“I appreciate it. I really do. I don’t personally want or need anything above having Carl involved on my behalf if either the police or the security services come back at me. Other than that, if you take care of Terry, then you and I are quits.”
Nodding, Dawson said, “That I can do. Happily. The offer holds. Indefinitely.”
He then looked up and beyond me. I turned to see Carl Ingham making his way towards us. “Mr Cochran is keeping his cool,” he told me, taking a seat alongside Chris. “There are several stories here, and several points of conflict and death. He has admitted his role, assuming responsibility for every man down at the safe houses. Neither the police nor MI5 have enough to compel us to veer from the self-defence plea. In every case, Terry claims the mercenaries shot first.”
I thought back to the house in Peterborough. Terry had fired off the first rounds, but it was nonetheless an act of self-defence because the four men were not there delivering flowers. Same goes for Thetford, and those initial kills in the wooded areas either side of the house. No point in splitting hairs, though. Them shooting first worked for me. I could live with that.
“The problem for the authorities,” Carl went on, “is that whilst your story, Mike, is fine when it comes to your time together before Terry was drawn into the chain of events, all of your comments relating to what happened afterwards are anything but fine. There’s Terry claiming it was all down to him, you claiming it was all down to you, and as for Mel… well, sadly nothing now can ever be corroborated.”
Chris Dawson turned to face me. “You told them it was all you?”
I spread my hands. “Hey, I dragged my friend into this shit-storm, I wasn’t about to bury him in it up to his neck.”
“I don’t think there’s any danger of that,” Carl said.
“And why is that?” I asked.
“Because his friends in intelligence will make it all disappear. The security services are putting on a show. Terry Cochran knows where the bodies are buried. Literally. He’s done too much work for them over the years not to. Plus, I get the impression they are rather fond of him and his… particular talents.”
I nodded. “Well, that’s good to hear. So he’ll be joining us?”
“You know him better than I do, Mr Lynch. I get the impression he may walk out of that police station and disappear as if he had never existed.”
“So how about this shit with Melissa?” Chris asked. “Those pricks in Whitehall ordered the hit on her. It was their decision that led to all of this, my brother, the whole fucking deal. I know none of them will pay, because their involvement will be something else the security services bury. But how can we turn that around?”
Here, I shook my head and said, “I don’t see that happening. I think Terry and I are safe from harm. Cards have been marked, though. Careers will spiral downwards. Knighthoods will no longer be bestowed. More importantly, those involved will know that I am now pretty much untouchable, or they will also become something the security services make disappear. As for the original hit, what happened to your brother and then to Mel, you’ll find these people are Teflon-coated.”
I was about to comment further, when Charlie entered the lounge clasping the hand of a woman I had not seen before. The moment the girl laid eyes on us she broke away and came running. Her first hug was for Dawson, whom she held tight, squeezing for all she was worth. Charlie giggled as she was hugged right back. But then she broke away from that embrace and fell into my arms.
“How are you doing, kiddo?” I asked, delighting at her exuberance. “You feeling all right?”
Charlie nodded, giving me a huge wide smile. “I spoke to Roger, and I told him I like you as well now. He said that was okay. So, I’m happy again.”
I laughed. Since my release I had avoided finding out a way to contact my own daughter. I needed to give myself some time to start thinking straight again, the events of the past few days having swarmed all over me, leaving me feeling almost broken with emotion. But seeing Charlie again, feeling the girl in my arms, I realised that there was only one way my day could improve.
“Carl,” I said. “Is there any way you can make a few calls for me?”
He nodded. “Of course. What do you need?”
“My mobile must be in evidence somewhere. I need a number off it. I have someone I need to call.”
“Are you going to speak to Mel?” Charlie asked. Her innocent face was so sincere.
“Mel?” I frowned, hoping I did not have to explain the circumstances of Melissa’s death to her.
Charlie nodded. “In heaven. Are you calling her in heaven?”
I stroked the girl’s hair, and pulled her in close for another squeeze. “Not right now, Charlie,” I said. “But maybe one day. You want to do that with me?”
She nodded. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. I used my thumb to wipe them away. “It’s going to be okay,” I told her.
And for once, I genuinely thought it would be.
47
Malta’s northern coastline seemed like the ideal place to get away from it all, although Qawra felt a little too commercial for my taste. It was a scorching hot day and the town positively baked in the sunshine. You could not stare at the cloudless azure sky for long. To hide my bandaged wounds I wore a lightweight cotton shirt, which hung outside my knee-length cargo shorts. Still it felt like I was wearing three things too many. I had joined a group of fellow tourists in taking a small cruiser out to St Paul’s island, and was now dragging my feet up the rocky, dirt-encrusted steep incline towards the island’s peak, feeling the heat burn through the rubber soles of my flip-flops as they slapped against my heels. I carried a chilled bottle of water, purchased from the boat’s skipper, from which I sipped a little every dozen paces or so. It was just two weeks after the events that had turned my whole world upside down, and I was still feeling the cumulative effects of those few days.
