The Loyal Servant (33 page)

45

Half a dozen mismatched suitcases and assorted sports bags were lined up in a row in the hall. Caroline squeezed an extra pair of Ben’s pyjamas into his Buzz Lightyear suitcase and propped his stuffed blue rabbit with the one floppy ear between the metal uprights of the handle. She leaned over the banister and shouted up the stairs.

‘Come on Claire! Everyone else is ready. What are you doing up there?’

Her daughter’s face appeared over the rail on the first floor landing.

‘I’m waiting for the bathroom.’

‘Who’s in there?’

‘Dan. He’s been ages.’

‘Dan?’ Caroline hurried up the stairs. Dan was usually in and out of the bathroom in less than five minutes. Immediately Caroline imagined the worst. She whispered to Claire. ‘How long?’

‘An hour, maybe?’

‘And you didn’t think to check on him?’

Claire shrugged.

Caroline tapped on the door. ‘Dan? We’re waiting to leave, love. Are you nearly finished in there?’

‘Tell him to hurry up!’ Claire said.

‘Go downstairs and ask your gran if you can use her bathroom.’

‘But my stuff is in there.’ Claire thumped a fist against the door, and rattled the handle. ‘Dan! Mum’s here – she’s right outside the door – come out!’

‘Downstairs, Claire. I’ll bring your stuff down.’ She turned back to the door. ‘Come on, sweetheart.’ From inside the bathroom she heard cabinet doors slam shut. ‘Is anything wrong, love? If there’s something you need I can get Gran to stop off at the supermarket on the way.’ She leaned her head against the door. ‘Come on, love.’

What was he doing in there? She pictured him pulling out blades from Pete’s safety razor… leaning over the bath… It was just too quiet. ‘Dan! Is everything OK?’

The door opened suddenly and Caroline tumbled forward into the gap. Dan held out his arms and managed to stop her falling over.

‘Don’t fuss, Mum.’ He ducked around her. ‘God!’

She heard him mutter something about getting up ‘so early on a Sunday morning’ as he disappeared into his room. He slammed the door shut behind him.

Caroline headed straight for the bathroom cabinet and flung open the doors. A full compliment of paracetamols, aspirin and ibuprofen still occupied the top shelf and a new packet of razor heads didn’t look like it had been tampered with. She exhaled, told herself not to overreact, and stuffed all the painkillers into a pocket. Just in case. She flew down the stairs and ran into her mother coming in the front door.

‘We’re nearly ready, Mum.’

Jean huffed.

‘I do appreciate what you’re doing.’

‘I don’t see why
you
can’t take them – it’s not like you’ve got a job tying you down.’

Caroline weaved around Jean and tested one of Claire’s bags for weight. She could barely lift it. ‘I’ve already explained, Mum. I’ve got a few things I need to tidy up. I’ll come down to the chalet on Thursday, maybe even before that. Depending on how things pan out.’

‘I don’t know why you’re being so mysterious.’

Caroline dragged the bag to the front door and over the step.

‘And why isn’t Pete here helping?’ Jean said. ‘I thought he’d moved back in.’

‘Did he tell you that?’

Jean shrugged. ‘I’m not blind. I know he didn’t go back to his sister’s on Friday night.’

‘Not that it’s any of your business… he slept on the sofa.’

‘I’m well aware of that. I could hear his snoring through the wall. I don’t know how you put up with him for so long.’

Caroline dropped the bag and turned back to her mother, not wanting to shout her business in the street. ‘Can you just drop it? Now is not the time.’

‘I’ve got meetings planned. We’re going to leaflet the polling stations on Thursday. I need to get back to organise it.’

‘You can’t leaflet – it’s not even legal.’

‘We won’t be telling people who to vote for. Just letting them know which parties are supporting the academy programme.’

‘I’m sure your boyfriend and the rest of your merry men will manage perfectly well without you.’

‘If you’re talking about Albert, he’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Maybe you should tell him that.’

Caroline picked up a corner of the bag and hauled it all the way to the kerb, her mother two steps behind. She opened the boot of her Fiesta. The space inside seemed smaller now she’d cleared the junk out than it did before. They’d never fit everything in. Jean grabbed one end of the heavy bag sitting on the pavement.

‘After three,’ she said.

‘You’ll do yourself an injury. I’ll get Dan to help.’

‘We can manage.’

