‘I’ll be in touch. Speak to me or to Adele. No one else.’ Beckett slid a tiny phone out of her pocket and handed it to Caelan. ‘Contact me using this. Do you have the note?’
‘Note?’
Beckett nodded towards the chauffeur. ‘The one he gave you, asking you to come to the car.’
Caelan pulled it out of her pocket, handed it over. Beckett scrunched it into a ball, tucked it in her bag. ‘We’ll speak later.’
Caelan took the hint, opened the car door.
‘Caelan,’ Beckett called. She turned back. ‘Ewan Davies.’
‘What about him?’
‘Take him with you.
23
Ewan smiled from the driving seat as Caelan crossed to his car. She’d come home to change, and would need to do so again before venturing to the Wheatsheaf.
‘I wasn’t sure I’d see you again,’ he said as she fastened her seat belt. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Sidcup.’ She gave him the details as he joined the traffic. ‘Did you phone her?’
‘Who?’
‘The woman from last night, the bartender.’
His cheeks flushed. ‘Well, I sent her a text.’
‘Good for you.’ Relief coursed through Caelan as she realised that Ewan had picked up on her unspoken message. She wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that everyone she met fancied her, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression either. His reluctance to share a bed with her had been excruciating enough.
‘When are you seeing her?’
‘Don’t know. I told her I’d let her know, said my working hours are irregular.’
‘People love to hear that.’
‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’
Caelan was quiet. Beckett hadn’t forbidden her from confiding in Ewan, but she would be expecting her to keep her mouth shut. Caelan wouldn’t know what to tell him in any case. Now that she had begun to talk about Nicky, about their relationship, she found she wanted to continue after weeks of remaining silent. She had attended Nicky’s funeral as a colleague, sitting dry-eyed in the last row of pews between Nasenby and Adamson while Nicky’s parents and sister sobbed at the front. Brady had suggested that it might not have been Nicky in the coffin, but Caelan wasn’t going to allow that possibility to enter her head. Why had Brady suggested the idea? Simply to observe Caelan’s reaction, or did she actually believe it? Beckett hadn’t mentioned it, and Caelan wondered again about Beckett and Brady. Did they trust each other, or were they being forced to compromise through circumstance? Either way, it seemed an uneasy partnership.
She put the thought out of her mind, focused on Ewan. They were going to be in the car for at least an hour, and she couldn’t sit wrestling with her thoughts and memories while ignoring him.
She cleared her throat. ‘Did you speak to your boss?’
‘No. I had an idea you’d contact me again.’
Caelan laughed. ‘Predictable, aren’t I?’
‘It was more that I hoped you would. When I met you at the airport and then asked me to work with you, I realised I missed … I don’t know.’
‘Being shot at?’
He laughed. ‘I can live without that. I mean working together, depending on colleagues. Being a team.’
Caelan was silent, touched by his admission. ‘Don’t you see your army mates now?’
‘The ones who made it home? No.’
‘I’m sorry. I won’t ask.’
He glanced at her. ‘No, I should apologise. I loved the army, but my career ended badly, as you’ve no doubt guessed.’
‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’ She turned her head, staring out at the traffic. He was quiet for a moment, the only sounds from the vehicles around them.
‘We were on patrol. We were wary of IEDs – you know what they are?’ Caelan nodded. ‘Well, we hit one. Three men were killed, our vehicle was fucked. I was okay, me and two others. I don’t know why they died and we survived – I try not to think about it.’ He licked his lips. ‘There was a building at the side of the road. We were stupid, we thought it was empty.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘No. No it wasn’t. They killed my mate as he walked through the door in front of me. There were three of them in there – Taliban fighters. We … we shot them all.’ Caelan was silent, hardly breathing. ‘I’d killed before, but the third, he was just a boy. He ran upstairs after he saw his mates go down. I followed him. He was in a corner, cowering, but he still raised his gun. I looked at him, saw him pleading – and shot him dead.’ He lifted a hand, scrubbed his eyes. ‘We were trapped there for three days with their bodies, surrounded by Taliban. In the heat – you can imagine.’
