The Catch (27 page)

‘What am I doing?’ Cate said aloud. But the answer was only too clear. She was picking at a scab. The pain Martin had caused her on Tuesday wasn’t quite sharp enough to satisfy, or intense enough for her immune system to kick in and heal her. Deep down she understood that she had to feel worse before she could feel better.

She found the address at last, within a cul-de-sac that had only a fraction of the space it needed for parking. It meant that after turning she had nowhere to pull in, but that was fine. She didn’t intend to be here for long.

The house that Martin and Janine shared looked impossibly small to contain the three bedrooms which Martin claimed it had. The garden, if they had one at all, must be about the size of a tablecloth. No space for a child to run and play; no room to frolic or gambol or whatever it was you did when you had gorgeous little sprogs and life was perfect.

Although it wasn’t fully dark, there were lights on in almost every room. Martin wouldn’t like that at all, even if they were energy-saving bulbs. Or maybe Janine was such an enthusiastic provider of oral gratification that Martin had learned to overlook the occasional bad habit?

‘God, I’m being a bitch,’ she muttered. And she was talking to herself again. ‘You’re a spiteful cow, Caitlin Scott. And probably going loopy as well.’

****

No, this was just displacement activity. For the energy-squandering inhabitants of the house had neglected to close their curtains, and as a result Cate was able to see that the bedroom in the top left corner had already been decorated and equipped for its new purpose. It was a nursery, with bright mauve walls and a multicoloured lampshade, and some kind of mobile dangling below the light, a draught causing its shadows to dance and sway.

Cate’s imagination did the rest, adding the crib and the cushions and the cuddly toys. A beautifully crafted bookcase filled with all the stories that had enchanted her as a child. The room would have its own special smell, too, of warmth and milk and a mother’s love—

‘Go!’ she cried, and thumped herself on the thigh. ‘You pathetic woman.’

****

Home was still home, but now it felt cold, spare, brittle. Too silent. Before she put the shopping away – before she unpacked, even – Cate drew the last of the wine from the fridge and poured it brimful into a glass. Found a new bottle and placed it in the freezer to cool quickly. This was an emergency, after all.

She was tempted not to eat, but some degree of good sense prevailed. While the meal heated up, she put the shopping away and recounted all the reasons she had to be grateful that she was single, and free – if not exactly young any more.

The curry, it turned out, was indifferent. As a result, when the doorbell rang, she wasn’t quite as inclined to ignore it and go on eating. Setting the plate down, Cate had a flashback to Tuesday night, the broken wine glass. Perhaps it was female intuition.

Martin was calling her name. He sounded in good spirits; it was more like a serenade than his usual whinge.

But she kept the security chain on. Opened the door and the first thing she saw were flowers. From Sainsbury’s: she recognised the wrapping. He was clutching them to his chest, but there was also a bottle of wine in his hand.

That voice in her head said:
See? Be careful what you wish for
.

****

He greeted her, but didn’t ask to be let in, which was as close as Martin came to reverse psychology. Cate slipped off the chain and opened the door. He was grinning like an imbecile. Dressed in newly pressed jeans and a grey shirt with a button-down collar. And he’d overdone the aftershave somewhat. Diesel, she thought it was.

She gestured at the flowers. ‘What’s this?’

‘For you.’ He thrust them forward. ‘I hope you have a spare vase.’

‘Pardon?’ Now that he was inside, she had little option but to let him through to the kitchen. She shut the front door and heard a clunk as he put the bottle on the unit.

‘Do you have a drink on the go?’

‘Yes.’

He was opening cupboards. ‘Of course, you’re one glass short. Sorry about that. Bloody clumsy of me.’

Next the kitchen drawers, searching for a bottle opener. Cate stood in the doorway and crossed her arms.

‘Sorry, Martin. Have I missed something?’

He turned, smiling easily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, this feels like one of those TV shows where the character falls into a coma for a couple of years, then waltzes in one day as though nothing has happened.’

A tiny frown restored his features to those of an ageing, harassed father-to-be. He indicated the bottle.

