The wind blew sharply in his face. And with it something else. The near ice touch of rain.
With that, the storm clouds above made good on their day long threat. The rain came lashing down.
Tom got as far under the lip of rock as he could. Ready to sit out the night and everything in it.
56
‘There they are.’
Blake pointed. It wasn’t necessary: The only thing ahead on the moor’s shingle track was a stationary car with its headlights on. She pushed the Duster harder, hoping to increase speed but in reality just rocking the pair of them backwards and forwards on the SUV’s cheap suspension.
She pulled up next to the other car. Before she had time to turn her engine off Dean Foley burst from the back of his car, angry and roaring. She got calmly out, closed the door.
‘I don’t like not knowing what’s going on,’ he said, getting right in Blake’s face. His sheer, physical presence was intimidating. His anger unnerving. She could understand why he was so feared. ‘Baz here says we’ve got to wait so I waited. Now what’s this all about?’
Blake looked quickly inside the car. A confused and scared-looking prison officer was behind the wheel, Baz in the back. He smiled when he saw her. She smiled in return.
‘Hello Foxy,’ she said. ‘Long time no see.’
Baz stepped out of the car. Looked at her.
‘You two know each other?’ Foley, his anger unabated, stared at them, suspicious.
‘Yeah,’ said Baz, crossing to Blake, ‘we go back a long way, don’t we babe?’
He put his arm round her, pulled her towards him for a kiss. Blake resisted.
‘What’s the matter?’ Anger in his voice. ‘Don’t you fancy me no more?’
Blake hadn’t known how she would feel seeing him again. Hadn’t prepared herself. He looked rough. And not just because of the scars. Standing there in his prison-issue best, he emanated waves of thwarted ambition, bitterness. She barely recognised him.
‘That’s not why I’m here and you know it. So let’s get on with things.’
He stared at her, mentally adding her to the list of those who had betrayed him. She could practically feel him doing it.
‘All the fucking same . . .’
Blake had tried to rekindle their relationship after the crash, more from duty or pity than anything else. But they were too different by then. She was in the ascendancy and he couldn’t cope with that. He was consumed by anger and self-loathing. Blake thought he had a point to be angry with the police since they wouldn’t give him the pension he thought he was entitled to. But he’d gone bad, they said. Undercover work’s not for everyone. You need the right temperament. A sense of perspective. Even his union rep told him to just accept it, let it go, get on with the rest of his life.
So he took it out on Blake, initially. Shouted at her, hit her. She had never thought she would be the kind of woman to stand for that kind of abuse. Whenever she had been called out to a domestic to find a bloody, battered, broken woman crying with pain but refusing to press charges, she’d thought the woman deserved all that was coming to her. If she was too simple minded to leave then Blake had no sympathy for her. But it wasn’t like that. As she found out.
It was gradual. Baz resenting her for having a career, a job, even. Letting that resentment grow. Fuelling it with drugs and alcohol. Taking it out on her. Their relationship so complicated by love and mutual desire that she didn’t realise what she had become until it happened.
One of those women she had no sympathy for.
So she left him. Eventually.
‘Don’t start that,’ she said, snapping back to the present. ‘Head in the game. You contacted me for a reason. And we’re here now so let’s get on with it.’
Baz just stared at her.
He had contacted her out of the blue. He was in Blackmoor with Dean Foley. Had heard she was with Devon and Cornwall Police, trying to advance her career in a way she couldn’t in Manchester. Guilt mingled with curiosity. She went to see him. Having the time of his life, he said, like an old boys’ club. Had she tracked down Mick Eccleston yet? Did she have the money? And if so, when could he get his cut?
His words dug into her. She had tried to find Mick Eccleston – and Foley’s money – but with no success. And then something dropped into her lap. The events of several months ago in St Petroc. Tom Killgannon had done his best not to get his face seen anywhere but she had spotted him. And it didn’t take too long to put a plan into action.
