Ask No Questions

by Hartley, Lisa

  ‘That was quick.’

  From her side of the conversation, it was clear she was being given instructions. Ewan got up and wandered over to the window, gazing down at the Thames far below. He didn’t want her to think he was listening, though she could have left the room if she had wanted privacy. He leant closer to the window, rested his forehead on the cool, damp glass. If he was honest, the task before them excited him. Caelan was in charge, of course, the star of the show, but to have even a bit part was more than he could have hoped for. After spending so many years being shot at in every war-torn hellhole on earth, the move into protection had been a real comedown. It might sound exciting, but Ewan knew the truth. He was a tiny cog in a huge machine, and it didn’t matter whether he was there or not. The thought of being out in the field again had lit a fire in his belly, one he’d believed long extinguished. People had trusted him once, relied on him. He’d let them down. Here was a chance to put his experience and training back into action. He wasn’t an investigator, far from it, but he knew how to keep someone alive. If he could do that for Caelan Small, it might help him sleep at night.

  Might help him forget their faces.

  ‘Ewan?’ Caelan was standing beside him. ‘That was Nasenby. We’re leaving in six hours. We need to get some rest.’

  6

  He couldn’t remember her name. Strands of her blonde hair fell across her face as she grumbled in her sleep. As she turned over, Ronnie Morgan took the opportunity to slide his arm from beneath her, then slowly, carefully pivoted on the bed so he could set his feet on the ground. Reaching forward, he picked up his clothes, wallet and phone and crept into the tiny en suite bathroom. He didn’t dare shower in case the sound of the water woke her, so he put his hands under the tap and splashed his face instead. Then he picked up her toothpaste, squirted some onto his finger and rubbed it on his teeth. Considering how much he’d had to drink the night before, he didn’t feel bad. A slight headache, a dry mouth, that was all.

  Once dressed, he went quickly, quietly to the door and let himself out. No point disturbing her to say goodbye.

  That was what he told himself as he opened the door onto the street and slipped through it. He felt guilty now, though she had wanted it as much as he had. She had invited him back to her room, so it wasn’t as if she was expecting a game of Scrabble when they got there.

  Walking quickly to put as much distance between her and himself as possible, Ronnie headed for a café where he knew he could get a decent breakfast. At a cash machine he was relieved to see that another five hundred quid had been credited to his account. The money came from his dad, of course, though that was a secret. His mother didn’t know about it, and Ronnie certainly wasn’t going to tell her. She hated his dad and wouldn’t have let Ronnie touch his money. The way he saw it, though, why shouldn’t he? It wasn’t as though the old man had contributed much when he was growing up. He’d been in prison when Ronnie was born, stayed there until a few days before his son’s seventh birthday, arriving at the party bearing a carload of gifts. At that age, the presents mattered. No matter that his mum had raised him alone, worked every hour she could to make sure he had everything he needed. Seb Lambourne had strolled back into their lives as if he had never been away, and Ronnie had loved him for it.

  He hadn’t known where his dad had been all those years. Then, during his teenage years, the truth had slowly dawned. His dad was a criminal, a crook. It had seemed glamorous at first, and Ronnie had been impressed, despite himself. The cash, the cars, the house and the holidays … His mum had warned him, told him repeatedly what Seb Lambourne was like. But he was Ronnie’s father, and that counted for something. At least it had back then.

  Then Charlie Flynn had disappeared, and Ronnie’s world imploded. His dad was the most wanted man in Britain, hated and despised. He and his mum had to go into hiding, leave their home and their lives. At first his mum had refused to go, but when someone poured petrol through their letter box, followed by a lit match, even she had to admit they weren’t safe. The man she had married twenty years previously was a monster, worse than even she had suspected. And now Seb Lambourne was paying for his son’s nights on the piss.

  Ronnie wiped the last traces of egg yolk from his plate with a piece of toast and pushed it into his mouth. He had a lecture at ten and he’d have to hurry. Hopefully the blonde girl from the night before would have forgotten his name and what he looked like. He would probably bump into her again, but he would ignore her. A relationship was not part of his plan – not yet. He had his life mapped out, and though he was happy to accept his father’s money, he would never follow in his footsteps.

