Carl decided to call it a day at four in the afternoon. Thankfully, there had been no further drama since the altercation with Colin Doyle. Carl had steadfastly refused to talk about his business rival, despite Sam's gentle prompts. Accepting Carl wasn't going to open up, Sam dropped him off at one appointment after another throughout the day, watching with relief every time his new boss re-appeared unscathed. Perhaps it had just been a freakishly bad morning. Carl certainly didn't seemed affected.
On the journey home, Carl took yet another phone call. Most of his time in the car had been spent either leafing through paperwork in preparation for the next meeting or engaged in conversation on the phone. Sam had listened as business deals were rubber-stamped, orders confirmed and meetings arranged, all accomplished by Carl at bewildering speed. The man was an inexhaustible bundle of energy and enthusiasm.
However, Sam noticed there were calls that Carl ignored. He had no way of knowing if they were all from the same caller because Carl would glance at his phone and dismissively cut short the ring tone. He went to do the same again on this occasion, but after checking the time, reluctantly took the call. Sam presumed he wanted to get it out the way before he returned home.
'Yes?'
Carl's greeting was cold and unfriendly, at odds with the bubbly, jocular personality Sam had witnessed all day. Sam glanced across at him. Carl was staring straight ahead with his phone pressed hard to his ear, listening intently. He didn't look happy.
'I told you this morning that I'll get it to you as soon-'
Carl stopped talking. It seemed he was being forced to listen. Sam could feel the frustration radiating off his passenger. He was reminded of the phone call Carl had taken earlier in the car park. Was that the conversation he was referring to now?
'Bellamy, don't you-'
Sam watched Carl look in disgust at his phone. He had been cut off.
'Nobody's got any patience any more,' muttered Carl, to himself more than Sam.
Sam stayed tight-lipped and concentrated on the road. He had overheard many of Carl's business conversations today and that hadn't sounded like one. Not a conventional one, at least. Like the call he had heard in the car park, it had a sinister vibe to it. Carl's language and tone had been all wrong.
***
They pulled up in front of the house. Peter Canning was over by the trees, leisurely raking up stray leaves. He stopped to look over at the Jag. Sam put the handbrake on and welcomed the sight of his Capri a few feet away. It had been a challenging day. A new car. New routes. Not to mention heated confrontations and odd phone calls. But no sign of the activist threat Carl had been so concerned about. That reminded him...
'Carl, I wanted to-'
Carl's phone rang yet again, rattling about in the empty compartment next to the gear stick. Carl had dropped it there with disdain after the last call. Sam looked down at it. He couldn't miss the flashing screen.
Unknown number.
Carl reached across, picked it up and held it in front of him. He gazed at the phone for so long Sam didn't think he was going to answer it. Eventually, Carl indicated he was taking the call outside and got out of the car. Sam watched him walk back up the drive with the phone pressed to his ear.
Sam continued to stare after him, nonplussed.
Why had Carl felt the need to go out of earshot? If the unknown caller was a militant activist, then surely Sam should have access to the conversation? He had been hired to protect Carl, and an essential part of that remit was to take on board any evidence.
Sam got out of the car and waited.
Carl had walked so far up the driveway he had disappeared from view. Sam continued to wait by the car, grateful the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze. He heard Jenny and Katie shouting to each other in the back garden. He looked up, his eye caught by a figure appearing in one of the bedroom windows. Molly was gazing out, staring thoughtfully up the driveway. Was she watching her husband? Sam couldn't tell if she could see him from the window. She looked down, noticed Sam and gave him a friendly wave.
Moments later, she re-appeared at the front door.
'Hello, Sam,' she said, walking down the steps. She was wearing a long thick sweater and dark blue jeans. Watching her approach, Sam thought her high cheekbones and wavy, shoulder-length hair gave her the look of an old-fashioned film actress.
'Hello, Molly. How are you?'
She smiled at him.
'I'm good, Sam. Just waiting for my husband to come in.'
She looked over to where Peter Canning was standing. He was leaning idly on his rake, watching them both with interest. Molly turned back to Sam, a look of distaste on her face.
'That man gives me the creeps,' she hissed. 'Always watching us, and yet he hardly ever says a word.'
Sam looked over at him this time. Peter hurriedly put his head down and resumed his raking.
'He must be good at his job, though,' said Sam, gazing around the neat lawn. 'He keeps this place looking nice.'
