Lynch

by Merrigan, Peter J

  ‘You’ve a good ten years left,’ Scott laughed.

  ‘I’m closer to retirement now than I was a year ago,’ she said. ‘So tell me, apart from not wanting to get hurt, what’s stopping you? You like him, and he likes you. Isn’t that all that counts?’

  ‘But what if it goes wrong?’ Scott asked. ‘How awkward is it going to be around here if we can’t even look at each other?’

  She touched his arm lightly. ‘I’ll have him mucking out the stables for the rest of his days,’ Sylvia promised. ‘He wouldn’t have time to scowl at you.’

  Scott laughed, felt more at ease. With Sylvia around, he knew he’d always have someone outside the barrier of lies he had erected to give him a good kick when he needed it.

  ‘Besides,’ Sylvia now said, ‘I can tell by your face that you slept with him last night. If you’re still considering moving things along, that’s clearly a good thing.’

  She smirked into her mug of tea.

  Clark and Katherine spent the afternoon leisurely strolling from one clothes shop in Leeds to another. It felt natural, Clark thought, even though shopping was never one of her strong points. Her mother had been the homely kind, always trying to instil family values and refined manners. But Clark had taken after her father, a stern man who rose through the ranks of CID from Detective Constable to Detective Chief Superintendent in record time. He was not one for soft furnishings or fine dining, much to his wife’s dismay. And although he had at first wanted a son, he was pleased enough with Clark’s tomboy attitude and love of football to overlook her lack of social status as a woman.

  He had watched her proudly from the stands at her passing out parade and shook her hand firmly. And McIntyne, one of her father’s close colleagues, had grinned and hugged her and said, ‘You’re one of the lads now, Clark Jr.’ Few people ever called her Ann; it was always Clark or Junior if her father was present.

  And she had felt like one of the lads. In fact, thinking about it now, she never really had to try too hard to prove herself in the man’s world she had grown up in. Her father’s influence had seen off any departmental rivalry in the early days and as soon as the guys could see she was capable, there was little in the way of remarks about the fairer sex or the weaker species. She could double-hit a target in the shooting range first time, every time, and outrun half the men on the field. All in all, she had had it easy.

  What she normally found difficult was clothes shopping.

  ‘If I had your legs,’ Katherine said as they came out of the Victoria Quarter, ‘I wouldn’t hide them under boring trousers. When’s the last time they saw the light of day?’

  ‘School swimming championships, aged thirteen,’ Clark said. ‘I won.’

  ‘You’d win the hearts of men if you wore a skirt.’

  ‘Men can keep their hearts. I have enough on my plate without some doe-eyed fool following me around.’

  They made their slow way up the paved street until Katherine panted with exertion and pointed her walking cane at an empty bench. Clark piled the shopping bags on the seat beside Katherine and she stood, taking in her surroundings. In the bright sunshine, Leeds was vibrant and energetic, unlike slothful London where people wanted to hide from the sun like bloodless vampires.

  ‘We should stop for lunch,’ Katherine said. ‘There’s a lovely little coffee shop around the corner. Their cakes are to die for.’

  ‘Death by éclair?’ Clark said. ‘That sounds good to me.’

  At the coffee shop, they settled at a table for two outside and Clark went in to order. When she came back, she said, ‘It’s air conditioned inside,’ but Katherine was content to sit in the sun and people-watch. An afternoon of walking had taken its toll on her, Clark could see. She was not the woman she had known eighteen months ago.

  ‘It’s nice to have some company while Scott’s at work,’ Katherine said.

  ‘It must get pretty lonely,’ Clark agreed.

  ‘I have my garden to keep me company, but it doesn’t make for good conversation.’ Katherine stirred her latte and picked a small section from her blueberry muffin. ‘You haven’t told me why you were suspended.’

  ‘I wonder where Scott got to last night,’ Clark said.

  Katherine looked at her. ‘Your avoidance tactics might work on your suspects but it won’t wash with me.’

  ‘Katherine, I can’t go into it. You should know better than to ask.’

  ‘It must have been serious for them to suspend you over it.’

  ‘Katherine.’

