Night Vision

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘But she didn’t come?’

  ‘No. She sent her apologies and a card, but no, she didn’t come. I don’t think we expected her to, really.’

  ‘So, she knew you were married, but she still called you Naomi Blake.’

  ‘Could she have been trying to tell you something?’ Watkins asked. ‘Like a secret code . . .’ He trailed off. ‘Sorry, that sounds dumb, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ Naomi reassured him. ‘Not dumb.’ She closed her eyes and concentrated; something in Watkins’ suggestion had stuck a chord. ‘She said Naomi, Naomi Blake, as though it mattered. As though—’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘As though whatever she was trying to tell you about had happened when you were still Naomi Blake?’ Watkins said. Then he mumbled an apology as Naomi and Megan both turned to stare at him. ‘I mean—’

  ‘Watkins,’ Megan said. ‘I think you may be on to something here.’

  Naomi could almost feel the young man glow. ‘Which creates even more questions,’ she said softly. ‘What was she trying to tell me, and why did she – or someone else – record her, and when? Megan, she sounded so scared. I think that’s what freaked me out so much. Nothing fazed Jamie, and yet she sounded utterly terrified.’

  ‘I suppose her death was definitely an accident,’ Watkins said cautiously.

  ‘I’ve not heard any different,’ Megan said, ‘but I think a little careful digging around might be in order, don’t you, Watkins?’

  The young man must be positively radiant now, Naomi thought. ‘Just be careful,’ she warned. ‘Nothing about this is right, Megan. Just don’t either of you make trouble for yourselves.’

  Megan and Watkins left just before Alec called. Naomi had wandered back up to bed, feeling reassured now but still a little jumpy. Her mobile ring tone, irritatingly cheerful, startled her. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Pissed off.’

  ‘Oh, why?’

  ‘This is the strangest setup. Anyway, how’re you? You sound a little tense – did I wake you?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t asleep. In fact Megan Allison and her new probationer have just left.’

  ‘Megan? Why? Naomi, what’s wrong?’

  Taking a deep breath, she told him about the phone call, trying not to let the tension back into her voice; knowing it was there anyway. ‘I don’t understand this, Alec. What’s it all about?’

  Silence for a moment. She wondered if she’d lost the signal.

  ‘Naomi,’ Alec said quietly, ‘Travers told me tonight that Jamie Dale wasn’t killed in a simple road accident. That’s just what’s been released publicly while the investigation goes on.’

  ‘She was murdered?’ Naomi asked. ‘Oh, Alec. How?’

  There was no easy way to say it, so he told her simply. ‘She burned to death in the car. That’s all I know, but they are definitely linking it to Robinson’s death. Naomi, keep the doors locked, ask Harry or Mari if you can stay with them for a few days, please. I’d feel happier.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. ‘But if whoever it was calls back and I’m not around to take the call – Alec, there has to be more on that recording that they played back to me. I think, for Jamie’s sake, I need to be here, need to know.’

  Silence again. He wanted to argue, but he knew her too well. Knew that would have been his reaction too. ‘You can’t stay in all the time,’ he pointed out. ‘You could miss a call any time.’

  ‘True, but, well, you know.’

  ‘I know. Look, maybe get someone over to stay with you?’

  ‘What if they’re watching the house?’ She’d said it. Voiced the fear.

  ‘Anything to make you think someone may be?’

  ‘No. Megan and PC Watkins checked thoroughly. There was no sign of anyone.’

  ‘Naomi, don’t take any risks. Promise me?’

  ‘Promise you.’

  ‘I’m hoping to be back before long, but you never know, do you?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she told him. ‘Megan and co will keep an eye on things, and I’ll see about getting some company.’ She paused. ‘Come home soon, Alec. I’m missing you.’

  FIVE

  Morning dawned bright and sunny for both Naomi and Alec. Neither had slept well. She took her morning tea into the garden and sat beside the pond; he ate breakfast alone in the motel restaurant. Travers had not appeared, and Alec wondered if the man had actually bothered to eat since the night before or if he had sneaked out at midnight and gone across to the services. Anything to put off Alec’s promised questions.

