‘How did you and Theresa make the decision to have kids?’ Mariner asked.
Knox tried to stay calm. ‘To be honest I can’t really remember.’ It seemed like eons ago, and he was fast coming to the realisation that it was the happiest time of his life. If only he’d known. ‘It was just something you did — went out, got married, had kids. It didn’t seem to be so much of a conscious decision then. You just got on and did it.’
‘And how did you feel when they were born?’
Knox felt a stab of pain for what he’d lost. ‘Brilliant,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘There’s nothing that prepares you for the strength of your reaction. I mean Liverpool winning the championship in ‘78 was pretty fantastic, but even that didn’t come close. I wasn’t allowed in until it was all over, thank God. That was the way it was then. But it was incredible to think that we’d made such a perfect little human being. It was incredible.’ His mind drifted back. ‘A lot’s happened since then.’
‘You’re still on good terms with them.’
‘Only just. And now comes the hard part; introducing them to Selina.’
‘You’re going to do that soon? It’s serious then.’
Oh it was that all right, whether he liked it or not. ‘They’re part of my life,’ he said, stating the bald facts. ‘And Selina wants to meet them.’ She’d been nagging him about it for weeks now. It would have happened sooner if it hadn’t been for the bomb. Knox was just worried about what might happen when they did meet.
‘She seems like a great girl,’ said Mariner. ‘How’s she doing?’
‘She’s getting better all the time. I’m going back to work next week.’
‘You’re ready for that?’
‘I want to get back before the boss leaves.’ It was what he’d told Selina. In truth Knox felt a desperate need to regain some control over his life.
‘It’ll be weird without the old man,’ Mariner said.
‘Rumour has it his replacement is going to be a woman.’
‘That could be interesting.’
Knox checked his watch again. ‘I could do with getting back. Selina’s at her mum’s but they’ll be bringing her back soon.’
‘Well, I mustn’t keep you from the arms of your beloved,’ grinned Mariner. ‘She’s lucky to have your support.’
‘Yeah.’ It wasn’t the reason Knox needed to get back. The real reason was just too humiliating to admit.
* * *
When Mariner got home Anna and Jamie were already in bed and asleep, and he was relieved to avoid any further discussion about kids, or moving. Knox was right though. It was time he got back to work, too. Coleman’s retirement do was tomorrow night and after that he’d only be around for another couple of weeks. Maybe it was time to concentrate his attention on those closest to him. He still hadn’t found out much about Hollis and Jaeger, but there were avenues he could explore professionally in his own time.
Chapter Twenty
Next morning Anna took Jamie to the day centre on the understanding that Mariner would do the pick-up that evening. It meant that he got in to Granville Lane nice and early to find that things were moving on Lucca, the Albanian. ‘Police over there have picked him up for questioning,’ Charlie Glover told him.
‘What’s he saying?’ asked Mariner.
‘They’ve shown him Madeleine’s photograph, but so far he’s denying all knowledge.’
‘What about the fingerprints?’
‘According to him, there were bin bags and tape in the communal kitchen. He may have touched them, but so could anyone else living in the house.’
‘It’s not true with the tape though, is it? Only the person who bound Madeleine would have touched the inside strips of tape.’
‘We’ve got enough material evidence to bring him back, so they’re holding him until the extradition is agreed,’ said Charlie.
‘So where are we on the paperwork?’
‘I’ve got everything together. I was hoping we could go through it before we send it off to the CPS. Talk about pedantic. They virtually want everything in triplicate.’
‘We’ll be grateful in the long run,’ Mariner said. ‘It’ll ensure that we don’t hand the defence a legal loophole on a plate.’ With some reluctance Mariner put his own investigating on hold. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
They were deep in discussion when Ella from reception called through.
‘It’s Mrs Evans to speak to you.’
‘Mrs Evans?’
‘She says she’s Chloe Evans’ mother?’ Ella ventured, to help him out.
