Over Your Shoulder

by C J Carver

  ‘That you were leading a killer to Klaudia’s door.’ Fredericka’s gaze was bold, accusing.

  I tried not to shrink back, but how could I not? Two people were dead because of me. Thanks to my floundering around like some kind of incompetent private eye, Arun and Klaudia had been murdered. I closed my eyes, feeling queasy.

  ‘Talk to me, Nick.’

  I opened my eyes to see the journalist leaning forward. ‘Anything you say will stay here if you want it to. I won’t tell anyone, not the police nor your brother or your loved ones unless you say so, and I certainly won’t print a word until you give me the go ahead.’ Her look was utterly open, sincere. Very intense. ‘I’ve done this before, okay? I’ve nursed whistle-blowers, people heading for witness protection, people hiding from anything and everything. I’m an old hand. I know how things go. I know how to keep my mouth shut. And I know when to open it.’

  I looked into her face, strong and resolute, and thought about telling her about Rob, Susie, DI Gilder, his father, the CCTV tape, the Saint, and the weariness I’d felt the previous night swept over me once more, like a tidal wave.

  ‘You’ve got to tell someone, at some point,’ she said. ‘And I think you’re bearing a big weight that needs unloading, preferably before it breaks you.’

  I gave her a bit of a sardonic smile. ‘And you’d be the best person to unload to, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ She gave me a grin, her eyes gleaming with humour. ‘How am I doing? On a scale of one to ten?’

  Despite everything, I couldn’t help but smile back. ‘I’d give you an eight.’

  ‘Not good enough.’ She shook her head ruefully.

  ‘Sorry.’

  She pushed her coffee mug away. ‘You’ve got a lot to contend with, so I can understand your caution. I applaud it, but be careful who you talk to, no matter how safe they appear. Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  I said it without really thinking, like I’d promise my mother I’d wear a waterproof to the shops because it was raining, and it was only a long time later when I remembered it, and regretted not heeding her advice.

  Chapter 52

  The relief I felt when I arrived home was tempered by the fact I knew it was probably bugged. How else would the shooter have known about my meeting Klaudia? Unless they’d followed me, of course, but they would never have had the time to get on top of the roof and in position to kill Klaudia if that were the case. The cottage had to be bugged.

  I sat in the car, phone in hand. A seagull flew above, kew-kewing, and I could hear an outboard somewhere, starting up. Familiar sounds of peace, of home. I opened my contacts list and called Seb. He installed alarms, wouldn’t he know about other electrical devices, like bugs?

  ‘I have a bit of an odd favour,’ I told him.

  ‘Fire away,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘It’s confidential. And I mean really, really confidential. Like if you tell anyone, I will hunt you down and stick needles into a puppy’s eyes and make you watch.’

  Seb had always been squeamish about anything to do with eyes. As kids, we’d tease him mercilessly. Squeeze your eyeball till it pops. Puncture it and inject maggots inside. Stamp on it and watch it squirt.

  We were dreadful, no remorse, and poor old Seb would pale and sometimes even be sick, which of course just encouraged us.

  ‘Crikey,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to go that far.’

  ‘I’m serious, Seb.’

  ‘No more with the eyeball thing, okay?’

  I agreed. ‘I need your help, because I think our cottage is bugged. I want to know for sure if it is, or not. And what sort of bug. I don’t want it or them removed. I don’t think so, at the moment anyway. I just want it confirmed. Or not.’

  Silence.

  ‘This isn’t a joke, is it.’

  ‘No.’

  I heard his breath gust down the phone. ‘I’m no expert, man. I just install alarms.’

  ‘But you’re an electrician.’

  ‘Yes, but this is a specialist field.’

  I waited.

  Eventually he said, ‘Is this an I’m-watching-my-husband-to-make-sure-he’s not bonking the gorgeous Ronja or does it go further? Like involving the er…’ I heard him gulp. ‘Anything to do with the boys in blue?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’ Which was true. I had no idea how things were panning out, where they were heading. I felt like a boat without a captain, no tiller or rudder, left on a stormy sea to toss and turn where the tides and wind might take me.

