‘Tom Reeves had collected quite a bit on Adonia. Like her daughter Magdalen, who was used to trap Tom, she was fond of the Jamaican club scene. Before she married Ivor in ’78 she’d had at least one Jamaican boyfriend, for whom she’d provided an alibi in a rape case.’
‘You think she was involved with the three victims?’
‘It’s a thought, isn’t it? With all or perhaps just one of them. A series of revenge killings, interrogating the victims, trying to find out which one of the Tosh Posse was playing around with Ivor’s wife. Then there’s the matter of her daughter Magdalen, born on the eighth of October 1981. Adonia was three months pregnant with Magdalen when the three victims were killed.’
‘You think one of them might have been Magdalen’s father? But . . . they were black.We’d know, surely?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. She’s darker than her mother. At thirty-three weeks, Adonia and Ivor went to the US on family business, and Magdalen was born there, the only child they had. Maybe they wanted to see what colour she was before they brought her home.’
‘You’ve just got a suspicious mind.’
‘True, and even if one of them was Magdalen’s father, I could hardly use it, could I? It doesn’t prove that Ivor and his brothers killed them. But all the same . . .’
They sat in silence for a while, and then Suzanne murmured, ‘The penitent-that’s one of the meanings of the name Magdalen, isn’t it?’
Later, they made their way upstairs. When they reached the landing Suzanne said,‘Oh damn,the spare bed isn’t made up.’
‘Ah,’ he said.‘What shall we do?’
Kathy had prepared extremely carefully for their meeting. Though not herself suspended, she had been advised to keep out of the way while the review team was around, and she took the opportunity to buy some clothes and get her hair done. Martin had reacted with smug disingenuousness to her call, and had suggested Arnold’s, an upmarket cocktail bar where he was apparently known.
She arrived a calculated fifteen minutes late and he was already there, looking at home in the deep green leather banquette, absorbed in a brief of evidence.He tossed it aside as she reached the table, and stood and kissed her on the cheek, giving her arm a squeeze.
‘Mm, that smells nice. Is it new? I ordered you this. It’s Arnold’s trademark.’ He pointed to a green drink on the table.
‘Lovely.’ She slid in at right angles to him.
He raised his glass. ‘Great to see you. And you’re looking so good! You’ve done your hair differently.’
‘Well, I had to do something. Everyone’s going around with such long faces.’
He gave a little smile.‘I wasn’t sure you’d call.’
‘Nor was I. It took a little courage.’
‘Courage?’
‘Well, you know . . . History.’
‘Ah, history. But we’re all different now, aren’t we?’
‘Are we? Sometimes I think so, but then something happens and I feel just as vulnerable as I ever did.’ She guessed vulnerable was a word he’d like, a turn-on word.
‘I know what you mean,’ he nodded sagely. ‘Something happens and suddenly you’re back in short trousers, trying to hold back the tears.’
Tears? Martin? ‘Your brother, you mean? Yes, of course. Are your parents still alive?’
‘Mum is. She was devastated, of course. He was her favourite. Oh, I don’t mean that in a resentful way. It was just a fact of life. Doted on him.’
‘What did he do? I’ve forgotten.’
‘Academic, earned a pittance, wrote incomprehensible books about philosophy that were reviewed at inordinate length in the TLS and sold about a dozen copies.’
‘A philosopher?’
‘Yuh. I told him, ages ago, he should get onto the popularising bandwagon, get on the box, write some bestsellers-The Hegel Diet, Kiss me Kant, that kind of thing.’
She smiled.‘He scorned your advice, then?’
‘Of course, like always. But time has proved me right, hasn’t it? They’re all at it now. Daniel Connell could have been a household name. Never mind, what does it matter-money, fame-when you’re gone?’
A moment’s silence,then Kathy raised her glass.‘To Daniel.’
‘Yeah, yeah. To Daniel. Poor old sod.’
‘But it could have been confusing, having two household names in the one family.’
