Deception Game (9 page)

But it couldn’t last forever. He was eager to broach a subject that had weighed heavily on him since she’d first delivered the terrible news, though he’d held off during their walk, unsure how to bring it up.

‘You’re wondering how I knew about her,’ Jessica said as the house loomed into view once more, perhaps guessing his train of thought. ‘When she’d disappeared from our lives.’

The answer was as obvious as it was difficult to accept. ‘She contacted you.’

His sister nodded slowly.

‘How long?’

‘Two years.’

Drake’s heart sank. Two years she’d been part of Jessica’s life. Two years during which his sister had reconnected with her, forged a new relationship, mended bridges. Two years she hadn’t seen fit to share with him.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

He saw a blush creep into her face. ‘She...asked me not to.
Told
me, actually.’

And that, Drake thought, pretty much summed it up. ‘Did she ever say why?’

She sighed. ‘It’s complicated. As far as excuses go, I know it doesn’t get much worse than that, but Mum was...’ She trailed off, as if unable to find the words she needed. ‘Well, there are things about her she didn’t like to talk about. Things she didn’t want either of us to know.’

Drake was starting to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was the same sort of feeling he’d had during his phone call with Breckenridge during the night. ‘What do you mean? What sort of things?’

At this, she picked up the pace, heading back down the driveway towards the house. ‘Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

With little choice, Drake followed her.

Situated to the rear of the house, and adjacent to the ivy-covered brick wall that encircled the garden, was a small garage. It was newer than the residence it served but constructed of the same grey stone and with the same slate roof, probably to satisfy some local conservation law. Unlocking the sturdy padlock holding the wooden doors closed, Jessica swung them open to reveal the building’s interior.

For the most part, it was exactly what Drake had expected in a garage that was seldom used. Cobweb-ringed windows, musty-smelling air, old tins of paint stacked on rickety shelves, and a few rusted gardening tools near the back.

However, most of the internal space was occupied by a vehicle of some sort, hidden beneath a dust cover. From the general dimensions and contours, Drake guessed it to be a sports car of some kind.

His suspicions were proven right a moment later when Jessica took hold of the edge of the dust cover and whipped it off, raising a cloud of dust that forced them both back a step while it cleared. Only then was Drake at last able to see the car that had been hiding beneath, its chassis gleaming in the hazy light filtering in through the grimy windows.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he gasped, stunned by what he was seeing.

It was a 1967 Austin-Healey 3,000 convertible. A British sports car that had long since been discontinued, the model had competed at countless racing events around the world, from Le Mans in France to Sebring in the USA. Just over 40,000 of them had been built, and they were still considered one of the best-looking cars ever produced.

Drake knew all of this, because his father had possessed an almost obsessive enthusiasm for classic cars, and this particular one had been his pride and joy. He’d bought it nearly derelict and painstakingly restored it to mint condition, even teaching his reluctant son a thing or two about engines along the way. Drake recognized the gunmetal-grey chassis immediately. This was the first car he’d driven after passing his test; one of the few times his father had allowed him to really push the machine to its limit.

He couldn’t help himself. Taking a tentative step forward, he reached out and gently ran his fingers across the front wheel arch, noting the faint trail they left in the newly settled dust. He hadn’t laid eyes on this car in over fifteen years, and certainly hadn’t dreamed of ever finding it again.

He heard Jessica move close to stand beside him. ‘The keys are in the glove box, in case you’re wondering.’

‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, his voice hushed. ‘I thought everything was sold off after Dad died.’

Parting with the car had been a heart-wrenching decision, but their father had left behind a trail of debts and unpaid bills when he died. And with neither of his children possessing much money at the time, there had been little choice but to sell off everything of value.

‘It was. She bought it anonymously at auction,’ Jessica explained. ‘She kept it in storage all these years, just waiting.’

‘For what?’

‘For you. She knew it meant a lot to Dad, and to you as well, even if you wouldn’t admit it. I think maybe she intended it as a peace offering, but...it never happened. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. I can’t say why. Maybe the time was never right, or maybe she was afraid.’

