Buried Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  She smiled. ‘Courgettes and onions courtesy of Abbey Farm.’

  ‘You’re wasted on those bloody documents.’

  ‘Hey, that’s my career you’re belittling,’ she protested mildly. ‘Anyway, it’s dead easy. Anyone could do it — even you.’

  ‘Seriously, with those knives?’ Mariner said. ‘I’d be a danger to myself and everyone else.’

  There was a beat of a pause as they both absorbed what he’d said.

  ‘The man who died,’ Suzy said carefully. ‘He was just here on holiday?’

  ‘Yes, the same as me, trying to get away from it all.’

  ‘So I don’t understand. Why . . .?’

  ‘At the moment the strongest possibility seems to be that he either saw something connected to Theo Ashton’s death, or . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone thinks I did and they mistook Bryce for me.’

  She shuddered. ‘There’s an unpleasant thought.’

  ‘Bryce was a historian too,’ Mariner said. ‘At least he had an interest in history. He was a university lecturer. Maybe your paths have crossed?’

  ‘It’s unlikely. Teaching is quite a separate branch of academia; different worlds really. Which institution was he at?’

  ‘He didn’t say. The local police are trying to locate his family, his wife, anyway.’

  ‘How awful,’ Suzy said. ‘That poor woman will be going about her business, not yet knowing that her husband is dead.’

  ‘Yes, I can’t imagine . . .’ Mariner broke off, suddenly realizing that this was one thing he could imagine and that it was one of those trivial factors that had caused him almost as much distress as the loss itself. On dozens of occasions over the years he had broken the news of sudden death to a victim’s relatives, and so many — mothers of daughters, husbands of wives — had reported some kind of premonition or portent. But on the day Anna had died Mariner had felt nothing unusual. It had been a perfectly ordinary day. There had been no ghost walking over his grave, no sudden, unexplained vision of her. If anything, he’d been in a buoyant mood and looking forward to seeing her again. Then DCI Sharp had walked into his office and his world had imploded.

  ‘Hello,’ said Suzy, placing a hand over his. ‘Where did you go?’

  Mariner dismissed her concern with a brief shake of the head. ‘Some other time,’ he said, and then, to break the tension: ‘So tell me about your boss.’

  ‘Mr Shapasnikov?’ She shrugged lightly. ‘There isn’t much to tell. That is, I don’t know very much about him. I’ve only met him twice; once when he interviewed me for the position and once when I met briefly with him to report on what I had learned about the Hall so far. That was about a fortnight ago.’ She smiled. ‘I tend not to get invited to any of the social gatherings; nowhere near as important or glamorous enough.’

  ‘Well that’s not true,’ said Mariner, which rather touchingly made her blush. ‘I understand they’re big events.’

  ‘They certainly generate a lot of fuss; helicopters coming and going, outside caterers and all that. And he has some big names — politicians, actors — but to be honest, once the events are underway I’m not even aware of them, tucked away up here.’

  They sat for a moment in companionable silence, Mariner struggling to think of anything more to say. Suzy chuckled. ‘Look at you, you’re worn out. You need some sleep.’

  Mariner pushed back his chair. ‘Yes, I should get going.’ They both looked up as the wind splattered a squall of rain at the window.

  ‘Not in this you shouldn’t. Why don’t you stay here? There’s plenty of space.’ It was so casually said that Mariner didn’t quite know what was on offer. Worse still was the fear that he may not be able to live up to whatever that might be. She saw his bewildered look and laughed. ‘Come and see.’ Taking his arm she led him through to the bedroom, almost entirely taken up by a low, king-sized bed covered by a voluminous duvet. ‘All yours,’ she said to Mariner. ‘I’ll tidy up in the kitchen and you can just crash here.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘It’s a big bed,’ she pointed out. ‘And we’re both sensible, mature adults so I’m sure we could manage to share it without any . . . um . . . complications, couldn’t we?’

  Could they? ‘Yes, right . . .’ Mariner mumbled.

