Soft Target (5 page)

'You're not on your own. You're with your gran and granddad.'

'You know what I mean,' said Liam. 'You don't want me.'

'Liam!' protested Shepherd.

'It's true! You never wanted me!' Liam dropped the ball and ran away.

'Liam, come here!' Shepherd shouted. One of his mobile phones rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. 'Liam, wait for me!' It was the Tony Nelson phone. The caller had blocked their number. 'Liam, God damn it, stay where you are!'

Shepherd yelled.

Liam stopped and turned to look at him. Tears were running down his cheeks. Shepherd pointed a warning finger at him,

then pressed the button to accept the call. It was a woman.

'Is that Tony Nelson?'

'Yeah,' said Shepherd.

'Larry said I should call you.'

'He told me I might be able to help you,' said Shepherd.

'What do you want?'

'I think you know,' she said.

'I hope you're not a time-waster.'

'It's just difficult. On the phone.'

'Do you want to meet?'

Liam stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Shepherd.

'Dad!' he shouted.

Shepherd pointed at him, then pressed a finger to his own lips, telling him to be quiet.

'I think so,' she said.

'You're Angie, right?'

She caught her breath. 'Larry told you my name?'

'Just that you were Angie, that's all. Look, Angie, you called me so that means you've already put a lot of thought into this. If we're going to go through with it there are things to discuss and that's best done face to face.'

'I'm not stupid,' said the woman.

'I'm not saying you are,' said Shepherd, 'but this is outside your normal experience so you're anxious. I understand that.

But I can't afford to have my time wasted so you have to decide if you want to move forward or forget the whole thing.

And to move forward, we have to meet.'

'Okay,' she said.

'So, do you need my help or not?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Yes, I do.'

'I hate you!' Liam shouted. He turned and ran across the playing-field in the direction of Tom and Moira's house.

'Where are you?' asked Angie, suddenly suspicious.

'In a park. There are kids here but no one's listening.'

'Who was that shouting?'

'Just a kid. Where do you live?'

She didn't reply.

'Are you there?' asked Shepherd, wondering if he'd lost the connection. Liam left the playing-field and ran along the pavement, arms pumping furiously. Shepherd wanted to run after him but he knew that if he spooked Angie there was a good chance she wouldn't call back. It was like reeling in a fish: he had to keep just the right amount of tension on the line. Any hint that there was a problem and he'd lose her.

He forced himself to ignore Liam and concentrate on the voice at the end of the line.

'I'm here. I just don't like you knowing too much about me.'

'If I don't know where you are, I'm not going to be able to help you, am I?'

'I guess not.'

'So tell me where you are and we'll arrange a meeting.'

He heard her take a deep breath. 'You know Piccadilly Gardens?'

'Of course.' It was the square in the city centre, terminus for the city's tram system.

'We'll meet there. This evening. Five o'clock.'

'It's too crowded,' he said. 'Too many people.' He looked at his watch. It was eleven thirty. Plenty of time to drive back to Manchester.

'I want there to be people around,' she said. 'Safety in numbers.'

'Look, Angie, this is my field of expertise. We need a place where we can talk. Piccadilly Gardens will be mobbed.'

'That's why it'll be safe. No one will pay us any attention.'

Shepherd cursed under his breath. He wanted her in his car so that he could record their conversation. If they were in a square filled with trams, daytrippers and shoppers, he'd have to wear a wire, and personal wires were unreliable at the best of times. But if he pressed the point too far she'd get suspicious.

'It's my way or we forget the whole thing,' she said, more confidence in her voice.

'Okay,' said Shepherd. 'Piccadilly Gardens, five o'clock.

How will I recognise you?'

'You won't,' she said. 'I want to take a good look at you first.'

'What are you worried about, Angie? Didn't your friend vouch for me?'

'Larry thinks the sun shines out of your arse, but I want to see who I'm dealing with.'

'Fine,' said Shepherd. 'I'll be wearing a black leather jacket,

grey pullover, black jeans, and carrying a copy of the Financial Times'

'This is like a blind date, isn't it?'

