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Beyond Reach

Page 30

by Hurley, Graham


  ‘So what did Bazza say?’

  ‘He agreed. The hotel here works fine for him. He’s learned a lot. I know it’s Spain and everything but the principles have to be the same. We’d run it as a going concern.’

  ‘Hands on?’

  ‘Yes. That was my idea.’

  ‘You’d run it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’d met Madison by now?’

  She didn’t answer for a moment. She reached for a T-shirt and put it on. Then she nodded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So he’d be part of this plan? You and Perry out there together? The shag palace of your dreams?’

  ‘Don’t be a twat, Paul.’

  ‘But was that it?’

  ‘Yes. Plus the kids of course.’

  ‘And you thought Baz would buy into that fantasy? A couple of million euros to set up some bastard copper who’s nicked off with his daughter and his grandkids? Was that it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was defiant now, more sure of herself. ‘I could talk him into it. I knew I could.’

  ‘And that’s what you told Madison?’

  ‘Yes, sort of.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said he’d go anywhere with me, anywhere in the world. He said he’d had enough of being some bastard copper as you put it. In fact he’d had enough of pretty much everything. He loved me, Paul, believe it or not.’

  ‘Loved?’

  ‘Loves.’ She shrugged. ‘Present tense.’

  They both looked at her phone. Esme covered the text message with her hand then slipped the mobile under the pillow. There was a long silence.

  ‘So what about the hotel?’ Winter asked.

  Esme gazed up at him. For the first time she was smiling.

  ‘It’s still for sale,’ she said. ‘As far as I know.’

  Faraday met Willard in Fordingbridge, an attractive market town on the western edge of the New Forest. They’d made their separate ways to the car park of a pub in the town centre. Faraday had often used the place for a late breakfast after dawn birding expeditions to nearby Martin Down, with its possibilities of turtle dove and lesser whitethroat.

  ‘He lives in Bullingdon Crescent.’ Willard had written the address down. ‘We’ll go in my car.’

  They drove to the outskirts of the town. Number 14 Bullingdon Crescent was one of a dispiriting line of post-war bungalows. Madison’s had newish-looking dormer windows in the roof.

  ‘I thought he was living in a bedsit in Romsey.’ Faraday was looking at the Renault parked outside the house. A man’s leather jacket lay across the front passenger seat.

  ‘He was. Until yesterday.’

  ‘He’s back home?’

  ‘Yeah, so he says. PSD have also suspended him. My recommendation, if you’re asking.’

  Faraday nodded. The Professional Standards Department policed the police. Within the space of an hour or so, pending an official hearing, Madison would have become a non-person: his warrant card surrendered, his email account closed, his work mobe returned to his head of department.

  Faraday was still looking at the bungalow. The windows at the front were curtained.

  ‘What’s the charge?’

  ‘Officially, it’s bringing the organisation into disrepute. Unofficially, the man’s been a complete twat. How much of a twat we’re about to find out.’

  They walked to the front door. Unlike his neighbours, Madison had resisted the temptation to litter the tiny pocket of lawn with garden-centre gnomes.

  His wife answered the door. She must have been very attractive once but there were streaks of grey in the blaze of auburn curls and hints of bitterness in the set of her mouth.

  ‘Come in, guys. Help yourselves.’ She stood aside. She seemed to be expecting them.

  A boisterous Labrador leapt at Willard. She grabbed it. The dog was called Mason.

  ‘Think Perry,’ she said. ‘It was his idea.’

  The joke was lost on Willard but Faraday dimly remembered an American TV defence lawyer of the same name. They walked through to the kitchen. The back garden was longer than Faraday had expected and Madison was visible at the far end attacking a patch of green with a garden fork.

  ‘That’s our salad plot. It’s the best he can do in the way of therapy.’

