Nowhere to Hide (19 page)

‘Yeah. Course. I'll be in touch.'

Barker patted Kenny on the shoulder, slipping something into his hand in the same movement. ‘For your trouble,' he said. ‘Take care, eh, Kenny. Bad people out there.'

‘Right enough.' Kenny had begun to push through the crowds of drinkers. He was looking back over his shoulder. Not at the two police officers. Beyond them, towards the far end of the bar.

‘Got scared,' Brennan said. ‘Saw someone.'

Barker was scanning the room. ‘No one I know. But I thought the same.'

‘How'd he strike you? Before that, I mean.'

‘Not his usual cheery self, if that's what you mean. Usually pretty full of his own importance. Didn't see much of that tonight. Not particularly forthcoming about Boyle, either.'

‘No. Well, didn't expect too much on that front. He confirmed what we'd been thinking, even if he wasn't brimming over with detail.'

‘He was nervous from the start tonight. Twitchy in a way I've not seen before.'

‘Maybe it was me,' Brennan suggested. ‘Having a total stranger at the table isn't the best way to put a grass at ease.'

‘That sort of thing doesn't usually faze Kenny too much. Looks to me like Boyle's got everyone nervous.' He paused, looking thoughtful. ‘If he's right about Boyle having some senior coppers in his pocket, Kenny won't know who to trust.'

Brennan swallowed the last of his pint. ‘In that respect,' he said, ‘young Kenny can join the fucking club.'

‘How's it going, sis? You fending off McGrath's advances all right?'

‘I can handle you, Hugh, so I can handle Andy sodding McGrath. Well, I'm in. Feet under the table. Don't know how much we're going to find, though.' She was sitting in the poky little kitchen at the rear of the poky little house, a newly poured glass of some Australian Shiraz in front of her.

Bloody typical. She'd got in, kicked off her shoes, poured the wine and started to think about supper, when Hugh bloody Salter had texted her to call him. As she thumbed in the number – no significant numbers were kept in her contacts list – she realised how reluctant she was to make the call. Even the sound of Salter's voice made her uneasy.

‘Know you won't let us down, sis.'

‘Not planning to, Hugh. I just don't know how much we'll find there. He's small-time.'

‘You never know. He's got connections. We'll get leads from him.'

‘Maybe,' she said, doubtfully. ‘You wanted something?'

‘Just to check how you were.'

‘Very thoughtful, Hugh. All heart.'

‘All okay, though?'

‘As well as can be expected. Don't worry, Hugh. I'm coping.'

‘Well, if you need anything . . .'

Don't bother to ask, she thought. She supposed it was decent of Salter to enquire, but he was just going through the motions. He'd read somewhere that it was what bosses should do. ‘Thanks, Hugh.'

‘How'd you find Brennan?'

‘All right. Smart, pleasant–'

‘Good looking?'

‘If you like that kind of thing,' she said.

‘Able to help him?'

‘Don't know. He was just trying to get some background.'

‘Probably a wild goose chase, like you said. But he was keen to meet you. How did you leave it?'

She was tempted to let Salter know that Brennan wanted to see her again. But Brennan had clearly wanted to keep that to himself. ‘Happy for him to get back in contact if he's any specific questions. But I don't know that he will.'

‘You'll get another chance to gaze on those handsome features at some point, sis.'

‘Bugger off, Hugh. Some of us are actually trying to do our job.'

‘If you say so, sis. I'll be in touch in a week or so to touch base. Let me know if there's anything you need.'

‘Don't worry, Hugh. You're always first on the list.'

She slipped the secure phone back in her pocket. Then she took out her domestic phone and dialled the home number. She was half expecting that it would ring out. But it was answered almost immediately. ‘Hello?'

‘Hi, Sue. It's Marie.' She glanced at her watch. Nearly eight. What was Sue still doing there? ‘How are things?'

‘He's back at home. That's the main thing. They discharged him this morning, once the consultant had seen him, so I drove him back.'

‘That's very good of you, Sue. Thought you'd be working today.'

