Loose Ends (The Acer Sansom Novels Book 2)

by Oliver Tidy

  The reporter shook her head slowly as she said, ‘She’s not stupid, is she? She knows that by disappearing with the transport she’s dumped you on me and she must know something about me because that’s the only way she could also know that I can’t give up a story like this. I’m stuck with you, for now.’

  He stared at her, but his thoughts were elsewhere. ‘There must be something I can do to help her.’

  ‘You just said that you can’t do anything. If you get involved you not only risk leaving a trail of it but you could also endanger her story. You’ve experience of how convincing she is. Maybe she can make them believe that she had nothing to do with you.’

  He turned away to look out of a window in an attempt to hide his reaction to that.

  ‘Don’t you think our time might be better spent making a start?’ she said.

  She could see that he was deeply unhappy with the situation and his obvious concern for the old woman increased his stock with her more than anything else she had heard or seen since he had forced his way into her apartment and waved a pistol in her face.

  His back to her, he said, ‘She told me that she’d done enough. She said that she would just be in the way now. When I met her this afternoon, she convinced me to let her help me. It wasn’t something I was keen on. When I shared my idea of contacting you, she said she could give me something with you that I couldn’t hope to have without her.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Credibility.’

  ‘She was right. I think that when this is over I’m going to track her down myself and interview her properly.’ There was a hint of admiration for the old woman in the reporter’s delivery.

  ‘You’re assuming it’s going to end well for us all?’

  ‘I wouldn’t get involved, or be doing this job, if I ever doubted myself.’

  He heaved another deep sigh of resignation as he mentally severed himself from Mrs Tallis. He remembered then the last thing she had said to him: ‘Do it for Stanley. Do it for all of them.’

  He turned to face her. ‘It’s former Minister for Defence Procurement, Alex Bishop,’ he said and watched her go wide-eyed and open-mouthed. ‘As well as all this, he was also in the house the night your ex-husband was murdered.’

  *

  He began by sharing the tapes that Harris had made in the hospital because he had to. He was prepared to have to revisit once again the harrowing history of his reasons for becoming embroiled in this whole mess. It didn’t stop him from being understandably and visibly affected by it all. She listened in silent incredulity. The story of the appalling slaughter on The Rendezvous clearly made an impression on her, especially with the involvement of his wife and child. She asked him if he wanted to stop, or to talk about any of it, but he shook his head. Time was what mattered, not emotions. He then played the tape that he had made of Bishop’s visit to the hospital, after which they broke for something simple to eat and drink. He showed her the notes he had written to Harris from the London hotel the evening prior to his departure to Turkey. She read them and made some notes herself while he paced the room, his mind temporarily back with Mrs Tallis.

  By the time she had finished it was only a couple of hours from sunrise. She removed her glasses and rubbed at her eyes, yawning.

  ‘This is dynamite,’ she said, and then gave him an apologetic look for her insensitivity to his personal loss.

  He accepted this with a shrug. He clearly didn’t want to go into it. ‘We’ve barely started.’

  ‘Can we jump ahead a bit?’ she said.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Well, this is Bishop, a very prominent politician, then and now. He remains very influential, even though he has no government post. How can he really be getting away with all this and no one is noticing?’

  ‘I think Smith is doing all the dirty work. I don’t know in what capacity he operates – government department or private security. My money is on some form of elite military intelligence service.’

  ‘Would they sanction the shooting dead of unarmed police officers?’ She was rightly disbelieving.

  ‘If the stakes are high enough, yes. If I can get out of the woodwork and get myself heard they’ll not only be finished politically and professionally, they’ll be looking at lengthy custodial sentences – complete and utter ruination. I’d say that some people might think that the sacrifice of a couple of anonymous foot-soldiers might be worth that to create a situation where their own position and liberty might be maintained.’

  She thought about this for some seconds before saying, ‘It’s like something out of a Robert Ludlum novel.’ Then she said, ‘Am I right in saying that you came back to help prosecute them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Stan Tallis talked me into it and because if I didn’t come back and clear my name I would forever be looking over my shoulder. I don’t want that. I can’t live like that. I shouldn’t have to.’

  ‘So, was Stan Tallis in communication with others higher up the food chain?’

  ‘Yes. One of them was the man who was found dead in the boot of a car in the motorway services. There must be others, but it was necessarily a small number of people. If Bishop had got wind of what was happening, that I was alive – he thought I was dead; I’ll explain that in a bit – and coming back to testify against him, well, you can see what has happened. They obviously did get wind of it.’

  ‘But what about these others within either government or the intelligence services who were part of the operation to have you brought back into the fold, so to speak?’

  ‘I have no idea who they might be. No one has put their head above the parapet in my defence as far as I’m aware. And because I don’t know who to trust, I don’t know who to go to. If I give myself up to the wrong people, I have no doubt that I’ll share the fate of Stan Tallis. In fact, the way things are now, if I give myself up to the right people, I have little doubt that my days would be countable with the fingers of one hand.’

