The Convenience of Lies

by Geoffrey Seed

  He was unshaven and unwashed, wore a black boiler suit and could just have emerged from a three-day bender. His right ankle rested beneath a pack of frozen peas the boy must have brought to relieve the swelling. Benwick raised himself on his elbows and managed a grim smile.

  ‘Cometh the hour, cometh the investigative journalist,’ he said. ‘Pull up a log… there isn’t much time.’

  Thirty-One

  Benwick gave the boy a fiver and sent him off on his bike to buy chocolate. A wary silence hung between the two men. Neither could have foreseen so bizarre a meeting. A bout of mutual shadowboxing began to exploit whatever advantages might be had.

  ‘Are you wired up, McCall?’

  ‘No. Are you armed?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry about it.’

  ‘At least we know where we stand.’

  ‘Or lie…’

  McCall let this pass. He had a hundred questions but started with the most obvious.

  ‘What the hell’s happened to you?’

  ‘Don’t they say no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy?’

  ‘I’m fascinated by what the plan was and who the enemy is.’

  ‘I’m damn sure you are.’

  ‘For instance, I’m still trying to work out what role a Mrs Boland plays in your life.’

  ‘There is no such person.’

  ‘Really? So you’re not Terry Boland and your wife isn’t staying at the country club?’

  ‘No and no.’

  ‘But you are in a bind, aren’t you?’

  ‘Are you volunteering to help me out of it?’

  ‘You’ll be needing a magic carpet for that.’

  ‘Know anyone who’s got one?’

  ‘Oddly enough, yes. I’ve left it up in the car park with a change of clothes.’

  ‘Is that a fact? So what would a person have to do to get air lifted out of here?’

  ‘Do you really need me to answer that?’

  ‘No, I guess not.’

  ‘Why else would I bust a gut trying to trace you?’

  ‘I’m impressed that you did. You’d make a half decent detective given time.’

  ‘I doubt it. I’m crap at following orders… a bit like you.’

  Benwick smiled then said talking to a journalist crossed a very risky line for him.

  ‘Do you have a choice?’ McCall said. ‘If you’d anyone else to save you from the shit you’re in, you wouldn’t have needed to show out to me.’

  ‘Still doesn’t mean I can trust you.’

  ‘That’s a judgement call for you. I would’ve thought your immediate worry is the kid telling someone about the mystery man in the woods, then you really are screwed.’

  Benwick knew the truth of this already. He took a moment to make up his mind.

  ‘The Ruby case is much more complicated than you can imagine.’

  ‘I think I’d already worked that out.’

  ‘OK, but you need to understand what it’s about.’

  ‘So tell me.’

  ‘Power… political and financial and the abuse of that power for great advantage.’

  ‘Give me a little taster, something for me to think on in case I end up in jail for helping you.’

  ‘I know who kidnapped Ruby and why they did so,’ Benwick said. ‘It was me who rescued her and left her by the reservoir the day you found her.’

  ‘If that’s true, it’s a damn good story.’

  ‘For you, yes, but for me, what’s in my head will get me murdered if I’m caught.’

  ‘You’re spinning me a line, aren’t you? You’re not being serious?’

  ‘Never more so but keep this in mind, McCall. If you help me, you’ll be in no less danger and even if you only stand up part of this story, I guarantee you’ll never see it published.’

  *

  It was becoming more difficult for Hester to invent new reasons why Ruby should stay where she could be seen. Polishing, washing, ironing and the preparation of food to freeze for winter, were all being neglected. So was any number of seasonal gardening tasks which marked the calendar of Hester’s days.

  She had to devote her waking hours to Ruby’s safety. But Ruby wanted the freedom to explore the house and to invent another world for herself in Garth Woods. She kept hiding from Hester though she wasn’t playing. She’d scream and shout and stamp the floor when found.

  ‘I don’t like you. Don’t like it here.’

  ‘But Ruby, sweetheart, Lexie’s coming home soon and Mac as well, so we’ll all be back to normal then.’

