Lynch (11 page)

Thomas Walter cleared his throat. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Do you know the whereabouts of the Merkava? I would be interested in viewing the tank before it reaches its destination.’

On the threshold of the door, Fernandez looked back at the fat lawyer. ‘That is not my immediate concern. I have work to do.’ And he turned and left.

Outside, he tore open the envelope and looked at the two photographs, one of a young man, the other a middle-aged woman. And he read the printed address on the slip of paper before folding the photographs inside it and placing it in his inside jacket pocket.

He would arrange transport to
Leeds
immediately.

Chapter 14

Scott had taken a taxi home from town, quickly showered and left for work before Katherine or
Clark
could interrogate him about his night out. Katherine knew him too well—she’d sense he was hiding something. He planned on telling her about meeting John, but not with
Clark
around. Katherine would probably advise him to tell
Clark
anyway, but he hoped she’d see that they could keep it a secret.

He was at work by eight thirty where he couldn’t avoid the inquisition from Sylvia. She sat in the kitchen with a mug of tea nestled in her lap and her feet up on another chair. Her hair, always wild and straw-like, had been scraped up in its usual tail at the back of her head, sticking from the scrunchie like the hay that carpeted the stable floors. She wore skin-tight jeans and her trademark navy body warmer embroidered with the Silverwood Centre’s logo.

As Scott came in and walked straight to the sink to fill the kettle, she said, ‘I’m hoping you were more out of breath last night than I was mucking out this morning. How was the drag show?’

‘It was hard,’ Scott said, and before Sylvia could say a word, he added, ‘Don’t even go there.’ He knew the way her mind worked.

Sylvia laughed. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘Don’t make me ask.’

‘I was hoping you wouldn’t,’ Scott said.

‘Then you don’t know me very well.’ She stood and handed Scott her empty mug for a refill. ‘Come on, out with it.’

Coyly, Scott smiled. ‘We went for drinks, watched some men in tights, didn’t stay too long.’

‘And?’

‘And we went back to his for wine.’

‘At last,’ Sylvia said. ‘Some action. What happened?’

Scott grinned.

‘It’s like pulling teeth,’ Sylvia said. ‘You’ve been here long enough to know we don’t skimp on the details where gossip is concerned.’

‘The gossip has never been about me before,’ Scott said. He poured water over teabags and stirred in some milk. Contemplating the chances of Jesse mentioning the strange occurrence with Daphne Do-More to Sylvia, Scott said, ‘So when we were in town, I got accosted by this giant drag queen who thought I was somebody else.’ He forced a laugh. ‘It was really strange. Ask Jesse.’ He hoped she wouldn’t.

‘Do you like him?’ Sylvia asked.

Scott thought about it. ‘Yes.’

‘But?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘It’s your ex.’ Sylvia had known a little bit about Ryan simply because she had been there while Scott was throwing himself over the edge with alcohol. He had had to explain enough to her for the sake of his job—Ryan had been his first and only love; and he had died. She had known, for once, not to pry any further. ‘Such a young life, cut murderously short,’ she had said at the time, although Scott had never told her how he died.

‘I just…’ Scott said, but could think of no words to finish the sentence.

‘You don’t want to get hurt again,’ Sylvia said.

Scott smiled and let her think she was right. But it was more than that. Beyond getting hurt, he didn’t want to hurt anybody else. He couldn’t tell her the truth of who he was for fear of placing her in danger. Hell, it was dangerous enough just being around her, being around anyone.

He thought again about John, decided he couldn’t even tell Katherine about him. He should never have met him, should never have told him so much. Not only was he putting John in the firing line, he was now endangering himself and Katherine if John accidentally mentioned seeing him in
Leeds
.

‘You can’t think about that,’ Sylvia said now, picking up her mug and returning to the table in the centre of the room.

‘Think about what?’ Scott asked. For a moment, he wondered if he had voiced any of his thoughts aloud.

‘About getting hurt,’ she said. Scott sighed and joined her at the table. ‘If we went through life thinking about getting hurt all the time,’ she continued, ‘none of us would ever get out of bed in the morning. And believe me, I’ve been there.’

‘Your husband,’ Scott said. Sylvia had spoken about her ex-husband back when Scott was opening up small pieces of his heart to her about Ryan.

‘The man was a bloody fool,’ Sylvia said. ‘He gave up the best damn life he could have had the day he walked out on me. And as much as I hate to say it, he deserved to be hit by that train. I mean what kind of idiot drives through a level crossing when the barriers are closing?’ She didn’t allow him to answer. ‘But that’s not what I’m talking about. I meant the stables, the riding school. This whole business that pays your wage. If I worried about failure and heartache, neither of us would have a job right now. I worked damn hard to set this place up and I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping it afloat all these years. I was thirty-four when I started and I’m not that far off retirement now.’

‘You’ve a good ten years left,’ Scott laughed.

‘I’m closer to retirement now than I was a year ago,’ she said. ‘So tell me, apart from not wanting to get hurt, what’s stopping you? You like him, and he likes you. Isn’t that all that counts?’

‘But what if it goes wrong?’ Scott asked. ‘How awkward is it going to be around here if we can’t even look at each other?’

