Night Vision (15 page)

‘Naomi, you know we wouldn't leave you.'

‘I know that, but I think you should. Harry, I couldn't live with myself if anything happened, not to any of you. I'm serious about this. I really am.'

‘Gran should go away, anyway,' Patrick said.

‘Oh, should I?'

‘Yes,' Harry told her quietly. ‘We are, at least, all together, but you're on your own in that house. Go and visit Martha for a bit. I can take you up there. Go and have a break somewhere, just for a few days.'

‘You're all really scared, aren't you?' Mari said.

‘I think we should be,' Harry said. ‘Patrick, I'm going to see if I can get you on an earlier flight. I'll give your mother a ring.'

‘Not without you,' Patrick said. ‘And Dad, don't think of arguing, you can't force me to get on a plane.'

‘Any chance of you both going?' Naomi said.

‘And leave you alone? No, we won't do that.'

‘Look,' Mari said. ‘We need contingency plans, don't we? Yes, I'll go and visit Martha or something if it makes you feel better. I've been threatening it for months, anyway. But you lot need to talk to Alec and see what he advises. That policewoman friend of yours, Naomi.'

‘Megan?'

‘Yes, Megan. What did she think?'

‘She's going to make sure we get regular checks, and if necessary Alec can arrange a safe house.'

‘Good. Now, I know I'm not an expert in these things, but it occurs to me that if whoever it was that's making these phone calls actually wanted to do any of us harm, Naomi especially, then they could have done so very easily before now.'

‘It's a good point,' Harry conceded.

‘It is,' Naomi agreed. ‘Which leaves us with the questions: what do they want? What are they hoping I will do?'

‘Or what do they think you know?' Patrick suggested. ‘They obviously think these phone calls will make you do something. Maybe they think you know what it all means.'

Naomi nodded slowly. ‘You have a point,' she said. ‘But I don't know anything. I don't know what they want me to do. They've got that wrong.'

‘Or you don't realize you know,' Patrick pressed. ‘When did you last see your friend? Did she ever send you anything for safekeeping? Did she ever ring you out of the blue and say something that seemed a bit odd?'

‘I've already asked myself those questions, and I can't think of anything. We got the occasional phone call, but even those stopped a while back. We exchanged Christmas and Birthday cards, but they only ever said the obvious stuff. You know – how are you, what are you doing now? The truth was we'd all but lost touch with her.'

‘The last time you spoke on the phone?' Patrick insisted. ‘Or what did she say in her last Christmas card?'

Naomi thought about it. ‘We got a card from her this past year with a new address. We'd already sent her a card, but we sent another to the new address, just in case she hadn't got the first.'

‘Did you put anything different in the second one?'

Naomi laughed. ‘Patrick, I just don't remember. I dictated our cards, Alec wrote, and when he got fed up I took them over to Sue and she helped me with the rest.'

‘Had Jamie been moved for long? Did she give you a new phone number?' Mari asked.

‘And was there anything unusual about the new address?' Harry added.

That set something off in Naomi's brain. Some casual comment from Alec. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘It was a strange one. She said in her card that this was a temporary address because she was between moves; there was some work being done at her new place, I think. It was an office; she said it belonged to a friend. And it wasn't in London.'

‘Do you remember where it was?'

‘Offhand, no. It will be in the book in the hall, near the phone. That's where Alec puts all the family and friends' numbers and stuff. St Albans, I think, but that was the thing. Alec wondered why she didn't just tell us to contact her at work. We'd done that before when she was moving about a lot, especially in the early days when she didn't seem to have a place of her own half the time. She was always sleeping on some friend's couch or whatever. Then she got a flat.' Naomi frowned. ‘I'd not given it any more thought.'

‘And the last time you actually spoke to her?'

‘Was when we invited her to the wedding. She called us and said she'd be working and couldn't make it. She sent a card and . . . something else.' Think, Naomi. Was it a gift token? Both of them having well-established homes and therefore not needing the usual wedding list, quite a lot of people had given them tokens. But that wasn't Jamie's style, was it?

‘She sent a photo frame,' Naomi said. ‘Alec told me it had been handmade, that it looked kind of arts and crafts. It had bees and flowers on it.'

