Nowhere to Hide (25 page)

Amateur. Caught up in the moment, the intruder had made no effort to conceal his presence or even appear inconspicuous. He clearly had no intention of returning to the house. Instead, he shuffled his way back down the street to where his car was parked.

It was disturbing. Not just that this had happened but that they – whoever they might be – had entrusted the job to such a buffoon. They'd underestimated her, though he knew how easy it was to do that.

In the distance, he heard the sound of the intruder's car starting, and wondered whether to follow it. But he had his instructions. He would report back on what had happened and allow them to make the decision.

For long minutes he remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty house, until he felt safe to move. Finally, he concluded that any residents drawn to their windows by the two cars pulling away would have returned, unenlightened, to their televisions or evening meals.

Then, hidden in the shadows but moving with an unhurried nonchalance, he made his way out of the estate towards the nearby pub where his own car was unobtrusively parked.

She was woken at seven by two competing sounds – a gentle knocking at the bedroom door and the furious buzzing of her mobile on the bedside table. Half-awake – these days, it felt as if she spent most of her life half-awake – she rolled over and grabbed the phone, simultaneously calling towards the door; ‘Yes?'

‘You ready to wake up?' Brennan asked from outside.

‘Yes. Thanks.' She peered at the screen. A missed call. Lizzie. Why the hell was Lizzie calling her at seven in the morning?

‘Shower's free if you want it,' Brennan called. ‘Cooking bacon butties, so don't be long.'

Jesus, she thought. A domestic god. Or maybe trying a bit too hard to impress. If only he knew how easy she was to impress these days. Or how few people were trying.

She dragged herself from the bed and threw on the dressing gown. A woman's dressing gown, too small for Brennan. None of her business. Definitely none of her business.

She soaked herself for a few minutes under a scalding shower, as hot as she could bear it. She felt as if the previous evening's events had left her with a need to cleanse herself, literally to wash the scent of fear and anger off her body.

She'd slept better than she'd expected, too. Now she felt – well, some fear, certainly. Some bastard had tried to kill her and might have succeeded. But mostly she felt anger. A cold fucking fury at the man who had broken into her house and come so close to taking her life. And at those who had paid him to do it.

Brennan was in the kitchen, already dressed in a slightly-too-smart pastel shirt and expensive-looking trousers. Marie knew and cared little about clothes, at least by comparison with most other women that she knew, but she could recognise quality when she saw it.

He was arranging rashers of freshly grilled bacon on neatly sliced bread. ‘Thought you might feel like something solid after last night,' he said.

‘You mean the wine or the attempted killing?'

He pushed one of the laden plates towards her. ‘I was thinking mainly of the killing thing,' he said. ‘But you might want to soak up the wine, too. Coffee?'

‘Please. I think I'm okay. As well as can be expected, anyway.' She took a grateful bite of the sandwich. It was exactly what she needed. Something simple, salty, filling. Something
ordinary.

He poured coffee from a filter machine into two mugs, then sat down opposite her and began to chew on his own sandwich. ‘You sure you're ready to go back there? It wasn't just the wine talking?'

‘No, I'm fine. Really. He won't come back. Not today, anyway.'

‘You can come back here tonight if you like. Hope that doesn't need saying.'

She smiled. ‘That's kind of you, Jack. I'm very grateful. I don't know. I need to find out what Salter's got in mind for me.'

‘You think he'll try to keep you up here?'

‘Depends what his game is, doesn't it? I was very conveniently positioned last night for someone to have a go at me.'

‘Even if that's true, he can't try it twice,' Brennan pointed out. ‘Once you tell him what happened – put it on the record, I mean – he's got to take you out of the field.' He paused. ‘You are
going
to put it on the record?'

Until he'd asked the question, she hadn't even thought about it. ‘Yes, of course. I've got to. I couldn't call the police last night because that would have set too many hares running. But I've got to tell Salter. Make sure it's made formal. And you're right. Salter will have to take me out of the field. Whoever's behind this – whatever's behind it – I've been compromised somehow.' She paused. ‘I'm going to tell him I'm heading back home whether he likes it or not.'