At the crest of the hill stood the statue of St Paul, which rose high above the remains of an old stone tower that had once provided a lookout over the sea. I continued to labour towards it for a few more paces, but it was getting the better of me. A couple of young kids, brother and sister by the look of it, sped past me on their way up. I both admired and cursed their youthful vigour. The sight of them making the climb with such ease was the final straw for me.
I stopped walking, resting my hands on my knees. As I gathered my breath, a shadow fell over me.
“Enjoying the view?” someone asked me.
I turned my head, squinting in the sunlight. Nodded. “Yeah. Looks great from here. Close enough for me I think. I guess this is far as I’ll be going.” I sat down on a nearby boulder, its surface heat almost causing me to cry out.
Melissa sat down beside me, setting her own bottle on the rock, letting out a long sigh as she stretched out her tanned legs. “I could get used to this,” she said.
I smiled at her. “Well, you can. This is your home now.”
“So it is. And it’s beautiful. Please tell Terry how grateful I am,” she said. “The couple he recommended me to have been great, and their daughter is so sweet.”
An old army buddy of ours, now retired and living on the mainland further south, had the ideal family to help Melissa heal. Not all of her scars were visible, however.
“No lifting duties yet though,” I said, nodding at her arm which was held in place across her midriff by a protective sling. Beneath her lemon-coloured T-shirt I could also make out the slight swell of padding held in place by her own bandages.
“Could have been worse, Mike. A whole lot worse.”
“That’s for sure.”
We were both quiet for a few minutes, sitting there as a sudden breeze took the edge off the heat for a few precious moments.
“You think we can ever tell Charlie?” Melissa asked me. She took a swig of water from her bottle.
“Maybe. When she’s old enough. Perhaps it’s better not to, though.”
“Perhaps.”
I had conceived the idea of faking Melissa’s death as she lay on the floor beside the truck that night she was shot, Charlie sobbing and wailing beside us. Faulkener lay defeated inside the old barracks, his men by then rounded up, I imagined. But the orders had come from a lofty position. It did not matter how many of them paid for their mistakes, nor in what manner. If Melissa had been seen as a threat for what she might know, then that was not going to go away. Others would undoubtedly come for her. The only way she would be safe was if they believed her to be dead.
Once again it was Terry who had known who to speak with and how to perpetrate the fiction. He had lived on the edge and in the shadows for so long that such things were second nature to him. He also arranged for the ambulance to arrive on scene, one that would whisk Mel away to a place of his choosing rather than to a hospital. Terry pointed us in the direction of a man who could quickly come up with the fake documentation Mel required, both to explain away her demise and to begin anew. Then he and I worked together on providing Mel with a place to run to, a new hope in a brand new life. I had spun the web of deceit told to everyone, and Terry had arranged for the right officials to be in the right place at the right time to allow the lie to stick. Between us we made certain that everyone believed precisely what we wanted them to believe.
It might last, it might not. But for now, it would have to be enough.
“Jesus, it’s bloody hot,” I said, wiping sweat from my hairline and glancing sidelong at Mel. She already looked so much healthier with good colour in her cheeks.
She smiled and shook her head. “You still complaining, Mike Lynch?”
I laughed. “Nothing changes, eh?”
Mel put her head back, allowing the sun to beat down on her exposed face. “Everything changes, Mike,” she said. “Everything, all the time.”
“Except me, then.”
This time she raised her sunglasses and peered over at me. “No. Especially you. And that’s no bad thing.”
I nodded. It really was no bad thing at all.
THE END
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Readers who enjoyed Scream Blue Murder will also enjoy the following , also by Tony J Forder;
Bad To The Bone
Degrees of Darkness
Acknowledgments
It may come across as a little trite, but I really do want to thank Bloodhound Books once again for having faith in me. This is the book I was writing when they first signed me to their wonderful kennel of authors, and I was determined to finish it. Scream Blue Murder represents a departure for me, as I set myself a challenge with this one. The story came to me and I had to tell it. It was a fast-paced action thriller inside my head, and no matter how many ways I tried writing it, ultimately, I decided Mike Lynch simply had to be written in first person POV something I had never done before. I hope you enjoyed the ride.
Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller Page 31