She touched his arm lightly. ‘I’ll have him mucking out the stables for the rest of his days,’ Sylvia promised. ‘He wouldn’t have time to scowl at you.’

Scott laughed, felt more at ease. With Sylvia around, he knew he’d always have someone outside the barrier of lies he had erected to give him a good kick when he needed it.

‘Besides,’ Sylvia now said, ‘I can tell by your face that you slept with him last night. If you’re still considering moving things along, that’s clearly a good thing.’

She smirked into her mug of tea.

C
lark and Katherine spent the afternoon leisurely strolling from one clothes shop in
Leeds
to another. It felt natural,
Clark
thought, even though shopping was never one of her strong points. Her mother had been the homely kind, always trying to instil family values and refined manners. But
Clark
had taken after her father, a stern man who rose through the ranks of CID from Detective Constable to Detective Chief Superintendent in record time. He was not one for soft furnishings or fine dining, much to his wife’s dismay. And although he had at first wanted a son, he was pleased enough with
Clark
’s tomboy attitude and love of football to overlook her lack of social status as a woman.

He had watched her proudly from the stands at her passing out parade and shook her hand firmly. And McIntyne, one of her father’s close colleagues, had grinned and hugged her and said, ‘You’re one of the lads now, Clark Jr.’ Few people ever called her Ann; it was always Clark or Junior if her father was present.

And she had felt like one of the lads. In fact, thinking about it now, she never really had to try too hard to prove herself in the man’s world she had grown up in. Her father’s influence had seen off any departmental rivalry in the early days and as soon as the guys could see she was capable, there was little in the way of remarks about the fairer sex or the weaker species. She could double-hit a target in the shooting range first time, every time, and outrun half the men on the field. All in all, she had had it easy.

What she normally found difficult was clothes shopping.

‘If I had your legs,’ Katherine said as they came out of the Victoria Quarter, ‘I wouldn’t hide them under boring trousers. When’s the last time they saw the light of day?’

‘School swimming championships, aged thirteen,’
Clark
said. ‘I won.’

‘You’d win the hearts of men if you wore a skirt.’

‘Men can keep their hearts. I have enough on my plate without some doe-eyed fool following me around.’

They made their slow way up the paved street until Katherine panted with exertion and pointed her walking cane at an empty bench.
Clark
piled the shopping bags on the seat beside Katherine and she stood, taking in her surroundings. In the bright sunshine, Leeds was vibrant and energetic, unlike slothful
London
where people wanted to hide from the sun like bloodless vampires.

‘We should stop for lunch,’ Katherine said. ‘There’s a lovely little coffee shop around the corner. Their cakes are to die for.’

‘Death by éclair?’
Clark
said. ‘That sounds good to me.’

At the coffee shop, they settled at a table for two outside and
Clark
went in to order. When she came back, she said, ‘It’s air conditioned inside,’ but Katherine was content to sit in the sun and people-watch. An afternoon of walking had taken its toll on her,
Clark
could see. She was not the woman she had known eighteen months ago.

‘It’s nice to have some company while Scott’s at work,’ Katherine said.

‘It must get pretty lonely,’
Clark
agreed.

‘I have my garden to keep me company, but it doesn’t make for good conversation.’ Katherine stirred her latte and picked a small section from her blueberry muffin. ‘You haven’t told me why you were suspended.’

‘I wonder where Scott got to last night,’
Clark
said.

Katherine looked at her. ‘Your avoidance tactics might work on your suspects but it won’t wash with me.’

‘Katherine, I can’t go into it. You should know better than to ask.’

‘It must have been serious for them to suspend you over it.’

‘Katherine.’

‘All I’m saying is if you need someone to talk to, you know I’m here to listen.’

‘That’s very considerate,’
Clark
said. ‘But you know I can’t.’

Katherine smiled, popped some more muffin into her mouth, stared at
Clark
.

‘Stop it,’
Clark
said.

‘I haven’t done anything.’ She was grinning.

‘It was
Dixon
,’
Clark
said at last.

Katherine suddenly turned serious. ‘What’d he do?’

‘Nothing,’
Clark
said. ‘At least, nothing that warranted a visit from me.’ She sighed, watched the people on the street, noticed two potential perps—one drunk, one teenager who probably shoplifted the expensive trainers he was wearing. Everyone was a suspect to a cop.

Katherine said nothing and allowed
Clark
to continue in her own time.

‘I needed to know what he knew. About the case. He gave little away in the courtroom. I figured…Well, I figured if I spoke to him, I’d get him to open up to me—about David, about Ramirez in
Spain
.’ She sipped from her coffee, composing her thoughts. ‘So many times I’ve been to Wandsworth Prison but never to see an ex-colleague. It was strange, to say the least. He’s scum—I always thought so—but we used to work together.
Wilson
told me not to go. Said if he was still in charge he’d kick my arse.’

‘But you didn’t listen to him,’ Katherine said.

‘I follow orders like a loyal subject. But sometimes I just get a bee in my bonnet.’

‘What did
Dixon
say?’

‘Not a lot, to be honest. He’s an angry man—swore he’d get even with all of us. But he didn’t say anything about the case that we hadn’t already known. He just sat there with that smug little toothy grin and I wanted to punch him in the mouth.’