  ‘All I’m saying is if you need someone to talk to, you know I’m here to listen.’

  ‘That’s very considerate,’ Clark said. ‘But you know I can’t.’

  Katherine smiled, popped some more muffin into her mouth, stared at Clark.

  ‘Stop it,’ Clark said.

  ‘I haven’t done anything.’ She was grinning.

  ‘It was Dixon,’ Clark said at last.

  Katherine suddenly turned serious. ‘What’d he do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Clark said. ‘At least, nothing that warranted a visit from me.’ She sighed, watched the people on the street, noticed two potential perps—one drunk, one teenager who probably shoplifted the expensive trainers he was wearing. Everyone was a suspect to a cop.

  Katherine said nothing and allowed Clark to continue in her own time.

  ‘I needed to know what he knew. About the case. He gave little away in the courtroom. I figured…Well, I figured if I spoke to him, I’d get him to open up to me—about David, about Ramirez in Spain.’ She sipped from her coffee, composing her thoughts. ‘So many times I’ve been to Wandsworth Prison but never to see an ex-colleague. It was strange, to say the least. He’s scum—I always thought so—but we used to work together. Wilson told me not to go. Said if he was still in charge he’d kick my arse.’

  ‘But you didn’t listen to him,’ Katherine said.

  ‘I follow orders like a loyal subject. But sometimes I just get a bee in my bonnet.’

  ‘What did Dixon say?’

  ‘Not a lot, to be honest. He’s an angry man—swore he’d get even with all of us. But he didn’t say anything about the case that we hadn’t already known. He just sat there with that smug little toothy grin and I wanted to punch him in the mouth.’

  ‘From what I remember of him,’ Katherine said, ‘I doubt the prison wardens would have held you back. In fact, they’d probably have helped.’

  Clark smiled. ‘You’re probably right. And if I’d known I’d get suspended over it, maybe I would have punched him. Anyway, when Interpol found out I’d been to see him, they obviously weren’t very happy about it. They said I was “interfering with an ongoing investigation,” but it was my investigation to begin with. Mine and Wilson’s. Dixon’ll be out in five or six years tops, and if I know him at all, I know he’s a man to hold a grudge. I was trying my best to keep him off the streets.’

  Katherine flattened her lips, spread her fingers on the table. ‘He named me, didn’t he? In his vendetta campaign.’

  ‘Yes,’ was all Clark could say.

  ‘And that’s why you’re here,’ Katherine said. ‘It’s not just because you got suspended and had nothing better to do with your time. It’s because of Dixon.’

  ‘Dixon’s an arsehole. He has more hot air than the sun and none of the warmth.’

  ‘But it got you worried enough to want to be here, to make sure we were okay.’

  Clark shrugged. ‘Okay, you got me. I’m a caring soul sometimes.’

  ‘Does he know where we live? What our new names are?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’

  ‘Because I met with him almost two weeks ago and you’re still alive.’

  Katherine closed her eyes. Clark could almost see the resignation on her face.

  ‘If it comes to it,’ Clark said, ‘you’ll get relocated, given new identities.’

  ‘I was just getting used to this identity.’

  C
lark said, ‘It’s not going to happen. It’s just a standby precaution. Robert Mann’s a tough one. He’ll do everything he can to protect you both.’

  ‘What’s he like, this new boss of yours?’ Katherine asked.

  ‘Mann’s a cop first and foremost. He worked with my father in CID before shifting to Interpol. And before CID, he had more stripes on his uniform than one man should possibly be allowed. He doesn’t just do things by the book, he wrote the book.’

  ‘That’s why you were suspended,’ Katherine said.

  Clark nodded. ‘Wilson loved rules, but he knew when it was acceptable to bend them. If he was still in charge, he’d have slapped me on the wrist and sent me on my way. Mann’s only option was to suspend me pending investigation.’

  ‘You’re clearly not overjoyed,’ Katherine said. ‘But you don’t sound too despondent about it, either.’

  Clark shrugged, looked away from Katherine. ‘I’ve been in this game a long time,’ she said. ‘Maybe I want to take up basket-weaving instead.’

