Over Your Shoulder

by C J Carver

  ‘Did you catch her?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. She ran like a bloody jack rabbit on speed. I lost her outside.’ He opened his eyes. ‘Can we stop with the twenty questions? I’m sure Suze will fill you in. What I really want to know is what’s next?’

  I wasn’t sure “Suze” would fill me in at all. She may have dragged Mark Felton out for me, but that had only been under duress. She’d concealed her involvement in all this, hiding behind half-truths and lies, and the betrayal had yet to hit me. Did she have a good excuse for not being honest? Would she cover it up under the guise that it was “classified”? I thought of us sitting on our sofa and watching the CCTV recording together. Had she seen it before? From her response, I thought not, but I could be wrong. She could be a good actress when she wanted. Which was why being a spook suited her so well. Mirrors and veils, secrets and shrouds. That was her world. But it wasn’t mine.

  I watched Jovial execute another neat turn, so she was facing back the way we’d come.

  ‘What do you think should happen?’ I responded.

  This time, dark emotion filled his face. ‘The Saint,’ Rob said. ‘I want to bring him down, and I want to come home.’

  I couldn’t help it. I had to ask. ‘What about Clara and the kids?’

  His gaze became distant. ‘We need some kind of resolution.’

  ‘She’s remarried. John, he’s a nice guy…’

  Rob looked at me again. ‘I’m not going to mess things up for anyone. I just want to be able to sail into the harbour with Sorcha and have a beer at The Anchor Bleu without someone turning up wanting to kill me. Did you know there’s still a bounty on my head? Half a million quid and the queue isn’t getting any smaller, I can tell you.’

  He leaned forward, adjusted a cleat, and went on. ‘When I say “coming home”, I mean that I want to drop in on Mum and Dad for a cup of tea without looking over my shoulder. I want to see Honey and Finn…’ His voice broke and for a moment I thought he might cry, but he quickly got himself under control. ‘I want to see my kids without bringing homicidal maniacs to their door. Coming home means I want George fucking Abbott locked up, behind bars for the rest of his life, and to be free of fear.’

  ‘Okay.’ I nodded. ‘I get it.’

  I reached over and gripped his arm briefly. He nodded back. Then he looked at his boat – or rather the Spanish gang’s boat – and said, ‘We need to make a plan.’

  ‘Coming about,’ I said, and wound the wheel, spinning the boat so we came in front of Jovial. ‘What kind of plan?’

  He grinned, and the brother I remembered returned, his eyes lit with excitement and adventure. ‘Something clever, that doesn’t get anyone killed.’

  Chapter 46

  When I returned to moor Talisman on her buoy, I saw two men outside the sailing club, standing in the rain, watching me. Usually I would cover the boat with a tarp, but since I didn’t know when I might need it again, and maybe in a hurry, I decided against it. I padlocked the hatch and went for’ard and grabbed the dinghy. As soon as I started rowing for the shore – obviously alone – the men disappeared.

  In the shallows, I splashed the dinghy up the muddy bank and secured it against a wooden piling. No men watching me, as far as I could tell. I wondered if they had followed me here and watched me sail out into the harbour, or whether they were simply tourists, maybe a couple of walkers taking in the view. They’d been too far away for me to make out their clothing, let alone their features. All I knew was that I hadn’t seen them earlier.

  I walked home, keeping an eye out, but I didn’t see them again. Just a woman walking a small brown dog, and an elderly bloke in a tatty old Barbour. If anyone had followed me in the hope I’d lead them to Rob, they’d have needed a drone to track my progress across the water. You couldn’t follow us by car because of all the inlets and tributaries – you’d have to drive twenty times the distance that we would do by boat. Which was why Rob’s chosen meeting place had been so perfect, because while I’d headed Talisman north for Bosham, Sorcha and Rob had gone in the opposite direction, perhaps toward Hayling Island, or even the Isle of Wight. I had no idea. Before he left me, he’d given me a mobile phone, a cheap second-hand Nokia worth about ten quid.