  ‘Blimey,’ he said. I could tell he was reluctant, that deep down he wanted to say no but didn’t feel able to do so to an old school buddy. ‘Have you tried looking on the Internet?’

  I didn’t want strangers tramping around our cottage, finding listening devices, maybe even reporting them. I wanted people I knew and trusted on side.

  ‘Please, Seb. I don’t want to use anyone else. I need you. I need your help.’

  Short pause, and then he said, ‘I’ve got a job to finish, but I’ll be with you by four. Let’s see what I can do.’

  ‘Four is great. Thank you.’

  I spent the time in the cottage, doing some more thinking while I did some household chores – cleaning the fireplace, sorting and putting out the rubbish, chopping some kindling. My mind went round and round, trying to find answers but I knew I still didn’t have enough information. I needed to know who Rachel was. What Susie had been doing at the Mayfair Group that night. Whether my brother was lying, or telling the truth.

  At that point, a flash went off in my mind, a bit like a light bulb. Hadn’t he said he’d met Sorcha in rehab? Where? Would it have been in London? I could check on his story, and if it were true, then everything else would be true, wouldn’t it?

  I called DI Gilder.

  ‘Can you find something for me?’ I asked.

  ‘So long as it doesn’t involve another dead body. Sorry. It’s been a bit of a long night.’

  ‘My brother told me he’d been in rehab, which is where he met his current partner, Sorcha. The woman on the boat I told you about.’

  His tone immediately came alert. ‘Any idea where? Which city?’

  ‘He didn’t say, but I’d assume London.’

  ‘I’ll try to find out, but I don’t promise anything. It’s been–’

  ‘Twelve years,’ I said wearily. ‘I know.’

  Chapter 53

  Seb arrived pretty much on time, bearing a toolbox and an anxious expression. ‘I’m not an expert,’ he reiterated.

  ‘I know,’ I tried to assure him. ‘Let’s have a look around. Quietly. I don’t want them to know we know, if you know what I mean.’

  Not wanting him to stumble on the photographs of Tony Abbott’s murder scene, I tucked the envelope in the back of my jeans. Then I switched on our Sonos system, which played in each room, including the bathroom. Susie liked listening to Radio 4 in the morning, the news, the Sports Desk, Yesterday in Parliament, the weather, Thought for the Day. Lots of information, lots of comment. Me, I liked 6 Music. Much less stressful. Right now, a group called The Pirates was playing. I turned it up.

  Seb moved around the cottage, peering and gently patting, probing beneath tables, sofas and chairs. It was a small cottage so it didn’t take him long before he froze, hand beneath one of the kitchen stools. He bent over and had a look. He’d obviously found something because he reared back and made stabbing noises at the stool, beckoning at me, then stabbing again.

  I took the stool and quietly upended it. A small, what looked like a ceramic device was clamped between the wood and one of the metal struts. At first glance, I thought it was part of the stool but knowing what I was looking for, it became obvious. Carefully, I replaced the stool. Turned to Seb and gave him the thumbs up.

  His eyes glowed. Thereon, I couldn’t stop him. Talk about a man with a mission. He found another bug in the living room, buried amongst the TV paraphernalia, and another upstairs. He’d just disma
ntled our phone handset on the top landing and was showing me another bug when a gust of air fanned through the cottage and Susie stepped inside.

  She looked up and I knew straight away she knew what we were doing.

  She said, ‘Seb, thank you. You can go now.’

  He shot me a slightly panicked look. The look of a guilty man, found with his hand in the cookie jar, or with his pants down.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ I said.

  He didn’t need telling any further. He scooted down the stairs, scooped up his toolbox and was outside within ten seconds.

  I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down.

  She said, ‘I put that there.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  She walked up to the landing. Picked up the handset. Tapped the device, shiny black, like a beetle.

  ‘Why aren’t you at work?’ I asked.

  She sent me a level look. ‘Because right now, you’re more important to me.’

