Gregory's Game (20 page)

Alec hesitated for a moment too long. That wasn't what happened, Naomi thought. Tess would notice his hesitation.

‘Presumably,' Alec said,

‘Alec, what are you not telling me?'

‘Tess, I'm telling you this is nothing to do with me.'

‘I spoke to one of the first responders. He told me Clay's dogs had been shot and the house rigged with explosives. He was also told not to talk about it, that the official line was that this was a gas explosion.'

‘I wasn't there, Tess. How the hell would I know?'

‘And what about Nathan Crow, or Annie Raven?'

‘Annie Raven is a photographer. I don't know Nathan Crow.'

‘But you know the name?'

Alec sighed. ‘Tess, no. No I don't. My only connection to any of this is an aunt and she's not even a real aunt.'

‘So maybe I should go and talk to her?'

Naomi laughed. ‘That, I'd like to see,' she said.

‘What Naomi means is that Aunt Molly is a tough nut to crack. She'll talk to you if she wants to. If not, you don't have a cat in hell's chance of getting anything out of her. Anyway, you can't – she's not here. She's done the sensible thing and flown south for the winter.'

‘Where?'

‘Tess, I don't know. She sent us a postcard from Seville a week or so ago. Where she's gone from there is anyone's guess. She's an independent old bird and she's got the money and the wherewithal to go where the hell she likes and probably will.'

‘But she must have told you …'

‘Why? The only person she ever consulted in her entire life was Edward. Now Edward's gone, I don't think she consults anyone but herself.'

Tess seemed about to argue, then changed her mind. ‘Well, I'll have to go and see this DI Barnes, then.'

‘You can talk to him; doesn't mean he'll be able to add anything,' Alec said. ‘Tess, I'm not being obstructive or awkward, I'm just telling you this: if all this does link back to the likes of Gustav Clay, then it goes well above your pay grade.'

Tess spent a few more minutes trying to extract other details. Then she left, storming off up the beach. Naomi could hear the crunch of her boots on the pebbles as she made her departure; the frustration in each step.

‘Well, I don't think that did much for your future friendship,' she said.

‘You don't have to sound so pleased about it.'

‘I'm not. I didn't mean to. Look, she upset you; I'm allowed to be pissed off with her for that.'

Alec took her hand. ‘What do you make of all this?' he asked.

‘I don't know. I think we should just keep our heads down and hope the storm misses us this time. Alec, what do
you
make of all this? Is it connected?'

‘Probably. But you're right. We're best keeping to the sidelines. I'm curious, though.'

Naomi laughed. ‘Of course you are. So what do you want to do about it that isn't really doing anything?'

‘Why didn't you tell me Gregory came to call?'

‘How did …?' She withdrew her hand from his, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘I'd have told you; you just didn't seem in the mood to want to know, that's all.'

‘George Mallard gave me a call, said he saw someone hanging about when he dropped you off. People are protective of you, Nomi.'

It was a long time since he had used the diminutive of her name. ‘George had no right to be checking up on me.'

‘No, probably not, but his heart is in the right place. People care about you and when people care, they don't always do the diplomatic thing. So, what did he want?'

‘To see if Tess Fuller had told you anything. He and Nathan are trying to get the wife and kid back; Gregory reckons the police don't know what they're getting into.'

‘And he's probably right.'

‘So he wanted me to keep my ears open in case Tess told you something and you told me.'

‘I think that's unlikely now,' Alec said.

‘We know she's made some links, maybe we should tell Gregory that. I don't know. Chances are there'll be nothing else. She's really got the arse with you.'

She felt Alec shake his head. ‘Tess will be back,' he said. ‘Tess is tenacious and she can't bear to think anyone is keeping things from her. She is terminally nosy.'

‘I hope not,' Naomi said. ‘I may not actually like the woman, but from what I've seen this year, terminal nosiness can be a real deal.'

B
ernard Franks was not a man to cross. Despite knowing that, Nathan had managed to cross him on numerous occasions and had done so with impunity. Until recently, he'd been protected; no one touched one of Gustav Clay's people. Now though, Nathan realized he was walking into the lion's den and not even armed with a whip and chair.

