The Hireling's Tale Page 11

  It was starting to make sense. He remembered going to Cambridge Road and he didn’t remember leaving: presumably this was why. ‘It’s my back, isn’t it? That’s why I can’t move.’

  Her heart twisted. ‘Well, that and the sandbags,’ she said. ‘And there’s probably still a load of anaesthetic swilling round in you from the operation.’

  ‘They got the bullet out?’

  ‘Oh yes. According to the surgeon, the damage could have been a lot worse. There’s some swelling, but when that starts going down …’She ground to a halt. She couldn’t promise him things not in her gift. He wouldn’t want her to; he wasn’t a child. Even in this state he needed facts more than he needed reassurance. ‘Things’ll be clearer; she finished lamely.

  ‘Liz.’ He struggled to bring his gaze up to her face. ‘If they’ve told you I’m going to be in a wheelchair, I want to know.’

  She shook her head quickly and clasped his hand, gripping it tightly. ‘Frank, I’m not keeping anything from you. Donovan talked to the surgeon as soon as he’d finished, and he said he’d seen nothing to prevent a full recovery. Swelling at the site blocks the normal passage of nerve impulses, but as that reduces you should start getting some feeling back. But it could take a while. You just have to be patient and wait for the healing process to kick in.’

  It wasn’t the most cheering answer he could have had, but it could have been worse and at least he trusted her to be honest with him. ‘All right,’ he said, a shade unsteadily, ‘I can do that.’ He made a deliberate effort to think beyond his own condition. ‘Is Kendall all right?’

  Liz nodded. ‘I’ve moved the family to a safe house while we try to figure it out. It’s beginning to look like there’s a connection with the girl on the boat after all.’

  He hadn’t the energy to elevate both eyebrows, settled for raising one. ‘What sort of a connection?’

  She told him about Maddie Cotterick. She hadn’t come to discuss the case with him, only to see him and reassure him and make sure he wasn’t wasting precious strength trying to work out what had happened.

  ‘So Donovan’s bringing her in this morning?’

  Liz nodded. ‘I was glad of the excuse to get him out of the office for a few hours. Superintendent Hilton is taking over.’ She said it as evenly as she could, but he’d known her too long: the very absence of inflection told him that she didn’t want to cede control to an outsider, and particularly she didn’t want to cede it to Superintendent Hilton.

  She was anxious not to tire him. He seemed happier for talking to her, but the fact remained he was still wedged immobile in a hospital bed and she had no idea when, or even if, he’d leave it. ‘I expect the doctor’ll be making his rounds soon. He may be able to tell you something more by now.’

  ‘About the outlook?’ Prognosis, he corrected himself; outlook’s weather. ‘Until you came I wasn’t even sure what day it was. The nurses pretend they don’t know anything, and the doctors pretend to be busy elsewhere. If somebody doesn’t talk to me soon I shall get out of this bed and see if I hit the floor. That’ll be a clue.’

  ‘Frank, you mustn’t.’ But it was a good sign that he was feeling enough like himself to be irritable. ‘Listen, I have to get to work now. But I’ll come back later, and if you still don’t know the score I’ll caution your doctor and take him in for questioning. Oh.’ She was already on her way when she thought of something else and turned back. ‘Angela’s here. She stayed at your house last night.’

  Shapiro’s eyebrow shot up again. ‘I didn’t know she had a key.’

  ‘Donovan let her in. You had your keys on you when you were shot.’ She thought about telling him that Donovan had borrowed his car, decided not to. He’d need to be stronger to cope with that bit of information. ‘Is there anything you need?’

  He couldn’t be bothered thinking. Talking, even to her, had drained him. ‘Just the roller skates and a football,’ he said sourly.

  ‘Something to read?’

  ‘The Walker’s Guide to the Peak District?’

  Liz gave up. ‘If you think of anything, have someone call me. I’ll see you later.’

  Shapiro just grunted. He knew he wasn’t behaving with much fortitude. He was too low to care.

  Going to the hospital had made her late. A message was waiting on her desk to see Superintendent Hilton as soon as she got in.

