by Jane Adams
‘Spooks,’ Sarah repeated, laughing delightedly at the sarcasm in George’s voice. ‘Oh, George, I shall never think of you in the same way again.’
‘Glad you both think it’s so bloody funny. I take a dim view of being shot at.’
‘Sorry,’ Sarah apologized. Ray’s look told her he wasn’t convinced. ‘Do we know who they were?’
‘Well, actually, yes we do.’ George reached into his briefcase for a Manila folder and opened it to reveal the photographs his men had taken through the pub window the night before.
‘Recognize either of them?’ he asked.
Ray studied them, then shook his head. ‘Pierce’s mob, are they?’
‘Good guess. This one, name of William Havers, worked the door with Frank Jones, but we know that was just a sideline. The other goes by the name of Leon Travers. Known user and dealer. Strictly small time, though he sees himself as the next Mister Big. Pierce encouraged that, made him feel important and gave him all the crap jobs.’
‘Like shooting at Ray? OK, OK, I know. Mark it down to incipient hysteria. I admit it, I’m way out of my depth here. I like my history to be historical, Ray, I already told you that. I don’t like the idea I might be involved in the making of it.’
Ray glared, but let it pass. ‘I’ll go back this morning, see what was taken,’ he said. ‘But I doubt it’s more than the file you sent me or the list Helen Jones put together.’
Sarah looked worried for the first time. ‘You think Helen might be in danger?’ she asked. ‘I mean, if they’re violent enough to shoot at you . . .’
‘Helen’s being taken care of,’ George assured her.
‘Well, I hope it’s not Clive and his sidekick. Real load of use they were.’
George shook his head. ‘They spent last night giving statements to the local force and being debriefed by my people,’ he told her. ‘I’ve had two officers with Helen and her son all night. They were going to move her this morning. We’ve offered her a safe house, but she says she’d rather stay with Frank’s mother.’
‘You think she’ll be all right there?’ Sarah asked.
Ray snorted. ‘Frank’s mam lives on the Richmond estate,’ he said. ‘She’s been there thirty years. They’ve got their own “home boys”. Neither our lot nor the likes of Pierce so much as fart there without the locals coming down hard.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Sarah commented. ‘Sorry, but I was a sheltered suburban child. The only Richmond I knew was tree-lined and in Surrey.’
‘Bit different, love,’ Ray said. ‘But in a tight corner I know which one I’d prefer. Anyway, I’ll go back home this morning, start to tidy things up. And I suppose I’d better catch up with constable plod and finish making my statement.’
‘It would probably be appreciated,’ George said.
‘So what now?’ Sarah wanted to know. ‘What’s the next move?’
‘We turn the press coverage to our advantage,’ George told her.
Ray groaned.
‘The suicide note,’ George continued, ignoring him. ‘I think that might give us a little bit of leverage. I thought that if it were quietly leaked it might provoke a bit of a reaction.’
Ray looked suspiciously at him. ‘And what favours did you call in to get that done?’
George just smiled. ‘That would be telling,’ he said.
* * *
Ray spent the day completing his statement and trying to make some sense of the chaos in his cottage. Visitors came and went, the most useful being Maggie and Evie, who at least helped to set things to rights; the most annoying the predictable run of journalists and media folk who tried their best to get more than a no-comment response. In between were locals who wanted to lend a hand or just to offer sympathy. They were curious, but they were also genuinely concerned for the most part and more than a little disturbed at this interruption of their peace. He began to wonder if settling here was, after all, just a pipe dream.
He had heard victims of burglary talk about violation and tried to understand what they meant. He thought he began to now. It was the taking away of his sense of security and belonging that he found hardest of all.
Evie left at two and Maggie said she’d soon have to follow and fetch the kids from school. Hiding behind the net curtains like regular busybodies, they watched Evie as she meandered hopefully across the green, soon to be accosted by one of the local reporters. A second bore down on them and then another, this one with a camera emblazoned with the logo of a local TV news programme. After her first pretence at coyness they could see Evie begin to perform, her urgent mime clearly demonstrating the mess that the raiders had made of Ray’s cottage.
