When she found him, when they were face to face again, Caelan had plans of her own to deal with him.
He would be made to pay.
This time, he wouldn’t walk away.
8
The hotel room was too warm. Richard Adamson felt perspiration prickling his back as he swung his bag onto the bed and kicked off his shoes. He removed his coat and picked up the tiny white kettle that stood on the desk. As he left the bathroom after filling it, he saw there was a thermostat on the wall near the door. There was no way he would sleep if the temperature remained as it was. Knowing from long experience that the window would be impossible to open, he stepped back across the room, his phone beginning to ring as he fumbled with the thermostat.
‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’
Richard frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You sound out of breath,’ Ian Penrith chuckled.
‘My room’s on the fifth floor and the lift isn’t working.’
‘Been missing your gym sessions, have you? Tut tut.’
Richard visualised Penrith – the beer belly, the too-tight suits. ‘What do you want, Ian?’
Penrith heard the bite in his tone, and matched it. ‘How long have you been at the hotel?’
‘Five minutes.
‘And what are you planning to do now? Few pints, a meal and a long hot bath?’
‘I hadn’t—’
‘I want you out on the street, Adamson. You need to find the son before Caelan does, then track down Lambourne himself.’
Richard went over to the window and pulled back the curtain. He could see the cathedral, dwarfing the buildings around it, glowing golden against the night sky, illuminated by spotlights he couldn’t see. The effect was impressive.
‘Adamson?’ Penrith barked.
‘Have you spoken to Nasenby?’ Richard asked, his eyes still on the cathedral.
There was a pause, then Penrith said, ‘I told you I would.’
‘Doesn’t mean you have.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
Richard sighed. ‘Never.’
‘Caelan’s already in Lincoln, with her new assistant.’ Penrith snorted. ‘What a bloody joke. The man has no experience, no clue about what we do. It’s Nasenby indulging Caelan’s whims again. She’ll lose him his job one day.’
‘Employing her hasn’t done his career any harm so far.’
‘Because her mistakes are covered up, her failures ignored. She should have been sacked over the Charlie Flynn case, maybe even faced criminal charges. And what happened? Nothing.’
‘Listen, Ian …’
‘You’re going to stick up for her. There’s a shock. When you find Lambourne and you’re the hero of the hour, when Caelan admits defeat, remember who sent you up to Lincoln. Who believed in you? It wasn’t Michael Nasenby.’
Richard had heard enough. ‘I’m going to speak to Nasenby myself.’
‘Do that. Ruin your career, your prospects. Nasenby’s floundering, Richard. He’s desperate for a result on Lambourne, because it’s the only way to save his job. His and Caelan’s.’
‘Rubbish.’
Penrith laughed, a wet, mocking chuckle. He spluttered, cleared his throat. Richard held the phone away from his ear for a second.
‘Not sure, though, are you? Take it from me, Nasenby’s old news. You’d do well to decide where your loyalties lie before it’s too late.’
‘Goodbye, Ian.’
‘Remember what I’ve said.’
‘Oh, I will.’
‘And do your job. Find Seb Lambourne.’
As Penrith ended the call, Richard turned from the window, threw his phone onto the bed. Why was he here? Penrith obviously hadn’t spoken to Nasenby about him being in Lincoln. Nasenby would soon realise he wasn’t around, and then what? Richard liked Michael Nasenby, and respected him. What would he think when he discovered Richard was treading on Caelan’s toes?
Pacing the room, he made his decision and picked up his phone again. It rang twice before Nasenby answered.
‘What can I do for you, Richard?’
Richard swallowed. ‘Michael, I …’
‘Let me put you out of your misery. You’re in Lincoln?’
Surprised, Richard sank onto the bed. ‘I didn’t think you knew.’
‘Ian may think his actions go unnoticed, but I can assure you they don’t. He is supposed to report to me, after all. I’m pleased you phoned.’
Richard licked his lips, wondering what to say. ‘You are?’