'Not really,' said Shepherd, coldly. He had to stay in character and Tony Nelson didn't flirt, didn't joke, didn't make small-talk. He was a stone-cold professional killer. 'I'll be by the fountain at five on the dot. If you haven't contacted me by ten past, I'm out of there.'

'I understand, Mr Nelson. And, believe me, I'm not wasting your time.'

She cut the connection and Shepherd put the phone back into his pocket. 'Game on,' he muttered. He picked up Liam's football and headed for Tom and Moira's house.

Moira was waiting for him at the door. 'Daniel, what on earth happened?'

'Nothing,' said Shepherd.

'Liam came back crying his eyes out.'

'Where is he?' asked Shepherd, squeezing past her.

'In his room.'

Shepherd went upstairs, carrying the football, and knocked on Liam's door. When there was no reply he tried to open it, but it was locked. 'Let me in, Liam.'

'Go away.'

'Please, Liam, I want to talk to you.' Shepherd pressed his ear to the door.

'Go away.'

'Look, I have to go back to Manchester.'

'So go.'

'It's work.'

'I don't care.'

Shepherd sighed. He looked at his watch again. 'I've got time for a coffee. Or we could have a go on the PlayStation.'

Moira came up the stairs. 'Daniel, maybe you should leave him be for a while,' she said quietly.

'He's my son, Moira,' said Shepherd. 'I know how to handle him.'

'Do you?' said Moira archly. 'Well if that's the case, why's he in there with the door locked, sobbing his eyes out?'

Shepherd glared at her, then turned back to the door. He knocked on it gently. 'Come on, Liam. Let's not be silly. I don't have long.'

'I hate you. I just want you to leave me alone.'

'Daniel . . .' said Moira.

Shepherd ignored her. 'I didn't want to answer the phone,

but it was important. I had to take the call. I wanted to talk to you, but this person might not have called back and it was important.'

There was no answer from Liam, but Shepherd heard a sniff.

'Liam, I love you more than anything. I'm sorry if I'm a bad father at the moment but I've a lot on my plate and this is all new territory for me.'

Shepherd put his ear against the door but Liam didn't say anything. 'I'll count to ten, okay? Then you can come out and we'll be friends again.'

Moira went back downstairs. Shepherd was ashamed at the way he'd spoken to her, but there were times when his mother-in-law's holier-than-thou attitude got on his nerves.

She meant well, but she hadn't worked since the day she'd married Tom, and the grand total of her life experience came down to her suburban friends, a weekly game of bridge and an annual holiday to either France, Spain or Italy. She had no idea of what Shepherd's life was like or the pressures he was under. Yes, he wanted to be a good father. Yes, he wanted to do the right thing by his son. But it was easy for her: she had Tom, his bank manager's salary and an index-linked pension a few years away. Shepherd had a job to do, a living to earn, and a woman in Manchester who wanted her husband dead.

Shepherd started counting. When he got to five he tapped on the door in time with the numbers. 'Six. Seven. Eight.

Nine. Ten.' Shepherd took a deep breath. 'Liam?' The door was so flimsy he could have knocked it down with one kick.

'Liam, please. At least give me a hug before I go.' He rested his forehead against the door and sighed. 'Okay. Look, I have to go, but I'll phone you this evening. I promise.'

Shepherd started downstairs but he had only gone a few steps when the bedroom door opened. Liam stood on the landing, his cheeks wet. Shepherd rushed back upstairs, bent down and picked up his son. 'I'm sorry I'm such a rubbish father,' he said.

'It's okay,' said Liam.

'I'm trying, I really am. Bear with me, until I get things sorted.'

'I just want to be with you, Dad.'

'I know you do.' He kissed Liam, then sniffed his hair.

'You need a bath,' he said.

'I know.'

'And wash behind your ears.'

'I always do.'

Shepherd lowered his boy to the floor. 'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

'Cross your heart?'

Shepherd solemnly crossed his heart.

'And you'll phone tonight before I go to sleep?'

Shepherd crossed his heart again. Liam nodded, satisfied.

Shepherd went downstairs.

Moira was in the kitchen, filling an earthenware teapot.

'Have you got time for tea, at least?' she asked.

'I've got to go, Moira. I'm sorry I snapped.'

'You didn't, Daniel. You just told an interfering old woman to mind her own business. Nothing wrong with that.' She finished pouring water into the teapot and replaced the lid.

