Aim High (The Eddie Malloy series Book 7)

by Joe McNally

  Lisle nodded. Cynthia reached for his hand.

  The nurse said, ‘The doctor would like to commence a nil-by-mouth regime to bring a relatively quick and peaceful end to your father’s suffering.’

  Lisle drew on reserves of old, on memories of strong times, on blocking recollections from childhood, and the nurse explained in detail how the coming days would be.

  After the meeting, Lisle and Cynthia walked along the corridor toward his father’s room. ‘I’ve covered many miles on this carpet,’ he said, and Cynthia smiled.

  Cynthia took the chair at the far side, but Lisle said ‘Let me bring that round for you. We can sit together.’

  And they sat, side by side. Lisle reached for his father’s hand. The old man’s eyes were closed, his breathing ragged. ‘They’ve got everything organized, father. All will be well.’

  The old man did not stir.

  Lisle turned to Cynthia. ‘Are you okay to sit a while?’

  ‘As long as you are here, I will be too.’

  ‘I’ll see you safely home afterwards.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  In Cynthia’s flat, she spooned loose tea leaves from a caddy into the pot, while Lisle took off his jacket. ‘Too warm?’ she asked.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘I can open a window.’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll be fine. The tea will cool me.’

  She smiled. ‘By the way, your friend Mister Buley’s name came up today.’

  ‘What’s he been doing?’

  ‘Trying his hand at brokering arms deals with some of the smaller Syrian groups.’

  ‘A bit spicy for him, I’d have thought.’

  ‘I suspect he won’t be in the business for long. He’s been trying to build contacts at the Embassy, though it seems a panic measure.’

  ‘They say every man reaches his level of incompetence and stops there. I suspect Mister B has gone a step beyond.’

  Cynthia carried the tray across. ‘I bought you an Empire biscuit.’

  He turned to smile at her. ‘Lord, it’s years since I’ve tasted one of those!’

  ‘Well, by the look of you, the calories will do no harm.’

  Lisle broke the iced biscuit into small pieces and feasted, smiling, on each morsel.

  Cynthia said, ‘Isn’t it odd the tiniest of things that can make one happy?’

  ‘It is. The years without make the minutes with all the more precious.’

  ‘I meant me, actually. I have rarely been happier than when watching you enjoy so much the smallest of gifts.’

  ‘A gift in itself, being able to take joy from such things.’

  She watched him collect, with a dampened fingertip, the remaining crumbs. ‘I’d very much like to sit with you during the vigils with your father.’

  ‘I’d like that too,’ he said.

  ‘I can rearrange my hours. Normally, I’d be working through the night. I’ll be returning to the office once you’ve gone home. I’ll make the necessary alterations to my schedule.’

  ‘You were always one for the night hours.’

  ‘As night follows day…I sometimes picture it doing just that, slowly tracking the daylight as the world turns, always shrouding half the earth.’

  ‘Shrouds. They await us all.’

  73

  Ivory’s secure mobile phone rang. It was Dalton. ‘Sorry to call you so late, Mister Ivory. We just polled the audio at Malloy’s place. I think you should hear one section. In private. I can mail the file.’

  Ivory took from his briefcase a small laptop, which ran only on the ‘dark net’, so that no file was traceable and every deletion from the PC was total and immediate.

  He clicked to open the MP3 file Dalton had sent. Only the relevant section had been pasted into the file. Dalton was well acquainted with Jordan Ivory’s hatred of timewasting.

  “Well, the major’s in partnership with Ivory in the bond scam. He’ll have to be outed sooner or later. It’s just a matter of deciding when. Mac and I will work something out.”

  Ivory rang Dalton. ‘Who’s Mac?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you knew. It’s Peter McCarthy, ex BHA, currently working for the Jockey Club.’

  ‘Is he still with Malloy?’

  ‘I don’t have a man there just now, but I can poll the audio at one minute intervals.’