Reluctantly, Caroline grabbed the other end and they heaved the bag into the boot and the little red car bounced on its creaking suspension. Caroline scrutinised the rear roadside tyre. As she prodded the tread with a knuckle, an enormous four-wheel drive roared towards her. It was going far too fast. It whooshed by, almost clipping the Fiesta’s wing mirror. Caroline tried to get a good look at the driver as it sped away; only exhaling when she saw it was a grey-haired woman.

‘You will drive carefully?’ She turned to her mother.

Jean rolled her eyes. ‘Actually, I thought I’d take the opportunity to practice my rallying skills on the M20.’

‘Seriously Mum – if you feel insecure about anything – if other drivers look like they’re playing silly buggers—’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘If you get shaken up by anything. You know… notice any strange vehicles or feel like you’re being followed – just pull over and call the police.’

‘Followed? I’m not James Bond, Caroline. Who’s going to be following me down to the Isle of Sheppey?’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘International spy rings must have fallen on very hard times if they’re relocating to Leysdown.’ She shook her head. ‘All this nonsense at the department has addled your brains.’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying that. You saw the state the kids were in on Friday night.’

‘They were upset because of the dog – we all were. It was a terrible accident.’

‘Someone ran the dog over deliberately.’

Jean muttered something under her breath.

‘What if it had been Ben?’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Caroline.’

‘Just promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I’m always careful.’

Dan appeared at the front door. He pushed up his sleeves and stood scratching his arms

‘Give me a hand with the other bags,’ Caroline shouted at him.

He grunted and went back into the hall. He was gripping a bag in each hand by the time Caroline reached the house.

‘I realise you don’t want to go away,’ she said. ‘But you have to trust me – it’s for the best.’

‘Whatever.’

‘You can talk to Kylie on the phone every day. The time’ll flash by. You know it’s OK to give her your new number?’

‘What?’ He looked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.

‘And while we’re on the subject, you still haven’t given me your old phone.’ She held out a hand.

‘Not possible.’

‘Claire’s given me hers – even your gran’s handed her mobile over. Come on Dan. I got you a new one for a reason. You can’t use the old phone. It’s not safe. Give it to me.’

‘Don’t have it.’

‘You don’t—’

‘Lost it.’ He looked away. ‘Yesterday.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

He shrugged.

‘For God’s sake Dan!’

‘I don’t know why you’re being so paranoid.’

‘I’ve already explained. We’ve got to be careful.’ She stared into his eyes. ‘You’re not lying to me, are you? If I find out you’ve still got it…’

Dan grunted again and struggled to the front step with the two heavy bags.

‘Be careful with my stuff.’ Claire ran to the door and stabbed a finger into her brother’s ribs. He flinched.

‘Sorry… forgot,’ Claire said.

‘Forgot what?’ Caroline stood between them. What’s going on? What’s wrong with your side? Dan?’

Dan ignored her and trundled outside with the bags.

‘Claire?’

She shrugged. ‘He fell over or something.’ She started sorting through the coats on the rack by the front door. ‘Have you seen my leather jacket?’

‘Can you have a word with him while you’re away?’

‘With Dan? What about?’

‘About Kylie – he won’t speak about the situation with me at all. He’s got to take his responsibilities seriously.’

Claire threw a coat onto the floor, chucked hats and scarves on top. ‘Dan’s OK. I’ve got too much to think about without getting into all that.’

‘Please, Claire.’

‘It’s bad enough I have to go away at all. Do you know how much revision I have to do?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. OK? I’m sorry I’m making you do this. But I don’t have a choice. It’s for your own good. Just have a quiet word with Dan, will you?’

‘I would’ve thought Kylie was the least of his worries.’ Claire tugged at a tan leather jacket and managed to knock the remaining coats onto the floor.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’ll have to ask him.’

‘Do you even know if Kylie has made a decision about whether or not to keep the baby?’

‘God, Mum. It’s not a baby – it’s a collection of cells embedded in the wall of her uterus.’

Caroline closed her eyes for a moment. ‘At least try – he’ll listen to you.’

Claire snorted a laugh. ‘I have more meaningful conversations with Ben.’ She unzipped a purple suitcase and tried to stuff the jacket inside.

‘Where is your brother?’

‘Haven’t seen him.’