'Well, I can't argue with that,' admitted Molly begrudgingly, 'but I'd still rather have Arthur.'
'Who's Arthur?'
'Arthur?' sighed Molly wistfully. 'Arthur Bennett was our gardener before Peter. He was just about the sweetest man I've ever known.'
'What happened to him?'
'He retired,' said Molly with a sad smile. 'He'd reached an age where a big place like this was too much for him. He'd been with us for years. Started just after we moved in here. I still go over and see him every now and then. He's got a lovely little red brick house on Boundary Road.'
'Sounds like you miss him a lot,' said Sam, wondering what was taking Carl so long.
'I do, Sam. He was lovely. The opposite to him over there. The ironic thing is it was Arthur who recommended Peter to us.'
Molly shivered slightly and folded her arms in an effort to get warm. She gave Sam a hard stare.
'Anyway, why has Carl gone all the way up the drive?' she asked.
Sam hesitated. He wished he knew.
'He'd taken a business call by the sound of it. I think he went up there to talk in private.'
Molly eyed Sam with suspicion.
'I swear that man is up to something,' she said under her breath. 'What have you two been doing today?'
Alarm bells started ringing in Sam's head.
'Oh, meetings, conferences, standard business stuff, I suppose...'
Molly's eyes continued to burn into him.
'Where have you-'
She stopped herself, shook her head and looked away for a moment. Sam thought he saw a tear in her eye.
'I'm going back in,' she said, sniffing slightly. 'It's getting too cold to wait out here.' Giving him a weak smile, she went back inside.
Sam let out a big sigh.
He decided to go and find Carl.
***
Sam found him at the far end of the driveway, still with his phone to his ear. Carl appeared agitated, pacing up and down on the gravel. When he saw Sam approaching, he spoke hurriedly into the phone and ended the call.
'Carl, why did you come up here?' asked Sam. 'Was that another threat?'
Sam had seen Carl brush off all sorts today. Rows, staff mutinies, angry phone calls. Each time Carl had carried on regardless, his self-belief unwavering. Now, he looked as though he had seen a ghost. His face was ashen white. He stared at Sam with haunted eyes. Looked through him as though he wasn't there.
'What did they say, Carl? More threats?'
Carl nodded.
'It's nothing I can't handle.'
He started to walk back to the house, but Sam blocked his way.
'You're not going anywhere, mate. Not until you tell me what they said to you.'
Carl looked at Sam the way a harassed parent might at a particularly inquisitive child.
'Sam, I know I'm paying you to look out for me, but there was nothing different about that call. It was just the same as the other threats.'
'So why didn't you let me listen in? I might have picked up a clue. Why walk off?'
Carl looked down towards the house.
'Because I didn't want Molly or the kids coming out and getting wind of it,' he replied impatiently. 'Anyway, these people distort their voices over the phone. They don't give away clues. The police have looked into it, remember.'
Sam wasn't convinced. Carl looked nervous. Doubt clouded his eyes.
'Sam, I not being funny, but I employed you to protect me from physical threats. Phone calls, I can handle.'
'Okay, have it your way,' said Sam, stepping aside to allow Carl to pass. 'But there is something I want to talk to you about. I only remembered it as we pulled up.'
'What's that?' asked Carl, not looking very interested. He was striding back to the house like a man on a mission. Sam fell in beside him.
'I think your daughter did hear someone in the garden the other day. I found a fresh cigarette end in among the bushes.'
Carl flinched but didn't reply. Stony-faced, he kept on walking. The reaction puzzled Sam. He had expected Carl to hit the roof and demand the two of them make immediate plans. Set up a strategy to protect his family. But whatever had been said to Carl during that latest phone call seemed to have knocked the stuffing right out of him.
Sam didn't like it.
Something wasn't right here.
Sam found the name in his contact list. Richie Humphreys. It had been eighteen months since they last talked. Sam punched in Richie's number and listened to the phone ring out. He waited with bated breath.
'Hello?'
'Richie?'
A moment's pause.
'Bloody hell, Sam! Is that you?'
Sam laughed nervously into the phone. It had been a long time indeed.
***
Sam had decided to do some digging.
