‘Ivo Sweatman.’
‘I’m calling from a payphone on the outskirts of Colchester.’
Ivo recognized her voice immediately, but given the funny goings-on with his tax return and credit card knew better than to say her name. ‘Good to hear you.’
‘Where are you?’ she asked. ‘I was hoping we could catch up.’
‘Weymouth,’ he said. ‘I’m taking a week’s holiday.’
There was a slight pause. ‘That’s such a good place for you to be right now.’
‘Really? There’s nothing much going on here, so far as I can tell. How about you?’
‘Oh, pretty busy. About to get busier.’
Ivo racked his brains to work out how to elicit the information he needed. The only thing that leaped into his mind was unbelievably cheesy, but so what? ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You know that film you mentioned, about the kid who might’ve seen something? I can’t remember how the story went. Was he in some kind of danger or what?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said, her voice calm and deliberate. ‘It’s quite a dramatic ending. You should go see it as soon as you can.’
‘Thanks, I will. Who’s in it again?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you know the basic plot. They’re all familiar faces.’
‘OK, well, it starts any moment, so I ought to get moving.’
‘Brilliant. Thanks so much.’
‘No problem. Take care.’
‘I will. And you. Bye.’
So DI Fisher had cracked the case! Good for her, but not so bright for young Davey. Ivo would clearly have to ride to his rescue, the Ice Maiden’s favours fluttering from his helmet, regardless of how clumsily it would now have to be done. No matter. He’d hustled enough tabloid stings in his time to be pretty certain of carrying the day. But the last school bell would have rung, and he’d better get a move on.
He made it to the supermarket just in time to see Donna greet both kids and, as they handed her their various bags and lunch boxes, shepherd them safely over the road. It looked as if they were heading straight home, as they usually did. Maybe Donna still felt too vulnerable to encourage play dates or make friends with the other mothers. That was good. He could exploit that vulnerability. He followed at a safe distance, only catching up as she unlocked the street door to the apartment building. She glanced at him, and he smiled and muttered a name and flat number gleaned from a late-night rummage through a rubbish bag that had been put out for the early-morning refuse collection. Donna hesitated for a second before giving a polite nod and holding open the door for him to follow her into the lobby. That was good too. From the very first moment a mark fails to say no, the con artist has the upper hand.
With the street door safely closed behind them and the button pushed for the lift, Ivo turned to Davey, who had not yet taken sufficient notice of him to remember their encounter three weeks earlier.
‘Hello, there. It’s Davey, isn’t it?’
The boy took a moment to place him. Then the doors opened, Ivo walked the three of them in front of him into the lift and hit the button for the top floor. He gave Davey a reassuring smile and treated Donna to his best candid look.
‘Davey and I had a chat one morning when he was in a bit of a quandary about something,’ he said. ‘It all ended happily, didn’t it, Davey?’ He waited for the boy to give an apprehensive nod before turning back to his mother. ‘But, if you don’t mind me saying, I think it’s time you had a bit of background on John Kirkby.’
Ivo stepped out first when the lift doors opened and took up a position that left the family an open path to their front door. He had consulted floor plans of the building on the developer’s website and knew that the only other door off the small hall led out to a communal roof terrace. Now he’d got this far, they would not be disturbed.
‘I’m happy to talk right here, Mrs Fewell,’ he said, judging correctly that using her real surname would prove he meant business. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you’d invite me in.’ He held out his business card. ‘This is who I am,’ he said, keeping his hand out until she took the card. ‘But I promise you that I’m not here for a story. I’m here to help you.’
Donna looked at the card. ‘The Courier!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t want anything to do with the newspapers.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Ivo. ‘I’ve taken a week’s leave and I’m here in a personal capacity. And Davey will tell you, I’m no blabbermouth.’
Davey, who had taken tight hold of his mother’s hand, now looked up at her. ‘He bought me a bacon roll,’ he said in a very small voice. ‘Took me back to school.’
‘Back to school?’ asked Donna. ‘Why, where were you?’
‘Life’s been a bit difficult for Davey,’ said Ivo. ‘He went on a bit of a walkabout. No harm done. But he’s probably ready now to explain what’s been bothering him. Don’t you think so, Davey?’
Davey looked at his feet. Ella tugged at her mother’s other hand. ‘I’m tired,’ she grizzled.
‘What do you want?’ Donna asked Ivo.
‘Why don’t you take the kids inside?’ he suggested. ‘Give them their tea. Let them watch some TV or something.’ He held up his hands. ‘I’ll wait out here if you like.’
‘Mum!’ whined Ella, tugging at her again.
Donna unlocked the door to the apartment and shooed the kids in. Davey went reluctantly, turning his head to gaze at Ivo, who couldn’t decipher whether the look was fearful or imploring. Ivo didn’t move a muscle as Donna went to shut the door. At the last moment she relented and, closing the door enough so the kids inside couldn’t hear, asked quietly again what it was he wanted.
