‘Would Ronnie have told you if he had?’
‘Well, I … Ronnie was at an age where he didn’t tell me everything. When he went to uni, had girlfriends … I wouldn’t have wanted to know.’
‘You’re saying it’s possible he had spoken to his father?’ Caelan didn’t allow any impatience to colour her tone.
‘I’m saying … I’m saying he might have done, but I doubt it.’ Suzanne pressed her lips together, clearly unhappy with the idea.
‘Did Ronnie have accounts on Facebook or Twitter? Instagram? We couldn’t find any.’
‘Do you have his phone?’ Suzanne asked. Caelan nodded. ‘Need it to find who he’s been speaking to, I suppose. No, he didn’t have Facebook, or any of that.’
‘Because he changed his name, his identity?’
‘Can you blame him? After the child died, people hated us. We had to move, more than once. Ronnie was beaten up every time he left the house; my car was vandalised. Bricks through our windows, threats. Then the fire … We were lucky to escape with our lives. And where was Seb? Not here protecting us, that’s for sure.’ She stifled a sob. ‘Seb’s to blame for Ronnie’s death. I told him he’d kill us in the end.’
Lonergan came back into the room with a tray. She went to Suzanne first, held out a mug and wrapped the other woman’s fingers around it. Caelan and Ewan smiled their thanks as Lonergan gave them their drinks, then sat unobtrusively in the corner.
Caelan waited until Suzanne had composed herself and was sipping her tea before asking, ‘How do you mean, Seb would kill you?’
‘His friends, the people he knew. When we first met, he had a job, a real job. Then he started turning up with loads of cash, a new car, expensive jewellery for me. I’m not stupid, I knew he couldn’t be buying all that on a labourer’s wage. He laughed at me, told me no one was getting hurt. Then … Well, someone did.’
Caelan nodded. ‘His GBH conviction.’
‘When he came out of prison, he wanted to see Ronnie, though I’d told him our relationship was over. I didn’t want Seb in Ronnie’s life, not really, but he wanted to see his dad. You might not believe me considering what’s happened, but Seb was wonderful with Ronnie when he was around.’
‘I do believe you,’ Caelan said softly.
Suzanne gave a tremulous smile. ‘Bless you. I begged him to change his ways, for Ronnie’s sake. He couldn’t – he was in too deep, liked the lifestyle too much. I never saw him as a kidnapper, though.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘Shows what I know.’
Caelan had to ask. ‘Were you surprised to hear what he had done?’
‘That he’d murdered an innocent boy? I was horrified. I couldn’t … There’s a part of me that still doesn’t believe it. And yet … he did, didn’t he?’ She stared at Caelan, her eyes wide. ‘Kidnap, murder. A ten-year-old child. They said he killed a police officer too.’
Caelan swallowed. ‘He did.’
Suzanne frowned. ‘I’m sorry. Did you know her?’
‘We’d met. Suzanne, why do you think Ronnie was in London? Did he tell you he was coming home?’
Her lips trembled. ‘No, he didn’t. Never breathed a word.’
‘Is it possible he’d arranged to meet his father?’
‘Like I said, I don’t know, he wouldn’t have said. He knew how I felt about Seb, but … Seb and I were divorced. I’d removed him from my life completely, and I’ve never regretted it. Ronnie, though, he couldn’t do that. Seb was still his father, however much Ronnie might want it not to be the case. Their bond would always be there.’
Caelan crossed her legs, drank some tea. ‘There were no traces of any contact in Ronnie’s emails, his phone records. What about a letter? Did Seb have this address?’
‘Not as far as I know, but Seb knows so many people, he might have heard Ronnie had gone to university up in Lincoln, and traced him there. I don’t know where Seb’s been hiding, but I’m sure some of his old friends stayed in touch.’
Making a mental note to ask Brady if Ronnie’s flat in Lincoln had been searched, though she knew it should have been, Caelan asked, ‘Can I see Ronnie’s room, please, Suzanne?’
She sniffed, gave a faint nod. ‘Though I’m not sure what you’re expecting to find. It’s already been searched.’
‘Thank you.’
As Caelan stood, Ewan met her eyes, and she nodded. Leading the way up the stairs, she heard Lonergan talking to Suzanne, her voice quiet, soothing.
