‘They’re trying to sideline you, have been from the beginning.’ Ewan held his breath, waited for her to explode.
She put her hands in her trouser pockets, rocked back on her heels. ‘Maybe. But earlier today, we were both shot at. You wouldn’t have been there if you hadn’t been working with me. If you’d been hurt, or killed—’
‘I wasn’t.’ He had been terrified, catapulted back into a life he had walked away from, but he was safe.
‘Ronnie Morgan was, though.’
‘His dad’s a career criminal. My parents run a post office. They’re more likely to be robbed than arrested.’
‘We don’t understand yet why Ronnie was killed. The attack on us today could have been unrelated to his death.’
‘You don’t believe that.’
She smiled then. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Have they told you to stay away from the investigation?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘So we keep trying to find out what happened.’
‘I reckon you just fancy a pint in the Wheatsheaf.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe. How about a drink somewhere safer?’
She checked her watch. ‘Go on then.’
* * *
Caelan leaned back in her chair and watched Ewan cross the room to the bar. The pub wasn’t busy and they’d managed to grab a table by the stone fireplace, where flames were beginning to build. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face. She saw Ewan exchange a few words with the young woman behind the bar, who didn’t take her eyes from his face as he ordered their drinks. Caelan smiled to herself.
When he returned, she said, ‘Did you ask for her number?’
He blushed. ‘No. Why?’
‘Because I think she wanted you to.’
‘It’s her job to be friendly.’ He took a mouthful of Guinness. ‘Though she did ask if you’re my girlfriend.’
‘There you go,’ Caelan grinned.
Ewan dipped his head, lowered his voice. ‘Can we talk about the case here?’
‘Quietly.’ Caelan’s eyes scanned the room. The bartender was now staring at her phone, and a couple sitting near the door were gazing at each other, forgetting there was anyone else in the world. Safe to talk.
‘Do you think the person who shot at us today was the same person who killed Ronnie Morgan?’
Caelan leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands. ‘I’ve been assuming so. Why?’
‘Ronnie’s death was quick, quiet. You didn’t hear a shot, did you?’ Ewan lifted his pint.
‘No, but there was a lot of traffic noise.’
‘You’ve used firearms, you’d know if a gun had been fired close by. They’re not exactly quiet, even with a silencer …’
Caelan chewed her bottom lip, considering it. ‘Yeah, but I didn’t hear it. I thought he had been stabbed at first.’
‘Yet today, the shots were loud and clear. No silencer, no attempt to disguise what was happening.’
‘You think it’s significant?’
‘I don’t know. I thought it worth mentioning.’
‘The gun Brendan Milne brought to Sam’s flat had a silencer.’
Ewan was nodding. ‘Makes sense. Even if he was only planning to threaten Sam with it, Sam would see the silencer and think Milne meant business. Less chance of someone hearing the shot and running to help him. But today …’
‘Today was different. Are you saying you think the shots fired outside the Wheatsheaf were a warning?’ Caelan picked up her bottle of lager, her eyes on Ewan.
‘That makes sense to me. Or it was someone else, not the person who killed Ronnie. Or …’ He paused, frowning. ‘If he’d really wanted to kill one of us, or all of us, why there? Why then?’
‘A busy London street isn’t the easiest place to get away with murder.’
‘Unless you use a sniper rifle and stay away from your target. Not likely. We were out in the open, not expecting an attack, but none of us were hit.’
‘I’ll mention it to Brady, if I ever hear from her again.’
‘Don’t you think you will?’
‘Who knows? She’s suspicious of me, like Ian Penrith. I think even Michael is having his doubts.’
‘You couldn’t have fired the shots today.’
‘No, not this time.’ She rubbed her forehead, an ache beginning to push against her eyes. ‘It’s difficult to get hold of guns in this country, whatever the newspapers tell you about gangs running around constantly shooting each other. Most people would have no idea how to use a gun even if they had access to one.’
‘But Lambourne had one?’
