CAUSE & EFFECT (20 page)

They were en route to the Dolans’ place when Karl took a call on his mobile.

“Right; I see. No, we can come in now — absolutely, no problem at all. We’re on our way.” He switched off his mobile and kept it in front of him. “Dawn Yeates wants us to go straight to the office.”

“Which reminds me, how did your
meeting
go? Did she turn up?”

“Cheeky bastard; of course she did. It was all above board. Listen; more importantly there’s been some movement on the Monica Kinley front. It seems they’ve called her in for an interview. Dawn wants us to make statements.”

“How’s that, exactly?”

“I dunno. No doubt she’ll explain everything when we get there.”

Dawn met them at reception and took them through to a back office on the ground floor. Thomas could see something had changed — maybe Karl’s dating technique had put her back up.

The office was big enough for one large table and four seats; no windows and no sign that a cleaner had been anywhere near for a while. The bin, squeezed into one corner of the room, was already choked with plastic cups; all in all, a classic interrogation room. It didn’t help that Dawn directed the two of them to the seats furthest from the door. She sat opposite, her mobile resting on the table in front of her.

“When did Monica Kinley come in?” Karl’s voice had an edge to it.

“She’s here now. The preliminary discussion raised sufficient concerns that I’ve asked a social worker to do an emergency visit with the police.”

Thomas was starting to feel a little side lined. “So what has she said?” The word ‘entrapment’ loomed large in his head.

“She said that you knocked on her door . . .” Dawn folded her arms and waited.

“. . . After I helped her aunt home — she had a fall.”

“Yes, Monica said that too.”

Thomas had a sense of something unspoken in the air.

“Look, Dawn.” Karl slapped his fingertips down on the table. “It’s unorthodox, I grant you. But we could hardly leave the old lady lying in the street. Thomas wanted to make sure Dorothy was okay. We did offer to call a doctor, but Monica wouldn’t have it.”

He watched the two of them play a watered down version of the ‘angry silence’ game — first person to speak is the loser. They were amateurs, compared to his parents.

Dawn’s mobile trilled into life. She was out the door, mid-greeting.

Thomas turned to Karl. “What is going on?”

Karl fiddled with an imaginary Stan Laurel tie. “Beats me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Thomas had explored the tiny room in detail and concluded that there were no cameras or listening devices. He’d even checked the bin to be on the safe side. The room was exactly what it seemed — an eyesore. He sat beside Karl, facing forward: exam conditions. Though God only knew what they were being tested for.

Dawn Yeates returned in a flourish, almost smashing the door against the back of an empty chair. “I’m sorry to have kept you.” She loitered by the door, as if guarding an escape route. “There’s been a development. I need you to wait a bit longer. I’ll organise some hot drinks and a biscuit.”

When she returned again she wasn’t alone. One of the boys in blue was behind her, notebook in hand.

“Karl, could you come outside please. I need to separate the two of you to give statements.” Dawn stared down at him. “The police forced entry to the property and Dorothy Kinley was found dead. “Looks like she’s been dead for some time.”

“Weeks. Months, probably.” The copper couldn’t hide his glee. “And to think you boys are supposed to be the observant ones.”

Two separate statements, a review of their evidence sheets and a difficult conference call with Christine Gerrard sucked the life out of the day.

“Come on, Karl,” Thomas muttered, as they eased their way past a line of grinning bastards, “we can hardly blame ourselves.”

“How could we not have spotted there was something amiss with the sprightly Mrs Kinley?”

The conversation continued in the car, on the way over to Liverpool Street.

“Wrapped in plastic sheeting, apparently. Grim, but hygienic.” Karl waded through the details.

Clearly, he’d gotten more out of his copper than Thomas had. The lass he’d given a statement to had only said, at regular intervals, “and you really had no idea?”

He drove to the underground car park, still conjuring with the implications. “So why dress up as her aunt to collect the pension in person when she could have had it paid straight into an account?”

“I suppose, when it comes down to it, she’s not a criminal mastermind. She must have thought it was a good way to show Aunt Dorothy was still alive.”

“This won’t look good in the papers.”

“Rest assured, the SSU won’t get a mention. Christine will see to that.”

“Well, that might be difficult in a murder investigation.”

“Who said anything about murder? A fiver says it’s natural causes.”

“Bollocks. Unless you’ve seen a police report . . . Have you?”

Karl drew a thumb and index finger across his lips.

The chances of Karl revealing a hidden alliance were infinitesimal to nil, but it was worth the accusation to see the look on his face.

“I’ll be off now to get Christine to authorise a car for the night. I’ll see you at your place in about an hour.”

“What about the food in the car?”

“Take it with you; I’ll bring the fish — and Ken.”

* * *

Maybe Thomas should have expected Miranda on his doorstep. She’d waited outside this time, parked in his usual spot.

“Table for four?”

“Apparently so. Karl’s doing the cooking, if he turns up in time.”

“I’m sure we can give him a helping hand. What are friends for?”

That was a very good question.

* * *

Sober, Ken was a very different proposition. He arrived in a shirt and tie, spick and span like some of the blokes Thomas had seen at the military pub. Those trousers looked like they could cut paper. He’d even brought along chocolates, bless ’im.

Karl settled him in the front room and then made himself scarce, leaving it to Miranda to drum up conversation. Thomas loved watching Miranda in action; she had the gift of the gab, just like her mum and dad. Ken asked if the Mini was hers and soon they were talking about cars. Ken liked a bit of Grand Prix and Miranda had picked up enough gen from her Dad and the boys to maintain the flow.