‘Want a top-up? I need to get one in me quick.’ He snorted. ‘Dutch courage, I suppose. Isn’t that ridiculous, with my own wife?’

‘Martin, I’m not your wife any more. We’re divorced, remember?’

‘How could I forget? But it was a mistake. We both know that now.’

Cate shook her head. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, don’t give me that.’ Martin opened his hands, appealing for reason to prevail. ‘I saw you earlier.’

‘What?’ Cate wanted to sound mystified, but she could feel herself blushing.

‘I’m so glad I happened to look out. It’s just like when you caught me this morning. We’re being drawn to each other.’

‘No, I wasn’t ...’ She laid the flowers on the worktop. ‘I wasn’t there because of that.’

‘Cate, it’s a cul-de-sac. Why else would you be there?’

She bent her head and rested it against the door frame. Then heard him coming towards her, eager to exploit the vulnerability she was displaying. She quickly straightened up.

‘Martin, please. Don’t push me to explain.’

‘I have to, because otherwise you won’t admit it to yourself.’

‘No. You’re imagining things. Look, I’m sorry to be blunt, but I don’t love you any more. Coming here with flowers and wine ... Two, three years ago, I’d have been thrilled by that kind of attention from you.’

‘You were parked up outside my house, for Pete’s sake.’

He took a step towards her. She retreated a step, into the hall.

‘Listen to me, please. I have no desire to get back with you. Your future is with Janine, and your baby.’

His lip curled into a sneer. ‘So that’s what it is? You’re jealous.’ Then he saw his error, made an effort to be conciliatory again. ‘Don’t you see what I was getting at the other night? I
would
have a kid with you now. I’ll prove it.’ He nodded at the ceiling. ‘Let’s go and get started, right this minute. No protection.’

She was stunned. ‘Martin ...’

‘Come on, we can take the wine with us.’ He pursed his lips. ‘You can’t still be on the pill, surely?’

Cate stepped back again, winded; the words tumbled out: ‘Oh, you bastard ...’

‘Well, come on. It’s not like you’re getting any action.’ He advanced and now she was against the wall. She saw his hand creeping towards her and batted it away.

‘Don’t touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me.’

‘How dare you! Are you saying I’m gonna ...?’

‘I’m warning you, that’s all. And I’m asking you to leave. Please, Martin.’

‘Or what?’ he snarled. ‘You’re practically accusing me of rape. Are you gonna go sobbing to your little detective friend and make up a load of allegations against me?’

****

He was looming over her, so close that there were flecks of his spittle landing on her cheeks. Cate felt paralysed, as if the mere mention of the word ‘rape’ had been enough to scramble her nervous system.

‘All that bullshit this morning,’ Martin said. ‘You are screwing him, aren’t you? Does he know you’re desperate to have a kid?’ He thumped the wall above her head, and it seemed to shudder against her. She let out a yelp.

‘If you don’t go now, I’m calling 999.’

‘I make you a bloody good offer and you turn me down flat. And yet you’ll go and use that cop as a sperm donor. To think you had the cheek to call Janine a slag—’

She slapped his face. Martin recoiled, but at the same time he drew back his fist. Visions of the fight with Hank O’Brien ran through Cate’s mind as she ducked low and squeezed through the gap between him and the door frame. Into the kitchen, she dashed for the far counter, grabbed his bottle of wine and turned, gripping it by the neck.

‘Get out of here!’ she screamed. ‘You take one step towards me and I’ll kill you.’

He didn’t move. Dropping his hands, he regarded her with contempt.

‘You’re a lunatic. A prick-teasing little whore who belongs in the nuthouse, and one day that’s where you’re gonna end up.’

He stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to shake the house. Cate managed to put the bottle down safely, then sank to the floor, drew her knees up to her chin and wept.

Gordon could see how close to meltdown Patricia had come. Stemper’s arrival meant the explosion had been delayed, not avoided altogether.

She went to greet Stemper herself, leaving Jerry and Gordon to share an awkward silence. When Patricia returned, Gordon had the impression that she’d been discussing the outburst. The manner in which Stemper’s gaze settled on Jerry Conlon brought to mind an undertaker sizing up a body.

