Never Coming Home (30 page)

Devlin uncoiled from his seat. Pugh balked. ‘What do you
want
?’

‘The name of the person who sent you to Mrs Elmore and the reason you tried to take those pictures.’

Surprise splattered over Pugh’s face. He leaned one hand on the back of his chair. The waitress had come to the door of the pub, frowning in their direction. Devlin inclined his head towards Pugh’s chair as he returned to his own. Pugh subsided with a grunt. The waitress retreated.

‘You want me to give up a source.’ Pugh took a swig of coffee. ‘Just like that?’

‘Exactly like that.’

‘I
 
…’ Pugh stopped. ‘What’s in it for me? There’s a story, has to be.’

‘There could be.’

‘I don’t see
 
–
 
’Pugh stopped again, clearly trying to work out an angle and coming up with nothing.

Kaz shifted her chair slightly. The gunslinger circling was entertaining to watch, but it was time to move on. Delving into the outsize handbag that was sitting beside her chair, she pulled out a small package and passed it across the table to Pugh. ‘This is yours. If you tell us what we want to know.’

Devlin made a small, jerky movement, then went still. Kaz kept her head turned away from him. Pugh was staring at the parcel with his mouth slightly open. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘Go ahead, open it,’ Kaz encouraged.

His fingers were trembling as he unfolded the wrappings. Kaz could hear him breathing. He knew what it was, from the way it was wrapped.

‘This
 
… it’s
 
…’

Reverently he ran the tip of his thumb along the very edge of the heavy piece of card. It was the simplest of sketches, ten black slashes on a faintly lined background. A bird, soaring with joy and power. One edge of the paper mounted on the card was ragged, as if it had been torn from a child’s exercise book.

‘An original Olivier Kessel.’ Pugh breathed the words, his Welsh accent broader with emotion. His eyes came up, almost round with disbelief. ‘You’re prepared to give me
this
, just for a name?’

‘It’s yours. You can take it away with you now. If you give me your address I’ll send you the document for provenance.’

His eyes were back on the picture, unable to stay away. Kaz almost heard the wrench as he pulled his gaze from it and focused on her. ‘Why would you give this away? Just
give
it. You want that information very badly.’

‘I do.’ Kaz didn’t see any point in denial. ‘I also want your silence. You tell us what we want to know, then forget we were here. And you get the documents to prove that you own
that
.’ She nodded towards the sketch.

Pugh’s eyes sparked. ‘And if I don’t, I get a visit from the cops investigating a theft?’ Suddenly he was grinning.

Kaz grinned back. ‘Could be.’

Pugh looked for a while at the picture. Kaz let him. She could feel his hunger for possession fighting with journalistic instinct to hold on to a source. It was what she had counted on. She was maybe seventy per cent sure which would win.

Beside her Devlin was lying back in his chair, unmoving. She wasn’t going to risk a look at his face. What she sensed coming off him was amusement.
You hope
.

Pugh had folded his hands in his lap. Kaz guessed it was to stop himself pawing at the picture.

The waitress broke the mood. Approaching silently, she pounced to clear the table. ‘You want anything else then?’

Pugh snatched the sketch away from the risk of disfiguring spills as dirty cups slopped. His hand came out to stop the woman as she prodded the discarded wrappings from the picture, about to crumple them onto the tray. ‘Three more coffees, please.’

They waited in silence until the order arrived. Pugh was nursing the flying bird on his knee. Holding it by fingertips only, ready to snatch it from harm. He still didn’t seem able to take his eyes off it.

At last when the coffee was served, and the waitress had left, he raised them. Kaz pushed the wrappings towards him. Reluctantly he fitted the sketch back into its coverings. The deep sigh came up from a very long way down.

‘I’ll answer your questions. And I’ll keep my mouth shut.’ Pugh heaped sugar into his latte. ‘But I want an exclusive on the story. Come on.’ He gestured with his spoon as Kaz finally glanced over at Devlin, and found his face blank. For now, this was her show. ‘Don’t tell me there isn’t any story,’ Pugh persisted. ‘I want the first chance of telling it.’

