Justice for the Damned (22 page)

‘And you’d be right to. My heart’s not been fully in the job for a long time now. So when I’m done with this case, I’m done with the job too.’

‘You’re retiring?’ There was doubt in Reece’s voice.

Jim smiled thinly. ‘Why’s that so hard to believe?’

Reece glanced towards the door as if trying to gauge whether anyone was listening at it. ‘Dad talked about retiring for years. But he never did, until his health left him with no choice. What do old cops do when they retire? Go on a cruise? Sit at home watching the telly?’

I hope I get the chance to do even that
, thought Jim. ‘To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m going to do. All I know is I’ve given just about all I’ve got to give.’

Jim glanced at his watch. Time was ticking on. The revelations about the new witness and the missing prostitute had only served to reinforce the sense that he needed to get out to Southview and put eyes on Edward Forester. He would have liked even more to put eyes on Freddie Harding. Freddie didn’t have the same need to be cautious as his brother, so surveilling him may well have proven to be a more fruitful line of inquiry. But Jim knew there was no way he could risk going near him if Garrett was on the ex-con’s case.

As Jim stood to leave, Reece said, ‘So you’ve got my back.’ It wasn’t quite a question, but neither was it a statement.

‘As best I can, but like I said, it might not be enough. Call me if there are any new developments. Oh, and there’s no need for Doug to know we’ve talked. The more people in on this thing, the more chance there is of word getting back to Garrett.’ Jim gave Reece a meaningful look, adding, ‘Don’t you agree?’

Reece nodded.

‘I’ll see myself out.’ Jim looked at Reece a moment longer, as if trying to make his mind up about something, then said, ‘I hope you work out what you want in life. I never really did until it was too late.’

He headed for the door. He paused at the foot of the stairway and shouted, ‘I’m off now, Frank.’

Frank emerged from his bedroom and slowly descended the stairs. ‘I’ll walk you to your car.’

‘I won’t say see you,’ said Jim, as they made their way along the drive. ‘Because let’s face it, who knows where either of us will be in the future.’

Frank smiled grimly. ‘I know where I’ll be a few months from now.’

Jim looked at him, his face creased with sadness. ‘Is it that bad?’

Frank nodded.

‘Does Reece know?’

‘I haven’t said anything, but he’s got a good idea of how it is.’

‘I’m sorry, Frank.’

‘Don’t be. I’m not. I’ve had a good life. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, but then who is?’ There was no bravado in Frank’s voice, just acceptance. ‘It’s funny, I never thought I’d hear myself talking like this. But since my Shirley died, well…’ He tailed off, as if unsure how to put his feelings into words.

Jim extended his hand, and Frank took it. ‘Take care.’

‘You too.’ A troubled light came into Frank’s eyes. ‘There’s only one thing about kicking the bucket that really bothers me.’ He glanced towards the house. ‘Reece isn’t like me. He lets things get to him. He’s a good lad, but he needs someone to keep him on the right track.’

‘Doug Brody’s taken a shine to him.’

Frank scowled. ‘The only person that flash prick gives a toss about is himself.’

‘Maybe, but he knows his way around the job as well as anyone.’

‘This is about more than the job. It’s about not letting Reece get himself into something he can’t get out of.’

Jim’s thoughts turned to the murderous undertaking he’d entered into with Bryan Reynolds. Reading the silent appeal in Frank’s eyes, he said, ‘I really don’t think I’m the person to be giving Reece that kind of guidance.’

‘I’m not asking you to. Just keep an eye on him. That’s all.’

Jim’s brow creased in uncertainty for a moment. Then he said, ‘I’ll do what I can, Frank, but one way or another I’m not going to be around for much longer myself.’

‘Thanks, Jim. This, well, it means…’ Frank hesitated once again with the awkwardness of someone not used to expressing their feelings.

With a nod, Jim indicated that he knew what it meant. He removed his hand from Frank’s and ducked into the car. As he accelerated away, he watched his ex-colleague fade from view like a ghost in the wing mirror. He felt time pressing in on him from every side. A storm of questions swirled in his mind.
Is Reynolds still alive? Has he given my name up? Am I both hunter and hunted? How do I expose Forester for what he really is? Will I even have to or will his brother inadvertently do it for me?
His thoughts started to turn towards Margaret, but he slammed a mental door on her image. He couldn’t allow himself to think about her. Not until he had the answers.

