by Ford, P. F.
‘Yeah, there was one more thing. Apparently her mother’s so concerned she’s looking in on her and peering over her shoulder every five minutes which is driving her mad. So she said can she come and work from your house? I said you wouldn’t mind. It’s only for a couple of hours in the mornings, and we’ll probably be out anyway.’
Slater immediately felt indignant that Norman was inviting people to come and work from his house, but instead of saying the first thing that came into his head, he stopped and considered. It was only for a couple of hours a day, and it wasn’t as if she was a stranger, was it?
‘Yeah, okay,’ he said. ‘When does she want to start?’
‘I told her tomorrow at ten,’ said Norman. ‘I said I’d leave a key under the doormat if we’re not there.’
Slater laughed out loud.
‘Now what?’ asked Norman.
‘Oh nothing much. There’s just a certain irony about this expert security consultant leaving a key under the doormat.’
Chapter Fifty-Six
It was just gone seven thirty and already it was dark. Slater always found the gloom outside that accompanied nightfall rather depressing, so he had just finished doing a tour of his little house, closing all the curtains and turning on one or two lamps. His house might be small, but with the right lighting, small soon became cosy, and choosing lamps for that purpose had been the one piece of interior design he had put some serious thought into.
He had refused Norman’s offer to attend to the homeless at the church hall tonight. Sometimes he just wanted to spend some time on his own, and tonight was one of those occasions. As he settled into his favourite armchair and pointed the remote control at the TV, he thought having an evening to himself in a nice, warm, cosy house, watching football on the TV and enjoying a beer or two, was just about as good as it gets. And then his doorbell rang.
He sighed and cursed quietly. Briefly, he sat where he was, determined to ignore whoever it was in the hope that maybe they would go away and leave him in peace, but another more persistent ring told him it wasn’t going to happen. He climbed reluctantly to his feet and took the half dozen or so strides to reach his front door. He paused to remove the frown from his face and then opened the door.
A small, scrawny figure wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie stood on his step. She had her back to him and seemed to be looking for someone who had perhaps followed her.
‘Err, hello?’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’
She had her hood up, and as she turned to face him, he could see her face was hidden behind a huge pair of sunglasses, but even so he knew who she was. A pair of training shoes that were well past their best completed her ensemble. She stared at him from behind the huge dark lenses, but didn’t seem to know what to say.
Slater wondered what on earth she was doing here. ‘It’s Ginger, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said.
He remembered back to the night in the church hall when he had first seen her. He had been quite sure he knew her from somewhere, and now she spoke, he knew he was right. He felt he should know that voice but, annoyingly, he still couldn’t quite place her.
‘Can I come in?’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you.’
His head suddenly began to fill with questions. Although he felt he knew the voice, they had not actually spoken the night he had first seen her, so why would she think he was someone she should talk to? How had she known where to find him? What did she want?
‘Is it important?’ he asked, stupidly.
‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,’ she said, nervously turning to look up and down the road again. ‘Can I come in?’
Slater didn’t think she posed any sort of threat, and she seemed genuinely concerned about something or someone that might be out there in the dark, so he stepped back and swung the door open for her.
‘Come on in,’ he said.
As she walked past him into the house, he had a bizarre feeling that he could only describe as deja vu, and it crossed his mind that this situation was getting weirder by the minute. But he was intrigued now, and all thoughts of watching a football match on TV were long gone.
She took just a couple of paces into the house and then turned to face him.
‘Who’s after you?’ he asked. ‘Only you looked as if you were expecting a pack of hounds to come swarming around the corner at any moment.’
‘What? No, I didn’t,’ she said.
He decided not to argue with her. ‘D’you really need to keep the hood up? And it’s not exactly brilliant sunshine in here, so you could probably lose the shades too.’
‘I’d rather not,’ she said, and again he felt he knew the voice, which seemed to be much more well-educated than he would have expected from someone living on the street.
‘Why, what have you got to hide? I’m not in the police force any more. I’m not going to arrest you.’
‘Yes, I heard about that,’ she said. ‘Did you get kicked out?’
‘I thought you wanted to talk to me, not question me. What difference does it make why I left the police force?’
‘I’m just curious,’ she said. ‘You were like me, quite good at ruffling feathers. I wondered if maybe you ruffled too many and they turned on you, too.’
‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘And how come you know so much about me?’
She didn’t answer, and he got the feeling she was waiting for him to make the next move. He took a step forward, and as he gently reached forward to remove her sunglasses, she reached up and slipped the hood back from her head. She was much thinner than he remembered, and her fine, red hair, which used to flow down over her shoulders, had been cropped short and dyed black, but even so, now he could see her face properly, there was no doubt who she was.
The last time he had seen her was at the end of a case she had urged him to take a couple of years ago. It had involved finding out what had happened to Ruth Thornhill, a supposedly God-fearing young woman who had turned out to have been living a double life. Jenny Radstock, the scruffy young woman before him, had been instrumental in persuading him to take the case. Back then she had been a high-flying young barrister. He stared at her in stunned silence, more and more questions filling his head. It was a good few seconds before he spoke.