  There was a homeless man sitting on the pavement with a paper cup in front of him. Ronnie dropped a folded ten-pound note into it, and the man looked up in surprise.

  ‘Cheers, pal.’

  Ronnie grinned, nodded. ‘You’re welcome, mate.’ No skin off his nose. Thanks, Dad – you’ve bought some poor sod his dinner, maybe contributed to his next fix or bottle of spirits. The thought amused him. Ronnie had direct debits set up all over the place too – children’s charities, refuges, animal sanctuaries. A generous donation to each one every month, paid for by Seb Lambourne’s fatherly guilt. Served him fucking right. About time he helped other people for a change.

  Ducking into a newsagent’s, Ronnie bought a notepad and pen. He might enjoy himself, but he was serious about his studies too. Get his degree, pass his professional exams and leave Seb Lambourne far behind. He’d shed the old man’s name, but there was no fighting genetics. Still, Ronnie did his best.

  He made the lecture theatre in plenty of time, had a chat with a few mates from his course as he went inside, and didn’t give his dad another thought.

  7

  Caelan cooked breakfast: bacon, fried eggs, sausages and tomatoes. Ewan had been surprised when she had offered, expecting her to start her day with muesli or fruit. Then again, the curry the night before should have given him a clue. As he was buttering a second slice of toast, the apartment’s entry phone buzzed. Caelan looked up from loading the dishwasher.

  ‘Here we go.’ She set the plate she was holding on the worktop and went over to pick up the receiver. After a quick conversation, she replaced the handset and raised her eyebrows at Ewan. ‘There’s a parcel downstairs. Ready to meet your new identity?’

  He frowned. ‘Meet him?’

  ‘It can feel like that,’ Caelan told him. ‘This isn’t quite the same, because you’re not assuming a concrete role, but you’ll need to be convincing.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ Ewan admitted.

  Caelan ignored that. ‘I’ll go down and fetch the parcel.’ She bent to slip her shoes on.

  ‘Let me.’ Ewan chewed his last mouthful of toast. ‘You cooked.’

  Caelan smiled. ‘Don’t get used to it; that was a one-off.’

  * * *

  In the lift, Ewan stared at his reflection, wondering how he could disguise himself if he needed to. All he could think of was fake glasses and facial hair. Not exactly in Caelan’s league.

  On the third floor, a woman got into the lift. She smiled at Ewan, then turned away, obviously not wanting to talk. That suited him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have volunteered to come down here after all. People would expect to see Caelan, but not him. Then again, Caelan had wanted him to stay. Although they had only met the day before, Ewan already felt comfortable in her presence. She was easy to talk to, and though he had felt intimidated on meeting her, it had quickly given way to respect, especially after seeing the way she had dealt with Ian Penrith at the meeting.

  What Penrith had said troubled Ewan. He couldn’t believe Caelan was guilty of any wrongdoing, though how could he know for sure so soon after meeting her? He had lain awake the night before in Caelan’s guest room, thinking about the accusations Penrith had made. He knew he would be reliant on Caelan for however long it took to flush Lambourne out. This was her field of expertise, not his, and that alone caused h
im to feel vulnerable. But he had no choice but to trust her after she had dragged him along for the ride.

  After the beer, the amazing curry and a warm shower, he had expected to fall asleep immediately. That hadn’t been the case, and he was feeling the effects of too little sleep already. Life in the army had never been nine to five, but his work for the Met had been a little more routine. Now he was going to be on duty twenty-four hours a day until Lambourne was caught. The thought was not comforting. Working so closely with Caelan was going to be difficult too. He thought he could trust her, but how could he be sure? Time alone would tell.

  * * *

  Caelan went quickly into the bedroom Ewan had slept in and picked up the khaki canvas bag he had brought with him. She shook her head with a smile. Lucky his story was going to include an army background. Knowing that she had at least five minutes before he returned from reception, she had planned to search through the bag, more out of habit than any sense of mistrust. Now, though, seeing his phone on the bedside table, his wallet, she hesitated. He would probably realise what she had done, and any camaraderie that was beginning to grow between them would be destroyed. No. It was better to wait. If he gave her any reason to doubt him, then she would act, and swiftly. She’d done it before.

