Shadow State

by DEREK THOMPSON

  Chapter 31

  Diane Wright met them at the front door. As usual, her smile put Thomas at ease. This was the place — barring that one time when John Wright had passed him a gun and demanded justice for Miranda — that nothing bad ever happened. Having Karl there completed the set.

  “We waited for you. Sam and Terry are practically eating the tablecloth. How did it go at Jack’s?”

  He smiled. Very clever. Start off easy and then go for the jugular.

  “We don’t know where he’s being treated.”

  “Heick arranged it. Trust dear ol’ dad to take care of everything.” Karl went in to join the family.

  “Make yourself at home,” Thomas muttered but Diane shushed him.

  “From the little that Miranda has told us, it can’t be easy for Karl.”

  He didn’t comment. He was too busy thinking about his fire damaged living room wall.

  Miranda’s brothers gave a cheer when Thomas entered the room and even John held up his cutlery to make a point. He sat beside Miranda, weathered the jeering, and watched as Karl disappeared with Diane into the kitchen.

  The stacks of foil tins made him think of a bullion robbery and even with two trays it took a couple of journeys. Thomas wasn’t a religious man — he left that to his mother — but he blithely considered that if the Last Supper had been a Chinese meal then history might have played out a lot differently.

  He enjoyed the busy chaos of the dinner table with tins of Oriental deliciousness moving to and fro around him. Miranda chose for him, which was no great hardship.

  Karl seemed to pick his moment when he announced, “I think it’s only fair to tell you that Moretti is back out on the streets somewhere.”

  John Wright’s face gave nothing away.

  “I’m sure you did your best.” Diane held up a bottle of white wine, which Karl declined.

  “Heick reckons he’ll have gone to ground.” Karl seemed to be struggling for a silver lining.

  John helped himself to a large portion of chow mein and then took a sip of lager. “Everyone up for a game of cards later?”

  Thomas caught his eye and raised an orange juice in thanks. Now he knew beyond doubt that Karl had been accepted as one of the clan. It would also be an opportunity to see Karl out of his element.

  After dinner Sam collected the plates while Terry rounded up anything left in foil tins, which wasn’t much. It would all find its way into the microwave at the breaker’s the following day. As Thomas had heard Terry say many times: pizza, Chinese and an Indian all improve with age.

  John sat and finished his drink. When he was done he took a breath and looked across the table. “Thomas, Karl — can I have a private word?”

  They followed him to his office off the passageway. John pushed the door and flicked on the light, throwing their shadows against the magnolia wall. The room looked tidy and functional, as if nothing ever happened there.

  Thomas had never asked about John and Diane’s business in all the time he’d known Miranda. She had once joked that her parents’ approach to commerce was that anything was fair game unless it involved drugs, weapons or porn.

  John nodded for Thomas to close the door. Karl followed his gaze and spotted three framed photographs up above the door.

  “My, my, John! Is this Thomas in his youth?”

  John didn’t reply. He had other things on his mind. “All I want to know is whether my family are at risk.”

  Thomas remembered sitting opposite John at that very desk when a gun had slid across.

  Karl took his time answering, although Thomas was certain he’d already thought through the probabilities.

  “I doubt it, John. Saying that, this might be a good time to take a holiday.”

  “Really?” Thomas nearly choked on the word.

  “It removes an element of risk. Makes the situation easier to manage.”

  Thomas felt his jaw sagging. “And what is the situation?”

  “Come on, lads.” John’s gravelled voice seemed to rumble across the room. “Let’s not fall out. I’m sure I can sort out a trip for a few days . . .”

  “Best make it a week — or more. Sooner the better,” Karl interjected.

  Diane knocked on the door. “The card table’s ready.”

  “Lovely!” John called out, stepping past Thomas and Karl. He paused at the door handle. “Not a word to them,” he insisted, holding the door open.

