Nowhere to Hide (17 page)

‘You reckon he was behind it?'

‘High on the list. But not the only possibility. Mrs K didn't go out of her way to make friends. May never find out for sure. Looks like a pro job. Not left much for us to go on.'

‘Don't suppose it matters much. Real question is what happens next.'

‘Why we're keeping our ears close to the ground.'

‘This grass. He told you much about Boyle's plans?'

‘Not recently. But we've not been asking much. Boyle's not really been on the radar since he got out. Kept a low profile. Might have just been building up his reserves. But the topping of Helen Kerridge is a game-changer, whoever was behind it.'

‘So what are you suggesting?'

‘Thought it was time for a more in-depth chat with our informant. Renshaw thought you might like to tag along.'

‘Will he talk with me there?'

‘Christ knows. He's a big-mouth. Tries to impress. Acts tough and makes out he knows more than he does. If there's two of us, he'll probably play up to that. It'll make him feel important. He talks some crap, but if you filter that out, most of what he comes up with is pretty kosher.'

‘Worth a shot, anyway. Where and when?'

‘I'll try and get him tonight. Let's go for the Wetherspoon's place by the Town Hall. Somewhere big and anonymous, and away from his stamping ground. He'll feel more comfortable. About six, so the office crowds are still in there. Give me a call when you get there and I'll tell you where we're hiding.' He gave Brennan a mobile number, then added: ‘Mind you, you'll probably spot us, anyway.'

‘Why's that?'

‘Because we'll be the ones who look like a copper and a grass. Why else?'

‘Bloody hell,' McGrath said. ‘You've made progress.'

She sat back on the floor and looked around her. It didn't feel as if she had, given how much work she'd put in, but she supposed he was right. She'd ploughed through perhaps a quarter of the accumulated junk, working as systematically as she could manage. Much of the paperwork had been little more than rubbish – age-old copies of invoices and receipts, old brochures, unenlightening correspondence. Some of this material might be of interest to the Revenue, but it was small-scale stuff. She'd found a few documents that could relate to McGrath's more clandestine activities. Nothing that would constitute evidence, but the names mentioned might open up a few leads for the intelligence people. She'd secreted the relevant documents into the side of her briefcase, trying to persuade herself that she wasn't wasting her time.

The rest she'd sorted as well as she could. On the shelves in Lizzie's office, she'd found a stack of predictably unused box files, and she'd sorted the paperwork into various categories, filing it away chronologically. She couldn't imagine that her day's activities had served any real purpose, other than helping to clear the floor and beginning to build some credibility with McGrath. He'd been absent for most of the day, out on some unspecified ‘business'.

‘Well, I've made a start,' she said, pulling herself slowly to her feet. Her smart business suit was dusty and her limbs felt as if they'd lost contact with her brain. McGrath shrugged. ‘Didn't expect you to get quite so far, to be honest.'

‘I've been quite ruthless,' she said, gesturing towards an already overfull bin bag. ‘Thrown away anything that didn't look as if it was likely to be useful. Hope you don't find you're missing anything important.'

‘If it was in this pile, I've managed without it long enough.' He took a few steps forward and gazed around the room, with the air of a monarch surveying his kingdom. ‘Yeah, you've done a bloody good job.' He looked back at her, smiling. ‘Enough for today, though, Maggie. You must be knackered. How about a drink?'

Inwardly, she groaned. It had been inevitable that McGrath would renew his efforts to ask her out, and she'd known it would be impossible to reject him entirely. The trick would be to get close enough to secure McGrath's confidence, without getting so close that she gave him any wrong ideas. Not an easy trick, given the appraising glances that McGrath was already throwing in her direction.

She glanced at her watch. ‘Bit early, isn't it?'

‘You've been working hard. You deserve the break,' he said.

Might as well get it over with, she thought. ‘Just a quick one, though. I'm still trying to sort the new house.'

They left Lizzie to close up the office, and Marie walked with McGrath out to a pub on the main road, near the entrance to the business park. Lizzie had watched them with an expression that, as far as Marie could tell, mixed amusement with relief.

