by Tom Bale
‘Sorry, no. I can wear a suit.’
‘Yeah. But you should get some uniforms. Women like ’em.’
****
Robbie put the phone away, determined that Maureen Heath wasn’t going to sour his mood. With the money back in the folder, he decided it was safe to return the document boxes to their hiding place. Best to leave everything as it was till he’d done his research and understood what he was dealing with here.
As for the cash, it came down to a test of willpower. If he could bear to let the money out of his sight it meant he was strong enough to refrain from spending it. Proof of his maturity.
After he’d shoved the bookcase back into its original position, he rooted round until he found an old tin of creosote. There was an inch or so of the liquid left, enough to pour on the shed floor, obscuring the scuff mark created by the bookcase, so that nobody else could make the connection that he’d made.
Not that anyone was likely to, he thought.
‘Who else can match your genius, Robert?’ he said aloud.
****
It took him ten minutes to finish up, locking doors, setting the alarm. He had another moment of wistful longing for the Range Rover, then he climbed back into the Citroen and drove away. One of the windscreen wipers was playing up, squeaking with every motion, like there was a fucking mouse trapped behind the dashboard.
Robbie was grinning at the image when he turned out of the lane. The visibility was poor enough to need headlights, and as he got up into fifth gear he glanced in the mirror and saw a set of lights on the road behind him. He was sure they hadn’t been there when he’d pulled out.
He didn’t give it much thought at first. There wasn’t a lot of traffic around, so he vaguely noticed when the car made the same left turn on to the A283. He paid a little more attention when it stayed with him across the Henfield roundabout, and he was sitting rigidly in his seat by the time it mimicked his last-second decision to swerve off the slip road for the Shoreham flyover and instead cross the roundabout to take the local road into Shoreham itself.
He was being followed.
CHAPTER 65
After they’d stopped for a snack, Cate found that she wasn’t in the mood for shopping. Everywhere was too busy, too noisy. She felt shaken by her proximity to a violent crime, and realised that she was still emotionally fragile after the bust-up with Martin last night.
All she wanted was to go home and rest for a few hours before the date with DS Thomsett. That too seemed like a bad idea, the more she thought about it. But she knew that her mother would berate her for any hint of a faint heart, so dutifully she traipsed back to Churchill Square and faked enthusiasm for a little black dress that her mother promptly insisted on buying.
‘Mum, it’s lovely but it’s too expensive.’
‘Believe me, I’ve waited so long to hear you’ve got a fella, it’s more than worth it. You’re gonna knock him dead in this.’
Under relentless questioning, Cate had given her mother an accurate description of Guy Thomsett, including the fact that he was divorced, with children. The only thing she changed was his occupation, from policeman to solicitor.
‘Shame he’s in the same line of work as you,’ Teresa said. ‘Still, apart from that he sounds perfect. Have you met his kids yet?’
‘No. This is a casual dinner, that’s all.’
‘Casual!’ her mother scoffed. ‘Well, make sure you get to know them soon. Their impression of you will be vital to what he thinks.’ She sighed to herself, and Cate knew that her mother was about to put her foot in it. ‘A ready-made family, bloody perfect.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘None of the pain of childbirth, or all that stress when they’re little. Sleepless nights and cleaning up shitty nappies. I tell you, if I could’ve had you and Robbie delivered when you were ready to start school I’d have leapt at the chance. Completely overrated, babies—’
‘Janine’s pregnant.’ The words slipped out; painful to say, but not as painful as the message it conveyed: You can be flippant about babies because you were lucky enough to have them.
Undaunted, Teresa gave a snort. ‘Oh my God, that won’t last, then. He’ll do another runner soon enough. Line up some other floozy.’
Me, Cate thought, and had to blink away the threat of tears. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Yep. Commitment-phobic, that’s Martin.’ And then, perhaps to remind Cate that she didn’t have a monopoly on heartbreak, she added, ‘Just like your father.’