‘I should go with you,' Gregory said.

‘You should wait in the car. You and Franks are like matches and petrol fumes. I can do without the pair of you upping the ante.'

Gregory shrugged. ‘He tried to have me killed.'

‘Of course he did. That's what he does. Not that you're one to talk.'

‘There's a difference,' Gregory objected. ‘I don't subcontract.'

‘And that makes you morally superior?'

‘In the eyes of some people.'

Nathan looked closely at Gregory, trying to decide whether or not he was joking. He decided, on balance, that he probably wasn't. The older man had some odd sensitivities.

‘If I'm not out in ten minutes, come and fetch me,' he said.

‘A lot can happen in ten minutes. Make it five.'

‘Gregory, a bullet takes a second.'

‘He won't shoot you,' Gregory said. ‘He rarely shoots people.' He leaned forward and fiddled with the radio, looking for something classical, Nathan guessed.

Nathan got out and headed into the pub that was Bernie Franks' domain. This, he thought, could be a really bad idea.

At the bar, he ordered a pint though Nathan actually rarely drank beer. He stood, sipping at it, knowing that his presence had been noted and Bernie Franks would either deal with him in person or send a message with someone who would. The mirrors behind the bar gave him a view of most of the pub lounge. Last time he'd been in here it had been a real spit and sawdust place, but Franks seemed to have attempted gentrification. There was carpet on the floor and the pool table that used to stand slap-bang in the middle of the room had been moved to an adjoining space. A board behind the bar even advertised food and guest beers. But there had been no gentrification of Bernie Franks.

‘Business must be good,' Nathan said as the shadow blocked the light from the window and Franks loomed into his mirrored view.

‘That's because I'm particular about my clientele.'

Nathan set his beer down and turned to face Bernie. ‘One question and I'll be out of your hair,' he said.

‘Why should I answer any?' Bernie spoke with a surprisingly soft voice. There was a drawl to it that Nathan had always thought of as West Country via Mississippi. Annie reckoned it was from trying to emulate American Gangster and not quite making it.

‘Because you're curious,' Nathan said. ‘If you weren't curious, you'd have sent an emissary.'

Franks smiled, the large mouth splitting wide. ‘An emissary,' he said. ‘I'll remember that. Hear that, lads, you're all my emissaries from now on.' He laid a great paw of a hand on Nathan's shoulder and leaned in. ‘I heard about old Gus,' he said. ‘Heard he had the right idea and tried to take you down with him.'

‘It seems to have crossed his mind,' Nathan agreed. ‘But I've forgiven him. No point in holding a grudge. Billy told me to come to you,' he went on.

Franks narrowed his eyes. ‘So I understand. Maybe you could tell me what he would do that for.'

‘Because at the time he was shit scared. I think the present danger trumped what you might do to him. He said you might be able to tell me where to find Mae. That she'd been doing some work for you.'

The grip on Nathan's shoulder tightened. He tried not to react but knew Franks would feel the tensions in his muscle as the fingers dug in.

‘Mae is a free agent. She comes and goes.'

‘But you were looking for her, Billy said.'

‘Billy doesn't know dick. I looked for her, then I stopped looking. She was otherwise employed. Understand?'

Nathan nodded. He'd not expected an easy run, but so far it wasn't so bad. Franks could have flattened him – or worse – and chucked him out into the street or into the canal at the rear of the pub.

‘Bernie, get one of your … emissaries to feel in my jacket pocket. There's a couple of photos in there you'd be interested in seeing.'

Bernie Franks laughed. ‘You selling mucky pictures now, Nathan?' He nodded to one of his men who fished gingerly in Nathan's pocket and laid the envelope he found on the table. Another nod and the man emptied the envelope on to the bar. Bernie Franks turned his attention towards them, his fingers still practising a Vulcan death grip on Nathan's shoulder.

Nathan fought to keep his voice steady. ‘You recognize anything or anyone, Bernie?'