‘It proves you’re not completely under Ian’s control.’
There was a silence. Richard closed his eyes, opened them slowly. ‘He said he’d tell you.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘We’re supposed to be on the same side.’
‘You’d think. The Charlie Flynn investigation left its mark on Ian.’
‘On all of us.’
‘Quite,’ Nasenby said. ‘But Ian more than most.’
‘He blames Caelan for the boy’s death.’
‘Easier to blame someone else than yourself. Ian worked eighteen-hour days throughout the Flynn investigation, was one of the first officers through the door after Lambourne made his escape. He feels he let everyone down.’
‘I know.’
‘He’s a good officer, a decent man. His judgement is perhaps … clouded when it comes to Caelan. He thought Charlie would be brought home safely.’
Richard began to speak, then hesitated. He wanted to ask what happened the day Charlie Flynn died. How Caelan and Clifton had escaped unscathed, how Lambourne and Walker had managed to get away unseen.
‘Richard?’
‘I’m here.’
‘Did Ian tell you his theory about Caelan and Seb Lambourne?’ Nasenby asked. Richard marvelled, not for the first time, at Nasenby’s ability to seemingly read his mind. They weren’t in the same room, not even the same city, but Nasenby knew what he was thinking.
‘He did say he has questions about our officers’ confrontation with Lambourne and Walker.’
‘I’m sure. Anything else?’
‘He … suggested Caelan might be working with Lambourne. Working for him, I should say.’
‘And what do you think?’
Richard passed a hand over his eyes. ‘I’ve heard Caelan’s account. I’ve read the reports.’
‘And there are holes in her story. We all know that,’ Nasenby said. ‘You’re wondering if Ian’s right? If Caelan can be trusted?’
Richard shook his head, unwilling to voice the thoughts that had tormented him. ‘No. I know her.’
Nasenby sighed. ‘Do you, Richard? I thought I did too.’
‘You can’t believe Ian’s nonsense? Caelan’s our best officer, you told me so yourself. Why did I go to Egypt to bring her home if we don’t trust her? Why is she here, looking for Lambourne’s son?’
Nasenby was silent, ignoring the questions. Richard realised he was supposed to join the dots himself. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
‘I didn’t say I don’t trust her.’ Nasenby’s voice was quiet.
‘You want to keep her close, and have her find Lambourne at the same time? Two birds with one stone?’
‘Partly. I also want to keep her safe. Save her from herself, if you like. Why do you think she was in Egypt?’
Richard frowned. ‘She was on holiday.’
‘And?’
‘What are you saying, Michael?’ Blinking, Richard tried to clear his head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Have you ever known Caelan go on holiday before? She barely even takes her leave.’
‘But she’d handed in her notice, finished work. I thought she wanted a break. She travelled under her own name …’
‘Which makes sense if she wanted it to be clear where she was. She resigned, went away. Disassociated herself from the Met, and from the aftermath of Charlie Flynn’s death. Absolved herself from blame.’
‘But …’ Richard floundered
as he tried to make sense of what the other man was saying. Eventually Nasenby took pity on him.
‘It doesn’t matter, Richard. Stay in Lincoln, keep an eye on Caelan. If you can, find Lambourne.’
‘And if Caelan sees me, recognises me?’
‘Don’t let her. She mustn’t know, Richard. If she thinks we’re watching her, she’ll run. The only reason she agreed to this at all is because Lambourne’s involved.’
‘And she has a partner now, one of her own choosing,’ Richard couldn’t help but point out. Nasenby laughed.
‘Ewan Davies? Do you know his history?’
‘How could I? I’d never heard of him until Ian told me he was working with Caelan.’
‘Jealous, Richard?’ Nasenby chuckled.
Richard attempted to conceal his irritation. ‘Not at all. It’s none of my business if Davies is considered an asset.’
‘Caelan thinks so, and for now, it’s in all our interests to keep her happy. If or when Davies ceases to be useful, he’ll be removed.’
