Sight Unseen (39 page)

'And you were right.'

'Gratifyingly so. Our last meeting was... rudely interrupted. It's good to have this opportunity to take up where we left off.'

'Look, Percy, I --'

'It's no good claiming to be in all kinds of a hurry this time, David. The last bus to Marlborough left at six fifteen. Even if you phoned for a taxi now, we'd have at least twenty minutes to chat.'

'All right. Let's chat.' Umber smiled grimly and flung himself into an attempt to lead the discussion, since discussion there clearly had to be. 'Talking of Abigail, did you tell her why you went to Jersey? Or are you sticking to the ufological-conference line?'

Nevinson pursed his lips. 'A white lie to spare my sister's feelings, nothing more. Naturally, I've... come clean since returning home.'

'
Completely
clean, Percy?'

'Well, I...'

'Did you mention hiring Wisby?'

Nevinson grimaced. 'That would only have confused her.'

'Why
did
you hire him?'

'I didn't. Not really. I asked him... to share his findings with me, that's all. Which he never did, beyond what he judged sufficient to extract an exorbitant fee from me.'

'Slippery character, Wisby.'

'Indeed.'

'What about standing idly by while I was grabbed off the street by a couple of heavies in St Helier? Did you mention
that
to Abigail?'

'There again...'

'You didn't want to confuse her.'

Nevinson grinned nervously. 'Exactly.'

'As a law-abiding citizen, shouldn't you have phoned the police? You'd witnessed a kidnapping, after all.'

'Is that what it was, David? To be honest, I considered the possibility that it was -- how shall I put it? -- staged.'

'Staged?'

'For my benefit, I mean.'

'
Your
benefit?'

'Besides, in a sense, I
did
consult the police.
A
policeman, that is.' Nevinson's grin broadened. 'Well, a
retired
policeman.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm referring to Mr Sharp.'

'You visited George?'

'There was no need to visit him. I spoke to him at the magistrates' court after his hearing. Well,
near
the magistrates' court, to be strictly accurate.'

'Near?'

'Yes. There's a pleasant little park just round the --'

'Never mind the bloody park. How come you've been strolling around St Helier with George? He's in custody.'

'Not since Tuesday. He was granted bail, you see.'

'What?'

'Bail. In consideration of his status as a retired police officer, apparently. A thousand pounds and the surrender of his passport. The conditions seemed very --'

'George is out?'

'Yes. That's what it amounts to. Out. Pending trial.' Nevinson's grin acquired a sickly thinness. 'I'm rather surprised you didn't know.'

Nevinson's surprise was nothing compared with Umber's. Larter had not breathed a word about this. Yet he must have been aware of it. He had actually mentioned speaking to Sharp only yesterday. For some reason, the two men had decided to keep Umber in the dark. 'Are you sure about this, Percy?'

'How could I not be? I was there when the magistrates said their piece. And I certainly didn't imagine our conversation in the park. We were standing by the statue of General Don. According to my Jersey guidebook, he was responsible for --'

'Forget General Don. What did George say?'

'Well, he was surprised to see me, naturally. But he rapidly deduced that news of Jeremy Hall's death had brought me to the island. He was very interested by what I had to tell him about you. And about Wisby, of course. It was at his request that I took the matter of your apparent kidnapping no further. He said he'd deal with it.'

'Deal with it?'

'I confess I'm not entirely clear what he meant by that.'

Neither was Umber. What in God's name was Sharp up to? How had he wangled bail, which Burnouf had said was next to impossible? And where had he been since? Where -- and why?

'Wisby was up before the magistrates himself on Tuesday,' Nevinson went on. 'Caught trying to leave Jersey in possession of stolen money, apparently. No bail for him, of course. I think Mr Sharp meant to visit him before leaving Jersey himself.'

'He said he was going to visit Wisby?'

'Not in so many words.'

'And what about leaving Jersey?'

'I took it as read. Why would he stay when the next stage in the Hall family drama is about to unfold here in Wiltshire? Lack of a passport is no bar to travelling from Jersey to England, after all. Just as I'm surprised you hadn't heard about his release, however, I must confess to even greater surprise that he hasn't been in touch with you since, given your previous... collaboration. You look, if I may say so, more than a little dismayed yourself.'

'How very perceptive of you, Percy.'

'Why would he be avoiding you, I wonder?'

'I'm wondering the same myself.'

'Could it be that Wisby has told him something that causes him to doubt your loyalty? If so, he may suspect you weren't really kidnapped at all. Or that you were but subsequently struck some kind of deal to secure your release.'

'Suggest that to him, did you?'

'By no means. But the possibilities could have occurred to him. As I'm forced to admit they did to me.'

'Well, you can take it from me it wasn't a put-up job. And I've done no deals.'

'I'm happy to take your word on both scores, David. Despite all the evidence to the contrary.'

Umber would have felt angrier with Nevinson if he had not been so bewildered by the turn of events. 'What evidence?'

'Your current state of unfettered liberty, of course. Which I note you've conspicuously failed to explain.'

'Now just a --'

'None of my business, I'm sure. We must all shift for ourselves in this world. It was only a matter of time, after all.'

'What was?'

'Your removal from the chessboard.' Nevinson leaned forward, fixing Umber with a stare and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 'The powers that be have decreed there can be no queening of pawns in this game.'

* * *

The only way to shake off Nevinson, it became clear, was to return to Marlborough. And Nevinson had been uncannily accurate about the likely delay until a taxi arrived. Before he could make an exit, Umber had to endure a further twenty minutes of the man's infuriatingly smug assumption that he had in some way sold out.