Kaz turned her head towards Devlin. He shrugged. She could almost hear his thoughts.
What did you expect? The man is a journalist. It’s what he wants, balanced against what you want.

‘All right.’ She swallowed. ‘When you came to interview me about my daughter, who sent you?’

Pugh had bent down. The sketch was safely stowed now in a briefcase at his feet. When he straightened up, his face reflected surprise. ‘That really
is
it? That’s all you want to know?’ Now he was grinning. He spread his hands. ‘The answer to that one is easy. No one. No one
sent
me.’

Chapter Forty

Devlin resisted the urge to feed Pugh his fat smile. He was getting better at restraint, but it still made his toes twitch. A fast glance at Kaz showed him a pale, disappointed face. She hadn’t heard it, the slight nuance in Pugh’s speech.
Why should she? She’s a civilian. Smart, determined and sneaky, but still a civilian. Thank God.

Pugh was preening himself, smug. The guy would be lousy at the poker table. Kaz didn’t know that she hadn’t struck out; that she’d just asked the wrong question. And Pugh was using it to muddy the water. And prove what a clever bastard he was.

‘No one
sent
you.’ Devlin stared straight at Pugh, echoing his inflection and playing it back amplified. ‘But something
prompted
that visit. Who gave you the idea?’ He stretched one leg forward, to block Pugh’s way out. Should the man be thinking of leaving. He nudged the case on the floor with his foot too, a reminder that the guy had already been paid for what he was giving up. ‘Mrs Elmore has been very generous with you. In exchange, I think you should give her a proper answer,’ Devlin suggested mildly.

Pugh was looking a lot less happy. And a lot confused. Abruptly his face crumpled into surrender. The pull of the sketch was too much. Plus underneath he was probably a decent guy. Most of the time. He was puzzled, that was clear. Warning bells were sounding softly in Devlin’s head. Pugh didn’t really understand why they were asking, because he thought they should already know. No wonder he was confused.

Devlin glanced over at Kaz. The bones of her face seemed to be standing out, but he suspected he was the only one who would see it. A hand clenched hard round his heart. She had her eyes on Pugh.

‘Look, if this is some family argument, I don’t want to get into the middle of it – I never used the story.’ Pugh was wriggling in his chair, flashing glances back and forth between them again. ‘I’m not involved. You must know
 
…’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know what you
want
.’ It was close to a whine. ‘You want me to admit that it was Kessel himself who gave me the idea? Is that it?’

He was looking at Kaz, clearly unable to read her face, and floundering as a result. Devlin wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t read it either, though he had a sickening idea of the turmoil that might be going on in her head. He’d felt the tiny jerk of her leg, when Pugh spoke Kessel’s name. Here it was. Her father, about to be dismantled in front of her, by a man who didn’t understand what he was saying. It was what they’d come for, but that wouldn’t make it any easier to hear.

Kaz’s expression was working on Pugh. Getting no reaction, he was floundering on. ‘Look, I interviewed Kessel eighteen months ago. Before he dropped out of sight. He was in town to discuss a retrospective. He told me about his plans then, but it was strictly off the record. When I saw that his granddaughter had been killed, well it still seemed like a story. Tragedy, human interest. Of course I wanted some of the little girl’s paintings, but I shouldn’t have tried to take them like that.’

The man’s ears were going pink, Devlin noticed with interest.

‘It was crass.’ Pugh jerked his shoulders. ‘In the event, my editor wouldn’t run it. Not when I couldn’t get hold of Kessel, to comment. I’m sorry if I caused distress,’ he finished, with a small, stiff gesture, that was almost a bow, in Kaz’s direction.

Kaz started to speak, then stopped. Devlin let his arm brush hers. They needed more.
She
needed more. He had to play Pugh to get it.