  Megan had called Naomi at seven o clock. She was off home, she said. Was Naomi all right or did she need her to call in? Naomi was touched but assured her friend and once fellow officer that she was fine. Surprisingly, she found that was almost true. She still felt shaken by the call, but experience and professional instinct had kicked in and Naomi felt sure that there was no immediate danger. Whoever had called wanted her scared and off balance but had also contacted her for some deeper purpose, and Naomi found that, of all the emotions gripping her, curiosity was standing head and shoulders above the rest. Curiosity, and a sense of outrage at the terrible way Jamie had died. If anything was going to give Naomi nightmares, it would be that.

  Alec had called her just after Megan. He sounded tired, she thought, and seriously annoyed. He told her a little more about his encounter with Munroe and the others.

  ‘Will you tell them about my phone call?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ll choose my moment. I’d like to talk it through with Travers first, but he seems to be avoiding me.’

  ‘What’s up with him, do you think?’

  ‘My guess is pressure from above. A long way above, maybe; perhaps even external to the department. What was Robinson preparing to tell Jamie, and how many toes would she have trampled on to get to the nitty gritty? You know what Jamie was like when she had a hold of something, nothing could make her drop it.’

  ‘I don’t think she had a reverse gear,’ Naomi agreed. ‘Well, give Trav my best and tell him not to be such a grumpy sod.’

  Alec laughed. They both knew Travers had a soft spot for Naomi. ‘Will do, love. You take care now, and wish Patrick luck for tonight. I’ll be thinking of him.’

  ‘I’ll take photos,’ Naomi said. ‘Well, I’ll get Patrick to take them and I’ll send them from my phone.’

  ‘Maybe you should both do it. The results might be interesting. We could put them all together and create an installation. OK, love, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.’

  He poured himself another cup of tea and debated going back to the buffet for more breakfast. Something made him think that today was going to be a little light on breaks. What Naomi had told him about the phone call bothered him profoundly, and every instinct screamed at him to tell Travers he was off home to be with her. Had he driven over in his own car, then Alec knew he would not even have hesitated . . . would he? Alec sipped his tea. Actually, he probably would have. Naomi would hate to think her anxiety was the cause of him rushing away from a job. She prided herself on her self-sufficiency and resilience – and, Alec acknowledged, in many ways hers was greater than his. He comforted himself with the thought that Megan and this PC Watkins seemed to be keeping an eye on her, and that Harry would look after Naomi any way he could. Alec was in no doubt at all that if he hadn’t finally got his act together and asked Naomi to marry him, then Harry would have done so, and he was still slightly afraid that she might have said yes.

  Glancing at his watch he saw that it was still only eight o clock. Travers was still significantly absent, and there would be no need for them to leave for at least another half hour. ‘More breakfast it is then,’ Alec said to himself and, asking the waitress if he could possibly have another pot of tea, he took his plate and went for seconds.

  By ten they were at the prison where Neil Robinson had died. They had rendezvoused with Munroe and Parks back at the old police station. Eddison had not been there. He had a m
eeting, Parks said and suggested Alec went to the prison in his car and that Munroe could give Travers directions and travel in his.

  Travers, who had barely spoken on the short drive over, had not looked happy.

  ‘Have you worked with DS Munroe for long?’ Alec had asked. Parks’ car had surprised him. A small blue hatchback with a child seat in the back and a scatter of toys in the footwell. Parks saw him examining the debris and laughed. ‘It’s the wife’s car,’ he said. ‘She’s taken mine for a few days, gone with the kids and a friend and all the camping gear.’

  ‘Didn’t she need the child seat?’ Alec asked innocently.

  Parks turned his pale eyes on Alec and then laughed. The oddly cherubic mouth didn’t seem designed for laughter, Alec thought. It was far too prissy and tight.

  ‘We’ve got a seat in both cars for Nan. Nancy, that is. Luke is big enough to use a booster seat now.’