Ivo was filled with admiration for her courage and good sense. It gave him confidence that, with a little encouragement, not only would Davey tell his mum the truth, but that she would hear it.
‘Your son needs to tell you something about Mark Kirkby,’ he said, staying exactly where he was. ‘He’s kept it from you because he didn’t want to upset you.’
‘But he’s told you?’ Her tone was openly sceptical.
‘He also told DI Fisher, who believed him, but then he pretended he’d made it up, so she couldn’t do anything to help him. Now it could put him in danger.’
‘What kind of danger?’
‘It’s for Davey to tell you. I’m just here to offer my help.’
She thought about it long enough to come to a decision. ‘You’d better come in.’
Ivo didn’t wait to be asked twice.
56
Robyn wished she had Martha and Bounder for company. She hadn’t anticipated the effect of a second day of such grinding loneliness and boredom. If this was what prison was like, then the worst punishment of all, the one that was the hardest to imagine until it had happened to you, was having too much time in which to miss the people you cared about and to think about what you’d done to them. As the time dragged past, her own thoughts became her most vicious enemy – poisonous, dark, relentless – an enemy she’d never expected to face. Now she understood repentance! Except it did no good. She could repent her stupidity and wilfulness, her short-sightedness and rank ingratitude all she liked, but it wasn’t going to change a thing.
She had betrayed her family, destroyed the only world she knew, ripped to shreds the fabric of all she loved most. If she’d been at home, she’d have been tempted to unlock one of the gun cabinets and blow her brains out, if only to stop the agony.
Was that how the man who’d killed Angie and her grandmother had felt? What would he have done instead, had a gun not been placed in his hands?
But it had been, and that was the reason she was here, why she couldn’t simply go home and have her dad laugh at her and give her a hug and tell her not to be so silly. That dad didn’t exist any more.
If only Lance would come! She was beside herself to hear what was happening. Her parents must have realized by now that she’d gone and be wondering where she was. It wouldn’t take them long to work out why she’d
disappeared. Maybe they’d even be relieved to be rid of her because now she was just an inconvenience, like the sacks her dad had thrown in the creek. She ought to feel bad for scaring them, but maybe they needed to be scared in order to understand properly what all this had been like for her.
Or had she got all this wrong? Maybe her dad could, after all, explain everything. Lance seemed to think Leonard owned the villa in Portugal where they’d had several holidays. She’d told him they’d only gone there so often because they got mate’s rates from a friend, but had then remembered that was what her dad had told her, and she could no longer believe a word he said. And then she’d thought about what Grace Fisher had said, about it all coming down to money in the end, so maybe Lance was right. Last night he’d asked about her parents’ friends too, and got a bit cross when she’d clammed up and said she couldn’t remember when really she just couldn’t bear to betray her father any more. Lance had said it didn’t matter, but she could see he was annoyed, and the tiny loss in his support had felt huge and scary.
Loyalty was a strange thing. It was much more black and white than love. You could love and hate someone at the same time, go crazy and scream and yell and still be certain that you loved them. But once you’d stopped being loyal, there was no way back. And then it became the most important thing in the world to find something else to believe in and attach yourself to. Lance had never judged her for her decision to help the police. He seemed to understand that she couldn’t go on living a lie, and had patiently answered all her questions while being honest about what he wasn’t allowed to tell her. More than anything, she wanted to be on his side. She couldn’t cope with having to make judgements for herself any more. Let him decide for her. Except she sensed that maybe his world too wasn’t as simple as cops and robbers, good or bad. If she didn’t understand why he’d been annoyed with her, how could she be certain where his true loyalties lay?
Like a kind of sign, a thin beam of light swept across the whitewashed brickwork of the window’s tunnel-like opening. No one else could possibly know she was here, so it must be the headlights of his car. The light was quickly extinguished and she assumed he was approaching the wooden steps up to the narrow entrance to the fort. He’d ordered her not to unlock the door unless he knocked three times, and she waited impatiently for his signal. When it came, she opened up and, without thinking, flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him.
‘Hey, hey.’ He disentangled himself gently. ‘You OK?’
‘I’ve had such a rotten day!’
‘Well, things are moving on. You won’t have to stay here much longer.’
Robyn drew back. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Your parents have reported you missing.’
‘So they know what I did?’
‘No, apparently they’re terrified you’ve been kidnapped.’
For an instant she thought he looked pleased, but the light was bad, and the next moment she saw how tired he looked.
‘But they must know! What about the dredger?’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. They’re going to cooperate. DI Fisher told me. It’s all going to be fine.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Your father is going to tell us what he knows.’
‘And then what happens?’ Her voice rose in alarm and she brought up her hands to hide her face. ‘What does he know? How bad is it?’
‘I don’t know yet. But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? For him to give it all up?’
‘But he’ll go to prison. I don’t want him locked up in a place like this!’