‘You're sure there was nothing inside it? Nothing hidden? Dad, Naomi, we should go and get it.'

Naomi laughed. ‘Sorry, Patrick, I don't think there was anything mysterious about it. I think Alec put a picture of Sue and family in it. I think he might have noticed any secret messages.'

‘Maybe we should look anyway?'

‘Maybe we should, but not today. I think we should go through
all
of the stuff Jamie sent over the years, just to be sure, but I it might be better if we get Alec to help do that. You don't know what to look for, and I'm not sure where in the attic or wherever it might be.'

‘You'll have kept it all though?' Patrick persisted.

‘Of course she will,' Mari said. ‘Our Naomi is a magpie, always was.'

‘Right,' Harry said. ‘We'll clear away and see to the dishes, and then I suggest we all find something pointless on the television.'

No one argued. Something ordinary and Sunday-afternoonish was, Naomi thought, exactly the right recipe after the tension and trauma.

‘I'll try Alec again,' she said.

‘Do that. I'm surprised he's not phoned. He must have noticed your missed calls.'

She was rummaging in her bag for her mobile when Harry's home phone began to ring.

‘That might be him now,' Harry called through from the kitchen. ‘Do you want me to get it?'

He bustled through, heading for the hall. The call cut on to answerphone before he could get there. Naomi froze, heard Harry's strangled gasp of shock.

‘Naomi? Naomi Blake? If you're there please pick up. It's me. It's Jamie.'

‘Pick it up, Harry. Pick up the phone and give it to me.'

She heard him begin to object and then think better of it. The message cut as he plucked the receiver from its cradle. She fumbled it from his hand.

‘Who is this? ‘Naomi demanded. ‘Who the fucking hell is this, and what the hell do you think you're playing at?'

She was met with only silence and a faint click as though someone had flicked a switch.

FOURTEEN

‘
W
here the hell have you been?' Parks demanded. ‘Eddison is mad as hell over something, and your wife's been trying to reach you. She says your phone is off.'

It was. Alec hadn't wanted to be reached. He'd figured Eddison would catch up with him soon enough, and before that he needed some thinking time. Now, if Naomi had been trying to reach him he regretted that.

Ignoring Parks, he turned his phone back on and rang Naomi. Listened, aware that Parks was watching him closely.

‘I'm coming home,' he said. ‘Stay where you are, and I'll be there as fast as I can.'

‘What's going on?' Parks demanded as Alec headed back towards his car.

Alec paused briefly to tell him. ‘I've got to go,' he said. ‘Oh, and tell Eddison to go spin on it.' He drove back out of the staff car park where the police vehicles had been congregated, grateful that the press cordon kept the media to the far side of the public car park and he could come and go with very little attention. Soon he got on to the motorway and was heading for home.

Nick Travers opened his eyes. The ceiling bore a grey stain as though something had leaked and left a mark behind. Their bedroom ceiling had a mark like that. A water pipe, not broken but just seeping moisture. He'd kept promising to fix it until Maureen had given up and just got somebody in. He'd been promising to paint the ceiling too, She'd probably get someone in to do that as well.

‘Nick?' Maureen said. ‘Nick, can you hear me?'

With what felt like a profound effort he turned his head and looked at his wife. ‘Not much good at DIY,' he said.

Travers drifted, and some small part of his mind was grateful that the dream loop seemed to have been broken and the sequence ending with the pain of the stab wounds now felt distant and muzzy, as though someone had decided to film it in soft focus. The face, though. That was just as clear. The man who should have been dead, but patently was not, now appeared in sharper focus. Older, yes, but then they were all older. But it was him.

Travers opened his eyes and this time turned his head towards his wife. ‘Gregory,' he told her. ‘Gregory was there. Alive.'

‘He's gone, boss. Headed home.' Parks expected an explosion. None was forthcoming.

‘Why?' Munroe asked.

Parks told him. ‘The local police called here when she couldn't reach him on his mobile. The last call from “Ms Dale” came through to the house of a friend she's staying with.'

Munroe nodded, exchanged a glance with Eddison. ‘Then he's made the right choice,' Eddison said, and that was that. Eddison strode off towards his room. Munroe shrugged.

