Gregory's Game (5 page)

Gregory nodded. ‘Fair point,' he said again. ‘And one I don't have a clear answer to. I suppose I'm at a crossroads in my life, Harry. I suppose I see you and Patrick as somehow neutral observers, if that makes sense.'

Harry laughed. ‘I don't think our small dealings with you make either of us qualified observers or qualified advisers,' he said. He set his glass down and folded his hands across his rather ample stomach.

‘I'm predisposed to like you. I'm also predisposed not to want to know too much. Was it Orwell who said something about us sleeping soundly in our beds at night because rough men fight our battles for us?'

‘
People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf
,' Gregory said. ‘And you see me as one of the rough men.'

‘Yes. But that's not what bothers me.'

‘Then what does?'

Harry thought about it, finding a way of framing his ideas. ‘What bothers me … what bothers me is that most people, for most of their lives – for all of their lives if they're lucky – are, well not exactly invisible, but they don't register much in the scheme of things. They live their quiet lives and die their quiet deaths and draw so little attention to themselves that the only ripples they leave when they depart are caused by the tears of those few people who might have loved them.'

He paused and Gregory waited. ‘Go on,' he said.

‘It feels as though, when people like you, people who, sorry to put it this way, but who live in the underbelly, who spend their lives carving into the bowels of the world …' He laughed. ‘Lord, listen to me. I think I've drunk a little too much.'

‘Go on,' Gregory prompted again.

‘Well, when people like you associate with people like us, you make us visible. We lose our anonymity. In a way, we lose our protection, if you see what I mean.'

‘I see what you mean.'

‘And, frankly, that makes me sleep
very
uneasy in my bed. You reveal a world I don't want to think about. A cruelty I had to acknowledge once and swore I'd try to protect my son from.' He laughed, harshly. ‘I couldn't, of course. It coloured every decision I ever made, every action.'

‘What cruelty?' Gregory asked.

‘My sister was murdered,' Harry said. ‘She was just a child. Naomi Blake was her best friend. Naomi escaped and my sister died. It was only three – no four – years ago that we found out what happened to her. I spent most of my life wondering. I spent most of Patrick's life trying to protect him, to make sure lightning didn't strike twice.'

Gregory studied him, waiting silently for more. Gregory knew the value of silence, the need most people had to fill it, but it seemed so did Harry and he said nothing. Gregory sensed that he had relayed all he was prepared to on the matter.

‘If you told me to go away and never come back then I'd do my best to oblige,' he told Harry, finally. ‘But I don't make empty promises, so I would never promise that you'd never see me again.'

‘You're expecting trouble,' Harry said flatly. ‘You're expecting trouble to come and find us again.'

Until that moment, Gregory hadn't fully realized this, but as Harry said it he understood that it was true. ‘Perhaps,' he said. ‘Harry, do you ever get the sense that something is just not right? You may not be able to say why or what, just that it isn't as it should be.'

Harry thought about it and then nodded. ‘Since Alec's car crash it's felt like I'm waiting for the storm to break,' he said. ‘I think Alec has been too. I think that's why he's been so out of sorts.'

Out of sorts, Gregory thought. Harry, you have a wonderful sense of understatement.

‘We've been exposed, haven't we? We're visible now, all of us. We can't hide in the crowd.'

Gregory swallowed the last of his whisky. ‘Patrick could never disappear into the crowd,' he said. ‘Nor should he. He has a rare talent, Harry. But what he's seen and heard and witnessed will come out in his work, won't it?' He got to his feet. ‘I should go,' he said. ‘Say goodnight to Patrick for me and, Harry, sleep well. You have at least one of those rough men fighting your corner, whatever comes, and I still hope the storm will pass us all by.'

Harry smiled and there was something sad and knowing in that smile, Gregory thought. ‘My friend,' Harry said, ‘if the storm breaks over us, then we shall do our best to survive it. I will do everything to protect my son and, though I don't want to think about it, I know he would do the same for me. If trouble comes, then it comes. I've learned enough to know that some things cannot be controlled or avoided.'