  * * *

  Karl made an interesting subject. Thomas could have happily taken notes. He didn’t bother looking for Karl’s tell, which was probably why he was no great shakes as a poker player himself. No, it was far more interesting watching Karl interact with the family, attuning himself to the banter and the goading. He took the knocks in good part, but it was clear — to Thomas anyway — that Karl wasn’t used to happy families. Something else they had in common until Thomas had made it to London.

  John broke with tradition by starting a conversation mid-game.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. I’ve got the offer of a free villa in Spain. Can’t hang about though — what d’you all reckon?”

  Thomas ignored Miranda tapping his foot under the table.

  “Come on,” John went on a charm offensive. “When was the last time we had a holiday as a family?”

  Terry signed on board, so Sam naturally fell in with his older brother. Diane simply nodded. The only defaulter was Miranda.

  “I can’t leave Sheryl to run the bar on her own.”

  Thomas toyed with one of his poker chips, putting it down again when Diane pointed a finger at him.

  “Why not shut up shop and bring her with us then?”

  Ouch. A little too eager.

  Miranda pushed her foot down on Thomas’s. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

  “Well, don’t be too long. I need to book all the flights and that.”

  Miranda rounded on him. “What about you, Thomas? Fancy a holiday?”

  “Er, nah, I already asked Thomas — he’s got too much work on.”

  Thomas understood now why John was so shit at cards. Miranda’s face looked like it could sour milk. Thomas upped the ante by two green chips, in an effort to distract everyone. Sam bought it, anyway.

  Karl moved his chair back. “If someone can point me to the little boy’s room . . . Miranda, you wanna play this hand out for me?”

  Everyone around the table placed their cards face down. Miranda took Karl’s seat, almost before he’d got up, and play resumed. When Karl returned, phone in hand, Thomas knew it wouldn’t be good news.

  “We need to leave, Tommo. Moretti’s been seen near the Leibowiczs’ home. He left a pig’s head on their doorstep.”

  “Shit. And are they . . ?”

  “Miles away, safe and sound. DS Edwards let me know. She reckons she might even get a detailed statement out of them this time.”

  Thomas didn’t bother asking why this necessitated them having to cut and run. All in good time. Sam started humming the theme tune to the 1960s Batman TV show until Miranda gave him an icy stare. Maybe that was why the room had gone cold.

  “Sorry about this. I’ll call you, Miranda.”

  Diane saw them to the door. There were no other takers for the job.

  “Don’t do anything stupid. That goes for the pair of you.”

  Chapter 32

  “Where are we going?” Thomas played the reluctant passenger faultlessly.

  “Off to meet a friend. Karen Edwards has asked to see us.”

  Thomas glanced sideways at Karl. “On the level?”

  “Not exactly. I think we’ve proven our worth to her and she needs a favour.”

  * * *

  London at night-time is a capricious creature — you can leave privilege and enter squalor along the same street. Thomas liked to think of it not as one sprawling city, but more like the ghosts of the villages it had slowly consumed over the centuries. It was less about geography now though, simply pockets of self-interest and inf
luence. The West End’s bright lights faded very quickly to darkened alleys and chained gates, where battered signs warned you that guard dogs patrolled the area. Only in pairs, mind.

  Nevertheless, if you knew where to go there were oases in Sodom. Karl, the human coffee pot, had no trouble finding a parking place close to an all-night cafe, where DS Karen Edwards was already waiting. She looked ill at ease, hunched over the table and nursing a mug of tea. Thomas reckoned there’d be enough going on in that place to fill a police notebook. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to spot the potheads in the corner, supping at espressos, or the rent boy trying to sweet talk a would-be punter into taking him home for the night over a plate of chips.

  Edwards brightened at their arrival and passed Karl a fiver.

  “Whatever you fancy.”

  Thomas yawned. Bed seemed like a nice idea, whatever time it was. He opted for a hot chocolate and stared in astonishment as Karl ordered tea and toast. Karl — who hadn’t exactly restricted his calorie intake of Chinese food.

  “What? I’m a growing lad, so I am.”

  They joined Edwards at the table.