‘No one came for you?’
‘Eventually. It was a fuck-up.’ The ghost of a smile. ‘Bet they didn’t show that on the news. I see his face, his eyes, especially at night, sometimes even during the day. Aiming the gun, knowing he wouldn’t fire. I couldn’t … I didn’t know what to do. And I killed him.’
‘You had no choice.’
‘But I did. I didn’t have to be there at all, I wasn’t conscripted. They were little more than kids, especially him. I think about his family, his mother. I lost four friends, not for the first time. I didn’t see the point any more.’
‘You left?’
‘Discharged, in the end. Went a bit …’ He made a fluttering motion with his fingers. ‘Struggled mentally.’
‘Not surprising.’
He shrugged. ‘One of my old COs joined the Met after he retired from the army. He had a word in the right ear, and here I am.’ He glanced at her. ‘They even let me near guns again.’
‘And now you’re stuck with me.’
A laugh. ‘Getting shot at.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘It helped to go home, walk in the fields, go out with the dogs. My mum’s cooking, a few beers in my local. Normal stuff.’
‘Thank you for telling me.’
‘I let my mates down. Why should I have lived when they didn’t? If I’d gone into the building first …’
‘But you didn’t.’
He changed gear, glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘There’s a van behind us, been there since we left your road.’
‘Following us?’
‘I don’t know. Seems a coincidence they’re turning the same way as us each time we reach a junction.’
Resisting the temptation to look behind, Caelan leaned forward, trying to glimpse the vehicle behind in the wing mirror. ‘Can’t see. How many people are in it?’
‘Only the driver, I think.’
‘Male?’
‘I’d say so. Hard to be sure.’
‘He’s obviously not worried about us seeing him.’ Caelan took out her phone.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘The person who sent us out here.’
Brady answered on the third ring. ‘Caelan? Is there a problem?’
‘I don’t know. Have you asked someone to follow us?’
‘No, why would I?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Caelan waited, wondering if Brady was being truthful. The man behind was either an amateur, or he wanted to be seen.
‘Text me the details of the vehicle. I’ll call you back.’ She was gone.
‘Can you see the reg, Ewan?’
He glanced up. ‘No. The number plate’s filthy.’
Caelan turned her head, moved in the seat. ‘See what you mean. I can barely make it out. I’ll have to guess the final letter.’ She sent the text, glanced behind them again. ‘Can’t see his face, he’s wearing a cap.’
Ewan gritted his teeth. ‘Any closer, he’ll be in our boot.’
‘Touch the brakes.’
‘He’ll hit us.’
‘He won’t.’
The car slowed for a second as Ewan did as she asked. Caelan turned again, lifting a hand to the man driving the van.
‘He’s dropped back,’ said Ewan.
&
nbsp; ‘For now.’ Facing forward again, Caelan checked her phone. Nothing.
‘We’re going to lead him to Suzanne Morgan’s house,’ said Ewan.
‘I know. If he’s still with us when we’re closer, we’ll have to make a detour.’
Risking another glance in the mirror, Ewan changed down a gear. ‘He’s put his sun visor down. I think he’s on the phone. His hand’s up by his ear.’
Caelan swivelled in the seat. ‘Could be coincidence, could be speaking to his boss.’
‘Lambourne?’
‘I don’t know.’ She turned again, wanting him to see her staring. Was it Walker? Impossible to tell. A shadowy figure, the shoulders bulky enough to suggest a man, but there was no guarantee.
Ewan was forced to brake again as the vehicles in front of them slowed. The van came to a halt too, leaving a generous gap between them. Caelan’s phone pinged. ‘The van’s registered to a business up in Edinburgh.’
‘Stolen?’
‘Or the plates have been cloned. Dodgy, if nothing else.’ She looked through the windscreen at four lanes of solid London traffic. ‘Not like we’re going to be able to lose him.’
‘What do we do?’
‘Keep going. We have no choice.’
‘Who do you think it is?’
‘At a guess, Glen Walker.’
‘Isn’t he taking a huge risk?’
