Legacy of Lies (26 page)

A ladder led him up on to the platform once intended for the storage of hay but now empty but for the junk they had no use for but could not bear to throw away. Empty feed sacks, rope and twine and boxes filled with general household junk. Bags whose logos declared they were destined for charity but which had gone uncollected or undelivered. A cardboard box filled with empty jars and, when he risked a second brief flash of his tiny light, topped with an abandoned recipe for damson jam.

Kinnear snorted. He couldn't see Sharon Fielding making any sort of jam. She wasn't the homemade jam type. She was the ‘grab it while it's offered and the more the better' type and no doubt Derek would find that out for himself now he'd lost the chance of his share of the cash.

Not that Kinnear had ever had the intention of sharing anything. It was his money. No one else was getting a look in. Agreed, Derek had been useful doing the research that had led him to Friedman's real name. Derek's search through the news reports had turned up a picture of a so-called witness, and guess who it had been? Kinnear had to admit that brain occasionally had its uses over brawn.

A small window at the end of the gable gave him a view on to a section of the yard and out on to the field beyond. Not quite what he wanted but a quick flash of the torch reinforced his guess that this was the best he could do.

Kinnear dumped his pack and his water. The gun weighed down his pocket and the spare clip offered some kind of balance on the other. He took out the clothing and bits of bedding packed up for the charities that never got them and he made himself a rough bed beneath the window, then settled down, knowing that no more could be achieved that night. The police would be all over Fallowfields. Kinnear was good at playing the waiting game. He was aware he had a reputation for impatience, for having a short fuse, but he could think of no one else he knew who would have kept it up as long as he had, this search for the bastard who'd done him out of his money and worse, who'd tried to make a fool out of him.

He had waited this long. He could afford to wait another day.

K
innear's phone was off and likely to remain so but DS Fine had been working his way through the list of numbers in Reid's mobile. By rights he should have got on to this a while ago, he thought, but it had gone off to be printed and the SIM card backed up – a precaution against ham-fisted DSs like himself accidentally deleting the very information he needed to recover.

Now he had it back, and the prints had confirmed the identity of the owner as one Derek Reid, Fine was happy to be getting on with the task in hand, particularly as he had now been told that Mr Reid had just been picked up and taken into hospital, apparently in a pretty bad way. Fine wasn't going to be able to talk to him until the medics said so and from the sound of things that wasn't going to be soon. Fine was preparing for a very late night.

In fact Derek Reid's phone was a little disappointing. Either Reid had very few friends or he had bought the mobile recently. I mean, Fine thought, who has the local takeaway on speed dial.

Wan's Kitchen was one of only five entries. Kinnear of course, someone called Bee who was unavailable, a taxi company and Sharon.

That one caused Fine to pause. Danny had said Reid and Kinnear had been to the farm. It was too much to be a coincidence.

Fine pressed the button and called. Sharon Fielding picked up on the second ring. ‘Derek? Where the hell have you been. I've been waiting to hear from you since last night.'

‘Mrs Fielding. No, please don't hang up, this is DS Fine. Derek's been hurt.'

‘Hurt? Oh my God, what did that effing animal do to him?'

He guessed she must mean Kinnear. No one, Fine reflected, had much of an opinion of Sam Kinnear.

‘He was involved in a car accident, Mrs Fielding.'

‘A car accident?'

‘Yes. Now, Mrs Fielding, I'd like you to tell me where you are.'

‘Why?'

‘Two reasons. One, I'd like to take you to see Mr Reid. The other is that there's reason to believe Sam Kinnear is on the move. He thinks Derek's let him down. I suspect he may think you had something to do with it.'

Well, he reflected, what was a white lie between friends. It was the kind of lie that might reveal how much she knew about Kinnear, if nothing else.

It appeared she might know quite a lot because he had the address of the hotel within the next breath. That and an appeal for someone to come and get her. Now.

Fine told her he was on his way. At least, he thought, he'd be able to tell Danny that his mother wasn't dead. Not totally dead, he amended, just dead from the neck up.

