Smoke & Whispers (16 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ she told him.

He shrugged.

Jack let him.

‘You should go now,’ she said. ‘Find your clothes. It’s cold.’

Jack must have nodded at this, because Barry got to his feet. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but changed his mind. Without a backward glance, he walked barefoot away from them, over the stony, muddy ground, towards the gate where his clothes lay.

It was like watching a ghost dematerialize.

Jack said, ‘Did that clear things up much?’

14

The wind whistled through an invisible gap. Off in the distance, lights on cranes shimmered.

‘Who are you?’ Sarah said.

To give Jack credit, he didn’t go coy.

‘I’m who you thought I was. The one you came to for help.’

‘Is that what I did?’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘That’s what you did.’

‘And what about you, Jack? What did you do?’

He reached inside his jacket. For a moment, she thought he was about to show her a weapon; an explanation of how he’d brought Barry here. But all he produced was a pack of cigarettes.

‘You don’t, do you?’

She shook her head.

‘Sensible.’ But not so much that he followed her example.

‘You haven’t answered my question.’

‘I didn’t do anything to him, Sarah. He did it to himself.’

‘What, he just stripped off his clothes and –’

‘Yes.’

‘– sat down in that chair in the freezing cold, middle of nowhere, and waited for me to –’

‘Yes.’

‘– show up? What do you mean,
yes
?’

She spat the word. What did
yes
mean? And what kind of man was Jack? He was worse than the one she’d been running from.

Jack said, ‘I mean, he did it all to himself. Okay, I brought him here. Collected him from the Bolbec. Tank drove. I sat in the back with Barry.’

‘And he was happy to come along for the ride.’

‘You know something? I’d not say happy. But he didn’t put up a fight.’

‘What would have happened if he had?’

‘He’d have lost.’ Jack inhaled. ‘But it didn’t come to that. All I had to do was tell him who I was.’

‘And who are you?’ she asked again.

He shrugged; showed his palms. That’s what you did when you were open: look. Nothing up the sleeves. Just a cigarette burning between two fingers.

‘Jack Gannon. That’s who I am, Sarah. I make no secret of that.’

‘Son of Michael Gannon.’

‘That’s not a secret either.’

‘Well-known local gangster.’

‘Now then,’ he said. ‘He was never convicted of anything.’

‘Didn’t have to be, did he?’ Sarah said. ‘I walk into a pub in Walker, drop your name, and your pet gorilla’s there five minutes later. You might be straight as the day’s long, Jack, but you know damn well what weight your family carries.’

Jack said, ‘So, Barry might have jumped to a conclusion or two.’

‘
Might?
’

‘What do you want me to say? That I told him I wouldn’t hurt him? You thought he was a killer, Sarah. You thought he murdered at least three women.’

‘Maybe he did.’

‘Get real. You just saw him. You think
that’s
a killer?’

‘Talmadge is a chameleon, Jack. Maybe we just saw him changing colour. You certainly provided quite a backdrop.’

‘He wasn’t faking that. He was scared stiff.’

‘So? Alan Talmadge specializes in pushing middle-aged women into ditches. Second-generation gangsters are out of his league.’

Jack shook his head. ‘You don’t think he’s Talmadge any more than I do.’

‘You pretended to be who he thought you were,’ Sarah told him. ‘What makes you think he was doing any different?’

‘Sarah –’

‘There are ways of doing things, Jack. Okay, maybe I don’t think he’s Talmadge. But that means we’ve just terrorized an innocent man.’

‘Everybody’s guilty of something,’ Jack said.

He dropped the cigarette half-smoked, and ground it underfoot.

Sarah simmered. Everything that had just happened had happened on her word. She’d shared her suspicions with Jack, and this was what came of it: Barry naked in the open air, scared for his life. Convinced the next thing coming his way was a sharp knife or a blunt object.

If he had been Talmadge, would she have cared? She didn’t know. She didn’t know. If he’d killed women then surely he deserved everything he got. But Sarah didn’t want to be part of the punishment.

Jack said, ‘Long and short of it, you were frightened of him. Now you’re not. That’s a result. Shall we head for the car?’

She said, ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’

‘What was me?’

‘In Gerard’s room. This morning.’

Jack said, ‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because when I asked Barry if it had been him, he shook his head. And you didn’t tell him to answer properly.’

