A Poison Tree (Time, Blood and Karma Book 3) (14 page)

“But I must tell you, I have seen this sort of reaction before. I had one female client whose husband I trailed for eighteen months after she learned of his affair with another woman. She couldn’t confront him, you see, and just went on hoping the liaison would stop. She wanted me to tell her it had stopped. It never did.

“What happens now is up to you, Mr. Braddock. I’ve seen enough heartbreak to want to drag out the agony further.”

He reached into the drawer of his desk and pushed some advertising blurb and leaflets at me. “Here is all sorts of information on surveillance devices, if you want to continue with this. I get a lot of this sort of stuff in the mail every week, and you’re welcome to it. There are other private detective agencies here who will pick up where I left off. I know of reputable ones I can recommend, if necessary.”

“You are a rather sentimental private detective, Mr. Cumberbatch,” I observed.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” he said. “
And a rather tired one. Do you want me to send the full report to you, or will you collect it in person? I’d advise the latter.”

“I’ll drop by next week and
pick it up. Can I settle your bill now? I’ve brought cash with me.”

“No problem. Dolores has your itemised
invoice with all the receipts attached.”

I stood up, but
Cumberbatch forestalled me.

“Discovering something like this is rather like a bereavement,” he said. “I suggest you take some time to think about what you are going to do. And like a bereavement, you will go through the four stages of grief: shock, anger, depression and, finally, acceptance. The sequence of emotions is inevitable and, I’m afraid, unavoidable.”

“I’m not shocked, Mr. Cumberbatch. I was expecting this.”

He looked
concerned. “I know you’re not shocked, Mr. Braddock. I can see that. What worries me is that you are angry. Anger is a dangerous thing.”

“I am not angry.”

“People do stupid things when they are angry.”

“I am not angry,” I repeated. “I haven’t even raised my voice, have I?”

“Often the anger of the quiet, reasonable man is the worst,” he said.

I went to the street where the Maserati that had taken my space was
parked, and ran my car key all the way along the bodywork on the passenger side.

Then I
took out my cell phone and called Jim Fosse.

19

ADELE

Adele did not go often to the Internet café for two sound reasons.

The first was that there were only two people who sent her emails
, her old school friend, Moira, and her half-brother, Ross.

In the case of Moira, she would email once a month as a sort of digest of what was going on in her life in Aberdeen
. These missives usually comprised a blow-by-blow account of what her kids were doing, along with the occasional complaint about her husband or in-laws. Adele didn’t mind what Moira chose to burble about. She was the sole friend from her past with whom she stayed in touch. Adele felt obliged to make things up in her own monthly report, just to sound interesting, and of course her employment at the Gold Club did not feature.

Ross’ communications were more infrequent and less predictable. His usual method of contacting Adele was by phone, but sometimes he would send an email from whichever exotic part of the globe he was currently based. These locations changed
often, but recently he seemed to be spending a lot of time in Asia.

What Ross did for a living was a mystery to Adele. When she asked him about his work – as she did from time to time – his answer was always vague and technical to do with ‘security’. She had gathered, however, that whatever it was
he did, he was freelance.  He was not employed by conventional companies, or at least not overtly. Whenever he did mention names, which was rare, they were foreign-sounding and unfamiliar. Adele imagined it was his army experience that made him valuable in the security business: she couldn’t think what else it could be.

W
hatever it was he was being paid for, it paid well. Ross regularly sent both her and their mother money; money that Adele, at least, was reluctant to take.

The second reason Adele was apprehensive of frequenting the
Internet café was its less-than-salubrious location. She never went there after dark. There were often winos and other undesirables hanging around in the street outside, and some of the clientele did not look particularly reputable either. Sometimes the manager had hit on her, although that had stopped after her last visit when she gave him a piece of her mind, an experience he did not enjoy. The Glasgow brogue lends itself to cursing and amoral discouragement. When coupled with a finger poked in the chest, it usually makes any further assertion of rights unnecessary and the point clear.

On that Saturday morning, the lecherous manager was nowhere to be seen. His balding, combed-over head was elsewhere. In his place was an overweigh
t, pasty-faced individual in an Iron Maiden vest, who looked like he wished he were elsewhere. The only other customer was another male who, Adele thought, had the aspect of a basement-dweller. He was engrossed in some online game involving swords and monsters.