He had tried one final time to get Carl to talk before leaving the Renshaw's house. To elaborate on that last phone call and discuss the possibility of the threats escalating. But Carl had told Sam not to worry so much while discreetly sliding a bulky envelope into his hand, telling Sam he wanted him back at ten the next morning. Inside the envelope was a generous wad of notes. While the cash in hand was more than welcome, Sam was left thinking it was time he did a bit more for his money.
He reckoned matters surrounding Carl needed taking more seriously. If the truth be told, Sam hadn't expected the threats to extend beyond phone calls. He had taken on this job knowing his presence might not make the calls any more palatable for Carl, but it would provide him with some reassurance. And both men had been happy with the arrangement.
But things were changing fast.
The threat appeared to be getting more real, and Carl seemed to be creaking under the strain. Or burying his head in the sand. Sam wasn't sure which, but neither were helpful. Molly clearly didn't trust her husband at this moment in time, and those two little girls were at risk of getting caught up in something dangerous.
And Sam himself?
He had given Carl his word. Promised him he would do an efficient job. And now he had started, it was as much about personal pride than anything else. Yet there was something else. Yes, it was about Carl and his family. His own self-protection, too. But there was more to it now for Sam. Even after one day, this job was giving him focus. A reason to live again.
So, if he was going to do this properly, he needed to find out what he was up against.
***
'It's good to hear from you, Sam. Even if it is a bit out the blue.'
The strong Midlands drawl on the other end of the line took Sam back to another time. One of such happiness. All dashed in the blink of an eye.
'Yeah, I know,' he said, 'but-'
'Hey, Sam, I told you when you left, take as long as you need to get in touch. How are you, anyway?'
Sam thought about it for a moment.
'I'm getting there...I think.'
He heard Richie clear his throat. His old friend wanted to ask about the nightmares. The drinking. The things that had driven Sam away.
'How about you, Richie?' asked Sam quickly. 'Are the family okay?'
'Yeah, bud. They're all good. And I'm still working my arse off for little thanks. For Peters now, rather than Walters. So, no change there.'
Walters.
Hearing the name again rekindled the old rage deep within Sam.
'You're still working there?' he asked.
Richie drew a deep breath.
'I gave it a lot of thought, Sam. I questioned everything after what happened. Myself, the job, the force, everything. But it's all I've ever done. All I've ever known.'
Sam knew it was. Richie had started with the force on the very same day as Sam. Just two raw kids setting out on their careers. They had hit it off immediately. Progressed through the ranks together. Watched out for each other. Worked alongside each other right up to the-
'As for Walters,' continued Richie, interrupting Sam's thoughts, 'it broke him.'
Sam tried to quell two years of anger. He didn't want to let it out on Richie.
'Richie,' he said quietly. 'I don't want to hear about Walters.'
There was a moments silence.
'Sam,' Richie said tentatively. 'I know you don't want to hear about him, but I want to tell you because it might give you some sense of justice.'
Sam closed his eyes and said nothing, allowing Richie to continue.
'Walters couldn't look us in the eye after what happened. The guilt began to get to him. It made him ill. He broke down and admitted it was all his fault. They sent him home on sick leave. Two days later, he blew his brains out.'
Silence again.
Sam swallowed hard. Richie's news gave him no satisfaction. There was no justice to be had now. It was time to move on.
'Richie, I'm ringing because I need a favour.'
'Fire away, buddy,' said Richie, sounding relieved. Sam imagined his old friend carrying the burden of that news around with him all this time. Wanting to tell Sam. Hoping it would bring closure in some way.
'I'd like any information you can find on an environmental activist group called Red 71.'
'Red 71? Can't say the name rings a bell.'
'Apparently, they're an offshoot of Save the Countryside.'
Sam smiled as he heard Richie tapping away down the line. It had always been one of Richie's traits, tapping his fingers excitedly when something came to him.
'Ah, Save the Countryside! Now that lot I do know. Green-fingered lunatics looking for any excuse to get their wellies on and go on a march.'
'The very same,' laughed Sam, suddenly missing Richie's droll sense of humour. 'I need to know what Red 71 have been up to over the last couple of years, and I could really do with finding out if they're active right now.'
'Any particular part of the country?' asked Richie.
'Up North,' Sam told him. 'A small district called Bursleigh.'
'Is that where you are now?'
Sam didn't answer. He heard Richie cuss softly.
'Sorry, bud. Didn't mean to pry. I'm sure you'll tell me. If and when you're ready...'