Cause of Death (17 page)

He needed to talk to one of her friends from back then, find out what they thought and if anyone else knew she'd been having an affair.

Feeling that he needed wiser minds than his to work this one out, he tried to do as his mother had suggested and put the problem to the back of his mind, sat it in a corner and left it to nag.

‘Something's not right here, Ted Eebry,' Andy said, and cursed the fact that it would most likely be him that had to sort it out.

After Andy had left, Ted had continued to sit at his kitchen table, staring into space. He felt as though the walls were closing in on him and he kept telling himself that there was no one else to blame.

Andy's words had cut so deep, filled him with even more guilt. He had never meant . . .

Ted Eebry buried his face in his hands and wept.

S
tan awoke slowly and tried to take stock. His head thumped, beneath his cheek was something that felt like carpet, and he could hear men's voices in what sounded like the far distance but as consciousness returned he realized was actually very close by. Too muzzy-headed to make out the words, Stan focused on how the rest of his body felt and found it was in no better shape than his head. He hurt. Everywhere. Like someone had been using his unconscious self as a punch bag.

Dimly he recalled coming to in the car and hitting out at someone who then hit back. He knew he'd ended up lying in the footwell of the car, fending off fists and feet until he'd passed out again, and he hadn't even had the satisfaction of landing anything in return.

The voices were swimming back into aural focus and he recognized two of them: Santos and Haines. The third he thought might be Jerry Mason. Dimly he recalled seeing Mason's face in the car.

One of them had noticed that he'd woken up because he heard footsteps and felt hands tight on his arms as he was hauled to his feet.

Stan's head lolled back and he gasped for breath, realizing for the first time that the additional pain was the all-too-familiar one that went with busted ribs. He fought to bring his head upright as someone pushed him backward into a chair, but he felt like a bad case of whiplash. He could taste blood.

Haines's face came into almost focus as Stan stared at him.

‘My, my, Mr Holden. You do look a mess. You should know when not to fight.'

‘What do you want?' The words came out slurred. The taste of blood freshened, iron metallic now instead of just stale and coppery.

‘A trade,' Haines said. ‘A debt paid, you might say.'

‘And if I say no?'

‘Then I let Santos and Jerry finish what they started. I doubt it will take long. Another kick to the ribs, maybe a coup de grâce to the head. I'm told you know what it's like to have a punctured lung and I'm also told it's not an experience anyone wants twice.'

It was not, Stan agreed. He spat, trying to get the blood out of his mouth, hoping it would hit Haines, but he didn't have the strength for it. Blood and saliva dribbled down his chin and dripped on to his hands. Haines frowned. Santos laughed.

‘Wipe his face,' Haines said.

Jerry Mason trapped Stan's hands beneath his own and scrubbed at his chin with a tissue.

‘Now,' Haines said. ‘Do we have a deal?'

Stan tried to laugh. He managed a hoarse croak. ‘You've not told me what you want,' he said.

‘We've established, I think, that you'd like to live. I'd have thought anything after that was a bonus.' Haines leaned a little closer. ‘I want the Parker girl dealt with,' he said.

‘Then deal with her,' Stan said thickly.

‘No, I think it better that you do. Call it outsourcing. Deal with Karen Parker and I might just leave you alone.'

‘Like that's going to happen.'

‘No, I can't promise that it will. But a chance is better than none, isn't it? Deal with Karen Parker and, as I say, I might just leave you alone.'

Stan decided to try another tack. ‘What is she to you?'

‘She killed one of my people. I don't like others doing what it should only be my right to do. You know how I feel about people interfering.'

‘So she did for Dave Jenkins, did she?' Stan's attempt at a laugh sounded more convincing this time. ‘Good for her.'

Next minute he was gasping for breath again as Santos's fist buried itself in his gut. He retched. More blood and then dry, rasping gasps as he doubled up in pain. Mason hauled him up, crashing him back into the chair.

