by Tom Bale
****
At first Cate thought he was just being dramatic. Her grief at the loss of her brother weighed heavily enough as it was, but as the car sped towards Brighton she reviewed what she knew as though it were a brief to be mastered in double quick time. She put together the case for the prosecution, and the case for the defence, and she saw that Dan was right.
It was a brilliant stitch-up.
The brains behind the extortion – the Blakes – were dead in one location. Robbie was dead in another. The paperwork that supported the plot was gone. Cate and Dan had nothing: no evidence of Jerry’s involvement, no clue as to his real identity.
‘Apart from what might be at the house in Surrey,’ she said. ‘There’ll be DNA to prove I was a prisoner.’
Dan groaned, slapping a hand against his forehead. ‘I fired the gun.’
‘What?’
‘Forensics. For his strategy to work, it helps if I’ve fired the same gun that was used in all these killings. And I did. I shot at him as he drove away, but I missed. There was only one bullet left in the gun. I bet he knew that. I bet he planned it that way.’
‘You think he allowed for the fact that you’d miss?’
‘Why not? A moving target, and I’d never picked up a gun in my life before. Of course I was going to miss.’
‘Where is the gun now?’
‘Shit. I put it down to untie you and left it on the drive.’
Cate sighed. ‘Maybe we should go back and get it?’
****
Dan saw the pensive look on her face. It was another grim reminder of last Tuesday with Robbie, running through their options without a thought for morality.
‘And do what?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. But if we’ve got it with us, we can decide whether to ... hand it in. Or get rid of it.’
‘No. We’re not covering this up. We can’t.’
‘But you’ve just said it yourself, if there’s no evidence to trace the real killer, the police are bound to suspect us. Well, not us. You. Especially when they hear that you knocked down Hank O’Brien.’
‘I’m still going to tell them.’
‘Dan, please. Think about this. You don’t deserve to go to prison for crimes you didn’t commit.’
But what about the crimes I did commit? He wanted to say it, but for some reason he couldn’t. He sneaked another glance and saw that Cate was shattered, utterly drained, and so was he. They were running out of energy, running out of options.
‘Shall I take you home?’
‘Please.’ Then she said: ‘No. He knows where I live.’
‘All right. My place.’
He thought Cate might protest, but she didn’t. They drove on in silence for a few minutes, enveloped in a misty darkness, the beams of approaching headlights spearing the sky. For Dan it was a relief to be out here, just one more anonymous vehicle, gliding through the night like a ship far out at sea: lonely, distant, safe.
But soon they would have to dock, back in the real world. And then it had to be faced: what he had done, who he really was.
****
Stemper felt relatively sanguine on the journey to Brighton. He’d had to depart from his original plan, but the essential elements were still in place.
He had recovered the paperwork before it was made public. He’d eliminated Jerry and the Blakes – the only people who could have supplied the authorities with substantial information about him – and he had left Cate and her friend in a position where they would inevitably come under suspicion for the murder of Robert Scott. To confuse the issue further, he had deposited Robbie’s bloodstained suit at the home of the Blakes.
Now only one loose end remained.
CHAPTER 103
At Dan’s suggestion, Cate used his phone to send her mother a text, insisting she was all right and apologising for any fuss she’d caused. Then she switched the phone off before she or anyone else could call them. They were on the edge of the city, emerging from the Southwick tunnel and cresting the hill where the glittering sweep of lights first came into view.
Dan had continued to brood, and now he said, ‘Another reason for going to the police is that it’s safer.’
‘How’d you work that out?’
‘Because his key motive for trying again is to silence us once and for all. Right now he’s relying on the fact that we’ll keep quiet, because of our part in Hank’s death. If the police manage to connect us to any of this, we’ll look all the more guilty for not coming forward. And if they don’t, all Jerry needs to do is wait a decent interval, then finish the job when it suits him.’
‘Okay. I can see the logic there.’
‘Whereas, if we own up to it immediately, there’s nothing to be gained by killing us.’
She conceded the point, but said, ‘Are you really willing to go to prison? Because you will, Dan. Once you’re in the interview room, facing somebody like DC Avery, somebody determined to put you away ...’
‘Cate, I know—’
She raised a hand. ‘Even if I can get DS Thomsett to believe what I tell him about this man who abducted me, I still can’t prove that Jerry killed my brother. And you can’t prove that you didn’t kill him.’
‘No, you’re right. The accident with O’Brien will give them the perfect motive. And the gun has my prints on it.’
To Cate’s ears, he sounded grimly satisfied, but she was disconsolate. ‘It’s a slam dunk. You won’t be able to fight it.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ He said nothing else for a while. They were climbing the last steep hill that separated Hove from Brighton, the slip road to Devil’s Dyke off to their left. The Corsa was struggling with the gradient, forcing Dan to ease up on his speed.
In a quiet voice, he said, ‘My parents used to say, if you do something wrong you should put your hand up to it and take your punishment. Last week I failed to do that, and what I’ve realised is that I can’t accept the way I behaved. I can’t live with myself. It’s as simple as that.’
****
They drew up outside the house. ‘Have you seen what we look like?’ Cate said as they got out of the car. Dan nodded.
