by Jo Bannister
He’d known Daniel would be alone. He’d known that he wouldn’t be armed – well, this was England, he might have guessed that – and that he wouldn’t fight back, at least not very effectively. And he’d known that, to protect his own identity, he didn’t need a stocking over his face or a silly plastic mask, he just needed to remove Daniel’s glasses. Lots of people wear glasses, but most of them have some useful sight. To know that Daniel was sufficiently blind without his to render any disguise superfluous, you had to know him reasonably well.
His search for Jane Moss’s necklace hadn’t just alarmed someone. It hadn’t just alarmed someone who was prepared to use violence to stop him. It had alarmed someone he knew.
‘Do you understand me?’ the man said again.
Daniel spat out blood and the sharp chip of a tooth. ‘Of course I understand you.’ It took no effort at all to let his voice quaver timorously. Leave it at that, urged the little internal Daniel who cared more for his skin than his image. That covers it. Don’t say another word.
‘Good.’ The man leant forward again, and seemed satisfied when Daniel flinched. He patted the smaller man’s shoulder much as you might pat a good dog. Then he reached out and tweaked his nose. ‘It’s all right, that’s not broken. Stick a tissue up it and try not to blow for a day. You’ll be as good as new tomorrow.’ Then he was gone.
Deacon peered judiciously at the damage. ‘I’m not sure he was right about the nose.’
‘The nose is fine,’ whined Daniel adenoidally. ‘Forget about the nose.’
‘Suddenly you’re an expert on noses?’
‘I’m an expert on my nose,’ insisted Daniel. ‘It’s fine. Now, can we talk about what’s going on here?’
Deacon considered. Daniel had called him at work, and he’d dropped in on his way home. He hadn’t thought it warranted blues and twos. ‘What do you think’s going on?’
‘I think I’ve managed to rattle some cages. I didn’t mean to. All I set out to do was find a missing necklace and buy it back, but all at once I’m in the middle of a Hitchcock film. That wasn’t Bobby Carson, reaching out from whichever of Her Majesty’s secure establishments he’s currently occupying. It was someone who heard I’d been talking to Paul Sinclair. Someone we know, Jack.’
Deacon looked singularly unsurprised. ‘Probably. Daniel – what were you expecting when you started asking questions about a robbery that put one person in the ground and another in a wheelchair? That all the bighearted old lags would gather round and try to help you? Got news for you, Danny. Old lags don’t have big hearts. If they had they wouldn’t mug people for a living.’
‘But we know who the thief was,’ objected Daniel. ‘Bobby Carson. And he’s in prison. Why would anyone else want to get involved?’
‘They’re not getting involved,’ Deacon explained carefully, as if to a child, ‘they are involved. Carson’s the one who ran those kids down and stole their valuables, he’s the one we caught, but everyone needs contacts. Either he was taking orders from someone, or someone bankrolled him, or someone offered to move the gear on in return for a cut. Someone we never found. Someone who was relieved when Carson went down without talking, and doesn’t want you raking over the coals again.’
‘He used an old car – why would he need bankrolling?’ asked Daniel. ‘And you know who moved the necklace on – Paul Sinclair. Innocently, or more likely not, he had it through his shop and he sold it on where you couldn’t trace it. He’s also the only one I’ve talked to. It must have been him who sent Godzilla round.’
Deacon shook his head. ‘Not his style. He wouldn’t mind being one step along the way towards legitimising stolen goods but he’d want credible deniability. He wouldn’t have taken the necklace directly from the thief. He wouldn’t know if Carson had a partner, or a boss. All he’d know was who offered him the jewellery.’
Daniel took that on board. ‘So it’s someone further up the chain who’s worried. Maybe the one who took the stuff directly from Carson’s hands. Sinclair must have warned his contact, who warned his contact, who warned him.’
‘Probably,’ agreed Deacon. ‘But Carson knew better than to implicate him. It wouldn’t have saved him much time and it would have put him in a lot of danger. The guy who sent your visitor round would have no trouble getting at Carson, even inside. Instead of which, when he finally gets out, whoever he’s protecting will remember that he’s owed a favour.’