‘You didn’t ask her about Walker,’ said Ewan.
‘You think I should?’
‘I suppose she’d have mentioned it if he’d contacted her.’
‘I should check. Thanks, Ewan.’
He beamed, and Caelan grinned back. She’d intended to ask, had more questions for Suzanne Morgan, but why not let Ewan think he’d helped?
They reached a square landing with three doors leading off it. One door stood ajar and Ewan, standing nearest, poked his head around it. ‘Bathroom.’
Caelan reached for the handle of the door closest to her. Double bed with a white duvet cover patterned with embroidered red hearts. Suzanne’s room. Quietly Caelan closed the door, opened the next.
Ronnie’s room was square, the pale grey walls dotted with specks of Blu Tack where posters had been removed. The double bed had been stripped to the mattress; a pair of smart black shoes were gathering dust beneath a battered desk. Caelan stood in the doorway, searching for details. The sleeve of a white shirt caught in the door of the wardrobe. The corner of a photograph frame visible behind one of the navy-blue curtains. She moved closer. Sebastian Lambourne grinned up at her, Ronnie, aged about eight laughing in his father’s arms. She picked up the frame, studied the photograph. She remembered Lambourne as she had last seen him, running past her, Nicky’s blood dripping from his sleeve. The father. The killer. Could he be both? Many people were.
Ewan stepped towards her. ‘Is that him?’
‘Lambourne, yes.’
‘He looks … ordinary. Normal.’ He screwed up his face. ‘I mean …’
Caelan replaced the photograph. ‘He is.’ She turned, her eyes scanning the room again. A flat pillow under the bed. Euro coins heaped on a bookshelf. It felt empty, forgotten, as though Ronnie had been absent for years. What was she looking for? She had no idea. All the obvious places would have been searched already.
‘I’ve been sitting in here sometimes.’ Suzanne Morgan was in the doorway, Lonergan pulling an apologetic face over her shoulder. ‘Ronnie didn’t spend much time in this house, but this was still his room. I know it sounds stupid …’
‘It doesn’t.’ Caelan stepped closer, touched Suzanne’s shoulder. The woman gave a faint smile, wrapping her arms around her body. Tears filled her eyes as she crossed the room and picked up the photograph of Lambourne and Ronnie.
‘He had a picture of me in his room at uni, one of my parents, but not his father. He left this one here.’ She touched a fingertip to her son’s laughing face. ‘Seb was stupid. He threw all this away.’
‘Did you know Glen Walker?’ Caelan asked.
‘Glen?’ Suzanne moved to the bed, sat, dropped the photograph onto the mattress beside her. ‘I met him, yes. He came to the house occasionally when Seb lived with us.’
‘What did you think of him?’
‘Honestly? He made me uncomfortable.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He was polite, pleasant, but as though it was a huge effort. As if he was playing a part, putting on a mask.’
‘He frightened you.’
Suzanne met Caelan’s eyes. ‘Yes. I told Seb I didn’t want him in the house, especially not near Ronnie. He was never violent, never lost his temper, but the threat was there, if you know what I mean.’
‘Thank you. Do you know where Glen lived?’
‘Back then?’ Suzanne’s brow wrinkled. ‘I can’t remember, but I’ve an old address book in my room. I’ll have a look if you think it’s important.’
‘We’re tryin
g to find him.’ Caelan hesitated, wondering if she should continue. ‘Glen Walker was seen speaking to Ronnie recently.’
Suzanne stared. ‘Ronnie saw Glen? I don’t understand.’
‘We think it was a chance meeting, not prearranged.’
Suzanne stood quickly, seized Caelan’s arm. ‘He’s dangerous. Find him.’
‘We don’t know if—’
‘Glen hurts people, you understand? He enjoys it. He used to fight, bare-knuckle boxing. Even Seb was wary of him, GBH conviction or not. He used to say Glen was like a vicious dog, needed keeping on a chain.’
Caelan looked down at Suzanne’s hand clutching her arm. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’
Suzanne moved away. ‘Years ago. I don’t understand why Ronnie would talk to him.’
‘You’ve been very helpful, Suzanne. Thank you.’
