by Alan Veale
*
Forty miles to the south, Emily came out of the bathroom fresh from her shower, ready to exchange girl-talk with her roommate.
‘Better?’ enquired Chrissie, lying on one of the twin beds in a matching bathrobe.
‘Much,’ replied Emily. ‘Thanks for the loan of your scissors. I’ve been itching to cut off those bleached tips for days. Not my normal style, but they served a purpose.’
‘You tend to live by extremes, don’t you?’
Emily started to brush out her damp hair. ‘True. I suppose I get bored easily.’
‘So, tell me your version of that little honey trap you set for my friend back at the Mitchell.’ Chrissie wasn’t prepared to pull her punches, and knew instinctively she’d hit a vulnerable spot.
‘He told you? Of course he would. Dumb question, Em.’ She put the hairbrush down and sat on the stool. ‘You two were pretty close, weren’t you? Look, I’ll apologise to Billie when I see him, but don’t worry. I already wrote to the library and withdrew the allegation.’
‘You’d better. That upset him a lot.’
‘I know. But I needed to do something. I was running out of people I could trust, and Billie was my best shot at… I dunno, what would you call it?’
‘A fall guy?’
‘No! A… a sort of champion, maybe? Someone who could fight my corner? He did that for you, didn’t he? A few years ago?’
Chrissie sat up, intrigued. ‘Billie did a lot for me. Yes, I’d agree with that description. What did he say about me?’
Emily shook her head, and resumed brushing her hair. ‘Not just to me. It was a room full of people, including my mum. A few years back, he gave a talk at the Mitchell about your connection to that woman charged with murder. Mum and I went, as it was about a true crime, and I was studying for my degree in Glasgow at the time. That was how my agent came to include the place on my own book tour, because I mentioned it to her. I did tell Billie.’
‘And he’d be flattered by that, knowing him.’
‘He was.’ She put her brush to one side, smiling at a private memory. ‘He’s cute, isn’t he?’
Chrissie almost blushed. ‘Yeah. Yes, he still is.’
‘What happened? You obviously still have feelings for the guy?’
Is it that obvious? But she kept the thought to herself, looking for an answer from the abstract print on the wall next to the bed. ‘We were doing okay, for a while. Ocean hopping, getting to share each other’s favourite things. Then life got in the way. Or I suppose I did.’ She eased her head back on to the pillow. Not looking directly at Emily made it easier to talk somehow. ‘I inherited an empire to run, and I guess that’s what did it. I had to change, become more like Terry, my aunt. I grew a tougher exterior, and Billie wasn’t so keen. Can’t say I blame him. I could be a bitch sometimes, and it’s too easy to blame the Atlantic for putting distance between us. I should have worked something out.’ She sat up again and faced Emily. ‘Have you slept with him?’
‘No,’ came the instant response. ‘But I did put him on my “To Do” list. Would it bother you much if I left him on it?’
*
At that moment the object of the girls’ discussion was reflecting on the time spent briefly in the company of another. Billie remembered she had introduced herself as Emily, twin sister of Emma Dearing. Shoulder-length brown hair with bleached tips. He was looking at them now, in a crime scene photo held by Meredith. Taken on the edge of a dock somewhere, water glistened out of focus in the background. Front and centre were the head and shoulders of a young woman lying on her back as if asleep. When she was alive, she might have been attractive, but in death her features were damply distorted. Billie’s stomach responded, sending a little of what it was processing in the reverse direction. He looked away, fighting to push the stinging bile back where it came from.
‘Recognise her?’ A silky voice nearby. ‘Of course you do. A resident of Salford Quays. And that’s precisely where I put her when she refused to tell me where another resident had gone. The police dragged her out a few hours later. And because I’m on especially good terms with them, they let me have this little souvenir.’ Meredith was satisfied with Billie’s reaction. Time to twist the knife. ‘That is what happens when people refuse to cooperate. Bear that in mind when Sir Antony asks the question. Now sit.’
