delivery?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘You keep looking down the street.’

  ‘Do I? I don’t think I do. Anyway, I’m not expecting anything.’

  ‘You sure? Have you bought more CDs, or another bit for your bike? I wouldn’t mind, love. You never spend a penny on yourself, not really. Rachel White’s husband, he never bloody stops. Last year it was photography, and now it’s bloody gliding that he’s into, or hot-air ballooning, I forget which. She says she never sees him now, which I reckon wouldn’t be all bad, myself. He’s a right know-it-all, is Richard.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Pete. Pete, you’re doing it again.’ She walked over to where he was standing, in the bay window. ‘What are you looking at, love? Have you taken a fancy to Sarah at number 23?’

  ‘No. Which one’s she, anyway?’

  ‘You remember. The one with the big chest. Somewhere to park your bike, you said.’

  ‘Did I? That doesn’t sound like me.’

  ‘It sounds like you down at the fire station, love.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Pete Spedding reached into his pocket, found his phone, and made for the door. ‘Won’t be a minute, love. I just have to make a quick call.’

  Spedding walked through the kitchen and out in to the garden. When he was sure that Alice hadn’t followed he called Andy Hall.

  ‘Hi, Pete. Something up?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, just let me guess. Our man was parked up in his usual place this morning, and now the car’s still there, but he’s gone.’

  ‘Yeah, exactly. How the hell did you know that?’

  ‘Call it intuition.’

  Spedding thought, for a moment. ‘You’ve lifted him, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’m not a mafia don, mate. He’s just nipped off the job to have a quick chat with a mate of mine. Just a friendly word, that’s all. Nothing to be alarmed about. He’ll be back on station in no time, you mark my words.’

  ‘All right, thanks.’

  ‘Just relax, Pete. We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t worry. So just sit tight, and I’ll call you as soon as we know more, OK?’

  Will Callaghan was frightened, properly frightened. He thought about dying, and all the things that he’d never said to his kids, and now couldn’t remember why. The man hadn’t threatened him with a weapon, hadn’t even raised his voice, but when he’d opened the passenger door of Callaghan’s car and slipped in, so fast that Callaghan hadn’t shouted, let alone struck out, he’d known immediately that it was best to do precisely what he was told, and as soon as he was told to do it.

  ‘Better lock your car up, Will’, Mann said, as he walked the taller man back towards his own car. ‘You can’t be too careful, like.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘This old warehouse I know. Abandoned for years, it’s been, and there’s all these old meat hooks…’

  ‘Jesus Christ. But I’ve done nowt.’

  ‘Mann laughed. ‘I’m only messing with you, mate. Tell you what, how about your office? How would that be, eh?’

  ‘There’s nothing worth nicking. Just a few computers, a camera, a couple of tape recorders.’

  ‘How’s your coffee?’

  ‘We’ve got a machine. It does frothy, and all that.’

  In his time as a cop Callaghan had met all sorts, so if this one had a fetish for coffee, that was fine with him.

  ‘Perfect. Let’s go and have a nice brew, and a chat.’

  ‘Do you need directions?’

  ‘No, mate, I don’t need directions.’

  As they drove Callaghan tried to act like a copper, and to think like one. The car they were in was immaculate, too clean to even be a hire car. Jesus, had the bloke actually used his own vehicle? If he had then he was a dead man, for sure. He tried a question, just to see if the man would engage.

  ‘You local, then?’

  ‘I am, aye.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘Like I said, just a chat.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to talk?’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘And what if I want you to let me go?’

  ‘Then I’ll stop. I’m not kidnapping you, mate. But aren’t you curious? Wouldn’t you like to know why I opened your door, when you were out on this job? This one very particular job, like.’

  Callaghan thought about it.

  ‘All right, stop then. Let me out, right here.’

  Mann checked his mirror, indicated, and stopped as soon as it was safe.

  ‘You sure you don’t want to talk? Find out what you’ve got yourself into here, mate? Because I’m guessing that you don’t know the half of it. Not yet, anyway.’

  Callaghan reached for the door handle, and the door opened. He was surprised, but relieved. The man’s massive hands stayed on the wheel, relaxed. He thought for a moment, then closed the door again.

  ‘All right. My office, ten minutes. And nothing bad better happen back at the job I was just on. If anyone’s hurt back there, then I’ll know you were involved. And I’d tell the police, don’t you worry about that.’

  ‘Just relax, mate. Sod all will happen. Not to you, not to anyone. But I’ll say one thing for you, mate. You’ve got quite the vivid bloody imagination, for a provincial PI, like.’