  ‘You leave me alone. Don’t like you.’

  ‘I know it’s hard but we have to stay close together.’

  ‘They made me stay in a room. I didn’t like it.’

  ‘Who, Ruby? Who made you stay in a room?’

  ‘The ginger man.’

  ‘Where did he do this?’

  ‘He locked the door, we had no windows.’

  ‘You poor child. But that’s all over now, you’re safe here with me.’

  ‘I want to go out. The unicorn said he’s coming to see me.’

  Ruby ran across the orchard lawn like a creature released into the wild. Hester put away her mop and left the kitchen floor awash with dirty water then followed discreetly.

  Ruby was already on her rope swing in the crown of ash trees, going back and forth, back and forth. What secrets lay within that disturbed little head, what pictures were hidden behind her eyes?

  A rising wind began to shake the woods. Hester shivered slightly. Autumn’s hold on summer weakened with every leaf which fell.

  The taller trees swayed and through this noise of nature came Ruby’s spectral little song… and all will be well and all will be well and all will be well, well, well.

  *

  Death and tragedy have their own routines, some easier to fulfil than others. Edgar Crowther’s holding report into the fatality at Kittie’s Crossing was necessarily brief as he’d yet to establish a name for the dead woman.

  The deceased was a healthy female aged between 35 and 38. There were no documents on the body to assist with identification. Her clothing consisted of an overall or boiler suit, black in colour, but with no maker’s label attached. This had been removed as had the labels from the under garments she wore. Her shoes were size five and of a sports variety or trainer and made by Nike. As such, they are widely on sale throughout the United Kingdom and elsewhere.

  Dental records of known missing persons are being checked. The estimated time of death is consistent with the deceased having been struck above the right temple by the goods train which passed through Kittie’s Crossing, Blackrod at 22.18 and going south. The signalman at Blackrod Junction estimates its speed at less than 15 mph by then due to a delay following a signal check at Adlington.

  The engine was subsequently examined and traces of human blood and tissue have been found on the buffer on the driver’s side i.e. the right side looking at the engine head-on, and this has now been forensically shown to be from the deceased.

  The driver, Mr Towner, was interviewed but has no recollection of hitting any object, human or animal, anywhere on his route that night. The guard travelled in the rear cab as he objected to Mr Towner smoking so was not in a position to see anything.

  There is no artificial illumination at Kittie’s Crossing and the engine headlight would only have provided forward visibility of a few yards. The buffer centre is some 3 feet 5 inches above the rail, suggesting that the deceased, who was 5 feet 6 inches in height, was in a falling position at the moment of impact.

  All vehicles parked at the Anderton Service Station nearby have been accounted for. Unfortunately, the close circuit TV within the service station area was down due to a malfunction. The pathologist is of the opinion that death was caused by cerebral haemorrhage following a severe concussive blow. He found no evidence of alcohol or drugs in the body to impair the deceased’s judgement or actions on the night.

  Crowther re-read his report th
en photocopied it. It went in a ring binder with other relevant documents and photographs to hand on to his inspector.

  He wished it’d been a more open and shut affair to end to his no-fuss career. Not knowing who she was - that niggled a bit.

  *

  McCall’s first task for Benwick was a spot of house cleaning for a non-existent guest at the country club. Jane, the receptionist, was very understanding. He said he’d now heard from his client, Mr Boland. His wife hadn’t returned the previous night because she’d been taken to hospital with suspected appendicitis. Could her belongings be collected and her bill settled? Benwick had given him cash to cover it.

  McCall asked for a receipt, not for Benwick but his own paper trail. He’d no intention of not getting this story in print or on the screen. But it would need careful midwifery and every piece of supporting legal corroboration he could lay his hands on.

  ‘I do hope Mrs Boland recovers soon,’ Jane said. ‘Appendicitis is horrible, especially at her age.’

  McCall nodded in agreement but her remark threw him slightly. It suggested someone elderly but he’d assumed Benwick’s accomplice to be under forty like the man himself. Jane summoned a porter to unlock the room and help McCall to carry down any luggage. He wasn’t needed. Mrs Boland travelled light with just one expensive-looking leather suitcase. McCall tipped the porter and said he could manage alone.

