Chapter Nineteen
Seeing Anna had been a welcome distraction from Mariner’s Sunday undertaking, which was to help Kat to move her things to her new flat. Covering his disappointment as best he could, he helped her to load up his car with her few boxes of possessions, and drove her over to the flat in Moseley. He was re-running in his head yet again his chance meeting with Anna when, in a momentary lapse of concentration, he overshot a roundabout.
‘Tom!’ Kat yelled, and Mariner slammed on his brakes just in time. The oncoming driver blared his horn and could clearly be seen mouthing obscenities. Mariner was tempted to get out of the car with his warrant card and teach the bastard a lesson, but he calmed himself, well aware of how these things could escalate. Only a few minutes earlier they’d caught the news headlines, dominated by a couple who had been attacked the previous night.
‘I think your head is in the clouds today,’ Kat said, mildly.
‘I saw Anna yesterday,’ Mariner told her.
‘Ah, you miss her.’
‘Yes, I do.’
Kat’s new home was compact, modern and airy; a contrast to his traditional canal-side cottage. It wasn’t what Mariner would have chosen, identical as it was to the hundreds of others in the complex, but it was perfect for a young woman starting out, and Kat was thrilled with it, proudly showing him around everything. Mariner unaccountably got a lump in his throat, but all the same it took him by surprise when she dissolved into tears. ‘I think my mum and dad would like this very much,’ she said, suddenly. ‘Is better than the place they live in Tirana.’
Mariner put a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘They’d be very proud of you,’ he agreed. ‘And maybe they will get to see it. Are you still thinking of contacting them?’ he asked.
She sniffed. ‘Yes, one day, I think.’
‘And now, lunch.’
Mariner took her to the Selly Park Tavern, then afterwards they went for a blustery walk around Cannon Hill Park, where they walked past the models of the Elan Valley dams. It had rained on and off all day, but there were plenty of families enjoying the park and feeding the ducks. When they returned to Kat’s flat, Giles was there, waiting in his car with a big bunch of flowers.
‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ Mariner felt suddenly awkward.
‘But you come and see me soon,’ Kat smiled. ‘Is not so far,’ tentatively she put her arms on his shoulders and hugged him. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in his ear.
* * *
Back home the house seemed very empty without Katarina. Over the years the place had seen a number of lodgers, among them, at one time, Tony Knox. But maybe this had all worked out for the best. Now if Mariner needed to sell up at short notice he could. It would all depend on Anna. Okay, she hadn’t outright admitted that things were not going well with Dr Gareth, but he’d detected some definite uncertainty there. He still had the contact number for her in Herefordshire. Maybe his next weekend walk would be out there and he’d just ‘drop in’ to see her. He could phone her now and pave the way, but when he tried the number there was no reply. On a Sunday afternoon they’d be in the pub probably, Mariner thought, remembering the very attractive village inn. Still he had the rest of the week to get hold of her.
The thought of Anna’s local turned him to thinking about a drink. Mariner’s nearest pub, the Boatman had been recently refurbished, all the rooms knocked into one, children and families welcome. But sometimes desperation prevails and grabbing his coat and keys from the hook in the hall, he slammed the door behind him.
* * *
Mariner was in reasonable spirits driving in to Granville Lane on Monday morning. The Boatman hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared; the novelty of the new facilities clearly wearing off and leaving the pub as quiet on a Sunday evening as he had ever known it. He’d even managed a couple of games of dominoes with one of the old regulars. He missed Kat being around, but it didn’t mean that he’d be on his own for long. All that was needed to consolidate this new-found optimism would be for the surveillance op to reap its rewards.
But the day didn’t start well. On Mariner’s desk was an urgent message for him to contact the IT technician, Max. Knox appeared while Mariner was making the call, and his slight incline of the head told Mariner that it had been a no-show today. He confirmed as much when Mariner hung up the phone.
‘We have to be prepared for that,’ said Mariner, though he could tell that Knox was disappointed. ‘It’s not our only setback.’
‘What else?’