Ray laughed.
‘She’ll tell them everything, you know,’ Maggie said. ‘Will you mind?’
‘Inevitable, but it’ll keep them busy for five minutes. Might be a good time to go.’
Maggie nodded. On Ray’s advice, she’d parked on the other side of the churchyard and come in through the back. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere? You could come to dinner. I don’t think anyone knows about us. Well, they didn’t until Evie.’
Ray grimaced. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’
‘That’s OK, nothing we can tell them however much they ask.’
Ray’s expression told her that he wasn’t too sure of the truth in that. He scribbled George’s number on a scrap of paper. ‘If they do get to be a nuisance, give him a call, he might be able to help out.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Now, do you need a lift?’
She dropped him in Edgemere and he wandered around the old town waiting for Sarah to finish work, ending up in the same cafe he had visited that first morning he had gone to the records office, when he had begun to look for clues to Kitty’s story. He sat by the window watching the passers-by and musing over the events that had taken place since that day. There were trees lining both sides of the broad Market Road and the leaves were now well on the turn. When he had first seen them three weeks before they had still been a defiant summer green.
Kitty had been unable to see that last autumn, he thought, and that saddened him. She had loved the autumn. The fresh scents that came with frosty mornings and the gilded light that blessed sunny afternoons. And she had loved the activities of the season. The pickling and preserving and the satisfaction of being well prepared for the winter, and she had toiled hard, too, for the parish fund, ensuring that there would be food and warm clothes and medicines for those who fell on bad times.
That she should have died in the early autumn, at a time when she would have been at her busiest and her most alive, that seemed the final pain.
Ray shook himself. His mind had wandered, the sun, hot through the window, must have made him drowsy and yet the thoughts about Kitty that had filled his mind for that brief time had such certainty about them. He tried to think of something in Matthew’s journals that might have given him that knowledge, but could think of none.
He sighed irritably and drained his coffee cup. Not enough sleep the night before and a difficult day, he thought. That was all.
He tried to concentrate on the view outside, looked at his watch to see if it was time enough to meet Sarah from work and toyed with the idea of ordering another coffee, but in the end it was Kitty that won. The scent of her perfume, rose and lavender, that filled his mind and the memory of her, lying in his arms. The feel of smooth skin against his own and the desperate need that he had felt, wanting to be inside of her, to share that pleasure . . . and the pain of losing, of knowing that this woman was about to die and there was nothing he could do to prevent that happening.
Shocked beyond measure, Ray, dragging himself forcibly back to the present, reached up and wiped the tears pouring down his face.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Ray had made an excuse not to spend the night at Sarah’s, telling her that he was tired and that he wanted to make an early start on the final clean-up. The truth was, there was little els
e to do and she must have realized that when she dropped him off. Sarah had made no comment, however, just kissed him and said that she would call tomorrow. She had gone, leaving Ray to stand in the living room of his unusually tidy house feeling rather foolish and wondering if he should run out after her, tell her that he’d changed his mind and would she please stay.
His mind was still full of Kitty. The way she made him feel, the way she flooded his mind with images at the most awkward of moments and the difficulty he was now having in judging her as history and not an ongoing event.
Did Mathilda ever feel like this? Her diaries gave no indication. Mathilda seemed to view Kitty as a visitor who drifted in and out of her life. Ray wished that he could adopt the same perspective. Kitty seemed to have a different effect on different people. Mathilda had come to regard her almost as part of the furniture. Ray himself was on the way to becoming obsessed. John hadn’t even been aware of her. There seemed no rhyme or reason to it.
It would almost be easier, Ray thought, if Kitty had fulfilled the ‘normal’ role of the average ghost. If she’d specifically wanted something done, some wrong put right. But there had been none of that. Mathilda had no sense of her strange visitor having a mission and neither did Ray. It was simply as though their worlds briefly coincided and then drifted apart once again.