‘I booked a day off. They could have brought him home in the ambulance, but I wanted to make sure things were properly ready.'

‘I'm really grateful, Sue. But we can't expect you to keep–'

‘I've told you, Marie. This is more than just a job for me. I do it to earn a living, but with the really needy cases like Liam – well, I don't mind going beyond the call of duty.'

Marie could feel herself bridling. ‘Well, if you're sure it's not too much trouble.'

‘No trouble at all. I enjoy looking after Liam. And he's very appreciative of everything that I do.'

‘How is he?'

‘Better than he was a few days ago. A bit more his old self. But it's really knocked it out of him.'

‘Is he able to talk to me?'

There was the briefest of pauses, but enough to suggest that Sue had been considering her excuse. ‘He's asleep at the moment. I gave him some food when he first got in, and then he dozed off. It's all been a bit of a strain. Even getting back today. You know how difficult it's getting to help him in and out of the car.'

‘Well, maybe if he wakes up before you go, you could ask him to give me a call.'

‘Of course. I can help him do it. Will your phone be switched on?'

Marie bit back a sharper response. ‘I'll leave it on all evening. If you go before he wakes, could you leave him a note?'

Another pause. ‘Yes, of course. Though I don't know whether he'll do it if I'm not here to prompt him.'

At first, Marie thought that this was another of Sue's coded attacks. Why would Liam want to call someone who wasn't even there when she was needed? But there was an awkwardness in Sue's voice.

‘How do you mean?'

‘It's just that, since we got back, he seems less responsive than before. As if he doesn't want to do anything. Even eating. I had to keep prompting him to take the next mouthful. He'd sit there, looking at the plate, as if he'd forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.'

Marie could think of no immediate response. This sounded worse, a lot worse, than when she'd last seen Liam. There'd been signs of the passivity that the neurologist had warned about. But only occasional and momentary. Small lapses where his attention would seem to wander, or when he'd fail to respond to something she'd said or done. Things you'd hardly notice if you weren't watching out for them. ‘You think he seems different from before?'

‘A bit, maybe. It's hard to tell. He's been very tired today. Maybe he'll be better tomorrow, when he's had some proper sleep. You know what it's like in hospital. You never get a decent rest.'

‘Don't worry about him calling tonight, then,' Marie said. ‘I'll call again tomorrow evening.'

‘I'm back at work tomorrow,' Sue said, ‘so I'll just be here for the three formal visits. Might be easiest if I call you when we get here for the evening visit. Then you won't disturb him if he's asleep.'

There was nothing Marie could say to this. She felt resentful, as if she were already being excluded from her own home. But Sue's suggestion was reasonable. ‘Okay, Sue. I'll make sure the phone's on tomorrow evening as well. Hope he's a bit better tomorrow.'

She ended the call and took a large swallow from the wine glass. Christ, this couldn't go on. She was fooling herself, thinking she could continue in this role, trying to ignore what was happening with Liam. His condition was continuing to deteriorate, faster than she'd ever envisaged. He needed looking after, and she couldn't simply leave that to Sue, however well-intentioned she might be.

Without noticing it, she'd already finished the glass of wine. There was nothing she could do now. Not tonight. She could sit and think and brood, but that wouldn't help anyone. Better to put it off, drink some more wine, dig out a trashy DVD. Then think about it properly in the morning when her mind was less tired and fogged.

She poured herself a second glass of wine, raised the glass and stared at it for a moment. Then she downed it in one.

‘What? Hang on.'

Marie rolled over in the bed, tangled in the duvet, trying to work out what time it was. She'd answered the phone before she'd woken properly, the shrill ringtone infiltrating her dream. She dragged herself to a sitting position. ‘Sorry, who is this?'

‘It's me. Lizzie.'

Lizzie? Who the hell was Lizzie? For a moment, the name rang nothing more than a vague bell.

‘Lizzie from the office.'

Oh, that Lizzie. Lizzie who worked for McGrath. What the hell was that Lizzie doing calling her at – she squinted at the digital clock on the bedside table – 3.40 in the morning?