‘You’ll keep me informed? If Glen’s involved …’
‘We will, through DC Lonergan.’
‘I’ll have a look for that address. I’m not sure why I kept it; it’s not as though I wanted to send Glen a birthday card.’ She looked at Caelan, her mouth twisting. ‘Maybe I guessed that one day someone would come looking for him.’
24
Brady’s phone went to voicemail, but she called back a few minutes later. ‘Those clowns who were supposed to intercept the van driver? They lost him. No idea how, but they managed it. Bloody useless.’
‘He probably switched the number plates again,’ said Caelan. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘We’re trying to track him through various cameras, but as you can imagine, we’re stretched pretty thin. Have you seen him again?’
‘No. Listen, we have an old address for Glen Walker.’ Caelan dictated it.
‘We’ll do some digging,’ said Brady.
‘Are you still focusing resources on Ronnie’s murder?’
There was a pause. ‘Why wouldn’t we be? We don’t know who did it.’
‘I thought after our conversation with Elizabeth Beckett …’
Caelan heard a door close on Brady’s end of the line. When she spoke again, Brady’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘We’re continuing to run the investigation exactly as we were before, regardless of who we might or might not suspect. One, we need evidence, and two, we need to keep our suspicions to ourselves, as you know.’
‘But if one of the people we discussed earlier is involved …’
‘You’re continuing your investigations, as are myself and DCI Achebe. We’ll get them, Caelan.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Are you heading to the Wheatsheaf now?’
‘When I’ve been home. When I’m ready.’
‘Time for one of your disguises?’ Caelan could hear the smile in Brady’s voice.
‘When I went there as myself, I was shot at, so yeah, I thought it’d be a good idea.’
‘Don’t forget your appointment tonight.’
‘With some burly uniforms?’
‘That’s the one. Remember, we need it to look real.’
‘Fine.’
‘And Caelan?’
‘Ma’am?’
‘Take the gun.’
* * *
Caelan Small walked into apartment 135, but the woman who exited her bedroom an hour later was a different person. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders, her make-up carefully applied to highlight blue eyes and full lips. Her cheekbones were sharper, her eyebrows pencilled to appear a different shape, her face seeming longer, wider. As she entered the living room, Ewan gaped, his eyes wide.
‘You look …’
‘I hate these clothes,’ said Caelan, tugging on the waistband of the tight denim jeans she wore. Under a leather jacket, a loose black T-shirt hid the gun at her hip. ‘Are you ready?’
Ewan was still staring. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised you.’
Caelan laughed. ‘That’s the idea.’
‘Until you spoke … It’s amazing.’
‘It’s my job. When we get to the Wheatsheaf, I’ll change my voice too.’ She heaved an oversized PVC handbag onto her shoulder, pushed her feet into a pair of black spike-heeled boots. ‘God, these shoes are a nightmare.’
‘Difficult to run in.’
‘I’m hoping I won’t need to. Anyway, I have these.’ Caelan opened the bag to reveal a pair of canvas pumps. ‘Here.’ She handed Ewan a beanie hat and a pair of glasses. ‘Clear lenses. It’s not much of a disguise, but it’ll have to do.’
Ewan took them, put them on.
‘You want me to come into the pub then? I wondered if you’d want dropping off nearby.’
‘No, come in with me, please. You’re going to be my boyfriend, but don’t be surprised if I talk to everyone but you.’
Ewan grinned. ‘I’m hurt.’
Caelan’s face was serious. ‘Hopefully not.’
* * *
They left the car a few streets away, making it to the pub without incident. Caelan took Ewan’s hand as they walked. She squeezed, feeling the tension in his body. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t stay long.’ He looked down at her with a smile. Guilt rose in her throat as she remembered the previous day, the danger she had exposed him to. ‘You don’t have to come in, Ewan.’
‘We’re here now.’
‘We’ll have a row, you can storm off. I don’t mind.’
‘No way.’ As they neared the pub, one of the men standing outside dropped his cigarette end into the gutter and disappeared through the door. ‘Do you think he’s a lookout?’
‘Possibly. Don’t worry.’ Anxiety clawed at Caelan’s belly. ‘Remember, we’re a couple calling into a pub for a drink.’
