Resolutions (27 page)

‘Oh yes, I see.' Adrienne took the card and inserted it into the reader. She frowned. ‘I thought her name was Carolyn.'

Rina didn't miss a beat. ‘Carolyn Johnson is her given name,' she said. ‘She was named after her mother.' She leaned in, confidentially. ‘They never really got along. We've always called her Karen. That would have been her father's choice. I said I'd call in and look around on my way to see her today. See what I thought. I must say, I'm very impressed.'

‘Thank you. Pin, please,' she turned the card reader towards Rina. ‘Well, we have talked about it, of course; she said her solicitor would be in touch this week.'

‘She'll be using Rawlinsons, I expect,' Rina said. ‘They arranged the purchase of her house recently.'

‘No, Deerhams, I think. Take your card, please. Now I'll need your address for delivery, and the artist usually sends the occasional catalogue to his customers, if that's all right?'

They left ten minutes later and Rina was frowning. ‘I think I gave more away about me than we found out that was useful. Still, couldn't be helped. At least we know what name she prefers to go by and the name of her solicitors. Now all we need is an address.'

Abe nodded. ‘I don't think the Kossof woman swallowed any of it,' he said.

‘Of course not. She's a businesswoman and she's the aunt by marriage of Igor Vashinsky. I imagine she's used to con artists.'

Abe could tell she was annoyed with herself. ‘Rina,' he said, ‘you did a good job. You've given us another lead and bought yourself a pretty picture.'

Rina scowled at him. ‘You didn't like my picture?'

‘Not a lot, no. I'm more of a Constable man, or Turner before he got all abstracty. Oh and I don't mind a nice Pre-Raphaelite. At least you can tell what it is.'

Rina shook her head. ‘Take me home, Abe Jackson,' she said. ‘Then go and investigate something: contact Deerhams and find out where Karen's house might be.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' Abe said. ‘Whatever you say. We are only here to serve.'

Alec had to wait before they'd let him in to see Billy Tigh. He'd been placed on the medical wing and, though he'd eaten well, slept soundly and watched television avidly – all normal behaviour for Billy Tigh – he'd said nothing more about the killing of Philip Rains. He'd been formally charged, received legal advice, been seen on a daily basis by the visiting psychiatrist, but shown no sign of remorse, concern or even acknowledgement of what he'd done. He'd certainly offered no explanation.

Alec had to get clearance from the psychiatrist before he was allowed to see Billy Tigh. They took him to the medical wing, settled him in a side room and brought Tigh in, a guard remaining by the door, both protector and chaperone.

Alec knew he was breaking with protocol by coming alone; maybe being around Mac, such breaches were catching. He hadn't let on to Wildman, but he too was angry with his friend. Mac had never been a team player, not really, but he'd at least given the impression of being so until now, and the doubt festered; what if he
had
told Wildman what was happening, alerted him to Peel's call? Would Cara Evans still be alive?

Alec, in his heart of hearts, believed that Wildman was more likely to have driven roughshod through Mac's attempt at negotiation and the result would have been the same. Alec could appreciate just why Mac had not taken Wildman into his confidence back then; he was having a harder time dealing with the fact that Mac had, this time, excluded Alec too.

Billy Tigh looked bored, as though he anticipated Alec's questions; the same ones had been asked time after time. Alec studied the young man. Light grey eyes stared back, non-committal and wary.

‘Tell me about Terry,' Alec said.

Tigh blinked, the wariness more emphatic.

‘I know about Brian Curtis,' Alec said. ‘What he did to your brother. Did he hurt you too, Billy?'

A slow, hesitant shake of the head.

Alec caught his breath, and the look on the guard's face told him this was totally unexpected.
Don't rush
, Alec counselled himself.
Take it easy
.

‘We know there were pictures of Terry and Brian Curtis.' He knew no such thing, but it was a reasonable bet.

A blink this time, wariness exchanged for something else. Something feral and angry.

‘Billy, can you tell me, do you know who took those pictures? Was it Philip Rains?'

He nodded then: a small, slight movement of the head. ‘He told me Rains did it. Took them pictures.' Billy's voice was hoarse, harsh.

