‘Do you ever think about the animals, Peter?’
‘What d’you say?’ he growled.
‘The animals. Do you ever think of them playing in some field rather than turning on your spit?’
But he was way too far gone for such things. ‘Listen. You want the kebab or you no want the kebab?’
‘I want the kebab.’
I did. Vegetarianism would mean not only no more lamb, but no more Peter. I decided to decide tomorrow. Or the next day. Blessed are the weak, for they make the strong feel even more righteous.
The flat felt cold and unlived in. Tough shit, Hannah, you make your decisions, you pay the price. But there were a few words of welcome. On the answering machine the ‘message received’ light was winking 2 coquettishly at me. I spooled it back.
Number one. ‘Hi, Hannah. Why don’t you get out of the bath? It’ll be worth the walk.’ Frank, like Peter, a little the worse for wear. I saw him, feet on the desk, nursing the bottle of Glenfiddich from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. ‘OK. I thought you’d like to know that Shepherd has been trying to get in touch with you. Says it’s urgent. I gave him your number. Maybe he’s worried that now you’ve met her you’ll side with the wife.’So Frank knew the sordid details, too. I bet the boys had enjoyed telling him that one. I was glad I hadn’t been in on the conversation.
The machine beeped. Number two. ‘Hello. This is Tom Shepherd. We need to talk. I’ll be at home from midday.’
You see. It was just as well I’d come home alone. We would have been goosing each other all the way up the stairs, and then I would have lost interest. That’s the trouble with my job. There’ll always be another man. Tom Shepherd. About bloody time.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Love Hurts
I got there on the dot of twelve. For a workaholic he was spending a lot of time at home. I hadn’t been back there since that night. I needn’t have worried. There was nothing left to remind me. The windows in the houses near by had all been replaced and another car was parked in the spot. Nothing so forgotten as yesterday’s news.
But if places don’t remember, people do. Shepherd opened the door with the chain still on and he looked awful. The five o’clock shadow had four days’ more growth and his skin was like pastry that had been rolled too many times. As grief goes, his now seemed more devastating than his wife’s. But then he had no one to love him through it. I had learnt a lot more about Tom Shepherd since our last meeting. On balance it ought to have made me more sympathetic. I had once had a lover who had discovered the other sex halfway through our affair; but it was a long time ago, and I hadn’t been married to him for thirteen years. No question. Tom Shepherd certainly deserved sympathy. Problem was, I was still having trouble feeling any.
He led me into the sitting room. I had seen it a million times since that night. Now I saw it again, Mattie crashed out on the sofa, the remote in her hand, angry at everyone because she couldn’t be angry at the ones who mattered.
I chose a chair. He sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, like someone under starter’s orders. He launched straight into it, at first not even looking at me, just staring at the carpet, giving it a hard time.
‘I want you to stop talking to people. You have no right to be talking to people. It’s not going to help anyone.”
‘You mean it’s not going to help you?’
‘I don’t know who you think you are. She wasn’t your daughter. You only met her for a few hours. It doesn’t help—what you’re doing. It makes everything worse.’ Of course there are scientists who give up words in favour of symbols. But I hadn’t figured him for one of those. Maybe it was the pain that had decimated his language, making him sound like a child. Even the voice had a ring of petulance to it. ‘I told you this once already. This whole thing is none of your business.’
I could think of a number of replies to that one, but we weren’t going to get anywhere if I let him get to me. ‘How did you know?’ I said after a while.
He closed his eyes. ‘Edward Brayton.’ I frowned. ‘The farmer in the pub yesterday. He rang to tell me some girl had been poking around asking questions. He thought she was animal rights posing as a journalist. I think she was you.’
Well, it didn’t take a Nobel prize-winner to work that one out. I was animal rights, was I? Thinking back on it, Farmer Brayton had done a pretty good job of tying me in knots. No wonder. So, had all that stuff about the poor little piggies been for real, or simply a clever way of winding me up?
‘He told me some interesting things about AAR,’ I said, to see what kind of reaction I would get.
‘AAR has got nothing to do with anything. You don’t know what you’re talking about. If animal rights were worried about performance boosters, they would have blown up a dozen people before they tried me. It’s just another farming aid.’
‘Fine. So if it wasn’t AAR, what was it?’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t know. And I don’t care. Don’t you hear what I’m saying? Finding out why they did it doesn’t bring her back. I want you to leave her and me alone. You’ve already done enough damage.’
I looked at him. I could see where she got her stubbornness. But I also knew about my own. ‘And what does that mean?’
‘It means I paid you a lot of money to keep my daughter safe.’
‘But she’s dead and I’m alive, is that it? Well I’m sorry that I didn’t get blown to bits too. No doubt that would have made things better for you, wouldn’t it?’
I meant it as sarcasm, but maybe it was the truth. Maybe having me on his conscience would have been easier than having me here in the flesh accusing him of something, but not knowing what. It certainly felt that way.
‘I’m warning you, Miss Wolfe. If you persist in bothering me or my friends, I’ll be forced to bring in the police.’
And tell them what? Of course, he shouldn’t have said it. He should have realized it would only make me mad. But then to be honest I don’t think he was thinking that clearly. I was, though.
