The White Shepherd

by Annie Dalton

  ‘A friend,’ Tansy said before Anna could answer. ‘She drove me here.’

  ‘Your friend got a name?’

  ‘Not as far as you’re concerned,’ she flashed back. ‘You think I want you knowing who my friends are, or where they live? I know what happens to people who get close to you, remember.’

  ‘No, you just think you know,’ he rasped. ‘You only know what your mum told you, and she’s a tiny bit biased. If you’d let me tell my side just—’

  Eyes blazing, Tansy didn’t let him finish. ‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ she warned. ‘Don’t you dare try that tired old story about Mum. I knew he’d do this,’ she said to Anna. ‘He never bloody changes.’

  There was a highly-charged silence, during which Anna could hear the distant metallic clashing of woks and someone shouting, apparently angrily, in Cantonese.

  Tansy and her father stared stonily at each other, neither of them willing to be the first to look away. At last Tansy stirred in her seat. ‘You said you’d find something out for me,’ she reminded him in a taut voice. ‘Well, did you? Or was that just you being the Don, as usual?’

  He threw her an injured look. ‘I made inquiries for you, yes.’

  ‘And what did you find out?’

  ‘I’m not happy about this, Maxine,’ he burst out. ‘I know you’re not a little girl any more, but there are certain kinds of vermin that you don’t want to go stirring up with a big stick, know what I mean? These mafia Shqiptar geezers are evil bastards. Drug trafficking, people trafficking, robbery, arms dealing, extortion, murder; they’re into it all.’

  ‘Sounds a bit like your CV, Frankie,’ Tansy said, quick as a flash.

  Frankie McVeigh gave his daughter a reluctant grin. He wrote an imaginary number ‘1’ in the air; one point to Tansy. ‘Just like her mum,’ he told Anna. ‘Sharp as knives, both of ’em. Can I order something for you two lovely girls? No? Pot of jasmine tea?’

  Tansy just waited him out, grim-faced. Anna thought she caught a flicker of hurt behind his eyes. ‘Take these plates away,’ he told a passing waiter irritably. ‘My daughter’s put me right off my food.’

  When the table was clear and the waiter had gone, Frankie abruptly returned to business. ‘I put the word out, but so far I’m coming up empty,’ he admitted. ‘I think this is a clear case of Occam’s razor. Sometimes the most obvious solution is the right solution. If you want my opinion, the Oxford Ripper looks good for Naomi’s murder. From what I can find out, none of the Albanians had a problem with her and none of them has ever heard of an Eve Bloomfield.’

  Tansy unhooked her shoulder bag from the back of her chair and stood up. ‘Thanks,’ she told him. ‘Thanks for the information.’

  Again that flicker of something in his eyes, hurt mixed with hope. ‘No need to go rushing off,’ Frankie said. ‘How’s your mum? Keeping well?’

  ‘I appreciate you doing this,’ Tansy said. ‘But now we’re done. This was not me holding out the olive branch. You won’t be seeing me again, Frankie.’ She gave him a curt nod then started making her way back past the tables, and Anna followed.

  Tansy had almost reached the door when Frankie called after her. ‘Just one last thing before you go. Ever heard of a woman called Sara Traherne?’

  FIFTEEN

  Anna saw the lights of London thin out in her rear mirror, eventually dwindling to nothing. Keeping to the speed limit, she drove in a kind of trance, overtaking and switching lanes, just wanting to get home. Beside her Tansy leaned her head against the passenger door, emotionally drained after her fraught encounter with her dad.

  Tansy had been right to warn Anna against Frankie McVeigh. Consciously or not, he had known exactly how to manipulate them. Anna felt as if she no longer knew what to think about anything now, including Tansy. Things that had never quite added up were starting to make a very different kind of sense.

  I never thought I’d have to see anything like this, she’d said that morning on Port Meadow.

  That must have been the promise Tansy’s mother had made when they ran away from Frankie for ever: no more violence, no more blood, no more lying about what your daddy does for a living, no more jumping up in terror when the phone starts to ring in the night …

  Tansy’s mum’s courage had paid off. She’d made a new life for them both. Tansy Lavelle, formerly Maxine McVeigh, had grown into a law abiding person who cherished her friends instead of leaving them floating in the canal. But violence and blood had followed her, just like they’d followed Anna.