Mariner sighed heavily, guilty unease stirring in his gut. Glover was gesturing to him, something about taking a break. He ignored it. ‘Could you tell her I’ll call back, I’m in the middle of something right now.’
‘You sure, boss?’ Glover said when he’d replaced the phone.
‘This is important,’ said Mariner. ‘We don’t want to lose Lucca.’
By late afternoon Mariner was satisfied that they’d put together a strong report and they took it to Coleman for countersigning.
‘It’s good work,’ the gaffer said, looking it over.
‘So now we sit back and wait?’ said Glover.
‘We’ll see how it goes. If it seems to be taking too long at the other end, we can send someone down to lean on them a bit.’
Glover was dubious. ‘In theory that’s a great idea, but I’m all backed up with the stuff that happened over Christmas. It’s finding the time.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Mariner, with half a mind on his own investigation again. A couple more days in London might come in handy. ‘If that’s all right with you, sir.’
‘Whatever gets the job done,’ said Coleman.
* * *
The day almost over Mariner at last found time for some research of his own. Logging on to the system he did searches on Terry Brady and Marvin Jackson, before trying Hollis and Jaeger. But limited to the West Midlands database he came up with nothing. He really needed to get into the system at Harlesden, but to do that he’d also need a bloody good reason. And that he didn’t have, at least, not one that he could give without arousing suspicion. He might have to invent something.
* * *
Anna had found it impossible to get anyone to look after Jamie that evening, so Mariner went to Jack Coleman’s retirement bash alone. In some ways he was relieved. Any time he and Anna spent together would inevitably lead to discussion about kids and he couldn’t face that tonight. He couldn’t find his invitation but that wouldn’t matter. The party was being held at Tally Ho, the police training centre, across the road from the county cricket ground. Squeezing the Volvo into a space in a car park that was almost full, it appeared that he was one of the last to arrive.
Walking in, Mariner couldn’t help but notice that he was also one of the youngest in a room scattered with men in late middle age. The neutral lounge suits could easily have identified them as old lags instead of policemen. The group from Granville Lane had taken up occupancy of one corner of the room, but Mariner didn’t feel much like joining them. Instead he got himself a pint of indeterminate German lager and waited until Jack Coleman, looking less relaxed than normal, was on his own. ‘Having fun, sir?’
Coleman shot him a look. ‘Don’t look so smug. You’ll have to do this one day.’
‘Not if I can help it. I’ll sneak out the back door before anyone notices.’
‘You’ll be lucky,’ said Coleman. ‘But thanks for coming, I appreciate it.’
‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Who are all these people anyway?’
‘Ghosts from the past. They’ve even wheeled out some of the blokes I trained with. I haven’t seen most of them for years.’
‘That was back in the days when they used boiling oil instead of tear gas wasn’t it?’ said Mariner. ‘So what will you do when all this is over?’
‘Oh, Glenys has got it all mapped out. My feet won’t touch the groun
d. First thing is a whistle-stop tour of the grandchildren — Stafford, Preston, Edinburgh.’
‘I didn’t know you had family in Edinburgh.’
‘We honeymooned there,’ said Coleman. ‘I was trying to get her to hold off until the festival in the summer, but I think she’s terrified that I’ll get so bored in the first three weeks I’ll take up golf or something.’
He turned as the assistant chief commissioner cleared his throat into a screeching microphone. Speech time. Mariner shook Coleman’s hand. ‘Best of luck with it, sir.’
‘Thanks Tom. And don’t look on this as a chance to desert me. I’ll be relying on you to keep me in touch with the real world.’
If I’m still around, thought Mariner. He stayed at the bar, another drink in hand and beginning to feel melancholy. He was going to miss Jack Coleman. They’d never been what you’d call close, but Coleman was probably the nearest thing to a father figure that Mariner had ever had. After the speeches Mariner found himself next to a group of south-east accents. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked out of politeness.
‘Harlesden,’ said the man closest to him.