Richard swallowed. ‘Removed?’
‘Well, sent back to guard duty. He’s ex-army, left after some nasty business in Afghanistan.’
‘Oh?’ Richard didn’t much care.
‘Limped home, tail between his legs. Fared better than several of his men, though, who came home in coffins – those they were able to collect the pieces of, I mean.’
There was a silence, Richard still trying to gather his thoughts.
‘And now he works for us?’
‘For the Met, yes.’ Nasenby paused. ‘You probably believe I’m indulging Caelan, don’t you, Richard?’
‘I …’
‘No doubt Ian thinks so, but I think we need Caelan if we’re to find Lambourne.’
‘I agree,’ Richard said quickly.
‘Excellent. I’ll expect daily updates.’
‘What about Ian?’
‘Let’s keep this conversation between ourselves, shall we?’
Richard grunted. ‘You don’t want me to tell Ian I’ve spoken to you? Then I’m left in a rather awkward position.’
‘That can happen when you try to please everyone. Goodnight, Richard.’
Richard paced over to the window again, furious. Though neither would admit it, Nasenby and Penrith had similar personalities. Both ambitious and confident, skilled at manipulating the will of others. And now Richard was stuck here, trapped between the pair of them.
‘Fucking great,’ he muttered to himself. He could go to Elizabeth Beckett, explain what the two men were up to, but Beckett was unpredictable, as likely to tell him to get on with it as she was to side with him. Worse, she might ask him to give her daily reports too, provide another tune for him to dance to. No, better to stay here and follow orders.
Someone’s orders, anyway.
Caelan was out there in the city somewhere, making her preparations. Richard had been provided with the same information Caelan had about Ronnie Morgan – it was sparse, and Caelan would know she was at risk. Surveillance was usually carried out by a team. If Morgan saw Caelan too often, if he realised she was following him, all would be lost. Richard didn’t envy Caelan her task, but then his was no easier. Morgan was unsuspecting; Caelan might not be. Watching her without alerting her to his presence would be close to impossible.
Ducking back into the bathroom, Richard glanced at the kettle he’d filled earlier, then turned away, deciding to head down to the hotel’s bar instead. Once he was trailing Caelan, he would have no time to relax.
9
After a shower, Caelan put on the jogging bottoms and T-shirt she would sleep in. On the floor beside the bed she placed a rucksack containing a change of clothes, some cash and her Karen Devlin identification. She set her phone on the bedside cabinet, adjusted the position of the pillow and climbed into bed. Ewan was showering in the bathroom across the landing, and Caelan knew she had five minutes to read the information collated on Ronnie Morgan a final time before she destroyed it. Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but having the few sheets of paper in her possession made her uncomfortable. Having a hard copy delivered into her hand by a trusted courier was secure enough, more so than receiving it by email would be. Still, she didn’t want to keep the information any longer than necessary.
On the first page was a colour photograph of Ronnie Morgan, as well as details of his height, weight and distinguishing features. Caelan studied the photograph, noting Morgan’s resemblance to his father, particularly the dark eyes and the shape of his mouth. She had seen enough images of Seb Lambourne to discern the echoes of him in the face of his son, and wondered if Ronnie and his mother saw them too.
Having memorised Ronnie’s address, a flat in a block of student accommodation, Caelan tore the thin sheets of paper into narrow strips. Then, glancing at the open bedroom door, she shredded the strips to tiny pieces, which she deposited on the bedside table. In the morning, she would burn them. She picked up her phone, scrolling through her emails. Nothing of note. No missed calls, no texts. As usual, she was entirely alone.
She heard the toilet flush and smiled to herself. Not alone at all, not this time.
Ewan stood in the bedroom doorway, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, but barefoot.
