£340,000.
I lead him inside the shed, which isn’t locked. Either the pigs were re-homed or taken somewhere for slaughter a long time ago. I don’t know whether my father was still capable of running a farm before his death.
Something from my dream is telling me, this is the place. There’s something about this place. Lilah said Janice used to pet the pigs.
Suddenly, it hits me.
Not pigs.
Police.
Can it be?
I steady myself and flick my eyes to Ronnie. “How come you didn’t mention this as a possible handover spot? It’s got great cover and doesn’t smell all that bad. Hell, it’s probably not as fusty in here as it is in my father’s house.”
Ronnie shakes his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
I stare, waiting for him to elaborate. “Nobody’s been here in weeks, not since he died, have they?”
He folds his arms and stares at me. “I don’t know, Jules.”
His phone rings and he answers, “Fitzgerald.”
My world spins. Rockets into another universe. Then reality returns, completely all at odds. I feel sick.
Fitzgerald.
“Yeah, do what you have to… I’ll be there soon.”
He hangs up and looks at me. “We’ve had this place under surveillance and you’re right, the trail’s gone cold. Nobody has been here. They must have used it for the handovers, but they don’t anymore.”
I wish my dream had been more literal. Now I’m wondering what the whole thing meant.
“Let’s check there’s nothing lying around, you never know,” I suggest, and we scope the pig pen, checking behind the troughs and under piles of rubbish and hay. I run my hands over pipes and notice he’s not really looking for anything at all, because he knows there’s nothing here.
I study him when he’s not looking. He must be about fifty years old, a good ten years older than my husband. When I was a kid, he would have been a rookie on the beat.
Fitzgerald.
Ronnie Fitzgerald. Warrick’s never mentioned his surname before and Ronnie’s not on our Christmas card list because he and Warrick were colleagues, yes, but never friends. Warrick told me Ronnie is very private and keeps his work and home life entirely separate.
It hits me. The day Miranda came to my house, the car that followed hers after we left was a black BMW. I wish I’d gotten its plate.
I know she’s dead. She was a danger. The fear in that woman’s eyes that day was real.
I make like I’m done searching and sound tired when I tell him, “I can’t do the care job thing, Ronnie. We think I’m pregnant again and I just… I just puke all the way through. I’ve been sick this morning. I’d love to help and nail that scraggy Janice but… I just… oh, I might actually be sick now…”
I take hold of a wall nearby and we hear Rick shouting, “Jules, Jules, you okay?”
“Just a bit nauseous,” I shout, waving my hand to say I’m alright.
Ronnie smiles wryly. “He’s overprotective but he’s right. You should go home and rest. I knew there was a reason he was getting all defensive about you out there.”
We leave the pig shed behind and begin walking back to the cars. “He’s just doing his husbandly job.”
“He’s a dark horse, that one. Would have thought you’d wait, after having twins?”
I smirk, pretending this man is my friend, when I know he isn’t. “Sometimes, you can’t help these things I suppose. We’re still making up for lost time.”
Now it all makes sense. Now it does! This is why Rick was given such leniency when he was a drug-taking copper. Ronnie’s bent as.
I also wonder whether getting him to work the paedophile case was Ronnie’s way of splitting me and Rick up. He must know who I am. He must have always known.
I’m Jules Simonovich, the daughter of Julian Simonovich.
He knows exactly who I am. He must wonder whether I know anything about him.
I have to pretend I don’t.
We reach the cars and Warrick pulls me close. “You okay?”
“Bit sicky.”
I hope he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t say too much, otherwise Ronnie may start to suspect.
Some sunshine breaks through the clouds and I squint as I look up into the eyes of Ronald Fitzgerald. “What leads do you have then?”
He shrugs. “Not many. Although, your man Rick here told me earlier he thinks William Barker might be involved.”
I look at my husband, questioning him with my eyes. He shouldn’t have said anything. Warrick shrugs and says, “It was just a hunch.”
“Your hunches were nearly always right, though, weren’t they?” Ronnie smiles, playing like he’s one of us. He’s not. He’s a snake. I paint on my still, expressionless face, covering my true self. I’ve done it for years, it’s really easy for me.
“We haven’t had any viewings for this place, yet,” I mention, “but hopefully it will sell eventually.”
“It will,” Ronnie says, sure of that, “when the housing market picks up again and they get them flood defences sorted, it’ll shift.”
I wonder now, why does nobody want this farm at all? Surely, some people would ask for a viewing, just to check out the place? Rumour gets around…
“I’d better get Jules home,” Warrick says.
“Yeah, no probs mate. Give me a call sometime and we’ll go for a pint, yeah?”
“Maybe, although I have my hands full,” Warrick argues. My husband also doesn’t really do the drinking thing, not anymore. I sense a drink for Ronnie means more like an all-day session.
“Janice will slip up one day and we’ll get her, don’t worry about that Jules,” Ronnie assures us, walking to his car, “she’ll get what’s coming to her.”
He winks a wink he doesn’t mean to be sinister, but I judge it is. Over his shoulder as he’s about to get in his car, he says, “Thanks for offering to help us Jules, I can see why he married you.”
