Bone and Cane (20 page)

At the door, Nick was confronted by two men a few years older than him – late thirties maybe. One had a moustache. Both wore long leather jackets which, while almost as expensive as the one Nick owned and not entirely unfashionable, nevertheless gave away exactly what they were. Nick thought quickly, but not coherently. In his current state, the only fallback position was denial.

‘Nick Cane?’ the moustache said.

‘He’s in flat one,’ Nick replied. ‘Don’t think he’s in.’

‘There’s music on,’ the other said.

‘He often does that. A lot of burglaries round here. If you don’t mind, I’m on my way out.’

‘This is him,’ Moustache said, pushing his way past Nick into the foyer. He raised the photograph he held in his hand, which Nick hadn’t noticed before.

‘I’m on my way to a meeting,’ Nick said. ‘Whatever this is, I’m sure it can wait.’

‘You’re a teacher, I hear,’ the clean-shaven one said. ‘Biology, is it?’

‘No. English and Media Studies.’

‘They didn’t have that in my day. I only said Biology because you’ve been buying a lot of equipment, it seems. You like growing things.’

Nick had been careful, he thought. Now he saw that he had not been careful enough.

‘Hundreds of pounds worth of high-tech gardening stuff. One odd thing – you don’t have a garden, do you?’

They knew. Nick didn’t respond. He had the phone number of a good lawyer, Ian Jagger, but suspected even Jagger wasn’t good enough to get him out of this one.

‘Perhaps he has an allotment,’ Moustache said.

The clean-shaven one raised a single eyebrow.

‘Are you going to let us into your flat?’ he asked.

‘Only if you’ve got a search warrant,’ Nick said.

They produced a search warrant. Now Nick was as concerned about his coke as he was about the plants in the caves. Four grams was a lot, unless you were very well off. The police officers might accuse him of dealing, which, technically, he was, though he only ever got it for friends. But the coke was very well concealed, in one of the furthest caves. And there was nothing to say that they knew about the caves.

Once inside, the police didn’t go straight to the medicine chest. They lingered in the hall. The moustachioed one began to sniff. The other one smiled. Nick figured the moustache was imitating him, letting Nick know that he knew what he had just put up his nose. But that wasn’t it.

‘Are you going to show us the entrance?’ he asked. ‘Or do we have to tear this place apart?’

‘Who told you?’ Nick asked, in reply.

Moustache tapped his nose.

Nick nearly said a name. Only Joe and one other person knew about what he grew beneath the flat. His brother and his oldest friend. No, it must be someone or something else, something he’d done to give himself away. He’d been so careful. But if he was really careful, he wouldn’t be snorting coke so early in the evening, celebrating an election victory that was by no means certain. Please God they didn’t find the rest of the coke.

‘I’m losing patience,’ Moustache said.

Nick unfurled the carpet and showed them the ladder to the caves.

‘I read about there being all these caves under houses in the Park,’ the clean-shaven one said. ‘First time I’ve been in one.’

‘Reminds me of Mortimer’s Hole over at the Castle,’ Moustache said. He clambered down behind Nick. ‘We’ll have to give tours.’

The drugs squad officers were impressed by the bushy plants, the elaborate lighting, the hygiene and the watering system. They made him explain everything. By the time they’d finished examining the growing operation, Nick’s head had begun to clear. He no longer had any false hope. Back upstairs, the two officers formally arrested Nick, then took him to the central police station.

Later, they found the coke as well. That doubled his sentence.

Sarah muttered words of bland sympathy then poured him another drink. How else to react to a story like that?

‘Those caves sound fascinating,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see them.’

‘I expect the oleander bush is still there. I could show you the place. I don’t know what the police did to the cave system – bricked it up, I expect.’

‘What about getting in through your flat?’

‘Had to sell it. Legal fees.’

‘And you’ve no idea how you got caught?’

‘Bad luck, most likely. Someone smelt something, or the police were doing surveillance on hydroponics suppliers. Question is, now that you’ve heard the worst, are you still interested?’

‘What do you think?’ Sarah said, leaning forward again.

This time, he kissed her. The phone rang. They ignored it and the machine kicked in. Sarah heard a familiar Scots voice mumble his greetings. The Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was hesitant, but his purpose was clear.

‘In the event that you don’t, but we . . . I would like you to come and work for me.’

‘I have to pick this up,’ she told Nick before grabbing the phone. She tried to sound breathless.