Gregory nodded. ‘You're a good man, Harry. The sort I'd choose to have at my back,' he said, and then he departed, leaving Harry, the man who was not just an accountant, struck dumb.

I
t was getting late, almost nine, and Tess wanted to be off home. She knew that her sergeant did too. But one last review before they left for the day would, she hoped, help bring the case into focus. Be preparation for the morning.

‘So, what do we have?' Tess Fuller asked.

‘Our victim is believed to be Mr Anthony Palmer. He was thirty-five, unmarried and works for an estate agent in Pinsent. He's the office manager.'

‘Was,' Tess reminded her sergeant.

‘Was,' Vin agreed. ‘He's lived at number five Church Lane, Halsingham, for about seven months. Moved up here from another office of the same estate agency. It's one of these big, countrywide chains.'

‘And the owner of the Church Lane house?'

‘Is a Professor Ian Marsh. Lectures in International Relations at the local uni. He lets the place through an agency. We've got our local colleagues trying to locate him, but according to a neighbour he and his wife are away at a wedding and won't be back until the middle of next week. And, no, the neighbours don't have a contact number.'

Helpful, Tess thought. She rubbed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. She was aware of Vinod's gaze resting thoughtfully upon her and anticipated his next question.

‘I'm fine. Just …'

He nodded and glanced back down at his notes. ‘I thought we should do background checks on both of them,' he said. ‘Our dead man and the professor. I've set that in motion.'

‘Good. You talked to his colleagues? Anything?'

‘No. He came in as a sort of troubleshooter. Apparently the Pinsent office wasn't meeting its targets. He's been here five months and sacked two members of staff, demoted another, but apparently things at the office have started to turn around.'

‘But he's not won himself any friends.'

‘I don't imagine so, no. But the upshot is, no one got to know him very well, either. No one could tell me who his friends were, outside of work. I've got an address book and some numbers on his mobile; Jaz is working through those now.'

Tess nodded again, approving his choice. ‘Family?'

‘Jaz thinks she's tracked down a brother, but she's not been able to talk to him yet.'

‘Fine; let me know when she does.' Tess frowned, drumming her fingers on the desk and wondering if she'd get to keep the case or if it would be handed on up the chain. As a relatively new DI, she'd had little experience as senior officer on something like this. Not that anything like this came along very often – she was relieved to say.

‘What's your take on it?' she asked Vinod. ‘You saw the body.'

He grimaced and then nodded. ‘Vicious,' he said. ‘I mean, that goes without saying, but …'

Tess knew what he meant. ‘They enjoyed it,' she said, flatly. ‘It wasn't just murder; it was … I've never seen anyone that's been tortured before.'

‘I'm glad to say, neither have I. What had he done that they felt justified in causing so much pain?'

‘Could anything justify what they did?' Tess asked sharply, then waved the outburst away. ‘No, I know you didn't mean it that way. But I don't read it that way. I'm not sure it was that personal. It was—'

‘Professional?'

‘No, not that, either. Professional implies efficiency, doesn't it? I can't see what they did as being all that … well, efficient.'

‘Not the right word, is it?' Vinod said, aware that she was struggling to find a way to describe what she was thinking.

‘No, no it's not.' She sighed and then stretched and got to her feet. ‘Look, there's not a lot more we can achieve tonight. Get off home. Hopefully tomorrow we'll have found next of kin and forensics will have something useful to tell us.'

He nodded, knowing there would be long days ahead when the investigation got properly under way. ‘I used to go fishing with my next-door neighbour,' he said. ‘When we were both kids. His dad used to take us. I remember one day, I got my ankle caught up in some fishing line. I tripped and fell over and pulled the line tight. It bit right into my calf, cut this dead straight line. It drew blood and I was bruised for days after. It hurt like hell.'

‘Teach you to clean up after yourself,' she said, not really wanting to think about it. She could see, in her mind's eye, the way the line had cut into flesh, biting its way through as the weight of the body lay against it.

‘That's what my mate's dad said,' Vinod smiled. ‘He was a stickler for that, making sure we took every scrap of stuff away with us.'