  She stole a glance at Tansy. Her eyes were closed as chaotic lights and shadows from the motorway swept across her face. She looked so fragile that Anna was suddenly mortally afraid for her. In case Tansy was genuinely sleeping she made her voice soft as she said, ‘Tansy Lavelle suits you much better.’

  Tansy immediately shifted in her seat. She gave Anna a wan smile. ‘Lavelle was my gran’s name – my Trinidad gran. I chose Tansy myself. My mum said I could be whoever I wanted now.’ She did a dark laugh. ‘My first choice was Beyonce, but my mum vetoed that! I’d met this girl on holiday who was called Tansy, so I named myself after her.’ Anna heard her swallow. ‘I was twelve years old. I thought if I had a beautiful name maybe my life could be beautiful too.’

  Anna kept her eyes on the road, but she could hear that Tansy was close to tears.

  ‘Why did I just put myself through that? I feel like I’ve been dragged through the shredder, and we still don’t know if anything’s happened to Eve. I feel so stupid.’

  ‘What are you talking about, you daft vegan?’ Anna said, giving her a brisk pat on the knee.

  ‘Making you drive us to London and back, all for nothing.’

  ‘You didn’t know it was going to be for nothing,’ Anna pointed out. ‘And you didn’t make me. I offered. I want answers just as much as you do.’

  ‘We didn’t get answers though, did we? For all we know Frankie’s lying through his teeth. It’s all about power with my dad. If he can make out he knows something we don’t, it gives him a reason to slither back into my life.’

  ‘You think he was lying about Sara Traherne?’ Anna asked.

  Tansy sat up in her seat and pulled off her ponytail band. ‘I’d like to believe he was, yeah.’ She ran her hands roughly through her loosened curls. ‘Fucking Frankie!’ she burst out. ‘He’s totally done my head in with all that stuff he came out with.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Anna said. After what she’d seen at the book launch, it wasn’t a big stretch to imagine that the Trahernes’ marriage might be in difficulties. But the story Frankie had told was like something out of the Sunday tabloids.

  According to Frankie’s source, the Trahernes’ marriage had been in trouble almost from the start. Two years ago, Sara had become so unhappy that she’d gone completely off the rails, drinking, gambling, doing hard drugs then secretly siphoning off money from her father-in-law’s foundation both to feed her cocaine habit and pay off her mounting debts.

  Frankie had hinted that Sara had at one time sunk so far as to take part in sexual activities which he said he absolutely refused to describe in the presence of his daughter. If Frankie’s story had ended there, Anna would have found it easier to believe. Privileged and well-educated people did go off the rails and end up in the Sunday tabloids. And if Sara had been caught stealing to feed her addictions she might have shared their fate. But she’d been rescued in the nick of time by a very singular white knight.

  Tansy’s dad had narrated this part with relish, describing how Sara’s debts had come to the attention of a man called Dritan Lika, the head, or ‘Krye’, of an Albanian gang that operated out of Oxford. Frankie knew this to be gospel truth, he’d said cheerfully, because it was Dritan himself who’d told him. ‘He’s a ruthless bastard,’ Frankie had said, in his London rasp, ‘but he took a real shine to this posh bird for some reason, and it seems she’s took a real shine to him. Anyway, long story short, Dritan found a way to help her out of her difficulties, and as a r
esult him and her have got quite close.’ He’d flashed them a meaningful look to make sure Tansy and Anna grasped his inference. ‘Last time I talked to him, he reckons she’s just waiting for the right moment so she can leave and be with Dritan.’ He’d let out a gusty laugh. ‘You know what he told me “Dritan” means? It means “light”. I think old Dritan fancies himself as a bit of an avenging angel, deep down!’

  Frankie had told them that Dritan had personally assured him that the Albanians had nothing to do with abducting Eve Bloomfield, if that’s what had happened, or with the death of Naomi Evans. ‘And Dritan said to tell you – if your Naomi was writing a book about gangs in Oxford she never approached him or any of his men about it. He seemed a little bit miffed, actually. Bit of a narcissist, our Dritan, like most career criminals.’ He’d shot a lightning glance at Anna to see if she’d clocked his use of psychological jargon.

  When Anna and Tansy had finally left the Jade Pagoda more than an hour after their first attempt, Frankie had followed them out into the street.