‘Sorry, Gordon, I was in the shower.’ Let him imagine her naked. Gordon was easy to flirt with, but Sarah was very conscious that Nick was standing behind her. ‘Were you saying something about a job? You know I’m not an economist.’

‘I’ll have my own policy unit. You could have a crucial part to play.’

Sarah liked Gordon. She liked him to think that she was with him all the way. It was important to stay on the right side of him without getting on the wrong side of Tony. You couldn’t flirt with Tony but Gordon was single, and liked to play the field. Sarah suspected that they were on each other’s list of possibles, even though she fancied him less than she fancied Jasper March. There had been one time at a party conference when something nearly happened between them, only she’d drunk a little too much and he was too sober for the night to get naughty.

‘I’d love to work with you, Gordon, but I should tell you I’m also considering an offer from the Association of Police Officers.’

‘You’d make an excellent representative.’ He knew about it already. ‘But accepting their offer wouldn’t preclude your working with me, too.’

‘I’m sure that, one way or another, we’ll work together,’ Sarah said.

They had a long chat about how the election seemed to be going.

‘Was that who it sounded like?’ Nick asked when she hung up. ‘You two sounded very friendly. He’s single, isn’t he?’

‘There’s nothing going on there.’

‘You two haven’t ever . . .?’

Sarah decided not to mention the conference. ‘We’ve had dinner together a couple of times. Not a date, though, just a working dinner.’

‘Suppose you win?’ he asked over dinner. ‘You wouldn’t be able to go out with me.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Sarah told him, the insult also an old endeament.

She wasn’t going to win. In the unlikely event that she did, she could still see Nick. He had served his time. While he remained on probation, she might need to keep the relationship low profile. That was manageable.

‘The tabloids would love it – the MP and the ex-con. Look how they did you over with Jasper what’s-his-name . . .’

‘There was nothing to that,’ Sarah insisted. ‘Look, I’m on record as supporting the legalisation of dope. You and I are old friends and I have a strong reputation on penal reform. Nobody can get at me for seeing an ex-con if I choose to.’

Nick looked troubled. ‘I’m not so sure. Ed Clark. Then me.’

‘Ed Clark’s a different story. Let’s not get into that,’ Sarah said. The last thing she wanted was to discuss the mistake she’d made in helping with Ed’s appeal. She poured Nick a second brandy, resisting the urge to say ‘Let’s go to bed’. His self esteem was low – it was important to let him make the move. And when he did, sod her earlier decision: she wouldn’t turn him down.

Nick sipped at his brandy, not wanting to get drunk. He didn’t like the way Sarah avoided talking about Ed. What was so uncomfortable about helping a man get out of prison? Unless, as Ed claimed, she had slept with him. Perhaps Sarah was more drawn to Nick because he had been in prison. It felt wrong, the way she was rushing into this. She would go to bed with him tonight, that was clear. But Nick wasn’t desperate for sex. He was desperate for the kind of relationship they had before. Sleeping with her too soon might spoil any chance of that.

‘I ought to go,’ he said at midnight. ‘I know how busy you are, how tired you must be.’

‘Don’t.’ Sarah said. ‘Canvassing never starts before half ten on Sundays.’

‘If I stay we might do something we’d both regret.’

At the door they shared a long, wet kiss good night. Nick almost changed his mind.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘No need to rush things. We’ve got all the time in the world.’

25

S
arah finished canvassing at one and told the team she only had time for a quick half in the pub afterwards.

‘Family stuff?’ Tony Bax asked.

‘Constituency business.’

‘It mightn’t be your constituency after Thursday,’ Tony reminded her. He had fought this seat ten years before, got slaughtered at the polls. ‘Why not leave it for the other bugger?’

‘I don’t like loose ends,’ Sarah told him. ‘And the other bugger wouldn’t touch this one with a bargepole.’

‘Then why are you sticking your oar in?’ Tony wanted to know.

‘I don’t want my main legacy as an MP to be that I helped a guilty man go free.’

‘You’ve changed your mind about Ed Clark?’

‘I’ve said enough,’ Sarah told her constituency chairman.

She drove to Bestwood Village, on the far side of Bestwood Park. The park was partially surrounded by one of the city’s most notorious housing estates, one that, thankfully, was not in her constituency. The village itself was contrastingly smart, occupied by a combination of old money and aspirational professionals, including the ex-police officer she was here to see.

‘Jack Slater?’