  It seemed that Will Callaghan’s PA was either very, very bad at reading body language, or she didn’t really care what happened to her boss. Because apart from greeting him, without a smile, she didn’t make eye contact at all. He could have had ‘HELP: I’ve been kidnapped’ written on his forehead, and she certainly wouldn’t have noticed.

  ‘Coffee?’ she said to his back, as he and Mann were half way to his office.

  ‘Love one’ said Mann, over his shoulder. ‘Just black for me, please, love.’

  When they were in Callaghan’s office Mann looked at the certificates on the wall, and the pictures of Callaghan in uniform. He didn’t comment, and Callaghan sat slowly and heavily behind his desk. Mann stood.

  ‘Who do you work for?’ said Callaghan, trying to take control of the s
ituation.

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘Look, if it’s, you know, the client, then tell him I’m doing my best, OK? I’ll get him another report in a couple of days. Jesus, an email would have done the job of chasing me up, without all this bloody carry-on.’

  ‘I’m not from your client.’

  ‘I’ve been spotted, then? Shit, that never happens. Not to me, anyway.’

  ‘Really? Who have you been following all this time, mate? The three blind mice?’

  ‘Who did send you then, if not the client?’

  But it was Mann who was asking the questions.

  ‘Tell me about the person you’ve been watching.’

  ‘No way. That’s confidential. And I’ve broken no laws. I don’t have to tell you anything. Nothing at all.’

  Mann sat down in the chair opposite Callaghan. The bloke looked terrified, and he jumped in his chair when his PA knocked and came in with the drinks. Mann just wished that the cons were all as nervy as this, because his clearance rate would double, at least.

  ‘Relax, mate. Listen, here’s how it is. You help me out now and I go away. Plus, you get to know a bit more than you did before. You don’t talk to me? Well, you’re in way over your head, here mate, let’s just say that, shall we?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything. You can’t make me.’

  ‘Oh, I could, Will, I promise you I could. But I’m not going to, because that would be,’ Mann paused for a moment, ‘unkind. But you’re going to tell me what I need to know, just because I ask you.’

  ‘Fuck off. Do your worst, whoever you are.’

  Mann sat back, and smiled. Then he took a sip of his coffee. It was terrible.

  ‘Very nice. And good on you, mate. I like to see a bit of bottle in a bloke. Nice one. So tell you what, I’ll mention a name, and you tell me if that’s who you’re watching. I already know, so you’re giving nowt confidential away. The name we’re all interested in here is Spedding.’

  Callaghan nodded quickly.

  ‘Good. And now the name of your client.’

  ‘No way. You can do what you like to me. But I’m not telling you. Now fuck off.’

  ‘All right, if that’s the way you really want it, Will. But you know that I’ll be back, don’t you? And if not me, then someone else. And they might not be from the same place as me, and they might not ask as nicely. You hear what I’m saying?’

  ‘I do, but I’m saying nothing. Nothing.’

  Mann looked at him steadily, took another sip from his coffee, found the drink no better, and put the mug down.

  ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to confide in me? Absolutely sure?’

  Callaghan looked terrified again, almost as if he was about to burst into tears, and that was interesting. A result, of sorts, in itself.

  ‘You are? All right then, so I have to conclude that you must be more frightened of your client than you are of me. And I can understand that, I really can. But I wonder if you’re aware of what your client is really capable of?’ Callaghan seemed paralysed with fear. ‘No? That’s no surprise, I suppose. Murder’s not something that I’d want to shout about either, like. Oh, aye, that’s what we’re talking about here, mate. Still, I might be a useful ally in getting you out of this, I really might.’

  ‘No way. I’m saying nothing. I don’t even know who you are, or who you work for.’

  Mann got up slowly, and smiled.

  ‘All right. Would it help at all if you did know who I am?’

  ‘No, I don’t bloody want to know. I just want you to get out, that’s all.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  On his way out Mann placed his half-full mug on the PA’s desk, then strolled out into the street, making sure that he was visible from Callaghan’s window. He stood for a minute, then walked away, well out of sight, before doubling back. He watched the office for an hour before he ambled back to his own car, and he phoned Hall as he walked.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Pretty much the way you said it would, Andy. He almost shat himself when I got in the car. I didn’t have to say a word.’

  ‘Suggesting he already knew there was something unusual about this one? Like that it’s not just another matrimonial job, for example?’

  ‘Aye, exactly like that.’

  ‘And he confirmed that it was Spedding he was watching?’

  ‘Aye, he did.’

  ‘But not who his client is?’