Noel Cunningham wanted to talk. They needed someone to go inside. It was a simple matter to nudge Harmer in the direction of Killgannon. He was right in their lap. And even easier to make Harmer think he had come up with the idea himself. It was a perfect plan. She never wanted to see Baz again and wouldn’t after this. She would cross him. And take great joy in doing so. Payback for all the things he had done to her.
She turned away from Baz. ‘Mr Foley,’ she said, smiling, ‘a pleasure to meet you at last.’
She stuck out her hand, ready for him to shake. The gesture, the smile, her words, took him by surprise, stopped his rage in full flow.
He accepted her hand, more confused than angry now. ‘And you are?’
‘Detective Constable Annie Blake. And I’m here to help you.’
Suspicious now. ‘Help me? How?’
‘By taking you to meet Tom Killgannon. Or Mick Eccleston as you know him.’
Foley looked between everyone, back to Blake. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here,’ he said. He pointed to Quint. ‘And who’s this?’
‘This is Quint,’ said Blake.
‘No I’m not,’ said Quint.
‘You are for now. I read up on Eccleston’s old case files in Manchester. He often worked with some kind of backup. This, to all intents and purposes, is him.’
Dan Jameson had fallen into her lap. Ex-army, ex-mercenary, trying to make a living back in the UK. She had arrested him for attempted murder in Manchester. He was trying to carve out a career as a hitman but without much success. She thought he was the kind of person she could do business with at some point so made sure the charges against him were buried in return for a favour some time in the future. She remembered Jameson when she saw Killgannon had chosen Quinton Blair, an old friend of his. Jameson had been very thorough in assuming Quint’s identity. And, as she had discovered, hadn’t baulked at getting rid of anyone else.
Foley turned to Baz. ‘What’s going on?’
‘This is the friend I was telling you about in the car. The one I texted. The one I said we had to meet.’
‘She’s law. And we should have been back in Blackmoor hours ago.’
Baz shrugged. ‘Things have changed, Dean.’
Foley stared at him. Blake felt she was coming between these two men who had some unfinished – perhaps even unspoken – business.
‘I thought you’d want to get back inside,’ said Foley. ‘You weren’t enjoying it out here today.’
‘No I wasn’t. But that was then.’ He smiled at Blake. She didn’t return it. ‘We’re ready to move forwards.’
Anger came to Foley once more. ‘Are you fucking me about, Baz? What’s going on? Tell me.’
‘We think Killgannon’s got the missing two million,’ said Blake.
Foley thought for a second before replying. ‘You mean my two million.’
Blake shrugged. ‘There’ll be plenty to go round when we get it. We can all have a share. Call it a finder’s fee.’
Foley said nothing. Didn’t have to. The look on his face betrayed the fact he didn’t agree with her.
‘The important thing,’ she told him, ‘is to get it first.’ She turned to her companion. ‘Quint.’
‘I’m not Quint.’
‘Don’t start that again. You know where you’ve got to go. What you’ve got to do.’
‘Won’t Killgannon be there?’
‘Not if he wants to go back inside again, but you’d better be quick. The law might
turn up at any minute looking for him. He’ll have been missed by now.’
Quint nodded. Looked pensive. ‘How do I get there? Your car?’
Blake looked offended at the idea. She crossed to Chris, still sitting behind the wheel of his car. Flashed him her warrant card.
‘DC Blake, Devon and Cornwall police. I’m going to need your car.’ He began to protest. ‘It’s not a debate. My associate is taking it. Now.’
He got out, stood behind the door. Looked very uncertain. Blake nodded to Quint who came over, got behind the wheel. Drove off. Chris walked towards the Duster. Made to get inside.
‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ asked Blake.
Chris looked at her as though the question didn’t need answering.
‘I have official police business with these two prisoners. You’re going to have to make your own way home.’
‘But it’s miles away. I don’t even know where I am . . .’
She turned away. ‘Right. You two. In my car.’