‘Tell me, Dr Shepherd, what kind of papers do you keep up in your study?’
‘What?’
‘I mean do you have stuff there that might be of interest to the ALF?’
‘What do you mean?’ And I have to tell you, he was very nervous all of a sudden.
‘I mean it looks like you do. You’ve got enough locks on the doors. And I believe you were burgled—sometime last year, wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
It wasn’t that I smelt blood, so much as revenge. I was about to do something that I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be proud of later. But that would be then, and now was now. And I had had it with men giving me lectures about my responsibilities. ‘I’m talking about the fact that your daughter was having an affair with a boy who once worked undercover at Vandamed. This boy then came to Mattie’s school as a gardener, got to know her, and got her interested in animal rights. Her locker was full of pamphlets. Then he persuaded her to start digging up some stuff on her dad—the dad whose obsession with work had, in her eyes, sent her mother off with another woman and her off to boarding school. All so he could get on with his precious research.’
And you could see from his face that whatever he had feared, this was somehow worse. He swallowed a couple of times, and I watched his neck muscles work overtime as the saliva made a painful journey down his throat. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re saying,’ he said at last.
‘Haven’t I? Then I suppose you can explain why I found Mattie in your study before she died going through your filing cabinets. And I have to tell you she certainly looked as though she’d found what she was looking for.’
Only now did his defences really crumble. He looked across at me and his face was ashen. He got up slowly and turned away, moving slowly, like a man who has suffered some kind of stroke. He stood with his hand on the back of a chair to hold himself up. I began to realize just what I had done.
‘Did she say
anything?’ The voice was hoarse.
‘No, nothing. Listen, Dr Shepherd, I don’t mean to cause you pain, but if you’d just tell me what it is you’re trying to hide, I promise you I’ll find the men who killed her.’
And I meant it. He turned. And for the first time he looked like someone I might have been able to talk to. Except he still didn’t want to talk to me. ‘I … I need some time on my own right now. If you don’t mind.’
I sat for a moment, hoping my stillness might change his mind, but he already seemed to have forgotten I was there. I got up slowly and gathered my things. At the door I turned. ‘Dr Shepherd, I don’t believe that Mattie set out to hurt you. But whoever put that bomb under your car did. And if you don’t tell me what it is you know, then I really think it’s possible they might try again.’
Well, it was a good line. It would have made me listen. But he was beyond hope. Now, too late, I felt sympathy. Bad timing. Life’s full of it. I closed the front door behind me, making sure the locks slipped into place.
I walked slowly towards my car, past the spot where she had become my future as well as my past. I wanted to get as far from it as possible, but once in the car I found myself paralysed in the driving seat. I looked back up to the house. A light went on in the study. Tom Shepherd following in his daughter’s footsteps, checking the files for what he might have lost. He had his guilt, I had mine. In that same room I had interrupted the phone call between Mattie and her activist. And so she had put down the receiver too quickly, taken the car keys and walked out to her death. Not all my fault. But how many people can one blame for a single action? Shepherd was standing in the window. He was holding something in his hand. I got out of the car and walked across the street to get a better look. He didn’t notice me. He was too busy talking on the telephone.
I went back to the office. After the elegance of Maida Vale, it looked even tattier than usual. It always does after I haven’t been there for a couple of days. Neither had Frank from the look of it. It was getting on for one o’clock. Either he was out on a job, or just out. If it was the latter, he wouldn’t be hard to find.
He was sitting in a corner with a half-pint in front of him, the mobile on the seat next to him. I wondered if he was depressed. I can usually tell the signs, but then I hadn’t been looking recently. I know that sometimes he misses the Force. But the one time I asked him about it he waxed lyrical about the freedom of the self-employed. Even after nearly three years I don’t feel I know him well enough to probe any further. But being needed usually makes him feel better. And need him I did. I sauntered back from the bar with a pint, a Scotch and two packets of crisps. Beads and trinkets. I slid them on to the table. He looked at the glass, then up at me.
‘What d’you want?’ he grunted.
‘What makes you think I want anything?’
‘It’s a pint, isn’t it? Costs twice as much as a half.’
That’s what I call a fair cop. ‘All right. How about five minutes of your time?’
‘You know, you disgust me, Hannah. You call yourself a feminist, then shamelessly play up to members of the opposite sex.’
‘Frank, it’s your brains I want, not your body.’
‘I tell you, you should be careful. Not all male egos are as buoyant as mine. Remarks like that in the wrong company will get you a fistful of fives one of these days.’
I smiled and drew up a chair. ‘Thanks.’
‘You got this much information, with a multinational offering to pay you for it, and you call it a problem?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to work for them.’
‘I know. They were nasty to a gay couple, shocking, isn’t it?’ I made a face. ‘Or is it the amount of profit they make every year? I know how hard you take such things, Hannah. But I’ve told you before, detective work brings only suffering and disillusion. This may be the case where you have to accept that the good guys are not automatically the bad guys.’
‘Oh, come on, Frank. They were way too nice to me.’
‘You’re a private eye. They’re always too nice or too nasty. Like the police, it’s a reflex action.’