Drake closed his eyes, his hand resting on the bodywork clenching into a fist. He hoped she wasn’t about to start waxing lyrical about what an amazing childhood they’d had, or how thoughtful and loving their parents had been, and how empty their lives were without them. He was sensitive to her grief in light of everything that had happened, but that sensitivity didn’t extend to outright self-delusion.

‘The time wasn’t right,’ he said, making no effort to hide his disdain. ‘That’s the story of my life where she was concerned.’

He regretted those words as soon as they’d passed his lips, but he couldn’t stop them. Years of simmering anger and resentment, exacerbated by today’s devastating news, had suddenly come to the fore, and there was no holding it back.

‘Ryan, that’s not what I meant,’ Jessica protested, hurt and anger in his voice.

Drake whirled around to face her. ‘It’s the truth, though. Don’t you get it? She was never interested in either of us, or Dad. If she had been, she would have shown up for his funeral, she would have helped us deal with all the shit that came with it. For once in her life she would have done
something
for us, she would have been there. But she wasn’t. I suppose the time wasn’t right,’ he said, his words a mockery of her earlier statement. He gestured to the convertible. ‘An old car isn’t going to change that.’

Far from retorting in anger, Jessica regarded him sadly. But there was more than just sadness in her eyes. He saw disappointment there too – she had shown faith in him, expected more from him, and he’d let her down.

‘She always loved you, Ryan.’ He couldn’t say for sure whether it was him she was trying to convince or herself.

‘She loved her career more than she ever loved me, and she never forgave me for taking it away.’ He let out a slow breath, mastering his conflicting emotions with some difficulty. ‘We...
I
needed her fifteen years ago. Guess what? She wasn’t there.’

Only now did he see the growing light of anger in his sister’s eyes. Without warning her left hand whirled around, catching him a stinging slap across the cheek.

‘And where were you when
I
needed you, Ryan?’ she asked, trembling visibly with the effort to hold her emotions in check.

Drake let out a breath, smarting from the unexpected strike. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you think I mean?’ she snapped. ‘I was abducted practically from my own doorstep, hauled halfway around the world and almost killed right in front of you. Remember now?’

Of course he remembered. Never in his life would he forget a moment of it.

‘We got you out,’ he protested, though his argument lacked conviction. ‘I brought you home—’

At this, Jessica let out a hard, bitter laugh. ‘And you think it’s that easy, do you? Just drop me back into my old life and I carry on like nothing ever happened? Well it did happen, Ryan. Something pretty fucking horrible happened. I almost made my two girls grow up without a mother. I watched men die right in front of me. You think you can just wash that sort of thing away? I needed you
here
. I needed you to help me make sense of all this, to deal with it, and guess what?’ Taking a step closer, she stared him in the eye. ‘
You
weren’t here.’

‘I was trying to keep you safe.’

‘Safe?’ she repeated. ‘I haven’t felt safe since the day they took me. Every stranger I pass on the street, every car that drives past our house a little too slow, every time I hear footsteps behind me...’

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes and forcing the thoughts from her mind. When she opened them again, she appeared calmer, colder somehow. She surveyed him for a long moment, then shook her head as if he were a puzzle once easy to decipher but now impossible to solve.

‘Maybe that’s what really separates us, Ryan. You can do the things you do, live in the world you’re in, and not let it get to you.’ The bitter smile she gave him was almost one of sympathy. ‘I’m not like you.’

With those chilling words still ringing in his ears, his sister turned and strode out of the garage. Moments later, he heard the Land Rover’s big diesel engine cough and rumble into life.

Drake was moving immediately, abandoning the garage and rounding the front of the house. Already he could hear the crunch of gears as his sister fought with the unfamiliar gearbox.

‘Jessica!’ he called out, having to yell to be heard over the sound of the thirty-year-old engine. ‘Jessica, wait!’