It was late morning when the gate intercom buzzed. ‘That’ll be Rupert,’ said Mabel, setting aside the newspaper she’d been reading. The front cover headline read ‘Hunt For Policewoman’s Killer Continues’. She motioned to Edward. He obediently rose from his armchair and, with Conall loping along by his side, went into the hallway.

‘Rupert who?’ asked Philippa.

‘Rupert Hartwell. My financial manager. He’s here with the money.’

‘That was quick.’

‘Yes, well I arranged for the money to be made available as soon as I got off the phone to Edward yesterday.’

‘But Edward didn’t tell you how much he owed until you got here last night.’

‘He didn’t have to.’ Mabel’s bright red lips curled into an icily confident smile. ‘Nobody knows Edward as well as I do. I see his mind as clearly as you see your own. If you were a mother, you’d understand. But, of course, there was that problem with your ovaries.’

The two women stared at each other from opposing sofas, with barely even a superficial sheen of civility in their eyes. Fine lines quivered at the corners of Philippa’s lips, as if she was fighting to hold in a furious retort. She looked out of the window at the sound of tyres crunching gravel. A Mercedes pulled up. A balding, late-middle-aged man in a pinstripe suit got out of it. He was carrying a large aluminium briefcase. Edward met him at the door and, casting a nervous glance at the gates, ushered him quickly into the house.

‘Welcome to Southview, Rupert,’ said Mabel, standing to greet the man. ‘How was your journey?’

Rupert patted the briefcase. ‘Let’s just say that carrying around this sort of money doesn’t make for a particularly relaxing experience.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps a nip of something stronger to calm your nerves?’

‘Tea would be fine, thanks.’

‘Mrs Adams!’ called Mabel.

‘She’s gone home,’ Philippa reminded her pointedly.

‘Oh yes. Well then, would you do the honours, dear?’ Mabel spoke without bothering to look at Philippa.

Philippa gazed rigidly at her mother-in-law, her lips tight with suppressed anger. At a nudge from Edward, she shot him a sharp glance. Seeing the silent plea in his eyes, she released a loud breath through her nose and left the room.

Mabel motioned for Rupert to open the briefcase. He laid it on the coffee table, turned the rollers of the combination lock and clicked it open. Mabel and Edward stared at the neatly packed wads of fifty-pound notes. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much cash before,’ said Edward, with a trace of reverence in his voice. He wrenched his eyes away. ‘I need a drink. What about you, Mother?’

‘Just a small one.’ Mabel’s face was impassive, but there was a trace of strain in her voice. For years, she’d worked her guts out for every penny. Money came to her easily now, but it didn’t leave her any less easily than it had when she was fighting tooth and nail to establish her business.

As Edward poured them each a sherry from a crystal decanter, Rupert said to Mabel, ‘There are some forms you need to sign.’

She shut the briefcase and turned her back on it. Rupert produced a sheaf of forms. ‘I know it’s none of my business, Mabel,’ he said, as she signed them, ‘but what do you need all this cash—’

‘You’re right, Rupert,’ she cut him off, ‘it’s none of your damn business.’

Philippa reappeared with a tray of tea. She passed a cup to Rupert and poured one for herself. They sat sipping their drinks, the atmosphere as silent and heavy as the briefcase. Edward’s eyes kept darting towards the mantelpiece clock. Philippa frowned into her cup, as if trying to find the answer to some troubling question therein. Mabel sat upright like a queen, her gaze moving slowly between the two of them.

‘I’d better be going,’ said Rupert. He rose, leaving his cup half full.

Mabel rose too, reaching to shake his hand. ‘Thank you, Rupert.’ She flicked Edward a meaningful look. ‘It’s good to know there’s one person in my life who I can always rely on to do what needs to be done.’

With a deferential bow of his head, Rupert turned to leave. Edward showed him out of the front door. Then he withdrew a phone that Tyler had given him the first time they met. There was only one number programmed into it. Edward let the dial tone ring five times, then hung up. He waited half a minute, before redialling. Tyler picked up on the third ring and asked in his usual flat voice, ‘Have you got it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bring it to the same place as last time ASAP.’

The line went dead. Edward raised a hand to touch the hollow above his upper lip. An oily dampness had formed there, as it always did when he had to do something that made him nervous. He wiped it away and returned to the living room. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Philippa as he picked up the briefcase.