Caroline shouted up the stairs for Ben, then noticed the stuffed rabbit she’d balanced on his suitcase had disappeared. She ran into the kitchen and through the back door, calling his name as she went, a familiar queasiness blooming in her stomach. She scanned the garden and spotted him beneath the overgrown eucalyptus, kneeling by a mound of fresh soil.

‘I’m saying goodbye to Minty,’ he explained, without her having to ask. ‘I told her not to miss us too much.’

A pile of fast-withering pansies sat at the summit of the mound. Ben must have reached a hand through the hole in the fence and helped himself from the neighbour’s flowerbeds. Caroline dragged him towards her and kissed the top of his head and sniffed in a breath. His hair smelled of Vosene. She patted the mound, mumbled a goodbye to Minty and lifted Ben to his feet. ‘Promise me you’ll look after your brother and sister while you’re away.’

He nodded.

‘Just think, in a couple of hours you’ll be by the seaside, making sandcastles.’

‘When will you and Dad be coming?’

‘I’ll be down in a couple of days.’

‘What about Dad?’

Caroline swallowed.

‘Maybe at the weekend.’

‘I have to wait a whole week?’

‘We’ll see.’

‘Will you put flowers on Minty’s grave while I’m away?’

‘Of course I will.’

Fifteen minutes later all the bags had been squeezed into the boot and her three children were safely strapped into their seats. Caroline handed the car key to her mother and checked up and down the street.

‘Good grief, Caroline. Stop being so jumpy.’ Jean shoved the key in the ignition.

‘Remember the gear stick jams a bit going from second to third?’ Caroline said. ‘Just make sure you’ve got your foot right down on the clutch. You will drive carefully?’

‘I’ve been driving perfectly well for over 45 years, Caroline. I don’t think I need any lessons from you.’

‘Call me when you arrive. In fact, get Claire to call me when you’re nearly there.’

‘It’s only the Isle of Sheppey – not a lunar expedition. I’ll give you three rings when we get there. There’s no need to pick up.’

46

Caroline walked up the stairs, stopping after each flight to listen for noises below. The lifts in Pete’s sister’s block never seemed to be working and she really didn’t want to risk getting stuck in a graffiti-stained, urine-soaked metal box waiting for the fire brigade to come and rescue her.

Instead of jumping on the number 75 bus from Catford directly to Lewisham, Caroline had taken a train to New Cross then walked to New Cross Gate where she picked up the East London line. She travelled five stops north to Shadwell and eventually arrived in Lewisham via the DLR. But even after all her precautions, she still couldn’t shake the feeling she was being followed.

Denise’s flat was on the third floor, Caroline walked up to the fifth, waited quietly for five minutes at the bend in a stairwell, then crossed the long walkway running parallel to her sister-in-law’s. She finally reached the third floor by way of another staircase.

By the time she knocked on Denise’s door she felt as if she’d just finished a marathon. Pete opened the door in his boxers and an old t-shirt, shaving foam smeared across his face.

‘For God’s sake, Pete! Why aren’t you dressed?’

He left the door open and padded back up the hall without saying a word.

‘Did Denise get off all right last night?’ She stood by the open bathroom door, watching him rinse the rest of the foam from his face.

‘Yeah – she’s really not happy spending the bank holiday with Mum though. They’re probably at each other’s throats as we speak.’ He threw a towel onto the floor and automatically Caroline picked it up. She folded it neatly over a towel rail and wandered into the living room to wait for Pete to get dressed.

There was a gentle knock on the front door. ‘I’ll get it,’ Caroline shouted. She opened the door to a grave-faced Angela Tate. The journalist was dressed from head to toe in black. Her hair was scraped back off her face, oversize sunglasses balancing on top of a scarf tied tight against her head. Caroline’s mouth fell open.

‘What?’ Tate said. ‘Bit too Milk Tray Man/Grace Kelly mutant Ninja?’ She plucked at the neck of her jumper. ‘Is that what you’re thinking?’

‘We are getting there in broad daylight.’

Tate followed Caroline into the living room at the end of the hall.

‘If you wanted to be inconspicuous you might have been better off in a hard hat and a pair of dungarees. Or a boiler suit.’

‘My days of ostentatious feminism are long gone.’ Tate tugged the bottom of her jumper over the waistband of her black drainpipe jeans and lifted a rubber-soled foot in the air. ‘At least I remembered the sensible shoes.’ She collapsed onto a sofa. ‘When I decamped to the hotel I didn’t pack with a covert operation in mind. I left my place in a bit of a hurry, if you remember.’