‘Okay?’ Caelan said, understanding his hesitation. Being thrown together with someone who was in effect a stranger was never easy. During one of her first undercover operations, she had posed as the partner of Richard Adamson, who at the time she’d barely known. Sharing a house and a bed with him for six months had been difficult, at least at first. Eventually, as with genuine relationships, the awkwardness dissipated. At least Adamson had kept his hands to himself.
With a hesitant smile, Ewan said, ‘Do we have to share the bed?’
‘We need this to look real. I know it’s weird, I understand.’
‘Who’s going to know if I sleep in the other room?’
Caelan leant back against the headboard. ‘Honestly? Probably no one. I’m being overcautious.’
‘You mean I can take the single bed?’
She laughed at the relief on his face.
‘Go for it,’ she told him. Ewan flushed, clearly wondering whether she was insulted because he didn’t want to leap into bed with her. Caelan held his gaze with a smile. She wasn’t, not at all. ‘Goodnight, Ewan.’
‘What time …?’
‘I’ll knock.’
‘Okay.’ Ewan saw the rucksack Caelan had set at the side of the bed and frowned. ‘What’s in the bag?’
Caelan explain what she’d packed. ‘If we’re called away quickly, or if something happens and we have to get out, everything I need is in there. Stuff I’ve unpacked I’d leave behind.’
‘Should I do the same?’
‘Might be a good idea.’
Ewan nodded. ‘See you in the morning.’
He closed the door and Caelan heard him go into the other room. She gave him a few minutes to undress, then climbed out of bed and went downstairs.
The kitchen was dark, silent except for the fridge grumbling away to itself. Caelan took a glass from a cupboard, filling it with cold water from the tap. She gulped down a few mouthfuls, knowing she should rest but also recognising that her mind was too busy for sleep to come easily. She could go for a run, but it was late and she might draw attention to herself. People rarely took to the street for a jog close to midnight. Where might Ronnie Morgan be tonight? Tucked up in his bed already, or in a bar? From the scant intelligence provided on the young man, Caelan guessed the latter. She would never find him tonight. Lincoln wasn’t a large city, but without a clue, without following Morgan from the second he left his flat, it would be pointless.
She drained the glass and set it in the sink. Leaning against the worktop, her arms folded, she stood listening to the unfamiliar noises of the house settling for the night. Pipes clicked as the central-heating system cooled, floorboards creaked. She went into the darkened living room and stood to the side of the window, where the
blind met the frame. She would have a better view of the street from her bedroom upstairs, but there was no harm in having a glance through the window here too.
The houses across the road, exact replicas of the one they were staying in and its neighbour, were in darkness. As Caelan watched, a shadow passed the first-floor window of the house directly opposite. The curtains were open, the room beyond dark. Caelan tensed, certain she couldn’t be seen but wary all the same. She didn’t move, her eyes fixed on the window. Counting off the seconds, she waited. Someone readying themselves for bed, no doubt. But why not close the curtains, switch on the light? She frowned, annoyed at her own nervousness. The night before an operation began was usually tense, but she had never doubted herself like this before. She was paranoid – seeing phantoms, creating monsters. Remembering ten-year-old Charlie Flynn lying dead on the cold concrete floor of the damp, dark cellar he’d been held prisoner in, she swallowed. Charlie should be alive – going to school, laughing, playing. Growing, living his life. Instead, he was dead, killed after being caught up in a mess he had not created. The monsters were out there, Caelan knew. Her job was to find them.
She counted to three hundred, but the shadow did not return. Slowly she withdrew from the window and hurried back to the kitchen. After scanning the back garden and seeing nothing untoward, she picked up one of the dining chairs and took it up to her bedroom. Leaving the vertical blinds closed, she drew back the curtains, knowing that she would be able to watch the house through the slats of the blind without being observed. Pulling the duvet from the bed and wrapping it around her, she settled into the chair. Across the street, the house was still dark. Caelan huddled deeper into the duvet, her gazed fixed on the window. It would be a long, cold night, and she would be tired in the morning.
Ask No Questions Page 6