He gave his modestly roguish grin. ‘Now you’re being outrageously flattering, Kathy. I’m hardly that, hovering behind my notorious clients, a nameless legal functionary in the crowd.’
She laughed a little too much to show how absurd that idea was, and he ordered another round.
Finally he picked up the juicy little bait she’d offered at the start.‘So they’re all going around with long faces, are they?’
‘Oh God, yes! You should see the place. Brock’s been suspended, and Tom Reeves, of course.’
‘Mm, I had heard that. How do you feel?’
‘Well, it always hurts to realise you’ve been beaten.’
‘Sure.’
‘But I suppose I wasn’t altogether surprised. After we were so completely outmanoeuvred the first time, when we tried to arrest Ricky Roach,it just seemed too easy to snatch some incriminating documents from Ivor’s study and hope to make it stick.’
‘Did you try to tell them that?’
‘Yes, but Tom was so desperate to believe in what he’d done, and Brock too, being obsessed with trapping Roach. It was psychologically perfect, wasn’t it, offering something so completely over the top to people who couldn’t stop themselves from swallowing it? I had seen the warning signs, but I still didn’t see how they’d pull it off. They’re rather brilliant, aren’t they, in their way, the Roaches?’
‘You’re joking,’ Martin snorted. ‘They’re a bunch of thugs. They’ve made it in business through stubborn bullying. They couldn’t finesse a trick in a million years. It’s not their style.’
‘So they had great advice?’
‘You could say that.’ Martin was poker-faced, the playfulness gone from his manner. This was business, and Kathy sensed herself being led along a carefully selected route.
‘But . . .’ She looked thoughtful. ‘You know, there was a moment, when I saw Nigel Hadden-Vane pull his handkerchief out of his pocket, that I remembered that funny story you told me about the MP, and I thought, Martin anticipated all this. But of course that was impossible.’
He gave an enigmatic little smile.‘Was it?’
‘Well, yes.You told me the story days before Tom stole those papers, and long before Michael Grant and his committee got involved.You couldn’t possibly have known that would happen.’
‘Hm.’Still the mystery smile.‘You know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘I think we should have dinner.’
‘Aren’t you expected somewhere?’
‘Nothing important.What about you?’
‘Nothing special.’
‘Good. I’ll just make a couple of calls.’
‘I’ll powder my nose.’ She got to her feet and left him to tell his lies.
In the taxi across the West End, and in the restaurant, Martin spoke of other things, things that touched upon their mutual lives but indirectly, like the increasingly erratic mental condition of his father-in-law,the former judge,and the state of the housing market in Finchley and Kathy’s chances of getting a better place. Kathy suspected this was part of a test, and didn’t attempt to steer things back to work.
Then, much later, ruminating over the last of the excellent red that had accompanied the main course, Martin returned to their earlier conversation.
‘You know, I couldn’t help noticing a subtle change in your way of talking about your boss,’ he said.
‘Really?’ Kathy had always sensed Martin’s antagonism towards her relationship with Brock.‘In what way?’
‘More objective, more independent-minded. Am I right?’
He raised a challenging eyebrow,
his grin suggesting the effects of drink, but Kathy remembered that ploy too, his way of luring people into confidences under the impression that he’d switched off. Martin never switched off.
‘You may be right.Yes, I’m sure you are. I mean, it’s been a long time.You get to know people’s ways.’
‘Do you remember that old Carly Simon song we were both crazy about, “You’re So Vain”? And I was thinking about Brock, that he probably thinks this song was about him. Am I right?’
It took Kathy a moment to catch on.‘You mean the Dragon Stout business?’
Martin gave a sly nod.
‘Well, yes, but it was a trap for him originally, wasn’t it? Only he didn’t fall for it, and Tom took it to Grant instead. I mean, the Roaches, or their very clever advisors, could hardly have anticipated that, could they? But they recovered so quickly, that’s what amazed me. All that information, all those witnesses lined up.’ She leaned forward to stare into his eyes.‘It was amazing, Martin.You must have had a hair-raising weekend.’
