Blood Falls (30 page)

‘You don’t know a fucking thing about me.’

‘Let me go.’

‘That’s what you’re really after.’

‘Can you blame me?’

Silence, but Jenny could tell she had struck home. She visualised his morality as a tiny maggot, furling and unfurling in the neglected soil of his innermost soul. She knew there was shame lurking there, but she also knew that shame, in a man like this, could easily be transformed into rage.

His answer, when it came, was no answer at all.

‘Open your legs.’

Afterwards, in what he might have regarded as a display of tenderness, he said, ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’

Jenny didn’t trust herself to speak, but managed: ‘Mm.’

‘See? I don’t like having to do it this way, but I can’t help it. Nobody’s fault. It’s just one of those things. One of those situations you get into, and you can’t get out of.’

‘You’re going to kill me.’

He gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Why do you say that? I’m being nice to you, aren’t I?’

‘Let me go.’

‘I can’t. Not now.’

‘When?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s … see how it goes, shall we?’ As though they were discussing taking their relationship to the next stage.

She felt him moving in the dark. Climbing to his feet, brushing the dust from his knees. The breeze chilled the tears on her face.

‘You’ve done this before.’

‘What?’

‘There’s a bloodstain on the wall.’

Silence. His breathing was heavier, almost panting, as if steeling himself for action. He could kill her now, if he chose to. But if he did, would she care?

‘The girl before me, did you let her go?’

He didn’t move. She was still alive. He made a noise that she identified as a chuckle. ‘Are you a lawyer?’

‘That depends. Let me go, let me finish my degree, maybe I’ll become a lawyer.’

Bullshit, of course. Had she told him what she was studying? Would he really care?

All he said was: ‘Maybe you will.’

‘What was her name, the girl before me?’

‘Kamile. Kamila. Something like that. Foreign.’

Distaste in his voice, and in hers, too. ‘You killed her, and now you don’t even remember her name?’

‘I didn’t kill her. She died.’

‘How long did you keep her?’

‘Not long. She kept wailing and blubbing. Drove me crazy.’

‘Did you promise Kamila that you would let her go?’

‘Yeah, not that it shut her up. But I would have.’

‘Then why …?’

‘Because,’ he said, and for a moment Jenny thought that was it. A one-word answer; the response of a petulant child.

Because
.

Then he said: ‘Because she tried to make me her friend, same as you’re doing. When that didn’t work, she mocked me. Said I didn’t have the balls to go through with it. So I taught her a lesson.’

‘You killed her to prove that you could do it?’

‘I told you, I didn’t kill her. She died. There’s a difference.’ He grunted. ‘You’ll learn.’

Fifty-Two

SUNDAY BEGAN IN
a panic, Cadwell banging on the door at eight o’clock. Leon was never really one for a lie-in, but this was taking the piss …

He padded downstairs in time to see the night-shift man, Opie, hurrying across the hall. Opie looked like shit: worse than Leon felt.

‘You’ve been sleeping at your desk again.’

‘I weren’t, Leon, honest,’ Opie gabbled. ‘I was in the bog.’

‘Is Glenn up yet?’

‘Dunno. Haven’t seen him.’

Cadwell marched in, flapping his arms to indicate the urgency of the problem.

‘Office,’ Leon said, because Opie wasn’t part of the inner circle. The door was barely shut when Cadwell turned on him, red-faced and spluttering.

‘Someone was spying on me.’

‘What? When?’

Cadwell looked at him as though he was stupid: a look that Leon wouldn’t forget.

‘Last night. An intruder on the roof of the damn preparation room, while I had your bloody victim on the table.’

‘Keep your voice down. Jesus.’ Refusing to be worked into the same
frenzy, Leon walked over to his desk and sat down. ‘You sure there was somebody on the roof?’

‘Ben was with me. We both heard it. He saw a man running away.’

‘Any description?’

‘No. Too dark.’

Joe
, Leon thought. But he didn’t say as much. He teased out the silence, staring coolly at the undertaker until he stopped pacing and collapsed onto the sofa.

‘So you had a body on the slab. So what? I take it the cops didn’t turn up? And you’ve got a plan to get rid of it?’

Cadwell nodded. ‘A burial Tuesday. Elderly man, no family to speak of.’

‘Room for a small one.’ Leon chuckled. ‘See? Two days and it’ll be done with.’