She wanted to be mollified, Shepherd could tell. Self criticism was one of the overused weapons in Moira's extensive psychological armoury. 'You're not interfering, and I know you've only got his best interests at heart,' he said.

'We all have,' said Moira. She began wiping down the worktop, even though it was spotless. 'He's been through a lot and what he needs now, more than anything, is stability.'

'I'm getting there,' said Shepherd.

Moira opened her mouth, then evidently decided not to say anything. She carried on wiping.

'I'll phone tonight from Manchester,' he said.

'What's happening up there?'

'Just a job. It should be over this afternoon, then I'll be back in London.'

'What about Sue's things? I could come down one weekend.

Help you sort out the clothing and shoes. There are charity shops that will take them.'

'I'll do it,' said Shepherd. He kissed her left cheek awkwardly, then hurried down the hallway and out of the front door. She was right, of course. It was time to clear out Sue's clothes. Four months was a long time. He'd tried several times. He'd opened her side of the fitted wardrobe in the bedroom and even gone as far as taking out some of her clothes, but he'd never managed to throw any away. Somehow it seemed disloyal. They weren't just clothes, they were Sue's clothes. Everything she had, everything she'd touched, everything she'd worn - it was all a part of her and he wasn't prepared yet to discard anything. Or her.

He looked up as he climbed into the car and saw Liam standing at a bedroom window. Shepherd waved and flashed him a thumbs-up. Liam did the same and Shepherd grinned.

At least his visit hadn't been a complete disaster.

Shepherd parked on the top floor of a multi-storey car park close to Piccadilly Gardens and sat for ten minutes to see who drove up. There were housewives, families with children,

young couples out for a Saturday's shopping in the city centre. Eventually he locked the car and walked down to the third floor. The blue Transit surveillance van was in the corner furthest away from the stairs and lifts. Shepherd tapped the rolled-up copy of the Financial Times against his 40 leg as he walked over to it, knocked twice on the rear door and climbed inside. Hargrove was there with Jimmy Faley,

the young officer who'd been on the Hendrickson surveillance,

and an Asian technician whom Shepherd hadn't met before.

Hargrove took a swig from his plastic bottle of Evian water.

'This is Amar Singh,' he said. 'He's on attachment from the National Criminal Intelligence Service with some state-oftheart surveillance gear.' Shepherd shook Singh's hand.

'I can't imagine a worse place to record a conversation,'

said Singh.

'Yeah, it wasn't my choice,' said Shepherd. He nodded at Faley and sat down on a plastic stool.

Singh pushed a black attache case across the metal floor.

'Make sure the briefcase is as close to her as possible,' he said.

'You don't have to teach me to suck eggs,' said Shepherd.

'I'm not teaching you to suck anything,' said the technician,

'but its effective range is down to three feet on the outside and I wouldn't want you blaming me if all we pick up is traffic. I'd be happier if you were wearing a wire, too.'

'She's jumpy enough to pat me down,' said Shepherd.

'In a crowded square?'

'A lover's hug, hands down my back, a quick grope between the legs, all she's got to do is touch something hard and she'll be off.'

'She might just think you're pleased to see her,' said Singh.

Shepherd gave him a tight smile. 'I've got better things to be doing on a Saturday afternoon, believe me,' he said. He looked at Hargrove. 'Long-range mikes?'

'We'll have two guys on top of the office blocks overlooking the square, but I don't hold out much hope. There's a lot of noise out there.' He pointed at the case. 'That's our best hope.'

4i Shepherd clicked the twin combination locks and examined the interior. It was lined with a light brown fake suede material and had pockets for pens, business cards and a small calculator. He took out the calculator and examined it. There was nothing unusual about it. He put it back into its pocket,

then inspected the exterior. It looked like an ordinary attache case. 'Okay, I give in,' he said. 'How does it work?'

Singh grinned. 'The batteries and transmitter are built into the body of the case, and there's a recording chip in there as back-up in case we lose transmission. There's no way anyone will find it, short of cutting the leather. There are two microphones, one in each lock. You set the combinations to nine-nine-eight to open, nine-nine-nine to start transmitting.'