(2013) The Catch Read online

  ‘Yeah, you’d think so.’

  ‘What about the car? You took the number down, I hope?’

  ‘Better than that,’ Jerry crowed. ‘I got a picture.’

  ****

  Patricia gave him no time to savour his achievement. ‘Has it come out clearly?’

  ‘Well, it looks pretty good on the screen. I had to use the flash, which meant waiting till they were back in the car. Then I jumped out, took the photo and legged it back into the field.’

  ‘Good work,’ Gordon said, while pulling a sarcastic face. Jerry was childlike in his craving for plaudits: for this he’d want a gold star.

  ‘So it’s gotta be the two lads in the pub, hasn’t it? The ones who broke up the fight with Hank and his lady friend.’

  ‘It’s possible. When can you bring us the picture?’

  ‘I’ve got something else, as well,’ Jerry said. ‘I took another look at Hank’s place. Cops had gone, and it turns out he hadn’t changed the alarm.’

  ‘Has anything been taken?’

  ‘Not as far as I could see. That big filing cabinet in his study looked the same as normal.’

  ‘Good,’ said Patricia, though there was little danger that Hank would have kept anything significant in his study. ‘And his computers?’

  ‘Both still there. I brought the laptop with me.’

  ‘Well done. What time will you be here?’

  ****

  Now there was a pause. ‘In the morning.’

  ‘Oh,’ Patricia said, very distinctly.

  ‘Where are you?’ Gordon asked.

  ‘Back home. Look, I’m cream crackered. I’ll be round first thing, all right?’

  Patricia went to speak; Gordon placed a hand in the crook of her arm: Don’t fight this skirmish.

  ‘Tomorrow, then.’ After ending the call, she growled: ‘His instructions were to come straight here.’

  ‘But he’s not getting any younger. And, sad to say, my darling, neither are we.’

  ‘But the photo, the car registration—’

  ‘Nothing we can do with that until the morning. In any case, I wouldn’t get my hopes raised.’

  ‘No, but I won’t take insubordination from that man. Something will have to be done about him.’

  ‘In due course. For now, let’s accept that we’ve taken a major step forward. We know there’s some kind of conspiracy.’

  ‘Mmm. In that case, we can’t entrust the work to an amateur like Jerry.’

  She looked to him for agreement, and here Gordon had to fake some enthusiasm. His wife’s eyes had lost focus, her expression almost savage as she gazed at some imagined future vengeance.

  ‘Stemper will hunt them down. And when he does, they’ll wish they’d never been born.’

  CHAPTER 27

  Dan barely slept. Wide awake from around three until past dawn, the bleeping of his alarm was the first indication that he’d finally managed to doze off.

  He tried to get up, then slumped back as if locked in place by the sheer weight of defeat. Haunted by the figure who’d crept from the hedgerow and fired his camera in their direction. Plagued by the only explanation that made sense.

  Someone was trying to find them.

  ****

  On the drive home Robbie had latched on to the idea that the flash wouldn’t have been capable of illuminating the BMW’s number plate.

  ‘But if it does,’ Dan had said, ‘I assume it’s registered to you?’

  ‘No, the company.’

  ‘They’ll still trace you easily enough, if this bloke reports it.’

  Robbie, busy grieving for the lost money, had merely grunted. There was silence for a while as the BMW sped through the countryside, headlights picking out small creatures scurrying away from danger.

  Dan said, ‘I suppose he could have been a reporter.’

  ‘Like paparazzi? You don’t reckon they’ve got better things to do than sit in a field on the off chance that ...’

  That the killers will reappear. But Dan couldn’t say it aloud either.

  ‘A sicko, more like,’ Robbie said. ‘Jed knew somebody who used to rob stuff from roadside memorials. Collected all the little cards and messages and put ’em on a corkboard in his kitchen.’

  ‘Hm.’ Dan didn’t think that explained it.

  Robbie gave a sudden cry, slapping a hand against his forehead. ‘Fucker’s gonna get my cash.’

  ‘He’ll never find it.’

  ‘What if he’s got a torch? Or he waits till the sun comes up?’

  Dan sighed. If the money disappeared it would mean their mission tonight had been for nothing. Worse than that, because now they were in danger of being identified.

  ‘There was no way we could anticipate this,’ he said. ‘At least, if he takes the money, I suppose he’s less likely to report us.’

  ‘Always look on the bright side, eh?’

  ‘Well, yeah. We can’t change what’s happened.’

  ‘We could turn around—’

  ‘We are not going back,’ Dan said vehemently. ‘That would be crazy.’

  One more crazy thing, he thought, added to the great pile of crazy things they’d already done.

  ****

  But, for now, life went on. Dan dragged himself up, remembering that he’d have to walk or take the bus to work.

  He’d just stepped out of the shower when he caught the faint chime of the doorbell. Even through the steam on the bathroom mirror he could see how stricken he looked. The door was unlocked, and it actually crossed his mind to leap over and slide the bolt home – as if that might make a scrap of difference.

  ‘In other news, the suspect in a fatal hit-and-run managed to evade arrest this morning when he locked himself in his bathroom and refused to come out ...’