He smiled. ‘That’s pretty sharp.’

‘And I’m right, too. Aren’t I?’

He said, ‘When your phone went off, I nearly crapped myself.’

‘How do you think I felt?’

‘At least you had the advantage of being in the bathroom.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘I could ask you the same.’

‘But I asked first.’

He said, ‘You think someone like Inchon turns up every day? Threatening to chuck money around, asking if you want any?’

‘And that’s a reason to break into his room?’

‘Hell, yes.’ He smiled again. She distrusted that smile.

Jack relied on it too much. ‘So, okay, it’s possible that I picked up a few bad habits. A few family traits.’

‘You think?’

‘I wasn’t there to steal.’

‘I didn’t imagine you were. You wanted to know what he was really after, didn’t you?’

‘We’d just had a meeting, him and Brian Harper and I. We were going to have lunch. But Brian had another appointment first, so Gerard said he’d mooch around town till we were all free. I knew his room would be empty. Or thought it would.’

‘So what did you find?’

He laughed. ‘I was interrupted. Remember?’

‘How did Gerard get in touch in the first place?’

‘He just did. He phoned. Said I might have heard his name – which I had, of course – and asked if I wanted to come to a gathering he was planning.’

‘Because he was looking for investment opportunities.’

‘So he said.’ Jack shook his head. ‘It’s like he was playing a part. You know, I’m a big investor. This is what I do.’

‘It was strange,’ she said.

‘It was bloody weird. He can sit at home, open his post, and get twenty-seven begging letters a day, all pointing out rich investment potential. He doesn’t have to go anywhere. And certainly doesn’t have to throw a party when he gets there.’

‘You were top of his list,’ she said. ‘Why would that be?’

‘What list?’

‘Trust me, there was a list. And you were at the top.’

He said, ‘There’s no list of businessmen in this city which would have me up there. Unless you were starting at G. So God only knows where it came from.’

God and Sarah. She said, ‘Ever hear of a firm called Roleseekers?’

‘Local?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Sound like headhunters. I’ve never used them.’

She was starting to prefer answers that addressed the question. ‘So you’ve never heard of them.’

He said, ‘No, Sarah, I’ve never heard of them.’ He produced his cigarettes again. For a supposedly once-in-a-blue-moon smoker, he was having a heavy night. ‘Are we through yet? Because there are better places to have a conversation.’

‘Oh, I think we’re through,’ she said.

She turned and walked back the way she’d come, towards the faraway gate.

‘Sarah?’

She kept walking.

‘Sarah? Don’t be silly. You’ve nowhere to go. It’s the middle of the night.’

‘I know,’ she said. But she didn’t turn back.

Jack had called him Tank. He was by the gate, smoking.

‘Where did he go?’ Sarah asked.

Tank pointed up the road. She started walking. But Barry was nowhere to be seen.

That was probably just as well. Out from under Jack’s gaze, he might not be so tractable. Might, in fact, be pissed off.

Besides, what was she going to say to him? Sorry? She’d already said that. It didn’t seem enough.

Perhaps he’d go to the police. Any sane man would. He’d been kidnapped, assaulted – whatever Jack said, interrogating someone naked in a derelict shipyard had to count as assault.

Sarah had lost all sense of time. When had Tank driven her here? After midnight? What did that make it now – one o’clock? Later?

The air was still damp, and the streetlamps were haloed with mist.

He wouldn’t go to the police, she decided. Because it wasn’t what any sane man would do. Or at least, not what any sane man who spent half his life pretending to be Australian would do.

Besides, Jack had stripped him naked. How was that going to look?

And you’re sure this was against your will, sir?

She’d come to a halt, which was not a sensible thing to do on an unknown industrial estate at night. There was nobody around she could see, but that meant nothing. Jack and Tank weren’t far away – any moment now, that sharky car would ease past – and she didn’t want to be here then. She hurried to the next junction. There was a car not far up the road, engine running. People were piling out of it; piling into a lit building. Heading away from it, she walked faster.

Tap tap
said her heels to the pavement.
Tap tap
. So much louder at night.

A sudden burst of sound made her jump. The wind, sending a dustbin lid surfing.

Up ahead, traffic lights hung out their colours.

That noise advancing on her was a car. She didn’t look round.

It eased to match her walking pace. A voice called out.

‘I’m for the city centre, lady. Any use to you?’

