(2013) The Catch Page 9

  ‘You’re very lucky, Jacob. Have you thanked him?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jacob said dutifully, then went back up a gear: ‘Can we do the marines now?’

  ‘You’ve got homework tonight.’

  The boy groaned. His fingers were fluttering above the Changeling, desperate to hold it. Debbie lingered in the doorway, needing to establish control over her son but respectful of Stemper’s territory.

  He picked up the box of space marines. ‘I tell you what, Jacob. I’ll prep them tonight, and then maybe you can do the base coat tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah! Will you help me with them?’

  ‘If I can. I might have to go away for a few days.’

  Debbie’s ears pricked up. ‘On business?’

  Stemper nodded. ‘There’s the possibility of a new contract.’

  ‘Oh. Long-term, do you think?’

  He saw the worry in her face. Over the past two months the rent he’d paid and the help he’d offered around the house had made him virtually indispensable. Everything had gone beautifully to plan.

  He said, ‘Not necessarily. I should know more later this week.’

  She nodded, then winced as an elbow bumped her arm: her daughter, Brooke, cradling an open laptop and trying to slither past with her back to the room.

  ‘Be more careful.’

  ‘Sor-ry.’

  ‘Come and see the Changeling!’ Jacob cried. ‘It’s all painted.’

  Brooke turned just long enough to pull a face, her tongue bulging against her lower lip: as if Jacob was insane to think a thirteen-year-old girl would be interested in anything that excited a nine-year-old boy. Like, why?

  The dynamics of family life enthralled Stemper. His expression conveyed that, whilst he wasn’t taking sides, he understood her attitude entirely. Brooke saw it but maintained the sneer. She spent a lot of time monitoring Stemper in her peripheral vision; rarely if ever did she look him directly in the eye.

  ‘Right, Jacob,’ Debbie said. ‘You need to get out of that filthy uniform. And Mr Hopper needs peace and quiet.’

  Reluctantly, the boy traipsed out, and Debbie offered another apologetic smile.

  ‘I’ve put the kettle on. Do you want ...?’

  ‘Not right now. Thank you.’

  Stemper waited until the door had closed, then turned the chair back towards the desk. Peace and quiet, he thought. Or confusion and havoc.

  He knew which he preferred.

  CHAPTER 19

  When they told him the plan it was clear that Jerry wasn’t impressed, though he wouldn’t actually come out and say it.

  He arrived half an hour after the conversation with Stemper, while the Blakes were still hyper – or rather, Patricia was hyper and Gordon was surging in and out of her slipstream. Gordon didn’t appreciate how much it had affected them until he caught the look that Jerry gave Patricia. Ravenous but wary, as though a voice in his head was telling him to be careful what he wished for.

  Gordon couldn’t help smacking his lips together, relishing the surprise they had in store for him.

  Patricia, who favoured directness, had said, ‘I don’t care how tedious it is for him. If he’d kept a closer watch on O’Brien, we wouldn’t be in this position.’

  That wasn’t necessarily true, although Gordon didn’t say so. ‘Can we trust him to get this right?’ he asked.

  ‘Frankly, who knows? Are you volunteering in his place?’

  And he’d laughed. ‘No, not me, darling. I get far too fidgety, don’t I?’

  ****

  Conlon arrived in his rented VW Golf. His own car was some kind of absurd vintage Cadillac, restored at great expense over a period of many years. As to why Jerry had bothered, Gordon had no idea. A big flash car was about as foolish a choice of vehicle as you could imagine for a man in Jerry’s current role of low-key, unobtrusive gofer. The Blakes had duly insisted on more anonymous transport.

  Nudging sixty but looking a decade older, Jerry Conlon seemed to believe he was entitled to a perpetual mid-life crisis, as if an early brush with the rock-and-roll business had endowed him with the gift of immortality.

  He was painfully thin, except for a roll of flab around his middle that resembled a bicycle inner tube. He wore tight jeans, leather coats and bootlace ties. Permanently unshaven, his uneven white stubble was more Steptoe than Bruce Willis, and his curly grey hair was stained an unappealing nicotine yellow. With his sunken cheeks and wheezy south London voice, he could have been an escapee from a 1950s sanatorium.