  He’d taken over Shapiro’s office. It was the obvious thing to do, the incumbent wasn’t going to need it back for a while and Queen’s Street wasn’t so capacious that spare offices were available on every floor. Still it stung Liz to have to tap on this door and wait for a reply, and then introduce herself to the man inside.

  ‘Detective Inspector Graham, sir. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I’ve been to the hospital.’

  Most men get broader, bulkier as they get older. But Hilton was smaller, more compact than she remembered, like a spring packed into an ever tighter space. He still had the moustache - out of sheer stubbornness, she supposed, he must know by now who it reminded people of - and the carborundum eyes. The manner had, if anything, grown more abrasive. Not one of life’s charmers, she reflected, so probably he was very good at the job. He hadn’t cosied his way up to Superintendent.

  ‘Not feeling well, Inspector?’ he said. Almost but not quite snidely.

  ‘To see Superintendent Shapiro, sir,’ she said woodenly. But he already knew that: he was baiting her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of rising. For that he’d have to try Donovan.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Keen to get back in harness, sir.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie but it certainly inferred something that wasn’t the truth. But the less permanent Superintendent Hilton felt in this chair, the better.

  ‘Really?’ Hilton sounded surprised. ‘At his age?’

  They were fencing, testing one another’s strengths and weaknesses, keeping just the safe side of objectionable. Liz set her jaw. If there was one thing Castlemere didn’t need right now it was a Senior Investigating Officer who felt he had to mark his territory with little wounds.

  ‘I’ve put Detective Inspector Colwyn in the room at the end of the corridor,’ he said. ‘I imagine that’s all right.’ Not hope but imagine: he wasn’t seeking approval, just informing her. ‘You’ll be working closely together.’

  The name rang a bell: when she remembered why her heart lifted. Divisional HQ’s financial expert. It made her wonder if Hilton might make up in acuity what he lacked in personal charm. ‘In that case perhaps he’d like to share my office, next door.’ It wasn’t really big enough for two, but it was probably better than evicting Donovan to haunt the building like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

  But Hilton thought it was a kind gesture and softened slightly. ‘Perhaps. Have a word with him. In fact, call him in here while we go over what we’ve got so far.’ He’d been in Queen’s Street half an hour and already it was ‘what we’ve got’.

  She realized she was being unfair. It was a difficult task, to take over in the middle of an investigation. It caused resentment, it caused confusion, it meant you never got a chance to learn the significant minutiae of either a town or a police station; but someone had to do it because police officers were as mortal as anyone else and you couldn’t put a murder investigation on hold while you invited applications for the post of SIO. Visiting firemen were a necessary evil and deserved a great deal more sympathy than they ever received.

  But it was hard to sympathize with someone whose motto appeared to be Divide And Conquer. It was easier to sympathize with the DI who had the task of travelling with him, trying to make the round hole squarer, attracting the same negative feelings without the protection of seniority. She called his name, turned with a smile as DI Colwyn joined them.

  Sheer surprise froze it on her face. Detective Inspector James Colwyn, Divisional HQ’s idea of a top-flight financial expert, couldn’t have been a day over twenty-six. That was in a suit. If he changed into jeans, people woul
d assume he was waiting for an appropriate adult to arrive before he could be interviewed.

  Liz blinked quickly and hoped he hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t his fault he was so young. It almost certainly meant he was gifted at his work and Queen’s Street was lucky to get him. She tried to shrug off the feeling that if they were here late tonight she’d start worrying about his bedtime.

  She summarized what had happened so far. They’d had the bones from HQ but that was like playing Chinese Whispers: the actual facts always came as a surprise when you’d only had them filtered by Division. Liz concentrated on what had happened and what they knew; she could add in the detail and the suppositions later. She finished with Donovan heading for King’s Lynn to collect what might turn out to be a valuable witness and might turn out to be an hysterical self-publicist.

  ‘Donovan,’ said Superintendent Hilton thoughtfully. ‘Irish?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Liz; which was an idiotic response but the only one which permitted the requisite degree of cool.

