Secrets (29 page)

‘Oh, most definitely not.'

‘Then?'

The coffee arrived and Nathan smiled at the landlord. ‘Are you still serving food?' he asked.

‘Evening service starts in an hour. Last orders at nine,' he was told.

‘Thank you.'

Landlord gone, he turned his attention back to Adam. ‘You've got absolutely no reason to trust me or even to listen, but I talked to Annie.' He paused. ‘You know about Annie, of course?'

Adam nodded. ‘Another of Clay's protégées,' he said.

‘We were.'

‘And now?'

‘And now I think we may well be on the same side, Adam Carmodie.'

Adam smiled and sipped his coffee. ‘I always thought Clay inspired loyalty,' he said. ‘Don't you owe him, Nathan?'

Nathan nodded slowly. ‘I was thirteen or something around that when Clay found me, and he's had thirteen years of service and loyalty and, from Annie at least, something close to love. Don't you think there's a nice balance to that? He's had an equal part of my life. I don't think I owe him more.'

‘I think you are just playing games,' Adam said.

‘And, in your place, I'd think the same. The fact is, Adam, that Clay can no longer be trusted with something as precious as loyalty. Clay is on something of a campaign. And I don't think he'd extend that loyalty to any of us.'

Adam laughed. ‘I'm not sure he ever would have done,' he said.

‘Ah, now there you are wrong. Without Clay, Annie and I would have been lost. Annie because she had no one. Me, because I cared for no one. Clay may have trained us both, may have channelled what we felt; in my case simply honed what I already was, but he did a fine job. We wanted for nothing and we were never alone, never in need. I count that as loyalty. Not as affection, perhaps, I'm not certain Clay is capable of that, but he took care of us and we did what he needed us to.'

‘So, what's changed?'

‘What's changed is that Clay is no longer in control of what he does. At first, Annie and me, we assumed he was just settling old scores. Winding down to a peaceful retirement, if you like, but it's more than that. Clay might have been possessed of a cold kind of logic, but it was still logic of sorts. It took me a while to figure it out.'

‘Clay is a megalomaniac,' Adam said. ‘Surely it didn't take you all this time to work that one out?'

Nathan said nothing. He sipped at his coffee and waited for the silence to break. Adam half listened to the conversation in the opposite corner of the room. Snatches of it reached him; the woman slightly drunk and becoming overloud seemed to be recounting a comedy act she had seen on the television. Adam, who rarely watched television, couldn't get any of the references.

‘Why have you come here?' he asked eventually.

‘To ask for help in taking him down,' Nathan said simply.

‘And why should I help you?'

‘Because, if you don't, I think you'll be next on his list. He failed with Molly, I still don't know how. I do know he'd more or less written you off as harmless, but when you visited Joseph … well that attracted him. He scented blood.'

‘And, if Clay has just sent you here to test me out? To see if I'm a threat?'

Nathan shrugged. ‘No way to prove anything,' he said. ‘You could ask him, of course.'

‘I could.'

Nathan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Clay is dying,' he said.

‘Of?'

‘Brain tumour. Inoperable.'

‘Then our troubles will soon be over.'

‘I doubt that. Adam, I think he wants to erase his past before he gets erased. He's a very angry man, right now, and I don't think he knows friend from foe any more.'

‘Nathan, he never did. Clay was a bastard all his life. If occasionally he managed to do some good as a by-product to what he wanted, then that was pure coincidence and you know it. He got his pound of flesh from you and Annie and from others too. Then he cast them aside when they were no more use to him. He's always been the same and if you think any different then you are just plain delusional.'

‘Annie said you wouldn't listen,' Nathan said. He smiled. ‘OK, Adam, that's fine, but if you won't help out then just keep your head down. I can't predict what he'll do next or what collateral damage there might be.'

‘And what makes you think I might not just warn him?'

Nathan got up and stretched himself. There was something catlike about the young man, Adam thought.

