‘This was bound to come out,’ she snapped. ‘Well, shall I tell him or will you?’ And when no response appeared to be readily forthcoming, she bellowed in stentorian tones, ‘You answer now or even though you helped to save this man’s life he will take you down to the nick and give you hell!’
Evian looked wretched as we all stared at him and then said to the floor, ‘There was this other bloke – and him and the bloke next door, Clem, was talking outside one day when they saw me coming along. Clem says, all sarky like, “Here’s a bright young bloke who’ll help us out.” I really thought he was taking the mick, but then he said I’d get twenty quid if I’d take a parcel to a bloke in Woodhill. I had an idea it was drugs and they wanted someone who hadn’t shown their face around there before as the Drugs Squad was watching the place.’
‘He did it,’ said Esme in disgust. ‘But not again, I’ll tell you, after the talking-to I gave him when he came back with his wretched twenty-pound note.’
‘What did the man he was talking to outside look like?’ Boles wanted to know, taking out his notebook.
‘He was a real mess,’ said Evian, ‘like a man who sleeps in his clothes and never combs his hair. But not someone from round here. I’ve never been there but I reckon this guy lived somewhere out in the sticks. He stank in a strange sort of way – like animals.’
‘Did Clem call him by name?’
‘I don’t think so – I can’t really remember.’
Patrick said, ‘I’m not going to take you down to the nick and give you hell, Evian, but I would like you to tell me about anything else you’ve done for this man. He’s wanted in connection with a very serious crime.’ He rose to his feet and went over to where the youth stood. ‘And I shall want your word that you’ll stay right away from people like him in future. Otherwise you will get into trouble with the police.’
Evian looked at him desperately. ‘No one’ll give me any other kind of job.’
‘I’ll find you something to do.’ On an apparent afterthought he asked, ‘D’you have mates here? Belong to a gang – that kind of thing?’
Evian shook his head. ‘No, they do stupid things – just for the hell of it. The big boys steal cars and drive them round and round. I hate that, but it means I have to stay in most of the time. They call me names and throw stones because I won’t go with them.’
‘There’s nothing for good boys to do here,’ Esme lamented. ‘The place we lived before had some grass where they could play football. There was even a little garden and we – me and my friends – put plants in for people to enjoy. We used to joke that we would grow vegetables there one day. Here everything has been destroyed.’
To Evian, Patrick said, ‘Do these boys go to your school? Do they bully you at school?’
‘I don’t think any of them go to school.’
‘OK, come and sit down and tell us everything you can remember about what Brocklebank and the other man said while you were with them.’ To Boles he said, ‘Sergeant, please do me a favour and see if you can get hold of a picture of Daniel Smith to show him.’
‘That was it!’ Evian exclaimed. ‘Danny! That’s what he called him!’
‘He’s a clever boy when he really, really tries,’ Esme said proudly.
In actual fact, Evian could supply little further useful information although it was established, thankfully, that he had never been to Smith’s caravan and had done mostly innocent errands for Brocklebank along the lines of buying him cigarettes, payment being a can of lager, although, strictly speaking, he was under age for both. Patrick and I get very angry about shops that sell cigarettes to children and there was a short detour on the way back to Woodhill when my husband delivered a severe verbal strafing to the establishment in question, getting back into the car with a contented smile on his face.
‘You told Evian you’d find him something to do,’ I reminded him. ‘But surely he’s still at school – or should be.’
‘Yes, when he feels like turning up,’ Patrick agreed. ‘I’m not going to lose sight of this. I shall – with his mother’s permission, of course – do something, and it’ll have to be soon.’
Michael Greenway gazed at us soberly. ‘Well, I’m bloody glad I’m not having to attend your funerals.’
‘I should have carried out a better surveillance,’ Patrick said.
‘But for God’s sake this isn’t a terrorism case!’ Greenway exclaimed. ‘I’m sure the worst you were expecting was that he’d be waiting for you with a firearm or knife behind a door.’