Adele logged on to find she had two emails.

Ross’ email announced in his usual dry style that he had suffered one of his recurring bouts of malaria while in northern Thailand, but that he had since recovered. He hoped to be back in the UK for a visit in the next few weeks and would call her when his travel plans were fixed. It was dated eight days before. Adele replied by saying she would love to see him. It was true. In spite of the fact that her half-brother was taciturn, difficult and secretive, he was the closest thing she had known to a father for some years. Plus, he did look out for her in his own gruff way. Just so long as she didn’t ask too many questions, he was fine.

The message from Moira was about her son Jack’s wisdom teeth, sleepless nights, and the fact that she was considering a boob job to reinvigorate her husband’
s interest in afternoon delight. For want of anything better to write in response, Adele reported that she had been to church. That would surprise Moira. She disliked religion more than she disliked the English. And she disliked the English
a lot
.

Adele sat back on the uncomfortable metal chair, her work done.

It was three weeks since her morning at St. Mark’s, and she had not been back.

“Hello.”

Adele
was daydreaming on the checkout – a not unusual state for her, as the ennui of repetition tended to block out conscious thought after a few hours – but the unexpectedness of the friendly greeting made her look up.

It was Simon. He grinned at her. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s good to see you too.”

Adele felt her cheeks colour. “I’m sorry. I was just a bit surprised.”

She started to process the purchases.

“What
are
you doing here, though?” she said, still a little flustered.

“Even a vicar has to eat.”

“Yes, but I’ve never seen you in here before.”

He looked thoughtful. “Well, I wondered whether I’d said something to upse
t you, since you haven’t been back to St. Mark’s.”

The elderly woman behind Simon in the queue seemed to be enjoying their conversation.

“I remembered you saying you worked here, so … um.” His voice tailed off.

“So I’m being stalked by a vicar?” She thought she may as well give the woman something to talk about with her friends.

Adele finished putting Simon’s groceries into bags and indicated the amount owed on the display.

Simon produced
two twenty pound notes and handed them over.

“Listen,” he said. “What time do you finish your shift?”

“Why?”

“I wondered whether you would agree to let me buy you a coffee.”

Adele handed him his change. “I don’t know whether that’s a good idea,” she said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be seen in public with Simon. Something about the idea made her feel uncomfortable.

“Please,” he said.

“Oh, go on, dear,” chimed in the old lady. “Say yes. He seems like a nice young man. And if you don’t, I will.”

“Do you have a car?”
said Adele.

“Yes. It’s a bit of a banger, but yes. Why?”

“We can have a drink at my flat if you don’t mind instant coffee. I’ll meet you beside the central clock tower in about an hour and a half, OK? You can drive me home. That way I can get some shopping done too.”

“That sounds eminently practical, dear,” said the old lady.

“Yes, it does.” Simon bowed to the woman. “Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure, vicar.”

Simon was standing beside the
mock-medieval clock tower as Adele approached. The stationary vicar attracted glances from passers-by – just the sort of attention Adele liked to avoid. Her spirits sunk a little. Simon’s carrier bags were by his feet and he was reading some flyer, so he did not notice her at first. She regretted her hasty offer of coffee, but it was too late to back out now. Besides, it was easier than walking home with her own shopping bags, she told herself. She remembered that Simon had bought a few frozen items and felt guilty they might have started defrosting while he was hanging around waiting for her.

He looked up, and saw her.
“Oh, hi. Right on time. It’s about a five-minute walk to where I’ve parked the car. Here, let me help you with your bags.”

The journey to Adele’s apartment block was spent in non-contentious small talk. Simon’s car sounded as though it needed a service. She hoped it wouldn’t break down, and fortunately it didn’t. Perhaps that represented some kind of divine intervention.

To Adele’s relief they did not meet anyone in the lobby or on the stairs, the lift still being out of commission. She cast an anxious glance around her flat, and was relieved to see it was tidy, with no dirty crockery in the sink.

While the kettle boiled, she put away her shopping

“So, what shall we talk about now?” asked the young clergyman. “We seem to have exhausted the trivia.”

“Ah, I suppose this is where I get the God-sell,” said Adele. “I knew there was no such thing as a free lunch, or a free lift.”