‘Because you hate him,' Nathan said. ‘Because although you've never been able to prove that Clay killed your wife and child, you've always known it. The only reason you've not taken him down yourself is you don't know what surprises he's left. What skeletons of yours might just rattle their way out.' He laughed softly. ‘That's the amazing, crazy thing about this game. There are no innocents. We all have our guilty little secrets, don't we?'

Adam said nothing. He saw Nathan take out his mobile phone and then heard his own chime as a text was received. ‘I've sent you my number,' Nathan said. ‘In case you change your mind. I could use your help, Adam; there'll be a hell of a lot of damage limitation to do.'

T
ariq knew that he could do nothing at work. Any search he began would be flagged; Clay would note it. He knew, from work he'd done for him, that Gustav Clay had a number of alter egos – they were far more than simple aliases, and also that he was often paid through corporate tax schemes and into companies that, strictly speaking, did not exist.

Tariq went home, sat down with a cup of decent coffee and a sandwich, promising himself that he'd eat properly later on; he checked his firewalls and his security systems, examined the alerts and then went to work with the search. He used a beta version of his usual search engine and obfuscation, hiding his IP address. Anyone tracking the search would find that it originated in the Seychelles. Later, he'd change the IP again, be somewhere else.

Tariq had learnt a long time ago that often you could find unlikely links by examining the commonplace and that's where he began, looking for news reports on the deaths of Gilligan and Hayes and then, when that failed to produce many hits, looking at the break in at the warehouse. He moved to news of Molly Chambers, of the shooting at her house and then on to his friend Herbert Norris. He had known, when Clay handed him the photograph, that Gustav Clay had been responsible for Herb's death. Frankly, Tariq couldn't understand why. Herb had been one of Clay's fosterlings, as he called them. Kids he'd taken off the street somewhere and helped into a fresh life. He'd met a few of them along the way; Tariq supposed that in a way he was one of their number.

Herbert Norris had been a good kid, Clay had once said. ‘But not our sort. Too straight, too simple.'

Tariq had been amused at the time, had been flattered by the idea that he, Tariq Nasir, was of the special kind that Clay approved. Now he was not so sure he wanted that accolade.

He deepened his search around Molly Chambers, finding the record of her husband's funeral and his obituary, using that as a jumping off point, searching his diplomatic record, his history and hers. Cross-referencing in his memory the things he knew about Clay and where he had worked. What he had done. Then he backtracked, looking for information on Arthur Fields.

Tariq closed his eyes and allowed his mind to be still. A pattern was emerging, a spider's web of connections and pathways. So what was happening here? What was Clay trying to do?

Tariq opened his eyes, suddenly afraid. Suddenly understanding at least the look of the puzzle, even if he could not exactly see the picture. He picked up his phone and called his father, knowing he'd have just come in from work.

‘Have dinner with me?'

‘I would like that very much. Where shall we meet?'

Minutes later, Tariq had left the flat; he had money in his wallet and a spare card he kept only for emergencies. It might take a little persuasion to get his father to leave for a few days, but Tariq knew he'd manage it.

‘Don't ask questions,' he would say, just as Clay had said all of those years before. ‘Don't go home. We are leaving now. I have to keep you safe.'

Ironic, he thought, the way the world turned and life circled back again and again. The man you trusted will have you killed, Tariq thought. Maybe Clay was right, there really weren't such things as friends.

W
hen Alec hadn't arrived back by seven p.m., Naomi had called him on his mobile. She wasn't unduly worried not to get a response; if he was driving and didn't have his hands-free set up then he simply wouldn't answer the phone. Half an hour later and the mild anxiety had transformed to full scale worry If he'd been running late he'd have called her. At the latest, he'd have given her a ring when he dropped Molly home. In the unlikely event that he'd stayed with Molly for a while, then he'd definitely have let her know.

She phoned Molly's home number and then Molly's mobile, but there was no response from either. She could hear the rain, pelting against the window. Bad weather, bad road. Anything could have happened.

In the end she decided she would have to go down to the reception and ask for help. She didn't know the numbers for the local hospitals or even where the local hospitals were and she had no one she could call, except maybe Liz. Naomi thought about it for a moment and then realized she didn't have Liz's number in her phone.