He reverses his car out of the gravel courtyard and back onto the main road. When he’s out of sight, I whisper to Warrick, “Do you trust him?”
“No, not really.”
I turn to my husband. “Why?”
Warrick dips his head, nodding, a confession approaching. “You can tell a man by the way he treats his woman and Ronnie, well, he’s the reason I got into casual lays after my divorce. We used to go on the pull together… while he was happily married.”
I choke out a disbelieving laugh. “So, are they still happily married?”
“Oh yeah, she hasn’t got a clue, obviously. He keeps everything,” Rick pushes his hands together, then far apart, “way separate… for a reason.”
“Okay.” Warrick sees me thinking and I suggest, “Let’s search the house. I’m not convinced they looked hard enough. I want to be sure there’s nothing left behind. After all, he seemed sure the farm was the key.”
“Yeah, well, we’d better bring the twins inside then.”
We manage to carry the twins indoors without waking them, their car seats keeping them snug and cosy for the time being. After locking the car, I lock the front door of the house on us, a habit of mine.
“Where do the police hide bugs?” I ask Warrick. “You must know.”
“Oh, what do you mean?”
“Bugs. You don’t need me to explain, do you?”
He tosses his hands up in the air. “Sorry, I didn’t know we were playing detective today, I thought I’d left those days behind… but whatever floats your boat!”
I give him my serious face and he strides to the landline first. It’s not in use but he rips off the back cover and seeks a device. Sure enough, he pops out a little grommet-sized piece of metal.
“One bug,” he admits.
“Okay…” I press my hands together. “Where else?”
He goes into the empty living room and searches in there, coming out thirty seconds later carrying two more bugs. “One was in the electric fire at the
top, under the air vent, and this other one was strangely… clasped around a lamp, and it has a camera.”
“Are they still working?”
He looks at them. “Wires are cut. Whoever did this, left them here for someone to find, otherwise they’d want to hide them of course. They were disabled, but they’re evidence.”
“Warrick, I’ve got something to tell you–”
He walks to me and stares into my eyes. “Tell me you’re not pregnant, please?”
“How did you know I said that to Ronnie?”
“I didn’t. It was a guess. It’s what all women say when they don’t want to answer any questions… or need to get out of a situation. We can’t say anything against it. We’re men. It’s inbuilt to leave a pregnant woman the hell alone.”
I stare, horrified. “So then, what if he doesn’t believe I am actually pregnant?”
“He’ll be wondering what your real problem is, a bit like me.”
“Well, I don’t trust this house, so after we’ve swept this place, we’re leaving and I’ll tell you in the car.”
“Let’s be quick,” he says, raiding cupboards, the house sale including a few furnishings but not many, “I want to get back home and get away from the fug in here.”
“Me too. I’ll check upstairs.”
I go back into the kitchen and check the twins are fine. They’re dandy so I head for the open, wooden staircase in the corner and take the stairs up.
Climbing, I see there’s a number of rooms up here. Most of the doors are open and most of the rooms are vacant of any furniture.
I check the three small bedrooms and find nothing but bare rooms, not even any carpets. He must never have thought he would fill these rooms with people. He could’ve had so much more from life, but he chucked it all away.
The bathroom is a modern suite but presents no findings, either. In fact I think the carers may have cleared out all his toiletries and thrown them away for him, because there’s nothing here, not even an old razor rusting on the side.
“Weird,” I whisper to myself.
In the master bedroom, I see it’s all plainly decorated, the usual splash of magnolia on all the walls. His double bed is still made up and it’s then I have a thought. Farmers always put everything they care about under their mattress, Lydia Birch, the solicitor’s secretary said.
I toss the mattress up and don’t see anything. There’s nothing. I wander the room, opening drawers and cupboards, but all his clothes must have been taken to the charity shop. I’m wandering around seeking creaky floorboards and crevices he could maybe hide something in, when my eye sees something peculiar. His mattress has a zip at the back, almost invisible to the naked eye. With light shining so brightly through the windows today, I can see the edges of the plastic join shining in the sun. I turn the mattress 90° and slide the zip all the way open.
There’s something inside! A large envelope, bulging at the seams. I feel around in the mattress, shaking it about to detect any other loose objects, but there’s nothing else whatsoever. Zipping it back up, I replace the mattress where it was and jump down the stairs.
Rick’s standing around empty-handed, looking glum until I show him what I’ve found. We stand together in the kitchen area and I open up the letter.
There’s a wedge of money inside and a handwritten note.
Rick stands behind me and reads it over my shoulder:
Dear Jules,
Stop chasing me.
Use the money and leave town.
The big fish might try to use you to get to me.
Out here, nobody will hear you scream.
I know. Please, get away.
Go. I mean it. Regards, DI Scales.
“Oh my god,” Rick says, shocked. “She’s not dead. She can’t be. She’s been following our movements and knows he came to our house.”
I hold his hand and remind him, “In the car. We’ll clear this up in the car.”