‘I was trained never to assume anything. But at least we now know to expect anything – which might save someone else’s life.’
‘In my view the case will be really sewn up when we get the DNA results on that clothing. If you’re on the right track, they’ll find it was Harmsworth’s and there’ll be traces of that of a person unknown, matey with a handiness in setting explosive devices: Brocklebank. D’you reckon any of his might have survived that blast?’
‘I’m no expert on that,’ Patrick replied, ‘but probably. Sergeant Boles is working on that side of things.’
‘Until Brocklebank’s found there’ll be a continued risk to police personnel. Any idea as to where he might be?’
‘None,’ Patrick said. ‘But obviously, he’s not at Smith’s caravan.’
‘Just about every other form of life on the planet was, according to what I was told. What does Central Records have to say about Brocklebank?’
‘Hardly anything really useful. He’s fifty-five years old, five feet nine inches tall and of stocky build. Sandy-coloured thinning hair, brown eyes, slightly pockmarked complexion. There’s no record of his ever having had a permanent job. He originally came from the North-East and is not known to have any relatives in the South.’
‘So did I. Tough as nails, then.’ Greenway gave us an appraising glance. ‘Where do you two hail from?’
‘I was born in the West Country,’ Patrick said. ‘My father’s a Devon man, my mother’s Cornish. She was appalled to discover only very recently that her forebears were wreckers.’
So that’s where he got it from.
‘I’m a southern softie,’ I said.
For some reason the men laughed.
‘With this latest development I think you’ve fulfilled your brief on this case,’ Greenway went on to say. ‘Would you like to hit home base until something else comes up?’
‘But you told us to go and get the bastard,’ Patrick countered.
‘You have. We know exactly who he is now and it’s just a matter of putting out a full description and photo of him. If the DNA tests throw up something else we’ll have to go back to the drawing board.’
‘I haven’t actually got him in my fist,’ Patrick pointed out softly.
‘SOCA don’t have to get involved like that,’ he was told.
‘With respect—’
Greenway interrupted with, ‘Richard Daws told me you had a way with words – while the expression on your face said something else, usually the opposite. He said you always argue. Give me one good reason why I should listen to you.’
‘Because you’re a good leader and value the opinions of those working for you.’
‘OK, you’re flattering me, but I do value your opinion so I’ll buy it.’
‘We already know the reason why I should go after him. You need someone with experience of special operations. He’s far more of a risk to police personnel than to me, now we know what he’s capable of. He doesn’t know my face – not unless he’s been carrying out some kind of surveillance of his own. I shall go undercover and take myself off to the kind of places where he might be known.’
‘I hope this isn’t a revenge thing.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
Greenway pondered for a few moments and then said, ‘I know that Ingrid used to partner you in MI5 days, but not this time, not now. If you go, she spends time at home, or somewhere else that’s at a safe distance, on the end of a phone should
you need help.’
‘Ingrid is of far more help to me when we work together than you could possibly imagine.’
‘That’s the deal. I can’t risk anything happening to her. Take it or leave it.’
‘I’d rather like a few days at home,’ I said wistfully, having an idea that the Jo-Jo’s business, as far as I was concerned, had unnerved him. ‘To see the children, spend time in the garden, hear the cuckoos.’
Patrick and I have our codewords, ‘cuckoo’ being one of them. Somewhat ridiculously, it can mean absolutely anything and relies heavily on who’s doing the talking and who’s listening. He knew exactly what I meant.
‘OK,’ he said.
‘You have one week,’ Greenway declared.