‘This is a local man,’ said Daniel, trying to put it together. ‘He was in the area nine months ago when this was going down, and he’s still here now. On top of that, he knows me. So I know him.’ He rolled his eyes in frustration. ‘I just don’t know that I know.’
‘Welcome to my world,’ growled Deacon. Then, seeing Daniel wasn’t going to let it lie, he sighed. ‘OK, let’s go through it again. Your visitor – did he seem familiar?’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘I’d have recognised the voice if it was someone I know.’
‘But he didn’t want you seeing his face. And he knows you’re as blind as a bat without your glasses.’ Political correctness had largely passed Deacon by. ‘So he thinks he’s in the family album.’ He meant the library of photographs CID maintained against this eventuality.
‘He called me Danny.’
‘I call you Danny.’
‘Only when you’re annoyed with me. Everyone else calls me Daniel. So he doesn’t so much know me as know of me. Someone who knows me better – well enough to know I wouldn’t recognise the queen of England without my glasses – gave him my name and address and sent him round with instructions to scare me off.’
‘Did it work?’
Daniel thought for a moment. He sounded a little surprised. ‘No.’
‘Well, it should have done. You’re getting in deep here. The sensible thing now would be to give it up.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
Deacon waited a bit longer. Daniel said nothing more. Deacon knew why. ‘So,’ he said heavily, ‘are you going to give it up?’
‘No,’ Daniel said again.
‘May I ask why not?’ In the less well-lit parts of Dimmock the sound of Deacon being polite made strong men turn pale.
‘Because…’ After he’d started the sentence Daniel found that the answer wasn’t as obvious as he’d thought. ‘Because I said I’d help Margaret Carson. She needs help, and no one else has much sympathy for the mother of a killer. It isn’t her fault, she doesn’t even think it’s her fault, but she feels as if it is. She needs some kind of redemption. I want to help her.’
‘Enough to send out the message that this’ – he flicked the end of Daniel’s nose for quite unnecessary emphasis – ‘wasn’t enough? That whoever did it should come back for another go?’
‘This is just a thought,’ said Daniel, blinking back tears. ‘But you don’t suppose that, now I’ve reported a violent assault to my local detective superintendent, he might take steps to prevent that?’
Deacon shrugged carelessly. He almost seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘I can’t protect you when I don’t know who you need protecting from. Let’s face it, Daniel, most of the people you know have felt the urge to break your nose at one time or another.’
Daniel clung onto his patience. ‘So what do you suggest?’
‘My best advice? Drop it. It isn’t worth getting hurt over. But since you never take my best advice, my second best advice would be to change your locks. Maybe buy yourself a Rottweiler.’
‘Thanks, Jack,’ said Daniel coldly.
Chapter Ten
He hadn’t expected to get much sympathy from Deacon. He didn’t expect to get much from Brodie either, and he thought her advice would be the same – and harder to ignore since she was, at least technically, his employer. He waited for her to notice his thick lip and demand an explanation.
But he saw nothing of her the next day, and on the Thursday she phoned to say she was taking Jonathan to Switzerland that afternoon.
‘How long will you
be gone?’
‘How long’s a piece of string? I don’t know what they’ll tell me yet. But there’s a new chemo treatment this particular clinic’s pioneering and I want them to look at Jonathan.’
At least it wasn’t the other side of the world. ‘Shall I drive you to the airport?’
‘Or at least, as close to the airport as you can park without having to go in backwards?’ He heard the hint of humour in her voice and didn’t take offence. ‘Thanks, Daniel, but no. Jack’s taking us. I’m just letting you know. Is there anything you want to ask before I disappear again?’
He wondered if Deacon had told her about his close encounter. He hoped not, because if she didn’t know she couldn’t tell him what to do about it and he wouldn’t have to refuse. ‘No,’ he said carefully, ‘I don’t think so.’
‘OK. I’ll call you in a day or two.’ Still she didn’t ring off. It was as if she was waiting to be prompted – as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how to get started.