  In the living room, over a pot of Earl Grey, he updated them on his progress. ‘I managed to blag a chat with this barmaid. Traci, with an “i”. She’s about twenty. A fat, rough-looking bird. Supposed to be a goth, but take it from me, she ain’t the real deal.’

  Gordon snorted. Another of Jerry’s delusions was that he had his finger on the pulse of youth culture. For a man who looked like his own pulse was thready at best, Gordon thought he’d be wiser to concentrate on a lifestyle more befitting his age.

  ‘What did she tell you, Jerry?’ Patricia said.

  Conlon gave his nose a savage rub with the side of his hand. ‘It is O’Brien. Dead as a doornail when the farmer found him this morning.’

  A moment of glum silence. They had known all day, but the news sank deeper now.

  ‘And we’re in the clear as regards your contact with Hank?’ Patricia asked.

  ‘Totally. I only ever used the mobile you gave me. I assume it’s untraceable?’

  Patricia nodded. ‘What about the house? The laptop?’

  ‘No chance. The fuzz were still there.’ Anticipating their displeasure, he raised a hand. ‘But I got another snippet in the pub. Turns out Hank met up with some bird.’

  ‘A woman?’ Patricia said. She and Gordon exchanged a glance: just as they had speculated.

  ‘Yeah. Dunno if it was a date or what, but it didn’t go well. Traci said they had a row. O’Brien pushed the girl over, then these blokes went wading in.’

  ‘Who?’ Patricia barked.

  ‘Just two blokes that were in there drinking. They broke up the fight, and O’Brien scarpered.’

  Patricia seemed poised to speak, but in fact she was just drawing in a long, slow breath. Gordon knew it as an uh-oh breath.

  ‘Did you get any information about them?’ she demanded, splaying her hand and ticking off each point on a different finger. ‘Their ages. Their descriptions. What they said. What they did. What sort of car they drove.’

  Jerry shrivelled under the onslaught. ‘Hey, it was hard enough getting that. The pub was heaving, and the fuzz were in and out all the time. This was a hit-and-run, remember? If they clock me taking too much interest, what do you think they’re gonna do?’

  ‘Hmm.’ The look Patricia gave him made it apparent that she took a dim view of his excuses.

  ‘I suppose we have a bit more to go on,’ Gordon said.

  Patricia, still studying Jerry, said: ‘Which brings us to your next task ...’

  ****

  Once they had explained it, Jerry took a noisy gulp of tea and sighed. ‘So I’m camping out for the night, basically?’

  ‘Till three a.m.,’ Patricia said. ‘Just make sure you’re not seen. I trust there are suitable places to hide?’

  ‘Only in a field, or up a fu— up a tree.’

  Savouring the misery on Jerry’s face, Gordon said, ‘A touch of good fortune tonight and the mystery will be solved.’

  ‘And what if nobody shows up?’

  Patricia said, ‘We’ll reassess tomorrow. Gordon and I have already discussed how we can enhance the team.’

  Jerry looked indignant. ‘You mean get outside help? Like who?’

  ‘Stemper.’

  ‘Shit.’ Jerry swore with such comic timing that it should have provoked a smile, but Gordon didn’t feel like smiling. His own reaction, safely internalised, had been much the same.

  Patricia was affronted. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Not
hing. It’s your decision, I suppose.’ Unconsciously, Jerry was shaking his head, but Patricia didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘You’re quite correct, Jerry. It is my decision.’

  CHAPTER 20

  Dan was in the pub by ten to six, having fled the shop and jumped on the first bus that came along.

  In the final hour of trading Hayley had begun chatting brightly about a wedding fair taking place this Sunday, at a hotel near Crawley. It was the sort of thing he’d struggle to be enthusiastic about at the best of times; right now even a lukewarm interest was beyond him.

  ‘I know it’s not likely to be relevant for years yet.’ Here she’d left a pause, during which he was probably expected to contradict her. ‘Mum’s keen to come, but she won’t if you’d prefer it to be just the two of us.’

