Blood Falls (21 page)

Asking for trouble
.

Thirty-Six

HE CALLED IN
at Gwynn’s on his way home. The greengrocer’s was in a key corner spot on the High Street: ample space for the trestle tables groaning with fresh fruit and vegetables.

Reckless devil that he was, Joe picked up a couple of peaches and carried them inside. The till was staffed by a young woman, plump and curvy, with white-blonde hair and a rash of acne on her cheeks.

‘Seventy-eight pee,’ she said, sniffing at the paucity of his purchase.

Joe gave her a pound coin. ‘You’re not Karen, by any chance?’

She was immediately on the defensive. ‘Why?’

‘I’m looking for Alise. I understand she’s a friend of yours?’

‘Who says?’ Karen scanned the shop warily. There was only one other customer, an elderly woman, talking to another member of staff.

‘I’m not here to make trouble,’ Joe said. ‘I just want to make sure she’s all right. Is it true she’s staying with you?’

Karen nodded unhappily. ‘It’s only casual, like. No one else knows.’

‘I won’t tell anyone. Do you know where she is now?’

‘She didn’t come in last night. I texted, but she hasn’t got back to me.’

‘Is that unusual for her?’

Karen struggled with the question for a moment. ‘I don’t know her well. I only offered her a place to crash ’cause I needed the money.’

‘If you do hear from her, can you tell her to call Joe? She has my number.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ Her expression turned sly. ‘You know she’s back on the market?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Ditched her feller, didn’t she? I can see her falling for somebody like you, though. Good-looking older man …’

Joe ate the peaches as he walked, dawdling because he still felt awkward about inhabiting Diana’s space. Caught himself hoping she’d be out, and then felt guilty about that.

She wasn’t out. As he pushed open the door he heard music playing, the clatter of pans. A second later the smell hit him: his stomach did eager backflips. She was baking.

He shut the door with a thud, to announce his presence. Called out a hello and Diana called back: ‘In here.’

The kitchen was warm and steamy, like a tropical garden. Diana was chopping up carrots, her hair tied back and her face flushed.

‘God, that smells amazing.’

‘Chicken pie,’ she said. ‘And there’s a ginger cake as well. I hope you’re hungry.’

‘Starving.’

‘We’ll eat soon, then. My plans are already out the window.’ She wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’d intended Glenn to join us. A nice of way of introducing you to your new colleague.’

She smiled, anticipating his next question. ‘They rang earlier. Can you start at nine tomorrow? Ten pounds an hour, they said. I assume you knew that?’

‘No, but don’t worry. What happened with Glenn?’

‘He’s been sent on some sort of errand. Last-minute, as usual.’ Diana sounded exasperated, but Joe couldn’t help wondering if she wasn’t also, secretly, a tiny bit relieved.

‘Does that happen a lot?’ he asked.

‘More than it should. I’ve told him to try saying no occasionally,
but he won’t. Works too hard, too many hours.’ She sighed. ‘And you’ll be next, I dare say.’

Joe shrugged. ‘Who knows how long I’ll last?’

Diana let him help prepare the vegetables, but only till she realised he’d been out in the rain for hours. Sent away to shower and change, Joe returned to find the dinner cooking, the dishwasher loaded, the wooden-handled saucepans washed up and not a single task remaining, except to open the wine.

‘That would be very useful,’ she said. ‘Chenin Blanc all right with you?’

‘Lovely.’ He asked about her day, which had consisted of shopping, housework and coffee with a friend. In return, he described his visit to the gallery.

‘Patrick Davy seems like a nice guy.’ When Diana made no comment, he added, ‘I also went to the Shell Cavern. Isn’t it extraordinary?’

‘I suppose. Roy and I tried it soon after we moved here, but it gave me the creeps. Of course, that was hilarious to Roy. He kept fooling around, making ghost noises. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.’

Joe commiserated, then said, ‘I’m curious to hear what it was like when you came to Trelennan.’

She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘There isn’t a lot to say.’

‘Well, what did Roy think of Leon Race, and vice versa? A retired copper moving to the town, I’d have thought they were destined to take an interest in each other?’

‘Not really. Things weren’t so – things were different then.’ Diana smiled, as though to reassure him, but they both knew she had slipped up.

She’d been about to say:
Things weren’t so bad then
.