‘That's good. And make it official. Quickly. If Salter is involved in all this, you want to make sure it can't happen again.'

‘I can get into the secure network on my laptop. File a report online. I'll do it before I speak to Salter.'

Brennan glanced at his watch. ‘I need to go in a minute. Stay as long as you like. You can let yourself out. And if you decide you want to come back here tonight, that's fine.'

‘Thanks, Jack. Once I've spoken to Hugh, I think I'll just pack up and head back south. Whatever he says. He can sort out the police up here.'

Brennan looked at her for a moment, and she thought that there might have been a trace of regret mixed in with his obvious relief. Maybe his offer of shelter hadn't been entirely altruistic. And maybe, sitting here in yesterday's grubby clothes with her wet hair unbrushed, she was indulging in some mild wishful thinking.

‘Anyway,' Brennan said, ‘keep me posted. About everything. I'll do the same. Whatever Salter's up to, I still feel my chain's being jerked. It's not a feeling I like.'

‘I'll keep you posted,' she promised. ‘And thanks again, Jack. Really. You kept me sane last night. I was more shaken than I realised.'

‘Didn't do much except pour you a glass of wine. But you're welcome. Anytime.'

After he'd gone, she sat in the silent kitchen, chewing the remains of her bacon sandwich, helping herself to a second coffee. She had to decide what to do next. It felt strange. She'd hardly got herself into this job, hadn't even properly thought herself into the character of Maggie Yates. And yet now she felt as if a rug had been pulled from under her. She'd been geared up for months of life undercover, creating a new personality, a new life. The slow painstaking work needed to make a covert operation work. Without realising she was doing it, she'd already begun to adjust her thinking, get herself ready for immersion into a new world.

And now she was being dragged back into real life and everything that went with it. Especially Liam. And everything that went with Liam.

Okay, she had to get back to her house. Get on to the secure network – assuming that last night's murderous bastard hadn't waltzed off with her laptop – and submit her report before Salter could do anything to prevent it. Then speak to Salter. Then call home and see how things were with Liam.

And Lizzie.

Shit, she'd forgotten Lizzie's call. She couldn't begin to think, even now she was wide awake, why Lizzie should have called her. She'd left no message. It wasn't a good sign if the only person she could think to call was someone she'd only known for a couple of days.

She pulled out her mobile and found Lizzie's number. The phone rang a couple of times and then a voice said: ‘Yes?' She sounded tense, suspicious. The voice of someone expecting an abusive phone call.

‘Lizzie?' Just in time, Marie remembered to revert to her undercover identity. ‘It's Maggie. Are you okay? Did you try to call me?'

There was a pause, and then an indrawn breath. ‘Maggie. Oh, thanks for phoning back.'

‘What is it? Is something wrong?'

‘‘I'm probably just being stupid. It's just – well, you know, everything that's happened. I'm not thinking straight.'

‘Where are you? Are you still at the flat?'

‘Yes. That's just it. I was here alone last night. Katy decided to stay over at her boyfriend's.'

It felt as if someone had run a cold finger slowly down Marie's spine. ‘What is it, Lizzie? Did something happen?'

‘I'm probably just imagining it—'

‘What, Lizzie? What happened?'

‘I woke in the night. Don't know why – I'm not usually a light sleeper. But I got up to get some water. As I was going through the hall, I heard a noise at the front door. A scraping.' She paused, gathering her breath. ‘I thought it was someone trying to break into the flat.'

‘What happened?'

‘It went on for a bit, and I was wondering what to do. Whether to call the police. Then it suddenly stopped. The people in the next door flat have a dog, and I could hear it barking. Whoever it was probably got scared off.'

Marie took a deep breath. ‘Did you call the police?'

‘No, I just waited. I listened hard but there was nothing else. I thought the police would think I was making a fuss about nothing. That I was under stress.' She gave a not-particularly-convincing impression of a laugh. ‘I probably am. I'm not sure I wasn't just half-asleep and just imagined the whole thing. I'm just feeling a bit messed up, Maggie.'