Pete wandered into the room, his face set in a grimace.

‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ Tate asked him.

‘He wants to do the right thing.’ Caroline rested a hand on his arm and felt the tension in his muscles.

‘I’m as up for it as I need to be,’ he said.

Caroline squeezed his arm and smiled up at him.
Come on Pete.

Tate pulled a slim silver flask from her bag and unscrewed the cap. ‘Dutch courage, anyone?’

Pete held up a hand, glancing at Caroline. Caroline shook her head.

‘Drinking on my own again – it’s enough to give a girl a reputation.’ She took a long slug and carefully stoppered the flask. ‘Now, are we all clear exactly what we’ve got to do?’ She looked from Pete to Caroline. A phone started ringing. ‘Sorry. I thought I’d turned them all off.’ She pulled four mobile phones from her bag and rejected three of them.

‘Who’s this?’

Pete looked at his watch and shifted from one foot to the other.

‘How did you get this number?’ Tate looked up at Caroline and shrugged.

Pete moved towards the door. ‘I’ll just check I’ve got all my stuff.’

‘Oh… I see,’ Tate said quietly into the phone. She gestured for Caroline to join her on the sofa. ‘When did this happen?’ She checked her watch. ‘I didn’t really know him that well at all.’ She stared at Caroline, her face darkening by the moment. ‘Are you treating it as a murder enquiry?’

Caroline swallowed and watched Tate pull her notepad from her bag.

‘How long will that take?’ Tate turned to Caroline and raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes – yes of course.’ She flipped back through the pages of her notepad. ‘Her name’s Betty – yes. It’s 29 Bayer House, Culver Estate, E2 1EU.’ She scribbled a note in her pad. ‘Thank you officer – I’ll call you back just as soon as I can.’ She ended the call and stared at her phone.

‘Bad news, I take it?’ Caroline asked.

Tate unstoppered her flask and took another swig. ‘I suppose we should be grateful the Met aren’t as joined up as they say they are, otherwise they might be swooping down on me right now.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘That was Bethnal Green police station.’ She sniffed. ‘Freddie Larson’s body was discovered early this morning. The police found an empty syringe lying next to his body. And my business card in his pocket.’ She pulled apart the back of her mobile phone and slipped the SIM card from its slot. ‘Has your Pete got something in his toolbox I can use to smash this up?’

*

As planned, Pete took the slip road off the M25 at junction 28. Caroline peered through a gap in the plywood partition that separated the front of the van from the storage area in the back. Crouching uncomfortably next to Tate, wedged between reels of electric cable and panels of plasterboard, she watched as Pete conscientiously checked wing mirrors and indicated in plenty of time as he took the fourth exit on the roundabout.

‘You still OK back there?’ he shouted.

Caroline glanced at Tate, who shifted on her hips and gave her the thumbs up.

‘We’ll survive.’

‘Not long now – traffic’s really light. Wish it was like this every day of the week.’

Caroline pressed her back against the wall of the van and tried to get more comfortable. They’d moved from the cab into the back at Thurrock services, only two junctions ago, but already her spine was aching and she had the beginnings of cramp in both feet.

‘Whatever happens,’ Pete said, ‘don’t do anything until I thump three times on the door. If you don’t hear me, just sit tight.’ Pete’s voice was modulating like a teenage boy’s. Caroline hadn’t heard him this nervous since he stood next to her at Lewisham register office 24 years ago.

‘It’s all right, Pete. We’ve been through it enough times. We’ll wait for your signal.’ She smiled at Tate, who had once again retrieved the silver flask from her bag. ‘I’m surprised you’ve got any of that left.’

‘I’m only allowing myself medicinal-size sips.’ Tate lifted the flask to her lips and sank a mouthful.

Caroline pulled her mobile from her bag and punched in her mother’s new number. After a few rings the call went to voicemail. She tried Claire’s phone. Claire answered straightaway.

‘Hi Mum.’

‘Why isn’t your gran picking up?’

‘Isn’t she?’ Claire seemed to hesitate.

‘Are you all right, love?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can you put her on?’

‘She’s not here.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She er… went to the shops.’

‘Is everything OK?’

‘Yes. I expect she’s driving – that’s why she hasn’t answered.’

