The Catch (16 page)

Joan gazed at him, troubled. ‘Well, if you like. I’ll fetch some kitchen roll.’

‘So is there something wrong with your car?’ Hayley asked – and Louis chose that moment to stroll in, bleary-eyed, hair poking out at wild angles. He was wearing only pyjama bottoms, and he brought a pungent teenage smell into the room.

‘Hiya, Hales.’

‘Morning,’ she said, trying not to recoil as he pecked her on the cheek.

‘You not got it fixed yet?’ Louis asked his brother. ‘Hey, you haven’t pranged it, have you?’

‘No,’ said Dan, a lot more indignant than was necessary. ‘It’s the electrics, I think.’

‘Do you want me to have a look at it?’ Hayley had recently taken a car-maintenance class at night school, a fact of which she was inordinately proud.

‘No, I’ll sort it out. Let’s just go, shall we?’

Before she could object Dan strode out of the room, hoping they hadn’t registered the fact that his face was burning with shame. The only consolation was that the news bulletin had ended.

Another ordeal had been endured, but there would be many, many more to come.

****

In having sex with Bree, Robbie had to find a delicate balance – work hard enough to make it special for her, but not so special that she might question his motives.

And time was a factor. Bree liked it slow and sensual, and why not? She had sod all else to do with her day, frankly. It was different for Robbie. He had duties, responsibilities, problems to solve ... and securing Bree’s cooperation was only one factor in that quest for solutions.

So while he tried not to fret over every passing moment, he wasn’t entirely successful. Fortunately Bree seemed not to notice that when he came up for air he was checking the bedside clock.

She was, as ever, full-blooded in her appreciation of his skills, climaxing with a long squeal of pleasure. She lay still, panting hard, one finger idly stroking the sheen of sweat that coated her taut brown belly.

‘Oh baby, that was ...’ She shuddered, bumping her knee against his thigh as he moved alongside her. ‘Just give me a second, yeah? That was
so
good.’

‘Fine.’ He couldn’t help but grimace: he’d probably overdone it.

A minute or so passed, the silence easy enough. But it was another minute when Robbie should have been somewhere else.

He took a deep breath, almost a gasp, as he found himself reliving the scene last night: the menacing figure in the rear-view mirror, Dan’s panicked cry and the flash of a camera. Neither of them could say what it meant, who the guy was or what he wanted. But even Robbie, the eternal optimist, couldn’t deny that it spelled trouble.

‘I may need to ask a favour,’ he said.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Nothing much. Just want you to say I was with you on a couple of dates.’

‘Okayyy.’ A long, weighted pause. ‘Who is it I’m gonna be telling? Your mum?’

‘Well, yeah. For starters.’

‘Who else?’

‘I don’t know yet. Might not be anyone.’

The bed rocked as she turned sideways. She put her face close to his, all the better to scrutinise him.

‘What have you been up to, Robert Scott?’

He grinned at the playful tone, but knew he’d have to give her something; a morsel of truth, at least.

‘A little bit of naughtiness – nothing to do with women,’ he added hastily. ‘Business deals. Better if you don’t know the details.’

‘You sound like Jimmy.’ She looked fretful. ‘So you want an alibi, if the cops come sniffing round?’

Robbie smiled.
Bree, my darling, you’re brighter than you look
.

‘They probably won’t. But just in case ...’

‘And what if Jimmy’s home when they turn up?’

‘No. All right. I’ll ask somebody else.’

He turned his head away from her, but she stayed put. He felt a cool hand grazing his thigh.

‘What dates?’

‘Last night, and Tuesday evening. That’s all.’

‘I’m not promising,’ she warned him, but her fingers were moving with silky affection, prompting a fresh pulse of interest. ‘All these favours, and yet the fuss you make when I come up with a brilliant idea for you ...’

He shut his eyes, trying to contain his weariness. He’d known there would be a price to pay.

‘I’ll give it a try.’

Bree let out a screech of delight that almost burst his eardrums. ‘Yes! You won’t regret it, babe. You’ll be a
star
. You’ll be
rolling
in cash—’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Robbie held up his hands. ‘Find me one that’s half decent, as a trial run.’