Who else?

DI Barnes had left a card with them, but as most of his dealings had been with Alec, Naomi hadn't put that number in her phone either. Groping around in the drawer of Alec's bedside table, she found what she hoped was the card and took it downstairs with her.

‘Alec isn't back. He's really late. I don't know what to do?'

The receptionist took charge. She took the card from Naomi, dialled out, put the number into Naomi's phone. Listened to the one-sided conversation as Naomi explained to DI Barnes that: ‘I'm probably worrying about nothing, but I can't reach him or Molly and—'

He promised to do what he could. That he would call her back. Made her promise to ring when Alec turned up as he was sure he would.

Naomi hung up, unable to shake the feeling of dread that settled upon her.

‘I'll get you a drink,' someone said and she nodded dumbly.

She sat in the lobby, willing the phone to ring. Willing Alec to come through the door, her hands clasped tightly around the glass, though she could not have said what spirit she was drinking. His head on her knee, Napoleon whined softly, sensing her mood. She laid her hand on his back, seeking comfort from the warm fur and the soft snuffling as he nosed at her thigh.

The door opened and closed, a guest returning from a day out, chatting to someone. The door opened again and footsteps turned towards the bar. She waited, willing the phone to ring. Willing Alec to come home.

The door opened again and she recognized the footsteps this time. Her heart seemed to stop. Barnes took her hand.

‘I'm sorry, Naomi, but there's been an accident. I'll take you to the hospital. It's drowning out there, you'll need a coat.'

‘Give me your key, Mrs Friedman. I'll get it for you.'

Dumbly, she handed her key over to the receptionist. ‘How bad?' she said. ‘Please, don't lie to me.'

‘It's bad,' he said. ‘Molly has a fractured skull. Alec … is in surgery.'

He clasped her hand more tightly. ‘It will be all right. I'm sure it will.'

‘What happened?'

‘Pouring rain, a tight bend. Maybe he took it too fast, we don't know. He went off the road and rolled the car. Thankfully there was another car following close enough to see it happen. They called the ambulance. The paramedics got there very fast.'

Naomi nodded. The receptionist had arrived with her coat and she slipped it on, heard Barnes asking if someone could look after Napoleon and then he led her to his car. Her hair was soaked by the time they got inside.

‘It's a filthy night,' Barnes said. ‘I'm guessing the road was slick, maybe mud, maybe an oil spill or something.'

‘Alec wouldn't drive fast, not in this. The driver in the other car, did they say anything?'

‘He was still on the straight when Alec entered the bend. He said he saw the car skid on the first bend, and then lost sight of it. By the time he got there, they'd gone off the road. The driver could see the lights still on and phoned the emergency services, then he went down the slope to see if there was anything he could do. They were both unconscious and trapped in the car, so all he could do was wait on the road, so the ambulance could find them easily. Naomi, he probably saved their lives.'

She nodded. If they live, she thought.

‘It wasn't an accident. I know it wasn't.'

‘Naomi, it's a bad road, these things—'

‘It wasn't an accident!'

Barnes said nothing. Naomi tried hard not to cry but the tears rolled anyway. He reached out and clasped her hand. ‘He'll be OK,' Barnes said. ‘They got to him in time.'

Inside the hospital, the sound of doors and trolleys and footsteps. She had done this before, sat in a corridor waiting for news.

Barnes had spoken to the doctor. Molly was still unconscious and they were worried about fluid on the brain. Alec was still in surgery. He'd lost a great deal of blood, there were internal injuries … it was too early to tell.

Barnes had sat with her and then fetched coffee and then, when Naomi had insisted, gone in search of someone who could tell her more.

‘They've told you all they can,' Barnes had told her gently.

‘I know, but …'

‘It's OK, I'll go and ask again.'

She felt calm, now. Far too calm. It would break. But more than that she felt rage. There was no other word for it. It seemed to grow from some point deep in her belly and rise through her until her limbs shook with it and her mind was filled.