They replayed the relevant scene from the movie, and Gordon felt a sense of anticlimax when Stemper failed to exhibit any real surprise. Instead he looked smugly content.

Patricia summarised the day’s events: the hard drives had yielded nothing of interest, and O’Brien’s sister had taken up what was hoped to be only temporary residence at the farmhouse, where she had overseen repairs to the broken window, as well as the removal of Hank’s paperwork.

Then, eyes twinkling, she said, ‘I have to confess, I was mystified when you asked about Hank’s living arrangements. I take it you already had your suspicions about the film?’

‘I merely thought it should be followed up, given the enquiries that Hank had made a few weeks ago.’

Stemper hesitated, as if from what he’d said only a moron could fail to comprehend the situation. In that respect, Gordon knew he would have to fall on his sword.

‘Well, I’m still baffled. We keep glimpsing this enormous canvas, but with each sight the picture looks bigger and more confusing than before.’

****

There was a disparaging snort from Jerry. But Stemper inclined his head and said, ‘Eloquently put. In my view, what explains it best is that there isn’t one canvas out there in the dark, but two.’

Patricia was the first to grasp his meaning. ‘So Hank’s death is nothing to do with our scheme?’

‘Exactly. That’s the good news. The bad news is that I do believe there’s another conspiracy, and the movie lies at the heart of it. The farmhouse was used for filming at a time when O’Brien was living elsewhere. Now, his attempt to trace the location manager was made shortly after his return from Japan.’

‘Is that relevant?’ Patricia said. ‘The trip was to a Templeton subsidiary.’

‘It
is
relevant, but not in that way. I made some enquiries this afternoon.
Entwined
was part of the in-flight entertainment – if we can assume that Hank flew British Airways?’

‘Probably. We can check.’

‘So you think that’s when he saw the film?’ Gordon said.

As Stemper nodded, Jerry clicked his fingers together. ‘He was in a steaming mood, you remember?’

‘And threatening to change the alarm code,’ Stemper said. ‘A natural reaction to what he no doubt saw as a violation of his property.’

‘Because the house had been used without his permission?’ Patricia looked stunned. ‘Is this what it’s all about?’

‘I can’t say for sure. But I intend to find out.’

****

They moved on to the events of Tuesday night. Stemper described the barmaid’s claim of a connection between the woman and the men who’d assisted her. He wanted Jerry to verify whether her descriptions matched that of the men in the BMW.

‘I had no way of seeing their faces, but sounds like it could be.’ Jerry sniffed, rubbing his nose back and forth. ‘So how’d you link ’em to the film?’

‘Something else I learned from Traci. There was a sum of money found at the accident site, by the same man who discovered the body. A local farmer.’

That had everyone sitting up. Gordon saw how much Stemper enjoyed having them spellbound. A deep vanity lurked inside the man – along with God only knew what else.

It was Jerry who dared to break the mood. ‘That Traci seemed pretty flaky to me. You sure she’s not spinning you a line?’

His gaze pitiless, Stemper said, ‘She wouldn’t lie to me, Jerry.’

****

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Jerry looked away, and Stemper said, ‘The farmer didn’t find the money until Thursday morning. And yet the police were at the site all day Wednesday.’

‘So this was Hank’s money?’ Patricia queried. ‘How much?’

‘Three thousand pounds. One theory is that the farmer stole it when he found the body, then had an attack of conscience. However, Traci doesn’t feel he’s the sort.’

‘And is that what the two blokes were doing there when I saw ’em?’ Jerry broke in. ‘Searching for the cash?’

Slowly, as if addressing an imbecile, Stemper said, ‘No. I think they
returned
the money.’

Patricia shook her head. ‘Hold on. Where do we think this money originated? If Hank was passing out envelopes full of cash ...’

Gordon met her eye, nodding at the implications. But he thought he’d seen what Stemper was getting at.

‘Maybe they took the money from Hank, confident that it wouldn’t be missed, and then for some reason changed their mind.’

‘Yes, Gordon. But where did the money come from in the first place?’

Stemper spoke up. ‘One possibility is that it was a pay-off to Hank, perhaps related to the movie.’