The pub was the usual plastic hostelry found on the edges of business parks, selling microwaved fake gourmet meals to besuited men in the nearby offices or the adjoining budget hotel. At five o'clock it was still relatively quiet, though beginning to fill up with workers grabbing a quick pint before heading home.

McGrath bought her a red wine and himself a pint of lager, and led her to a table in a quiet corner. ‘Nice place,' he said, gesturing around them. ‘Decent food, too. We'll have to do lunch sometime.'

She nodded noncommittally and took a sip of her wine. ‘Do you come here a lot?'

‘Well, you know, business lunches. That kind of thing. Useful place to have on the doorstep.'

‘You must have to do a lot of entertaining. With clients, I mean.' She was trying to find a line of conversation that would allow her to probe a little, without putting him on his guard.

‘What it's all about,' McGrath said, taking a deep swallow of his lager. ‘Build up the networks. Get to know people.'

‘Is that where you were today?' she asked. ‘With clients?'

He glanced at her with what might have been suspicion. She distracted him by stretching out her stockinged legs. Sure enough, his gaze drifted uncontrollably to where her skirt was beginning to ride up her thighs. She moved to adjust it, and his eyes flicked back to her smiling face. Not subtle, but it achieved the intended effect.

‘Yeah,' he said, finally. ‘Clients. Bit of this, bit of that, you know. Bit of schmoozing.'

‘Successful?'

‘Hard to tell.' She could sense that he was warming to the subject, his desire to impress her outweighing his instinct for caution. ‘But, yeah, I think so. There'll be one or two bits of business coming out of today. Nothing major, but a couple of little deals.'

‘Importing?'

His eyes met hers again, but any suspicion seemed to have vanished. ‘You know how it is. Got fingers in all kinds of pies. Can't afford to limit yourself in the current climate.'

‘Must be tricky times,' she said, sympathetically. ‘With the economy the way it is.'

‘Bloody tough. Last couple of years have been a nightmare. Banks won't give you an overdraft. One or two customers went to the wall so we lost orders. Others are cutting back. Bloody nightmare. Can't afford to have all your eggs in one basket.'

‘No, I can see that.' She eased out her legs again, feeling like a conjuror engaged in a particularly clumsy piece of misdirection. ‘What sort of things do you get involved in, then?'

His eyes were fixed on her legs. ‘Well, like I said, anything where I can turn a profit. You can't be too choosy. If you have too many scruples, you might as well kiss the business goodbye.'

‘I imagine you have to be quite ruthless,' she said, in what sounded to her own ears appallingly close to a simper. ‘To survive, I mean.' She picked up her glass, ensuring that McGrath received a good eyeful of cleavage in the process. Talk about not having too many scruples, she thought.

‘Ruthless,' he agreed. ‘And not too worried about the letter of the law.' He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her smugly. ‘You wouldn't believe some of the stuff I get involved in.'

Jesus, she thought, he really is an idiot. First flash of leg, and he's shooting his mouth off to some woman he barely knows. ‘Really?'

‘Christ, yes. I mean, a lot of it's above board. But I take a few risks when I need to. Sail a bit close to the wind.'

‘Sounds very – exciting,' she offered.

‘Can be. I mean, a lot of it's just transactions. But if the goods are – well, not strictly legit, then it does add a bit of a thrill.' He leaned over and smiled at her conspiratorially. ‘I heard your ex was in a similar line of work?'

‘Not quite my ex yet,' she said. ‘I'm still working on that.' No harm in reminding McGrath that she was supposedly still married to the fictional philandering husband. ‘Not sure he's fully accepted that I've walked out yet. Keep expecting him to turn up on the doorstep. He could be a jealous so-and-so. Violent, too,' she added, mischievously.

McGrath involuntarily leant away from her, glancing towards the pub doorway as if he expected the non-existent husband to appear at any moment. ‘He doesn't know where you are, though?'

‘Hope not,' she said. ‘Sounds like he was in a similar line of business. I used to do all his admin. Legit and non-legit. Part of the trick was to launder some of the non-legit money through the other side of the business so it came out clean.'