‘Yeah, and Walker. Lambourne had the right connections, though. Your average criminal wouldn’t, and they wouldn’t want a gun anyway. There are plenty of other weapons, easier to obtain and with less of a prison sentence if you’re found in possession of one.’ Caelan took another mouthful of lager. ‘And if you’re armed with a gun, you’re likely to be shot yourself before you have a chance to use it.’
‘True, especially after the recent terror attacks. People are more aware of the possibility of guns being used, even here.’
‘You’ll be used to firearms, of course.’ Caelan watched Ewan’s face as she spoke, wondering how he would react. She had seen him freeze as the first shot had been fired, his face a mask of fear and panic. Not what she would have expected from a former soldier. She had deliberately not dug around in his past, wanting to trust her instincts. He was someone she wanted by her side, and she knew now that she would trust him with her life. The fact that she had remained calmer than he had under gunfire had intrigued rather than worried her. She’d rarely been shot at before, but since the shooting had stopped almost before they had realised what was happening, she’d had no time to worry about her safety. Her instinct had been to call for backup and to ensure her colleagues were out of the firing line.
Ewan blinked, lifted his pint. ‘I used to be. I’ve not been around guns or weaponry for a long time, thankfully.’
‘What did you do in the army?’
‘You don’t know?’
She smiled. ‘I’ve no idea. No doubt Michael’s scrutinised your service record, but I haven’t.’
He studied the tabletop. ‘Lucky you.’
‘Ewan—’
He drained his drink, got to his feet. ‘I’m going to head off.’
‘Ewan, wait.’ Caelan pushed back her chair. ‘Whatever happened when you were in the army, it’s in the past.’ His face twisted, and she held up her hands. ‘All right, I’m sorry. I’m talking crap. It’s not in the past, it’s in your head.’
She pressed her lips together, waiting for the images from her own nightmares to appear and start dancing. Sitting behind your eyes every minute of every day, poking and prodding like indigestion. She didn’t say the words, but as she stared at Ewan, saw his hands tighten around the back of the chair, watched his lips tremble, she knew she was right.
‘We all saw things …’ He swallowed, passed his hand over his eyes. ‘It’s not as though I’m the only one. People have been through much worse than me.’
‘I don’t think it’s a competition. Why don’t you come to my flat? We can have some food.’
He attempted a smile, but it wasn’t convincing. ‘Thanks, but I’m going to go back to my sister’s. I should speak to my boss, too.’
Caelan stood, held out her hand. He took it, squeezing it between both of his own before releasing it.
‘I’ll see you, Caelan.’ The bartender frowned, her eyes following him across the room and out of the door. She looked at Caelan, who smiled, picking up Ewan’s empty glass and her own bottle. She went to the bar, set the empties down.
‘Cheers,’ the bartender said. ‘Your friend gone?’
Caelan shrugged. ‘He’s a colleague.’ The other woman’s face lit up, and Caelan laughed. ‘I told him he should have asked for your number.’
‘Is he single?’
‘Think so
. Write down your details and I’ll pass them on.’
The bartender grabbed a pen from the bar and scribbled on a beer mat. ‘Thank you. I usually try not to go out with people I meet here – too awkward if it goes wrong and they’ve become a regular.’
Caelan shoved the beer mat in her pocket. ‘I can imagine.’
‘I’ll make an exception for him, though. What’s his name?’
‘I’ll let him tell you,’ Caelan smiled.
On the pavement outside, a cold wind bit at her hands and face. She shivered, pulling out her phone, texting the bartender’s name and phone number to Ewan before tearing the beer mat into pieces and dropping them into a litter bin. She had no idea whether he would contact the woman, but why not give them the chance? Huddling deeper into her coat, turning to walk towards the Tube station, she thought about her flat – empty. Her career had left little room for socialising. There had been flings: short and intense. Spending most of your time living as someone else wasn’t conducive to a long-term relationship. There were mates she could call if she wanted company; some she’d worked with, a couple from school …
Caelan stopped, ducked into a doorway. She didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to open the door and feel the press of shame, of guilt. Her black suit and coat weren’t the outfit she would have chosen to go out in, but what did it matter? She’d learnt soon after moving to London not to worry.