  ‘You’ll always be a cop,’ Katherine told her. ‘And they’ll have you back onboard before you know it.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Clark said.

  Katherine put her cup on the table, folded the paper from her muffin into quarters. ‘You’re breaking rules even now, aren’t you? Just by being here with us.’

  Clark looked at her. ‘Yes,’ she said. And it was true. Witness protection was supposed to be total extraction, except in times of need and only by a serving member of the team. Clark had handed in her badge and if Robert Mann found out where she was, she’d be booted out permanently before her head could stop spinning.

  But if Dixon was going to try anything, she wanted to be here just in case.

  Chapter 15

  He pulled up in the stolen Audi A5—sleek, steel grey, leather interior, and spotlessly clean when he had taken it from a car park in West London this afternoon—and cut the engine. He double-checked the address that Thomas Walter had given him and cursed silently. The single property was actually a large house, maybe two semis cut-and-shut, converted into four flats, two up, two down.

  He couldn’t be sure which flat was Kane Rider’s and he wasn’t about to go knocking on doors pretending to be a pizza delivery prick. Instead, he drove back down the A61 towards Leeds and pulled into a secluded lay-by, hidden from the road by a row of overgrown shrubbery. He would wait until nightfall before returning.

  He got out of the car and walked up to the burger van. The proprietor was standing outside, smoking a cigarette. Her hair was netted and she wore a blue, grease-stained apron over a once-white T-shirt and black leggings. Fernandez wondered if it would be blood or burger-juice that spilled from her jugular if he cut her throat. When she spoke, she sounded relatively middle class and that broke the image he had had of her.

  Although he would still like to see her blood.

  ‘Afternoon, love,’ she said. ‘Excuse me and my filthy habit.’ She took a long pull from her cigarette and stubbed it out before stepping back inside the van and looking out at him. ‘What can I get you?’ she asked, washing her hands.

  Fernandez read the menu board above her head, imagined it was written in her blood rather than chalk. ‘Cheeseburger.’

  ‘And a drink?’ she asked, writing his order on her pad as though she’d forget it.

  ‘Coffee,’ Fernandez said. He visualised throwing the steaming-hot coffee in her face. He reached into his pocket and withdrew some British money that María Herrera had given him before he left Spain. He had memorised the size and the colours of each note so as not to appear like an imbecilic foreigner.

  She dropped a burger on the griddle. ‘Three pounds sixty, please, love. Driving anywhere nice?’

  Fernandez handed her a green note. Five pounds. He would check the change diligently. ‘Hell,’ he said.

  The woman said, ‘I’ve never been.’ She flipped the burger. ‘I’ve been to Scunthorpe,’ she said, ‘but never Hull.’

  He took a mental note to work on his accent. ‘Hull,’ he said, sounding it out.

  ‘You want to go to Bridlington,’ she said, layering some cheese on top of the burger meat. A few seconds later, she scooped it up and dropped it in a bun with some crisp lettuce and a chunky slice of tomato. She reached for the ketchup without even asking him and he had to stop her. He never used ketchup—his life’s work was blood; he didn’t want to eat something resembling it.

  The countertop of the mobile van had to be around five feet high and he used one hand as an aid while he jumped and grabbed her hair with his other hand. As he dropped back to the ground, he brought her head down with him, smacking it into the wooden counter and stunning her. Her yelp was short-lived but satisfactory.

  He calmly walked around the van to the rear entrance and stepped inside. She was scrabbling around on the floor, trying to turn over, and he brought the sole of his shoe down on her face. He stooped and dragged her to her feet. His gun was tucked into the waistband at the back of his jeans but sometimes he hated using it. A gun was so impersonal.

  He picked up a broom from the corner of the van and smacked her across the back of the head with it. As he pushed her face into the molten fat of the fryer with the bristle end of the broom, he said, ‘I’d rather not have ketchup, thank you very much.’ When her body stopped convulsing, he let her drop to the floor. Her face and neck was boiled and red and peeling and her hair had come away from her scalp. The sunken sockets of her eyes were sightless. He sighed, dragged her by the feet out of the van, bouncing her body down the two steps to the roadside, and dumped her in the bushes. He returned to the van and looked with disgust at the mess of grease and fat on the floor.