Foley looked at her, then at Baz. His attention stayed on Baz.
‘I don’t trust you anymore,’ he said.
Baz shrugged, smiled. ‘You’d be very wise not to.’
Foley kept staring at him. ‘It was you, then, wasn’t it?’
‘What was me?’
‘The attack on Eccleston. Clive Bennett’s death. You did all that.’
Baz shrugged, that unpleasant smile still creasing and cracking his features. ‘You’re slipping, Dean, losing your power. Someone had to step up, replace you.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Who better than me? Good old, loyal, dependable Baz.’ He couldn’t keep the hatred from his voice. ‘Standing beside you all that time, doing whatever you told me to do, carrying out your every order. Well not anymore, Deano. From now on it’s me in charge.’
Foley just stared at him. ‘I thought you might try something like this. That’s why I brought you out with me today because I couldn’t trust you to stay inside without me.’
‘I know,’ said Baz. ‘And that’s what I wanted you to think. I played you, Dean.’
Foley’s expression changed. He had looked like he had been about to do Baz some damage, possibly terminal. Now he wanted to listen. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘I wanted to be out here as much as you. I want to see Killgannon as much as you do too.’
‘Why? The money?’
Baz just smiled.
‘Well,’ said Foley nodded, ‘It looks like we’re off on a little jaunt together, doesn’t it?’
They all got into the Duster. Blake started up the engine, mounted her phone on a clip on the dashboard.
‘You know where Killgannon is?’ asked Foley.
Blake smiled. ‘I know exactly where he is.’
She turned the Duster round, drove off.
The rain started.
They passed Chris as he made his long walk home.
No one acknowledged him.
57
Lila lay back, eyes still closed, sighed. Smiled. Turned to Anju, found she was smiling just as broadly, looking straight into her eyes. Neither spoke. Neither needed to.
Anju hugged Lila close to her. Curled her face into the side of her neck. Lila could feel her breath on her skin, knew from her lips that she was still smiling.
Lila sighed again. She hadn’t felt this happy, this relaxed, in ages. Years, perhaps. Tom was right, she thought. Things are going to be better from now on.
They had both known this was going to happen. Ending up in bed together. Both had wanted to, but neither had planned it. Like the rest of their relationship, it had happened organically, grown out of what had gone before.
Anju had driven round to Lila’s house, just to spend the evening together. Watch some TV, eat Lila’s attempt at pasta carbonara, chill. Be together. But as soon as she entered they both knew what was going to happen. Looking back at that moment, both had known even before that, when the invitation was made. But neither had expressed it. Neither had needed to.
And it had felt so right. Lila didn’t feel guilty. Nor did she feel like she was doing it as an act of distant revenge to spite her parents. It had been because she was falling in love with another person and wanted to express that, explore that.
She held Anju harder to her. Enjoyed the feeling of the other girl’s body against her own. Could happily lie like that for the rest of her life.
Then heard a car outside.
Anju moved, made to get up.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Lila. ‘It’ll just be Pearl coming back from the pub.’
Anju relaxed once more.
And stayed that way until there was hammering on the front door.
That wasn’t Pearl.
They both jumped up, looked at each other. Didn’t know who it was but knew it wasn’t going to be good news.
‘Could that be Tom?’ asked Anju.
For a split second, Lila allowed herself to hope. To think that things would be alright for him too. But that soon faded.
More hammering.
‘I don’t think so . . .’
They both quickly got dressed, pulled on whatever clothing they found to hand. Went downstairs. Anju not letting Lila go down alone.
They stood in front of the door. Heard more hammering.
‘Who is it?’ called Lila.
More hammering.
‘Let me in.’ Muffled, urgent.
They couldn’t make out the voice. Lila ran to the living room, opened the curtains, checked the car outside. She didn’t recognise it. Not Quint, she thought. He would have been on his motorbike. She went back to the front door. More frantic hammering.
Lila and Anju shared a look. They both knew they were going to open it.