  He grabbed a towel and dried off with frantic haste, desperate not to be naked when they came for him. The photo must have captured the number plate. From that the police had found Compton’s and then identified Robbie, who’d sold him out within seconds—

  There was a tap on the door. A sardonic female voice said: ‘Taxi for Mr Wade.’

  Dan had to take a breath before he could reply. ‘Hayley?’

  ‘Er, correct. Who did you think it was?’

  He laughed away his embarrassment. ‘Just a sec.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting downstairs.’ Then, presumably in answer to a question from Joan, she called out: ‘Love one. Thanks.’

  ****

  Dan’s relief was short-lived. This latest scare only emphasised that he was caught in an ever worsening tangle of lies.

  He got dressed, descended the stairs and found Hayley sipping tea and chatting with Joan, who was leaning against the door frame, regulation dishcloth in hand. On TV a politician blustered in unpleasant close-up: there was a badly concealed shaving cut on his neck.

  Dan kissed his aunt on the cheek. ‘I’ll skip breakfast, thanks.’

  ‘But the bacon’s on ...’ She gestured towards the kitchen. ‘You’ve plenty of time, haven’t you?’

  Hayley nodded for him, sitting with her back straight, stomach pulled in and knees together. She had both hands cupped around her tea, as though it was cold in the room.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Can I just have a sandwich?’

  ‘Bacon buttie coming up. What about you, Hayley?’

  ‘No, thanks. Too many calories.’

  ‘Tsk. Listen to you. Lovely figure, you have.’

  As Joan turned away, Hayley’s expression hardened and Dan realised that they hadn’t kissed; hadn’t greeted one another at all.

  She asked, ‘Where were you last night?’

  ‘Robbie’s. Like I said.’

  ‘Collecting your car?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘I ended up staying for a couple of drinks.’

  A look of pain crossed Hayley’s face. She held his gaze for a moment, then stared at the TV. The politician’s interrogation was over, but Dan remained on the hook.

  ‘Didn’t y
ou get my text?’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. By the time I noticed it was a bit too late.’

  She snorted, easily detecting the lie. ‘When you didn’t reply, I phoned here,’ she said quietly. ‘I spoke to Joan.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Dan said, as if he couldn’t see any problem with that. But his heart had begun to beat wildly.

  ‘I mentioned you having to collect your car. Joan had no idea what I was on about.’ Hayley speared him with a look. ‘She said the Fiesta’s in the garage. It’s been there since Tuesday night.’

  Dan nodded: Yes, it has. He wondered if it showed in his eyes: the fear, the frantic calculations.

  He swallowed hard and said: ‘I’m sorry, Hayley. I lied to you.’

  CHAPTER 28

  ‘Oh my God! What have you done to your hair?’

  ‘Thought I’d try something different. Don’t you like it?’

  Bree pressed a finger against her plump painted lips. ‘I’m not sure, babe. That fringe ...’ She giggled. ‘It’s a bit Justin Bieber, but like a year out of date.’

  Robbie had only a hazy idea who she was talking about, so he said nothing. She reached out and stroked his forehead, flicking his hair to one side.

  ‘A nice parting there would suit you. The older ladies really go for that look.’

  ‘Christ, Bree. Don’t you ever give up?’

  ‘No way, babe. If I did, I’d still be in a shitty flat in Whitehawk.’ She allowed him to step inside and nudge the door shut. ‘You’re bright and early.’

  ‘Woke up horny.’ His arms circled her waist and his hands slid greedily over her bum and down between her legs. He gasped as he pressed against her. ‘When’s Jimmy back?’

  ‘Not for hours yet.’ She grasped his hands in hers, gently but firmly bringing his exploration to a halt. ‘So we can take our time ...’

  ****

  Hayley waited for an explanation. Dan sat in one of the armchairs, snatching another second or two in which to assemble his story.

  ‘I did drive home on Tuesday night. But I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘You were over the limit?’

  ‘Only a couple of pints, but ...’

  ‘You said your head felt terrible.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ He shrugged, content for her to believe he was lying about how much he’d drunk.

  ‘What if you’d been stopped? You’d have lost your licence.’ She looked appalled. Dan wondered if she was thinking about his parents’ accident.

  ‘I know. Sorry. Do you mind not ...?’ He nodded his head towards the kitchen. A moment later Joan came in with his sandwich and a mug of coffee, just as Dan glanced at the TV and saw a man standing in front of the Sussex Police logo. The volume was low, but Dan made out the presenter’s voice-over: ‘ ... appeal for witnesses.’

  Joan handed him the plate. She looked subdued, as though she’d picked up on the tension in the room. Dan took his coffee, straining to catch every word of the news report while appearing not to give it any undue attention.

  A caption identified the man as Detective Sergeant Thomsett. Dan’s heart stuttered. Joan was asking if Hayley was sure she didn’t want something to eat, and Hayley replied that she’d had cereal and a banana, all she was permitted on her current diet, and Dan, pretending that this conversation was infinitely more compelling than anything on TV, took a bite of his sandwich and heard the detective say: ‘... in particular we’d like to speak to two men who were in the saloon bar of the Horse and Hounds public house at around ten p.m. on Tuesday.’

  Dan jumped up, terrified that if Hayley or Joan heard the news report they couldn’t fail to make the connection.

  ‘Shall we get going? I’ll eat this on the way.’

  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.’

  CHAPTER 29

  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.’