  ‘Do that. And get someone down there. Send a team.’

  ‘I will.’

  Sonny knew that choosing the best jumping point from the cliff would be vital to success, though success seemed to him a strange word to use. He had walked out there in the dark, in the icy wind, and found that a determination to die did not make his body immune to the weather.

  His eyes watered. His face stung. He ducked trying to avoid the worst of it, and was careful not to go too close to the edge. Death would be fine. Living out his final years as a paraplegic would not.

  The rocks two-hundred-feet below in Hell’s Mouth bay, would stop his falling body from a hundred miles an hour to stationary in a blink. Their granite ridges would crack his skull and pulp his organs…if he got it right.

  Getting it wrong, landing on sand, leaving a wrecked burden for Jolene to worry about, to nurse…that couldn’t be risked. He pulled his collar up and returned to the Shack. He would do it at first light, when the rocks could be seen and the take-off point decided.

  He had made the Shack as tidy as he remembered it…one important wrong righted.

  He’d ripped up three suicide notes, and thrown them in the cold grate. Maybe he should speak to Jo. He’d like to hear her voice again. How comforting it would be to know, to know that she had forgiven him. And yet he could not risk her realizing what he had planned. He wanted no cavalry to come charging along this headland at dawn. Just him, and the birds, and the sound of the sea.

  Sonny watched the grandfather clock in the corner. He took his pen and began another note. But he did not finish. He balled it up and set it on the table, and he rose and walked the room. On the wall above the fire was a black and white picture of Sonny with Jack Cassidy, Mave’s father. They were young and slim, dark-haired and full of life and hope, and plans.

  Sonny walked on, around the room, around the house. There were no more pictures. Not a single one of the owner of this house. No trace of her past.

  He returned to the picture above the fireplace. Looking at it, he took out his phone and dialled Mave’s number.

  It woke her. She sat up in the makeshift bed. Sonny’s name flashed on her screen. She thought of Eddie and his stern warnings. The safety of Kim and Marie edged into her mind too. And she did not answer.

  It could wait for morning.

  She lay down. The wind sounds that had lulled her to sleep had not lessened. Their pattern had changed, the gusts stronger and longer, and she stared at the ceiling of this new home.

  What could Sonny have wanted at this time? Had Eddie told him she was on the run? Maybe something had happened.

  She got up and took from her bag one of the six throwaway phones. She dialled Sonny’s number.

  He thought it could only be her, but the number was unknown. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sonny?’

  ‘Jo!’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it’s great to hear your voice.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the Shack, the famous Shack on the cliff, recalling summer walks and better days.’

  ‘Sonny, what’s up? Why are you there? Is there somebody with you?’

  ‘No. No. I’m alone. I just wanted to make a final clean-up.’

  ‘Final?’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean. I wasn’t sure if I’d got everything last time. Remember, when I came to surprise you, but you weren’t here?’

  ‘Were you hoping to surprise me tonight, too? Haven’t you spoken to Eddie?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose I was hoping to see you, to surprise you. And no, I haven’t spoken to Eddie.’

  Ma
ve knew from his tone that something was wrong. Could Ivory’s men have him? Were they trying to find out where she was? Eddie would go crazy at her for calling Sonny. Maybe they were analyzing what was coming in on the mobile network, trying to track this call.

  ‘Sonny, the battery’s almost dead on this. Let me charge it up and call you back, okay?’

  ‘Sure. But if for some reason you don’t get me, don’t feel…I mean don’t worry about it. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I love you, Jo.’

  ‘I love you too, Sonny.’

  She ended the call and dialled Eddie’s throwaway.

  No answer.

  Eddie returned from the toilet. Mac was putting on his coat. He told Eddie about the missed call. Eddie checked the number and suspected it was one of Mave’s phones. He looked at his watch: a minute after midnight. He pressed to return the call.

  Mave answered. ‘Eddie, I think Sonny might be in trouble with Ivory’s people.’ She told him what had happened.

