Secrets (11 page)

Clay looked at Nathan with those cold grey eyes of his and said nothing. Most people would have been intimidated by that and, for a brief moment, Nathan considered it. He discarded the idea immediately. ‘Clay, why now?' He voiced the question he and Annie had mulled over. ‘What happened to make all of this stuff break surface again? It's ancient history.'

Clay shook his head and Nathan watched as he seemed to wrestle with that concept. ‘Not to me, it isn't,' he said finally. ‘It's as clear as yesterday and just as important. Lives depend on us, you should know that more than anyone. Identities, Molly knows too many of them. We have to protect our own, Nathan.'

The younger man nodded solemnly. He didn't think it was the right moment to remind Clay that most of those they counted ‘their own' were dead anyway and the rest were either so well hidden even they couldn't remember who they'd once been. Or they were like himself and Annie. Outside of it all, except when they chose to become involved, bound only by habit and what, he supposed, they still owed to the likes of Edward and Molly and Clay.

He glanced over at the older man. The old man, Nathan corrected himself. He wasn't sure how old Clay actually was; Annie doubted even Clay knew how old he actually was, but older than the likes of Molly and Edward Chambers, that was for sure. And a man who'd given his entire life to the job he'd done. He knew nothing else.

Nathan knew that Annie felt sorry for their one time mentor and Nathan had asked her once if she actually liked Clay or if she knew anyone that did. She had thought for a moment and then shaken her head. ‘Nothing to like,' she said. ‘Respect, yes, feel grateful, yes, but like? No, I don't think so. It's a bit like you can admire, respect, even see the beauty in something like a great white shark, but would you really bring it home to meet your parents … always supposing you had parents for it to meet.'

‘Always supposing another great white hadn't got to them first,' Nathan had joked, knowing he was the only one she'd ever accept such humour from.

‘Supposing that,' Annie had agreed.

Nathan studied the man with pale eyes. They were closed now as if he'd fallen asleep. Nathan always found it wisest to assume that he had not. In repose, the lines on the tanned face were pale, a whole network of them spidering out from mouth and eyes and down on to the jaw.

And Nathan wondered if Annie was right about something else. It there'd come a moment when it was down to them, to Annie and Nathan to put an end to all this. To either finish what Clay had started … or to finish Clay.

D
I Barnes took both Naomi and Alec by surprise and turned up at their hotel just after breakfast. They found a corner of the bar, not open at this time of the morning and drank tea by the big bay window.

‘So?' Alec prompted when the small talk had run dry.

‘So, have you spoken to your aunt?'

‘Spoken to and been told what to do with our advice and that she knows nothing more.'

‘And do you think she's telling the truth?'

Naomi laughed. ‘Molly always tells the truth,' she said.

‘What Naomi means,' Alec interpreted, ‘is that Molly's sins are always one of omission rather than commission. She only tells anyone what she thinks they need to know or would want to hear. The rest, as they say, is silence.'

DI Barnes sighed. ‘And your feelings are?'

‘That she didn't necessarily recognize
him
. The man who shot himself may not have been known to her per se, but she knew what he was; recognized the type, maybe something about him that she had seen or known about before. Molly's been around the block a few times.'

‘I'm not sure I completely understand. Recognized what? That he was a killer? I think the gun might have been a giveaway there.'

‘Ah, but he didn't, did he? Kill her, I mean,' Naomi pointed out. ‘And maybe that's the most interesting question. Why didn't he?'

‘I have two murder enquiries,' DI Barnes said, ‘The SIO of each one is waiting to see if I can provide information that might break the case. They, in turn are being pressured to now close what seem to have been solved cases, in the who did it category at least, even if we're no further on as to motive. Having a name, would be an advantage. The media like names and our bosses like to satisfy the media.'

‘I mean, she recognized him as a professional,' Alec said. ‘Bill, this wasn't some random stranger wandering into another random stranger's house and blowing their own brains out. Naomi's right. We've talked about this and we've no doubt that your other victims were killed either by the same man or the same organization and there must be a link. Why—'

‘Organization?'