He smiled expansively.‘Pretty relaxing,actually.Feet up,game of golf …’
‘Well, how did you do it?’
‘Couldn’t tell you that now, could I? Like the magician, if he explains how he does it, nobody’s interested any more.’
Kathy sat back, nodding, knowing not to push.‘You are a bit of a magician, aren’t you, Martin?’
He narrowed his dark eyes and spoke more forcefully. ‘You mentioned information. How right you are. That’s what we’re both about, information. It’s our lifeblood. People have this odd picture of the cops, like anglers sitting around the edge of the water, keeping their feet dry, dipping their lines in and hoping to catch a big fish. But it isn’t like that, is it? You have to go down into the dark water, both you and I, and swim with the sharks. It’s the only way we get our information. Brock used to know that, in the old days. I think it’s what you’ve come to understand now.’
Kathy wasn’t sure she’d followed the switching metaphors. She smiled neutrally.‘Maybe so.’
‘We all need allies, Kathy, friends. I thought we made pretty good allies at one time, before Brock took you under his wing. I’m not talking about betraying loyalties, just about having sources, for mutual advantage. It can get pretty cold out there, in the dark water. Tom found that out, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, maybe you’re right.’
‘Of course I am.You’re going places, Kathy, no doubt about that.We should be friends.’
She frowned, as if needing time to think about this.
‘Anyway,’ Martin gave a dismissive flap of his hand. ‘What about dessert?’
He had made his pitch, she felt, or at least half of it. The other half came later, after they got the taxi back to his office, where he picked up his car to drive her home. It was a cold night, and then the rain began as they reached Kentish Town. The beating of the wipers and the dull glow of streetlights on drab buildings contrasted with the snugness of their capsule, dry, warm and smelling of new leather.
‘You’ll think about what I said, won’t you?’ he asked as his headlights swept across the forecourt of her block.
‘Of course.’
He pulled in to a visitor’s space, and as she detached her seat-belt he leaned over and cupped her cheek and kissed her mouth. She had to suppress a reaction of panic as she felt his tongue slide against her lips. Clammy, oppressive memories filled her head, of the claustrophobic intensity of treacherous love with him.
He pulled away at last. He was excited, breathing heavily. ‘What about a nightcap then,’ he said, not a question, reaching for the door handle.
‘Not tonight, Martin.’
He turned back to her, lips pressed tight to contain his irritation.‘Don’t be a tease, Kathy.’
‘I think you’re being the tease.You drop hints and mysterious pearls of wisdom all evening, but I’m really none the wiser. I still don’t know what you did to us.’
He took a deep breath, exasperated.‘Got to sing for my supper, do I? Carly Simon, Kathy, remember? This wasn’t about Brock.’
‘Who then? Not Tom, surely. Michael Grant?’
He stared ahead through the running film of water on the windscreen for a moment, and when he looked at her again he was calm, in control.‘Not Brock, not Tom, not Grant. This was about Spider, Kathy. All about Spider. About keeping him safe, at all costs. Brock, Tom, Grant were collateral damage-most welcome to Spider, of course, vindictive old bastard that he is.’
She still didn’t get it.Her incomprehension was written all over her face, and he frowned at her slowness. ‘He’s making amends, Kathy, coming in from the cold, spilling the beans, in return for amnesty, for him and his family. The last of the supergrasses.Your bodies under the snow threatened everything. He hadn’t mentioned them. They weren’t part of the package. The last thing they needed was Brock blundering around pinning a twenty-fouryear-old murder rap on the old thug.’
Kathy felt herself press back against the soft leather as if by the force of his revelation. ‘They? You said the last thing they needed?’
He raised his eyebrows.‘Come on,now you are being obtuse.’
‘But . . . But the Roaches did murder those three men?’