‘That was Max on the phone,’ Mariner said. ‘They’ve just realised that Martin Bonnington’s computer clock is twelve hours adrift, which means he has an alibi for a lot of the computer activity. It’s looking like he might have had a hacker after all.’
‘Shit,’ said Knox.
‘That’s two pieces of crap news,’ said Mariner cheerfully. ‘And here’s DCI Sharp with the third.’
Sharp had appeared in the doorway, her face grim, and even Mariner’s remark failed to raise a smile. ‘Could you give us a moment, Tony?’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Knox got up from where he was perched on a low filing cabinet. He walked out into the bull pen, curious that everyone seemed to be standing around waiting expectantly. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. But before anyone could tell him, an agonised howl ripped through the air from Mariner’s office behind him.
‘You heard about that road rage incident on the M5 on Saturday night?’ Millie said, quietly.
‘Yeah, I caught somethin’ about it on the news,’ said Knox, puzzled. ‘But they hadn’t named—’
‘It was Anna Barham,’ said Millie. ‘She’s dead.’
‘Christ almighty,’ breathed Knox, turning to stare at Mariner’s office.
* * *
‘I’m so sorry, Tom,’ Sharp said.
Mariner sat at his desk, head in his hands, clawing at his scalp. ‘I don’t understand. It’s not possible!’ He looked up at Sharp, beseeching her to say it wasn’t true; that she’d made a mistake; that this was a cruel prank. ‘I just saw her,’ he said, as if that could change things. ‘What happened?’
‘She was a passenger in a Porsche being driven by a Dr Charles Morse,’ Sharp said, quietly. ‘They were driving from Birmingham back to Hereford on Saturday evening, and got into some kind of altercation with another driver. He and his mates followed them to the exit junction, waited until they were out in the wilds before forcing them off the road and attacking Morse. It looks as if Anna tried to intervene. They each died from multiple stab wounds, Morse at the scene and Anna on the way to hospital. Another woman survived the incident. I’m so sorry, Tom.’ Going round to where Mariner sat she placed a hand on his back. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No,’ Mariner whispered, ‘thank you, ma’am.’ And as Sharp closed the door behind her Mariner jumped up from his seat and swept the contents of his desk onto the floor.
‘Anything you want from us, ma’am?’ Knox asked, as Sharp walked past them to return to her office.
Gazing in at Mariner, Sharp shook her head. ‘Just keep doing your jobs,’ she said. ‘Is everything in hand for tonight’s surveillance?’
‘Yeah, it’s my shift, ma’am.’
‘Well, at least let’s try and get a result for him, eh?’
For some time CID remained unnaturally quiet; everyone was keeping their heads down and trying to ignore the raging figure that could be seen pacing his office from side to side.
* * *
After forty minutes Mariner’s door opened and staring straight ahead, he walked purposefully across the bull pen, down the stairs and out of the building. All they could do was watch him go.
Throughout, Mariner had remained dry eyed, the overwhelming pain in the centre of his chest like a vortex, sucking him dry. Getting in his car he drove too fast up to Monument Hill where he could park and look out over the panoramic view south, towards the Malverns and beyond, to the place where she had perished. As he switched o
ff the engine the tears came, and once they came they would not stop.
He must have sat there for hours gazing numbly out at the horizon because suddenly he became aware that it was getting dark, and his limbs were stiff with cold. His head felt muzzy with grief. Getting out of the car, Mariner walked in the dusk up to the miniature fortress that marked the top of the hill, immune to the cold wind that cut through his shirt. Pinpricks of light were beginning to appear in the urban sprawl below. He and Anna had stood up here to watch the millennium fireworks. It seemed a lifetime ago. ‘We’ve everything to look forward to,’ she had said at the time. How wrong could anyone be?
The next hours were a blur. When Mariner got home there were messages from Knox, wanting to know if he was all right, and from DCI Sharp. ‘I’ve arranged compassionate leave,’ she said. ‘Take as long as you need.’
The next day Mariner abused his position and harassed West Mercia police for details of the incident, but they could tell him little more than was on the news. Already the story had dropped off the national cycle completely, and he was reduced to searching the internet for scraps.