  Fernandez dropped the window hatch into place, effectively closing up shop, emptied the till of notes, and picked up the burger she had prepared for him. He wrapped it in some greaseproof paper and returned to his car.

  He had driven a mile down the road before he realised she had failed to make his coffee.

  Scott had an hour to kill after work and before meeting up with John so he decided to spend some time with Lea. He had already mucked out her stable earlier and was now grooming her, long sweeping strokes with the soft brush, talking gently to her and calling her a beautiful girl. She was a stunning animal.

  When Ryan spoke to him, he guessed he was losing his mind. But he didn’t care. Scott knew it wasn’t really a ghost, but the mental projection was real and exact.

  ‘Jeez, it stinks in here.’

  Scott looked up and smiled. ‘You never did like horses.’

  ‘You weren’t any good with them, either. You’re a regular little Lester Piggott now,’ Ryan said. He was standing in the corner with his arms folded and his nose crinkled. He looked exactly as Scott remembered him.

  ‘What’re you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ the memory of Ryan said. ‘Come on, Kane, talk to me.’

  Scott frowned. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I know.’ There was a heavy weight in his words. ‘But it’s been a year and a half.’

  Scott sat on the bench in the corner of the stable and Ryan sat down next to him. They didn’t face each other. It was too hard to look at him.

  ‘But I love you,’ Scott said. ‘Still.’

  ‘Damn right you do,’ Ryan said. ‘And I won’t ever let you forget it. But, Kane, stop holding yourself back.’

  ‘You’re talking about Jesse,’ Scott said.

  ‘Unless you’ve got some other stud tucked away somewhere that I don’t know about.’

  Scott looked at him finally. Ryan was smiling. He’d never forget that smile.

  ‘Do yourself a favour, Kane. Let go of me.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘You have to. It’s time. Jesse’s a good guy.’

  ‘He is.’

  Ryan laughed. ‘He’ll never be as good as me in bed, mind.’

  ‘He’ll never be as good as you in many
ways, Ryan.’

  Ryan stood. ‘Damn it, Kane. Get a check on yourself. Let go of me before you go insane.’

  ‘I’m talking to a dead guy,’ Scott said. ‘I think I’m already insane.’

  ‘Move on,’ Ryan insisted. ‘You have my blessing.’

  Scott shook his head. ‘I don’t want your blessing.’ He was crying.

  ‘Man up,’ Ryan said. ‘You’ve got a memory box. Put me in there and keep me at the back of the wardrobe.’ He crouched down in front of Scott and smiled. ‘I’ve been inside your dreams, Kane. I know what you’re thinking. You’re doing yourself a disservice by believing that you’re betraying me. I’m just a memory now. A great memory, I know, but just a memory. You need to live. Don’t be dead like me. Live.’

  Scott sighed and looked up. Lea chuffed and stomped a foot.

  And Ryan was gone.

  He stood, picked up the grooming brush, and put his arms around Lea’s neck. ‘Don’t you dare start talking to me, too,’ he told her. She nudged his arm for a treat.

  ‘I wish he was still alive,’ John said.

  Scott’s smile was tight-lipped and perfunctory. No one could wish it more than he did.

  He had called John after work as he promised and they were now sitting in a small back-street bar in Leeds drinking Coke and sharing a bowl of peanuts. When he arrived, before John turned up, he called Jesse to ask how his day off had been.

  ‘Absolutely lazy,’ Jesse had said.

  ‘What time do you start tomorrow?’

  ‘Ten. Do you maybe want to come round for a night cap?’

  Scott had smiled to himself; he had actually missed Jesse at work today. It felt as though it was ages ago since he had seen him but it had only been this morning before he slipped off to meet John. It felt like cheating, and Scott wished he could tell Jesse the truth about who he was, but for Jesse’s safety, he couldn’t. ‘Give me a couple of hours,’ Scott told him on the phone, looking at his watch. It was seven o’clock. ‘Should I bring anything?’