Umber stopped listening once Nevinson had veered off onto his favourite topic: the role of the intelligence community in stifling research into the Martian origins of the stone circles and avenues scattered around Avebury. Umber's mind filled instead with doubts and questions concerning Sharp's activities since Tuesday.

He began to suspect that Nevinson was right. Sharp had concluded he could no longer be trusted. That was why he had sworn Larter to secrecy about his release. Umber's unannounced visit to Ilford, none the worse for his supposed kidnapping, must have seemed like confirmation of his treachery.

He had lied to Nevinson in one crucial regard. He
had
done a deal, albeit one he did not intend to fulfil even if he got the chance. There
were
good reasons to believe he might have gone over to the opposition -- whoever the opposition might be. The fact that he had not was no help. He could not prove his good faith. He could only demonstrate it. As long as Chantelle continued to elude him, there was no way he could do that. And maybe, even if he found her, there would still be no way.

* * *

'Will you be attending the funeral tomorrow?' was Nevinson's parting question as he accompanied Umber out of the pub to the waiting taxi when it eventually arrived. 'Mr Sharp may be intending to, don't you think?'

Umber offered no reply as he nodded to the taxi driver and opened the door.

'For that reason alone, you may prefer not to, of course,' Nevinson continued, catching Umber's eye. 'I suppose it boils down to a question of who can be warned off -- and who can't.'

'Goodbye, Percy.'

* * *

Umber did not glance back at the pub as the taxi joined the main road and headed south. Instead, he looked over his shoulder at the dwindling shapes of the Adam and Eve stones, at the empty quadrant of the henge where he had first set eyes on Sally and the Hall children.

The view was a fleeting one, rapidly blanked off by the houses at the eastern end of the village. The face the past had briefly shown him turned away, leaving him with no choice but to turn away likewise.

* * *

During the drive back to Marlborough, a suspicion somehow more disturbing even than the possibility that Sharp had written him off as a traitor formed in Umber's mind. Maybe Sharp was the one who had done the deal. Maybe his release on bail had been a
quid pro quo.
If so, Umber was more isolated than ever and the danger to Chantelle was all the greater. Umber could do nothing about that. Tomorrow would tell. And he greatly feared it would tell against him.

The taxi dropped Umber outside the Ivy House, but he did not go in. Instead, he walked along the High Street to the Green Dragon and took the edge off his anxiety with a couple of pints and double whisky chasers.

The drinks, numbing though they were, only nourished his suspicions of Sharp. His silence since Tuesday, it seemed ever clearer to Umber, was the real giveaway. A week in prison could have sucked all the pride and determination out of a man of his age and former occupation, leaving him all too susceptible to whatever deal had been offered him. Release on bail might have been the down payment, a dropping of the charge held out as the ultimate reward, in return for... what? Had Sharp been set the same task as Umber? Could that be it? Were they each insurance against the failure or defiance of the other?

* * *

It was gone ten o'clock when Umber made his woozy way back to the Ivy House. He had no plan now beyond a few hours' sleep. He did not expect it to help. He did not expect anything at all. He was no longer thinking about tomorrow. He could not bear to.

* * *

'Message for you,' said the receptionist, handing him a note along with his key. 'Could you phone this number? Urgent, apparently.'

Umber stared at the piece of paper in his hand. A mobile number was written on it. And that was all. 'There's no name,' he blearily objected.

'He didn't leave one. Declined to, actually. I did ask.'

'When did he phone?'

'Around eight o'clock. Then again about half an hour ago.'

'Old? Young?'

'Not young. Polite. Well-spoken. But...'

'What?'

'Edgy. You know? Definitely edgy.'

* * *

Umber dialled the number on the phone in his room. It was answered before the second ring.

'That you, Umber?'

It was not the voice Umber had expected to hear. Despite the receptionist describing the caller as well-spoken, which was hardly a perfect fit, he had convinced himself during the short walk along the hotel corridors that the message was from Sharp; that the old man had seen sense and decided they should rejoin forces. But the message was not from Sharp.

'Know who this is?'

'Of course.'

'We need to meet. Tonight.'

'Why?'

'Want the truth? The whole truth? And a way out of it?'

'Yes.'

'Then don't argue. I'll pick you up at midnight. Wait in front of the Town Hall.'

'How did --'

'Will you be there?'

'Yes. All right. But --'

'See you then.' The line went dead.

* * *

Umber put the phone down, hoisted his feet up onto the bed and lay back against the pillows. He stared up into the shadows angled across the ceiling, his mind struggling with the implications of what had just happened. Oliver Hall wanted to see him. Oliver Hall was willing to tell him the truth. Oliver Hall was offering him an escape route. It was too good to be true. It was too alluring to be anything but a trap. And maybe it was a trap deadlier than any of those he had so far blundered into. But he had agreed to go. And he would. He could not ignore the summons. He could not resist the bait. He could not avoid the trap.

* * *

Umber got to the Town Hall several minutes early. Marlborough was quiet, the High Street largely empty. It had occurred to him by now that leaving an anonymous message at the Ivy House and nominating a pick-up point a little way from the hotel showed just how determined Hall was to avoid leaving any evidence that they had conversed, let alone met. Such precautions did not augur well. But there was of course no reason why they should. Umber waited, sitting on the steps that led up to the Town Hall entrance, staring along the curve of the High Street.