  ‘Right again. I got the felling that I could have put his head through the bloody window and dangled him by his feet and he’d still have told me nowt. He’s scared, all right. So maybe the bloke’s still got a copper’s instinct, even if his bottle’s gone.’

  There was a silence at the other end of the line, and Mann knew much better than to break into it.

  ‘So we’re still thinking Vinny Battersby, are we?’ said Hall, before immediately answering his own question. ‘It’s a bloody massive assumption, but it’ll have to do for now, I suppose.’

  ‘Agreed. It could be anyone, like, but he seems like a decent place to start. You want me to see what I can dig up on this Battersby?’

  ‘By asking your mates? The ones who are probably earwigging on this very conversation?’

  Mann laughed. ‘Aye, they’re the ones. Say the magic words and there’ll be a drone overhead in five minutes.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. All right, if it’s not exhausting your stock of favours that would be helpful, Ian. Battersby must have come to the notice of the security services at some point, mustn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, probably, if he was ever seen as any sort of real threat, and I’ll certainly ask. Doesn’t mean they’ll tell me owt, like.’

  ‘Of course not. I’ll have a poke about too. It’s amazing what you can discover about people, if you search around online for long enough.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. So speak in a day or two, yeah?’

  ‘Definitely. And meanwhile, keep your hands off the Wisteria, will you?’

  ‘The what, mate? Sorry, but you’ve lost me totally there, like.’

  Wednesday, 17th September

  The Hall/Francis residence, Kendal, 8.48 pm.

  Jane was upstairs, having yet another attempt at settling Grace, whose colic was now a constant subject of conversation in the Hall household. Andy had just put on some music, partly to cover the noise, when he heard the door-bell chime, like a distant cowbell. He rose, a little stiffly, and made for the front door. The man on the doorstep looked far too prosperous to be selling anything, even God. Hall noticed his shoes, oxblood brogues that couldn’t have looked more hand made if there’d been fingerprints on the welts. The car, long and dark, looked handmade too. A Maserati, Hall thought vaguely, and probably inaccurately.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Vinny Battersby. I wondered if I could have a word?’

  Hall’s face, plumply oval and unlined, registered no surprise, but then he had guessed, a moment before Battersby spoke, who it was.

  ‘I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time. If you’d called or emailed….’

  ‘I didn’t have any details for you.’

  ‘But you did have my address.’

  Battersby smiled. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. I could have contacted you. Shall I give you a call to re-arrange?’

  ‘Certainly. What was it you wanted to discuss, exactly?’

  When Battersby replied he was still smiling. Only not with the eyes.

  ‘Best to save that for our meeting, yes?’ He paused, but only for the length of a baby’s breath. ‘Nice house, Mr. Hall.’

  Hall got the message. He’d made his point, but then Battersby had made his, too.

  ‘Just give me a minute, would you? Would you like to wait inside, while I speak to my partner?’

  ‘No, thanks. Here’s fine. I wouldn’t want to wake Grace. I know what they’re like at that age.’

  Battersby hadn’t emphasised the child�
�s name, but he didn’t need to. Because Hall got this message too, loud and very, very clear. It wasn’t just him who could take an interest in the lives of others.

  He walked quietly up the stairs, avoiding the step that squeaked, and met Jane on the landing. He pointed at their bedroom door.

  ‘That Vinny Battersby guy has turned up.’

  ‘Shit. He’s here, now?’

  ‘He is. Standing on the doorstep. Wants a chat.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Listen.’

  Jane nodded. ‘He knows where we live.’

  ‘He does. Grace’s name as well. He made a point of mentioning it.’

  ‘You want me to call anyone? Ian, maybe? Or I can make it official, if you want. See how he likes a couple of bobbies turning up on his doorstep.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. And there’s no need to call Ian away from plucking Petunias, or whatever he’s doing this evening. I’ll be fine. The bloke just wants to talk, I’m certain. There’s no risk, honestly. Not to me, and not to you or Grace.’

  ‘All right. But you be careful. How long will you be?’

  ‘An hour or so, tops.’

  Jane looked down from the window, and saw Battersby leaning against his car, smoking. He waved up at her, but she didn’t wave back. What was it that Andy always said about smokers? That they were either poor, or risk-takers, and she had no doubt which of the two Battersby was. He threw the fag away as Hall approached, and the two men shook hands.

  ‘Drive or walk?’ asked Battersby.

  ‘Walk, I think’, said Hall. ‘It’s a lovely evening.’

  They walked in silence, down through the estate towards town. Neither man spoke, and if Battersby was hoping for Hall to break the silence then they would return to the house without a word being spoken.

  ‘You’ve been taking an interest in me, Mr. Hall.’