He sat with them for a while and then judged it was safe to check on the kitchen. Karl stood at the eye of the storm with all his ingredients chopped in separate piles. Thomas recognised the plantain from Walthamstow Market.

“It won’t be authentic Salt Fish and Ackee, but you’ll love it.” Karl dropped a wooden spoon on the counter.

Thomas put it on a stand and wiped up the mark. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on and why you’ve dragged Miranda into this?” He pulled the kitchen door closed. “Does she know about Ken?”

“Of course not. What do you take me for?”

“Right now? I’m not even sure. Where did you learn to cook like this, anyway?”

“To be sure, sir,” Karl parodied his own Northern Irish accent. “Did you think we only cooked potatoes?”

“Listen . . .” The word caught in Thomas’s throat. “. . . Don’t put her at risk, okay?”

The kitchen suddenly felt claustrophobic. He left Karl to it.

Dinner was served with great occasion. Karl did everything but ring a bell. Thomas forgave him that because the food smelled fantastic. Maybe Karl had done a spell in the Catering Corps.

“Okay, Ken.” Karl cut through the chatter. “Permission to speak freely?’

“Granted.” Ken played along.

To Thomas’s eye, while Karl’s army oppo didn’t exactly look at ease, it was the most relaxed he’d seen him without singing.

“You get your money by cash card, correct?” Karl picked out a fishbone.

“That’s right — a £300 a day limit.”

“Hmm. Not much time to stockpile cash before you need to be away. You know why they gave you a card?”

“So I can’t empty the account in one go?”

“Well, there’s that. But also . . .” Karl looked to Thomas, inviting him in.

“They can see where and when you make each withdrawal.”

Ken carried on eating. “That’s clever, but how does that help me?”

Karl seemed to stall for an answer, so Thomas took the heat off him. “What if you weren’t where the card was — like a blind?”

“What is it with you two? Are you some kind of double act? And while we’re about it, exactly what part of the civil service are you in?”

Thomas took a swig of juice. “Doesn’t matter. What’s important is finding a solution to your problem.”

Miranda coughed quietly. “If the cash card was cloned you could have two people using them at different locations.”

Karl came to life again. “Why stop at two? How about six, all around the country?” He was already running with the idea. “It would need coordination though. I imagine it’d be a small window before that sort of usage was flagged up somewhere.”

“What?” Ken rubbed his forehead. “You mean have several cards and then I can get all my money out?”

“No. It doesn’t work like that; your limit would be the same but it’d give you a head start in your disappearing act.”

“Aye, I see. Well, I thought I’d go to—”

“No!” Karl snapped. “Better you don’t tell anyone, including me.”

“So what if another
job
comes up in the meantime, before you get this plan of yours sorted?”

“What can I say, Ken? I’ll put this together as quickly as possible. Until then . . .”

Ken loosened his tie. “Have you got any drink here?”

“Cameras,” Thomas piped up. “Some cash points have little cameras in them. Easy to tell which card was actually used by Ken.”

“Well some of them, yes.” Karl patted the table, as if to say
play it down
. “If anybody was really that keen to track someone.”

Thomas stared, wide-eyed. Of course Sir Peter would be keen; he’d spy on his own mother for Queen and Country, and then turn her in.

Karl took a breath. “Okay, who’s for ice cream? Miranda, would you care to accompany me to the shop? You two, you’re on washing-up detail.”

As soon as the front door slammed, Thomas cleared the plates away. Ken remained at the table, as if he needed permission to move. Thomas sussed that this was a bloke who didn’t make friends easily.

“You can switch the telly on if you like. I’ll put things into soak. Fancy a brew?” He reckoned he knew the kind Ken really wanted, but that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

“You into photography as well?” Ken followed him out, gazing at a moody black and white of fishing boats at Whitby.

“Yeah, got my own little dark room here.”

“Is that how you and Karl became pals? Nothing personal, Thomas, only something about you doesn’t make sense. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful and everything, and I’ll not forget it.”

He could feel the unspoken word:
civilian
.

“I don’t know what Karl’s told you, and I was pretty hammered that night outside the pub, so God knows what I was ranting about. Even so, you don’t seem fazed by any of this.” Ken scowled. “I can’t figure you out.”

“Does it matter?” The guy was beginning to make him nervous. Karl’s dinner guest had killed two people, after all.

“Mebbe not. And what about Miranda? How does she fit into all this?”

“Karl’s the one with all the answers. Ask him when he gets back.”

“I bloody will,” he said, and they both smiled. Finally, they had something in common.

Thomas would have been hard pushed to say which of them was more relieved at the sound of Miranda’s key in the door. They’d struggled gamely to find something in common. It turned out Ken had no interest in photography or rugby. Guns, probably, but Thomas gave that a wide berth.

“It’s chocolate chip — it was either that or some low fat nonsense.” Karl joined the gentlemen’s club while Miranda carried on to the kitchen.

During ice cream and coffee Thomas brought out a notepad. Karl seemed more confident and Miranda more subdued, suggesting they’d had words in the car. Thomas was reduced to secretary.

Karl said he’d take charge of cloning the cash card, and insisted that Ken keep a low profile until they contacted him again. In the meantime Miranda would speak to her family about rustling up some unconnected people around the country. She promised to get a list back to Karl pronto.

“Here.” Karl passed Ken a slip of paper. “If you ever feel in real danger call me and I’ll come get you. Emergencies only.”

* * *

Everything was done and dusted by ten-thirty. After Karl took Ken away with him Thomas and Miranda lay sprawled together on the settee, listening to Paul Young’s
No Parlez
.

“Did Karl say anything to you in the car?”