Billie did so, his knees about to buckle. Meredith snapped his fingers to capture Helen Vinke’s attention, and she meekly followed him from the room. All manner of thoughts and emotions were scrambled in Billie’s head, not the least was his perception of the girl he’d known as Emma Dearing. A twin with a different name? Someone like her now dead. Meredith’s assumption he would know her as Emily. Whoever she was, the girl had put him in an impossible position. And Peter Gris had been dead all the time!
His hardbacked chair remained isolated near the huge windows. The last rays of a setting sun cast an orange glow over leather furniture, shadows threatening in the gathering gloom. A quiet hum in the distance spoke of an electric wheelchair advancing in the hallway.
Forty-Eight
Billie knew he was in trouble. He was alone in a room with a self-confessed sexual predator, wearing only a bathrobe. His only means of escape lay in getting past a professional killer who was probably lurking round the corner. What could go right?
The only redeeming factor he could think of was that the person he considered an immediate threat appeared to be wheelchair-bound, and for the last few minutes had spoken only about one subject: himself. Now it seemed the focus was about to shift.
‘We are similar souls, you and I.’ The tinted spectacles had switched their façade in his direction. ‘Yours is a world of books, I understand. A librarian. Thus, an educated man with a thorough grasp of his position. Your specialty is knowledge, just like mine.’
Jaeger nudged the controls of his wheelchair and glided closer to where Billie sat immobile. Now he was near enough to touch. Billie sucked in his breath and held it.
‘Knowledge is everything, Mr Vane. And I’ll bet you a penis to an anus I have more of it at my fingertips than you ever had at the Mitchell.’ He held up his palms for inspection, waggling his fingers while Billie flushed at the sexual reference. ‘I think I know where you left that document.’
There was only an instant to digest that thought before those same fingertips reached out and caressed Billie’s leg above the knee. He froze. Jaeger let them rest there as he continued.
‘I had so much power in my day, Mr Vane, that I could have had you arrested at any time and presented to me stark naked with your pretty little buttocks opened up like one of your books!’ He paused while Billie sat rigid in his chair, not daring to move an eyeball. ‘But I’m not like that. We live in a democracy and I am, or was, one of its protectors.’
Leaning close enough for his breath to offend, Jaeger’s hand made a slow movement forwards, gently stroking Billie’s leg until it met the material of his gown, gaping open almost enough to shame his modesty. There, Jaeger’s fingers teased a little dance before being withdrawn. He gave a chuckle at Billie’s discomfort, but made no effort to move away.
‘You know little of responsibility. I, on the other hand, have a duty of protection to sovereign and country.’ Passion began to dominate Jaeger’s rhetoric. ‘Right now, the United Kingdom faces a constitutional crisis of immeasurable proportions. Put in that position because one dickhead of a Prime Minister thought he knew a trick or two. But putting the nation in the hands of an ill-informed electorate was entirely contrary to the ethos of the Association. He’s fallen on his sword, in much the same way as your precious Bruce Ismay… but that does not make it any less difficult to recover the situation.’
Billie risked a response. ‘I don’t understand. What has this got to do with Ismay?’
Jaeger glared, leaned forward and spat out one word. ‘Everything!’ Then he touched the controls next to his wrist and turned the wheelchair away a short distance before wheeling it
round again to face Billie. ‘A little education for you. It is always the actions of the many that threaten the few! This country has traditionally been run by noble men, gentlemen, and I use the word advisedly, who look after the interests of the masses, set the rules for government and put procedures in place to keep our nation safe. At the beginning of the last century their groupings were regional, spread to all four corners of the kingdom to keep an eye on those elected to govern. But they stayed in the background, anonymous, so to speak, to remain effective. The Clansmen’s Association in Scotland, the Valleys in Wales. In Ireland it was—’
‘The Seaman’s Association? That letter about Ismay?’ Billie was fascinated despite his personal anxiety.