‘I thought you'd got just the one question,' Bernie said, but there was an unease in his voice, barely there, but enough for Nathan to catch. He scraped the pictures off the bar with the hand that wasn't torturing Nathan and handed them to one of his associates. Bernie was silent as the pictures were passed around and finally placed back on the bar.

‘So what's this then, Nathan?'

Bernie lowered his head to Nathan's level and peered into his face. His breath reeked of beer and breath mints.

‘Who's Mae running with these days?' Nathan asked.

‘Hell should I know?'

‘You said she was employed. Who by, Bernie?'

Bernie released Nathan so suddenly that he staggered back a pace or two. He caught a glimpse of Gregory, standing in the doorway. Five minutes must have been and gone, he thought. It felt like a good deal longer.

‘I'll answer two questions,' Bernie said. ‘Just for old times' sake. Because you were old Gus's boy. And you can tell me one in return.'

Nathan could have sung with relief. Instead, he nodded cautiously.

Bernie stabbed an enormous finger at the picture of Mae Tourino that Nathan had shown him. ‘That bloke there, the one that looks like Clint Eastwood gone to seed, he's one of Rico's. Rico Steadmann,' he added as though Nathan might not know to whom he referred.

‘That unlucky bastard –' he poked the same finger at the crime-scene photo of Anthony Palmer – ‘had the misfortune to cross said Rico Steadmann. Stole something or didn't do something. Fucked if I know. Five or six years ago, maybe a bit longer. Rico lost him, but I remember the stink it caused. Looks like he found him again.' Bernie grinned again.

‘And your question?' Nathan asked politely.

‘Why you want to know?'

‘Because he was killed in Ian Marsh's house,' Nathan said. He saw Bernie's eyes narrow.

‘And how is the Prof?'

‘Not so good. You must have heard, someone snatched his wife and child.'

Bernie's eyes were now a slit. ‘Seems he's pissed someone off then.'

‘It does.' Nathan waited, wondering if Bernie knew anything more; if he'd tell if he did, but the big man simply reached across for Nathan's beer and took a long drink.

Nathan took it as his cue to leave. His shoulder was throbbing and he knew it would be black with bruises, but it was a small price to pay. He had a new direction and two new pieces of the puzzle.

Gregory stood in the doorway until Nathan reached the car and only then did he join him. Nathan rubbed gingerly at his shoulder as they drove away. Classical music now filled the car. ‘Do we have to have Mahler? I can't stand the man.'

‘Which just demonstrates your lack of class. So, what do we know that we didn't before Bernie wrecked your trapezium?'

‘Two things. Linked and surprising,' Nathan said. ‘Mae's working for Rico Steadmann and the man killed in Ian's house was not as innocent as anyone thought. Five or six years ago, according to Bernie, he did something or stole something, or otherwise pissed Steadmann off big time, then disappeared. It looks like it finally got him killed.'

‘And if Steadmann's involved there's another link,' Gregory said.

‘What?'

‘His one-time mentor was Mason, the bloke I told you about, whose weapon of choice was wires and monofilament.'

‘Right.' Nathan nodded. ‘Steadmann know you killed him, does he?'

‘I would think so,' Gregory said quietly. ‘He was the one who put out the hit.'

T
ess was still steaming mad when she arrived at Ian Marsh's door, having run the press gauntlet at the road end. She tried to quiet her irritation when he opened the door, his expression suddenly hopeful as he saw it was her.

‘Any news?'

‘Not exactly, Ian. I'm sorry. But I have some questions, some possible leads. I need you to fill in some details if you can.'

Ian leaned forward and peered out past her. The house itself was well hidden from the media press at the end of the street, the high hedge providing a modicum of privacy. ‘How long do you think they'll stay? They ambush my neighbours every time one of them leaves the house.'

‘We've got officers keeping them in order,' Tess soothed. ‘Maybe we could move you out for a few days? Put you up in a hotel?'

Ian Marsh shook his head. ‘I don't want to go anywhere else,' he said. ‘This is Kat's home; Desi's home. I won't leave it until they come back. That wouldn't seem right.'

Tess nodded but she didn't really understand the logic.

‘Come on in. Your sergeant not with you today?'