At first, Mariner thought he’d misheard, his head clogged with recent conversations, but he hadn’t. ‘Really? Home of the Special Incident Squad.’ Four pairs of eyes turned on him, curiosity and suspicion in equal measure. ‘I heard it was a very effective unit.’
‘It was.’ The man who answered stood facing him, tall and lean with small, dark eyes in a narrow face.
‘Record numbers of convictions,’ Mariner continued. He glanced into his drink. ‘Still, doesn’t look quite so good if you take out the ones that have since been overturned, does it?’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘You must know George Hollis,’ Mariner scanned the room. ‘Is he here?’ That would be just too good to be true.
The man looked at him strangely. ‘You trying to be funny? How do you know George?’
‘Only by reputation.’
‘He was a good officer.’ The response seemed a touch defensive.
‘Was?’ Mariner’s ears pricked up.
‘He retired six months ago.’
‘He went early?’ Mariner was guessing here.
‘Ill health.’
‘Really? What happened to his partner, what was his name, Jaeger?’
‘He moved on,’ said the tall man. ‘How was it you said you knew them?’
‘Oh, the names just came up in a case I was looking at. Joseph O’Connor. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.’
‘Can’t say that I have.’ But steel barriers had come down behind the eyes, and Mariner was sure that he saw the other three men shuffle a little nearer to the spokesman, literally closing ranks.
‘I was talking to a couple of people at the Judicial Review Commission who worked with Sir Geoffrey Ryland,’ Mariner continued. ‘To be honest they weren’t very complimentary about Mr Hollis, but then, everyone has a different viewpoint, don’t they?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Tom Mariner,’ Mariner said, pleasantly. ‘One of Jack’s DIs at Granville Lane.’ He stuck out a hand but no one took it and the temperature in this area of the room seemed to drop a couple of degrees.
‘Ryland should have stuck to politics,’ muttered one of the other men, short and square, and with no neck that Mariner could see. ‘Fucking Judicial Review Commission has done more damage than good, everyone knows that. It’s hard enough trying to get villains put away in the first place. Now every petty criminal who wants to get off the hook blames it on the arresting officers. It’s undermined the whole criminal justice system.’
‘Is that how George Hollis felt?’
‘A lot of us do.’
‘Convenient that Ryland got shot then, wasn’t it?’ said Mariner.
‘I don’t know what you’re trying to say but—’
‘All I’m saying is that Ryland was good at exposing coppers who bent the rules, and one of those he had in his sights was George Hollis. Not long after Hollis “retires” — your euphemism, not mine — both Ryland and O’Connor get shot in what was apparently a revenge killing. As our American cousins are fond of saying: you do the math.’
‘Do you have any idea who you’re talking to, son?’
Suddenly Mariner felt a movement at his side and Jack Coleman was at his elbow. ‘Could I have a word, Tom?’ He steered Mariner away from the group. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Just having an open and honest discussion with a couple of your former colleagues.’ Mariner realised he was having difficulty getting his tongue around the words.
‘And bringing your own career to an end as well as mine? Go home, Tom. I appreciate you coming. I know it’s not the best time for you, but you’ve had your say. Now go home.’
Mariner stopped off at the gents before he left and found himself alongside another man at the urinals. ‘You want the truth? Sir Geoffrey Ryland did us all a favour,’ his neighbour said, quietly. ‘Hollis’s time was past. He was a dinosaur. Most of the squad were glad to be rid of him.’
Mariner didn’t like to turn to look at whoever he was speaking to. It wasn’t something you did. But he said: ‘I’m having trouble finding out much about Hollis’s and Terry Brady, especially their involvement in Joseph O’Connor’s arrest.’
‘Hollis and Brady had a special relationship.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve no evidence, but rumour was that in return for being cut into deals Hollis used to let Brady know when and where raids were going to happen.’
Friends on the inside. ‘So how—?’