In the interests of diplomacy, Joe let the matter drop. Over dinner they discussed the rigours of running a B&B. Diana confirmed his
suspicion that the best and the worst aspects of the job were essentially the same thing: the people you met.

Suddenly the first bottle of wine was empty, and it was barely six o’clock. Dark outside, and raining heavily. Another glass or two and he’d be quite happy to go to bed.

Lightweight
, he thought.

Diana suggested taking the second bottle into the living room. As he got up his phone buzzed. There was a text from Alise, sent nearly an hour ago. He must have failed to hear it.

Joe, I’ve decided to leave Trelennan. I’ve wasted too much time on this. My sister has to go her own way in life. Sorry not to say goodbye. Xx
.

He read the message a couple of times; became aware of Diana’s interest and offered her the phone.

‘It’s from Alise.’ After she’d read it, he pressed the call button, but got the same old message:
The mobile you are calling has been switched off
.

In the living room, he sank into an armchair while Diana took the adjoining sofa, sitting sideways with her feet tucked beneath her. Joe described his attempts to find Alise, and was forced to admit his temptation to get involved in the search for her sister.

‘The minute you told me you’d spoken to Alise, I knew you’d want to help her.’

‘Except she’s given up and gone back home.’

‘You can’t blame her, can you?’

‘No. It just seems an odd time to throw in the towel.’

Unless she’d been crying wolf, just as Ellie had suggested
.

‘If I’m honest, I’m not sorry to hear it,’ Diana said. ‘You have more than enough on your plate right now.’

Joe shrugged. He was still holding the phone, hoping there would be a call, a text. An explanation. He let it eat away at him for a while, and then said what was on his mind.

‘The text came from Alise’s phone. It didn’t necessarily come from
Alise. Every time I call, the phone’s switched off. And the girl she was staying with didn’t mention anything about her leaving.’

‘Yes.’ Diana sounded puzzled. ‘And?’

‘Well, bearing in mind the accusations that Alise was making, I wonder if Leon might have taken some action of his own?’

‘Are you saying he not only abducted the sister, but now he’s taken Alise as well?’ She shook her head. ‘If you believe he’s capable of that, how can you even consider going to work for him …?’ She faltered, saw the apologetic grin on his face. ‘Oh, Joe. Why can’t you leave things alone?’

The question had the feel of a general lament. It prompted him to ask: ‘Could Roy?’

But Diana went on as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘Lord knows, the last undercover work you did brought tragedy upon your family.’

He held up his hand. ‘I took the job because the money will come in handy. Because I’m not comfortable accepting handouts, and because I can’t just sit around doing nothing all day.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘I’m becoming a stubborn old fool, like my dad.’

‘Happens to us all, I’m afraid. Turning into our parents.’

Another easy, gentle silence. Joe took a sip of wine before he spoke again. ‘Diana, I really don’t mean to pry, but I can’t help thinking that something’s wrong here.’

She looked at him, her eyes shining. ‘Here?’ she repeated.

He nodded. ‘With you. Glenn. Leon. Alise. Trelennan. The whole place feels like it’s off-kilter, somehow.’

She went on staring at him for a long time, then abruptly shook her head.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Thirty-Seven

‘
VICTOR SMITH
.’

Leon gestured at Fenton to stop the tape. ‘What?’

‘Victor Smith,’ Glenn repeated.

He was standing by Leon’s desk, one hand on his mouth. While he listened to the recording he kept pulling his bottom lip out and letting it plop back into place. Leon had a stapler to hand; he’d seriously thought about throwing it at Glenn, or maybe stapling his lips together. Now, at last, there was something positive to distract him.

‘Who the hell is Victor Smith?’

Glenn shut his eyes, pushed his fingers through his hair.

‘One of the guys hanging round with Larry … Milligan, five or six years ago. The cut-and-shut merchants, up in Cheshire someplace.’

There was silence while they considered it: Leon, Fenton, Derek Cadwell and Warren Fry. Half-eight in the morning, and Glenn was a bit livelier than the rest of them. Fenton had teased him about it: ‘Staked your claim last night, did you?’

‘No, ’cause I had to go to Plymouth, didn’t I? Traffic was shit. By the time I got back I decided on an early night.’

‘Anyone else clued up on this Smith bloke?’ Leon asked.

Shrugs. Blank looks. Then Warren said, ‘It does ring a bell.’