  ‘But why would they take him to the Shack, Mave?’

  ‘Because the PC was there? Because they thought I’d be there?’

  ‘If they believed that, they’d be searching for you. No point wasting time with Sonny.’

  ‘But if they had a gun to Sonny’s head, they’re going to get all they want from me.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Eddie, there’s something wrong there. I’m certain. I can hear it in his voice. And I think he was going to say that if I didn’t get him when I called back I shouldn’t feel guilty.’

  ‘Want me to drive up?’

  ‘No! You don’t know what you’d be driving into! Phone the police.’

  ‘Mave! What would I tell them?’

  ‘Everything that’s happened.’

  ‘They’ll think I’m a crank!’

  ‘Mac could speak to them, couldn’t he? He’s got contacts.’

  ‘He’s still here. I’ll ask him, and call you back.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Eddie looked at Mac. ‘I don’t know if you got the gist of that?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Eddie went through it again. ‘Mave wants us to call the cops.’

  Mac raised his eyes, then bent at the waist and put his hands on the back of the big fireside chair. ‘Eddie, I know how much you respect Mave. That’s clear from listening to you tonight. But, this is no more than a hunch, after a one-minute phone conversation, and on the back of hours of fleeing these people. Anyone, even someone superhuman would have their judgement clouded by that.’

  ‘I’d like to agree with you, Mac, but I’m not used to her being wrong with anything.’

  ‘Then maybe Sonny’s just somewhat tired and emotional? It’s hardly been an easy time for him either. Perhaps her concern for him is making her sense something that isn’t there.’

  Eddie shook his head slowly and looked at his watch. ‘Mac, I can’t just do nothing. It’s not an option.’

  ‘And I can’t get the police involved in this without speaking to Tim Arango, and, forgive me, but it’s an extremely shaky premise on which to get Tim out of bed.’

  Eddie pushed the phone into his pocket. ‘I’ll drive up.’

  ‘To North Wales! At this time of the night?’

  ‘There’ll be no traffic. I’ll do it in a couple of hours.’

  Mac buttoned his coat. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No need, Mac. I’ll be fine. You’ll just moan about me driving too fast.’

  ‘If I’m preventing you from sending the police, the least I can do is come with you.’

  ‘Okay. Give me a minute.’ Eddie went upstairs, then stopped before going into his room and cursed as he remembered that his ice-axe was probably still on top of the wardrobe in Steeplechase Cottage.

  He hurried back down and unhooked an old metal baseball bat from the coat-stand. Mac watched him. ‘That’s a bit out of left field, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  Eddie turned and smiled and pointed at Mac. ‘That was pretty good, for you.’

  ‘A compliment indeed.’

  Eddie put the silver bat under his arm. ‘Been carrying this around for a long time now, Mac. It has hung from many pegs.’

  ‘Well, I can only say that I hope it returns to that peg tomorrow free of dents and bloodstains.’

  ‘Let’s go. I’ll ring Mave on hands-free.’

  The man in the woods watched Eddie’s car climb the track as he waited for Dalton to answer. ‘Malloy and McCarthy have just left Malloy’s place.’

  ‘Good. I’ll poll the audio.’

  ‘Want me to take a look inside?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  74

  Two hundred miles north of the man in the woods, Sonny had finally completed a suicide note he thought was okay. He knew he could write a million words and never find the right ones. This was a compromise, but it was the best he could do.

  Between now and first light, there’d be no sleep. He recalled the time he’d considered joining a monastery. The simplicity, the isolation, the frugal living, the silent melancholy had all appealed. But that strand of hope stretching back to Kathleen, that long umbilical cord from the birth of love had never been cut. It had nourished him with just enough hope to keep going, to keep searching.

  Until Nina.

  His obsession with her had included a search for the meaning of her name. For the Quechua people of South America, Nina meant Fire. That had made Sonny smile. Fire and Raine.