  ‘How old are they?’

  ‘Three and eight. You have kids?’

  ‘No, not yet.’ Both fell silent for a while, then Alec asked again, ‘So you work regularly with Munroe and Eddison?’

  Parks shrugged. ‘Eddison, yes. Been my boss for five, nearly six years, since I got the transfer here from London. We wanted a better place to bring up the kids, somewhere with a big garden, and Phil’s parents are here so – Philippa,’ he added. ‘She hates her name.’

  ‘And Munroe?’

  ‘Never met him until three days ago,’ Parks said in a tone that told Alec he wasn’t going to get any more than that.

  The prison, Heathfields, was true to its type. A so-called open prison, though this, like most, did have high fences topped with razor wire along the perimeter. It enclosed a large area of grass and trees, and Alec glimpsed vegetable gardens. The gatehouse was little more than a wooden hut, and the barrier – flimsy and already up when they arrived – seemed totally at odds with the high fence and twisted wire that cordoned off the grounds. Alec had visited many such establishments in his time. Many of the prisoners here were close to release, Parks had told him. Many after serving very long sentences. Heathfields housed a number that were on day or community release programmes. The prison had a good relationship with the local farmers and growers, Parks said. They often gave inmates close to their release a taste of work and a reintroduction to the wider community before they were finally thrown back on to their own resources. It was considered a model prison in many ways, with an inspiration governor, Michelle Sanders, who, from his tone when he spoke of her, Parks actually seemed to admire – a rare attitude from a serving officer, in Alec’s experience.

  They were shown to Robinson’s room in one of the accommodation blocks furthest from the gate. The view from the window was of grass and trees, and the room was basic but comfortable. He had stayed in worse hotels, Alec reflected. Establishments like Heathfields had come in for a lot of flak in the media of late, their so-called liberal regimes attracting censure. Alec was more measured in his attitude. He had seen too many men and women released straight from Category A or B prisons with little preparation or concern or support, and far too many had been back there within the year. In Alec’s view, if places like Heathfields dropped the recidivism rate, he was all for them.

  Usually, however, he kept such views to himself.

  ‘The room’s not been touched,’ they were told by the prison officer who’d taken them there. ‘But we really could do with it being released as soon as. We’ve got a new batch coming in tomorrow.’

  Munroe had gone straight to see the governor; Travers had not been invited, despite the fact that he outranked the other officer, and he had shown no sign of protest at that. It was, Alec thought, almost as though he was determined to be invisible.

  Alec glanced at his boss. Travers stood looking out of the window, seemingly oblivious to the rest of them. Parks was watching him, a look of puzzlement on his face. He doesn’t understand this setup any more than I do, Alec decided. He tried on the thought of Parks as provisional ally; decided it was still too early to tell. He turned back to the prison officer still hovering in the doorway.

  ‘Care to give me the tour?’ he asked, noting the slight look of annoyance that replaced puzzlement in Parks’ expression. Alec wondered at the cause: because he didn’t want Alec to go off alone? Or simply that he did not want to be stuck with the taciturn Travers? Used to an easygoing man who chatted easily to anyone, Alec was still flummoxed by Travers’ sudden descent into silence and sulks.

  He followed the prison officer back out into the main body of the accommodation block.

  ‘This was an old army base,’ the officer told Alec. ‘The huts date back to the fifties, but the whole lot was renovated when the base closed in the eighties.’

  Looking at the state of the decor, Alec decided very little had been done since.

  ‘This is the main recreation area.’ The man indicated the open space. Chairs, small tables screwed down to the floor, a half-sized pool table and table football that looked, from its vintage, as though the army might have left them behind. A dozen men presently inhabited this space; the rest were already out on work detail, the prison officer said. These others were about to join them.

  ‘Neil Robinson have particular friends, did he?’

  ‘He was close to one Freddie Gains. Armed robbery – Gains was the driver – but he left us a month before Robinson died.’

  ‘Did he have many visitors?’