McGrath regarded her with an expression that, compared to his previous lecherous glances, seemed almost respectful. ‘Didn't know you were that involved,' he said. ‘Though you came highly recommended. Capable and discreet.' He intoned the last three words as though reading a reference. ‘That's what I was told.'

‘Sounds about right,' she said. ‘You learned the fine art of discretion, working for my husband.'

‘I can see you're likely to be an asset to the business.' McGrath paused to take another peer at her legs. ‘In more ways than one.'

‘I'll do my best.'

He took another deep swallow of his pint. ‘Need all the help I can get, just at the moment, I can tell you. Things are moving. Lots of opportunities. But lots of threats, as well.' He spoke with the air of a management consultant reviewing a business plan. ‘Tricky times.'

‘How do you mean?'

He hesitated, glancing around the bar as if afraid of being overheard. There was no one sitting near them and the hubbub in the room was loud enough to ensure that his words wouldn't carry. ‘I reckon there's a chance to expand. Build market share. Some of the competition's – well, run into difficulties. Chance to steal some business before they regroup. Trouble is, there are plenty of others out there with the same idea.'

‘I'm not sure I follow.'

He paused again and took another look around. ‘You heard of a bloke called Jeff Kerridge?'

It took an effort of will to keep her face expressionless. She shook her head. ‘Means nothing.'

‘You're from down south,' he said. ‘He was a big deal up here. Lord of the manor, you might say.'

‘Was?'

‘Yeah. Don't know the whole story, but he was shot by some copper. Was all hushed up, but they reckon Kerridge had been paying off the filth. Maybe someone wanted him silenced.'

‘So what's this about?' she asked. ‘Carving up Kerridge's empire?'

‘Sort of. But it's a bit more complicated. Kerridge was killed last year. Everyone thought his business would fall apart, but it didn't. His wife took over and made a bloody good job of it, by all accounts.' McGrath's tone suggested that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. ‘Held everything together. Even carried on growing the business.'

‘So what's changed now?'

‘What's happened now is that the old lady's also kicked the bucket. Police are keeping a lid on it at the moment, but the word is that she was topped. Professional job.' McGrath looked up and caught her eye, as if he'd just realised that he might be talking too freely. ‘If you know what I mean.'

‘I know what you mean,' she said. ‘So you think someone's looking to take her place?'

‘Looks that way. Means that there might be opportunities to pick up some crumbs from the table.'

‘Suppose it depends who's dishing up,' she said. ‘If they're prepared to have Kerridge's wife killed, they sound pretty ruthless. Would you want to risk crossing them?'

McGrath looked uncomfortable. ‘Christ, no. That's not in my league. At the end of the day, I'm just a businessman. Got to be careful. I'm happy to sweep up anything I can, but I don't want to put anyone's nose out of joint. Like I say, there are opportunities and threats. There's some bad stuff going down out there.'

‘Like what?'

‘Nasty stuff. Killings. Beatings. Arson. People throwing their weight about.'

‘The same people who killed Kerridge's wife?'

McGrath shrugged. ‘Seems likely. But it's not just Kerridge. I've heard of a few small players – people like me – who've had problems. I just want to keep my head down and mop up any bits of business I can. I like a quiet life.'

‘Maybe you're in the wrong business, then,' she smiled.

‘Yeah, maybe,' he said, looking gloomily into his nearly empty glass. Then he looked up at her and laughed. ‘Couldn't do anything else, though. I like the ducking and diving. Keeps me young. Another?' He waved his glass in her direction.

‘Better not,' she said. ‘Not if I'm driving.' She realised, too late, that this sounded dangerously close to an invitation for McGrath to give her a lift. ‘And I've still got a stack of stuff to sort out at home.'

She was beginning to warm slightly to McGrath. He was a small-time grifter, but at least he knew it. He remained relentlessly buoyant in the face of whatever the world might throw at him, even if he was only just keeping his head above water. Even his lechery was straightforward. He'd chance his arm once or twice, she thought, and when she knocked him back he'd shrug and move on to another quarry.