He was moving to get in front of the car and block her path, but never got the chance. Finally finding first, Jessica released the clutch and stamped on the accelerator, sending the powerful vehicle lurching forward in a spray of dirt and gravel chips. Within moments she had made it onto the road and was soon putting distance between herself and Drake, the Land Rover bouncing and wallowing through deep potholes.

For a moment Drake considered following her, but one glance at his rental car was enough to dissuade him. An underpowered suburban hatchback was no vehicle to take on a Land Rover on roads like these.

‘Shit,’ he said under his breath, watching as his sister was swallowed up by the pleasant fields, walls and hedgerows.

Cardiff Royal Infirmary, Wales

Drake wasn’t sure how to feel as he made his way along the cold, clinical whitewashed corridor towards the hospital morgue. Everything that had happened over the past several hours seemed to have passed him by in a blur of fragmented images and memories.

He remembered composing a brief email to Breckenridge explaining that he wasn’t going to be on the next flight to Langley due to a family emergency. He remembered donning civilian clothes and requisitioning a car for the drive off-base, exerting his authority as a Shepherd operative to bypass most of the red tape that would have kept him tied up for hours.

Most of all, he recalled McKnight, Frost and Mason’s awkward but genuine attempts to console him, and their offer to accompany him here, the team rallying around their friend and leader in a time of crisis. He’d absently thanked them for their show of support while politely refusing their offer.

He didn’t want them here for this.

Always doing things alone – that was what Samantha had said about him. Perhaps she’d been right, perhaps he still couldn’t bring himself to truly let anyone in, but there were some things that were meant to be done alone.

He’d tried to prepare himself for what was coming, to sort through his own confused and conflicting feelings and focus on the practicalities of what needed to be done, just as he’d been trained to do in the course of his long and eventful career. Don’t think about the things beyond your control; just focus on each step on the path, each challenge, each hurdle to overcome.

He was accompanied on his grim errand by the police sergeant who had been waiting to receive him upstairs. A stout, amiable-looking man with wiry red hair and a complexion that was almost as florid, he had greeted Drake with the clinical politeness of one well versed in dealing with grieving families. Drake had barely even registered the man’s name when he’d introduced himself – only the tag on his jacket confirmed it now as Forbes.

A thousand questions were whirling through Drake’s mind as he trudged down the corridor beside the sergeant, his feet like blocks of lead that he had to force himself to lift and place down, over and over, each step bringing him inexorably closer to his final destination. Questions that had no answers. Questions he’d never expected to find himself asking.

‘It’s just through here,’ Forbes said, pushing open a set of double doors that led into the room beyond. Drake paused only a moment, taking a single breath, before following him. Straightaway he felt the drop in temperature as they ventured inside, the chill raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

He supposed another man might have felt anger, grief, sadness, loss or even regret at a moment like this. And yet, standing there in that chilly basement room with a row of cold-storage units stretching out in front of him, he didn’t feel any such emotion – he just felt numb and empty.

One refrigerator unit about halfway along the row had already been opened in preparation for his arrival, its occupant still covered with a plastic sheet. The tag at the end of the sliding table read ‘Freya Louise Shaw’.

Of course she had reverted to her maiden name, Drake thought. She had been calling herself that ever since the divorce two decades earlier, but seeing it written there somehow still felt like a slight, as if it had been done to erase even the memory of the family she’d once been such a reluctant part of.

‘Here we are, Mr Drake,’ Forbes said quietly, halting next to the table. He exhaled, his breath misting in the cool air as he searched for the right words. ‘Family members often find the formal identification...upsetting. Do you need a moment before seeing her?’

Drake shook his head. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen a dead body, and he doubted it would be the last. In any case, he’d waited ten years to see her; a few more seconds wasn’t going to change anything.

Saying nothing further, the police sergeant gently reached out and pulled back the plastic sheet, folding it over so that it exposed her face and neck but kept her covered from the shoulders down. This done, he stepped back, giving Drake his first look at the woman who had once been his mother.