She was nodding enthusiastically, plans already forming. Then she frowned, directing attention to his groin.

‘It’s still all floppy.’

‘Uh, yeah, I’m not really in the mood right now.’

She wagged a finger at him. ‘A professional is
always
in the mood, Robbie. He doesn’t have a choice.’

The Blakes had woken to a soft drizzle and a veil of misty cloud that obscured the Downs and made the view from the picture windows seem commonplace and uninspiring. There were a few breaks appearing by the time Gordon had cleared up the breakfast crockery. He refilled the coffee maker and tried yet again to appease Patricia, but he could do little to lift the gloom that had settled over their kitchen.

Finally the doorbell rang, an interruption both expected and startling, like the end of a demanding exam. It was Gordon’s role to greet visitors but today he found Patricia snapping at his heels. Such eagerness didn’t bode well: he felt it could only lead to disappointment.

His misgivings were confirmed when he opened the door. Jerry Conlon looked tense rather than jubilant: this wasn’t the demeanour of a man bearing gifts. He was dressed in absurdly low-slung jeans, a graffiti-splattered T-shirt and a bikers’ jacket, and he sported the kind of shoulder bag you might see on a hip young advertising executive in the West End.

His gravel voice had barely managed a greeting when Patricia barked: ‘It is now nine twenty-six. Evidently your definition of “first thing” differs markedly from ours.’

They filed through to the kitchen. Gordon’s beloved Sony Vaio laptop was up and running on the table. Setting his bag down beside it, Jerry glanced at the coffee maker and muttered – with reckless courage, Gordon thought – ‘I’m parched.’

Ignoring the hint, Patricia dragged the bag away from him and opened it up. ‘This is Hank’s laptop?’

‘Yeah. I ain’t had a chance to look at it yet—’

She peered into the bag. ‘Where’s the camera? You’re two hours late and you’ve forgotten to bring the damn camera!’

‘Hang on a minute—’

‘No, Jerry, I won’t “hang on”. This is intolerable. It makes me wonder why we ever believed we could entrust you with ...’

Gordon took a step towards his wife, fearing he might have to physically restrain her, but Jerry had stepped out of her range and was dredging the pocket of his too-tight jeans, performing what looked like a squirming dance before his hand emerged and he slapped a tiny square of plastic on to the table.

‘Memory card.’

Patricia regarded it for a long second. ‘I see.’

‘You don’t need the camera. Pictures are on there.’

‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Well, let’s examine it, shall we? Gordon will make you a coffee.’

At first Jerry didn’t move, and Gordon wondered if he would demand an apology: the mouse that roared.

Then he nodded brusquely, pulled out a chair and said, ‘Two sugars, ta.’

****

It was ironic, as Gordon was to reflect later, that Patricia’s initial outburst ending up saving Jerry’s skin. The misunderstanding over the camera served to dilute her anger, so that when the moment came she lacked the appetite for another tirade.

Because the results of last night’s expedition were a disappointment. The memory card yielded a single photograph, a poor-quality shot of a car that was undeniably a BMW. Gordon enlarged the photo to 150%, then to 200%, but the number plate remained unclear, a maddening blur of shapes that might have included a B, a 2, possibly a W.

They were staring at the screen in dismay when Jerry, perhaps emboldened by his earlier moral victory, said, ‘I know you can’t read it too well, but I was thinking you could get it enhanced somewhere. They reckon NASA have software that—’

‘We’re not minded to involve NASA, now, are we?’ Patricia said.

Jerry gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘I dunno.’

‘What about utilising
this
little gizmo?’ Patricia tapped her skull. ‘Why didn’t you memorise the number?’

‘It was too quick. Anyway, I thought the picture was gonna come out fine.’

‘You should always have a backup plan.
Always
.’

Gordon decided it fell to him to stay positive. ‘We have something here, at least.’

Patricia snorted. ‘Only in as much as Stemper got this exactly right. Which demonstrates the wisdom of having him on board.’

Jerry wore a grim look. ‘So I’m off the case, am I?’ To Gordon’s ear, he didn’t sound entirely unhappy at the prospect.