  The officer shook his head. ‘His sister came when she could, but she’s got a young family and lives in Wales, I think. Somewhere that way. She spoke to him on the phone once a week, and I think her husband had a job lined up for Robinson. The rest of the family had given up on him, but she still did her best.’

  ‘Think it would have worked? The job, I mean?’

  The officer shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Robinson seemed excited about getting back to his family, I know that. Then about a week before he died he seemed . . . I don’t know. Anxious. Jumpy.’

  ‘Anyone ask him why?’

  Again, the shrug. ‘I think we thought he was just a bit overwhelmed. It can happen when the release date gets close.’

  ‘Anyone he might have confided in?’

  ‘After Gains had gone, no, I don’t think so. Robinson got along with most people, in that he knew how and when to keep out of the way. He played pool most evenings.’

  ‘Any friction there?’

  ‘No, not that I’m aware. Your colleagues have already asked all this.’

  ‘I’m sure they have,’ Alec said. ‘Thanks, then, I’ll not take up any more of your time.’ He watched as the officer joined two of his colleagues and the knot of prisoners waiting to leave for their work. All looked at him with varying degrees of hostility and curiosity as they left, but only one met his eyes. A young man, tall, freckled, sandy-haired, who contrived to bring up the rear and dropped something to the floor at Alec’s feet.

  Little seemed to have changed when Alec returned to Robinson’s room. Parks was poking aimlessly at the few paperbacks on the shelf, and Travers now perched on the window sill, looking back into the room instead of out of the window. Other than that, the frosty silence remained.

  Alec moved to take a closer look at the bookshelves. Tattered paperbacks, mostly of the variety written by ex special forces, interspersed with the odd crime novel and, more surprisingly, ten slim volumes that Alec discovered were classic westerns by the likes of Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour. Alec had gone through a phase of reading these when he’d been just a kid, and the books looked to be of around the same vintage. Curious, he picked a couple off the shelf and flipped them open. Inside the flyleaf of each the same name was neatly printed.

  ‘Eric Robinson?’ he asked.

  ‘Neil’s dad,’ Parks told him. ‘The sister sent him the books,’ he added.

  Thoughtfully, Alec flicked through the pages. The old paperbacks were in excellent condition. Read, yes, but loved and cherished. He knew they would already have c
hecked, but could not resist riffling the pages to ensure that nothing had been hidden, skimming the text for comments written in the margins or on the flyleaves. Nothing.

  ‘We already did that,’ Parks said.

  ‘Force of habit,’ Alec told him. He pulled out the drawers and rummaged through Robinson’s meagre possessions, but there was little apart from spare clothes.

  ‘What did you think of him?’ Parks asked.

  ‘Robinson?’

  ‘You interviewed him.’

  ‘Yes. At length. What did I think of him?’ Alec frowned. ‘My main impression was that a man like Robinson could have taken any path he wanted, so I couldn’t understand why he’d chosen the one he did. He was highly intelligent, personable, seemed to have a moral code, of sorts. I mean, he didn’t pick on anyone who couldn’t afford to lose.’

  Parks laughed, mockingly. ‘So he was a better class of criminal because he didn’t try and rip off little old ladies?’

  Alec nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose I did think that.’ Truthfully, under different circumstances, Alec could have liked the man, but he didn’t share that impression with Parks.

  ‘Alec’s moral compass has always pointed northwest,’ Travers growled.

  Surprised, they both turned to look at him. ‘And what did you think of Robinson?’ Parks asked.

  ‘That he had no excuse,’ Travers said. ‘He had a good brain, came from a stable home. No one pushed him into it. Like Alec said, he could have done something with his life. Instead, he chose to rip people off. Robinson was a turd.’

  Parks cocked an eyebrow and pursed the cherub lips. ‘So a slight difference of opinion there, folks,’ he said, clearly amused.

  Alec frowned, puzzled by this sudden animation from his boss and also by the comment. So far as Alec could recall, Travers had only met Robinson the once, when he had sat in on a final interview.