Parks regrouped. Do the job, go home. ‘Anything more from the sister?' he asked.

‘Not yet. But she'll be in touch.'

‘You sound very certain.'

‘Wouldn't you, if someone threatened your family?'

Parks, truthfully, wasn't sure. Would he want either Munroe or Eddison anywhere near his family?

‘Yours safe, are they?' Munroe asked.

‘They'd better bloody be.'

Munroe smiled. ‘Anything on the lorry?'

‘Yes, it's registered to a company called Madigor
.
They run an import export business. Far Eastern arts or something. The lorry was reported stolen a week ago. We've been trying to reach the owner, but neighbours say he's away on business. One of them is feeding his cat.'

‘Owner's name?'

‘Penbury. Joshua Penbury. No form. Nothing irregular as yet.'

‘Then we shall have to keep digging. Anything more from the hospital?'

‘He's been waking up and then drifting off again. He's still in the high dependency unit, but the signs are good. The hospital want to know if the armed guard is really necessary.'

‘Tell them yes it bloody is.'

‘Oh and Susan Moran, the family liaison, says he's been talking in his sleep. Two names. One is our friend Michelle Sanders.'

Munroe laughed. ‘Oh, I don't envy him when he's well enough to take the flak on that one. Who else?'

‘Someone called Gregory. He woke and told his wife that Gregory was alive. Mean anything?'

Munroe shrugged. ‘Not to me.' Not yet. ‘Keep me posted,' he said.

FIFTEEN

T
he call came through late that evening. The lorry had been found. It was still on the motorway at services some fifty miles distant. No one had given it much thought until the warden checking for patrons staying more than their permitted free hours had noticed that the reg number was still on his list. He'd assumed the driver was on a stopover and merely noted the fact. Then, at shift change, a routine glance at the police list – checking for stolen vehicles – and the number had been there.

‘So he parked up and changed vehicles again,' Munroe said. ‘The lorry hadn't been reported missing,' he confirmed, kicking irritably at the lorry wheels.

Parks shook his head. ‘The owner, this Joshua Penbury, he's out of the country on a buying trip, apparently. Passport control has him on a flight to Paris en route to God knows where three days ago. The usual driver is visiting family in Bournemouth, part of his annual leave. He drives for this Penbury and for an agency. He's clean, so far as we can tell, and well alibied for the night DI Travers was attacked.'

‘Which suggests someone knew the vehicle would be available and not missed. So we wait and see if SOCO turn anything up.' Munroe scowled in frustration. ‘Where the hell are they, anyway?'

‘En route. You'll just have to be patient,' Parks told him. But it did piss him off too, standing there next to a suspect vehicle and unable even to take a look in the cab.

‘When's this Penbury due back?'

‘The neighbour feeding the cat has enough cat food for a week and cash for more if she needs it, so—'

‘Regular arrangement, is it?'

‘Apparently,' Parks told him. The local officer he'd talked to had said she had three cats of her own and thought Joshua was a ‘lovely man' so was glad to help.

‘Nothing more on the car?'

Parks shook his head. ‘It could be anywhere.'

‘So we're back to trawling through CCTV.' Munroe wasn't impressed. ‘See what new vehicle our would-be killer and our lorry driver moved on to.'

‘Or vehicles,' Parks suggested. ‘I doubt they'd stay together.'

‘True. Anything from our errant DI?'

‘What, Alec? No. Eddison says to let him cool off and then pull him back.'

‘You think he'll come back?'

‘Wouldn't bet on it. I don't think I would. I'd rather be with my wife and kids at a time like this.'

Munroe nodded what might have been agreement. ‘What I can't figure out,' he said, ‘is why the hell Eddison wants him involved anyway. I mean, what more can he tell us? So far as Alec Friedman was concerned, he'd done his bit, put a conman away, end of story.'

Parks looked speculatively at Munroe, as though wondering if Munroe actually wanted his opinion or was simply trying to trip him up in some way. Would Munroe really question Eddison's judgement so openly, or was he playing mind games again? Munroe, Parks had observed, seemed to enjoy mind games. ‘I suppose he has his reasons,' he said cautiously.