Sharon Fielding was in the lobby with her bag on the floor at her feet when he arrived. She looked scared, Fine thought. Scared and tired as though she'd not been sleeping. He found himself hoping this was the case. She had cost her young son too many sleepless nights and in Fine's book that was stepping way beyond the line.

A female officer was waiting for them in the car. Fine asked her to drive and then seated Sharon in the back.

‘You've got your mobile on you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then phone Danny. Do it now. Do you have any idea what you've put that boy through?'

‘Danny?' she sounded puzzled.

‘Danny. Your son.'

‘I know who he is.'

‘Really? He's not so sure.'

‘I left him a letter. I left it on the kitchen table, a letter explaining where I'd gone and why. It's Danny hasn't tried to contact me.'

‘I don't think he got your letter,' Fine told her.

‘That bastard. His dad must have got to it first. But he could have called my mobile?'

‘Could he? Does he have the number?'

‘Course he does, he … God, no, he doesn't. The phone. I left mine so
he
couldn't call me.'

‘Your husband?'

‘Yes. Him. This is new, Derek got me it. He had one the same.' She took her mobile from her bag and weighed it in her hand as though really thinking about it for the first time. ‘God, I'm stupid. I should have guessed he'd hide the letter.'

‘Call him now.'

Fine watched as she dialled White Farm. ‘If
he
picks up I'm hanging up.'

‘Don't you have the number to Danny's phone?'

‘Not in this one. I don't have jinx.' She listened. Fine could almost hear her holding her breath. Someone picked up.

‘Danny? Oh Danny love, are you OK?'

‘Mum? Mum, where are you? I thought you were dead. Are you coming home?'

‘Dead? Why on earth. Oh Danny …'

Danny Fielding cradled the phone close to his ear. He could hardly believe it. She was OK, she was talking to him. It was going to be all right. He saw his dad come through and stand in the kitchen doorway. He was scowling, glowering at the phone. Danny held it closer, afraid he might snatch it away.

‘Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you … what letter? No, I never got it. Oh, mam, when are you coming home?'

‘I don't know yet love, I've got to talk to the police before I do anything else.'

‘The police? Why?' He could hear it in her voice. That was just a delaying tactic. The truth was she wasn't coming back. He had known it all along but …

‘This is because of that man, isn't it? Isn't it?'

‘Danny, it isn't like that. Danny, you've got to let me explain.'

But for Danny there was nothing to explain. He could not put into words how deep the sense of betrayal or by whom he felt the most betrayed. His mother who was leaving him or his dad who had lied about knowing, who had told him she had left no goodbyes.

Unable to bear any more, he lowered the phone and turned to face his father.

‘She said she left a note.'

His father glared at him, then turned away and picked up his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. He strode past Danny, down the hall, out to the car, and drove away.

Danny was once again alone.

From his window in the barn, Kinnear watched Danny's father go.

‘He hung up on me.' Sharon was shocked. Horrified.

‘Can you blame him?'

She shook her head.

‘You've made a right pig's ear of things, lass. It'll take more sorting out than a single phone call.'

S
haron stared through the glass panel in the door. ‘Oh my god, what happened to him?'

‘The car rolled. He walked away but by rights he should have stayed put and had himself hauled off to the hospital like a sensible boy.'

‘But how, was he driving too fast. Derek didn't drive fast. He was careful, cautious even.'

‘We don't know everything. The doc hasn't let me talk to him yet, but we know he was chasing after Marcus Prescott. We know he rammed Prescott's car and we think he flipped when he crashed into his back end. The details we'll have to discuss with Derek here when he wakes up.'

‘Chasing Marcus Prescott? I don't understand.'

‘Kinnear,' Fine said. ‘We assume he was following orders from Kinnear.'

‘Him. I told Derek he should just walk away but no, he said. He was going to come into money if he stuck with Kinnear. We could go off somewhere, start again.'

‘And you believed him?'