Joan must have spotted them: she opened the front door, frowning when she recognised Cate. ‘Oh, I thought it was Hayley—’ Then she registered the state they were in, looking down to see Cate’s stockinged feet encrusted with blood. ‘Good Lord, what’s happened to you two?’
‘Not now, Joan.’ Dan sounded brusque rather than rude, but still regretted it at once. ‘Just let us get sorted out, and we’ll try to explain.’
‘Well, was it a fight or something? Were you in an accident?’
He shook his head sadly, took Cate’s hand and led her upstairs.
‘Are you really going to tell her about this?’ she asked.
‘I’ll have to. I’ve got to prepare her somehow.’
As they reached the landing, Louis’s door opened and he came out, jerking to a halt.
‘Shit, look at you two ... This wouldn’t be connected to that suitcase Robbie gave me?’
Dan nodded. ‘Yeah. But it’s all done with now. And I want to apologise for how I’ve been over the past week.’
Louis shrugged, reluctant to discuss it in Cate’s presence. ‘Nah, I probably deserved it.’
Dan started to go past but Louis stopped him, digging in his pocket. ‘Oh. I ought to have mentioned this.’
He handed over a micro SD card. ‘Robbie asked me to keep it safe, along with the case. He swore me to secrecy, but ...’ He shrugged. ‘I figured there have been too many secrets round here.’
Dan stared at it for a second, then looked at Louis. ‘Is your laptop on?’
****
Cate stayed out on the landing while Dan fetched the computer from his brother’s bedroom, along with an adaptor for the memory card. Louis was clearly eager to see what the card contained, but Dan told him that they needed some time alone.
‘Okay. Cool.’ Louis made brief eye contact wit
h Cate, a silent question: Are you two together ...?
Cate looked away.
They went into Dan’s room and shut the door. Dan sat down on the bed, and Cate knew she would have to join him. It made perfect sense, if they were both to look at the laptop.
As she sat down the mattress compressed beneath her and for a moment their bodies touched. Cate didn’t think that she recoiled, certainly not so it was visible, but Dan shuffled an inch or two away from her.
‘I feel bad about this,’ he said, and she misunderstood until he added, ‘I should be finding you some spare clothes, so you can clean up and get changed.’
‘That can wait. I want to see what’s on here.’
‘Me too.’ He inserted the card, selected the folder-view option, and a window opened that contained about a dozen folders, with names like ‘Defence 0809’ and ‘Social Sec 00s’. Others were marked ‘Overseas’ and ‘Journal’ and ‘Templeton Vids’. And there was a folder called ‘Blakes’.
‘Is this what it was about?’ Cate asked.
‘I think so.’ He opened a folder at random, changed the view to Extra Large Icons and found dozens of scanned documents. ‘These are copies of all the paper evidence.’ Dan shut his eyes, his face briefly contorted as if in pain. ‘That’s why Robbie was so blasé about the handover.’
‘He had this as a backup.’ The discovery made Cate want to laugh and cry at the same time. ‘But if Jerry had had any idea that the memory card existed, he might have ...’
Killed me as retribution.
Dan said, ‘Don’t forget, Jerry never intended to play it straight.’ A thoughtful silence. ‘But surely he’d have allowed for the possibility of an electronic copy?’
‘Unless he doesn’t much care either way. If his brief was to recover the paperwork, and he’s done that, the existence of a memory card isn’t his problem.’
At this, Dan brightened a little. ‘But it will be Templeton’s problem. With this, we can put a stop to the takeover.’
Cate wasn’t impressed. ‘Perhaps we can. But you’ll still have a lot of questions to answer.’
****
Dan kept quiet as Cate stood up and walked to the window. She needed space, he realised. Because of her recent captivity, the bedroom must have seemed horribly confined.
Or maybe it was his presence that was making her so edgy.
‘This is such a mess,’ he muttered, putting the laptop aside and pushing his hands through his hair. ‘You know what I’d like to do now?’
‘What?’ She sounded hesitant.
‘I’d like us both to have a shower, and something to eat, and then crawl under this duvet, and I’d like to hold you close and sleep for about three days with you in my arms.’
He paused, his stomach like a ball of lead. He sensed the effort it took for her to turn and face him. She had fresh tears in her eyes, but she made an effort to sound enthusiastic.
‘Sounds lovely.’
‘But.’ He raised a hand. ‘You don’t have to say it, really.’
‘No, but I will. I think we were destined to be best friends. Not lovers.’
He grinned sadly, feeling skewered by that last phrase.
‘I sort of hate myself for agreeing, but you’re right. So that’s what I’d like to do. But this is what I’m going to do.’
He took out his phone and held it up for her to see. After gazing at it for a moment, she returned to the bed and sat down.
‘Okay, Dan. As your best friend, will you think about what I’ve been saying? The memory card might screw up this man Templeton, but it doesn’t get you out of the mess you’re in.’
‘I know. Despite how I look, I’m in full possession of my faculties.’
‘Dan, I’m serious.’
‘So am I. Deadly serious. Now, DS Thomsett. Do you remember his number, or will I need to ring Sussex Police?’