‘That’s all I can tell you.’ And without glancing in Mariner’s direction, the man zipped his fly and walked out, the door banging heavily behind him. Now Mariner didn’t know what to believe. But it was a possible explanation for Jackson being released without charge.
Tempted to try and track down the stranger and press him for more, Mariner chose instead to take Coleman’s advice and make his way home. Walking down the ramp to the car park he passed a couple of the Harlesden officers standing outside smoking. He was about to get into his car when he thought better of it. He’d had too much to drink, and the Harlesden men were probably watching him. Wouldn’t they just love if he got stopped on the way home? It was still relatively early, the evening just getting going for the Birmingham club scene, so instead he walked back along the service road, feeling two pairs of eyes boring into his back. When he got to the main road he jumped onto a number forty-seven bus.
The Boatman was almost deserted when he got there; another dinosaur drawing its last breath. A couple more pints ensured that, by the time Mariner left the pub, he was pretty well oiled. But he managed to stagger back to his house, which was still empty and no car outside. This arrangement with Bill Dyson was going to be perfect.
But Mariner must have slept pretty deeply because when he rose late the following morning, feeling better than he had a right to, Dyson was in the kitchen making toast. He turned a broad smile on Mariner. ‘Morning!’
Oh God, he was one of those morning people who were happy first thing.
Dyson was already dressed for the office in suit and tie. ‘I hope I didn’t disturb you last night,’ he said. ‘I was out pretty late. Entertaining clients.’
‘Not at all,’ said Mariner. ‘It would have taken a lot to wake me. I’d had a bit of liquid anaesthesia to help me on my way.’
Dyson grinned. ‘Sounds like more fun than I had.’
Was it? Mariner recalled the way the Harlesden crowd had watched him go.
‘You had a phone call,’ Dyson was saying, ‘about twenty minutes ago, a guy called Baxter? I jotted the number on the pad, just in case.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mariner, thinking that he hadn’t bargained on a social secretary as well as a lodger, but then he realised he was being oversensitive. He went into the lounge and closed the door before calling Baxter back.
‘Jayce said you wanted some information
about George Hollis,’ he said, after introductions.
‘We need to talk,’ said Mariner. ‘Can you meet me somewhere?’
‘I’m out and about today. You’re in Brum, right?’
While Baxter was speaking there was a light knock on the door and Dyson leaned in to give Mariner a parting wave.
Mariner halted him with a signal. ‘One minute Mike please—’
‘Sure.’
Covering the handset Mariner asked Dyson: ‘Which way are you going?’
‘North — spaghetti junction,’ Dyson said.
‘Any chance of a lift?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ll just be a minute.’
‘No problem.’
Mariner lifted his hand in thanks. ‘Still there, Mike?’
‘Yeah. How about the M40 services at Junction Eight, say half eleven?’
‘Sounds fine. I’ll see you there.’
‘Look out for an old Discovery, dark green, personalised plates: JMB.’
* * *
‘I appreciate this,’ Mariner said, climbing into Dyson’s car ten minutes later. ‘I’d had one too many so left the car behind last night. It’s at Tally Ho just off the Pershore Road.’
‘Wise move. Was it some kind of celebration?’
‘Of sorts. My DCI’s retiring. It was a celebration for him but I’ll be sorry to see him go. He’s been a pretty solid anchor for me over the years.’
‘Oh, aye. We could all use one of those.’
‘So how are things going for you?’ It was the rush hour and the traffic was slow, so it seemed reasonable to make conversation.
‘Pretty well so far,’ Dyson said. ‘I already had one or two clients in the area, and I’m finding my way round better. Any news on that job you mentioned?’
‘I haven’t had the chance to discuss it yet, but I’ll be seeing her again soon. It’s down in Oxfordshire, a couple of hours from here. That still your patch?’
Dyson grinned. ‘I’m not proud, I’ll go anywhere.’
‘She lives in the middle of nowhere and has people going in during the week but she’s on her own all weekend,’ Mariner told him.
Killer Lies (Reissue) Page 17