****
Robbie drove towards Shoreham and let himself get snarled up in the traffic on the coast road. Queuing for the roundabout by the Giant bike store, he had a feeling that his tail was some four or five cars back. He couldn’t see the driver, but the car kept nudging out into the road, its impatience clear to see.
Or was that just his imagination? The discovery of the cache of documents was bound to have gone to his head. And impatient drivers were hardly rare in Brighton. He was often one himself.
Twenty grand. Merely picturing the money blotted out his worries. He glanced at a window display of gleaming bikes and thought about treating himself. Get a new mountain bike, top of the range: courtesy of the late Mr O’Brien.
The traffic began to move. Robbie turned left, inched his way along Shoreham High Street and just managed to jump through the pedestrian lights before they turned red. His pursuer – if he existed – wouldn’t catch him now.
He took a convoluted route up into Southwick and through Portslade, dreaming of new bikes and other treats, and by the time he brought the Citroen to a halt in the car park at Wickes in Hove he had pretty much convinced himself that there was nothing to worry about.
****
Working in a shop on a wet Saturday afternoon, it could feel as though time itself had stopped. The heavy rain chased most of Denham’s customers away, and the last hour or two was a slow-burning agony for Dan, as he contemplated having to deliver his damaged car to Robbie’s promised refuge. At the home of the man who had been knocked down and killed by that very car.
It was madness. He couldn’t do it.
Even if he could do it, he shouldn’t do it.
But if he didn’t do it, what was he going to do?
In terms of deliberation, that was about as far as he got. Going round in pointless circles.
Then Cate rang. Dan was in the office, ostensibly checking through the staff’s timesheets but in reality hiding from Hayley, who was prowling the shop floor like an injured wolf, liable to savage anyone who offered her comfort.
‘Did you know Hank O’Brien’s farm is back on the rental market? And Robbie has agreed to handle it.’
A difficult moment, until he decided that he wasn’t lying to Cate any more. Not about this, at least.
‘Uh, he did mention it.’
‘What the hell is he doing?’
‘Apparently the sister approached him. His argument is that it would have looked strange if he’d turned her down.’
‘And what will he do when she finds out about his squalid little deal?’
‘The usual, I suppose. Charm her pants off.’
‘I’ve just had Mum pumping me for information. I deflected her, but at some stage she’s going to hear about it. And when she does ...’
Cate tailed off, sighing. Dan knew it was the least of their worries, but he tried to reassure her.
‘I’ll see if I can persuade him to come clean.’
‘Get Robbie to own up to something?’ She laughed. ‘I admire your optimism.’
They chatted for another minute or so, just small talk, then ended the call. Dan stared at his phone, reviewing what he’d said and what he hadn’t said. He heard movement in the doorway. Hayley.
‘Who was that?’ Her eyes narrowed when he hesitated. ‘Was it Cate?’
‘Yes. We were talking about Robbie.’
‘And you’re seeing him tonight?’
‘Yes. I told you.’
He start
ed to ask what was wrong, but she spun away. He heard her mutter: ‘You must think I’m stupid.’
Dan could have followed her and tried to explain, but it wouldn’t be enough unless he could tell her the truth. And he couldn’t tell her the truth.
Pointless circles.
****
Cate was enjoying a soak in the bath when her phone rang. As soon as she saw Guy Thomsett’s number she knew he was going to cancel, and instead of the relief that she had expected to feel, there was only disappointment, exacerbated by the knowledge that tomorrow her mother would be demanding a full report.
‘Cate? I’m really sorry, but I have to postpone tonight.’
‘Oh, that’s okay.’ The brittle jollity in her voice made her cringe.
‘It’s work, I’m afraid. A fatal stabbing in town this afternoon, so it’s all hands on deck. Especially as it’s Saturday night, so there’ll be the usual mayhem in West Street. They need everyone they can get.’