  “So here we are. What can we do for you, Karen?”

  Thomas watched the two of them play professional relationships together and went through a tick list in his head: maintaining eye contact — check; mirrored body language — check; building rapport — check. Karl regurgitated their last comms skills course at breakneck speed.

  Edwards added sugar to her tea. “I don’t expect you to tell me what’s going on — I imagine you can’t really do that.”

  Thomas smiled encouragingly. He couldn’t tell her what he didn’t know.

  “I believe you, though, about . . .” She bent down to her mug and hissed, “Moretti. Ferguson doesn’t want to know — I don’t care why.” Her face didn’t agree with her. “Theo Pritchard’s granddaughter is alone in the world now. Her mum died when she was nineteen.”

  This was personal to Edwards. Thomas couldn’t fathom why. Maybe there didn’t have to be a reason. He left the spotlight to Karl, intrigued by what he’d have to say.

  Karl crunched his toast thoughtfully and then slurped his tea. “If we can help you, we will.”

  Edwards froze for a moment. “Then help me get the bastard.” She glanced at them both and left her well-sugared tea behind as she walked out the door.

  Thomas listened intently but the noise levels around them hadn’t changed. No one else was interested. Too wrapped up in their own tragedies, he reasoned. He stared into the remnants of his hot chocolate.

  “Is this how you do it, Karl? A favour in advance and then they’re in your debt for the future?”

  Karl stiffened. “You’ve got me all wrong, Tommo. Didn’t I tell you long ago that we’re not so different?” He clapped his hands, drawing attention from the tables around them. “Come on, drink up, there’s work to be done.” He led by example, grabbing the last piece of toast for the journey to the car.

  * * *

  “I wonder how you write up a pig’s head on the doorstep?” Karl parked up a few houses down from chez Leibowicz. “I take it you have your emergency kit on board?”

  “Of course.” Thomas reached under his seat and felt for one of the two plastic cases. “Visual surveillance, rather than audio?”

  “Yeah, back door I think. In case someone pops home.” He winked. “If you do the honours I’ll keep watch.” As Thomas closed the door Karl gave a small salute. “Good luck! We’re all counting on you.”

  “Twat.”

  Thomas crossed the road, scanning the street around him. Underneath its veneer of respectability suburbia gave off an air of quiet desperation. He imagined all the local papers would cover the pig’s head story, unless someone managed to hush it up. Not good for the house prices, or the core demographic.

  The thick cloud cover and sparse street lighting bathed everything in muted beige. Perfect for night work. He pushed the gate and it glided open without a sound, and trod across the manicured lawn to avoid the gravelled path. Nearing the alley along the side of the house he breathed in a whiff of creosote, which clung to his nostrils until he returned to the car. At the rear of the house he worked out sight lines to the back door and chose a crevice in the rockery, digging the tiny camera in before covering it with dirt and moss. He took out a mini torch to do a final check of his handiwork and then made some final adjustments to camouflage the camera better. Job done.

  Karl had the radio on while he sat in the dark like a statue. Thomas got back in without disturbing him.

  “I don’t see anything,” he whispered.

  “Try these.” Karl passed a pair of night vision goggles over without moving the rest of his body.

  Thomas found the rogue car with ease. “Oh yeah. Looks like one of them is asleep.” He handed them back.

  “Amateurs,” Karl sneered. “They’re on someone’s payroll though.” He picked up his mobile. “Hey, Karen — it’s Karl. We’re outside the Leibowiczs’ place. Just on the off chance. You couldn’t send a patrol car down this way, could you? Preferably from the top end of the street? Yeah, some sort of Volkswagen. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

  “You do wanna stick around?”

  “You know me so well.”

  Ten minutes later a marked police car appeared over the horizon and made a beeline for the VW.

  “This is going to be interesting.” Karl settled into his night vision goggles. “I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with DI.”

  “Ferguson?” Thomas held out his hand for the goggles.