‘I don’t think he’s too bothered.’
‘Doesn’t want you to see his face, though.’
‘We’re assuming he knows who he’s following, but it’s possible he doesn’t. He could just have been told where to go, which vehicle to tail. Either way, he knows where I live and what car you’re driving.’ Caelan paused, allowed the statement to sink in as her phone rang.
‘Did you get my text?’ said Brady.
‘Has the vehicle been reported stolen?’
‘No. The registered keeper’s a plumber, been working in and around Edinburgh for thirty years. Safe to say it’s not him following you.’
‘You’re sure he’s not one of ours?’ Caelan detected a moment of hesitation before Brady replied.
‘No.’
‘You mean not that you know of.’
Brady sighed. ‘Okay, no one I’ve sent, no one Tim has sent. Better?’
‘Yeah, I’m completely reassured.’
A tiny chuckle. ‘At least you haven’t been shot at today.’
‘Not yet.’
‘We’ve a squad car nearby, another a few miles away,’ said Brady. ‘We’re going to pull him over, give you some room. If it’s Walker, we’ve hit the jackpot.’
‘And if it’s not?’
‘He’s still got some explaining to do. Stay safe, Caelan.’
Brady was gone. Caelan left her phone on her lap, wanting to have it to hand.
‘Keep driving, Ewan,’ she told him. She decided not to mention the cars Brady was sending, reasoning that he would be better concentrating on the road rather than on what was happening behind them.
‘Hang on, he’s gone.’ Ewan’s eyes were fixed on the rear-view mirror. Caelan whipped her head around, saw he was right. She grabbed her phone again.
‘Where did he turn off?
‘Didn’t see.’
‘Ewan!’
They were speeding towards the back of the car in front, which had stopped again, brake lights glowing red. Ewan’s hands gripped the wheel, his arms straight. Caelan braced herself, ready for the impact, as Ewan stamped on the brake. The back wheels shuddered, the nose of the car weaving as they came to a halt within touching distance of the car in front. Ewan’s hands were still tight around the wheel, his mouth open. Caelan forced a laugh.
‘You’ve done the advanced driving course then?’
‘Luckily. Fuck. I’m sorry.’
Caelan had already lifted her phone again. ‘We’ve lost him,’ she told Brady. ‘Didn’t see where he went.’
There was some muffled cursing. Eventually Brady said, ‘Okay. We’ll find him.’
Ewan flashed Caelan a tiny smile. ‘Close call.’
She nodded, not laughing. Had Brady called off the man tailing them, given him a rollicking for being spotted? Or had he been sent by someone else? She had no idea what to believe. When she had agreed to speak to them about finding Lambourne, she had felt herself snared, trapped by her determination to track him down and make him pay. How she was going to do so, who was going to help or hinder her quest, she hadn’t considered. Now the net was tightening, but around herself, not Lambourne. Could Brady be right about Adamson, Nasenby and Penrith? Was one of them behind the whole mess? Behind the scenes, someone was watching. Caelan knew she was vulnerable.
Maybe she should have brought the gun.
* * *
Suzanne Morgan’s house was semi-detached, well maintained, with a neat front garden. It was an ex-council property, separated from the house next door by a shared concrete driveway, joined to the neighbour on the other side.
As they approached the house, Caelan saw the curtains in what she presumed was the living room twitch. There were two cars in the drive, and Caelan guessed the family liaison officer was still present. Sure enough, the door swung open and a woman stepped out, hurrying towards them.
‘Ms Morgan has no comment to make. Now, you need to leave.’
Caelan took out her identification, held it up. ‘You’re the FLO?’
The woman nodded, blushing. ‘DC Lonergan. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone. Is there news?’
‘No problem. No, but we need to talk to Ms Morgan again. How is she?’
‘Surviving, I’d say. You can imagine, it’s been a massive blow.’
‘We understand.’ Caelan watched as another woman appeared in the open doorway.
‘Who is it, Lorna?’ she called. She rested a hand on the door frame, leaning against it as if the walk to the front door had tired her. No doubt it had. Grieving was an exhausting business, as Caelan knew. She shrugged off the pang that thumped her in the gut, raising an eyebrow at the FLO.