‘You’d better come in.’ It had taken three phone calls to old mates for Sarah to find Slater, the one officer who had been involved in both cases against Ed Clark. He had risen to be an inspector in Traffic three years ago. Then he packed in the force and moved into home security.

‘What made you leave?’ Sarah asked him.

‘I’d done my twenty years. Thatcher looked after us pretty well but I saw how I could be a lot better off if I took my pension. Forty-one then – young enough to start all over again. Which I have.’

Sarah glanced around the knocked-through living and dining room. The furniture was IKEA and the ready-made dark blinds didn’t quite fit the large windows, but Sarah could see how Jack might consider this luxury. It was too spartan for her. There would be a wife and kids somewhere else, Sarah expected. There usually were, with policemen his age, who were top of the divorce league tables.

‘Why did
you
leave?’ Jack asked her. ‘Didn’t last long, from what I heard.’

‘Wrong career,’ Sarah said. ‘I had some cock and bull idea that the police were about justice, when they’re really about crowd control. I wanted to go where the power was.’

‘And have you found it?’

‘Maybe I will on Thursday. I want to talk to you about Ed Clark.’

‘Bit late now, isn’t it? You got him out.’

‘And since I did, I’ve been discovering things I didn’t know about him. Like how you and Terry Shanks bugged Terry’s sister’s bedroom to get the information that put Ed away.’

‘If an illegal bug had led to the conviction it wouldn’t have stood up in court,’ Slater said.

‘Except it wasn’t needed in court. Whose idea was it?’

‘Terry’s.’

‘But CID knew about it?’

‘Only when we took them the tapes. CID weren’t interested in a small-time thug like Clark.’

‘But Terry was, and it got him murdered.’

‘He liked his brother-in-law, Phil Bolton. Terry hated his sister cheating on him with a shit like Clark.’

‘And it got him killed.’

‘Not according to the appeal court.’

Sarah ignored this. ‘Ed Clark had been out of prison less than a week when Terry was murdered. What I don’t understand is why he killed the wife, too.’

‘I heard you thought he was innocent of that. Changed your tune?’

‘Humour me,’ Sarah said. ‘I know Ed. He’s a sharp guy. He doesn’t take unnecessary risks. His killing Liv makes no sense.’

‘Made no sense to me either,’ Jack said. ‘Not when I found out that she died up to an hour later. The way her body was left, we figured he’d raped the wife and made Terry watch. But the timing was wrong and there was no proof of sexual assault.’

‘Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. She’d had sex earlier.’

‘Her husband had had sex recently too. The condom we found contained his sperm. Ed could be pervy enough to get off on raping the wife of a man he’s just killed in front of the dead body. Doesn’t sit right with me, though.’

‘Me neither,’ Sarah admitted.

They both thought for a few moments, found nothing new to say. Sarah changed tack.

‘Did Ed see Polly Shanks after he got out of prison but before he murdered her brother? Were they still lovers?’

‘Not according to her,’ Jack said. ‘When we spoke to her, she said she regretted ever seeing Clark, as it had cost her her marriage. Said she’d had nothing to do with him since he was sent down the first time.’

‘Did you believe her?’

‘I believed she felt guilty about bringing Clark into her brother’s life, causing so much mayhem. She wanted him put away. As to whether she saw Clark the week he got out, I don’t know if she was telling the truth. It made no difference to the case against him.’

‘Would have shown how strongly she felt about him,’ Sarah said.

‘Women’s real feelings,’ Jack said, glancing around his neat bachelor home, ‘closed book to me. Been to see her?’

‘Yes, but I think I need to go again,’ Sarah said.

Nick got to the cab office at four and waited for Bob to finish. On Friday, he’d told Joe that he would only drive for another week, taking him up to election day. Now he was, potentially at least, back with Sarah, five days was too big a risk.

‘Bob’s on an airport run,’ Nas told Nick. ‘He’ll be a while.’

She made a personal call. Nick tried to settle in to the
News of the World
, not taking in the stories, trying not to listen to Nas’s call. He was very curious about what was going on with her, her brothers and Joe. Maybe he should go home. He’d told Sarah he was working today, but she might be happy to see him later. The latest polls showed Labour comfortably ahead, but not enough to give Sarah a fighting chance of holding on to her seat. Nick could see how much she loved the job, how frustrated she’d be when she was forced to leave office as Labour took power. There was nothing he could do to help except pick up the pieces. A depressing way to start a relationship. He could take her on holiday. He still had most of the money from Andrew Saint. He could afford to treat her.