‘This went well beyond the call of duty, Leon. I hope you appreciate that.’

Leon said nothing. A sudden yawn split his face open. Not much chance that Cadwell would piss off and let him go back to bed. He summoned Opie, who looked like he’d been splashing his face with cold water.

‘Put the kettle on, and do me some juice and a bagel. And wake Clive and Glenn. Lazy bastards should be up by now.’

Fenton’s arrival coincided with the coffee and bagels, which Leon suspected was no accident. He’d shaved, but hadn’t put his contact lenses in: he wore Harry Potter specs with Coke-bottle lenses, blinking at Leon like something from an aquarium. He stank of the cigars they’d shared last night, partly in celebration, partly to chase the smell of Victor Smith from their throats.

‘Where’s the fire?’ he drawled, only half in jest.

Cadwell responded: ‘There was an intruder last night, while I was cleaning up your mess. Literally, I might add.’

‘It’s what you do for a living, Derek,’ Leon reminded him. ‘It’s your
vocation
.’ He managed to make it sound like a dirty word. Cadwell caught his meaning and went pale.

‘Have you checked the CCTV?’ Fenton asked, and Leon had to conceal his annoyance: he hadn’t thought of that.

‘Nothing remotely useful,’ Cadwell said. ‘At one stage you see a shadow flitting between the cars, and that’s it.’

‘Perhaps you need to upgrade,’ Leon said.

‘The new high-res cameras offer stunning quality,’ Fenton added, helping himself to a bagel.

‘Can we forget the sales patter for now?’ Cadwell snapped. ‘This could jeopardise everything. Thirty years I’ve worked in this town.’

Leon ignored the comment. ‘Where’s Glenn?’

‘Snoring to wake the dead, as of five minutes ago,’ Fenton said.

Leon got back on the intercom and was bawling Opie out when Glenn sloped in, wearing jeans and a T-shirt but barefoot. He rubbed his jaw and sighed.

‘Early for a Sunday.’

‘Lazy bastard,’ Leon muttered. ‘Sit down. We’ve got things to discuss.’

They gave him a quick recap, and between them concluded that there was no serious harm done. No other candidates in the frame but Joe Carter.

Glenn swelled a little at that. ‘Told you he might be undercover, didn’t I?’

Leon shrugged. ‘He
was
undercover. I don’t buy the idea that he’s still a cop.’

‘Neither do I,’ Fenton said. ‘But that’s not to say he doesn’t represent a danger.’

‘Did you search his stuff?’ Leon asked.

Glenn twitched uncomfortably. ‘What? No. Not after you offered him a job …’

‘It needs doing, Glenn, but carefully.’ Leon stared at each of them
in turn, a look of fierce determination on his face. ‘Every step from now on has to be bloody careful.’

The previous night, after his brandy and cigars, Leon had been too wired to sleep. Instead he’d gone online and trawled for information about the Morton family.

He found plenty to corroborate what Vic had told them. The Mortons were a serious outfit, successful over many years. Wealthy and powerful, with a reputation for extreme violence. Not to be taken lightly.

The media had been up in arms over the bullion robbery shoot-out that had left one of the cops dead and a couple more badly wounded. Markedly less concern for the four gang members who’d died, one of whom had indeed been Gary Morton.

Some of the longer investigative pieces confirmed that an undercover cop had infiltrated the gang. There were suggestions that the operation had been compromised by the existence of one or more corrupt officers on Morton’s payroll. A couple of the top brass were mildly reprimanded for various procedural failures, and the world had moved on.

But Doug Morton hadn’t.

Now, chomping on a bagel, Glenn made what he obviously believed was another brilliant suggestion. ‘We know this guy’s a risk. Why don’t we just keep him prisoner till we’re ready to do the deal?’

Fenton weighed in: ‘We must bear in mind the outside possibility that Victor lied to us. Even if he genuinely encountered Morton in prison, Joe’s involvement could be a fabrication, or even an error. He admitted that the photograph he saw wasn’t very clear.’

The thought made Leon feel sick. Sighing morosely, he said, ‘Good point, Clive. But we’ve gotta keep a close watch on him. Can’t let him slip from our grasp now.’

‘We mustn’t spook him, either. This is a man on the run for his life, remember?’

Leon nodded. He said to Glenn: ‘Go round Diana’s, check how the land lies. Reckon you can do that?’