  Dan had shrugged. ‘No, let her go with you if she wants.’ Then one of the other assistants had interrupted with a question about wireless routers, and Dan gave a silent blessing for his lucky escape.

  Later, as they were leaving, Hayley pounced again. ‘So? Are we all going?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘God, Daniel, it was less than twenty minutes ago. The wedding fair.’

  ‘Oh. Didn’t you say you’re taking your mum?’

  For a second he thought she might slap him. Instead she shook her head, a small vicious movement.

  ‘Forget it. All you care about is this ... this dream of owning a cafe.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s starting to feel like an excuse.’

  She said it quietly, but there was no mistaking the challenge in her voice. A couple of colleagues were easing past; they offered bland farewells, but once outside there would be smirks, whispers, gossip.

  ‘I can’t talk about it now.’ He pushed through the exit. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Aren’t I giving you a lift home?’

  ‘Er ...’ He recalled his lie from this morning. ‘No, I have to pick up my car from Robbie’s.’

  Hayley gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘I suppose I could take you over there.’

  ‘It’s the opposite direction for you.’

  ‘I don’t mind. It would give us a chance to talk.’

  ‘No, the bus is much easier. We may go for a quick drink. Non-alcoholic in my case,’ he added. Gave her a peck on the cheek and said, ‘Sorry. Got to run.’

  ****

  The William IV was only moderately busy, with a small group of after-work drinkers at the bar. There was a TV mounted on the wall, but it wasn’t switched on. Probably for the best, Dan thought. He needed to forget about the news for the time being.

  While he waited to be served, his stomach roiled with a kind of pre-performance nerves. On the bus he’d rehearsed various expressions, settling on one that he hoped would make him look appropriately concerned, but essentially innocent. He must have been unconsciously practising again, for one of the bar staff appeared from the back and gave him a curious glance.

  He ordered a pint of lager, carried it to a vacant table at the back of the pub and nursed it for a good ten minutes till Robbie walked in, a stern look on his face. He got a pint for himself and joined Dan. No greeting as he pulled out a chair, just: ‘Bloody Cate.’

  ‘You dragged her into this mess.’

  Robbie scowled. ‘How did she sound? Suspicious?’

  ‘No. She just wants to discuss this visit from the police.’

  ‘Can’t be too terrible. Nobody’s arrested us.’ He registered the look on Dan’s face. ‘You wanna tell her, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Dan had been wrestling with that question for most of the day, and still wasn’t able to articulate how he felt. ‘She has a right to know, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Not really. And you won’t be doing her any favours. At the moment she’s innocent. She hasn’t had to lie to that cop, because she was genuinely unaware of the accident.’

  ‘But she has lied. That’s what I was getting at on the phone. She told him she didn’t know who we were.’

  Robbie looked relieved to hear it. ‘Cool. That’s a minor detail. As long as they don’t suspect her for the accident, they’re not gonna push her on the two guys who came to her rescue ...’

  You didn’t come to her rescue, Dan thought. Robbie seemed to read his mind, flashed a grin and ploughed on.

  ‘Whereas, if we own up to it, and then the Old Bill come sniffing round again, she’s bound to give something away.’

  Dan shrugged. But he could see Robbie’s point.

  ‘Like today,’ Robbie said. ‘She’ll have reacted with surprise, which is almost impossible to fake. The cops are trained to spot it. Do you wanna make things harder for her?’

  ‘No. Of course I don’t.’

  Robbie leaned forwards, fixing him with a steady gaze. ‘The worst thing you can do now is blab. Do you see that?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

  ‘And you’ll keep your mouth shut? No cracking, even if she starts accusing us?’

  Dan nodded, under duress, then caught sight of movement over Robbie’s shoulder. It was Cate, marching towards them.

  CHAPTER 21

  Cate stepped over the threshold and looked round for Dan, hardly expecting Robbie to be present. She was surprised to see the pair of them sitting at the rear of the pub.

  Something about their postures gave her the sense that they were conniving. Robbie had his back to her, but Dan glanced in her direction and quickly looked away.

  As she reached the table, she exclaimed: ‘My God, you made it!’

  Her brother turned, a lazy smile at the ready. ‘Anything for you, my darling sister.’