‘Jenny Radstock? Good God! What’s happened to you?’
‘It’s a long story,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘But you were doing so well,’ said Slater. He indicated her clothes, ‘It wasn’t even a couple of years ago. How can you have been reduced to this so quickly?’
‘What happened to me isn’t important,’ she said. ‘And, anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about me. I’ve got some information about Ryan, and you need to do something about it before it’s too late.’
‘How can what happened to you not be important? Look at you!’ he said.
‘Never mind about me,’ she said, urgently. ‘Ryan’s planning something and you need to stop him.’
‘What’s he planning?’
‘I’m not sure, but I think he’s going after whoever killed Morgan and Doddsy.’
‘You mean he knows who it is?’ asked Slater.
‘He thinks he does,’ she said. ‘He’s talking like he’s going off to war. I’m worried he’ll be the next one to get killed. The thing is, he’s got the training to make him think he can take on anyone. If he doesn’t get killed, he might just kill the other man.’
‘Jesus, Jenny, who is he going after? Who did he say it was?’
‘He didn’t say. He just said there was something he had to do and that it was risky, but if all goes well he’d be back in a few days. He said he wanted to make sure no one else dies.’
‘So he knows why people are dying? Why the bloody hell didn’t he tell me and Norm?’
‘I don’t know.’ She was becoming increasingly agitated. ‘He said he was the only one who could stop it. Perhaps he didn’t want you to get involved.’
‘Bloody hell,
’ said Slater. ‘Did he tell you what he was planning, or where he was going?’
‘He said he was going in the morning, that’s why I sneaked out to tell you. He thinks I’ve gone to the church hall for dinner.’
‘Has he ever told you anything about his time in the SAS?’ asked Slater. ‘We know something happened involving him and Morgan, the guy who died in the skip, and another guy called Bobby Coulter. Has he ever mentioned anything about that?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t even know he had been in the SAS until I saw the tattoos on his arms one day. He’s got a regimental crest on one and this weird thing on the other arm, up here.’ She tapped her biceps to indicate where the tattoos had been.
‘What sort of weird thing?’
‘Well, it’s not really weird. Once he told me what it was it made perfect sense.’
‘What was it?’
‘His blood group. Apparently lots of them have it tattooed on their arms. Just in case they lose their tags.’
‘His blood group?’ echoed Slater. ‘They have their blood group tattooed on their arms?’
‘That’s what he told me,’ she said.
Slater rushed across to his mobile phone, found Norman’s number, and hit the call button.
‘Yo,’ said the familiar voice in his ear.
‘Norm?’ Slater was rushing his words. ‘How soon can you get away? I know where Ryan is. We need to get to him tonight. He’s going after Coulter tomorrow.’
‘Wait, wait, slow down,’ said Norman, patiently. ‘How do you know where he is, and why d’you think he’s going after Coulter?’
‘Ginger came round to my house–’
‘Ginger?’ cried Norman. ‘How does Ginger know where you live?’
‘Never mind that now,’ said Slater. ‘The thing is, he has his blood group tattooed on his upper arm. Now, didn’t he say he was so close to Bobby Coulter they even had the same blood group?’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Norman. ‘He said they were like brothers. You think Coulter knows that?’
‘It makes sense,’ said Slater. ‘Remember Doddsy had his sleeves cut off? Maybe someone was looking to see if he had a blood group tattoo. I can think of one very good reason why you’d want to know that, can’t you?’
‘Shit!’ said Norman. ‘You think Coulter’s looking to take someone’s kidneys for his son, and he’s trying to make sure it’s the right one?’
‘It all adds up, doesn’t it?’
‘We’d better find him quick,’ said Norman. ‘Maybe Coulter’s plan was to bump people off and draw Ryan to him.’
‘If he did, it’s worked a treat.’
‘Did Ginger say where he is?’
Slater looked around to make sure she was still there, but he needn’t have worried. She was watching anxiously as he made the call.
‘I’ll ask her,’ he said. ‘How soon can you get away?’
‘You find out where he is. I’ll explain to Chris and Diane and then come and pick you up. I’ll be no more than twenty minutes.’
‘Right,’ said Slater, but Norman had already cut the call. He put the phone down and turned to Ginger.
‘So where’s Ryan now, Jenny? You have a squat, don’t you? Is he there?’
She grimaced. ‘My “squat” is what you would remember as my old house. It’s been repossessed, but at the moment it’s empty, so I’m living there under cover of darkness. There’s no electricity or any of the normal mod cons, but at least it’s dry.’
‘Jesus,’ said Slater. ‘How the hell–’
‘Please don’t ask me to explain it all now,’ she said, sadly. ‘Just go and stop Ryan before he does something really stupid and gets himself killed.’
‘How do we get in?’
‘The board over the window by the back door. There’s a spring clip holds the board in place. You’ll see a hole. Just put your finger through and pull.’
‘Are you and he–’
‘No, we are not,’ she said, firmly. ‘It’s a survival thing. We just look out for each other. That’s all there is to it.’
He looked her up and down. She certainly looked as though a good bath wouldn’t do her any harm.