Sometimes he could read her mind. But not this time. ‘OK then. Well… good luck.’
Her patience snapped. She was no good at tiptoeing round things. For all her faults, and they were many, she was a forthright woman. ‘Oh Daniel, I wish you’d just say what you think!’
Behind his second-best glasses he blinked. ‘About what?’
‘About chasing wild geese, that’s what! That’s what you think, isn’t it? That I’m wasting time – mine, but more importantly Jonathan’s – chasing moon-shadows.’
‘I never said that.’ Daniel kept his voice low.
‘I know you didn’t. Your silences speak volumes!’
He understood where this was coming from. Sometimes Brodie used him as a sounding board, when part of her questioned the wisdom of something the rest of her was intent on. He sighed. ‘Brodie, you’re mistaken. I don’t think what you’re doing is wrong. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d do in your place. I do know this has to be your decision – something you can live with. I wish I could help. If sounding off at me makes you feel better, fine. But don’t think I’m criticising you when I’m not. Not out loud; not even silently.’
Perhaps no one else would have heard, over the phone, the catch in her voice. But Daniel did. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m tired. And worried. And missing you.’
‘I’m here,’ he said softly. ‘I’m right here. I’m going to be right here when you get back. I’ll always be here.’
It never occurred to him that he was making a promise he might not be able to keep.
He only had one lead, so his choice was between following it and giving up. He went back to see Paul Sinclair.
He got a certain amount of satisfaction from the way Sinclair jolted when he saw Daniel’s face. It might have been that he was surprised to see him again so soon. Or it might have been that Daniel looked like he’d come second in a headbutting contest with a goat, and Sinclair knew more about that than he’d have been happy admitting.
Daniel smiled pleasantly at him. ‘I’m looking for more cranberry glass for Mrs Campbell-Wheeler.’ It wasn’t a lie. He was always looking for cranberry glass for Mrs Campbell-Wheeler.
‘Er…right. I’ll, um…’
‘Have a look in the back?’ suggested Daniel encouragingly. ‘In case there’s something you haven’t got round to cleaning up yet?’
‘Er…yes.’ The dealer made no move. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Daniel’s face.
‘Mr Sinclair? Oh,’ he said then, as if suddenly remembering, ‘the shiner. Yes. Somebody mugged me last night. Funniest thing. Didn’t take anything, just wanted to talk. About that necklace. You know – the one I asked you about.’ He let the pause stretch until its sinews creaked. He was waiting to see if Sinclair would take another breath. Only when the man started turning blue did Daniel take pity on him. ‘In fact, the really funny thing is, you were the only one I had asked about it.’
‘I-I didn’t…I’d no idea…’ stammered Sinclair. ‘It was nothing to do with me!’
‘No? Who was it to do with?’
The man was so flustered that the entry-level trick almost worked. But at the last moment he realised that the words about to come out of his mouth could earn him a call from Daniel’s visitor. His eyes widened and his mouth shut tight as if he’d swallowed a goldfish.
After a moment Daniel went on, in the same calm, amiable tone. ‘And I’m not sure what to do about it. Somebody’s plainly got the impression that I’m some kind of a threat, and I’m not. As far as I know, the courts dealt with the guy who was responsible for what happened. All I want to do is buy the necklace back. That’s my only interest in this, Mr Sinclair. I thought I’d made that clear.’
‘I-I didn’t… It wasn’t…’
‘You?’ finished Daniel helpfully. ‘Oh, I know that. This guy was bigger than you and me put together. But you see, the only way he’d have known I was looking for that necklace was if he’d been talking to someone who’d been talking to you. When I left here, who did you call?’
‘No one.’ Clearly a lie, it struggled out of his throat as if someone was strangling him.
‘So when you told me you’d give it some thought, you’d actually no intention of doing so?’
‘No. Yes! I mean, I thought about it. I just couldn’t think of anything that would help.’
‘So who did you tell?’
‘No one.’