On Wednesday morning he got up and dressed at six in the morning. Getting in his car, he retraced Anna’s last journey, down the motorway, off the exit and onto the country lane where it had happened. He had no trouble finding it. On this sunny early spring day the narrow lane running between tall hawthorn hedges was bursting with life, the bright green leaves beginning to push through the buds. A bedraggled strand of crime scene tape looked obscenely out of place in the benign pastoral setting. Just beside it, on the road, was a dark stain. It could have been anything, but to Mariner’s experienced eye it was unmistakable. He crouched on his haunches and his vision blurred again.
Afterwards he drove on into Upper Burwell, the village where Anna had made her home. His plan had been to offer his condolences in person to Gareth, but now he couldn’t bear to even think of another man grieving for her. Instead he drew up outside the chocolate box cottage that he remembered as Becky and Mark’s. Becky, Anna’s former assistant had been the catalyst for Anna’s longing for the rustic life. They’d stayed here once for a few days, back when it was ‘Tom and Anna.’ That was when she had started to pull away from him.
‘Tom.’ Becky was shocked to see him and momentarily Mariner thought he’d made a terrible mistake, but then her arms were around him and she was weeping into his shoulder. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘It’s just too awful.’
‘I want to know exactly what happened,’ Mariner said. ‘Do you think Lottie would talk to me?’
‘We can try.’
Mariner wondered if Lottie would even remember him, they had only met on one occasion. In the event it didn’t seem to matter. Lottie was too dazed to notice and he couldn’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling. But there was little she could tell him beyond what he already knew.
‘If there’s anything I can do—’ Mariner found himself saying to this woman who was a stranger.
He repeated the mantra to Becky as they walked back to the house, though it was said automatically; a futile gesture. It was unexpected when she said: ‘Actually, Tom, there might be. The thing is, nobody’s cancelled the wedding coordinator. I don’t think anyone can bring themselves to do it and I daren’t raise it with Lottie. As you’re up in Birmingham anyway, and in your official capacity, could you call in and explain to them what has happened? I can give you all the details.’
It was, in truth, the last thing that Mariner wanted to get involved with, but he’d made the offer, how could he possibly now refuse?
* * *
That night, as with those before, sleep came fitfully and when Mariner finally awoke there was a gaping hole in the world. Armed with his warrant card he caught the bus into the city centre. Today he would make himself useful and do what Becky had asked of him. Retracing his steps along Corporation Street, between the high buildings, Mariner had to pass by the spot where he’d bumped into Anna less than a week ago. He lingered on the pavement for a moment, remembering the way the sun had glinted on her hair, the animated expression on her face, the image so powerful he felt he could reach out and touch her. Only when he saw an elderly woman staring up at him did he realise that he was weeping. Wiping his eyes he ventured into Brackleys, running the gamut of the aftershave sales assistants, and caught the escalator up to the fourth floor.
The wedding department staff were upset and sympathetic. They’d had no reason to connect a random news item with their client. It was unprecedented, and the young assistant Mariner spoke to had to go and fetch the manager, leaving him to wait in one of the private booths that they used. This was clearly big business and Mariner idly wondered how much was charged for this service. Restless and unable to settle, he paced the room. Certificates on the wall announced the awards for past Wedding Coordinators of the Year. Designed to impress customers no doubt, but what the hell did it mean? His attention was drawn to one in particular . . .