  ‘So we can talk, undetected,’ he told me. ‘It’s pay as you go. I’ve put my number in there. However, if you think anyone’s seen it, send me a text with the word Avalanche in it. Then chuck it. Thereon, I’ll post or leave messages in post office box number 2113.’ He went on to give me a Chichester PO box office service address.

  I said, ‘It’s around the corner from work.’

  ‘Dead handy,’ he agreed, indicating he’d chosen its location specifically for my convenience. He gave me a key to the mailbox.

  It was still raining when I arrived home, and despite my wet weather gear I felt cold and damp, so I ran a bath, the age-old cure for chilled-to-the-bone sailors around the world. While I soaked, I leaned back and closed my eyes but all I could see was Susie’s innocent expression, hear her voice in my head.

  No, I wasn’t working with Rob. You know that already, Nick. I told you, remember? And no, I had nothing to do with Abbott.

  I remembered us watching the CCTV recording. My absorption with the grey blur on the front of the desk. Her asking me what I’d spotted. It’s a logo, I’d said. So it is, she’d said, as if she didn’t know. As if she’d never been there. The liar.

  Rob’s death had felt a bit like this. Denial, yes, and shock, but what distressed me the most was that I recognised the same data ticking through my synapses, telling me nothing would ever be the same again. It wouldn’t matter what she said in her defence, if her excuse was MI5 sanctioned, certified by the Prime Minister and authorised by the Queen herself, my wife had lied to me. And it hadn’t been a little white lie like when she told me she liked the shirt I was wearing to give me confidence before I met her parents (even I knew it was crap), but a monster lie over the day my brother had vanished.

  I’d bet my last penny she had been there that night. And she hadn’t told me.

  Would I be able to forgive her? Or would I never be able to trust her again? Would I spend time in the future wondering if she was being honest with me? Or would I stop listening to her, tune her out, unable to know if she was lying or not? It would, I thought, rot me from the inside out. It would destroy us.

  Emotions rioted through me. Anger, fear, apprehension. But right at the top sat a deep-rooted sorrow. I’d trusted her, and she had ripped up that trust and set fire to it before flushing it down the toilet.

  When the water cooled, I added some more hot. I kept doing this until my skin was pink and I started to sweat. Then I towelled myself dry, put on jeans and a sweatshirt. I made tea. Went and fetched some logs from the log store at the side of the house. Lit a fire. I quickly cooled and felt shivery, slightly ill, and I knew it was shock. Shock of seeing my brother, shock of Susie’s duplicity.

  The fire was blazing merrily when my mobile went. I had a quick look at the display. Unknown. Since Susie used blocked numbers from time to time, I wasn’t sure whether to answer or not. What would I say to her?

  Cautiously, I answered. ‘Hello?’ If it was Susie I’d make an excuse, like someone was at the door, and hang up. I wanted to be ready when I saw her. I wanted my head straight, my questions in line. Basically, I wanted all my ducks in a row.

  ‘Hello, Nick.’ A woman’s cheery voice. ‘How are you going with our little investigation?’

  I’d forgotten about Fredericka, the journalist. ‘Er, it’s… er, complicated.’

  ‘Heard from your brother yet?’

  ‘I thought we had an agreement not to go there.’

  ‘It was worth a shot,’ she said, unabashed. ‘So, any news for me?’

  ‘You’ve kind of caught me on the hop,’ I said. I really didn’t want to talk to her. Not about Rob, nor the Saint, not even the weather.

  ‘That’s okay. Because I’ve been doing some digging, and I’ve fo
und someone who’ll speak to us about the night Tony Abbott died.’

  Although I’d been about to make an excuse to hang up, curiosity got the better of me. ‘Like who?’

  ‘Like one of the cleaners. Klaudia Nowacki. She was a friend of Arun Choudhuri’s. The caretaker on duty that night. You know he was murdered?’

  ‘Yes.’ I didn’t say I’d seen his corpse. Too many questions would follow.

  ‘She’s very upset about it. She was on duty that night as well, or so she says. She’s agreed to see us.’

  ‘What does she know?’

  ‘Put it this way, we can’t do it by phone because how can we show our gratitude for her cooperation?’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. Klaudia wanted paying. ‘How much?’