‘You must have.’ Daniel being adamant was like a small glacier grinding its way through a mountain pass. ‘No one mugged me on the off chance. I’m not suggesting you sent him. I’m suggesting that you did what I asked and put out a few feelers, and one of them made someone uneasy. So, who did you speak to?’
But Sinclair just shook his head. Daniel’s visitor could have got the information out of him. Perhaps Deacon could. But nothing Daniel was prepared to do would persuade Paul Sinclair that he had more to fear from a maths teacher than from the kind of man who considers locked doors a minor inconvenience. He’d hit a brick wall. Another one.
Deacon wasn’t lying when he told Daniel the trail had gone cold. From a purely pragmatic point of view – which, in view of the CID budget, was sometimes all he could afford – he’d done what was required: found the killer, brought him to court, made the charges stick. Recovering the loot would have been the gilt on the gingerbread, but for a pie-and-chips man the main course is what counts.
Deacon always described himself as a pie-and-chips man. In fact he had a taste for French provincial cooking. There were many things about Jack Deacon that contradicted what his enemies thought they knew about him, and what he allowed his friends to think.
So, driving north towards Gatwick with Brodie beside him and his son strapped safely in the back, he allowed his mind to toy with this new development in what he’d considered a closed case. Someone was scared. Of Daniel? It didn’t seem terribly likely. At least, to know there was something to be scared of you had to know him reasonably well. Most casual acquaintances saw a diminutive thirty-year-old ex-teacher reduced by post-traumatic stress to doing odd jobs for an old flame. Not a terribly scary prospect, even to the sort of person who jumped when cars backfired and rolled balls under the bed at night.
You had to look quite a lot closer to see that, while the facts were correct, they represented the truth hardly at all. Daniel’s mental health hadn’t always been fragile – it had been ripped apart by an act of extraordinary violence. Even so, he was not so much a victim as a survivor. And Deacon knew what Brodie did not: that he’d have been back teaching for eighteen months, that he was well capable of returning to a job he loved, except that he’d placed Brodie’s needs above his own. As he always had, almost from the moment they met. She wasn’t an old flame. She was the other half of his soul.
All of which, had it been common knowledge, would have made a lot of people review their opinion of Daniel Hood. He was smarter than he looked. He could be stubborn for England. And he was a zealot – he did wha
t he thought was right even when it wasn’t going to be easy.
And somebody knew this well enough to be nervous about his interest in the Carson robbery. Deacon didn’t know who. Right now he didn’t know how to find out who. But he was pretty sure that, if he put his mind to it, he could work it out.
He’d have liked to bounce a few ideas off Brodie. He didn’t, for two reasons. She was preoccupied with her trip to Switzerland – expecting it to be another wasted effort yet unable to ignore the remote possibility that this time would be different. Like a busted gambler buying one more hand, because you only have to win once to pay for all your losses.
And the other reason was, Deacon knew Daniel had said nothing to her about his visitor. That he’d avoided seeing her because his bruises would have prompted questions he wouldn’t lie to answer. Knowing that running her business had put him in danger would have given her a terrible dilemma. She’d still have gone to Switzerland, but the knowledge would have added vastly to her burdens. So Daniel stayed where she couldn’t see him, and Deacon said nothing.
As the traffic began to build approaching Gatwick, Brodie said with a trace of a grin, ‘Maybe we should have taken the train from Haywards Heath.’
Deacon gave a deep chuckle. The last few months had taken a lot out of her. But they hadn’t taken the resilience – the inbuilt knowledge that, when things are as tough as they can get, they aren’t going to be made worse by a bit of black humour. When this was all over – however it ended – she’d still be there: battered, sad, but capable at some point of starting to pick up the pieces.
She loosened her seat belt and turned to smile at Jonathan, secured on the back seat. ‘Jack…’
They were directed to the Urgent Treatment Centre at Crawley Hospital. By the time they got there the baby was breathing normally again. But neither of them believed it was anything other than a significant deterioration in his condition, and by the time he’d been examined and his history considered, the consultant confirmed it.