‘Pain,' she said. ‘The way I see it, it was all about the pain.' She shook her head, trying to dismiss the pictures in her head and she knew that she'd actually be glad to be bumped down the pecking order in this case. If someone else was brought in, Tess decided she'd make just enough noise to save face and then, gratefully, gracefully, just let it go.

Home, for Gregory, was his boat. Currently she was moored a long way off and he felt cut adrift. He'd never been one for bricks and mortar or for a settled pitch, but now he'd have given a great deal to be aboard and heading out to sea.

He'd enjoyed his evening with Patrick and Harry, but at the same time it had served to highlight just how much he didn't belong in their world. Happy to be an occasional visitor; happy, he acknowledged, to count them as friends – that, he found, was a very pleasant thought – but the idea of living in a little house, doing the same job every day, having a routine, now filled him with a kind of dread and while it was true that during his stint in the army he'd had many of those trappings there had always been the assurance of change, of challenge, of difference.

His mind drifted back to the dream he'd had. Four dead with a single bullet. It bothered him that he couldn't find an answer, that none of it seemed to make sense. But it would, he thought. He'd find the sense in it, excavate the meaning and then he'd know what he had to do next. Stay and accept Nathan's offer or go and see what life brought his way.

T
he murder featured on the lunchtime news, just after Alec and Naomi got back from their Saturday morning walk. A murder in a picturesque village was unusual enough to have made the national headlines and it took a moment for Naomi to realize that this was, in fact, quite local news.

‘Halsingham, that's just down the coast, isn't it? A bit inland?'

‘It is, yes,' Alec said. ‘It was never our patch, but I did a short stint on secondment down that way, drove through it a couple of times.'

He sounded interested, for once, and Naomi felt her spirits lift slightly. ‘DI Fuller. Didn't you do a training course with her?'

‘Yes,' Alec said. ‘I did a couple, actually. But it was a while ago.'

Naomi frowned, her mood crashing once more. It had been a while ago, that was true, but there had been rumours at the time that Tess Fuller and Alec, then both new Detective Sergeants, had been a bit more than work colleagues. Naomi could recall Tess Fuller from her own time in the force, before she had lost her sight. Tess had been, Naomi remembered, small and neat, with dark hair and a pixie face. She was the sort of slight, fey woman who made anyone look big and clumsy, Naomi thought grumpily, and with a reputation for calm and professional competence that had earned her many commendations. ‘I didn't know she made DI,' Naomi said aloud.

‘About eight, nine months ago,' Alec told her. ‘I remember hearing about it. I called her to say congratulations.'

‘Did you? You never said.'

‘I never thought to say. You hardly knew her.'

‘Unlike you.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

Naomi sighed. Where had that come from, she wondered, this sudden flash of jealousy and irritation?

‘Nothing,' she said. ‘It means nothing.'

Alec did not respond. The television chuntered on in the background, outlining what little was known about the killing. A country cottage, a tenant no one knew very well. Not formally identified but reported locally as being Mr Anthony Palmer, a local estate agent.

‘You want lunch?' Naomi said at last.

‘I don't know. Maybe. I can get you something.'

‘I can manage.'

‘I know you can.'

Naomi sighed. ‘You know I'm at the advice centre tomorrow afternoon. You haven't forgotten?' Lately, Alec had seemed confused even as to what day of the week it was.

‘No, I remember.'

‘You'll be OK?'

It was his turn to sigh. ‘Naomi, please stop fussing over me. I know you mean well, but it gets … it gets smothering. I'm fine; it'll all be fine. I just need a bit of time, that's all.'

You've had time, Naomi thought. Time for what, anyway? ‘What are you going to do with yourself?' she asked.

‘I'm capable of keeping myself amused, you know.'

‘Apparently.' She gave up and went through to the kitchen, wondering what she actually wanted to eat. It wasn't like Alec to snap at her like that, but then it wasn't like her to snap at him either. She filled the kettle and felt for the switch to turn it on. Back in the living room she could hear that Alec must have muted the television and was now scrolling through his phone book. She could hear the sound of buttons being pressed as he found the number he wanted, then silence as he listened. He must have got through to voicemail because Naomi heard him leaving a message.