Alec ignored the interruption.

‘So, Naomi is right. The interesting question is, why the hitter didn't make this hit.'

Barnes was silent for a moment, considering, then he said. ‘Neither of you seem terribly surprised that someone would want Molly Chambers dead,' he said. ‘You'll excuse me if I find that a little peculiar.'

Naomi laughed again. ‘You've just not spent enough time with her yet.'

‘That aside,' Alec said. ‘Molly and her husband, Edward, spent almost their entire married life attached to some embassy or other, Edward and I suspect, Molly, though she's never told me directly, were involved in negotiating truces with Afghan Warlords, Beirutie kidnappers and Venezuelan opposition parties, and that's just the little bits I know. They made powerful friends and even more powerful enemies. I know Edward retired almost ten years ago, but I also know that retirement didn't mean pottering in his garden. He acted as consultant to a number of government agencies and some very big corporations. I don't think his security clearance was ever revoked. Get a map of the world and stick a pin in it and I'd bet you a damn good dinner Molly would have been there or know someone that had. It was what they did. What, I think, she'd always done. Get her to show you her official photo albums, Bill, they're a who's who of every damned world leader, of whatever political persuasion from here to … Zanzibar. Edward lived for this stuff and Molly … Molly lived for Edward.'

‘And you think this shooting, this suicide, was something to do with her diplomatic past? I don't see how that links to our other victims. Or even if it does.'

‘Oh, there'll be a link, and it's one that whoever authorized this wants to be identified,' Naomi said. ‘Think about it. What assassin uses the same, unusual weapon, three times over? It would flag up in a half dozen different searches. Someone is sending a message; you just need to figure out what it is and who it's for.'

‘Couldn't they just send a bloody postcard?' Barnes grumbled. He paused thoughtfully. ‘Look, I'm not sure you are right about any of this, in fact I hope you're not, quite frankly. I prefer my murders to be straightforward, not all cloak and dagger. Look, Alec, I'm meeting a colleague of mine later today, at the flat of the second victim, Herbert Norris. I've got permission for you to tag along if you'd be interested.'

There was a long pause. Naomi voiced what they were thinking. ‘And how many arms did you have to twist?' she asked.

‘Ah, well, that's the thing,' Barnes said uncomfortably. ‘It wasn't actually my idea at all. It was, shall we say, suggested that I invite you to consult.'

‘Who by?'

Barnes shrugged. ‘Directly, by my DCI, indirectly. … Alec, no offence, I'd welcome a new pair of eyes on this of course, but don't expect me to be comfortable with being told what to do and who to do it with, and especially don't expect me to be comfortable with the conclusion that someone well above my pay grade is thinking along the same lines as you are. Given all that …'

Alec hesitated and Naomi could feel the thoughts and memories writhing in his brain as acutely as if they'd crawled across her skin.

She knew he would say yes, he couldn't not. Curiosity and concern for Molly would conspire to draw him in, but it still disturbed her. This felt too much like the events they had both been through so recently. Events that had led them to the indigent lifestyle they now followed. She knew what kind of life Molly had led, Alec had told her some of it and Alec's father filled in some other details. She admired Molly, rather than liked her. The older woman had a spirit and energy that Naomi hoped she might possess when she was Molly's age, but she also sensed – no it was more than that; had grown
sensitive
to the undercurrents, dangerous and deep, that she and Alec had fallen into earlier that year.

The experience then had been painful and stressful and she had no wish to repeat it now.

‘Alec?'

‘I'm not sure I want to go with you,' Alec said.

‘Any particular reason?'

‘Same reasons I had for leaving the job. I don't want to be dragged back in again.'

‘A quick look round a flat, that's all it will be, a few thoughts on some notes I've had sent over. Alec, I don't think I like this any more than you do—'

‘Oh, believe me, I don't think you have a clue how I feel about it.'

‘Ook-aay,' DI Barnes breathed. ‘Look, no one can force you, but I know you care about Molly and I also know, because I've done some digging about, that you're a first class investigator. I could use your eyes on this, Alec.' He paused. ‘I suspect, so could Molly.'