  I felt the urge to apologise, and swallowed it.

  ‘I’ve taken some “personal time”. A couple of days, I told them. During which time I hope we might resolve some issues.’

  She clipped the phone back together. ‘Let’s keep it there for the moment,’ she said. ‘Just in case.’

  Just in case, what? I thought. Was she hoping to catch the Saint confessing to killing dozens of people on our tiny upstairs landing?

  ‘And so you know, I put another one…’ She showed me one hidden in the base of my bedside table light before trotting downstairs into the living room to the TV, where the wires and plugs hung out behind it. ‘There.’

  ‘Is that it?’ My voice was stony.

  A tiny frown marred her brow. ‘Yes. They’re top of the range. They can listen to conversations through thirty centimetres of solid concrete walls, windows and floors. This place is tiny. Why would I need more?’

  ‘No reason.’ I made sure my eyes didn’t go to the kitchen stool. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘Why do you think, Rob?’ Her tone was exasperated. ‘You reckon having someone walk into our home and deposit an envelope in our living room while I’m in the shower is okay?’

  ‘No, but why didn’t you tell me that you’d bugged our home?’

  ‘What, like me telling you about my asking your family to return our house keys?’ She shook her head. ‘Jesus, Nick. Don’t you get it? I’m in security. I like being secure. There’s also the small fact that I’ve had a bit of a personal and nasty experience that means I get a lot of value knowing that when my front door is locked, it’s locked, and that nobody can just open the door and walk inside. Security–’ she weighted the word with all the power of her voice ‘means quite a lot to me.’

  We stood, inches apart. I could smell her perfume – a spicy scent of some sort – and see the tiny lines radiating from the corners of her eyes. Laughter lines. Lines from squinting into the sun. Lines from narrowing her eyes at her adversaries, those poor saps in the Office. I hauled my mind back. I didn’t like where it was going.

  ‘So,’ I said.

  ‘So,’ she echoed.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Why did you put the bugs there?’

  She put her head on one side. ‘To listen. Why else?’

  ‘To spy on me?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ Her eyes were hard and dark on mine, fierce.

  ‘Er, I’m not you, so I don’t–’

  ‘You haven’t been home for twenty-four hours. How do I know that? Oh, because I bugged our place because I’ve been so fucking scared of what’s been going on and it was the only way I could get some sense of control and try to find out what was fucking happening in my life, in our home.’

  It was so rarely she lost control, let alone swore, that I took a step back.

  ‘Sorry.’ She passed a hand over her face. ‘Shit. I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve gone completely paranoid and you…’ She looked at me. Her gaze softened. ‘I have no idea what you’re going through. I just want to protect you. Defend you. To the hilt.’

  I swallowed.

  ‘But I can’t defend you if I don’t know what’s happening.’ She shook her head again, softly, ruefully, but I couldn’t help notice that she remained as tense as a bowstring. ‘And I have no idea, do I? I’ve bugged our home, and I have no idea where you’ve been. Shagging Ronja, maybe? Hanging out with Etienne? Clara? What about the Saint? Seen him lately?’

  Suddenly, I’d had enough. I walked into the kitchen and picked up the stool. Turned it over. Pointed at the tiny shiny ceramic device clinging to the metal struts.

  She blinked twice. Then she took my arm and walked me through the cottage and out of the front door, only stopping when we were standing on the pavement. She looked at me, back at the cottage, then said, quite clearly, ‘That one isn’t mine.’

  Chapter 54

  We ended up going to the pub. We couldn’t talk at home, and since we needed somewhere neutral, somewhere that was homely but not home, The Anchor Bleu seemed to do nicely.

  I had a beer, Susie a double vodka and tonic.

  We sat in an alcove, looked at one another.

  ‘I have a question,’ I said. ‘A fairly important one.’

  I took a deep breath. I felt as though I was teetering on the edge of Niagara Falls, about to plunge into the immense crests of water without knowing if I’d live, or die.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were there that night?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ She looked perfectly blank.

  ‘The night Tony Abbott died. You were there, right?’