  So exhausted was he that Mariner would have happily collapsed onto the bed there and then, but he managed to clean his teeth with a spare brush she found for him and strip off some of his clothes first. After the last few nights of roughing it, the soft mattress and fresh, clean sheets felt like the height of luxury. He was certain he’d be kept awake by the knowledge that Suzy would soon be joining him, but then someone, somewhere, must have flicked his off switch.

  When he came to, it was in a thick, claustrophobic darkness and Mariner was unable to immediately orientate himself. This didn’t feel like his bed at home, and it wasn’t the musty, creaky-springed hostel bunk. Added to which, he couldn’t see a thing and it was so quiet he could hear the blood roaring in his ears. As he flailed his arms to get some sense of space, something fluttered against his face and he yelled out in fear.

  ‘Tom,’ said a soothing, female voice nearby. ‘It’s all right. I think you were dreaming.’

  Suzy. Exhaling with relief, Mariner sank back on to the pillow. ‘Sorry. I forgot where I was. Did I wake you?’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Her hand had fallen on to his bare chest. ‘Shall I come a bit closer?’

  Oh crap. ‘Won’t that . . . um, complicate things?’ Mariner asked, with some apprehension.

  Somehow he could hear that she was smiling. ‘Oh, I’m not averse to complication,’ she said. ‘But you were so obviously worn out that it didn’t seem the right time to be suggesting anything . . .’ She wriggled across the bed and as she pressed her body against his, Mariner realized with a start how little she was wearing. He was of course instantly aroused, but all he could think about was that abortive encounter at the Star Hotel. He couldn’t face a humiliation like that with Suzy. ‘Actually,’ he heard himself say, ‘I’m still pretty shattered. And what with the alcohol . . . I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.’

  She was trailing her fingertips through the hairs on his chest. ‘You wouldn’t,’ she said brightly, showing remarkable faith. ‘But you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, so that’s fine. I can wait. That’s the thing with us historians. We can be very patient.’

  Thank Christ for that, thought Mariner.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tony Knox drove back to Birmingham feeling a weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He hadn’t wanted to leave the boss but had recognized that there was nothing more he could usefully do in Caranwy. And meanwhile there was the small matter of Katarina.

  Although it was mid-evening by the time he got back to the city, he took a detour in person via the forensic service labs, where he knew they would be working late, to persuade Rick Fraser to take the soil samples for analysis. Laying it on a bit thick that this might help get the boss out of a tricky situation elicited a promise to expedite the testing to take ‘no more than a couple of days.’

  Then Knox returned to Granville Lane to report to DCI Sharp what was going on. Knox passed through a busy front office and climbed the stairs to CID, which, at this time of night, was largely dark and deserted, except for the light coming from Sharp’s office. She rarely left the building before seven in the evening, a fact that served as a deterrent for quite a few fellow officers considering a climb further up the slippery pole. He heard laughter as he approached and found her, typically, in conversation with the office cleaner. It was one of Sharp’s strong points that she treated everyone who worked with her (never ‘for’ her) with equal respect. Perhaps being a mixed-heritage gay woman had shaped her outlook, but maybe not.

  ‘Tony!’ she greeted him and brought her chat with the other woman to a close. ‘How did it go?’

  Knox went into the office and
, taking the chair opposite her, summarized the events of the day.

  ‘And you think DI Griffith is happy that it wasn’t Tom?’ Sharp asked.

  ‘The man’s not an idiot,’ said Knox. ‘They’ve let him go but they want him to stick around for the moment.’

  ‘That would make sense,’ said Sharp. ‘And he’s not due back here for another week at least, so no reason why he shouldn’t. If Griffith has anything about him he might even see Tom as an asset.’

  ‘Actually, I think he does, ma’am.’ Knox told her about Mariner’s suspicion that he was being followed. ‘Though it beats me why Zjalic, or anyone, would wait until the DI’s in the middle of nowhere to take a pop at him. I’d have thought there would be a better case for picking him off while he’s in the city. Could be dressed up as anything then and be more anonymous.’

  ‘More chance of getting the right man out there, though?’ Sharp hazarded. ‘Less possibility of confusion?’