She looked sharply at Fine. ‘Yeah,' she said softly. ‘I believed him, but you know what, after a little while it didn't matter any more.'

‘And you two met, where?'

‘Oh, one of Rupert's little get-togethers. He liked his storytellers to get to know one another. Thought if we exchanged information we might remember more. Oral history, he called it.' She shrugged. ‘Actually, I liked old Rupert. He was one of the good guys. Kind, considerate, good listener.'

‘And Derek came along to one of these meetings?'

‘At the library, yes. We called ourselves a study group but … well, we'd have a good gossip, talk about Rupert's latest bit of writing and then all go off to the pub. Mostly it was the same crowd but Derek turned up one night out of the blue and I fell. Big time. He was charming, curious, talkative and shy, all at the same time.'

‘Sounds like a contradiction.'

‘Yeah, well. Will he be OK?'

‘We hope so, yes.'

‘Your son tells me Kinnear came to the farm.'

She nodded. ‘Yeah.'

‘And did you have much to do with him?'

‘Too much. Look, it was obvious from the start Derek didn't know anything about local history. He claimed his family came from round here and he wanted to find out more about his past. Their past. Rupert didn't care and like I said it was more a social club anyway. But after a while, when we got more involved and I'd seen him hanging round with Sam Kinnear, he told me Kinnear was after something Rupert had. Something Kinnear thought that he was owed. He was scared of the man, too scared to tell me any more but one day when he was with me Kinnear phoned him. He wasn't supposed to be with me but if he'd taken me home I guess he'd have been late answering his master's call so he took me along. Not inside though, made me wait in the car and lie down on the back seat so Kinnear didn't see but I knew where I was.'

‘You can take me there?'

She nodded. ‘I think so. It's an old farm, deserted. There's a few places round here just left to go to rack and ruin. The big companies take them over, use the land, leave perfectly good homes to fall down when there's local kids crying out for cheap housing.'

Fine nodded. He knew. ‘But you can take me there?'

‘Yeah. Look, I need to talk to Danny, when can I go home?'

‘Tomorrow. Not tonight. The last thing your boy needs is his mum and dad rowing over him again tonight. Tomorrow I'll arrange a meet, maybe at Fallowfields. He's got friends there.'

‘You can't stop me going home.'

‘No, I can't but just now you're going to take me to where Kinnear was holed up. You've not seen him for this long, best make a fresh start tomorrow, eh?'

She nodded slowly. ‘Friends at Fallowfields?'

‘The new owner, Alec Friedman, he's got some friends staying. Patrick is just a bit older than Danny. They've hit it off.'

‘I'm glad,' she said. ‘He never seems to have that many friends.'

She was fairly sure where the farm was but in the dark they made a couple of false turns which meant Fine's car and the patrol cars that followed had to carry out some awkward manoeuvres on the narrow roads.

The farm had once been called The Ash Trees, or so the sign on the sagging gate claimed. Fine thought it was one of those owned by a big frozen food corporation but he couldn't be sure. The dark and the twists and turns had lost him too and he was glad of his GPS which would at least be able to guide him home when he told it to.

The farm buildings were not in bad shape, he thought, or as far as he could tell in the light of his torch. The door was open, though not wide. He looked around, noting the outbuildings and rusting machinery, the muddied yard with the remnants of cobbles in front of the farmhouse door. They kept well back, vehicles pulling up on the road at the end of the drive. Once out of their cars, they all crouched in the shadows behind the engine block, although that still felt too exposed. Fine worried that he was still in there – for all that seemed unlikely. That he might be armed.

He signalled for the armed support unit to move in, content to let them do their own thing. They would search, make everything secure. He heard their commander calling out ‘armed police' and instructing anyone inside to come out with their hands raised.

Nothing moved. Kinnear was gone, Fine was sure. All around them country silence reigned. Even the birds had shut up for the night and the faint rustlings in the undergrowth that Fine had been aware of when they first got out of the car had ceased as well.