‘Oh, your brain’s woken up at last! Congratulations, dear boy. Yes indeed, Ismay was admonished in a letter sent to Pirrie, also a member of that association. Apparently too ill to destroy it once he’d read it, poor bastard. Are you getting the picture now?’
Billie was starting to put pieces together, and another question sprung to mind. ‘Was Churchill part of it too? Because among those documents he and Pirrie—’
‘Of course he was! Your famous document points too many fingers. It was Churchill’s own department that came under fire over design issues for that blessed ship. He was lucky they got away with an inquiry into Board of Trade matters that was run by the Board of Trade. We’d never get away with that now.’
‘But you have, haven’t you?’ Billie’s mind was back to rationality now. ‘That stuff’s all ancient history. Why would the document Emma found threaten you? Or Peter Gris?’
Jaeger let the question hang for a moment, then he removed his glasses and polished them with a combination of olive breath and a tissue. ‘The document itself may no longer be quite the threat it was. What troubled my friend, and what affects me too, is the existence of the original letter that went with it.’
Billie hadn’t a clue what he meant, and his face must have reflected that, so Jaeger continued. ‘Mr Vane, before I go any further, I want to ask you something.’
A question. Meredith had said there would be a question, one that would require his cooperation. Billie’s heart rate increased.
‘Do you consider yourself an anarchist?’
‘What? No! No, I don’t.’
‘And you love your country?’
‘Of course I do!’
‘Then you are duty bound to cooperate.’ Jaeger lifted his arms like a priest welcoming his parishioners. ‘So, let me tell you how you can do that.’
*
Outside, Meredith was in conversation with someone displaying facial bruises and a ponytail. The man had brought a package for his attention, and it sat on the ground between them, covered from enquiring eyes inside a supermarket bag with a lifetime guarantee.
‘You did well.’
‘Thanks.’
‘If this does the job, you’ll have redeemed yourself.’
‘It’ll work. Might seem a little heavier when it’s put on. All you need to do is—’
‘I know what to do! Now fuck off out of here. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Meredith stood watching as ponytail turned around his Mercedes and drove off. Then he went back into the house and emptied the bag in the hallway.
Helen was sat watching Coronation Street in the parlour with the sound turned low. She looked up at the tall figure standing in the doorway.
‘Good news, Helen. I found that coat of yours.’
She stared in astonishment at the garment he was holding by the collar, and pushed herself off the settee. ‘Where on earth did you find that? Is that really mine? It looks like mine, but…’
‘Your memory thing. Must have forgotten. I found it in the summer house.’
It was her mauve winter coat. A full-length one she wore for all seasons, because while the zip for the detachable hood had stuck fast, at least it was big enough to protect her hair properly when it rained. She held it up for inspection. Meredith seemed aware of the coat’s attributes.
‘Just in time for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘They say it’s going to pour down.’
‘Oh yes! You said you wanted me to go with you to… somewhere. I can’t remember why.’
‘There’s someone I want you to meet. In Preston.’
*
Finally, some respite. Billie’s body still didn’t feel like his own, and for his brain to ache like this, he reasoned it must be like having a workout with a neurosurgeon. His belief in all Emma (or Emily?) had told him was wavering. Nothing seemed clear-cut any more. Even his bedroom looked different. He stood looking at the jug of water on the bedside cabinet and the little pile of clothes on the made-up bed. Was this the result of Helen’s domestic labours, or a peace offering from Meredith? All friends now, because of what he'd agreed to do tomorrow?
He remained cut off from normality. Both his phones absent. Freedom curtailed. But Jaeger’s rhetoric had begun to sound like perfect sense, and opposition seemed pointless. What price the Titanic document now? He knew it was politician’s bullshit—vote for me and I’ll take my hand off your leg. So he did. And he had. Anything to grab a chance at freedom. Billie walked to the window and looked out at a darkening landscape of nothing. The world outside had nothing more to offer, so he drew the curtains.