  They watched Madison for a moment or two. He was wearing nothing but jeans. He kept his head down, thrusting at the soil, bending from time to time to lift a weed and toss it aside. In terms of body language Faraday needed no clues to the coming interview. Every movement spoke of a savage fury.

  ‘Can’t be pleasant, any of this.’ Willard shot her a look.

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ She reached for the kettle. ‘Gets easier with practice though.’

  ‘He’s done it before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lots of times?’

  ‘Twice. I suppose the mistake was letting him back in the house but then I’m even crapper with gardening than he is. You want tea?’

  Willard and Faraday stepped into the garden. Splashes of sunshine came and went. Faraday knew Madison had seen them but he kept going with the fork until they were barely feet away. There was a light sheen of sweat on his chest. He wiped his face, gave them both a nod.

  Willard was looking around. ‘Where do you want to do this?’

  There was a tiny summer house in a corner of the garden beside the salad plot. Madison organised a couple of chairs out front, leaving Faraday to prop himself against an upright. The summer house badly needed a coat of varnish.

  Madison found a sweater and sank into one of the chairs.

  ‘You’ve been a pillock,’ Willard began. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that.’

  Madison said nothing, just looked away. His wife had appeared with a tray of tea. She picked her way through the clutter of garden tools, gave the tray to Faraday and returned to the bungalow without a word.

  Willard started again.

  ‘You need to tell us about Mackenzie’s daughter, about what’s been going on.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s a stupid question, Perry. Because she is who she is. Because she works hand in glove with a Pompey Level Three. Because you’ve just spent the last God knows how many months leaving yourself wide open.’

  ‘To what? To being in love? To meaning it? To committing myself?’

  Faraday, expecting Willard to tear Madison apart, was surprised when he simply nodded.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘Go on how? You want the details? How we got it on? How often? Where? What she fancies? What really turns her on? Do you have all day or shall I just stick with the headlines?’

  ‘You fancied her,’ Willard suggested. ‘Why don’t we start there?’

  The question seemed to deflate Madison. He slumped deeper into the chair, began to pick at his blisters. Then he looked up again and shrugged.

  ‘We used the same gym,’ he said. ‘She’s an attractive lady. The times we were there the place was pretty empty. We just talked, really.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She made me laugh. She was witty, bright. She had a mind of her own and she was fit too. A bloke can miss things like that, believe me.’

  Faraday resisted the temptation to look up at the bungalow. Was Madison’s wife lurking in the shadowed recesses of one of those rooms, watching? Or, more sensibly, was she upstairs, packing her bags? To stay with a man like this you had to have more than patience. Maybe he was a brilliant cook, Faraday thought. Or maybe she had a taste for self-abasement.

  Madison was talking about the doors that laughter can open.

  ‘It was so easy,’ he said. ‘One moment we were having another little chat, the next we were in bed together. And after that it just all made perfect sense. We clicked. We were a couple. We were made for each other. It wasn’t me inventing it. It wasn’t her taking another scalp. It just was. You do it once and it has to happen again. And then again. And then again and again. I
’d never come across a relationship like that in my life. And neither had she.’

  ‘Did you know who she was at that time? Her name? Her family connections?’

  ‘I knew her name but I never made the link to Mackenzie, no. Not then.’

  ‘And what about her? Did she know you were in the Job?’

  ‘Yes. She asked me what I did for a living and I told her.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘She asked me whether I liked it or not, something like that, then we talked about something else.’

  ‘Did she mention Winter at all?’

  ‘No. As far as I knew she was this housewife lady with a law degree she never used who lived with her husband and had three kids and was mad about horses. Her old man obviously had a bit of money because he ran a hedge fund or something. We didn’t talk about him much, either.’

  ‘I bet.’ Willard was looking at the lettuces. ‘So when did you make the connection with Mackenzie?’

  Madison frowned, taking his time, thinking back. The earlier resentment had gone. Now, thought Faraday, he seemed glad of the chance to put the whole story together.