Despite my indication to Patrick that I had no intention of sticking rigidly to the directive, I did have a sense that some kind of full stop had occurred, the news that Hicks had made an arrest in connection with the Giddings murder adding to the feeling. He had, we were told shortly after talking to Greenway, turned over a squat and found the MP’s wedding ring – it was engraved and had been identified by his wife – in a bundle of possessions belonging to a drug addict who hung about the area and who had been previously imprisoned for violent muggings. This individual had been duly hunted down and arrested and, when questioned, his story of having found the ring in the park where Giddings was murdered had, understandably, not been believed. He could give no reason for not having sold it other than saying it was a good ring, and, like Gollum, had snivelled that it was precious to him. ‘So why wasn’t it on your finger instead of being hidden in an old knapsack under floorboards?’ his interviewers had gone on to enquire. There had been no answer forthcoming to this, the man being too far gone on drugs, or drink, and not fit, just then, to be questioned further. Nevertheless, after another interview during which he had refused to speak at all, he had been charged with murder.
‘One of those piece-of-cake results that Hicks no doubt goes in for,’ Patrick commented crisply. ‘Still, it’s nothing to do with me – the jury’ll have to decide.’
‘He told me he was convinced a drop-out had killed Giddings,’ I said.
‘Special Branch, or whatever-the-hell category Brinkley’s outfit falls into, isn’t supposed to be primarily tuned in to drop-outs – they’re called in to examine any possible hanky-panky in the higher tiers of society. I shall send John a congratulatory text message.’
This, I could see, was going to run and run.
I said, ‘I didn’t know Giddings’s wedding ring was missing.’
‘Nor did I. Still, I suppose something so small is easily overlooked in such a bloodbath.’ Patrick looked up from searching for some paperwork in his briefcase. ‘What will you do?’
‘As I told Greenway, go home – today,’ I replied. ‘Just for a short while to make sure everything’s as it should be and the children are all right.’
‘Good, that’ll put my mind at rest too.’
‘And then I’ll have heard from you and we’ll go from there.’
‘That suits me fine.’
But when Patrick rang me at Lydtor during the evening of the following day and I had told him that all was well at home, he said, ‘I’ve been thinking about what Greenway said. Look, neither of us is getting any younger and if something happened and we were badly injured, or even killed, it would be appalling for the kids and even worse for Mum and Dad, because they’d have to cope with the aftermath. I really think you should stay out of this one – I’m going to get myself into some pretty nasty places to look for this character and not going to carry a mobile, as it gives the game away if you’re searched. I do promise, though, to get in contact should I need help of the kind that the police can’t provide. Is that all right?’
I told him it was. He sounded stressed so, right now, what else could I do?
I had already decided on the line of enquiry I would undertake and saw no reason to deviate from it just because we weren’t going in like elephants two by two. But, first of all, I had to put my mind at rest on another matter: Erin Melrose.
My difficulty was that I had to stay away from Woodhill police station in order to avoid bumping into anyone who might mention seeing me to Michael Greenway. My conscience was not bothering me as far as he was concerned, for I had indeed gone home to check on the domestic state of affairs. The problem was that I was not sure, even now, where his base was situated and had rather got the impression that senior SOCA people cruised the policing scene a bit like surfing the Net, preferring a fluid style of working. All this meant that, in order to speak to Erin, I would have to lurk near the nick and not look remotely like Ingrid Langley.
I was quite sure of one thing, though: the customized Range Rover would go back to Essex with me, even if I had to leave it in the leafy drive at our digs and walk and use public transport everywhere. The expediency of it plus the emergency equipment that it carries far outweighed any risk that Greenway might spot it among the lime trees, should he even venture into that part of Woodhill, causing him to pull the plug on Patrick’s assignment immediately.
My concerns about Erin if she was disobeying orders and investigating John Gray’s list were twofold: first, that she would be injured should she succeed in finding Clem Brocklebank and endeavour to arrest him herself; and second, that she might inadvertently cause havoc by waltzing into whatever Patrick was doing, putting the pair of them at risk. At least I had the woman’s mobile number, gleaned from his official phone. This had been placed in his briefcase for me to take home for safe keeping, together with the Glock pistol in its shoulder holster. I thought separating himself from the latter sheer madness and had no intention of leaving these items behind either.