  Dan, already blushing for some reason, was rising to his feet. ‘Drink?’

  ‘I’m okay, thanks.’

  ‘A short meeting, is it?’ Robbie said. ‘Good.’

  ‘Don’t get lippy. I want to know if the film company paid five thousand for using the house.’

  ‘I had expenses. I had to get it ready for them. Some of the furniture had to go into storage—’

  ‘Robbie, I agreed three thousand with Hank in good faith. It’s no wonder he got so upset.’ In frustration, she swatted him on the head. ‘It’ll be a long time before I forgive you.’

  He winced, rubbing his scalp. ‘Yeah, yeah. So what’s the story now, then?’

  Cate sat down next to Dan. There was plenty of room for them both, but he shifted an inch or two away from her nonetheless. He looked embarrassed by Robbie’s flippant tone.

  ‘Hank O’Brien was a horrible man,’ Cate said. ‘And when he left the pub last night, I dare say I’d have relished the idea of him being knocked down by a car.’

  Robbie spluttered: ‘I hope you didn’t say that?’

  ‘No. But I didn’t hide how I felt, either.’ She rounded on her brother. ‘It’s obvious they’ll interview everyone who saw O’Brien in the pub. You don’t think it would look strange if I’d pretended Hank and I were best buddies?’

  ‘She’s right,’ Dan said, and Robbie, though he avoided her eye, seemed to agree.

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Robbie. And it didn’t feel very pleasant to come under suspicion.’

  ****

  Now both men were staring at her. Dan said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘DS Thomsett wanted to look at my car. His colleague, DC Avery, made it clear that they’d be asking at the pub to see if anyone can corroborate that I was driving the Audi.’

  ‘They don’t seriously suspect you?’

  ‘Thomsett, not so much. Somebody in the other bar saw Hank taking a pee in the bushes before he set off for home, which would have been when I left. But, even so, Avery kept looking at me like I was a ... a worm on a hook.’ She shivered. ‘He reminded me that he could easily check the ownership records with the DVLA, as if I might have swapped cars overnight.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Dan said.

  ‘But imagine how it looks to them. Hank and I have a fight, and within ten
or fifteen minutes he’s dead at the roadside.’

  There was a glum silence; even Robbie seemed affected by it. Then he said, ‘You didn’t tell them the whole truth, though?’

  ‘About you two? No, I didn’t.’ Her tone was intended to leave him in no doubt as to the debt he owed her. ‘I said there were a couple of lads drinking nearby. They broke up the fight and sent Hank on his way.’

  Robbie groaned. ‘So we’ll be the chief suspects?’

  ‘Well, how else was I supposed to describe it?’

  ‘It’s only what the other witnesses will say,’ Dan pointed out to him.

  ‘Did the cops want descriptions of us?’

  Nodding, Cate said, ‘I was as vague as I could be. Whether anyone else remembers you more clearly ...’ She opened her hands, and in the pause that followed the voice that had been nagging at her all day finally asserted itself: Ask them. You have to ask them.

  Cate swallowed. She looked from Dan to Robbie and said, ‘Please tell me the truth. Were you involved in what happened to O’Brien?’

  ****

  It felt disloyal. She told herself that was why she’d been reluctant to ask the question. But the reality, Cate suspected, was somewhat darker. She was scared of the answer she might receive.

  ‘Involved?’ Robbie echoed, as though baffled by the concept.

  ‘Yes. I’m asking whether you knocked him down.’

  Robbie’s gaze shifted to Dan, who opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. There was a brief, wallowing silence. Cate experienced a twinge of shame.

  ‘I wouldn’t normally go flinging accusations, but it’s not unreasonable, is it? We were all pretty worked up after the fight, and you’d been drinking, Robbie.’ She hesitated. ‘In fact, I wondered if you’d persuaded Dan to let you drive ...’

  ‘So you thought I did it? Well, thanks a lot, sis. The answer is no, I didn’t. All right?’

  Dan was nodding in confirmation. ‘I’d never have let him get behind the wheel. It was me who drove home last night. And I didn’t kill O’Brien.’