Lance laughed softly and took hold of her hands, pulling them away from her face. ‘Prisons these days are nothing like this. And, depending on what exactly he tells us, he might not get much of a sentence.’
‘He’s doing it for me, isn’t he?’ Robyn asked. ‘To get me back in one piece?’
‘I suppose so, yes,’ said Lance. He took on a guarded look, as if he were about to be angry with her. ‘But it’s only for one more night. Tomorrow I can almost certainly take you back.’
‘I want to go now! I need to talk to him. I don’t want him to go to prison because of me. This is all my fault!’
She turned towards the door, but he caught hold of her and pulled her around to face him. ‘It’s a bit late in the day to decide that,’ he said.
‘I don’t care! I want to see him now, to let them know I’m all right. I want to go home.’
Lance’s hold on her tightened. ‘You can’t. Not yet. Tomorrow.’
She tried to twist free, but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him in an enclosing hug. ‘Please, Robyn. Just one more night.’
‘No, I want to go home!’
‘It’s not long to wait. I brought some soup and we can sit by the stove like we did last night. Stay with me, please.’
He spoke into her hair, and she could feel his breath in her ear and smell a pleasing citrussy fragrance from his shampoo or aftershave. She didn’t know what to do. She was exhausted. She wanted to let him decide. His arms around her felt warm and safe, so she melted into them, raising her face to his. Lance smiled, his brown eyes kind and encouraging. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair, and she leaned her head into his caress.
‘I’ll go into work tomorrow morning,’ he said, ‘and as soon as I know what’s happening, I’ll come and get you, just like we planned. Of course you can never say that we were together – you must remember that – or I’ll lose my job and it might mean we couldn’t use anything your father tells us in court.’
She nodded, feeling his hand against her hair. ‘I’ll still get to see you, though, won’t I?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled again. ‘I’m your family liaison officer. We’ll have lots of chances to meet.’
She sighed and looked up at him shyly. She wanted him to kiss her. If he kissed her then everything would somehow, magically, be all right after all. She closed her eyes, raised her chin and parted her lips in readiness. After what seemed like the longest few seconds of her life, he let go of her and stepped back. ‘Come and sit down,’ he said, taking her hand to lead her over to the folding canvas chairs placed near the stove. She followed in a kind of daze and sat down beside him. He kept hold of her hand, dipping his head to look at her until she met his eyes.
‘You do know I’m gay, right?’
Robyn’s mind went blank. She froze.
‘You did realize?’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I never meant to mislead you.’
Of course she’d known! Subliminally it was pretty much the first thing she’d sensed about him – that he was not a threat as a man, he was a friend, she’d be safe if she went off alone with him and no one knew where they were. She wasn’t stupid, of course she’d known.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. She rose to her feet, letting him keep hold of her hand. ‘I’m really sorry, but I want to go home now. I can’t stay here. I won’t say anything to anyone about being with you.’ She could hear herself starting to cry. She couldn’t bear it if she did. It would be the final shame.
‘No.’ His grip on her hand tightened.
‘Please.’ She couldn’t speak. What an idiot she was. Wrong about everything. She tried to tug herself free but he wouldn’t let her go.
‘You can’t go yet,’ he said. ‘Not until your father signs his statement telling us everything he knows.’
‘Why?’ she cried out, her mouth puckering with tears. ‘Why’s that so important to you?’
Lance gave her a strange appraising look before coming to a decision. ‘Because my lover was murdered,’ he said simply. ‘Your father may be the only person who can tell me what really happened, and why.’
‘Then I’ll ask him! I’ll make sure he tells you!’
‘No, that’s not enough.’ He gave her that same shrewd look again. ‘It may be your father who killed him.’
‘No!’ She wrenched herself free of his grip and ran to the do
or. She dragged it open and, almost on hands and knees, felt her way down the steep ladder-like steps, gasping as the freezing wind tore at her clothes and whipped her hair across her face. She felt rather than saw Lance silhouetted in the open doorway above, but the wind blew away his words.
Blindly, she started to run, stumbling on the tussocks growing among the gravel that surrounded the tower. Lance’s car, parked on the rough track and only just visible in the darkness, offered some shelter, and she ran towards it. Only then did she see in the distance ahead the thin wavering beam of a torch. She looked back.
Lance was still outlined against the light from inside, presumably judging it too dark to attempt to follow her. She crouched behind his car. It was impossible to judge in what direction the person holding the torch was moving, although they were heading somewhere, and she knew that, apart from the tower, there was nothing but water or farmland and grazing sheep for miles around. The waning moon was covered by cloud, and she doubted she would be visible to the person walking towards her. The entrance to the tower did not directly face the track, and whoever was approaching would only be able to see a faint glimmer, but light from the single window shone out like a beacon: they would know someone was here. Robyn wavered for a moment, trying desperately to clear the haze of distress from her mind so she could decide what to do.
Shot Through the Heart: DI Grace Fisher 2 Page 30