  ‘It was way into the New Year. We’d been running together in the forest and she’d left her wallet in my car.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I did what every copper does. I had a look. There was the usual stuff in there - a bit of money, credit cards - but there were some photos too, a couple with her kids, one of her old man, and one of Mackenzie.’

  ‘You recognised him?’

  ‘Straight off. Back in the early days I used to be a spotter at Pompey away games. Mackenzie was in the 6.57 then. He hasn’t changed at all.’

  ‘So now you knew who you were shagging. Am I right?’

  ‘Yeah. In fact I asked her about her dad the next time we met. She said yes, like you would, and when I wondered why she hadn’t told me before she just laughed. She didn’t want to put me off, she said. As if.’

  ‘But it made no difference?’

  ‘It couldn’t. Nothing could. Not by then. Even if she’d told me she had HIV or leprosy something, I’d still have stayed with her.’

  ‘And from her point of view?’

  ‘The same. I asked whether her dad, you know, had cottoned on, but she said no. It was just her and me. Our little secret.’

  Willard glanced across at Faraday. Your turn. Faraday wanted to know whether Madison and Esme ever talked about her life outside the home.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘She works for her father. She’s legally qualified. She does a lot on the contracting side. If she’s told you it’s all kids and shopping then she wasn’t being entirely … ah … truthful.’

  Madison nodded. Suddenly he seemed less comfortable.

  ‘I pressed her on that,’ he admitted. ‘I knew she went away with him sometimes and they couldn’t have been just jollies.’

  ‘Away where?’

  ‘Spain a couple of times. Dubai, once. She came back with loads of gold, jewellery and stuff. I remember that.’

  ‘And did she tell you why she went? What they got up to?’

  ‘She always said they had a good time … but no, she never said much else.’

  ‘Did you press her?’

  ‘Yes. She wasn’t having it.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Yes. In fact that was the closest we ever had to a row. She said it wasn’t my business.’

  ‘Did you want it to be?’

  ‘I didn’t want there to be any gaps.’

  ‘You mean secrets?’

  ‘Yes. If this thing was serious, if we were going where I thought we were going, then it had to be for real.’

  ‘Full disclosure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ There might have been the hint of a smile on Madison’s face. ‘Full disclosure.’

  Willard stirred. He’d abandoned his cup.

  ‘So where exactly did you think this thing was going?’ he asked.

  ‘I thought we were going the whole way. Set up together. Live together. Make room for the kids. All that.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Abroad. She had some plans.’

  ‘Whereabouts abroad?’

  ‘Spain. She said she’d found a place, a really nice place, a place I’d love.’

  ‘Did she have photos? Anything like that?’

  ‘No. I asked, obviously, but there was always some excuse.’

  ‘And this place was a house?’

  ‘Of course. At least I assume so …’ Twenty years of coppering put a frown on his face. ‘What are you telling me? It wasn’t a house?’

  Willard dismissed the question. He was more interested in more recent events.

  ‘Mackenzie eventually found out. What happened then?’

  ‘The shit hit the fan. After that, the way I see it now, all bets are off.’

  ‘I’m not with you. What bets?’

  ‘She’s a different woman. The spell, the magic, whatever it was, all that’s just gone.’

  ‘But you’d just found the place in Romsey, moved out, burned your bridges. Isn’t that the case?’

  ‘Yeah …’ Madison’s eyes strayed towards the bungalow. ‘Tell you the truth, I thought I’d got it all sussed. Bin the job. Take early retirement. Buy the missus off. Scarper. Except that’s not going to happen. Not now. Not with Mackenzie on top of her.’

  Faraday was trying to work out the timeline. On Saturday last week, Esme had flown to Vigo to sign the contract on the hotel.

  ‘So when was the last time you saw her?’ he asked.

  ‘Last week. Friday. I’d just moved into the flat. We had a curry in Romsey. That’s when I knew.’