  She encouraged him to hold her gaze when she said, ‘You said that if you couldn’t get justice this way you’d kill them all. Did you really mean that?’

  ‘I still do.’

  ‘So what would that achieve?’

  ‘It would make me feel better.’

  ‘It wouldn’t get your life back.’

  ‘It would be an absolute last resort. If there were no other options. I’m going to put a stop to them one way or another.’

  Unable to help herself, she shivered and hoped that he hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Would you like to hear about Turkey now?’

  She stifled another yawn. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure I can deal with much more of this at the moment. I need some sleep and I need to think about what you’ve told me so far. You’ll have to stay here. I know that. I’ll be honest with you, that doesn’t make me happy, but there is no other way. Agreed?’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks. Let me have a blanket and I’ll sleep in the chair. I won’t bother you.’

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. ‘The sofa folds out into a bed,’ she said. ‘There’s spare bedding. I’ll be calling in sick in a couple of hours but I can’t operate effectively without sleep. Help yourself to tea or coffee when you wake. The bathroom is through there.’ She indicated a doorway off the small entrance hall. She delivered it all as though she had rented out a room through the small ads. She fetched the bedding, converted the sofa, turned off her computer and said good morning.

  Sansom made up the bed, stripped down to his shorts and gratefully crawled beneath the duvet. In the darkness, he heard something being wedged up against the inside of her bedroom door and he smiled. As he waited for sleep, his mind wandered guiltily to the plight of Mrs Tallis. He wondered whether she had made it home safely, or whether she was still driving. He remembered her saying that she didn’t like to drive at night. He remembered that she had looked genuinely exhausted before she had left them and wondered
at her inner strength. When everything was over he fantasised that he would find her and they would visit Stan’s grave together with some good news, some flowers, perhaps, and a proper farewell.

  *

  Despite his nervous and physical exertions and exhaustion of the day before, Sansom slept for only a few hours. His mind, even under the shroud of sleep, was troubled by the idea of Mrs Tallis’s self-imposed predicament.

  When he awoke after his fitful rest, his first instinct was to call her on the mobile phone she had used to contact him. But this notion was soon scotched by the voice of caution that was becoming a growing influence on aspects of his thinking. He could imagine all too easily how a poorly-timed phone call from him could put her in an awkward position. And although the chances that he might call while Smith’s thugs were around were so remote as to be hardly worth considering, it still wasn’t worth the risk. In any case, he placated himself, she had the means to get in touch when she could and he felt sure that she would.

  Sansom was well past a time in his life, such as it had become, to wonder about taking advantage of the hospitality of others even if it was, understandably, somewhat grudging. He showered, helping himself to a towel, then made fresh coffee and toast. He turned on the television and muted the sound, keeping one eye on his preferred news channel for anything that might involve him.

  The fragrance of the two mainstays of the English breakfast filtering through the small living space brought her out of her room. She was fully dressed in the same clothes she had worn the previous evening. She looked like she’d slept in them and hadn’t managed much more of it than him.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said.

  She took a moment to let him see her take in how he had made himself at home. He chose to ignore it.

  ‘Coffee?’ he tried again.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, with only the merest hint of sarcasm. ‘I’ll get it.’

  She could suit herself, he thought. It was her flat and he had more important things to worry about than her feelings.

  She noticed the television. ‘Anything?’

  He answered through a mouthful. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No news is good news, right?’

  ‘Not any more. When do you want to get started with the rest of it?’

  ‘Let me get some coffee inside me first. Has she called?’

  He shook his head and said, ‘No news definitely isn’t good news.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘Actually, I’ve been generating questions, mostly.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as, what exactly is your master plan for all this? Do you expect to give me your story, I take it to my editor and it gets published?’

  ‘That’s about it, yes.’

  ‘Then you have some truths to face up to.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Firstly, you are a wanted man, regardless of how guilty you are. The police will demand that you are handed over. Secondly, my editor, while I can imagine him becoming sexually aroused by something like this, is going to be shitting bricks at the same time. It would be impossible for us to just print and be damned. We’d risk print-and-be-jailed – well we wouldn’t, because the copy would never get off his desk. Apart from the tapes, you have no real evidence – and they aren’t even videotapes. Admittedly, he sounds like Bishop but... do you see what I’m getting at? Without some kind of absolute proof, some independent and reliable witness – and I’m not sure that the hearsay of Detective Tallis’s mother, regardless of how accurate it is, would count as admissible testimony – your word just isn’t going to swing it. I would imagine that someone with resources and money behind them like Bishop would have some class act of a QC issuing all manner of writs, gagging orders and super-injunctions against us.’

  ‘What exactly are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that it doesn’t matter if I believe you – I do by the way – it actually isn’t so important that it’s the truth; it just isn’t enough. We need something more... more... more concrete. At the moment it’s your word against theirs, whoever they are.’

  She had expected the import of what she had said to at least interrupt his appetite, but she watched as he reached for another slice of toast to butter. And she waited for him.