  * * *

  As Ewan stared down at his own face on the passport Caelan had handed him, he wondered how they had found a photo of him. It was obvious when he thought about it. From his real passport. They’d even put a few stamps inside the new one, made it look battered. He had credit and debit cards too, and a driving licence.

  He read the name from the document. ‘Edward Devlin.’

  ‘Same initials as your own. The date of birth will be your real one too. If you hesitate when someone asks you, it’s a dead giveaway,’ said Caelan.

  ‘What do I call you?’ he asked. She held out her own new passport for him to inspect. ‘Karen Devlin,’ he read aloud.

  ‘We’re married, by the way,’ Caelan told him, unfolding a certificate and waving it at him. Ewan gaped, and she laughed. ‘Congratulations. Do you want to phone your mum?’

  ‘We’re … Is that real?’

  ‘Absolutely. At least, if anyone cares to check, all the official records will show Edward Devlin marrying Karen Shaw in a lovely country hotel two years ago. They might have problems finding someone who attended the ceremony, though. We have joint bank accounts, insurance, all the usual stuff. There’ll be social media accounts, even photos. Places mainly, not people, as you’d expect. Enough of a presence to be convincing. Someone will update all that for us periodically. There’s a car waiting for us too, one that Edward and Karen have been making loan payments on for the past eighteen months.’ She brandished a car key, jangling on a fob with a couple of others. ‘The rest are the keys for our house in Lincoln.’

  Ewan shook his head, overwhelmed. ‘And Nasenby set all this up overnight?’

  ‘Not personally. A lot of it was probably already in place, waiting for people to fit the roles. They want us in Lincoln quickly.’

  ‘Okay. I’m worried I’ll call you by the wrong name,’ he admitted.

  ‘Don’t call me anything if you can avoid it. People don’t use each other’s names that much in conversation. If you use it too much it sounds weird, and weird means noticeable, which we don’t want.’

  ‘Right. Maybe I should be taking notes.’

  * * *

  Three and a half hours later, after an uneventful journey once they had escaped the London traffic, they arrived in Lincoln. The address they’d been given proved to be in an area called Birchwood, to the south of the city. The house was semi-detached, on a wide main road and next to a T-junction.

  ‘Nowhere for us to be boxed in.’ Caelan nodded approvingly as she reversed the car onto the brick driveway. ‘And no nosy neighbours.’ The adjoining property was empty, a faded ‘For Sale’ sign lolling in the overgrown front garden.

  ‘When do we start being Edward and Karen?’ Ewan asked.

  ‘Now,’ she told him. He nodded, the enormity of what he had agreed to hitting him again.

  Inside, the house was clean, though with a musty smell suggesting that the windows hadn’t been opened for a while. The furnishings were comfortable but functional, nothing too lavish. Pale wood veneer tables, a brown leather settee, a few bland paintings. The windows had blinds as well as curtains, meaning the occupants of the house could be totally invisible to anyone outside if they closed both.

  ‘Is this a safe house?’ Ewan asked, noting the bolts on the front door. Caelan shrugged as they went upstairs.

  There were two bedrooms, one with a neatly made double bed, wardrobe, drawers and en suite, the second smaller, with a single bed but no other furniture.

  ‘Sparse,’ Caelan said.

  Ewan smiled. ‘I’ve slept in worse places.’

  ‘All those years in the army.’ Caelan dumped her bag on the floor. ‘Do you want the right-hand drawers, or the left?’

  Ewan stared at her for a second. She gazed back, widening her eyes, sending him a non-verbal message.

  ‘Don’t mind,’ he stammered. ‘The left?’

  ‘Goes with your side of the bed.’ Caelan nodded, beginning to scoop clothes out of her bag and into the drawers.

  Ewan swallowed. They were going to share the bed. Why had he not thought of that? True, they were posing as a married couple. But who would know? There was a single bed in the second bedroom. If he slept there, what difference would it make? Sharing a bed with Caelan would be excruciating, especially as the nearest thing he had to pyjamas were his boxers and an old T-shirt. Caelan turned, her eyes bright, clearly finding his discomfort amusing. She quirked an eyebrow, and he managed a smile. This was going to be even more difficult than he had imagined.