She knew this mood, though. The urge to go out, get drunk, go home with someone. Anonymous, meaningless and, occasionally, reckless. It usually happened when she’d finished an operation, been recalled or told to stand down. It was as if she was rediscovering herself, the woman who hid behind all the personas, then finding that pretending to be someone else was easier after all. She remembered talking to Nicky Sturgess about it, discovering she had done the same on occasion. Their way of life was fluid, most relationships they built based on lies and deceit. Allowing someone close to the real person seemed impossible, and pointless. Asking a partner to live with months of unexplained absence would be too much.
Most of her colleagues were single, intentionally so. People like Nasenby, who had done his time in the field and was now dreaming of retirement, had been married for years, but they were a minority. Partners learnt early on not to ask questions; to expect their loved ones to disappear for days, even months. In some cases, forever. Maybe absence did make the heart grow fonder, but Caelan hadn’t had the chance to test the theory. She had imagined a happy future, a partnership, the smell of a meal cooking when she opened the door to her flat. A warm, happy home to return to after wading through the shit she dealt with every day. It had only ever been a dream, though. There had been someone who might have made a difference, but not any more. She been dragged back into this world, and the sacrifices she would have to make would at least be familiar.
She scrolled through her contacts, selected a name. She listened to it ring, heard music and laughter when she eventually answered.
‘Caelan? You must be bored.’
‘Bored?’
‘Well, you never phone to see how I am, do you?’ Laughter. Caelan gripped the handset, knowing Lucy was right. They’d known each other since secondary school, had met again when they discovered both were living in London.
Caelan cleared her throat. ‘How’s the bank?’
More laughter. ‘The bank’s the same as ever. Listen, Caelan, we’re in Lulu’s.’
‘Which is?’
‘Soho.’
‘Right.’
‘Join us if you want to. We’ll be here until closing time.’ Caelan wrinkled her nose. Did she want to spend her evening in a sweaty bar drinking warm beer?
‘Well, I’ll—’
‘Come on, you miserable cow.’ Another round of guffaws, and Lucy had gone. Caelan checked her watch. It would take her an hour at least to make her way to Soho. The alternative was eating toast, having a bath and watching mindless TV until she fell asleep.
She headed for the train.
* * *
Five hours later, the dance floor lurching and tilting beneath her feet, Caelan grinned as the woman she’d been dancing with grabbed her hand and led her to a dark corner. She hit the wall with a thud as her partner grabbed her backside with one hand, the other stroking her cheek and then moving to caress the back of her head. Their teeth clashed, Caelan wincing as the other woman, whose name she’d been told but had immediately forgotten, leant back and laughed.
‘Sorry, darling.’
Caelan shook her head, wanting to say it didn’t matter. As the other woman lurched towards her again, she saw the glint of a ring on her left hand, and froze.
‘What?’ She followed Caelan’s eyes, and laughed. ‘This? Don’t worry about it. I never do.’
Caelan took a step away. ‘You’re married.’
She smirked. ‘You’re not.’ Making another attempt to grab Caelan, she saw the expression on her face and stopped, scowling. Caelan pushed past her, marching across the dance floor to Lucy and her gang of friends, loitering by the bar.
‘Changed your mind?’ Lucy held up a gaudy cocktail in a mock toast. ‘Long live St Caelan. Didn’t you see her wedding ring when you were dancing?’
‘No. I don’t understand how—’
‘People are here to have a good time, forget themselves for a while. Some prefer to forget they have partners too.’
Caelan ordered a beer, held the ice-cold bottle against her cheek. She turned, gazing at the people on the dance floor, bodies writhing, hands waving, and hated them. Suddenly sober, she put the bottle back on the bar.
‘You’re off then?’ Lucy had been watching.
‘Work in the morning,’ Caelan lied. Lucy nodded, opened her arms. Caelan felt her body respond to the press of Lucy’s breasts, the curve of her hips, the smell of her hair. Involuntarily she tensed, and Lucy pulled away, her mouth turning down at the corners.