Quint came roaring in, gun in hand.
Anju screamed. Quint turned, knocked her to the floor with the butt of his gun. Lila ran to her.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Her anger, concern for Anju overrode her fear of him.
He slammed the door behind him. Stared down at them.
‘Get her in there,’ he said, gesturing to the living room. ‘Now.’
Lila helped Anju to her feet. She was bleeding from where the gun had connected with her temple.
‘Move.’
Lila helped Anju to the sofa, sat down next to her. ‘You OK?’
Anju nodded. ‘Yeah. I think . . .’
Lila looked up at Quint who covered them both with the gun.
‘Sit there. Don’t move.’
Lila stared at him. ‘I knew you were wrong from the first moment. Knew it. Should have trusted my instincts.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Quint, looking round the room, ‘bit late for that now.’
‘What d’you want?’
‘What I’ve wanted all along. The money.’
Lila frowned. ‘What you talking about? What money?’
‘The money Killgannon stole from Dean Foley. Don’t play stupid.’
‘Haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Tom didn’t steal any money.’
‘Yeah? You think? How well do you know him?’
Lila made to stand up. Quint waved the gun at her. She sat down again. Even more angry. ‘He wouldn’t do that. I know him. And he wouldn’t do that.’
Quint smiled. ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’
‘What are you going to do with us?’ Anju’s voice was weak, wavering. She held her hand to her head, trying unsuccessfully to stem the flow of blood.
‘Depends how useful you’re going to be.’
‘Useful for what?’ asked Lila, defiance still in her voice.
Quint smiled. There was no trace of the charming man who had visited them previously. Lila was angry with herself for not challenging him sooner. Letting it come to this. ‘Useful to me. Can’t search this whole house on my own, now, can I?’
‘What makes you think we’ll help you?’ asked Anju, voice quiet, but as defiant as Lila’s.
‘Because I’m holding the gun. And
you don’t want to be on the wrong end of it if you piss me off, do you?’
They both stared at him.
‘There’s a stupid bitch policewoman out on the moors right now trying to track down your beloved Tom Killgannon. And she thinks I’m just going to roll over and give her whatever money I find.’
‘There’s no money here,’ said Lila. ‘I’ve told you. I would know.’
‘We’ll see, shall we?’
The gun seemed to loom even larger in front of her face.
Lila said nothing, just held on to Anju.
Her only slim hope was that Pearl would come home and see what was happening.
That slim hope.
Lila had learned, from bitter experience, not to believe in hope.
58
Tom didn’t think it was possible but he was finding sleep even more elusive than in prison.
The rain and the cold hadn’t let up, hadn’t allowed him to sleep. That and the constant churn of his mind as he tried to understand what had led him to this situation and how he could get out of it.
He tried once again to put everything in place, give events some semblance of order. Sheridan was dead and with him his way out. Blake thought he had stolen Dean Foley’s money. He didn’t know how or why she had reached this conclusion but she seemed firmly convinced of it. Dr Bradshaw wanted Foley and him to talk, bury their differences. He didn’t see that happening now. So where would he go from here, what would his future be? Assuming he had a future. Another identity since this one was compromised? Back to prison for real? Not seeing Lila or Pearl again? The last hurt the most. He had just been getting his new life established. Just about come to terms with his past, making tentative steps towards a future. That could all be gone now.
He didn’t have time to think anymore. Headlights were approaching along the ridge below him.
He looked round, checked that the bike was out of sight. Hoped it was just some hill farmer checking on his errant flock. Still, he didn’t want to engage with whoever it was, so tucked himself as far back into the rocky overhang as he could.
He heard the roar of an engine as the vehicle made its way up the hill. Stayed as still as he could. If it was a search party there would be more of them. Probably with dogs. And they wouldn’t be able to cover the rough terrain as easily as this vehicle which, he guessed, must be some kind of four by four. Must be a farmer.
The Sinner Page 27