His first thought was that she had aged visibly since their last meeting. The once fine and barely noticeable lines that had traced a path around her mouth and eyes were deeper and more obvious now, her neatly cut hair streaked with grey. And yet there was no denying that she had once been an attractive woman; tall and slender, with dark hair, pale skin and vividly green eyes.

He’d often been told that both he and Jessica took their looks from their mother. He’d seen it in his sister, but never in himself. Not until now. Age, and perhaps the changes that were even now taking place after her death, had hardened the once soft and feminine features of her face, made them more definite and pronounced, somehow, so that he did at last see something of himself in Freya Louise Shaw.

His next thought was that she had kept herself in remarkably good condition for a woman of her age, though he supposed that wasn’t entirely surprising. The Freya he remembered from his childhood had been a seemingly inexhaustible well of energy and vitality, always eating healthily and rarely indulging in alcohol. When she wasn’t at work – which was rare enough – she was out running or biking, at a swim or a yoga class.

It wasn’t until much later that he’d realized these excursions served a different purpose – an escape from the unhappy marriage she’d become trapped in. Nonetheless, they had crystallized in his mind the image of someone who was almost indestructible, and that wasn’t an easy impression to shift.

But in truth these thoughts were nothing more than observations prompted by the physical reality before him; superficial impressions that stirred no deeper feelings. He’d almost hoped that the sight of her would have provoked something in him; some long-buried emotion that would allow him to feel the grief of her death, the anger at the years of each other’s lives they had missed out on, the sad knowledge that they would never get the chance to reconcile their bitter differences.

Instead he just felt empty.

Drake swallowed, forcing that thought aside, willing his mind to be cool and analytical as he surveyed the body, looking for evidence that might give him some clue as to her fate.

The signs of a recent struggle were plain to see even for untrained eyes. Her lower lip was split, and though she’d been cleaned up by the mortuary technicians, he could see the glistening sheen of blood in the cut flesh.

The left side of her face was darkened in places by bruising that was all the more obvious against the pale skin. He also saw some lacerations near her temple, almost hidden by her hairline, which were likely the result of a strike by a solid object.

Glancing further down, he saw her right hand partially exposed by the movement of the plastic sheet. He reached down, moving the cover aside far enough to reveal the hand and forearm.

Deep marks and bruising in a narrow band around the wrist, suggesting she’d been bound. Tied up, beaten and taken out to a lonely area of waste ground to be executed. And it most certainly was an execution. This had been no random act of violence by a low-level criminal, no opportunistic killing or a mugging gone wrong, but a targeted and planned execution carried out by a professional.

He could feel his heart beating faster as the image flashed through his mind, but once again pushed it away. He would deal with that later. Now wasn’t the time.

‘I was told she’d been murdered,’ Drake said, his voice subdued as he looked down on her. ‘What was the cause of death?’

‘According to the pathologist’s report, she was killed by a single gunshot wound to the chest,’ he replied, his voice carrying the weary sympathy of someone called upon too many times to explain something that was inherently inexplicable. ‘From what I understand, it was quick. The damage to the heart was extensive; she would have passed away within a matter of seconds. Like a light turning off.’

Like a light turning off, Drake repeated in his head. They’d said the same thing when his father passed away years earlier. Perhaps it was the kind of line they were taught to recite at times like this. After all, what could be more mundane, more quick and easy than a light turning off? Was that what the end of a human life boiled down to?

In any case, Forbes had misunderstood the motivation behind his question. He wasn’t looking for comfort or reassurance, but information. He needed to know the facts behind her murder.

‘Were there reports of a gunshot in the area?’

‘I’m...not sure about that.’

Drake frowned. ‘What about the bullet? Have your ballistics people done a workup on it?’ Drake asked. ‘I assume they’ve removed it already. Any idea of the calibre? Make and model of the weapon?’

When his question garnered no response, he turned to find the sergeant regarding him with a perplexed look.

‘What line of work did you say you were in, Mr Drake?’