  And that set him thinking on another suicide note, one for her. His purpose with Jo’s was to try to ensure she felt no guilt.

  With Nina, he’d have wanted guilt spilling over her like pus from a wound. But guilt was an emotion she was incapable of. He knew that. He got up. He would see out the final hours on his feet, walking this room, pacing the stone flags like a monk, but one unburdened by prayer.

  He walked.

  The deserted Lambourn roads were icy, and Mac flinched as Eddie overtook a gritting truck, its orange light flashing slowly. ‘Eddie, go easy will you? The gritted parts are now behind us. The slippery sections are ahead.’

  ‘I just hope the motorways are clear.’

  ‘Well, go steady. We’ll be of no use to your friend if we’re wrapped around a tree.’

  Eddie braked at a junction, and felt the back end waltz to the right, pulling them over the give-way line. ‘See!’ Mac said.

  Eddie eased off.

  On the motorway, Eddie gave in to Mac’s frequent warnings and settled at a speed that kept the big man calm.

  ‘Mac, we’re looking at a three or four hour drive. We might as well try untangling this mess from the start. I’m missing something. It’s been nagging at me for the last couple of days, but I can’t nail it.’

  ‘Untangle away, my friend, I’m listening. Beginning at the start’s a fine idea, the trouble lies in identifying the start.’

  ‘Well, the start, for me, was when Sonny went missing that summer night, after we’d met in the churchyard at Slad. The start was Jonty Saroyan taking secret pictures.’

  ‘But where was the start for Mister Saroyan?’

  ‘Good question. Almost certainly when he met Nina Raine.’

  ‘And where was the start for Miss Raine?’

  ‘Torturing kittens in kindergarten, I suspect.’

  Mac laughed. Eddie said, ‘You know her trouble? She’s got the nerve for it, and she’s got the sociopathic skills…she just doesn’t have the brains for it. She’s a female Jordan Ivory without the cunning. No, I take that back. She’s naturally cunning, but not smart cunning, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Her morals meet the low-water mark of cunning but her wit does not reach the high mark.’

  ‘That’s it. Ivory seems the complete package. He’s been in court a few times, but has no convictions.’

  ‘And he has contacts. The major speaks for that.’

  ‘They make me laugh these guys who hang on to their military titles long afte
r leaving the forces. What’s the point?’

  ‘There used to be lots of them in racing in my younger days. Many ran the racecourses. A race-meeting was seen then as primarily an exercise in logistics. Organized military men seemed ideal for it, and once the infiltration started, the old boys’ network sprung up quicker than you can say “Present arms!”‘.

  Eddie smiled. ‘What do you know about the major? He obviously rates you if he told Tim Arango to recruit you.’

  ‘I’ve bumped into him many times, over the years, but I recall nothing more than an exchange of pleasantries. One thing that sticks out was his attitude to the Jockey Club handing over most of its powers to the BHB, back in the ‘90s. He’d been a Jockey Club member since he was a young man and he was convinced they were the best people to run racing.’

  ‘Well, history shows he might not have been far wrong.’

  ‘I think the major would agree with that. They’d been in sole charge of racing for nearly two-hundred and fifty years. It was lack of good PR more than anything else that saw them unseated.’

  ‘Now commercialism runs rife and a hundred fingers are in the pie.’

  ‘Well, there’s no going back now, Eddie.’

  ‘Nope. So the major decides if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, and he throws in with Ivory.’

  ‘Yes. It will be interesting to see how the major reacts to all this, once it’s out. He might fall on his sword, literally, I mean, for the honour of the Club.’

  ‘Kill himself?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s led what seems an unimpeachable life. He might not be able to deal with the shame.’

  ‘He must have known the risks, Mac. Or maybe he was convinced by Ivory’s lifetime record of avoiding jail.’

  ‘Broc Lisle knew the major well. They served together in Northern Ireland. Broc says he was an absolute stickler for minimizing risk, for intricate planning.’