  ‘Maxine, wait!’ The raw emotion in his voice had stopped Tansy in her tracks. ‘I miss you, girl,’ Frankie had told her huskily. ‘I miss you, and I miss your gorgeous mum and them blistering put-downs of hers. I was a fool, and Christ knows I’ve paid for it. I don’t expect you to believe me, and I don’t blame you for not believing me, but I’ve changed, darling. I’ve learned what’s really important. I was so bloody happy that you’d actually asked me for help! And if ever – ever – you’re in trouble and you need your old dad for anything, anything at all …’ He’d had to stop, fighting for self-control.

  Tansy hadn’t said a word. She’d set off back to the car at a fast march, not looking at Anna. When they’d reached the Land Rover, Anna had silently let Bonnie out and walked her briskly around the block, to give Tansy some space and so her dog could stretch her legs before they set off on their journey home.

  No wonder Tansy feels shredded, Anna thought now. She felt shredded, and Frankie wasn’t her dad. Seeing the sign for a service station up ahead, she put on her flashers and slipped into the inside lane to pull off the motorway.

  ‘Why are you stopping here?’ Tansy’s voice was sharp.

  ‘My car needs diesel,’ Anna said, ‘and I need caffeine.’

  At first Tansy insisted she’d rather stay in the car, then reluctantly agreed she could use a pit stop. As they crossed the car park Anna noticed Tansy looking around her with obvious anxiety. They found the ladies’ washroom then emerged back into the starkly lit concourse. Apart from Starbucks and Burger King all the concessions were closed. A young woman in a stained Burger King uniform was wearily wiping down one of the tables.

  ‘I bet they have this exact lighting in the hell dimensions,’ Anna said.

  ‘And this exact waitress, poor thing,’ Tansy said, watching the girl trudge to the next food-littered table. ‘Wonder what she did to end up in service-station hell?’

  A young couple were taking it in turns to plead with their screaming toddler. The air smelled of coffee and fries and slightly burned sugar. Other travellers were dotted about the space. At least, Anna assumed they were all on their way somewhere, not just creepy types who liked hanging out in service stations late at night.

  Anna bought them both coffees from Starbucks and carried them back to the Burger King concession, where she ordered herself a Whopper and fries. Then they found a table as far as possible from the screaming little girl.

  ‘I had totally given up caffeine until I met you,’ Tansy said plaintively. ‘Not to mention whatever dodgy trans fat these have been cooked in,’ she added, helping herself to a handful of Anna’s fries.

  ‘Is there, like, a vegan confessional you can go to and be absolved so you can start again with a clean sheet?’ Anna asked her.

  Tansy laughed, then her eyes immediately filled with tears. ‘Sorry,’ she said shakily. ‘I seem to be on a bit of a knife-edge.’

  Anna pretended to be concentrating on her burger until Tansy seemed more composed, then she said, ‘I was thinking in the car, and I might have figured out how Kit’s Albanian gangster fantasy came about.’

  ‘How?’ Tansy said in a tired voice.

  Anna took a bite of her burger. ‘Think about it,’ she said after she’d swallowed her mouthful. ‘Naomi spent a lot of time with the Trahernes doing research for Kit. Maybe she stumbled across something that made her suspect this dark side to Sara’s life? And maybe by then she was already thinking about writing her book on criminal gangs. So when she found out about Sara’s connection to Dritan Lika, maybe – I realize this is a lot of maybes – but maybe she thought she might as well approach him for help getting first-hand material with her book? So Kit was right that Naomi was thinking of going to Dritan, but wrong to think she’d be putting herself in danger. Dritan Lika doesn’t sound like a pleasant character, but he’s not, like, a rabid dog – and anyway, he’d probably have seen Naomi as Sara’s friend, don’t you think? Plus, from what your dad says, Dritan would have been thrilled to be included in her book.’

  ‘But Kit couldn’t have known that,’ Tansy said, light dawning.

  ‘No. So, completely understandably, when she was found murdered, his mind immediately went to evil gangsters. So Kit’s shocked and panicky, plus he’s gone into a major guilt spiral about not being a good friend to Naomi—’

  ‘And how he should have foreseen this exact catastrophe etcetera,’ Tansy suggested.

  ‘Exactly like you do when someone you care about dies.’ Anna pushed her Burger King bag out of reach, to stop herself from eating the last congealing bit of burger. ‘And you and I totally bought into it. Kit’s guilt and paranoia has had us jumping at shadows, seeing kidnapping and conspiracies and I don’t know what else.’