  “The very same.” Karl passed them over. “You weren’t paying full attention — not like you at all. And that’s DC Wen, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Thomas changed his mind and started the car. Karl was rarely mistaken. It seemed only fair to alert Karen Edwards, although Ferguson’s true intentions were anybody’s guess. Correlation was not causality, as Karl assured her down the phone. Thomas determined to write that down somewhere, in case he ever needed a mantra. What he really needed right now though was his bed.

  Chapter 33

  Ajit had once mentioned that in his experience as a copper every burglary victim said the same thing — once a home had been breached it never felt the same again. Thomas thought about that as he turned over in bed and nudged the Makarov pistol with his knee. It would take time to reclaim the space. Intellectually he knew the flat was more secure than it had ever been, but the fact that it took a Russian semi-automatic to make him feel safe at night did not sit well with him. Small wonder he was out the door next morning by seven o’clock.

  He reached the City by eight and indulged himself in the fantasy life of a photographer, walking from Liverpool Street to 30 St Mary Axe, to pay homage to the Gherkin. It dominated the historical buildings surrounding it, rising above them like a fifties’ sci-fi rocket ship. He’d been there on the day it opened, earlier in the year, and several times since. There were always other cameras to keep his company.

  Two phone calls on the move later, he reached the ASI building. He joined the slipstream, which took him as far as the front desk where he signed in and was once again deposited in the waiting room. At least he could pick up more sweets for Karl.

  Heick was prompt, coming to collect him in a handful of minutes. He led Thomas across the floor again and Thomas wondered whether everyone on site was part of the game. He smiled, imagining some poor bastard joining a finance house only to discover it was all a cover for an intercept station. Then again, and his smile faded at the thought, hadn’t his ‘straightforward surveillance role’ — he’d never forgotten that from Sir Peter’s interview — turned into an eternally looping intelligence Mobius strip?

  He waited until he and Heick were alone in the lift together. “So, you never got round to telling me who you work for.”

  Heick let the lift doors close and then threw him a bone. “I’m sure Karl could find out, if he wanted to. These days it’s the Bureau of Intelligence and Resear
ch.”

  There was coffee set out in Heick’s office and Thomas didn’t stand on ceremony.

  “What’s the news on Moretti?’

  “Still missing.” Heick joined him at the glass table. “You mentioned a change to our terms.”

  Thomas held his breath and remained still. It helped him concentrate. Heick seemed pensive. Thomas stopped at seventeen and started talking.

  “We know about the Slovakia connection between Moretti, Mr and Mrs Leibowicz, and the man Moretti had killed. We don’t know the details yet.”

  Thomas took a slug of coffee. Maybe Karl had been right the previous night. Maybe they’d wandered into a turf war at the lower end of the Shadow State food chain. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “And?”

  Thomas smacked his lips as another hit of the dark stuff made his nerve endings sing. “And I don’t believe in coincidences. Never have. You let Moretti loose — I’m not interested why.” He almost laughed at the boldness of his own lie. “Maybe you wanted Jack Langton dealt with at arm’s length. He could already be dead and buried for all I know.”

  “He’s not.” Heick cut across him like a Sunday driver. “As a matter of fact he asked for you when I spoke to him this morning. Seems you did some work for him not so long ago?”

  Thomas felt his face reddening and sought escape in his coffee. “What does he want?”

  “To see you — privately. I can take you there now. It’s not far. Once we’ve concluded our business here, of course.”

  Heick went over to his desk, unlocked a drawer and lifted out a sheet of paper. Then he locked it and placed the key in his top pocket.

  “I’ve gotta tell you, Thomas, you’ve impressed me so far. But I’m really not sure if you’re equal to the task — either of you.”

  “What choice do you have?”

  Heick laughed and carried the piece of paper over. Thomas read it twice and it was no clearer the second time.

  “The Asterion Hotel near Tower Hill.” He stared blankly. “I’m sure I can find it.” He worked through the numbers. “The first date is in eight days’ time. Is this what everything’s been about?’’