‘Lizzie. Sorry. Still half-asleep. I didn't know you had my number.'

‘Andy gave it to me when I was setting up the interview. I put in my phone so I wouldn't lose it.' It occurred to Marie, as her mind was gradually clearing, that Lizzie didn't sound fully in control. There was a shrill edge to her voice. A note of slight hysteria.

‘Is everything okay?'

She could hear Lizzie gulping for air. ‘Really, really sorry to disturb you, Maggie. I didn't know who else to call–'

‘What's wrong?'

‘It's the office. A fire. I've just had a call from the company who own the building.' Another gulp. ‘Everything's gone, apparently. They're still fighting the blaze, but that part of the building's gutted.'

‘Christ. Where's Andy?'

‘That was why they called me. They've been trying to contact Andy for the last hour or so, but his phone's turned off and there's no answer on his home line. They had my name and number as a backup, so they called me. Andy's still not answering.

‘He's probably asleep,' Marie said. ‘He'll have his phone charging or something. I'm sure there's no need to worry.'

‘That's what I thought,' Lizzie said. ‘So I came out to his house. He's not here. I've been ringing the bell. And there's no sign of his car. He usually leaves it parked outside. That's why I called you. I didn't know what else to do.'

‘Maybe he's staying with friends or something. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.' She spoke gently to calm the young girl's evident panic. But her own unease was growing. After her earlier conversation with McGrath, this felt like a hell of a coincidence. ‘Why don't you get home, Lizzie? We'll know more in the morning. The police will have tracked Andy down by then.'

‘I can't just do that. What if something's happened to him? I was going to head up to the office.'

‘I don't know if that's a good idea. The fire service aren't going to want–'

‘They called me, Maggie. The landlord wanted me to get Andy up there. If I can't find Andy, I should go myself.'

This was a different sounding Lizzie, Marie thought. Panic subsiding, beginning to rise to the occasion. Taking on responsibility in a way that wouldn't have seemed possible when Marie first met her. ‘Okay, Lizzie. I'll come over too. At least we can give each other some moral support. Meet you up there.'

‘Thanks, Maggie. I was really hoping you'd say that.'

‘Don't worry. I'll see you in twenty minutes or so.'

Marie lay in the semi-darkness, watching the line of light thrown through a gap in curtains from a street light outside. One
hell
of a coincidence, she thought.

It was unusual for him to be up late. But sometimes, like tonight, he would sit up into the small hours poring over the documents relating to his current assignment. He liked to work through it all systematically, make sure he'd covered every eventuality. He kept the documents no longer than he had to. He would spend the early days of a new assignment working through whatever material his clients had provided – background information, details of home address and place of work, photographs of the target and other relevant individuals. He committed those to memory. When he was confident he had memorised every line, every word in the files, he would painstakingly destroy them, shredding the papers and burning the remnants.

At the same time, he would be adding material of his own. He took endless photographs of the locations where he would be working – his target's home, workplace, the surrounding areas, places where he might choose to take action. He reviewed the countless images and created detailed, hand drawn plans of the key locations and buildings. He used online mapping tools and satellite images to explore the surrounding area, identifying suitable positions for his purposes. He made detailed notes of his surveillance, identifying patterns and routines of activity, preparing to choose the most appropriate plan of action.

That was what he was doing at four o'clock in the morning. Sitting at the rickety table in the shabby basement flat he was renting. He preferred a house or a flat on the lower floors so that he could come and go however he liked without arousing the interest of other residents. He had enough money to live wherever he wanted, but he had to select places where his temporary presence would not attract attention. These were usually downmarket, occupied by people whose lives were, for whatever reason, as transient as his own.

He didn't know what made him glance at his phone. It was late. He was finally growing tired. His head was beginning to feel fogged by the data that he'd systematically ingested. He walked through to the kitchen to get a glass of water, trying to decide whether to call it a night. As he stood running the tap, he looked idly at his smartphone. Something led him to open up the application linked to the tracking device on her car.