‘That doesn’t usually stop her.’ Caroline switched the phone to her other ear and leaned away from Tate. ‘How’s Ben?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘And Dan?’

There was another hesitation.

‘Claire?’

‘Fine.’

‘Put him on.’

‘He’s… still in bed.’

‘Make sure he doesn’t stay there all day. I love you, sweetheart.’

‘Me too.’

The van broke sharply and Caroline and Tate slammed back into the partition.

‘Sorry about that,’ Pete shouted. ‘Stupid bugger in front of me decided to slow down for no reason. Only about five minutes now.’

Caroline peered through the little gap and spotted a dark saloon bumping along the track ahead of them.

‘Where does this road lead to?’

‘Just the yard. And the trade entrance to the mansion.’

Caroline watched the car accelerate away. ‘Mansion?’

‘Yeah, the Larsons practically live over the shop.’

Caroline turned back to Tate. ‘Did you know they lived so close to the office?’

Tate shrugged. ‘I’ve only been here once before – to interview Valerie Larson. We didn’t really have a chance to make small talk about her domestic arrangements.’

‘That car’s just turned left,’ Pete said. ‘It must be going to the house.’

A few minutes later the van was slowing down.

‘Right – this is it,’ Pete shouted. ‘Radio silence until I tell you otherwise.’

‘Aye aye cap’n.’ Tate slipped the flask back into her bag. Caroline thought she spotted a slight shaking in Tate’s hand as it re-emerged.

The van stopped and Pete was saying something Caroline couldn’t make out. Then she heard the mumble of another voice quickly fade. They were on the move again. She let out a breath and Tate did the same.

‘First hurdle,’ Tate whispered.

The van turned in a wide circle and stopped again. This time the engine was turned off. The driver door opened and clunked shut. Caroline tensed and waited for Pete’s signal. It didn’t come. She glanced at Tate, who shrugged back at her. She strained to listen for movement outside and heard the crunch of feet on gravel. Then low voices. Two, maybe three men talking to Pete, standing right next to the van. More gravel crunching followed, then the driver door opened and closed again. The engine coughed into life. They were on the move, reversing. Another circle and the engine died. There was a sudden thunk against the back doors. Caroline jumped. Another two thumps and one door swung open. Pete appeared in the gap, smiling at her.

‘We’re all set,’ he said.

‘Are there many people about?’

‘More than I was expecting for a bank holiday. Lots of faces I don’t recognise. More security than usual too. We’ll just have to be careful. Take everything nice and slow.’ He dragged a heavy toolbox from the back of the van. ‘Do you need a hand getting out?’

Neither of them answered. They shuffled forward, crouching low, and dropped from the back of the van without resorting to clasping Pete’s outstretched hand. Pete had backed the van right up to the entrance of a single storey Portakabin. With the van doors open they were shielded from view. Caroline followed Pete and Tate through the main door.

Tate looked around the reception area. ‘They’ve painted since I was last here.’

Pete ducked behind the desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a big bunch of tiny keys and threw them on the desk; they landed with a clank next to a bone china mug, sending the contents slopping over the side. Caroline hurried to the desk and picked up the keys. She put the back of her hand against the mug. It was warm.

‘We’ve got company.’

Caroline followed Tate down a narrow corridor leading to an oak door standing ajar at the other end. Tate reached the door and looked over her shoulder at Caroline. Caroline nodded back. They both waited for a moment, just listening. Then Tate pushed the door wide. The room was empty. Caroline exhaled.

‘Thank God for that.’ Tate whispered. ‘Hopefully Valerie Larson will be too busy nursing her sick husband to come in on a bank holiday.’

Just as Caroline was easing the door back to its original position, she heard Pete’s voice. He was shouting.

‘Hello Shirley!’

Too loud.
Stay calm, Pete.

‘They got you in on a bank holiday too?’ Whatever Shirley said in reply, it was too quiet to make out. Caroline stepped away from the door and looked around the room. At the far end a bank of flat screen monitors were stacked one on top of the other. All the screens were blank. Running from the door to the monitors was a long line of wooden filing cabinets, three drawers in each. She loosened her grip on the bunch of keys Pete had given her and glanced down at them. None of the keys was labelled. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. Tate jabbed an elbow into her arm.

‘How good is Pete at keeping sour-faced old women entertained?’

‘He can turn on the charm when he has to.’

‘Let’s hope he’s Shirley’s type.’