  ‘I think I came across him at the Met.’ He said to Colwyn, ‘The surliest detective constable I ever met.’

  ‘Really?’ said Liz. ‘Superintendent Shapiro’s managed to get some excellent work out of him.’

  This was a master stroke: Hilton couldn’t pursue his attack now without including Shapiro in it, so he had to leave unchallenged the suggestion that Shapiro had succeeded at something in which he himself had failed. He changed the subject; but Liz saw in his eye that he had recognized the trap she’d laid for him, marked it and wouldn’t forget it.

  ‘Meanwhile the Kendall family is at a safe house in Northampton. The address?’

  She’d been half-expecting this. She’d hoped he wouldn’t ask, or at least not in front of anyone else. She took a deep breath. ‘In the circumstances, I’m trying to keep that information to as small a circle as possible. The Kendalls don’t know the address. I know, so do the two officers at the house, and that’s all. I spoke to Superintendent Giles, and he agreed that he had no overriding need to know, and the fewer people who had the information, the less chance of it accidentally getting out.’

  Superintendent Hilton smiled at her, without warmth. ‘I think Detective Inspector Colwyn and I can keep a secret.’

  ‘I’m sure you can, sir. I still think it would be safer to leave it with me until you have a need to know. Two people can keep a secret, because if it gets out they both know who was responsible. Any more and only one knows for sure. Right now, I’m the only person in this building who can betray the Kendalls.’

  Hilton’s smile was a real crocodile job. ‘Which is too much of a burden for anyone, so I’m going to take it off your shoulders. The address, Inspector Graham.’

  She gave it one last try. In the final analysis, if he wanted the address she couldn’t withhold it. But she was right to try, and he was wrong to press. ‘Sir, if you insist on having the information I’ll give it you. You can also get it from Divisional records. But it’s my urgent recommendation that we leave things as they are. Lives depend on our discretion, and I see no overwhelming benefit to justify the risk of spreading the information further.’

  His gaze held her, speculative. ‘I presume you are no less mortal than Mr Shapiro, Inspector. Suppose something unfortunate befalls you too?’

  ‘Then I imagine you would inform Division, and get the address of the safe house at the same time. If you’re sure I’m wrong about this, sir, make it an order and I’ll comply. But those people have already been shot at twice, by a professional killer who’s very good and very patient and will exploit the first mistake we make. I’m sure I seem absurdly overcautious. But I don’t mind making a fool of myself if there’s the chance it may make a difference.

  ‘With a top professional after him, I’m not sure how long we can keep Philip Kendall safe. But if despite all our efforts he ends up dead I don’t want to think there was anything more I could have done to prevent it. If that means making a fool of myself, so be it. I don’t want to make your job harder than it is already, so if you require that address I’ll give it you. But if it was your life on the line, I think you’d be hoping I wouldn’t have to.’

  He went on looking at her with the same speculative, ground-glass gaze until it took a real effort of will for her not to start shuffling. Finally he astounded her by nodding crisply and saying, ‘All right, I’ll give it some more thought. You move DI Colwyn in with you and show him where everything is. And, Inspector Graham?’

  She paused in the door, expecting a late-firing rocket.

  ‘If it was my life on the line, I’d be content to have it in your hands.’

  Colwyn followed her dutifully and shifted his scant belongings from Donovan’s office into hers. ‘I’ll try not to get in your way.’ He had a light, ambivalent voice that sounded even younger than he looked.

  Liz shook her head. ‘I’m glad to have you here. I was trying to contact you yesterday. I need someone who can put some background to a list of rich foreigners. Round here their idea of a rich foreigner is a man from Peterborough with monogrammed socks.’

  Colwyn laughed, apparently with relief. ‘Let me have the list, I’ll see what I can come up with. It’s nice to have something useful to do. Mostly when we arrive somewhere I have to fight for the privilege.’

  ‘I can’t afford to stand on my dignity,’ said Liz. ‘Frank Shapiro leaves a big hole, I can’t fill it on my own.’

  ‘Will he be all right?’