  In the kitchen, they discovered that the fridge was full of food, as were the freezer and cupboards. Caelan didn’t comment, filling the kettle and flicking it on to boil. Ewan eventually found tea bags and a jar of coffee, as well as chocolate digestives. Leaning back against the worktop, Caelan tore the packet open and took a couple.

  ‘I’m going to look at the rest of the house,’ she said through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Will you make the tea?’

  Ewan nodded, knowing an offer of help would be refused. He would be useless anyway. This was Caelan’s territory.

  There was a dining table against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Ewan carried the two mugs over to it and pulled out a chair. As he dunked a biscuit into his tea, he could hear Caelan moving around in the next room. What she was doing, he had no idea. He took out his phone, scrolled through the news, the latest football results. Sipped his tea, ate another biscuit. Wished himself miles away.

  Ten minutes later, Caelan reappeared. Her hands were empty and she didn’t tell him what she’d been doing. Ewan decided he didn’t want to know.

  ‘Your tea will be cold,’ he said. With a smile, she picked up her cup and drank.

  ‘What do you want to do tonight?’ she asked. Ewan stared, wondering what he was supposed to say. Was she asking him as Ewan, or as Edward? She raised her eyebrows. ‘Ewan?’

  ‘I didn’t know who you were talking to.’

  She laughed. ‘In the house, we’re Caelan and Ewan. We’re safe here, free to talk. The second we step out the front door, we’re Edward and Karen.’

  ‘Okay. Won’t it look strange to the people who live around here, us arriving with hardly any luggage? Moving into a house so well furnished that even the beds are already made?’

  Caelan dropped into the chair beside his. ‘Don’t worry. Hopefully we won’t be here long, and most people are far more worried about their own lives than their neighbours’.’

  ‘Lambourne’s a threat, though, isn’t he? He killed one of your colleagues, not to mention a ten-year-old child.’

  Pushing back the chair, Caelan stood and turned away, massaging her temples with her fingertips.

  ‘He doesn’t know we’re here
, and he’s not likely to find out,’ she said.

  ‘But if we’re following his son …’

  ‘We’re not. Karen Devlin is.’

  ‘He’s seen your face.’

  She rounded on him. ‘If you don’t want to be involved, there are plenty of trains out of here. You could have said before we left London.’

  ‘I’ve never done this before. I don’t know about surveillance, counter-surveillance, any of it.’ Ewan spoke quietly, and Caelan’s face softened.

  ‘I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d had any doubts. You don’t have to do anything but stay close to me. I don’t see this as a difficult assignment. We’re not going to confront Lambourne, or even interact with him. That’s not our job.’

  He smiled. ‘All right.’

  She moved over to the kettle again.

  ‘My turn to make the tea.’

  * * *

  They watched TV for a while – mindless quiz shows and then the soaps. As the evening drew in, Ewan offered to cook, and Caelan was happy to have some time to read the information they had on Ronnie Morgan. She didn’t want to hide it from Ewan, but there was no need for him to see it. He knew what the young man they were here to follow looked like, and that was enough.

  She curled on the sofa, flicking through the information she had been provided with. Ronnie Morgan was young, and innocent. He couldn’t be blamed for the sins of his father, but Caelan felt fury build in her stomach as she read about him. Lambourne’s criminal activities had no doubt paid for his son’s toys and clothes, his school shoes. Ronnie Morgan had the chance to succeed, to thrive – and Charlie Flynn was dead.

  Caelan didn’t believe Seb Lambourne would arrive in person to see his son – he wasn’t that stupid. He must realise he was a wanted man. He would also guess that Ronnie might be watched. He would either contact the young man secretly to arrange a meeting, or have him collected and brought to him. Either way, Caelan intended to find Lambourne. He had killed one of her colleagues, wrecked the life of another and brought her own professional reputation into doubt. Thinking about his son merrily living his life infuriated her. Lambourne had destroyed every life he had touched, and then escaped without a scratch.