  ‘Well, that didn’t exactly work, did it?’ said Knox.

  ‘Have Dyfed had any response to the appeal to identify Jeremy Bryce?’ Sharp asked.

  ‘They hadn’t when I left.’

  ‘Well, whether or not it turns out to be Mr Zjalic behind all this, your priority for the moment has to be to track down Katarina,’ said Sharp. ‘If she’s also in danger we’ll need to think about some kind of protection.’

  ‘That’s assuming he hasn’t already got to her,’ said Knox. ‘I’ve got her boyfriend’s address now, so I’ll go and see him first.’

  Sharp frowned. ‘Not forgetting to make time to go home to eat and rest,’ she reminded him.

  Knox gave her a pointed look. ‘Isn’t that the pot calling—’ He stopped abruptly and Sharp laughed.

  ‘The kettle black? It’s all right, Tony, you can say it. It’s an idiom, not a racial slur. And yes, I suppose you have a point.’ She started gathering up the papers on her desk. ‘About time I showed my face at home too.’

  They walked out of the building together. ‘Has Charlie Glover got any further today with Kirsty Fullerton?’ Knox asked.

  ‘Not that he’s said,’ Sharp replied. ‘The kids have all just clammed up; a conspiracy of silence, Charlie calls it, and I think he’s right. You know one of them, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, my neighbour. It was his party.’

  ‘A gentle word from someone he knows might help,’ Sharp suggested mildly.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll look out for him.’

  * * *

  Giles Ridley-Coburn lived in exactly the kind of up-market place Knox would have expected; a luxury pad in one of the burgeoning developments around St Paul’s Square in the Jewellery Quarter. Knox found a parking meter bay in the vicinity and walked past a couple of fashionable pubs and bars to the former Victorian factory that had been refurbished as loft apartments.

  Knox had never met the man Mariner referred to as ‘the upper-class tosser’ face-to-face, but he recalled the boss’s chagrin when Giles had come into Katarina’s life. Having personally freed her from forced prostitution, Mariner had seen it as his singular mission to protect the girl against anyone and everything, so was not impressed when Giles had appeared on the scene. But unusually on this occasion the boss’s instinct had let him down and he had eventually been forced to concede that Giles was ‘an all right upper-class tosser.’

  This evening, however, although his manners were plainly in evidence, Giles was distinctly cagey, hanging back behind the barely opened door.

  ‘I’m looking for Katarina,’ Knox said, after introducing himself. ‘Can I come in?’ Giles deliberated for a few seconds before reluctantly stepping back to allow Knox across the threshold. Once inside the flat, the reason for his reticence became obvious. Even by bachelor pad standards the place was a tip and while Knox stood taking it all in, Giles went hurriedly round picking up stuff at random and stowing it away. He wasn’t quite quick enough to kick a stray syringe under the sofa and out of sight. Knox let it go for now; he didn’t think Giles was diabetic, but neither was he certain of that, and he remembered that Mariner had been caught out by false assumptions before.

  Having offered a drink, which Knox declined, Giles managed to create enough space for them to sit down awkwardly opposite each other on the sofa and arm chair respectively. Tall and healthy-looking with a mop of straw-coloured hair and perfect teeth, Giles was the kind of man for whom life had gone well. But tonight his composure seemed to be unravelling and he struggled to meet Knox’s eye for more than a passing second. ‘I haven’t seen Kat for a couple of days,’ he admitted. ‘We had a bit of a . . . row the other night and she left my flat late at night and in a strop.’ He scanned the room as if hoping she might suddenly appear. ‘I haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘What was the row about?’ Knox asked. ‘It wasn’t about the state of this place, by any chance?’

  ‘Broadly speaking,’ Giles admitted, picking at a nail. ‘Kat’s been spending quite a bit of time here. She had more or less moved in and it was going really well. Then a couple of weeks ago a friend of mine, Hugo, turned up. He was in a hole and needed help, so he’s been crashing on my sofa. He and Kat haven’t exactly hit it off.’

  ‘Who is this Hugo, apart from being a complete slob?’