It was a taxi. Not in itself a guarantee of safe transport, but the driver’s round black face beamed at her like a grandfather’s.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘That would be good.’

In her room at the Bolbec, she packed her bag. She’d had to ring a bell to get in, and the young man who opened the door wasn’t familiar. A last-minute sub for Barry, she presumed. She wasn’t about to get into a conversation about it.

First thing she did was turn her phone on, making it buzz crossly. She had three voicemail messages, all from Russ. The first was puzzled and anxious; the second angry. The third anxious again. She rang him, reached voicemail, and left a loving, apologetic message, or hoped she did. It was always possible she’d left an incoherent, half-crazed one. She’d call again when it was light. With luck, she’d be nearly home by then.

Lying on the floor was the
Big Issue
she’d made Gerard buy. Picking it up, she riffled its pages. Maybe the name would leap out at her:
Madeleine Irving. 47
. Missing. But who would think to announce to the world that Madeleine wasn’t where she ought to be? Sarah’s impression had been that nobody much noticed her even when she was there. Which was exactly the target Alan Talmadge preferred, of course. And if it was indeed Madeleine, or someone like her, on that slab, then Zoë was somewhere else.

Sarah knew that the odds of having identified a missing woman by chance were slim. But the possibility that Zoë wasn’t dead had taken root in her brain.

The room phone rang.

It would be Russ. But it wasn’t.

‘Sarah?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Just making sure you’re safe. You wandered off in a bad part of town.’

‘I’m fine. Packing.’

‘That was the other thing I wanted. For us not to part on bad terms.’

She said, ‘You kidnapped him, Jack.
We
kidnapped him. And making him strip like that, putting him on that chair in the open air – that was torture. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?’

‘He’s not going to report it.’

‘I think you’re missing my point.’

‘No, I get your point. But you made a convincing case for him being a serial killer, Sarah. I think that entitled us to a little leeway.’

‘I should have just called the police.’

‘At the time, you had pretty sound reasons for not doing that.’

At the time, she’d had too much to drink.

She said, ‘I was wrong about him. Whatever I said afterwards. He’s not the person I was afraid he was.’

‘Which means someone else is.’

There was little point disputing that. Whoever Talmadge was, it was clear he was no one Sarah had encountered.

She said, ‘I’m sure you were trying to do me a favour.’

‘I’m glad you get that.’

‘But don’t do me any more.’

He said, ‘People aren’t always who you think they are.’

She shook her head. It was the middle of the night. She didn’t need life-lessons from second-generation gangsters.

‘Goodbye, Jack.’

‘Goodbye, Sarah.’

‘And tell your friend Wright – tell him he’s a lousy lunch guest.’

‘I will. When he turns up.’

Sarah said, ‘What do you mean, turns up?’

‘Well,’ Jack told her. ‘Before the evening went topsy-turvy, he was supposed to be meeting me for a drink. But he never showed.’

‘I assume you’d have been buying the drink.’

‘That’s the pattern.’

‘Sounds odd, certainly.’ It was nice, having a target for venom. ‘First time I laid eyes on him, he was freeloading. Can’t imagine he’d pass up the chance.’

‘How do you mean, freeloading?’

‘At Gerard’s do. You brought him along, right?’

Jack said, ‘Well, sort of.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He came with me, that’s true enough. But Inchon asked me to bring him.’

‘Gerard did?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’d got the impression he was there on your coat-tails.’

‘Aye, well. That’s not how it was.’

Sarah shook her head. What kind of sense did that make? Though it didn’t have to. It had happened, that was all. Making sense wasn’t part of the deal.

‘Sarah?’

She said, ‘Goodnight, Jack.’

Cutting him off, she sat on the bed. Did what she’d just learned make any difference? It had to. She wasn’t sure how, but it had to.

She cast her mind back to the paper she’d found in Gerard’s room: the Roleseekers list Zoë acquired for him. John M. Wright hadn’t appeared on it, and for that reason she’d dismissed him except as a means of discovering more about Jack. Because Jack had been top of the list. She remembered that for sure.

But maybe Jack had only been there because his presence could guarantee Wright’s.

So the difference was that everything had just turned upside down. Wright wasn’t peripheral to the events Gerard had orchestrated: he was the reason for them. And why was that? Because Gerard really believed Wright was on the brink of a major medical breakthrough?