‘You are a stupid man, Stan Holden. A very stupid man.' Haines sighed. ‘Oh well, since you won't do this for yourself, perhaps you'll exercise a little of that famous altruism of yours. Karen Parker was not an only child, was she? Ah, I see that's got your attention. George, isn't it? Nice looking boy, if you like red hair.'

‘She'll kill you,' Stan gasped out.

‘Not if you get to her first,' Haines said.

I
t was still not fully dark when Stan was dumped out of the car on to a grass verge. He lay still, listening to the receding sound of the engine as the car sped away and almost gave in to the impulse to just lie there, wherever
there
was, and go to sleep.

His ribs were beyond painful. Every breath sent stabs of agony through his chest and his head felt like it was twice its proper size and being held together by an ever tightening steel band. Slowly, he turned from his side, where he had landed, on to his hands and knees and promptly collapsed again as the arms proved unequal to the task. He tried again, relying more on the legs this time, and eventually, awkwardly, struggled to his feet and looked around.

Where the hell was this?

He stood at the side of a narrow country road, grass verges and a mix of stone wall and hedge separating the road from fields. He couldn't see much beyond the hedge – a combination of dusk and rising land made sure of that – though he could make out the last vestiges of sunset off to his right. So that was west, then, or approximately west. Not that knowing his compass points helped much, Stan thought; he might set off in one direction looking for help and find it was much quicker to get to if he'd chosen the other way. He'd have to make a guess.

He felt in his pockets, knowing even before he did that they'd be empty. Haines had taken everything: phone, money, even the assortment of till receipts and bus tickets he'd tucked away. It was pure spite on Haines's part, depriving him of anything that might be useful. He supposed he ought to be grateful the bastard hadn't taken his clothes and shoes.

Santos had driven him out here. Jerry Mason and one of the newcomers Stan didn't know had accompanied him, Jerry in the back, gun pressed to Stan's ribs all the way, just in case he got any smart ideas.

Stan's fingers moved up to his shirt pocket. He never kept anything in there so it was just a vain hope. He was surprised, therefore, to find a little slip of paper that looked as though it had been torn from the bottom of a newspaper page.

Curious, Stan took it out and looked at it. He could just make out a name and what looked like a phone number in the gloom, but recognized neither.

‘What the hell is that?'

Stan sighed. Too worn out and in too much pain for puzzles, he slipped it back into his pocket and stepped out into the road. Left or right? He turned right, not from any sense of conviction but because the last streaks of sunset somehow cheered him. Praying that some kind of civilization would be close by, Stan limped on.

Back in his little bedsit, Andy logged on to his computer while he ate dinner, pecking at his food with a fork in one hand and at the computer keyboard with a finger of the other.

He was still thinking about his missing people and about Ted Eebry; still discomforted by the nag at the back of his mind.

It wasn't unusual for Gail Eebry to be on chat at this time and he noticed she was on tonight. It was his usual habit to say hi and exchange a few comments, so he knew it would be a bit odd if he didn't do that now. So he did, and in the course of their conversation said he'd seen her dad that afternoon.

‘
Oh? He OK?
'

‘Fine, yeah.'

Andy's finger hesitated over the next sentence. What to say?
‘I had a cup of tea with him. Not been round yours in years.'

‘Lol, not much change. Got it up for sale.'

‘Yeah, I saw. Didn't think he ever would.'

‘No, Stacey nagged him. Don't think it was his idea.'

He knew she'd ask and he was dreading the next question.

‘Why go to see him?'

‘Oh, bit awkward. Working through cold cases.'

There was a palpable delay before she began typing again.

‘You mean Mum?'

Again, what to say?
‘Just routine. Checking loads of old cases.'

‘Why?'

‘They found some bones at the dig site near the aerodrome. Stacey tell you about it?'

‘No.'

This time they both hesitated and Andy finally typed:
‘Sorry to talk about it this way.'

‘Yeah. Look, I'd better get going, you know.'

‘Sure. OK. See you next time you come back?'