‘Subtlety is the order of the day,’ Fenton added. ‘One sniff …’ He fluttered his stubby fingers in mid-air, like no bird they’d ever seen. ‘And he’ll be away.’

Once Glenn had left, they discussed how to approach Danny Morton. Leon had identified an associate in London who would be tasked with securing a phone number. Making contact with the man wasn’t the hard part. It was what they actually said to him.

‘If a penniless no-hoper like Vic Smith was going to roll us, you can bet Morton would jump at the chance.’

Fenton agreed. ‘Play our hand too early and he’ll bite it off.’

‘The way I see it, we’re gonna have to tell Morton who we are up front. But not a word about Joe until we’ve met this feller face to face and seen what we make of him.’

‘What will you say, then?’ Cadwell asked. Leon had reluctantly agreed he could have a share of the proceeds, in return for his assistance in disposing of Smith’s body.

Fenton said, ‘I’m sure we can work out some sort of generic business proposal.’

They were still talking it over when the phone rang. Leon put the call on speaker. It was Glenn, sounding panicked.

‘He’s not here.’

‘What?’

‘I’m at Diana’s. Well, I’m outside. Said I had a call to make. Joe’s not here.’

‘Where is he?’

‘She doesn’t know. He wanted to use her car. Didn’t say where he was going.’

Leon took a deep breath. ‘So he’s coming back, though?’

‘I hope so. But after what you said about last night. If it was him at Cadwell’s …’

Leon glanced at the other two, both looking to him for an answer. He gritted his teeth. ‘She must have some idea. Make her tell you.’

A pause from Glenn, as though he was tempted to bite Leon’s head off. ‘You said to be subtle.’

‘Have you checked his room?’

‘How can I do that without her knowing …?’

‘For fuck’s sake. Just go and have breakfast with her. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

Fifty-Three

JOE TOLD HIMSELF
he was doing it for Alise, but the reality was a lot more complicated than that – or so he finally had to admit.

The road conditions were perfect for a long journey: dry and sunny, hardly any traffic, inviting the sort of autopilot driving that allowed him plenty of opportunity to think.

Of course he knew it might prove to be a waste of time. A 250-mile round trip, perhaps five hours or more, for nothing. He’d decided not to call ahead, fearing an unhelpful or hostile reaction. But what else did he have to do on a bright and brittle autumn Sunday?

Not stay in the B&B with Diana, that was for sure.

He’d opened his eyes at six o’clock, instantly wide awake. The first thing he remembered was the kiss. A wonderful image, immediately superseded by that of a dead body on a stainless steel table.

What had possessed him? He couldn’t even count on having made a lucky escape – not until he knew whether Cadwell’s security cameras had picked him up. If they had, at the very least Leon would fire him. No more than he deserved.

Back to that question. The answer wasn’t so difficult. He’d done it because Alise had believed every word she’d told him about Cadwell, about Leon, about the darkness that they brought to Trelennan. And at the time, listening to her, his instinct had been to believe it, too.

But there were also inconsistencies, not least the contrast between the Leon who had allegedly abducted Kamila, and the protective employer described by Carl, meting out punishment to a driver who’d been accused of a sexual assault. Or was that just Leon acting to safeguard his own reputation, his own secrets?

While Joe brooded, one of Ellie’s observations kept bumping against his conscience. It stayed with him while he showered, dressed and crept downstairs.

He had the details of Kamila’s former lover. What was to stop him making his own enquiries?

Diana was already up. Her hair had been brushed, but she wore no make-up. She looked pale and drawn. There was a pot of tea in front of her, and a half-read John Grisham paperback propped open, face down on the table as though in disgrace.

‘Not having a lie-in?’ Joe’s voice had the forced bonhomie of a chat-show host.

She shook her head. He tried again, toning down the enthusiasm.

‘Hope I didn’t disturb you last night?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I got back around midnight. Safely unmolested.’ He tried a grin, but there was no response.

Joe poured some juice, slotted bread into the toaster, waiting for the questions that didn’t come; instead, an icy silence, crystallising the air around them.

It could be that she wanted him to make the first move. After all, she must have anticipated that Ellie would reveal the link with Glenn. Maybe she’d spent the whole night fretting.

‘Would you rather I hadn’t gone?’ he asked.

She made a non-committal sound, while trying to appear unconcerned.