  She shrugged. ‘He’ll live. For all right we’ll have to wait and see.’

  DI Colwyn closed her door behind him. ‘I’m sorry you and Hilton got off on the wrong foot. He’s not an easy man to work for, but he is a good detective. Sometimes, people who get past the rather gritty exterior find themselves quite liking him.’

  Liz stopped her eyebrows from soaring incredulously. ‘You’ve worked with him before, then?’

  ‘I’ve worked with him for the last eighteen months.’

  ‘And this is what you do? Go round plugging holes in other people’s dykes?’

  ‘Pretty much. We’re not very subtle, I’m afraid, but we don’t have time to grow on people gradually. We’re sent in because things have gone wrong and somebody needs to take control quickly. The Top People’s Cop reckons you can make friends or get the job done but not both.’

  Liz kept her face straight. ‘The what?’

  Colwyn grinned. ‘Hilton – the Top People’s Hotel? It’s just a joke.’

  ‘Does he know you make jokes about him?’

  He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t me who came up with that one. I’m not sure, but I’ve always rather suspected it was him.’

  Chapter Five

  When Maddie Cotterick saw the maroon Jaguar, refined and expensive and deeply conservative, she let out a hoot of laughter. ‘I had you down for a GTi man. Something you could corner on two wheels.’

  Donovan gave his saturnine smile. ‘I always corner on two wheels. I’m a Kawasaki man: this is my Superintendent’s.’

  She was impressed. ‘He must have a lot of faith in you.’

  Honesty was always like a fox under Donovan’s tunic. ‘Actually,’ he admitted, ‘he had a lot of anaesthetic in him.’

  He’d come in by the Cambridge road so he left by the Peterborough road. Not because he thought anyone would be waiting, just because if anyone was it would make his life that little bit harder. He didn’t think anyone could have followed him. He wasn’t convinced anyone would want to. But he’d been sent to collect a witness who was afraid to return to Castlemere alone, and it wasn’t his job to decide if her fears were justified. Maybe they weren’t, but the only way he’d know for sure was if he didn’t take the proper precautions and it turned out they were.

  There are police officers who specialize in close protection work, who develop keen instincts for who is in danger and where it will come from. Donovan wasn’t one of them. He’d done the defensive driving course, and various counter-terrorism sessions - a
t which he always ended up playing the mad bomber - but all he knew of the work of a bodyguard was what any policeman needed to: keep moving, vary the route, avoid crowds, avoid wide open spaces. He would return by a different route because it was good practice to do so.

  Maddie settled herself in the front passenger seat with an audible purr, cat-like in her pleasure. ‘He’s a man of taste, your Superintendent.’

  For a moment Donovan felt indulgent, thinking such luxury was probably a rare treat for a girl like this. Then it struck him, deflatingly, that a girl like this would have sat in an awful lot more posh cars than he had, if only for ten minutes at a time. He said, ‘Turn on the radio if you want. If you know how it works.’ She did; and she did.

  But not for long. She surfed through the stations but could find nothing to interest her; unless that was a guise and what she really wanted was to talk. As they left Lynn behind she said, ‘Aren’t you going to question me? You’ve come a long way, don’t you want an explanation?’

  Donovan shrugged. ‘I’m just the babysitter. My Inspector will do the interview when we get back to Castlemere.’

  She bridled at his lack of interest. At first, after she fled the hotel, she’d thought the police would be hunting for her and it was to escape them that she flung some things together and left town on Sunday night. News of the shooting at Kendall’s house on Tuesday gave matters a whole new perspective, and by the time she’d worked out what it meant she knew that her best hope of safety lay in offering herself as a witness for the prosecution. She’d expected to have trouble persuading Queen’s Street that she knew enough to need protection but thought that when they did turn up there’d be a barrage of questions to answer. The dark man’s indifference stung her.

  ‘You think I’m wasting your time. You think there’s nothing I can tell you about Linda’s death that you couldn’t get from other, more reliable sources. You think I’m like those sad people who confess to crimes they didn’t commit because it gets them a bit of attention!’