  ‘If you want to make sure of getting something decent, bring five tons. But let’s start at a bullseye and build up if we need to. No point in throwing it away.’

  A bullseye was fifty quid, a ton one hundred.

  ‘Okay,’ I agreed.

  ‘She can see us tonight. Can you get to Haringey by eight?’

  I looked up Google maps to see exactly where Haringey was first, then did some swift calculations. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s meet outside her place at seven forty-five.’ Fredericka rattled off the address.

  ‘See you there.’

  I hung up. I didn’t want to go to the other side of London – Haringey was miles away – but the urge to get more information was paramount. Knowledge was power. I had to gather as many facts together as to what happened that night. I had to make sense of what was going on. Whether my wife was a snake or a serpent or something more cuddly like a squirrel. But even squirrels bite, a little voice whispered. Squirrels may look cute, but they have claws as sharp as needles and carry fleas, mites and lice.

  Stop it, I told myself. Pull yourself together. Get yourself to a bank, then get your arse to Haringey and see what Klaudia has to say. You can face Susie later.

  Chapter 47

  Another train ride to Victoria. A tube across town to King’s Cross, where I changed onto the Piccadilly line. I stood for half the journey as there were no seats, but once we’d passed Holloway Road, the crowds thinned out. I exited at Manor House and headed down Green Lanes, past a pharmacy, a dry cleaners, a small well-stocked supermarket, all still open and doing a brisk business. Wind blew wet leaves through the air, and people walked hunched in coats, their collars turned up. Not many umbrellas because of the wind.

  I walked past the Portland Rise Estate – Hackney Housing, according to the sign outside – and a few hundred yards later on the right I came to the block of flats I was looking for. Red brick, probably built in the seventies, four storeys. It was one of the nicer blocks on the street with balconies and some nice shrubs out the front, and the paintwork around the windows looked clean, unlike next door’s which were peeling in great strips, the windows filthy.

  A woman stood smoking by the brick wall. Fifties, stout, curly grey hair, short legs. She looked at me as I approached and she said, ‘Nick.’

  ‘Fredericka?’

  ‘Glad you could make it.’

  She had a grip like a man’s and a direct gaze. ‘You’ve got the cash?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Fredericka led the way. She buzzed the intercom and stated we were there. A voice said, ‘fourth floor’, and the door buzzed and Fredericka pushed it open. We walked up the stairs. Grey linoleum, pale blue walls. We came to a small landing. A woman stood in the doorway of one of the flats. She was in her late thirties, small and strong, with thin blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. I saw a faded tattoo on her wrist, a miniature butterfly, and another behind her ear. I think it was meant to be a seahorse but it had faded so much it was hard to tell. But the most striking thing about her, were her eyes, which were a sheer vivid blue ringed with darker blue, making you think you were gazing into a tropical sea.

  No greeting. No handshake. Her serious expression didn’t change as she nodded at us. Stood back and let us inside. Closed the door behind her. She moved ahead into a snug living room with a couple of colourful rugs, prints of mountains on the walls. Green plants lined the windowsill, some herbs.

  ‘Where’s the money?’ she said.

  ‘It depends what you have for us,’ Fredericka said smoothly.

  I brought out a fifty-pound note.

  ‘Fuck that.’ Klaudia’s eyes watered in dismay.

  I hurriedly added two more notes.

  ‘No way,’ she exclaimed. ‘What I know is worth much more.’

  ‘Give us a hint,’ said Fredericka. ‘Something to tempt us.’

  Klaudia raised her chin. ‘There was someone else there that night. Someone only me and Arun know about.’

  I decided not to mess about any longer and brought out the remainder of the money, fanned the notes. I could sense Fredericka’s annoyance but I didn’t care. ‘You tell us what happened that night,’ I told Klaudia, ‘you get the lot.’

  Her hand reached out to take the money but Fredericka stopped her. ‘You have to earn it first.’

  Klaudia’s eyes remained on the notes in my hand. ‘Back then, I worked for My Fair Cleaning. We start at six o’clock as usual, when most people go home.’

  ‘We?’ I asked.

  ‘Two of us. That day, it was Nicole and I.’