“I’d rather get to know a little about you, if that’s all right.”

“About my beliefs, you mean?”

“No, about you. We don’t have to talk about God. I’m off-duty, even if I’m still wearing a dog-collar.”

“Is a vicar ever off-duty?”

“Well, this one is. I can even take my dog-collar off if it’ll make you feel better.”

“How do you take your coffee?”

Adele handed him a coffee, hoping it wasn’t too lumpy for his tastes.

Simon took a sip. “Delicious,” he announced.

“I thought vicars were supposed to be truthful.”

“OK, then. It’s bitter and it has bits floating on the top. But other than that, it’s perfect.”

A silence descended while Adele tried to think of something to say.

“All right,” said Simon. “If you don’t want to talk about yourself
–”

“There’s not much to tell. I grew up in Glasgow. I have one tattoo. I also have a half-brother who is a lot older than me, and a mother who lives alone and drinks too much. I work on a check-out. That’s it.”

“No boyfriend?”

“No time. No inclination either.”

“Why did you leave Glasgow?”

“I had enough of cleaning up my mother’s sick and trying to police her drinking. Which, by the way, is impossible.”

“I have an uncle who’s an alcoholic, so I know how that goes.”

Adele lifted her coffee mug. “Your turn,” she said.

“I’ve had life pretty easy, to be honest.”

“How so?”

“Well, I have no tattoos, but one sister. My family owns an estate in Warwickshire.” He paused. “I’m not bragging, you understand?” He looked concerned.

“It’s all right. I’m not judging you.”

“My family expected I would take over the running of the estate. So it came as a shock to them when I announced I wanted to become a priest. At least my family is Church of England. If I’d converted to Catholicism, I’m sure they would have washed their hands of me. As it is they tolerate what they refer to as my ‘temporary insanity’.”

“But it’s not temporary, is it?”

Simon tilted his head. “I don’t think so.”

“So your sister run
s the estate with your parents?”

“
No, for the moment my mother and father run it with the help of an estate manager. As for my sister, Rosie, well, I guess you’d call her a free spirit. She spends as much time as she can travelling. She thinks I’m an idiot too, by the way.”

“I like her already.”

Simon put down his mug and gazed at her for a moment. Then he said, “Can I ask you something?”

Adele felt herself stiffen.
“What?”

“I’m not going to ask you why you didn’t come back to church, don’t worry. I just wanted to know whether there is any chance that I – I mean
‘we’ – will see you there again.”

Adele studied Simon. There was something of the little boy about him. Something charming. Something earnest and ingenuous. Something that made her want to say, “Yes.”

She fought the urge.

“Simon, you’re a nice man. But I’m not a believer. Not really. My going to church would be a bit hypocritical. I know I went once but –”

“No one is a hypocrite in their pleasures,” Simon interjected.

“Is that from the Bible?” Adele asked with suspicion.

“No, it’s Albert Camus, the French philosopher. He was an atheist too. You’d be surprised how many of us priests have nonbeliever friends.”

“Still.”

“Supposing I were to say I’d like a friend, not a convert?”

The tart and the vicar
. It was a sad old cliché. And Adele did not want to be half of a cliché. She suddenly became conscious of the hour.

“Oh God,” she exclaimed. “Look at the time. You must be hungry. I should have made you a sandwich or something.”

Adele pressed her palms to her cheeks.

“Oh, Christ. I shouldn’t have said, ‘Oh God’.” She thought this over. “Or, ‘Oh Christ’, either. Shit,” she concluded.

“Listen,” he said. “We passed a fish and chip shop on our way here. How about I pick us up two portions and bring them back here? You need to eat too. But only if I’m not imposing.”

“Well,” Adele sounded doubtful. “To be honest, it feels a little weird to be having fish and chips with an off-duty vicar
. Maybe not appropriate. For you, I mean.”

“If it will make you feel any better, I can talk about the parable of the loaves and the fishes while we eat,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Or alternatively, you can think of it as the piece of cod which
passeth all understanding.”

Adele had just finished straightening up the bedcovers when David emerged from her bathroom. He was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, and drops of moisture glistened on his body.

“Do you mind if I have a glass of water?” he asked.