‘See you in another six months then.’ Waving a hand, she turned back to her friends leaving Caelan to walk away, desolation rushing through her.
21
Dry mouth, heavy head. Stomach on a spin cycle.
Caelan rolled onto her back. Gone were the days when she could drink until the early hours and wake feeling fine. She covered her eyes with her hands, the wooden blind and heavy curtains failing to prevent the sunlight from leaking into the room. What time was it? Had Brady tried to call?
She pushed back the duvet, grabbed a pair of pyjamas from the foot of the bed. She showered, scrubbed at her teeth. In the living room, she paused by the window, watching the sunlight dance over the surface of the Thames. The sky was cloudless, the air sharp. Bright and cold, her favourite winter weather.
She made tea, poked around in the cupboard for breakfast, found nothing she wanted. When the entry phone buzzed, she was back by the window, tea in hand, watching one of the Marine Policing Unit’s vessels skip across the water. She yawned as she picked up the handset, greeted Jitesh, who was the youngest of the three-man concierge team. She asked how he was, how his course was going. Jitesh spent his hours behind the reception desk covertly reading textbooks and trying to stay awake.
‘I have a visitor for you, Caelan,’ he said.
Caelan raised an eyebrow. Whoever it was could wait until she was dressed. ‘Did they give their name?’
‘Detective Chief Superintendent Brady.’ Even Jitesh sounded nervous.
‘Thank you. You can send her up.’ Caelan grinned, deciding to receive Brady as she was – barefoot, with wet hair, and in her oldest pyjamas. Let Brady come into the apartment, and look around, wonder how Caelan had afforded to buy it.
In the kitchen, she filled the kettle again. Four knocks on the door. Caelan took her time, not rushing. She peered through the peephole. Brady was there, briefcase in hand, chin up, staring back as if she could see Caelan looking at her.
‘Good morning, ma’am.’ Caelan opened the door wide, smiling as though Brady arriving unannounced first thing in the mornin
g was the perfect surprise.
Brady stomped inside, took off her boots, carefully set the briefcase on the floor. She looked Caelan up and down, though her expression didn’t change. ‘Late night?’
‘Early morning.’
‘You’ll be wondering why I’m here?’
‘It had crossed my mind. Tea?’
Brady smiled. ‘Please. Milk, no sugar.’
Caelan led the way to the kitchen, knowing Brady was watching her while absorbing the details of her home.
‘You live alone?’
‘Yep,’ Caelan replied, grateful that she hadn’t brought the woman from the bar home the previous evening. This unexpected visit was going to be awkward enough already. ‘Have you heard how Michael is? I sent him a text, but he hasn’t replied.’
‘Nasenby? He’s fine, back at work.’
Brady’s eyes settled on Caelan’s face, but Caelan turned away, reaching to take two mugs out of an overhead cupboard. She dropped tea bags into them, poured on the hot water. Brady folded her arms, and Caelan knew she was taking in the bespoke kitchen cabinets, the expensive appliances. In her place, Caelan would be doing the same. The kettle alone probably cost more than the whole kitchen in Caelan’s family home. Her mum would be afraid to use it.
Caelan handed Brady one of the cups and waved her through to the living room. Caelan sat at the dining table, her back to the window, and Brady followed, pulling out one of the heavy oak chairs on the opposite side and settling into it. The sun was warm on the back of Caelan’s neck. She watched Brady squint and realised she would be dazzled if she stayed where she was. She hid a smile as the Chief Superintendent moved to the seat at the head of the table, to Caelan’s right.
‘It’s a lovely place,’ said Brady.
‘Thank you.’
‘Though not if you’re wary of heights.’ Brady eyed the windows, her face paling.
‘We can sit on the sofa if you’d rather.’
‘No, this is fine.’ Swallowing, Brady lifted her head, avoiding looking down. ‘Caelan, we’ve had some results from the lab.’
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