He was braced for more objections, but instead she relented. ‘I think I know it.’ She took the phone from him, started keying in a number. ‘You definitely want to do this? And you’re happy to go wherever it takes you?’
‘I wouldn’t use the word “happy”. But certainly “prepared”. Because wherever I end up, I’ll be able to look myself in the eye once again.’
Cate handed the phone back, and as he put it to his ear Dan heard the final burr of the ring tone and then a male voice said: ‘Hello?’
‘Is that DS Thomsett? My name is Daniel Wade. I need to arrange an urgent meeting with you.’
A glance at Cate. He expected her to look away but she held his gaze, nodding her approval.
At the other end of the line, Thomsett said, ‘Can I ask what it’s about?’
Dan said, ‘Yes. I want to tell you who killed Hank O’Brien.’
CHAPTER 104
Stemper returned to Kemptown, stopping only to make a brief transatlantic phone call. He didn’t speak to Mark Templeton himself, but to one of his key aides. Stemper assured him that the threat to the imminent merger had been nullified. The papers were to be deposited on Wednesday afternoon at an agreed location near Regents Park, while the balance of Stemper’s fee – two million in sterling – would be transferred to a UK trust account.
The deal had guaranteed them the return of the original documentation. It had crossed Stemper’s mind that O’Brien might have kept duplicates, or more likely electronic copies, but even if they existed it would be a simple matter for Templeton’s lawyers to challenge their provenance in court.
In any case, by that stage Stemper would be long gone. And he had ensured that he was untraceable.
****
Back at the guest house, he made it to his room without being seen. He took a shower, tended to the wound on his wrist where the woman had bitten him, then lay down for a short nap. His sleep was untroubled by doubts or fear. He woke in time to catch a late night news bulletin, which reported on the discovery of a man, believed to have been shot dead in his car in a small West Sussex town. ‘Police are at the scene,’ the newscaster told him, ‘and we hope to have more information for you very soon ...’
You can hope all you like, Stemper thought. He pictured Cate and her accomplice hiding out somewhere, haunted by guilt, waiting for the knock at the door.
At one in the morning, with his bag packed and the room sanitised, Stemper put on a fresh pair of latex gloves and crept down to the proprietor’s private quarters. He tapped gently on the bedroom door, opened it and saw Quills lying beneath the covers, his eyes glittering with excitement.
Stemper said, ‘Stay where you are. I have a treat for you.’
****
He set a bath running. From a wide selection of bath lotions he chose one with green tea, rice milk and jasmine.
In the kitchen there was a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the fridge. He poured two glasses and carried them into the bathroom, then he searched the cabinet above the sink and found a box of paracetamol. Two blister packs of twelve tablets each, with four missing.
Twenty tablets. That should be sufficient.
If it wasn’t, Stemper would suggest that he used a knife.
****
Quills was in a state of hyper-arousal when Stemper finally returned and told him it was time. Regrettably, a certain amount of physical contact was necessary, but Stemper closed his mind to it, as he was accustomed to doing, and before long he had Quills luxuriating in a steaming hot bath, playfully blowing bubbles across the bathroom floor.
Stemper, sitting just beyond reach on the toilet seat, feigned coquettish amusement while encouraging Quills to finish his champagne. He was pouring a refill when Quills noticed the gloves and snorted. ‘Kinky.’
Stemper nodded. ‘There are many such surprises in store for you.’
‘Mmm.’ Quills shut his eyes, resting his head back on the edge of the bath. The water lapped at his neck, the foam on his chin like a child’s approximation of a Santa Claus beard.
‘That’s good,’ Stemper murmured. ‘Now, just as we did before, I’m going
to talk and I want you to listen. I want you to trust me, and let me guide you to the ultimate pleasure.’
From Quills, a long sigh of contentment.
‘Listen carefully, follow my instructions and after tonight, my dear man, you won’t ever be bored or lonely again. All your troubles will be soothed away and disappear to nothing. Because just as you’ve known all along, I have the answer, Bernard. I’m the solution to all your problems.’
Stemper leaned over and picked up the first pack of tablets.
‘Listen to me, and I’ll show you the way to pure bliss. To pure, pure oblivion.’
****
He departed an hour later. There were five other guests in residence that night, but no one saw him go. Later, during a cursory police investigation which swiftly ruled out foul play, none of them could recall if anyone else had been staying there. It turned out that the proprietor’s record-keeping was somewhat erratic, and a crucial bookings diary had been dropped into the same bath that had claimed the poor man’s life.
Stemper drove slowly through the night. He wanted to coordinate his arrival in Suffolk with the breakfast hour. Ideally he would let himself into the house in time to have a pot of tea ready when Debbie Winwood came downstairs.
Debbie, he knew, would be overjoyed to see him.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For help with research I am indebted to Traffic Officer PC Simon Dove of Sussex Police, and to Dan Rosling, Crew Manager, London Fire Brigade – though I must stress that responsibility for mistakes rests firmly with the author. Thanks also to my family, friends and first readers, in particular Stuart and Karen Marsom and Claire Burrell.
As ever, I owe a huge amount to my wife, Niki, and my children, James and Emily, for their love and support.