In numb shock, we leave the house with the money and the letter. We set the alarm, lock up and secure our infants back in the car. Rick’s too shocked so I offer, “I’ll drive.”
Once we get on the road, I tell him, “This morning I had a flashback. I’ve been having them ever since the dream. I remembered my mum telling my dad to stop dealing, to quit, for them to run away with me and start fresh. She mentioned he should stand up to a man she referred to as Fitzgerald and when we were in the pig shed a few moments ago, he answered his phone as Fitzgerald and that’s when I knew. He’s the big fish she was trying to fry.”
“I can’t believe it. I gave him so much,” Rick says.
“Too much, if you ask me. If he had any professional care for you, he wouldn’t have brought you back in for the Uncle Jakey case. You were damaged by that other case.”
“This is…”
“Too much coincidence, I know, but five years ago or whenever it was, that time when I asked you to find my dad for me, how did you pick up his address and details…?”
He glances at me. “I only kept one friend from the police, and he’s hardly a friend is he, but I went to him and asked the favour… he granted it. I said it was for my girlfriend, wanting to find her dad. Shortly after we paid your dad a visit, that same day Ronnie called me and didn’t pressure me to take up the undercover work… but I offered because of the state I’d seen you in that day. I offered. He’d been asking me about chasing Uncle Jakey for months so I was primed… and I said yes.”
“Shit. Shit.”
“He must’ve been calling to check he hadn’t somehow come up in the conversation or something but it was the timing… I just felt wretched… I felt bad. I felt like I’d wasted so much time doing such bad things and I needed to put it all right and you and the way you’re so strong made me want to man up and be someone you could be proud of.”
We begin crossing back over the bridge and I squeeze his hand on my lap. “I know, Rick. I know.”
I take a deep breath.
Thankfully as we approach the payment booths, I don’t see Anna around.
“If only I hadn’t… but then it was Janice who put it in my head that something wasn’t right, wasn’t it? I think she’s in deep shit and she wants out now, too? I think she wants Miranda’s help… or maybe your help, Rick.”
“I think you’re right.”
“If only I hadn’t gone trying to follow Miranda, none of this would’ve happened.”
My husband reasons, “Ronnie will have a dozen people between him and those dealing on the streets. Your dad only knew about Ronnie because he was there in the beginning. Otherwise, Ronnie must be squeaky clean to have never got caught, using go-betweens to cover up what he’s doing. If he’s really doing this, he probably doesn’t even show his face, he uses handlers. It’s crystal clear he’ll be taking bribes to help the suppliers get drugs into the country and beyond.”
“It’s also clear this has never been about Janice, but about Miranda, so maybe Janice was his way to get to Miranda and that’s why he wanted me back in the borough too, listening out for what she reveals.”
“If your father’s house was bugged, maybe Janice’s was too?”
“I think so,” I agree. “There’s something he wants… but he can’t be seen chasing it.”
“I don’t think we’re in danger now though, Jules,” he says quietly, a certainty in his voice, “I think we convinced him then that we’re clueless. I don’t think he suspects us.”
I nod. “We’re going absolutely nowhere and I certainly won’t leave town just because she tells me to. There’s more to this, there has to be. I want to know why Kim wants us out of the way.”
I glance at him and watch him gulp. I know I’m asking a lot of him, but we need to end this. He looks deep in thought.
I gulp and reason with him, “I never understood why Mum had to die. It never felt right. I blocked it out but she was a great mother and to have spent so much time teaching me to dance… that was dedication and time she didn’t have to
give up, but she did, for me. She was a great mother. What if her death wasn’t like Dad said? What if it was dodgy?”
“I don’t know about this Jules,” he says, taking my hand and kissing it.
“You’re the only one who can nail him and you know it.”
“I’m not,” he says biting his nails, “I remember Kim from back in the day, her reputation preceded her. She was untouchable and if anyone can, she can nail him. It’s probably why she wants us out of the way. She’ll have a plan.”
We pull up on our drive and I tell him, “I knew that woman was trouble. I knew it the moment I saw her.”
“She won’t be police, Jules. She’ll be something else now. The people that police the police are something else, they have to be. I don’t envy her.”
We pull the twins out of the back of the car and head for the front door.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jules
The day I found out she was dead was the day Grandma came to get me from school instead of Mum. I didn’t mind Grandma, who was Dad’s mum, but I knew she favoured Dad over Mum and I didn’t like her for that. Mum was my favourite. I knew something was up, anyway, as she trudged with me on the way home, hiding behind her beige mackintosh and umbrella.
Inside the pebbledash house, Dad sat on a chair, his hands pressed together. His eyes were rimmed red.
“Sit down, Julianne.”
I did as I was told.
Where was Mum?
No sooner had I sat down, than he’d blurted, “Mum’s gone to heaven, to be an angel. She didn’t want to live anymore.”
I felt a deep frown in my forehead. “What? Where’s she gone?”
“Gone, alright, gone! Gone!” He stood up and in a furious rage, he threw the TV across the room and it smashed. He stormed to the kitchen and pulled vodka out, shaking and chattering to himself as he downed large gulps.
Beyond Angel Avenue Page 26