Idly he wondered about the previous occupant. Female, judging by the decor. Could there once have been a daughter in the Vinke household? Helen had not said. She had a sister in Marion. A mother of twins, according to Meredith. Emma and Emily. What did he really know about this family? The answer was very little. He knew one by reputation only, a writer of conspiracy theories who had evidently made himself unpopular with his brother-in-law: a senior civil servant. Okay, that was understandable. Helen’s story? How much faith could he put in an elderly lady who seemed on the edge of a nervous breakdown? And then Helen’s niece—who had probably got him the sack by now—had lied to him about her name, and who (according to Helen) was something of a black sheep. What loyalty did he owe in that direction?
With no answers springing to mind, he looked over at the door and saw his jacket hanging there. At least tomorrow should make a difference. One way or another.
Forty-Nine
Chrissie had hoped the morning would put her in a better mood. At breakfast her brother and Robin had seemed particularly optimistic about their chances of resolving Billie’s situation. They expressed a confidence in their new ally, Detective Inspector Emily Blake, and the promise of support in some form or another from a commander who was based at Scotland Yard. But he was now absent from the scene. Having spent the night in closer circumstances with Emily, Chrissie had reservations she wished she could air with Ed, but now she was alone again with the woman who insisted on being addressed as ‘Em' in the passenger seat, speeding on the M61 towards Preston.
‘How are we for time?’
Emily didn’t look up from her phone. ‘We’re doing fine. Don’t worry about it.’
‘When you’re finished chatting, I want to run something by you.’
No answer. Just a two-thumbed tap-tap-tapping that went on for some seconds before the phone was left aside. ‘Right. What have you got?’
‘Nerves,’ came the one-word answer. Then she supplied the longer version. ‘One thing worries me. No! Two things… several actually. Sorry, I’m just not good in these sort of situations.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know I’m joining the Glasgow train at Lancaster, then getting off at Preston to meet Billie with a ten-year-old girl in tow, but we don’t actually have one. Plus, assuming this Meredith person is pretending to be Billie, how are we supposed to arrange a rendezvous on a busy station? You know, like meet under the clock on platform 12 and wear something purple. All he’s said is he’ll meet me off the train, but while I do know Billie, I’m not supposed to be expecting someone in his place, who doesn’t know me, and there’s no Tina, so what does—’
‘Hold it, Chrissie! Take a breath. And watch your speed, we’ve plenty of time yet.’
Chrissie was amazed that her companion could sound so calm, but she did as she was told and eased off the gas. She tried breath control, willing herself to count to four as she exhaled, using the speed of the wipers as a metronome.
‘You’re going to have to trust me on this,’ said Emily. ‘You’re doing fine, and I know it must be difficult for you, but things will be okay, I promise. We’ve almost an hour before I need to leave you at Lancaster, and we should get there in half that. What I would suggest, if it bothers you, is once you’re on the train, send Billie another message asking him where to meet at Preston. I’m guessing you may get one anyway sometime soon, as fixing something specific is in their interests as much as ours. Then copy me in on whatever is said.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘I’ll be taking good care of your rental car. And then, hopefully, of Billie.’
*
Chief Superintendent Tanner’s morning was also under strain. ‘A landslide? What is this? Some sort of political joke?’ He pressed the phone to his ear, tapping his pen onto a pad in front of him, feeding his natural cynicism like peanuts to a monkey. ‘So that gives us an ETA of what? … Oh, wonderful…’ Scribbled notes on the pad. ‘Thanks for that. I’ll go and break the news now. This just gets better and better.’
He stood up and tore off the top sheet, took a pace towards the door and then did an about turn. Picking up his phone, he speed-dialled a contact.
‘O’Brien? Tanner again. You’re going to love this. Network Rail just reported a landslide on the line near Wilmslow, affecting all services to Piccadilly from Crewe. And as the PM’s train was coming from Birmingham, it’s going to have to be diverted… I know… I’m telling you because you asked me to keep you posted. I don’t know whether it affects the situation or not, all I know so far is they’re routing him up to Preston instead.’