‘When was the last time you had a decent night’s sleep? Or at least had somewhere warm to sleep, without lying awake wondering if someone was going to come along and evict you?’ he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘What about a hot bath and a hot meal?’
She shrugged again. Back at the time of the Ruth Thornhill case, he had felt she had manipulated and outmanoeuvred him but, at the same time, she had helped him resurrect his career and, if he was being honest, he had liked her from the first time he had met her despite any misgivings he might have had.
‘Right, here’s what I think you should do,’ he said. ‘Norm’s going to pick me up in about fifteen minutes, and then we’re going to find Ryan.’
‘He won’t be happy about me telling you where to find him,’ she said.
‘Then it’s probably best if you stay here. I’m sure you can remember your way around, and even if you can’t, it’s not exactly a big house. There’s food in the fridge, and there are plenty of towels in the bathroom. I suggest you cook yourself a decent meal and then go and soak in a hot bath. After that, if you want to, you can stay the night and sleep in my spare room. The bed is made up.’
She looked at him, enquiringly, seemingly undecided about the offer. Slater guessed she was probably expecting there had to be a trade-off.
‘And no,’ he said. ‘There are no strings attached. I don’t expect anything in return. Look upon it as a favour from an old friend.’
She still didn’t seem to be able to make her mind up.
‘Or,’ he continued, ‘you could walk all the way back to your cold, dark house with no running water and nothing to eat and sleep there on your own. It’s your choice.’
This seemed to be enough to sway her decision. ‘I’ll take you up on the food and the bath, if that’s okay,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure I’ll still be here when you get back.’
There was the toot of a car horn outside.
‘That’s Norm’ Slater said. ‘I’ve got to go. Look, Jenny, I just want to help, and whatever you decide is okay with me, but if you do go before we get back, can you make sure you lock the door on your way out?’
He grabbed a jacket and let himself out of the house. As he began to walk away, he was sure he heard her making sure the door was locked, and he wondered what she was running and hiding from. But he didn’t really have time to worry about that right now.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
‘So how the hell do we get in?’ asked Norman, peering into the gloom.
They had just pulled up outside Jenny Radstock’s former house and were sitting in the car waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness outside. The downstairs windows had been boarded up to prevent entry although, ironically, this also made it easier for anyone who did gain entry to remain unseen from the outside. Jenny, in her guise as Ginger, and Ryan, had obviously used this to their advantage to live in the house and remain hidden during the day.
The rain that had been threatening all day had finally begun to fall.
‘Apparently the board over the kitchen window is held closed by spring clips. Ginger says it can easily be opened from the outside and then pulled back into place once you’ve gone through the window,’ explained Slater.
‘You want me to climb through a window?’ asked Norman, appalled at the idea. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘Well, I didn’t think I was kidding,’ said Slater, ‘but obviously when I was thinking, I wasn’t thinking, if you see what I mean.’
Norman was confused. ‘Is that a yes or a no?’ he asked.
Slater sighed. ‘Alright, I’ll climb through the bloody window on my own,’ he said.
‘You can open a door for me from the inside,’ suggested Norman.
‘They changed all the locks, and we don’t h
ave a key,’ said Slater, sounding irritated. ‘And in any case, all the doors are boarded up. How the hell am I going to open one for you?’
‘Good point,’ conceded Norman. ‘You know, when you put it like that, I might as well sit here and wait.’
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Slater. ‘What if Ryan’s in there, takes exception to my arrival, and beats the crap out of me? No, you can come and wait by the window, just in case he gets past me and does a runner. It’s his only way out, so you can stop him. And if I am going to need an ambulance, I want to make sure you know when to call for it.’
‘But I don’t have a coat.’
A wicked grin split Slater’s face. ‘So you’ll get wet,’ he said, gleefully.
‘But I might catch a cold.’
‘For Christ’s sake, will you stop bitching?’ said Slater. ‘If it makes you happy, I’m willing to risk catching a cold, but that means you will have to squeeze through the window and perhaps get your head kicked in by a trained assassin. Do you want to do that?’
It didn’t take Norman long to evaluate this proposition, which seemed to involve far more risk than he was willing to face.
‘No, you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘It makes much more sense that I catch the cold. I probably wouldn’t fit through the window anyway.’
Slater shook his head and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket.
‘Okay,’ he said, making sure Norman saw him turning his phone off. ‘Make sure your phone’s off. I don’t want to get caught out by an unexpected ringtone.’
Norman found his own mobile phone and made sure Slater watched as he did the same.
‘Right, let’s go,’ said Slater. ‘And remember, no noise and no torchlight. We only talk in whispers, right?’
Got it,’ whispered Norman.
They slipped quietly from the car and made their way through the side gate and round to the back of the house. The kitchen window was next to the back door, and just as Ginger had described, there was a hole in one corner just large enough to slip a finger through. Slater pushed a finger through and pulled at the board. With a quiet, satisfying click, he eased it free from the spring clips that held it closed and swung it open. The window behind it was open, and it took just a few seconds for him to climb inside. He went to pull the board closed behind him.