‘Kessel told
you
his plans.’ The inflection of disbelief was just enough.

Pugh, ego close to the surface, fell straight in.

‘If you don’t believe that Kessel shared his hopes and dreams with me
 
–’

‘To hell with this!’ Kaz’s sudden outburst had both men looking at her. ‘Just tell me what my father
said
to you.’

Pugh visibly gulped. Devlin almost felt sorry for him. ‘He told me about your daughter, how she was going to be his successor – about the training programme.’

Devlin looked at Kaz and felt the hand squeezing tighter in his chest. She looked as if someone had dripped acid into her heart. After all the fencing, here it was. Pieces falling into place. Her eyes hadn’t left Pugh’s face. ‘My father told you about his programme for developing my daughter’s talent,’ she said distinctly.

‘Yes.’ Pugh nodded, for emphasis. ‘I don’t think he meant to, but he couldn’t keep it in. He was just so amazed and delighted. About all he was going to achieve. When the little girl died like that, he must have been devastated.’ Pugh had his hands on the table, suddenly eager. ‘Is that why he’s still avoiding the press? Or is he really working on something new? Look, if you can get me an interview
 
–’

Kaz was getting to her feet. Her eyes looked blind. ‘I think we’re done here.’

Devlin rose, to help her with her chair. It would have fallen, if he hadn’t caught it.

‘Hold it.’ Belatedly the journalist in Pugh surfaced. Pennies had begun to drop. ‘You didn’t know any of this, did you? This was all a con?’

Kaz swung round on him. Devlin heard the chill in her heart spilling into her voice. ‘A con that just got you a very impressive addition to your art collection, Mr Pugh.’ She put her hand on his shoulder and Devlin saw him stiffen. ‘If you want to hold on to it, you’ll forget we were here.’

She started to move away, then turned back. ‘One more question. You said my father dropped out of sight. What did you mean?’

Pugh gaped at her. ‘Just that. He disappeared, not long after he gave me that interview. No one I’ve talked to knows where he is.’

Chapter Forty-One

‘Kaz?’ Devlin was watching her face. Her eyes were shut and her head was back against the seat. Mercifully the train carriage wasn’t crowded.

‘I didn’t expect it to come out like that.’ She opened her eyes. Two dark pools of hurt. ‘It was all we thought. What you thought, but I
 
… proof, in a bundle, just like that.’

‘It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law.’

‘I’m not thinking of a court of law.’ Kaz’s mouth twisted. ‘My father told that journalist about Jamie and what he had planned for her. Then I refused to let him have her, but he didn’t give up. He dropped out of sight and he just kept on planning.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘Pugh came looking for a story about a dead child prodigy that day and it was my father who gave it to him.’

The pain in her face and her voice was shredding things in Devlin’s gut.

‘We don’t have to go on with this. We can leave it, right now. Nothing is going to bring Jamie back.’ Kaz’s mouth was a line of anguish. Devlin felt like howling. Emotions, families, trying to love someone, the dark side of the moon. He was a live grenade, rolling from one horror to another. The more he did, the worse it got. ‘I should never have begun this.’

‘No!’ Kaz sat forward, eyes blazing suddenly. ‘This is
right
. I need to know. And I want to hear it from my father’s own lips.
We look for him.’ She glared at him, as if he’d refused her.

‘Okay!’ He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Whatever you want.’

A very shaky half-smile flickered, and was gone. It felt like the first shot of morphine after hours of pain.

‘Thank you.’

‘Whatever you want,’ he repeated. ‘Just tell me.’

Kaz dipped her head. ‘My mother will have to know.’

Devlin grimaced. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I
 
… yes.’ Kaz fell silent.

Devlin watched her face, hoping maybe she’d sleep, but the eyes were too bright.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked eventually.

‘That Pugh is a lucky guy. And not just because he’s walked away from this with a priceless Kessel sketch.’