‘’Course they did, but who now gives a monkey’s fart? They were Jamaican illegals, for God’s sake, drug dealers, scum. Okay? Mystery solved?’
And Dana and Dee-Ann, she wanted to say, were they scum too? But he had leaned forward and taken her in his arms again, nuzzling her cheek and neck as if trying to trace her new perfume to its source. His hand moved in under the lap of her coat, and she wondered how she could extricate herself without him thinking her an even bigger bitch than she felt.
Then another car turned into the car park, and Martin pulled away as its headlights caught them. For a moment the interior of his car was illuminated by the blinding beam, their faces brightly lit. Then the other car turned quickly and sped away. Kathy recognised the Subaru.
‘That was Tom Reeves,’ she said, and Martin swore.
‘Does he know me?’
Kathy wasn’t sure, but she said,‘Yes.You’d better go.’
He didn’t argue, and as she ran through the rain to the front doors she heard his engine rev and drive quickly away.
When she reached her flat she dropped her coat and poured herself a big slug of Scotch and sat down to think. Then she got on the phone. She tried Tom first, without success, then rang Brock. He didn’t answer his home phone, but she got him on his mobile.
TWENTY-EIGHT
There was no one in when Kathy arrived at his house the next morning, although she was ten minutes later than the time they’d arranged for her to call. She listened to the bell echoing again inside, then turned at the rumble of tyres in the cobbled yard at the end of the lane. A car door slammed and Brock appeared, dressed in a windcheater and jeans.
He opened the front door, picking newspapers and mail off the mat, and followed her up the book-lined stairs to the living room on the first floor, where he took her coat and went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. There were no signs of breakfast, and Kathy wondered where he’d stayed overnight, but she didn’t ask. He brought coffee and chocolate biscuits, fetched a pad of paper and they got to work.
She went over everything again,everything Martin had told her and then other things that had occurred to her since. She recalled Tom’s comments about how he’d been encouraged by his boss to get involved with Brock’s team, and they began to draw up a time-line of events.During the night she’d almost persuaded herself,with a sick sense of betrayal and self-recrimination,that Tom had known from the very beginning what he was doing, that he had groomed her from the moment he had reappeared in her life, on instructions from his boss. But Brock disagreed. It was Tom, he pointed out, who had given them the crucial lead to the Brown Bread shootings, and it was that, Brock believed, which must have triggered alarms further up the line. She also told Brock what Tom had said about a friend in Special
Branch pointing him in the direction of a ‘weak link’ in the Roach family whom he might target.
‘He was steered every inch of the way,’ Brock said.‘They knew their man, how desperate he was to make amends, even if it meant stepping outside the system and throwing his lot in with Michael Grant.’
‘That was the phrase Martin Connell used about Spider Roach-making amends.’
‘He must have plenty to trade if they were willing to give him this much protection, and sacrifice one of their own.’
‘You think the Branch was behind this?’
‘And the others. I wouldn’t be surprised if MI5 already had that stuff on Grant’s background in his security file. This would have been a JIC operation, Kathy, and only the people at the very top would know the full story.’
‘So we should leave it alone.’
‘Clearly . . . But,’ he scratched his beard, ‘I would still like to have a talk to Michael Grant.’
He gestured at the headlines on the newspapers: ‘Yardie MP Vanishes’ and ‘Accused MP fails to face inquiry’.
‘Aren’t you angry?’ Kathy asked him. ‘You’re one of their victims too. I’d be furious.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am. But I’m also intrigued. I wonder if they really know what Spider’s like to do business with. They must be worried that there may be other things he hasn’t told them.’
Kathy looked at him curiously, sensing some hidden meaning. ‘Did you find anything in the old files?’
‘Probably not. A sniff of a possible motive for the three killings perhaps.’ And he told her of his theory about Adonia and her daughter.
She thought about it, nodding. ‘Yes, that makes sense. And poetic justice to use Magdalen as the bait to trap Tom and close down the Brown Bread inquiry.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Of course we could find out for sure.’
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