‘That sounds awfully close to blackmail,' Naomi commented.

‘It probably is,' Bill Barnes agreed. ‘I don't want the hassle of facing my boss and telling him that former DI Friedman told him to stick the idea.'

‘Oh, poor you.' Naomi was caught between amusement and downright annoyance. but she knew which way this discussion would go. She was right. She heard her husband set his cup down and ease himself into his seat. He clasped her hand, silently asking for her approval and, reluctantly, she nodded.

‘Give me five minutes,' Alec said, ‘and I'll be ready to go.'

I
t had been close on eight months since Bob Taylor had seen his wife and the first he knew of her return was the smell of toast and bacon that reached him as he came through the side gate and crossed the garden. The dogs knew what it meant too; their owner never cooked breakfast, making do with a pot of strong tea and whatever he thought to pick up from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, before disappearing into his studio.

Bob paused, standing beneath the apple trees and wondering for a moment how he felt about her being there. Fly, the youngest of the two dogs had no such reservations, yipping excitedly, his short body whipping side to side in a frenzy of tail wagging. Rabbie, older and more sensitive to his master's thoughts, looked up expectantly as though waiting to be told that he could celebrate. Bob fondled the old dog's silky ears. ‘OK, so she's home,' he said, knowing that if he had a tail to wag he'd be doing so as well.

Annie was by the range, turning bacon in the pan and dancing to music on the radio. She turned, smiling at them. ‘Hey. Thought you'd be along any time now. I borrowed your robe, couldn't find mine and I've put my stuff in the spare room, hope that's all right.'

She flipped the last piece of bacon and set the tongs down on the star-shaped brass trivet at the side of the stove. Bob folded his arms around her, inhaling her scent. She'd used his shampoo; he always put her things away when she left. It was easier not to have her stuff around during her long absences and, besides, he was never absolutely certain that she
would
come back. Not really. He could never really be sure of anything where Annie was concerned.

‘Oh, but that feels good,' she said, hugging him tightly and then lifting her face for his kiss before pulling away.

‘Eggs,' she said. ‘You do have eggs?'

He pointed to a blue, covered bowl on the dresser.

‘Oh, that's new. Very pretty.'

‘I saw it in the antique market last month. I loved the colour.' He took a deep breath and asked the most important question. ‘How long are you home for?'

Annie grinned at him. ‘A couple of weeks, if that's OK, then I'll be off for about ten days, but then, if it's OK with you, can I stay until Christmas, maybe a bit longer.'

Christmas. That was months. Even in the early days of their marriage when Annie had tried so very hard to settle down, to be the wife she knew he wanted, she'd never been around for that long at any one time.

Friends and family told him he was crazy to put up with her. Bob didn't need telling, but he knew he'd be even crazier if he stopped.

‘Why?' he asked. ‘I mean, yes, of course it's fine. It's wonderful, but …'

‘I've got a teaching job,' she said.

‘A
teaching
job?'

She giggled. ‘There's no need to sound so shocked. I'm fully qualified, you know and someone made me an offer I just couldn't refuse. It's only a few hours a week, and it's a temporary contract, but Bonnie told me about a friend of his over at the Arts Centre at Benton Place. You know they've just got a whole load of new funding? Well, they need tutors. And I applied and I start in October. If it goes well there'll be classes next spring too.'

She finished with the eggs and dished bacon and toast on to warm plates. Slid the eggs on top. ‘Sit. I've already made tea.'

‘But … teaching who?' He sat down and checked the strength of the tea in the bright red pot.

‘Whoever turns up. It's mostly going to be adult returners, but Dan, that's the college director, he reckons that I've got a strong enough reputation in the business that we should attract a good calibre of student.' She laughed at his incredulity. ‘I earned my living that way before, you know.'

Yes, and you hated it, Bob thought, but he said nothing. She was back, and not just for a few weeks this time. He knew she'd go again. Annie just could not settle, not even with the man she loved and Bob knew she loved him. He also knew that she couldn't change, not ever, not really.