‘Lorna Lonergan?’
Lonergan tossed her hair. ‘Sounds like a character from Harry Potter, doesn’t it?’
Suzanne Morgan was on her driveway now, stepping carefully, clutching the shapeless woollen sweater she wore tighter around her body.
‘She’s barely eating,’ Lonergan confided in an undertone. ‘Her mother wanted to come and stay, but Suzanne wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Anything else to report?’ Caelan asked. Lonergan shook her head.
‘She cries a lot, won’t speak to anyone apart from her parents.’
‘No contact from Ronnie’s father?’ Caelan deliberately didn’t say Lambourne’s name.
‘None that I’m aware of.’ Lonergan turned away, took Morgan’s arm. ‘Come on, Suzanne, let’s go inside, where it’s warm. I’ll make you a drink. These two officers need to ask you some questions.’
The living room was pleasant, with cream walls and an oatmeal carpet. There were two bookcases, one either side of the wall-mounted TV, each crammed with paperbacks. A blanket and a teddy bear were bundled in the corner of the sofa. Suzanne Morgan waved a listless hand towards two armchairs and said, ‘Please, sit down.’ On the settee, she tucked the blanket around her thighs, folding her hands in her lap. The teddy looked on, old and well loved. It had no doubt been a favourite of Ronnie’s in his childhood, and was now bringing comfort to his mother.
Caelan took the chair furthest from Suzanne Morgan, unbuttoning her coat, relaxing her posture, wordlessly sending the message that she wasn’t a threat. Ewan was silent, his face grave, his eyes on his shoes. Caelan knew she had to tread carefully. Although Suzanne Morgan appeared reasonably composed, one badly chosen word and the facade would crack. She had seen it happen many times.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Lonergan.
Watching the FLO leave the room, Suzanne said, ‘I’m sorry, I should have offered.’
Caelan shook her head. ‘Don’t worry,
Ms Morgan.’
‘Please, call me Suzanne.’
‘Thank you.’ Caelan introduced Ewan, then herself. ‘I’m part of the team working to find the person who killed your son, Suzanne.’ However gentle her voice, she knew the words would be hitting Ronnie’s mother like hammer blows. Every nerve would be stretched to breaking, every sense fighting to deny the truth. Suzanne Morgan’s son was dead, and her world was ending – Caelan could see it in her eyes, in her trembling lips and fluttering hands. She waited, giving the other woman a moment. ‘We need to ask you some questions. Is that okay?’
A nod. ‘Find the person who killed him, that’s all I care about now.’
‘We’ll do everything we can.’
Suzanne lifted her gaze, met Caelan’s for the first time. ‘I know you will.’
Caelan nodded, the naked emotion in the other woman’s eyes knocking her off balance. She took a breath, steadied herself. Don’t think about Nicky.
‘Firstly, I know this will be painful and I’m sorry to have to ask, but has Ronnie’s father contacted you?’
The impact was immediate. Suzanne’s nostrils flared, her hands clenched around the blanket. ‘No. No, he hasn’t. You know who he is, what he did?’ Caelan nodded. ‘Well then. Why would he? If there’s one thing Seb knows how to do, it’s look after himself. Ronnie’s …’ She choked on the name, tried again. ‘Ronnie’s death won’t change that.’
Suzanne’s words were understandably bitter, but her tone was resigned. Her ex-husband was irrelevant to her, no more worthy of her attention than a housefly. Her son and his death was all she could see, and who could blame her? Her grief had a presence in the room so urgent and real that Caelan almost believed she could see it. A grey haze, all-consuming. She had to ask her questions, and she knew they were going to hurt. No amount of empathy was going to ease Suzanne Morgan’s pain. Finding the person responsible for her son’s death and bringing them to justice was the only comfort Caelan could offer.
‘Do you know if Ronnie’s father had contacted him recently?’
Suzanne’s eyes widened, her hands worrying a thread on the edge of the blanket. ‘I don’t think so.’
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