  She looked at me for a long time. It reminded me of Rob, the slightly wary assessing expression. Cool, calculating, no emotion. Perhaps it was a spook thing, but I didn’t care for it at all.

  ‘Who says I was?’

  I affected a look of disbelief. ‘The reception book. I was sent a copy.’

  ‘Ah. Any idea who by?’

  Rob, I thought, but instead I said, ‘The same person who dropped off the CCTV tape.’

  She nibbled her lip. ‘If we could find who was sending us that stuff, I’m sure we’d find out who killed Tony.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘Trying to protect my agent.’

  ‘Your agent?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her gaze was clear, candid. ‘Now this is to remain between us, okay? It’s highly classified and normally I would never, ever give up an agent’s name, but these are exceptional circumstances. Swear you won’t tell anyone else.’

  My mind was scrambling, trying to make sense of things but I managed to say, ‘Okay. I swear.’

  ‘Her name’s Rachel Daisley. She was a cleaner there. She was my spy.’

  I opened and closed my mouth, like a goldfish, before I felt my mind catch up. ‘And Rob?’

  She put her head on one side. ‘He wasn’t an agent of mine, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘But he was sent in to bug the place. Didn’t you know?’

  A spasm of annoyance crossed her face. ‘Of course. Mark Felton and I were at cross-purposes here. He wanted intel, he was after La Familia de Sangre. But I was after the Saint. I wanted to nail the bastard, one hundred per cent. As far as I was concerned, we could go for the overseas criminals later.’

  Atta girl, I thought, pride rising, and I had to haul my emotions back, stuff them in a box inside me, because not everything was adding up.

  ‘But you said you weren’t after the Saint. That you’d never worked with Rob. You said you met him at a couple of social events.’

  Her gaze didn’t stir from mine. ‘There is something you have to understand about me, and my job.’

  I gazed back. My heart was beating faster, and I was glad she couldn’t see.

  ‘The thing is, Nick, is that I have to lie. And I have to lie well. Extraordinarily well. Sometimes, the lie I’m telling will be the only thing between me and a bullet in my brain. I’ve got very good at lying. But one thing I will say in my defence an
d that is I lie only when I can see there’s a benefit. Like protecting you, Clara, your family and mine. I will tell a thousand lies if it will protect us.’

  I couldn’t tear my gaze from hers.

  ‘Rob?’

  The single word dropped between us.

  She didn’t move her gaze from mine. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes. ‘Shit.’

  I sat and waited. Watched her look down and press her forefingers between her brows. Finally, she raised her head. Held my gaze once more.

  Quietly, she said, ‘I lied about him too.’

  My pulse ticked faster but I didn’t look away.

  ‘Go on.’

  She licked her lips. Glanced at the bar and back. It was the first time I’d seen her look nervous.

  ‘You may not like what you hear,’ she warned.

  I’d heard her say this a couple of times before but this time, it didn’t freak me out as much. I was obviously getting used to it.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘In fact, I’m not sure if I want you to–’

  ‘Susie,’ I cut in. ‘Get on with it, would you?’

  She held up her hands. ‘So. Here’s the thing. I’m not sure how you’re going to take it because I know you adore Rob. I know he drove you all nuts, but you thought he was okay deep down, didn’t you.’

  ‘Susie, just spit it out, would you.’

  A quick jerk of a nod. ‘Okay. Rob had a problem with drugs. He was a drug addict.’

  She was looking at me as though waiting for me to act shocked, outraged or horrified, but of course she didn’t know I’d met Rob, and that he’d already told me.

  ‘Shit,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Shit. You try having a colleague who is working undercover in La Familia de Sangre and flaking about with coke up his nose and MDMA up his backside. I was trying to keep him safe.’ For a moment, I thought she was going to cry. Susie, tough nut and Superwoman, who rarely shed tears, looked as though she was on the edge.

  ‘Suze.’ My tone was gentle, filled with sympathy.

  She stopped me with both hands held up, like a traffic cop’s. ‘Don’t. Just fucking don’t.’