‘Not unless you wish to sever your relationship with us?’ Patricia asked.

‘No, of course I don’t—’

‘Good. Because I’m sure you’ll have an opportunity to redeem yourself. Beginning with this.’

She nodded towards O’Brien’s laptop. Gordon opened it up and pressed the power button. Jerry, still uneasy, scratched his head fiercely enough to make Patricia wince.

‘But I’m gonna be working alongside Stemper?’

‘That’s correct.’

As Patricia focused her attention on the laptop, Jerry glanced in Gordon’s direction, as if hoping to share a moment of fellow feeling. Gordon pretended not to notice.

‘Great,’ said Jerry weakly.

Cate bought a cappuccino and retreated to the furthest recesses of the cafe, ignoring vacant tables at the front. She was meeting DS Thomsett for the second day running and her instinct was to find somewhere discreet.

Despite her best efforts to shrug it off, last night’s conversation with Dan and Robbie kept playing on her mind. It was hard to define exactly what made her feel uncomfortable. She had asked them, quite bluntly, if they were involved in O’Brien’s death, and they had denied it outright.

She tried to remind herself that, whatever reservations she might have about her brother’s honesty, she had none where Dan was concerned. He had been at the wheel, not Robbie; therefore his denial ought to be good enough for her. It was time to stop torturing herself with pointless speculation.

****

The detective had requested an urgent meeting. He’d sounded slightly irritable on the phone. To avoid office gossip she’d suggested they meet at Giardino’s, one of the cafes in the food hall on the top floor of the Churchill Square shopping centre.

It was almost eleven o’clock. The cafe was only moderately busy, though there was a constant stream of teenagers and young mums passing to and from the McDonald’s across the way. Cate added a single sugar to her coffee, wishing she could have more, then noticed she’d received a text.

It was from Martin: one of the puerile jokes he liked to dispatch to his entire address book. Cate knew he’d deleted her number during their acrimonious separation, so he must have restored it – perhaps after his visit on Tuesday night. Evidently she was back in favour, but whether that fact pleased her or not she couldn’t actually say.

She looked up and saw DS Thomsett walking into view past the cafe’s stand of complimentary balloons. He gave her a taut smile and indicated the shelves of pastries at the counter:
Did she want anything?
She shook her head.

He was wearing a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and a spotted purple tie. Boots rather than shoes, and they were dark brown, not black. His hair was a little more tousled than before, as though he’d been running his hands through it. Even while buying coffee, his posture exuded authority. You would not underestimate this man, Cate thought. You would not lie to him.

Except that she
was
lying to him.
She was lying to a police officer in a fatal-accident investigation ...

He picked up his tray. As he approached, Cate took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. Thankfully there was no sign of his sidekick, Avery.

‘Hi, there,’ he said.

‘Morning – oh, you’ve got tea!’

‘Yes.’ He gave her a curious look. ‘Is that permitted?’

‘Of course. It’s just ... don’t most people drink coffee these days?’

He frowned, as if correctly deducing he was in the presence of a madwoman. ‘Coffee’s trendier, I suppose. But I’ve always preferred tea.’

‘I like the aroma, but not the taste.’ Cate laughed, far too heartily for such an innocuous comment. She wasn’t just making an idiot of herself; she was betraying her nerves, giving Thomsett reason to wonder why she was so jittery.

He sat down opposite her, deftly transferring the contents of his tray to the table. He’d bought a couple of croissants, and invited her to share them.

‘Have to eat when you get the chance in this job,’ he said with a rueful smile.

‘Mm. I know the feeling.’

‘Well, you’ve probably gathered that I didn’t ask you here to debate the relative merits of hot beverages.’ The smile had vanished, and there was a wary look in his eyes. ‘This money you gave to Mr O’Brien, three thousand pounds in a brown envelope?’

Cate nodded, struggling to make out his voice over a sudden ringing in her ears.

‘It was found this morning, in the field beyond the accident site.’

****

He said nothing more. Cate waited, perplexed, and then said, ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘It should be. Except that yesterday the field in question – the whole area, in fact – underwent an extremely thorough search.’