‘Inspector Mariner, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’ The manager appeared, in a tight-fitting suit and too much makeup, with a range of paperwork for Mariner to sign, and in ten minutes it was all over. Charles and Lottie’s wedding plans scrapped for ever. Travelling down again to the ground floor Mariner felt a wave of sadness for poor Lottie. Walking down past the railway station, Mariner made his way through the exclusive Mailbox, Anna’s favourite shopping centre, and to Brindleyplace where he dropped down onto the canal. Anna had been living near here when they’d first met. It seemed that everywhere he went there were stinging reminders. It took him a couple of hours to walk back along the waterside away from the city centre and to his house, and once there he felt unaccountably tired. The remaining bottles in the beer carrier that Kat had bought him sat untouched and inviting in the kitchen, and after draining a couple to ease the pain, he fell asleep on the sofa. When he woke up it was dark, and after a while he fell asleep again. Then something woke him with a jolt. This time he found his watch. It was three in the morning. Christ, he’d slept for nearly twelve hours. Lying in the dark, Mariner heard a milk float rumble by. He thought about the surveillance op and wondered who was on shift tonight. Were they just wasting time and resources with that? His mind skimmed over all their suspects, and for some reason came to rest back on those wedding planner awards. There had been something about that particular certificate . . . and that was when it came to him.
Chapter Twenty
Scrambling for his mobile Mariner called through to Tony Knox. His sergeant was groggy when he answered, woken from his own slumber.
‘What day is it?’ Mariner asked.
‘Jesus. That you, boss? Are you—?’
‘What day is it?’ Mariner demanded again. ‘And who’s on surveillance?’
‘It’s Wednesday, and I think it’s Millie, boss, but—’
Mariner cut him off and punched in Millie’s number. She answered almost immediately.
‘I know what we’ve missed,’ he said. ‘I know who it is, and they’re coming today. I’m coming over. I want you to let me in.’
‘But, boss, you could blow our . . .’
‘It’s still only three a.m. and I’ll be careful. Just be ready to let me in.’
It was dark and the roads were deserted as Mariner drove to Manor Farm estate. Parking his car in a cul-de-sac close to the entrance, he locked it and continued on foot, staying close to fences and hedges along the way. Under cover of a high fence he stopped at the end of Hill Crest and stood for several minutes, waiting and watching. It was a freezing morning. His breath steamed the air and a light mist cast halos round the sodium streetlamps. A cat crossed the road ahead of him casting wary glances from side to side, but there was no other movement. Slowly and silently Mariner proceeded along the road, pressing himself into the shadows. All the houses, including Bonnington’s, were in darkness. Mariner crept cautiously up the side of the drive of number nineteen and, as he got to the door, it opened without a sound, dr
awing him inside.
‘Up here, sir.’ Closing the door soundlessly, Millie led him up the stairs and into the front bedroom, where in the darkness Mariner could just make out the silhouette of the night surveillance equipment on its tripod in the window. Millie passed him some binoculars. There was a light crackle as she activated her walkie-talkie. ‘DI Mariner safely admitted,’ she said, and the recipient acknowledged it and signed off.
‘Who have you got?’ Mariner asked, his voice low.
‘Solomon and Evans tonight, sir. Poor guys; they definitely got the short straw. They’re tucked in behind the bins at the side of the house. They’ve fixed a temporary security light down there too, for when it all kicks off — if it ever does. You want some tea?’ She lifted a flask.
‘I’m fine,’ whispered Mariner, lifting the binoculars he scanned the front of the house. ‘Where’s Jarrett?’
‘Went to bed hours ago. We’ve hardly seen him since we’ve been here. I’m starting to think this whole thing has been a complete waste of time. Four nights now and not a tickle. The DCI will do her nut.’
‘That’s because it’s tonight,’ said Mariner, still watching the street.
‘But how can you be so sure, sir?’ Millie had joined him now, and they stood, side by side, two pairs of night vision binoculars, trained on the drive below.
‘What’s the thing that Lucy Jarrett and Rachel Hordern have in common?’ Mariner murmured.
‘Nothing, boss.’ Millie was confused. ‘That’s the whole point.’
‘No, I’m not talking about Nina,’ Mariner said exasperated. ‘Lucy and Rachel: what do they have in common?’
‘They’re both young women. They’re both married?’ said Millie eventually, uncertain of where this was going.
‘Exactly,’ said Mariner. ‘And they both . . .’ He stopped. ‘Did you see something — there, on the left?’
Millie jerked her binoculars over to where Mariner was looking. ‘Are you sure? There’s . . . yes! I’ve got it! Wow. That’s way too big to be a fox.’
Married Lies (Reissue) Page 26