‘Terry told you that?'

The feral look died. Boredom again. Alec knew he had missed the clue, overshot the mark.

‘Peel,' he said, mentally crossing his fingers. ‘Thomas Peel told you?'

Again, the sharp nod. ‘He told me. Rains took them pictures for him. Rains took all
his
pictures too, all them kids; he had a book, he said. Not like a real book, a book on the computer where people like that bastard Brian Curtis could order pictures off. Like it was a catalogue, he said. He laughed at me. A catalogue like me mum used to order stuff, clothes and stuff, like for Christmas. He took them pictures and Peel put them in his book. Our Terry, like he was a toy or a pair of jeans. He said he had loads of pictures.'

‘When did he tell you this, Billy? When did you talk to Thomas Peel?'

Billy shrugged. It didn't matter to him when. Just that he had. His gaze drifted from Alec to some point on the bare, green walls.

‘Billy,' Alec said, ‘was it before or after Terry killed himself?'

Attention snapped back, and Alec quailed beneath a look so intense and hate-filled that he glanced instinctively at the guard by the door and saw that he too had noted that change and was now tense, expecting trouble. Was this the look that Philip Rains had seen, just before he died? It occurred to Alec that the mode of death had been the same. Rains and Peel: a strange echoing, as though whoever had killed Peel had known where and how to strike, had seen . . .

He shoved the thought aside. It was irrelevant for the moment and also inaccurate when he thought about it. True, each man had died of a single stab wound, but Billy Tigh had walked up to Rains and driven the improvised blade home while looking straight into his victim's face. Peel's assailant had attacked him from behind.

‘Before,' Billy Tigh said, his voice small and strangled. ‘I was angry, told Terry. Terry didn't tell no one about what Brian done. Then Peel told me about the pictures, showed them to me, and I went to Terry, said I know and why hadn't he told me. He cried. I never seen my brother cry, not since we were kids. Then he topped himself. What else could I do when I found out Rains was 'ere? I waited, found a blade, did him.'

End of story. Not quite.

‘Billy?' His attention was sliding away; Alec could feel it. ‘Billy, how do you know Thomas Peel?'

Billy Tigh laughed. At least that's what Alec thought it was; the sound was painful, reluctant. ‘He was screwing Sara,' he said. ‘Sara knew me mum.'

Sara?
‘Sara Curtis? Brian's sister?'

‘Yeah, her. Sara.' The blankness returned then as Billy Tigh shut down once more and Alec knew he'd had everything he was going to get. Far more than he had hoped for. The links were revealing themselves now, and Alec was sure they had, as yet, only glimpsed the web.

He watched as Billy Tigh got to his feet and the guard led him away.

Leaving the prison, he phoned Wildman and gave him the news. Sara Curtis, he learnt was on her way to the police station to ‘help with enquiries'. Wildman listened without comment to what Alec told him, but Alec could feel the intensity of thought as Wildman took it in.

‘Best get yourself back here,' Wildman said at last. ‘Best she hear it from the horse's mouth that she's accused of screwing a child-killer as well as having a brother.'

Alec hadn't realized that possession of a sibling was now a criminal offence, but he decided to leave off baiting Wildman for now. His thoughts returned to Billy Tigh: that look, that anger, that grief. He pulled over, searched through his phone for the number of the psychiatrist and called him at home.

‘I think he'll end up like his brother,' Alec said as he explained what had happened. ‘Just thought you should know.'

‘What gives you that impression?'

Alec thought. ‘That's exactly what it is,' he agreed. ‘Just an impression.' How do you explain the look? That sense that they are just going through the motions of living. That they have already given up. Alec had once seen that look in Mac's eyes and it was not one he could forget.

‘I'll have them keep an eye,' the psychiatrist said, but Alec could tell he resented an outsider presuming to tell him his job and he had to leave it at that. He drove back to Pinsent, oddly disturbed by his meeting with Billy Tigh.

Mac called Rina that evening to let her know that all was well. Bridie Duggan was her usual hospitable self, and Miriam was feeling better in the shelter of her large house, within its walled garden and with its state-of-the-art security system, which Fitch had let Miriam play with.