The muscles in Drake’s jaw tensed for a moment or two before he forced calm back into his body. ‘I’m trying to understand how and why my mother was murdered,’ he said, managing to keep his tone even and controlled. ‘If there were no reported gunshots, that means the killer probably used a silencer, which means they were connected enough to get their hands on one, and prepared enough to have it ready for the killing. If the bullet was a 9x18 mm, that could mean the weapon was of Russian origin. If it’s a 9x19, it could be American, which might suggest an IRA link. There’s a hundred other possibilities I don’t have the time or the inclination to go into, but your answering questions about how she was killed will help me understand
who
killed her. And right now, I’d very much like to meet that person.’

There was a look in his vivid green eyes now that caused the police sergeant to stare at him. He didn’t take a step backward – he was too good for that – but Drake could sense him shrinking away a little, trying to put distance between them without being obvious about it. He was afraid of this stranger asking questions he had no cause to be asking, and no amount of training and professionalism was going to hide that.

‘So, what can you tell me about the murder weapon?’ Drake repeated.

He refused to meet Drake’s gaze. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have that information.’

‘Then who does?’

Forbes shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. This case is out of our jurisdiction, Mr Drake. The police are just here to keep the body secure.’

Drake’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘You’re the police. Someone’s been killed. Who else is supposed to deal with it?’

At this, Forbes glanced over his shoulder, as if checking that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. ‘Look, we’re not supposed to talk about this, all right? I could be in trouble just for mentioning it, but...’ He glanced down at the woman laid out on the mortuary table, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice. ‘Not long after they brought the body in, a group of men showed up, told us they were taking over the investigation.’

Drake was liking this less with every passing moment. ‘On whose authority?’

Forbes’s complexion seemed, if possible, to have grown more red, in stark contrast to the body lying before him. ‘I asked as much myself, and they wasted no time putting me in my place.’ He let out a sigh, looking Drake right in the eye before going on. ‘They were Section 6. If I’m right about you, then you...know what that means, don’t you?’

Indeed he did. Military Intelligence Section 6, better known to the general public by its famous abbreviation MI6, was the United Kingdom’s main foreign intelligence arm, charged with monitoring and countering any kind of threat to national security, from terrorism to rival nations, espionage, spying and anything in between. Working as he did for the Agency, he was well acquainted with their British counterparts.

The question he couldn’t answer was why they were involved in a murder investigation.

‘Did they give a reason?’ he asked without much hope.

‘No, and to be honest they didn’t have to. These weren’t the sort of chaps you start interrogating,’ Forbes said, sounding almost defensive. ‘I’m telling you this because you’ve lost someone close to you, and I think you deserve answers. If you want to find them, you’re asking the wrong man. You’ll have to take it up with them.’

Which was easier said than done. If MI6 had intervened in this case, it must have been because they suspected some kind of threat to national security. The nature and scope of that threat was of course a mystery to him, and finding the answers he sought was unlikely to be easy. If they were anything like the Agency, they could afford to stonewall him indefinitely if they felt like it, hiding behind an impenetrable veil of government legislation.

Fortunately, Drake was not a man without resources in that regard.

‘If you’d like some time alone, please take as long as you need,’ the sergeant said, moving back from the table to give Drake some space. In truth, he seemed eager to be out of there before he said anything to further endanger his career, and Drake couldn’t blame him. ‘I’ll be outside.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve seen enough.’

Reaching out, he gently unfolded the cover and allowed it to fall back in place. And just like that, she was gone, as if she had never been there at all.

‘I’m finished here.’

Returning outside a short time later, Drake powered up his cell phone and brought up the internet browser, doing a quick search for the British Foreign Office. It wasn’t as if MI6 made their contact details publicly known, but like any government department they ultimately fell under the umbrella of one that was more accessible.

Finding the Foreign Office website, he selected the Contact Us page and dialled the first number on the list. He imagined he’d be transferred around more than a few times before he reached the man he was looking for, so he didn’t particularly care where he started.

The line rang out for a good ten seconds before it was answered by an efficient, if slightly bored-sounding, switchboard operator.