‘Rod Dutton might know,’ Glenn said. ‘He was connected to Milligan’s lot.’

Fenton sat forward on the sofa, spraying flakes of his third croissant on to the carpet. ‘So do we confront Smith with this knowledge?’

‘No way,’ Leon said. To Glenn: ‘Where do you reckon he lives?’

‘Dunno. I can ask around. Start with Rod. Do it subtle, like.’

‘Yeah. Find out where he’s likely to be right now. Then we plan the counter-attack.’

The phone buzzed: an internal call. Fenton took it and reported: ‘He’s here. Twenty minutes early.’

‘That’s keen,’ Cadwell remarked. But he didn’t like the idea of Joe working for Leon, and had made his views clear. Leon had ignored him. It was none of Cadwell’s business.

‘Off you go,’ Leon told Glenn. ‘Show him round, then rustle me up an address for Victor fucking Smith.’

Joe felt like a new boy on the first day of term. Not anxious, particularly; it was more a kind of weary anticipation of the processes that lay ahead. Knowing he’d have to find his way. Knowing, also, that his presence wouldn’t be welcomed by some.

The front door was opened by a lean Welshman with dark hair and ears like walnuts, who introduced himself as Phil Venning. He told Joe to wait in the hall, then vanished into a side room. Joe glimpsed a desk laden with CCTV monitors.

The wine last night had left him with a thick head. He’d eaten breakfast with Diana, who seemed to have suffered no ill effects. The conversation didn’t stray from neutral ground.

He walked up to Leon’s during a dry spell between heavy showers. Alise’s phone was still switched off, so he sent her a text, then put the whole issue aside. Time to focus on work.

* * *

The man who strode out to greet him was tall and ruggedly handsome, with strong features and big brown puppy-dog eyes. Joe could see how Diana had fallen for him.

‘Joe Carter,’ he said, offering his hand.

‘Glenn Hicks.’ Glenn had a crushing grip, and Joe had to make an effort not to wince. ‘I hear you and Di go back a long time?’

‘Yeah. I was friends with Di and Roy for years.’

A muscle in Glenn’s jaw twitched at the mention of Roy’s name. ‘Right. Quick tour before you start. This is the base for most of our operations, so you’ll be in and out a lot.’

He marched across the hall, and it struck Joe that this was also the man he’d glimpsed in an upstairs window on Wednesday, watching him out on the decking.

‘Upstairs is Leon’s private quarters. Totally out of bounds at all times.’

‘Okay.’ Joe wondered if every new employee received such a stern warning.

‘Down here, it’s pretty much all public.’ Glenn pointed out the living room where Joe had first met Leon, as well as the larger room used as an office. Joe could hear the faint murmur of voices from inside the room.

‘With the office, you knock first and wait to be called.’

Next was the kitchen. Joe was introduced to the housekeeper, Pam, a plump, homely woman in her sixties. She had two enormous frying pans on the go, filled with about thirty rashers of bacon. She paused in cutting open a stack of bread rolls and beamed at Joe.

‘I do my best to keep you all fed and watered, don’t I?’ She gave Glenn a simpering look, and almost melted when he winked at her.

Then into the depths of the house, and a storage room full of boxes and cartons, their contents unspecified. Finally Glenn opened what appeared to be a cupboard door, revealing a set of stairs. ‘Basement,’ he said.

He led the way down to a large, comfortable den that reeked of maleness. A low ceiling, studded with spotlights. Walls painted dark brown, adorned with black and white prints of nude women that were just slightly too graphic to be called artistic. A thick beige carpet and black leather sofas placed like pews before a gigantic TV screen. Games consoles and DVDs and a rack full of men’s magazines.

‘You can hang out here between jobs.’ Glenn showed him an alcove with a kitchenette. ‘Tea and coffee in there. Toilet’s the other side, but the plumbing’s dodgy.’ He snickered. ‘If you’re gonna drop a bomb, best use the upstairs loo.’

Joe said nothing. With no natural light, and the over-illumination of the spots, he imagined it wouldn’t take too long down here to end up with a hell of a tension headache.

He had a sudden flashback to the Shell Cavern: the sense of being trapped; the pounding water; a scream in the darkness …

He shook off the memory, saw Glenn frowning at him, then realised the pounding noise wasn’t just a memory. He tilted his head, listening hard. There was a deep thrumming sound, like blood heard through a stethoscope.