‘That’s fine. I understand what it’s like.’ She was analysing his voice, trying to decide whether this was simply an elaborate excuse. Perhaps he’d come to his senses.
‘Thank you. It was a nasty incident. Happened in broad daylight in North Laine.’
‘North ...?’ The shock made Cate sit up, and the sound of the sloshing water must have been audible to him. Another reason to cringe, if she hadn’t been too preoccupied. ‘We were there. Mum and I came out of a shop and we saw people crowding round, but I didn’t want to be a nosy onlooker.’
‘You’re in a minority,’ he said. ‘Still, a couple of people tried very hard to stem the bleeding. To no avail, unfortunately.’
‘How dreadful. Have you caught the person who did it?’
‘No. Hence the urgency. I’m off to a full briefing in a minute, but the word is that nobody saw a thing.’
She heard voices in the background: he was being called away. Another quick but heartfelt apology, and he was gone. Cate lay back, stretching out her foot to grip the hot tap and top up the water level. There was no hurry to get out now.
She tried to tell herself it was for the best. She’d viewed the date as an opportunity to get Thomsett off guard and find out why it was that DC Avery seemed so suspicious of her. She’d hoped to glean a clearer picture of where the investigation was heading, but that had always threatened to be a dangerous strategy.
On a personal front, at least he’d said postpone rather than cancel. That had to mean he was genuinely disappointed, didn’t it? And he probably couldn’t suggest an alternative date until he knew how his workload was going to be affected by this murder.
Selfish of her to be thinking like this, but it was bloody bad timing. And what was she going to tell her mum?
CHAPTER 66
Stemper drove out of Brighton, never once exceeding the speed limit, while assessing which of his plans would have to change as a result of the killing. The Horse and Hounds was his next destination. A calculated risk, which he decided to accept. The barmaid had criminal tendencies, and he’d given her enough of a scare to ensure her compliance.
He removed the coat and checked his suit for bloodstains. There were a few dark patches on the legs, but he didn’t think they’d be noticeable.
The pub was busy, filled with hikers or ramblers or whatever they called themselves. Ruddy cheeks and muddy boots. Men drinking warm ale in beer mugs with handles. No one showed any interest in him.
Except for the barmaid, of course. Ignoring the fear on her face, he greeted her with a smile. ‘Hello, Traci.’
The best of the images was ready on his phone, which he placed on the bar at a spot that wouldn’t require her to come too close.
‘Is this her?’
She eyed the phone warily, then dipped forward to look and said, ‘Yeah.’
‘You’re absolutely sure? This is Hank’s friend?’
A shrug. ‘That’s the one who was with him. Dunno if she was his friend.’
Stemper smiled again. ‘Semantics. Very good.’
He snatched up the phone and was gone.
****
The next update from Stemper came shortly after Gordon returned from London, both pleased and mildly shaken by the success of his shopping expedition.
Patricia didn’t bother with the speakerphone, so Gordon had to interpret the conversation as best he could. It seemed to be almost unequivocally good news, and yet he sensed a fretful quality in Patricia as she listened.
‘The daughter? Ah, yes, I see how that could fit.’ A laugh. ‘Well, quite. Let’s hope we see him soon.’ She met Gordon’s eye and frowned, but that could have meant anything.
He was feeling quietly satisfied. Everything he had been asked to do, he had done. Collected the tickets from a scalper, paying an exorbitant amount in cash, and then for the other items he’d ventured into the wilds of Soho – still thrilling, but so much tamer than the Soho of his youth, never mind the Soho of his imagination.
To think that once in a hotel suite he had lain beneath a glass coffee table, coked up to the nines and giggling like a fiend while two women and a man copulated frantically across the room, and a third woman squatted above him—
‘What?’ Patricia said, and for a terrifying moment he thought she’d finally found a route into his head. If she ever caught the merest hint of his secret life she would divorce him without hesitation, a fact which undeniably made his exploits seem all the more daring.
He said, ‘Nothing, my sweet.’