  Tansy’s eyes went wide. ‘Fuck, Anna! Sara and Eve are friends! Eve probably knows Dritan. He could have been the bloke who picked her up from her house!’

  Anna nodded. ‘He could have just been picking her up to go out somewhere. Sara could have even been in the car.’

  Tansy briefly buried her face in her hands. ‘I’m such a muppet!’ she said from behind her fingers. ‘Of all people I should have known better.’

  ‘What do you mean “of all people”?’

  ‘I’m a fucking gangster’s daughter,’ she hissed. ‘I hung out with criminals for the first twelve years of my life. And my dad and his mates did some terrible things. But they did normal things too, took their wives and kids on holiday, they even had a weird kind of loyalty to each other.’

  ‘A code of honour,’ Anna suggested.

  ‘Don’t know if I’d go that far,’ Tansy said with a flash of black humour. ‘What I’m saying is criminals might be like the dregs of the human race, but they’re still human. They’re not all mad psychopaths, like in the movies. And I knew that, yet I went jumping feet-first into some Daily Mail type yarn about evil Albanians.’ She took a sip of her coffee, and Anna could see her thinking something through. ‘Do you think Huw knows about Sara and Dritan?’

  Anna thought back to the evening at the Ashmolean and Sara’s dramatic exit. ‘It would be terrible for him if he did. Poor guy. Always living in his father’s shadow. Now on top of that he’s having to keep up appearances in public with Sara. Imagine how much fun that must be if he knows she’s on the verge of leaving him for some tattooed thug.’ She saw Tansy’s face. ‘OK, so I don’t actually know Dritan’s got tattoos,’ she said with a grin, ‘but he’s got to be more macho than poor Huw.’

  ‘Why does everyone always say “poor Huw”? As if he’s been fatally harmed or cheated out of his rightful whatever,’ Tansy said irritably.

  ‘Because he has been cheated,’ Anna said. ‘He’s obviously had a crap life. His mum killed herself—’ She struggled to communicate her impression of Owen Traherne’s only son. ‘You know those photos of First World War poets? The way you can already see in their faces that they’re not going to come back from the trenches? That’s Huw.’
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  Tansy drained the last of her coffee. ‘I suppose my dad did help us solve one mystery tonight. We’ve finally solved the mystery of the Albanian non-connection!’

  Anna laughed. ‘Come on. Let’s get back on the road.’

  As they came out into the chilly night air and headed back to the car, Anna noticed Tansy quicken her step. ‘I hate service stations late at night,’ she confided. ‘I had a bad experience in one once.’

  Given what Anna now knew of Tansy’s early life, if she described something as a ‘bad experience’, that’s exactly what it had been.

  Without prompting, Tansy started to describe what had happened. ‘I was driving back from Scotland. I’d just ended a relationship with this hopeless guy. Don’t ask,’ she added, pulling a face. ‘I stopped off at a service station. It must have been about three in the morning. Anyway, this guy obviously saw I was on my own and followed me out to my car. I got away, luckily.’ She shot a look at Anna. ‘You’ll be glad to know I gave him a few nasty gashes on his face to remember me by.’

  ‘I hope they got infected,’ Anna said grimly.

  Tansy tried to smile. ‘Yeah, but it totally shook my confidence. For months I kept imagining someone was trying to break into where I was living. I literally slept with the kitchen knife under my pillow. I even signed up for a kick-boxing class.’

  ‘That’s why I took five years of Krav Maga – Israeli self defence,’ Anna said.

  ‘When I first met you, Anna, I felt like we were from totally different planets …’ Tansy let her sentence trail off.

  Anna remembered feeling the same about Tansy. She had seen her as inexperienced and naive, yet all the time she’d been carrying this burden. Before she turned the key in the ignition, Anna said, ‘You could have told me, you know.’

  Tansy didn’t need to ask what she meant. ‘How could I? After what happened to you and your family?’

  ‘Your dad didn’t murder my family in cold blood,’ Anna said.

  ‘No, but he did some – some really bad things, and he paid other people to do bad things.’ Tansy wrapped her arms around herself. ‘It would have been like telling you that I was from the same evil fucked-up world that – that ruined your life.’