  ‘Does Nicole have a surname?’ Fredericka asked.

  She frowned. ‘I can’t remember. We only really knew each other’s first names anyway.’

  ‘Who’s Danya Benesch?’ I asked. It was the only name on the reception list that hadn’t been accounted for. However, I guessed it probably belonged to the middle-aged woman I’d seen on the CCTV tape.

  ‘Who?’ Klaudia looked blank.

  I repeated the name. Klaudia shrugged. ‘Never heard of them. Sorry.’

  ‘So,’ Fredericka prompted, ‘you and Nicole started work, as usual…’

  ‘We always start at the top and work down. Back then, they only had three floors. The rest were rented to other companies. Now, I think they have the whole building.’

  Klaudia took a step back and folded her arms. Her eyes came away from the money briefly to rest on me.

  ‘You started on the third floor?’ I prompted.

  ‘Yes. We always begin by cleaning the toilets. Then we go around emptying the bins. Removing all the junk people have left behind. Empty cups, lunch things. Then we dust. Polish. Our job is to clean without disturbance. To leave papers as they are, without moving them.’ She rolled her eyes to let us know what she thought of that. ‘Finally, we vacuum. Each floor.’

  I nodded, trying to encourage her to continue.

  ‘Nicola was next door, in Mr Carter’s office, and I was in the big boss’s office. Mr Abbott.’

  ‘George or Tony?’

  ‘Mr George.’

  I gave another nod. I didn’t know exactly where his office had been, but I didn’t want to interrupt her too much before we got the gist of her story. I could nail down these details later.

  ‘This is when he comes in.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know him. But he is a nice-looking young man. Suntanned. Nice smile. He wants to check things in the office. He says he’s from a private security firm. It isn’t my business, I let him do what he likes but I’m not worried. After six o’clock, Arun only lets in people who are authorised. This young man, he checks under Mr George’s desk, around the office. He chats. He seems a nice person.’

  I bet it was Rob, placing his bugs.

  Chapter 48

  I looked at Klaudia expectantly. ‘And?’ I prompted her.

  Fredericka was opening her mouth but I forestalled her with a repressive glance.

  Klaudia’s eyes kept flicking to the notes and away. We were coming to the meat of it, I was sure. This was the important thing.

  ‘I heard voices,’ she told me. ‘I put my head around the corner in case it was Mr George, because if it
was, I would have to get out quick. But it wasn’t him, it was the young man. He was talking to someone.’

  Klaudia closed her eyes for a moment and then they snapped open, as though she’d made a decision. ‘He was talking to Rachel. I was surprised because she wasn’t supposed to be working that night. Then he got in the lift, and she watched it close. She watched where it went. To the ground floor. And then she walked away.’

  Silence.

  ‘Who’s Rachel?’ I asked.

  ‘Another cleaner. But it was her day off. She shouldn’t have been there.’

  ‘Did she know the young man, do you think?’

  ‘They were talking.’ Klaudia shrugged. ‘I couldn’t hear what about. Maybe they knew each other, maybe not.’

  It was the first I’d heard of this Rachel. ‘I don’t suppose you know her surname.’

  Klaudia shook her head.

  ‘What time did you see them talking?’

  ‘Mr Abbott, he asks me this also, but I don’t know for sure. I hadn’t been working for so long, so maybe six fifteen or so?’

  ‘Didn’t the police interview you too?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her gaze grew nervous. ‘Mr George told me not to tell anything about the young man and Rachel. He made me swear. He was also…’ Klaudia looked around her flat. ‘Very generous.’

  ‘You’re not worried he’ll be angry that you’re talking now?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But Arun is dead. What if I die too? Nobody will know that Rachel was there. Except Mr Abbott.’

  I couldn’t see why it was such a big deal that an out-of-hours cleaner had been there and I had no doubt there was more to the story.

  I took a wild stab in the dark. ‘Did Mr Abbott know Rachel? Not just as a cleaner, I mean…’

  Something moved in her eyes, and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head.

  ‘Mr Abbott had a relationship with Rachel?’

  She nodded.

  ‘George Abbott?’ I pressed. ‘Or Tony?’