  ‘Just a guy I know from way back. We went to the same school, though he’s older than me. I thought he was a laugh, turns out he’s rather a nightmare.’ He tried a nervous smile.

  ‘So ask him to leave,’ Knox suggested.

  ‘I can’t,’ Giles said awkwardly. ‘It’s . . . complicated. Our parents know one another and, well, you know . . .’

  Knox didn’t really. The Liverpool comprehensive he’d gone to wasn’t big on brotherhood or loyalty, and your mum and dad’s friends weren’t in any way relevant. And that wasn’t his concern. ‘Has Kat been in touch with you at all since she left?’ he asked.

  ‘No. We don’t live in each other’s pockets,’ Giles said. ‘I’d quite like to, as it happens, but Kat isn’t like that. She’s more independent.’

  Mariner would be delighted to hear it, thought Knox. ‘There’s a possibility that the man Kat helped to put in prison might have accomplices out looking for her,’ he said.

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘Yeah, oh shit,’ agreed Knox. ‘Though I notice you don’t sound that surprised.’

  Giles licked his lips. ‘Things haven’t been easy with Hugo around, but even before he showed up I had a feeling that something was bothering Kat. She was always security conscious, but it was starting to border on the obsessive.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Locking and re-locking the doors and windows, double and treble checking them, even during the day sometimes. I’ve even started wondering if she might have some OCD thing going on. And you can see the street from up here. She started spending ages just staring out the window at it.’

  ‘As if she was watching for someone?’ Knox asked, going cold inside.

  ‘It could have been, yes,’ Giles admitted. ‘When I first met Kat she used to have this fear that the men who snatched her in Tirana would come back for her, to punish her for what she did, for escaping. On one level she knew that it was irrational — the likelihood of it happening again. I just thought she was succumbing to those fears again; being paranoid.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be scared if you’d been through what she has?’ Knox asked, perhaps a little harshly. Kat had effectively been snatched from her home city, trafficked from her native Albania and sold into prostitution, until Granville Lane officers, he and Mariner among them, had rescued her along with several others in a dawn raid on the property where she was being held. Prats like Giles couldn’t begin to imagine what that might be like, or how deeply rooted its effects might be.

  ‘Sorry, poor choice of word.’ Giles was contrite. ‘But logically Kat knows the chances of them picking her up again are slim. Apart from anything else she’s wise to them now.’

  ‘You make it sound like she’d have a
choice,’ Knox pointed out.

  ‘But surely those men are now either dead or in prison,’ said Giles.

  ‘They don’t operate in isolation,’ Knox said. But all the speculation wasn’t really helping. ‘The point is, I need to find her,’ said Knox. ‘If she’s not at her flat and she’s not here, where else might she have gone?’

  Giles shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I think she has friends, or even just contacts in London, but I don’t know where exactly.’

  ‘Do you have a key to her flat? I need to have a look round, see if she’s left any indication of where she might have gone.’

  ‘Yes, sure.’ Giles got up and went over to a pot that stood on a wooden chest. Lifting the lid, he took out a handful of keys, separating out one from the others.

  ‘Do you keep all your keys in there?’ Knox asked, taking the proffered one from Giles.

  ‘Normally, yes.’

  ‘Does Kat put hers in there too, when she stays here?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘And would Hugo know that?’ asked Knox.

  The look told him enough.

  ‘What does he look like, this friend of yours?’ Knox persisted. ‘Long hair, growing himself a beard, by any chance?’

  ‘Why?’ Giles was suspicious now.

  ‘A couple of days ago I disturbed an intruder at DI Mariner’s place,’ he told Giles. ‘He ran off and was too fast for me, but someone had been in there before and given it a good going over. The first time I went in stuff was missing and the kitchen was a mess, but there was no sign of a forced entry. Does Hugo know that Kat has a key to that house?’

  ‘I suppose he might have worked it out.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Knox glared at Giles. ‘Well then, I’ll want a word with him too.’ Knox gave Giles a business card bearing all his contact details. ‘If you don’t want to end up in a bigger jam than you are, you’ll let me know immediately either of them turns up. Do you understand?’