The pause was so long this time he thought she'd gone, and then she typed back,
‘We never stopped wondering, you know? Do you think it's her?'

Andy groaned. Boy, what a question.
‘We don't know anything yet. I'm working through a very long list.'

‘But Mum is on it
.
You really think it might be?'

God, Andy thought, he'd not expected this sort of reaction. And surely this wasn't the sort of thing you should chat about on a social network site?
‘Gail, I really don't know. I'm sorry. Look, your dad said today he thought she'd gone off with someone, so . . .'

‘He said that? Don't be daft, Andy. Dad never thought that. Why would he say that?'

Andy didn't know.
‘Look, I've got to go,'
he typed, taking what he knew was a cowardly way out.
‘I'll give you a ring if I find out anything else, OK.'

This time there really was no response forthcoming. He logged out and sat staring at the computer screen. His food was cold, and he pushed it away, not wanting to eat now. Not wanting this kind of responsibility. It just wasn't fair.

When Stan had not returned home for dinner, no one had been unduly worried. They knew his appointment was not until three and Rina's view of officialdom was that they never kept to any sort of timetable. Her new purchase from De Barr's garage had arrived that afternoon and been oohed and aahhed over by the other inhabitants of Peverill Lodge. She'd even taken then for a spin around town, the little blue hatchback slightly cramped for four and the driver, but gaining general approval all the same. Tim had admired from a distance, standing on the pavement and waiting for them to get back. Rina realized he was actually quite anxious about her first solo flight and truly relieved when they returned safely.

‘Oh, it's not that I don't think you can do it,' he said when she challenged him about it. ‘Just that I remember you saying how much you hated driving.'

‘I did,' she admitted. ‘But I think this little car and I might well become friends. She's happy and easy going, so I think I'll be just fine.'

When Stan still hadn't returned before Tim left for work, the Montmorencys expressed some concern. ‘He could have called and let us know,' Matthew said.

‘I don't think he's used to having anyone to care,' Rina reminded him. ‘I don't imagine he's used to having anyone worry.'

By eleven, even Rina was anxious. She'd tried to call twice to Stan's mobile phone, and twice someone had hung up. The third time a mechanical voice said the number was unavailable. She was on the verge of calling Mac, debating the matter only because it was already so late, when the house phone rang. It was Stan.

Santos was in high spirits when they got back to the hotel and reported in to Haines. His high spirits were undiminished by their boss's apparent lack of interest in what they'd done with Stan. It was typical of Haines, Jerry thought. He appeared to lose interest once something was dealt with. Appeared being the operative word.

Santos and the others went down to the bar. Jerry, knowing it was out of order not to, joined them and sat watching as Santos re-enacted the defeat of Stan Holden.

‘Personal for you, was it?'

‘Bastard always thought he was too good for this. Anyway, he shot Coran.'

‘You hated Coran.'

‘And? Coran was one of us. Stan never was. Some people never make the grade. They make the right noises, but they never really make it.'

He turned and looked pointedly at Jerry. Jerry raised his glass in mock salute and Tomas laughed, the rest joining in.

He saw the barman look their way and then busy himself with the ice bucket when he caught Jerry's eye. What did the staff here make of them all? he wondered. Haines might just have passed for a businessman, but what kind of businessman travelled with an entourage of eight armed thugs? Not that the staff knew about the guns, Jerry supposed, but one look at his associates was enough for most people to take avoiding action, and it was noticeable that only a half-dozen others now remained in the bar and they were packed into a corner at the furthest end.

‘Enjoy yourself today?' Santos asked, drawing close to Jerry in a quiet moment.

‘Not as much as you did,' Jerry said. ‘I don't have quite your enthusiasm.'

Santos laughed. ‘Like I said –' his voice was low so only Jerry caught the words – ‘not everybody makes the grade, do they?'

I
t had taken Stan three hours to cover two miles and he had staggered into the yard in front of the Fisherman's Rest just on closing time.