It was deeply confusing for a would-be sceptic to take on board.
He went to bed early, deliberately sleeping in Kitty’s old room as though daring her to appear, but nothing happened. He slept soundly and did not recollect his dreams.
* * *
Morning found him in better mood and he was on his way downstairs when the post arrived. More redirected mail. A brown padded envelope with his name scrawled across in slightly uneven letters.
‘Halshaw,’ Ray said. Now what?’
He pulled the envelope apart in his hurry to get at the contents. Photographs of Halshaw’s children spilled onto the floor together with a videotape.
Suddenly grateful that he had taken his video player out of storage, despite Mathilda’s inadequate television, Ray set it playing.
It only took him a few minutes to know how important this was. Still watching the tape, he grabbed the phone.
‘George,’ he said, ‘we’ve got the bastards.’
* * *
Walters was alone in his office when Ray arrived.
‘Ray?’ Walters was cautious. ‘And what can I do for you this time? More daft theories?’
In answer, Ray crossed to the outer office and came back pushing a TV trolley used for viewing evidence. Halshaw’s tape was tucked inside a Sainsbury’s carrier bag, together with the photographs of Halshaw’s family.
‘It took a few days to get to me,’ he said, ‘on account of it having to be redirected, but Halshaw wanted me to have this and I thought I’d share it with you. Oh, and a few others I thought might be interested.’
Ray played the tape. Walters watched and Ray scrutinized him.
‘They had pictures too. Halshaw’s wife and kids. A bit of a threat in case his conscience got the better of him.’
The scene was a basement. A man, blindfolded and gagged, was tied to a chair. The camera pulled in to tight focus, showing only the man’s face as someone off camera pulled the blindfold aside.
‘Michaeljohn,’ Ray said. ‘Though I’m sure you recognize him.’
The two men watched in silence as the camera pulled back to reveal Guy Halshaw, an automatic pistol clasped in a shaking hand. Michaeljohn’s eyes widened and there was no mistaking the shock of recognition.
Then Halshaw fired, his hand jerking with the recoil and then he had moved in to fire again as Michaeljohn’s body fell back, still bound to the high-backed chair. Halshaw emptied the full clip into the dead man and even then continued to try to fire, the hammer clipping emptiness until someone reached into shot and took the gun away.
‘And you think this has anything to do with me? You’re insane.’
Ray shook his head. ‘I know this has everything to do with you,’ he said. ‘And I’m not the only one either.’
‘You’ve nothing,’ Walters said. ‘Not a scrap of evidence. Ray, I don’t know why you’re choosing to do this, but I’ll tell you now, you’ll not be welcome here again.’
Ray ejected the tape. ‘I didn’t think I was all that welcome this time,’ he said. ‘Oh, and by the way. That list, or rather that bit of a list Enwright took from Helen Jones’s flat. Your name was on the missing half. Though maybe your friend Pierce told you that already?’
‘Pierce, what’s Pierce got to do with it, he’s on remand?’
‘Mark might be locked away, but he had a brother and his brother has his best interests at heart. Though I don’t need to tell you that, do I?’
Walters still looked blank and Ray wondered if that was a bit of the jigsaw Walters hadn’t completely got to grips with yet.
‘Oh come on, you must’ve seen the papers. My cottage was broken into. Made a hell of a mess and tried to shoot me into the bargain.’
‘Of course I heard,’ Walters snapped. ‘What of it?’
‘Well, it was Pierce’s boys that did it and they took the list. Didn’t even touch the TV and video, though I was kind of hurt that my hi-fi didn’t attract more notice. Cost months of overtime, that did. Anyway, we’ve pretty pictures of them to prove it.’
‘There’ve been no arrests.’
‘Not yet, no. Why hang folk for a lamb when you can get them for the whole bloody sheep? See you around, guv.’