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘Knew we were in the shit. She said she had to get home to pack. She was going down to Spain for a bit. She didn’t say why, and when I asked her about it she was just vague. Stuff she had to do. Early doors next morning. No fucking help at all. Then she just got up and said she was off. At that point I sussed Mackenzie must have found out because I’d had a run-in with Winter.’

  ‘When was that?’ Willard this time.

  ‘Earlier in the week. I was coming back across the forest in the middle of the night. Me and Esme had been together that evening and Winter must have plotted us up. He followed me later. We had words.’

  ‘He was warning you off?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told him to fuck off.’

  Faraday leant forward. This was beginning to make sense. ‘And what else did you say?’

  ‘That night?’ Madison frowned again. ‘I think I might have said, might have hinted, that I knew more than I really did.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About Mackenzie. Just to put him off in case he was planning anything silly.’

  ‘Stuff you might have picked up from Esme, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But that was a lie?’

  ‘A ploy. To keep my arse in one piece.’

  Faraday nodded. Winter had obviously reported back, and Mackenzie, like any rational human being, had told Winter to check this threat out. Hence Winter’s surprise visit to the Bargemaster’s House.

  ‘But in reality you knew nothing?’ It was Willard again. ‘About Mackenzie’s affairs?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘And that’s still the case?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Madison nodded. ‘I’m afraid it is. Life’s a learning curve, boss. You can get into bed with one Mackenzie, but the minute the rest find out you’re well and truly fucked. You know something? In my line of business I should have seen that coming.’

  There was a moment of complete silence. Then even Willard was laughing.

  Chapter twenty-five

  THURSDAY, 29 MAY 2008. 18.07

  Marie made an early supper for Mo Sturrock and Winter. Winter, who rarely ate until mid-evening, asked her what was going on.

  ‘Baz has some plans. I take it you know n
othing.’

  Winter shook his head, looked at Sturrock. Sturrock seemed clueless as well but Winter knew at once he was lying.

  ‘What’s going on then? Anyone care to tell me?’

  Marie had turned back to the chopping board. A salad of boiled eggs, diced tomatoes, spring onions, olives, tuna fish and slivers of anchovy, Winter’s favourite. Winter looked at her a moment longer, still waiting for an answer, then got up and left the kitchen. He found Mackenzie in his den. Baz had recovered the money from the vegetable basket and was packing it into a new-looking holdall. The holdall was black with the Nike motif on the side.

  ‘Baz?’

  Mackenzie barely bothered to look round.

  ‘Close the door, mush. It’s draughty.’

  ‘What the fuck’s this about?’ Winter was staring at the holdall.

  ‘I’ve got a little job for you. I want you to take this lot down to Poole. There’s a pub near the ferry port called the Dog Star. There’s a guy who’ll meet you there. He’ll ask you about crowd attendance at the final. You tell him 89,874. Write it down. Go on. I’ll tell you something else, mush. That happens to be true.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Eighty-nine thousand, eight hundred and seventy-four. And that included me.’ He sat back in the chair and nodded at the holdall. ‘You OK with all this?’

  ‘With what, Baz? So far I’ve got to the Dog Star, I’m carrying a million quid in notes, and some bloke’s asking me how many turned up at Wembley. Do I give it to him? Do I phone the Bill? Do me and him elope together? Just a clue, Baz, that’s all I’m asking.’

  ‘You give it to him, mush. He takes it somewhere safe, somewhere outside, and half an hour later - once he’s counted it all - he makes a phone call. Then we hear a knock on the door … and guess who’s home for a late Horlicks?’

  ‘Guy? You’re kidding.’

  ‘Never. On my word.’

  ‘What if it’s a scam? What if we’ve just paid a million quid for fuck all?’

  ‘Won’t happen, mush.’ He patted the breast pocket of his leather jacket, where he kept his mobile. ‘I talked to the boy just now. He’s been told. He’s in the know. He can’t wait to get back.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. So where is he?’

 

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