  ‘Then we’ll have to get something,’ he said, eventually, chewing hard. ‘I’ve told you: I have no alternative. If I want to clear my name and get on with my life, I have to do it properly.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Right now? More toast, if you don’t mind. Where do you get your bread? It’s delicious.’

  She waited for him to smile at his levity that wasn’t particularly humorous or appropriate given the gravity of the situation, but he didn’t because he wasn’t trying to be funny. She passed across the loaf.

  ‘How about I give you the rest of what I have while I’m thinking about a way forward? You’ll need it all in the end anyway, won’t you?’ She nodded. ‘You might even come up with an idea or two yourself.’ Now he did give her a slight smirk.

  *

  They left the breakfast things and settled back into the chairs they had occupied the previous night.

  ‘So, you were driven from Headley Court to a London address that you didn’t know, but we now know was Phillip’s home. There you met Bishop for the last time. You were given a false passport, phone, credit card and flight tickets and you were driven to a hotel at the airport where they had made a reservation for you.’

  He’d told her all this already, but for reasons that were not clear to him she wanted to go over it again, condense it into a little potted version. It wasn’t much, so he obliged. ‘Yes. The hotel register should show that a Daniel Fallon was a guest there for one night.’

  ‘Why did Bishop put himself in that position? Why did he associate himself directly with you when there was a murdered man in the next room?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him,’ answered Sansom, unhelpfully. ‘As to why he got me there, clearly they just wanted my prints all over the place so that the police would naturally associate me with the murder. I hadn’t met Smith before. That was where Bishop handed me over to his care. Perhaps he was there just to give that some gravitas.’

  She indicated that maybe he was right. ‘It will always be just your word that anyone else was there at all, while there is clear forensic evidence that you were.’

  ‘I know. But why was I there? What was the connection between Hatcher and me? Why would I ‘“break out”’ of incarceration, head straight to London and slit his throat?’

  She made a face of distaste for his language and he remembered what the dead man had been to her.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘I’m just playing devil’s advocate.’

  ‘I know.’

  *

  The remainder of the morning was spent on Sansom relating everything he could remember from the moment that he touched down in Turkey until the explosive climax of his operation there. It was agreed that she would audiotape him throughout. There was no hard evidence there to connect Bishop, or anyone else in the UK, to events, but she insisted that the timeline was necessary and could prove significant.

  When they broke for lunch there had still been no word from Mrs Tallis and the reporter could sense a growing anxiety in Sansom. She wanted him comfortable mentally and saw the need to dispel any fears that he might have regarding the old woman’s well-being.

  ‘How about I get my office to call her at home?’ she said. ‘I want to interview her on behalf of my paper and so I get someone to arrange it. That’s innocent enough, isn’t it?’

  He thought about it for a few moments. ‘Yeah, that would be good,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

  She phoned in and organised it, with instructions that her office should call her back with an appointment time when they had made contact with Mrs Tallis.

  ‘Of course, there is a chance – for many good reasons,’ she hastened to add, ‘that my office might not b
e able to get through to her.’

  ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘Does it show that much?’

  ‘That you’re worried about her? Yes, if you want the truth. But what can we do? Like you said last night, she knows what she’s doing.’

  *

  His story of his time on foreign soil had naturally engaged her, but as there was nothing to tie Bishop to it her curiosity was barely comparable to what he would have to tell her about his return to the UK. Her interest was heightened because this was home soil, her patch. And she had embraced the lies. She had bought into the misinformation, untruths and propaganda peddled by the departments of state responsible for them. She had swallowed their Orwellian falsehoods and raged in print against the beast who had been dubbed the ‘cop-killer’. And she was a journalist. She had been taught to question everything from the moment she had begun her training in the profession and this time she had not. Had she simply got lazy? she wondered fleetingly, with more than a hint of professional embarrassment. It gave her added reason to be at the spearhead of their exposure.

  His memory for what had unfolded since his return was detailed, clear, precise and deeply disturbing. It was also objective and unemotional, until he came to the death of Detective Inspector Tallis. The recollection of that showed an aspect of Sansom’s character and humanity like nothing else he had had to impart since speaking of the slaughter on The Rendezvous in the small hours of that same day.

  He did not go into great detail about his dispatching of the two men responsible for Tallis’s death and she didn’t press him. He wasn’t denying that he had killed them and he would have to answer for that at some point with higher authorities. It was the elephant that walked through the room. He preferred not to discuss where he had spent his time recovering from the episode and she respected his reasons for this. He told of his visit to his late father-in-law’s house and the purpose of it, evidence of which lay at his feet still. He could only theorize on what had happened after he had let himself out of the house. It was clear to her that he told only the truth as he knew it. She had no doubts about him or any of what he was saying. He ended by telling her of how he had met Mrs Tallis and how she had helped him get to where he was. She came to realise that the fact he was still at liberty at all was due as much to his great good fortune as it was to anything else.