  The wardrobe contained a long sandy-coloured topcoat, a few frumpy skirts and matching silk tops with high necks and ruffles. These were an older woman’s outfits, confirmed by the unstylish flat shoes beneath the bed and a walking stick leaning against the writing table.

  She’d left her handbag on there, too. McCall rooted inside and found lipstick, a comb and a wallet with a hundred and fifty pounds in it but no credit cards. Her passport was there, too.

  It revealed her as Emily Jane Boland, British citizen born in London in 1922. That would make her 68, borne out by her passport photograph showing a care-worn face with intense brown eyes beneath cropped grey hair.

  McCall fetched her toilet bag from the bathroom. It felt bulkier than it ought. He took out what was expected - tooth brush, toothpaste, deodorant, nail varnish and the like. Folded in a plastic bag beneath was a wig - grey and short - and a partial set of front upper dentures. But they’d not be found in a glass of water on any regular bedside cabinet. This was a prosthetic worn over natural teeth to completely change the wearer’s appearance.

  Alongside this was Mrs Boland’s third theatrical aid - a bottle of liquid latex used by make-up artists to fake wrinkles - and add years - to an actor’s face.

  Benwick was right. There was no such person as Mrs Boland. Whatever the passport said, the woman claiming to be its holder wasn’t old or frail enough to need a walking stick. But who was she - and what had she been plotting with Benwick?

  Whatever the answer, McCall pocketed her passport and various disguises as tangible evidence. But of what, he still couldn’t begin to guess.

  *

  Ruby hid under Lexie’s hospital bed during the evening visit two days after her operation. Hester and a nurse tried to persuade her out but she refused. She’d only agreed to come after Hester promised to take her to a safari park if she put aside her fear of the ginger man and got in the Volkswagen for the drive to Shrewsbury.

  ‘Why’s Mac not here?’ Lexie said.

  ‘He’s away at the moment, doing something about the Ruby business but he’s been out of touch for a day or so, now.’

  ‘It was always going to be like this… me coming second to some story or other.’

  Hester knew enough about McCall’s single-minded ways not to plead his case.

  ‘How are you feeling, Lexie?’

  ‘Pretty groggy. They’ve given me stuff for the pain… but it’s not that so much.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘I don’t feel I’m me, any more, Hester… all that I was has been taken away.’

  ‘You’ll adjust in time, I’m sure. Just think what the alternative would’ve been.’

  ‘I know you’re right, but it’s just, well… ’

  ‘It’s natural to feel a bit down after an anaesthetic. Takes a few weeks to recover.’

  ‘McCall’s still a son-of-a-bitch, isn’t he?’

  ‘Maybe you feel that right now but he’s a good guy, really.’

  ‘I think he’s punishing me for what happened between us years ago.’

  ‘No, I don’t agree. I guess he just feels it’s important to chase down this Ruby lead.’

  ‘Really? Well, it might look like it’s for Ruby’s benefit but it’ll really be for McCall’s,’ Lexie said. ‘Anyway, enough of him. Could you put a call into my business partner in Bristol and give her a message to come and see me? I’ve got to make some plans for the future.’

  Ruby suddenly reappeared between them and said she wanted to go.

  ‘It smells nasty in here,’ she said. ‘Everyone’s going to die and I don’t like it.’

  *

  Benwick stripped off his boiler suit to put on one of McCall’s spare shirts and a pair of jeans. As he did, McCall lifted the detective’s backpack. It was lumpy and heavy.

  ‘What’s in here?’

  ‘Things that cause damage,’ Benwick said. ‘Don’t mess with them.’

  He didn’t need to. He could feel a handgun and several small cardboard boxes. Which side was this guy really on? McCall wondered if Ruby’s story was worth the grief coming his way for aiding the escape of a cop who’d turned terrorist. He might yet be writing his exclusive from behind bars.