* * *
‘He’s left the station. He’s headed left down Cranmer and just turned right into Openshore Avenue. I’m following.’
‘Keep your distance,’ George advised, ‘this isn’t an amateur.’
‘Acknowledged,’ Peterson said, unable to keep the irony out of his voice. He nodded to Josephs who eased out into the light traffic and followed Walters into Openshore.
For a moment they thought they might have lost him, then, ‘There.’ Josephs nodded. ‘Right-hand side, outside the pub.’
‘Got him.’ Peterson keyed up. ‘He’s in a telephone box outside the Three Cranes Hotel,’ he said. ‘Pull over.’ Josephs had already moved to comply.
They sat opposite the Three Cranes and watched Walters as he spoke animatedly into the telephone. It was less than an hour since Ray’s visit. They had expected to have had to wait for much longer before he made his move.
* * *
‘What the fuck are you doing calling me? I thought we had an understanding. Third party contact only.’
‘Think I’m completely stupid? I’m in a call box.’
‘And what if someone’s watching? Your lot know about you and it’s only a matter of time before they wrap you up. I’m fucked if I’m going to be caught in the flack.’
‘Bit late to worry about your image,’ Walters snapped. ‘You talk about stupid? What the fuck were you doing, sending your dickheads to turn over Flowers’ place?’
‘Your job. That’s what we were doing. You should have paid more attention. Found out what he knew. Watched your own back instead of leaving it to other people and then squeaking about it.’
‘You took a list—’
‘Amongst other things. And before you ask, yes it had your name on it. Look, Walters, fuck off and keep your head down. Your lot are clutching at straws right now. What do you want to do? Give them your head on a plate? You want to do that, fine, but keep the fuck away from me.’
‘Halshaw sent him the video. He showed it to me. Said he knew I was involved.’
Pierce was silent, then, ‘And you did exactly what they wanted you to do,’ he said. ‘Act like he’d come in there and cut your balls off. Like you ever had any.’
He cut the connection leaving Walters staring at the phone.
Chapter Fifty-nine
‘Repent, woman,’ Prescott said. ‘For the sake of your soul, admit your guilt and ask God’s forgiveness.’
‘And for the sak
e of my life?’
‘Your life is already forfeit. We have witnesses in plenty to your misdeeds, Randall’s wife amongst them. And we will watch you, mistress. See what form the devil takes when he comes to you.’
‘When the devil comes . . . Master Prescott, you talk of things I do not understand. I know nothing of the devil, nothing of his works. Before God, sir, I am innocent.’
She saw Prescott signal to men standing beside the door and she was seized. They sat her in a plain wooden chair and bound her hand and foot, the ropes biting into her flesh. She could move only her head.
‘Don’t struggle, woman,’ Prescott said. ‘The chair will only fall and none will come to help you. I am expert in the ways of your kind. The devil vows, when he binds your soul, he will come to you should your wickedness ever be found out and offer means of escape.’
‘Escape? I am tied here. I can barely move. How could I even hope for escape?’
‘The devil can take many forms,’ Prescott said. ‘A spider or a mouse. A rat, even a toad. He can take any form to slip into your cell. The devil keeps his promises. Should we see any of these things we will know that he is come for you.’
‘A spider? A mouse? This place is overrun with such things.’
‘And any that approach you will be killed.’
‘And you hope to kill the devil in this way? You think that you can crush such power beneath your feet by killing a spider?’
The man sucked in a satisfied breath. His nostrils flared and his lips puckered in a half smile and she knew that she had played this wrongly. ‘So you admit it, woman. You admit that the devil comes to you in such forms.’
‘You are twisting my words. I never meant to say that.’
‘You will condemn yourself. I have seen this before. Again and again you will condemn yourself from your own lips. We have only to watch and wait.’
He turned towards the door and one of the guards gagged her with a rag that tasted of sweat. She almost choked on the taste of it.