‘You've been through a hell of a lot in the last few days. What time did all this happen?'

‘Threeish, maybe. In the end, I went back to bed and hid under the bedclothes. I don't think anyone could get in through that door anyway. It's pretty solid and we had some strong locks put in because Katy's dad was worried about us living here on our own. I kept telling myself that.'

‘You should have called me straight away,' Marie said.

‘I thought you'd just think I was being hysterical as well,' Lizzie said. ‘I didn't want to disturb you at that time of night. Not two nights in a row.' Her laugh this time was slightly more genuine, even if tinged with bitterness.

‘I'll come round,' Marie said. ‘Make sure everything's all right.'

‘You don't need to, really—' Lizzie stopped. ‘But I'd like it if you did.'

‘I'll be there as quickly as I can,' she said. ‘I'll be a little while because I'm up in Manchester. Long story,' she added, conscious that it wasn't a story she could share with Lizzie.

It took her the best part of forty minutes to reach Lizzie's flat. On Marie's previous visit, Lizzie had buzzed her in immediately. Now, in response to the doorbell, Lizzie's voice emerged cracklingly from the speaker by the door. ‘Who is it?'

‘It's me. Maggie.'

Marie made her way slowly up the stairs. By the time she reached the first floor, Lizzie was standing at the door of the flat, scrutinising the face of the wood and the edges of the doorframe. ‘I've not dared come out till now,' she said.

Marie peered past her at the door. There were minor scratches in the door and frame next to the lock. If someone had tried to break in, it looked as if they hadn't got very far. ‘Are those new?' Marie asked.

‘I think so.' The door was in need of a new coat of paint, so the damage round the lock wasn't initially obvious. The lock itself was new and looked solid. ‘I'm pretty sure that wasn't there last night.'

‘Looks like you were right, then,' Marie said. She straightened up and looked around her. ‘How would they have got into the lobby?'

‘It's not all that secure. If you buzz a few bells, someone will open the door without checking. Or you hang around outside until someone else comes in and you give the impression you're visiting someone or you've left your downstairs key behind. I've done it once or twice when I've forgotten my key. Most of the flats are rented so people come and go all the time. Nobody knows who else lives here.'

‘But it was the middle of the night,' Marie pointed out. ‘Who'd let someone in then?'

‘You'd be surprised,' Lizzie said, leading them inside the flat. ‘We've got some students. A few unemployed. You see lights on all times of the night.'

‘What do you think, then?' Marie asked. ‘Attempted burglary?'

Lizzie continued through to the kitchen, while Marie closed the front door behind them. Lizzie seemed a different person from the distraught young woman she'd sat with the previous day. Not as if she'd overcome the shock of McGrath's death – let alone the additional terrors of the previous night – but still much more in control. Older, almost. It was an odd transition, especially since the events of the night could hardly have helped her feel more comfortable.

Lizzie was already at the sink filling the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee?' she asked, without looking back.

‘Tea, please.' Marie lowered herself on to one of the kitchen chairs. She watched Lizzie carefully, trying to read her body language. Even that seemed different. The previous day she'd been hunched, fearful, her thin arms wrapped around her chest as if to protect herself from harm. Now, Lizzie was standing upright, as if she were ready to take whatever the world might throw at her.

She brought the two mugs of tea to the table and sat down opposite Marie.

‘You sure you're okay?' Marie asked.

Lizzie nodded, eyes fixed on Marie's face. ‘Thanks for coming round. It means a lot. More than you know, maybe.' She paused. ‘I've not been entirely straight with you.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘I told you about Andy. About what he did for me. And for my mum. All of that was true. He was a decent man, underneath it all. Decent to me, anyway.' She paused, and a regretful smile played across her face. ‘But I didn't tell you the whole truth. I said Andy had been a contact of my dad's. He was more than that. They were business partners, except that my dad was – what do you call it? – a sleeping partner. Because of what he did.'