As they passed, the other men stared, their eyes hardening. Regretting coming here already, Caelan pushed open the door and stepped onto the dark wooden floorboards inside. As she remembered, the bar ran the length of the room, with tables, chairs and a couple of booths on the opposite wall. Two ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, doing little to cheer the place or lighten the oppressive atmosphere. At the bar two men stood, their heads close together, deep in discussion. One was the man who had been outside as they approached. At a table in the far corner, two more men sat with pints of beer, their eyes on a TV fastened to the wall above their heads. Behind the bar, a young man with slicked-back blond hair was polishing glasses with a white cloth. Other than Caelan, there were no women in the place.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Her heart thumping, Caelan led Ewan to the booth nearest the main door, knowing it was the only easily accessible way out of the building. There was a back door, but to reach it they’d have to venture behind the bar.
‘I’ll get the drinks.’ Ewan strolled to the bar, Caelan pleased that his nervousness wasn’t obvious. The barman looked him up and down, his expression bordering on a sneer.
‘Not seen you in here before,’ he said.
‘We were passing, fancied a drink.’
The barman’s face didn’t change. ‘Right. What can I get you?’
Ewan scanned the beer pumps. ‘Pint and a half of Christie’s, please.’
‘Christie’s is off.’
‘Mackay’s then.’
‘That’s off too.’ Folding his arms, the barman curled his lip. ‘Maybe you should find another pub.’
Caelan got to her feet, approached the bar, pressed herself against Ewan’s side. ‘How about spirits?’ She smiled at the barman, who sniffed.
‘We’ve a single malt. It’s expensive, though.’
‘My favourite kind. Thank you.’
The barman inclined his head. Caelan poked a finger into Ewan’s ribs and he moved away to sit in the booth. Caelan hoped he’d keep his mouth shut. A wrong word could get them both beaten up, or worse. Her gaze strayed to the closed door on the back wall, between the doors leading to the toilets. The storeroom. She had no desire to see the inside of it again.
The barman plonked two shot glasses in front of her. ‘Twenty quid.’
‘Twenty? For two drinks?’
He leered. ‘Is there a problem?’ The two men at the other end of the bar sniggered.
Caelan turned to Ewan. ‘No. No problem.’ He hurried over, handed her a folded note. She smoothed it out, passed it to the barman, who grinned, exposing perfect teeth. ‘Cheers, darling.’
Caelan lifted one of the glasses, the smell making her stomach somersault. She couldn’t bear whisky, but she knew she had to drink it. She took a sip, swallowed, then threw as much down her throat as she could. The barman laughed. ‘Hope you’ve brought plenty of money, mate,’ he called to Ewan, who smiled, took his own drink, said nothing.
‘Nice place,’ Caelan said.
The barman picked up his cloth again. ‘No it isn’t.’
Another sip of whisky, her stomach readying itself to force the lot back up. She held her breath, praying it would stay down. The barman watched her closely, one corner of his mouth lifting.
‘Enjoying your drink?’
‘Yes thanks.’ Fluffing her hair with one hand, Caelan set the other on her hip. ‘Brendan said the Wheatsheaf was worth a visit.’ It was a guess, a shot in the dark, but it got a reaction. The two men sitting at the table fell silent, while the barman glared at her.
‘Brendan?’ he said.
‘Brendan Milne.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Really? I’m sure he said the Wheatsheaf.’ Caelan lifted the glass again. Waited.
One of the men from the end of the bar sauntered up, pint in hand. He wore a slim-fitting suit, his hair clipped close to his head, his beard neatly trimmed. He narrowed his eyes at Ewan, treated himself to a gawp at Caelan’s cleavage before saying, ‘How do you know Brendan?’
Caelan thought quickly. ‘Friend of a friend. You?’
He bared his teeth. ‘Prick owes me five hundred quid.’
‘Wouldn’t count on getting it back.’
He set his empty glass on the bar, his movements slow, deliberate. Taking a pace closer to Caelan, he pushed her face towards her. ‘Where is he?’
Feeling Ewan tense beside her, Caelan trod on his toe. ‘Where’s who?’
Ask No Questions Page 20