‘And that’s it, is it? I mean that’s the analysis I paid one pound seventy pence’ worth of beer for?’
‘Yeah, well, you should know better than trying to bribe an ex-copper. OK. You’re sure it was him?’
‘No. He was a fair distance across the car park, and the photo wasn’t exactly a give-away. But it certainly looked like him.’
‘But “him” wasn’t Malcolm Barringer?’
‘No. That I am certain of.’
‘Hmm. Doesn’t fit, though, does it? I mean if he was who you say he is, then why should he still be hanging around?’
‘Well, if no one knows who he really is, then why not? Maybe he likes to live dangerously. I’m getting the impression he’s that kind of guy.’
He looked at me quickly. ‘Getting to know him, eh?’
‘A little, yes.’
‘Better watch your step. Nick’ll get jealous. So? What do you think you’ve got? A rebel with a cause, or something nastier?’
I thought about it. ‘I don’t know yet.’
‘But you do know Shepherd had something to hide—something worth killing him for?’
I thought about Shepherd’s face, so sunken and pursued. Hard to sort out the grief from the guilt. But not impossible. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, of course, you claim to know more about these nutters than I do. But from where I’m sitting it’s hard to see what exactly he could have done that made him worth blowing to smithereens. I mean how bad can a pig feel? I suppose you’re sure it is the pigs?’
‘Frank, to be honest I’m not sure about anything.’
‘Hmm. Course, you could always give it to the police. They’d be delighted to find out how much more you know than them.’
‘Thanks.’ He looked at me, and waited. I took it more seriously. ‘I know you think I’m withholding evidence.’
‘Not think, Hannah. Know.’
‘Listen, Frank, if I give it to them it’s not mine any more. And I’ll always be the one who let her walk out to the car.’
He shook his head. ‘In my experience it’s only worth blaming yourself for things you get wrong. She was fourteen years old. She asked you to let her go out and get something from the glove compartment. You weren’t to know the car was booby-trapped.’
I closed my eyes. When Tom Shepherd had said it, it had made me mad. Now it just made me bereft. I shook my head. ‘I still should have been there.’
He smiled. ‘Determined little tick, aren’t you? You know, when you first came to me I only took you on because I felt sorry for you. Well, that and the fact that you’d been on that computer course. But you’ve not done bad. For a girl. Well, I don’t have any miracle answers for you. Looks like loverboy’s still your only trump card. Why don’t you give Maringo a copy of the photo. Maybe some of the moderates will recognize him and sell him for thirty pieces of silver.’
I shook my head. ‘I can try, but I don’t think Maringo’s the kind of man to name names.’
Frank shrugged. ‘Even if he took the Fifth Amendment you’d know you’d got something. Other than that, I think it’s a question of buying more beer. I mean if it was him coming out of that pub, then someone has got to remember him.’ I had got there without him, anyway. But it always helps to have your judgement confirmed. ‘But, Hannah. Be careful, all right? If this guy is animal rights, then he’s more IRA than Sinn Fein. And by now it sounds like that’s what half the farmers around Vandamed think you are, anyway. There’ll be a lot of bad feeling after her death. Watch out you don’t get your high heels caught in a cattle grid. They might be tempted to leave you there till the cows come home.’
I had thought about that one, too. But in the middle of a London day with the sound of traffic all around it just seemed like paranoia. ‘Don’t worry.’ I grinned. ‘I’ll wear Doc Martens.’
He nodded and drained h
is beer. ‘If you wait till the weekend, I’ll come with you, if you want.’
It was, I think you probably know, far above and beyond the call of duty. That more than anything else made me realize just how worried he was. But it also gave me an idea.
‘Thanks, but—well, they’d have you down for a copper the minute you walked into the place. And you’d hold it against me forever if you missed Arsenal.’
‘Chelsea.’
‘Chelsea. Anyway, I’ve already got a man.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Saturday Night’s All Right for Fighting
The weather came out to greet us, for once behaving according to the season. It was the last official day of winter. Soon the clocks would move forward an hour and the light would make everything seem possible again, until another summer disappointed. Nick and I had set off on Saturday afternoon and stopped for lunch as soon as concrete turned to country. By the time we hit East Suffolk he was driving and I was navigating. It was a good team. A voyage of discovery, for one of us at least.
‘Why Suffolk?’ he had asked when I told him.
‘I found some lovely country when I was there on Wednesday. And according to the guide book this particular hotel is spectacular.’
‘You sure you can find it?’
I had the map upside down on my lap. I find this helpful, having the real roads and the map roads going the same way. Most of the men I know think it is indicative of women’s lack of direction. ‘They gave me impeccable instructions. OK?’ I said primly.
‘OK,’ he mimicked, glancing my way. ‘You look good.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes. I don’t think I tell you that often enough.’
Well, certainly not recently. Of course it didn’t make me feel any better hearing it now. You think I’m a slime-bag, right? Using my boyfriend as a cover for work. Well, you may be right. But he would never have come if I’d told him, and who said it was all going to be hard grind?If the hotel was anything like the brochure, then breakfast in bed could last until dinnertime, with the briefest of visits to the local pub in between.