‘Where do you think? The sooner this matter is resolved, the sooner we can get back to normal.’

Mabel stood and headed into the hallway to fetch her long cashmere coat.

‘What are you doing, Mother?’ asked Edward, frowning after her.

‘What do you think I’m doing? I’m coming with you.’

Edward shook his head vehemently. ‘No, Mother. You can’t do that.’

Mabel’s eyes flashed. ‘Don’t you tell me what I can do!’ She stabbed a bony finger at the briefcase. ‘If you think I’m trusting you with that, you can bloody well think again.’

‘What are you saying? That you think I’m going to run off with it?’

‘You haven’t got the balls to run off,’ snorted Mabel. ‘Money or no money, you’d last about ten seconds alone out there in the big wide world.’

Edward’s face trembled around the edges where fat blurred his features. Hurt shone in his meanly spaced eyes. ‘Please, Mother, these people I’m dealing with—’

‘Are businessmen,’ cut in Mabel. ‘And if there’s one thing I understand even better than I understand you, it’s business.’

‘You should give Edward more credit,’ said Philippa, her voice vibrating with indignation. ‘He’s not got where he is today without having struggled to get there.’

Mabel laughed, a full-throated laugh of withering contempt. ‘Struggle! What do either of you know about struggle? When my ex-husband ran off and left me with a baby, I had nothing. And I mean nothing. No job, no money, no education, no prospects. So when I started up my business, it was sink or swim, live—’

‘Or die.’ Philippa finished her mother-in-law’s oh so familiar words, rolling her eyes as if to say,
Christ, do we really have to hear this again?

Edward winced. If there was one thing his mother hated even more intensely than eggs done the wrong way, it was being mocked. The light in Mabel’s eyes burst into flame. With surprising speed for a woman of her age, she stepped forward and whipped her hand across Philippa’s face. For a moment, Philippa stood in mute shock, a hand pressed to her stinging cheek. Then, her voice a whisper of fury, she said to Edward, ‘I want this hateful bitch out of our house right this instant.’

Mabel laughed again. ‘Your house? Who do you think pays the mortgage on this place?’

Philippa kept her gaze fixed on her husband. ‘Tell her to leave, Edward, or—’

‘Or what?’ butted in Mabel. ‘You’ll leave? Well go on then. Get out. Because I’m not going anywhere.’ She turned to Edward. ‘Am I?’

Like iron filings caught between two magnets, Edward’s eyes danced back and forth. They finally came to rest on Mabel. ‘No, Mother, you’re not going anywhere.’

Directing a smug smile at Philippa, Mabel hooked her arm possessively through Edward’s. Her face pale except for the red-hot slap mark, Philippa glared at mother and son as if unsure who she despised more.

‘I’m sorry, Philippa,’ said Edward.

‘No, you’re fucking not! You’ve never been sorry for anything in your entire life. You look out for yourself, and to hell with everyone else. You’ve never loved me. Not really.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’ With a kind of gleeful venom in her eyes, Philippa turned to Mabel. ‘You want to know why you don’t have grandchildren. It’s not because of my ovaries. It’s because your precious son is impotent. He hasn’t been able to get it up for years. At least, not for me. Who knows? Maybe if I looked a bit more like you, things would have been different.’

‘How can you say such a—’ Edward began to exclaim, but Mabel silenced him with a hiss.

The older woman’s nose wrinkled, but her smile remained, giving her the look of a malevolent gnome. ‘Don’t dignify her filthy remarks with a reply, Edward. She’s not worthy of your attentions.’

‘No one ever has been, have they?’ countered Philippa. ‘Except you.’

Mabel tugged on Edward’s arm. He gave his wife a wounded, pathetically helpless look. Then his head dropped and he allowed himself to be drawn towards the front door. Turning her back on Philippa, her head as high as Edward’s was low, Mabel said, ‘I expect you to be gone when we get back.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I will be.’ Philippa’s voice was still hot with anger. But there was also a thickness in it, as if she was fighting back tears.

Mabel led Edward to a garage around the side of the house. Wearing a dazed, sulky expression, he patted his pockets. ‘Are these what you’re looking for?’ Mabel handed him his car keys, exhaling sharply. ‘For God’s sake, Edward, stop pouting and stand up straight. Remember, people are dangerous animals. And what must you do when dealing with dangerous animals? You must project confidence and authority or you’ll be attacked.’