‘Why the silly grin?’
‘Just pleased with the day’s work.’ He gestured at the phone. ‘What’s the news?’
‘On the face of it, very positive. He thinks the woman with Hank is a solicitor, first name Caitlin, surname possibly Scott. Daughter of the proprietor of Compton Property Services.’
‘Ah.’
‘He has her home address, and he managed to get her picture, which the barmaid verified. He suspects that one of the men is her brother, thus explaining why she’d conceal his identity from the police.’
Gordon clapped his hands. ‘It’s coming together, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not sure. Stemper wasn’t nearly as ... ebullient as you’d expect, given these developments.’
‘Really, darling. Is there anything to be gained in trying to understand a man like Stemper?’
‘Good question. He’s due here later. In the meantime he wants us to research the woman. We’re looking at law firms in Brighton.’
‘Caitlin,’ Gordon said to himself. ‘Why the uncertainty about her surname? Is she married?’
‘Stemper believes she might be separated or divorced.’
Gordon choked on a laugh. ‘How on Earth would he know that?’
****
Stemper had called the Blakes from a car park in Horsham. He needed a large anonymous town, and this fitted the bill. In a chain menswear store he bought a new set of clothing: suit, shirt, tie, underwear, shoes and a raincoat. He also bought a small tub of hair-styling wax.
Using a disabled toilet, he stripped off his old clothes and bagged them up, then dressed in the new outfit, making sure to crumple the suit and scuff the shoes a little. The gel was used to slick his hair back in a style that transformed his appearance.
He returned to the car and drove until he found a retail park with a hardware store. His purchases included a can of Jeyes Fluid, some heavy-duty refuse sacks and nylon rope. He drove out of the town and stopped at a large expanse of open ground: a park with playing fields, a picnic area and a lake. The lake had an ornamental bridge that gave him access to slightly deeper water.
It was still raining hard, and the car park was deserted. Stemper soaked his old clothes in Jeyes Fluid, then stuffed them into a refuse sack and added stones from the car park for extra weight. He tied it up with rope and carried it out towards the lake, on to the bridge, checked that no one was watching and then tossed it into the water.
The knife, regrettably, followed the bag to the bottom of the lake. It wa
sn’t perfect, but Stemper didn’t have time to search for anywhere better. The main thing was that, even if someone hooked the bag and pulled it out, there would be nothing to link its contents to him.
Back at the car, he realised that he ought to have heard from Jerry by now. The first call wasn’t picked up. Stemper waited a couple of minutes and tried again.
‘Yeah?’
‘Where are you? Still at the farmhouse?’
‘Nah. He left. I followed him down into ... Shoreham-by-Sea. He was going east, towards Brighton, but I lost him. Traffic was shit. I did my best, honest.’
‘Hmm.’ Stemper couldn’t afford to go too easy on him: Jerry wouldn’t buy it. ‘Was he aware of you?’
‘Nah, course he wasn’t. I’m not a complete amateur.’
‘You know how the Blakes will react to this?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Jerry sounded reconciled to his fate. ‘Suppose I have to drive round and round till I see him, then?’
Stemper paused, as though the idea had its appeal. ‘Actually, you’ve spent an awful lot of time on this. I think you can call it a day.’
‘You what?’
‘Get off home and put your feet up. I’ll square it with the Blakes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I appreciate how hard you’re working, even if they don’t. And it’s Saturday. You’ll want to take it easy. Unwind. Recharge your batteries.’
‘But how are we gonna find this bloke?’
‘I’ll think of something. Don’t worry. Just enjoy a nice quiet evening at home.’
Satisfied that he’d placed some useful suggestions in Jerry’s mind, Stemper terminated the call and drove away.
The incident this afternoon continued to perturb him. The man had seen Stemper taking the photographs, so he must have been following him for a while. Or rather, he must have noticed Stemper during his own pursuit of the woman, Caitlin. It was an unforgivable lapse, not to have spotted him first.