‘It's all quiet here,' Rina said. ‘I talked to Andy and he said there'd been some calls from the media, so I expect all that will change, but they'll get short shrift in Frantham Old Town.'

‘True. Fitch will probably head back tomorrow. He'll give you a ring and so will I. Miriam sends her love.'

Rina set the phone back on its cradle, feeling better now she knew that Mac and Miriam were out of the way, though she could not help but feel troubled at how tired he sounded: so like the Mac she had first met, world weary and lost.

She hoped that everything would be more settled by Christmas. She'd give a great deal to have a normal, celebratory festive season, and then the promised trip to Manchester for early in the New Year – a few days' shopping and socializing with Bridie and Joy – would be lovely.

Tim mooched in, looking despondent. He was relieved that Joy had gone but was missing her terribly.

‘Oh my poor lovelorn boy,' Rina teased. ‘You've got it bad, haven't you?'

‘Terminally,' he agreed, brightening a little. ‘Rina, do you think it matters, me being older?'

‘No,' she said. ‘Joy knows her own mind. But, Tim, take it slow, enjoy it, don't rush headlong. You've been thrown together by circumstances that were far from ideal; take time to get to know one another now, to do the ordinary things.'

‘I will, Rina. Or, at least, I will if Joy does.' He bent to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Don't worry, Rina darling. I'm going to enjoy every single minute, just like you did with Frank, and I know if he was still here, that's what you'd still be doing, even now. I've had a good teacher.'

He left her then to get ready for work, and Rina dabbed the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes.

THIRTY-THREE

F
itch had originally decided to drive back on the Thursday morning, but circumstances intervened in the shape of Igor Vaschinsky.

‘He wants to talk to you,' Bridie told Mac. ‘No offence, but I'm not having that man in my house. I do have my standards. You can meet him at the club; you'll be safe enough there.'

‘Safe enough?'

She shrugged. ‘Better that than sorry. You sleep well?'

‘We did, thank you.'

‘She's a lovely girl, Miriam is. You going to make her an honest woman?'

‘I hope so,' he said, surprised to realize the truth of that. He'd never really thought in terms of marriage.

‘I think our Joy hopes for something similar,' she said.

‘Tim. Yes. They do seem to have become very close.' Mac was cautious.

‘He's a good man,' Bridie announced. ‘I'd like it better if they were a bit closer in age, but when I think of some of the idiots she's dated in the past, I just count my blessings, frankly. Mac, why is it that teenage girls always seem to go for the himbos and the bastards?'

‘Himbos?'

‘Male bimbos,' Miriam said, coming into the dining room. ‘Who's that, then?'

‘We were just talking about teenage girls. The boys they choose.'

‘Oh, don't,' Miriam shuddered. ‘Lord, when I look back, it's scary.'

‘Help yourself to breakfast, love. All on the sideboard. Mind you, I don't think I was any better. I met Jimmy when I was Joy's age, though, and that was it for me. Him too. I never had reason to worry.'

Fitch took his place at the table, Joy following behind with a plate piled high.

‘Hungry?' Mac asked.

‘Starving. I'm normally just toast or muesli, but this morning I could eat a horse.'

‘Don't give Bridie ideas,' Fitch warned. ‘So,' he continued, pouring himself some coffee. ‘What do you suppose Vaschinsky wants?'

‘Has to be something to do with Karen and Peel,' Mac speculated.

Fitch nodded slowly. ‘Abe turned up a few connections,' he said. ‘He thinks Vaschinsky's people delivered Peel to Karen. That she knew where he was but couldn't get to him; Vaschinsky, shall we say, facilitated.'

‘And Peel cooperated.' Mac frowned.

‘Not so odd,' Fitch said. ‘I think it's safe to assume that pressure was brought to bear on Peel, but that he'd also have the inclination. He liked that sort of challenge and, besides, Karen gave him access to you. Miriam, you remembered anything else about the house?'

‘Not over breakfast, Fitch,' Bridie said. ‘Let the girl eat.'