Erin was still in the land of the living and in the Woodhill area, agreeing to meet ‘someone with information about Harmsworth’s killer’ in a coffee bar opposite the nick. This was a sticky, grubby sort of place, the kind of establishment that the well-dressed and somewhat fastidious Greenway would not have been seen dead in. I did not want her to spread it around that I had contacted her before we could speak in private so had not phoned her mobile but called the main desk, and she had phoned me back.
‘Good God, it’s you! I hardly recognized you in that get-up!’ she exclaimed when she saw me.
‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down and cease trumpeting,’ I suggested, probably too coldly.
She sat. ‘What’s all this about then?’
‘Would you like some tea?’ I asked to make amends for snapping at her.
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Milk?’
‘Please.’
‘Something to eat?’
‘No, thanks.’
I went to the counter to fetch it for her.
‘What on earth are you dressed like that for?’ she wanted to know when I got back, wrinkling her nose.
‘I’m disobeying orders.’
‘And where’s Patrick?’
‘That’s why I want to talk to you. He’s gone after Clem Brocklebank and we’re worried that you’re doing exactly the same.’
She coloured. ‘I’m not working on anything in connection with that.’
‘I’m sorry but I think you are. You have a copy of John Gray’s list and I saw you at the estate in Romford where Brocklebank lives on and off. Erin, you must have heard how Patrick and I were involved when an explosive device went off at the flat. He’s a very dangerous man and Michael Greenway has given Patrick just a week to find him.’
‘Us plods aren’t too stupid to be able to do the same, you know,’ she said furiously.
I was determined to keep calm and said, ‘It’s nothing to do with cleverness or stupidity or anything like that. Patrick volunteered to look for him because of his special-forces training. He’s planning on going to such low-life places he’s asked me to stay out of it and Greenway has forbidden my involvement completely. I just don’t want you getting hurt.’
Erin appeared to go into a deep sulk,
head down, her face hidden, stirring her tea so that all I could see was her wonderful long, red hair. But she was not sulking.
‘I have been doing some poking around, going through the list,’ she admitted all at once, looking up and staring at me with her slightly prominent green eyes. ‘I really suspected Kevin Beardshaw for a while, as he’s a devious bastard and was heard to say to someone in a pub that he hated Derek Harmsworth’s guts. But that booby trap clinched it – that’s Brocklebank. I’d already done quite a lot of work on him. He’s not what you think he is.’
‘In what way?’
‘He lives on more than one level.’
‘Please tell me what you’ve learned.’
She went back to her thoughtful stirring.
‘Please, Erin – a hell of a lot depends on this.’
‘I know – and I’m getting really close to him.’
‘Look, I’m not the kind of sanctimonious cow to tell you it’s your duty to—’
‘I should think not!’ she exclaimed. ‘Because it isn’t – it’s none of your business. This is my case and I’m doing it for Derek and John. Just because the Home Secretary’s latest fantastic initiative SOCA’s been brought in—’
‘I don’t care a monkey’s about SOCA.’ I hissed, for we were, of necessity, speaking quietly. ‘All I know is that my husband’s somewhere out there on the streets armed with only his wits and, possibly, a knife. He’s doing it to try to prevent people like you ending up as just commemorative plaques on street corners. Erin, you can’t go after this man on your own!’
‘No, I’ll call in other people before I arrest him,’ she said after an alarming hesitation.
‘And if he finds you first?’
‘Are you doing this to give you ideas for your bloody books?’ she snapped.
‘God, I should hope not!’ I retorted angrily.
Erin drank up her tea and then grabbed her bag. ‘I’ve got this far …’ she said as she rose to go.
‘Look, you give me no choice but to tell Michael Greenway what’s going on. I don’t want to have to do that.’
‘It doesn’t matter if you do. I shall stay out of everyone’s reach.’
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