  Benwick came towards the boy and hunkered down, smiling like an uncle.

  ‘Time to move on, Ronnie,’ he said. ‘But we’re like blood brothers now, you and me.’

  Ronnie nodded, uncertain and embarrassed.

  ‘So you’ll not be telling anyone about our secret, will you?’

  The boy swore he wouldn’t and Benwick slipped him a twenty-pound note.

  ‘But if you break your promise, one of my soldiers will be round to your house… you understand what would happen, don’t you?’

  Ronnie nodded but looked terrified.

  ‘OK, good man.’

  Benwick then went into the woods to pee. The kid turned to McCall.

  ‘He won’t, will he? Not send a soldier after me?’

  ‘I don’t know what he’ll do so you just better keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘But I saw them, the soldiers.’

  ‘What soldiers?’

  ‘In the gunpowder factory, where it all happened.’

  ‘Where what happened?’

  ‘Where the shunting engine hit the other man, the one who couldn’t run away.’

  McCall heard Benwick limping back through the undergrowth towards them before Ronnie could explain any more.

  He got the boy to whisper his home phone number then scribbled it down and said he’d ring him in a few days.

  Benwick began gathering up all his litter so no sign of his stay in the den remained. It was nearly dark by then. All the golfers had returned to the clubhouse. Benwick straddled the boy’s bike for McCall to push him along the edge of the trees to the car park. They shook hands with Ronnie and watched him pedal off into the night.

  ‘What was all that about your soldiers?’

  ‘All in good time, McCall. We need to find a shop that sells pain killers.’

  ‘Your ankle?’

  ‘Yeah, damn good job my dance card’s empty this evening.’

  Thirty minutes later, they pulled up outside a late night convenience store. McCall left Benwick in the car checking a road atlas and went inside for the pills. Once he was alone, Benwick put the map aside and tuned in to Radio Lancashire for the local news headlines. The second item was of interest.

  British Transport Police are still trying to identify the body of a woman in her thirties found by the railway line at Kittie’s Crossing near Blackrod. They are appealing for witnesses or for anyone wi
th information to come forward.

  Benwick thought they’d be well advised not to hold their collective breath.

  Thirty-Two

  It was getting late for anyone to knock at Garth Hall. Hester, tense enough already, looked down from her bedroom window. A man with a stiff, military bearing stood on the drive, hands behind his back, his face serious. A driver who stayed in the vehicle had brought him to the house in a dark Range Rover. It all looked too official to ignore. Hester opened up but left the door on its chain.

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you at this time of night, Miss Lloyd, but this is most urgent.’

  ‘How do you know my name? What’s this about?’

  ‘Our friend, McCall, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What’s happened to him?’

  ‘Nothing yet but he’s in some danger. Might I come in and explain?’

  ‘You’ve not told me who you are.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m Roly Vickers. I’ve known McCall for years.’

  ‘He’s never mentioned you.’

  ‘Possibly not but I was also a friend of Francis Wrenn, the man who brought him up.’

  ‘Maybe you were but you’re still not coming in.’

  Vickers hid his exasperation behind a strained smile.

  ‘As you wish but I’ve come to tell you that the authorities believe McCall is with a man wanted in connection with an assassination in Belgium. This man is armed and very dangerous and it’s in McCall’s best interest that both of them are found.’

  ‘What have you got to do with all this?’

  ‘As I knew McCall and his people, it was thought you might help me locate him.’

  ‘The police have already been here over a suspicious death some place down south now you’re saying there’s another in Belgium? For God’s sake, he’s a journalist, not some crazy killer.’

  ‘But he often gets into scrapes and as scrapes go, this one could wreck his career.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I can’t help you.’

  ‘Can’t - or won’t?’

  ‘Take your pick, mister. You’re getting nothing from me.’

  ‘If that’s your final word, be aware that you’re doing McCall no favours,’ Vickers said. ‘By the way, I hope little Ruby is being well looked after in all this dreadful business. You wouldn’t want the authorities to take her into care, would you?’