Blood Tracks (11 page)

Tom found a tube of glue in Martin’s old toolbox and, with trembling hands, set about meticulously mending the cracked urn.

Danny watched, saying sympathetically, “It’s okay, Uncle Tom. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

“There,” Tom said, replacing the restored vessel on the shelf. “I’ve done my best.”

“Are you staying for tea?”

“No, I don’t really feel like eating. Anyway, I’d better go, Danny. I’ve caused enough upset for one day.”

“Well, don’t go without the fish.” Danny pulled the clear plastic bag out of the tank and handed the three tigerfish to Tom. “Make sure the water is kept warm enough.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom wagged a finger at the fish. “I promise that I’ll take these naughty boys back to the shop in the morning. Night, Danny.” He patted the boy’s shoulder in a manly way. “I suppose you’re too old for kisses now.”

Danny suddenly jumped up at Tom and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Are you coming round tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if you want me to.”

“I want you to,” came the reply, as Danny ran upstairs.

“Night, Gina,” Tom shouted hopefully in the direction of Gina’s bedroom, but there was no response.

He walked to the front door with Clare. “I’m so sorry about the urn, Clare.”

She searched his troubled face. “Don’t be silly. I was dancing too. Anyway, there’s no harm done.”

He couldn’t look at her. “And I’m sorry about kissing you. I shouldn’t have. I got carried away. I was out of order.”

“No, not out of order just…well…things are so confusing, everything still feels so raw and I’ve got to think of the kids, of Gina! But please don’t feel bad.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Everything is better with you around, Tom.”

Tom got into his car, giving Clare a last wave as she lingered at the door. He shuddered as he started the engine and he sank into the heated leather seat. He couldn’t get the ridiculous thought out of his head.

Martin’s urn falling like that, just when I was dancing with Clare…just after I’d kissed his wife!
He put the car into gear and pulled out.
Don’t be so bloody stupid,
he chastised himself
. Get a grip, man!

Forty-five minutes later Tom’s car had left the heaving city behind and was gliding along the dual carriageway, where smart suburbs eventually gave way to countryside. He reached the scenic surroundings of his own home. Here the air smelled of pine from the woods and tasted of salt from the sea that lapped up on the beach nearby. He turned down the bumpy unadopted road. In Tom’s neighbourhood potholes in the road symbolized how exclusive it was, not how rundown.

Tom pressed a zapper and sent the electric gates sweeping open and a bank of security lights blazing. He cruised up the driveway, coming to a halt outside the imposing house, whose facade had been cleverly designed to look like a country house hotel even though it was less than ten years old. He picked up his cashmere overcoat, briefcase and the plastic bag from the passenger seat where the fish had enjoyed a smooth ride.

He stared at the fish and groaned. His hands full, Tom used an elbow to nudge the car door shut but then, instead of walking towards the glow of the lantern above his porch, he strode to the left of the house until he reached a grey wheelie bin placed discreetly amongst the conifer trees. Tom put his briefcase down, draping his coat neatly over it, before lifting the lid of the bin and dropping the plastic bag inside. With a flick of his wrist, the lid slammed shut, leaving the fish to their fate.

Every evening Gina had butterflies in her stomach as she waited to see if Declan Doyle would turn up. Every evening she convinced herself that he wouldn’t, that he’d found something better to do than go running with her. After all, why would he want to spend time with
her
when he could probably pick any girl he wanted? But then, every evening, the bell would ring and she’d rocket down the stairs, pausing to compose herself before opening the door and greeting the smiling boy with a casual “Hi”.

She’d steal glances at him while they paced around the park and along the canals. He always looked like he was enjoying himself and, as they ran, he kept her entertained with stories that made her laugh, especially the ones about his landlady, Mrs. Mac, and her flirty friend Bridie.

“I’m not joking,” he told Gina in pretend shock. “Bridie asked me to pick up her stick and when I bent down, she patted my bum!”

Gina couldn’t believe how thoughtful Declan was. He always wanted to know how things were at home and what was going on with Tom. He listened to her complaints about Tom’s daily visits and he didn’t tell her that she was being paranoid when she said that every time she turned round it felt like Tom was there.

He was so easy to talk to that when she found herself explaining how it had felt to see her dad’s ashes disappear through the floorboards, Declan seemed to completely understand. Then, when she told him about the tigerfish eating half of Danny’s tank, he volunteered to take Danny to the aquarium. Gina wondered whether he really meant it but, just as he had promised, he turned up the following Saturday and went with them to Neptune’s. She stood back and watched the delight on Danny’s face as he led Declan from one tank to the next, debating which fish to buy and which coral looked the coolest. Danny begged Declan to come back to the house to help him settle the new fish and by the time they were finished, evening was drawing in.

“You’ve wasted your day helping us,” Gina said, apologetically.

“It’s not wasted. I spent it with you,” Declan said, causing her cheeks to burn.

One evening Gina and Declan were just finishing a run along the canal when the rain started to pour down. They dived into a greasy-spoon cafe on the dock road and sat, side by side, in the steamy window, eating bacon cobs and sipping strong tea. Gina looked at him nervously before reaching into her little rucksack and pulling out the tatty notebook.

She’d spent days plucking up the courage to show it to him. She was scared that he’d think she was crazy but, despite this, she wanted to share it with him. She felt that he, of all people, might understand.

“What’s that, then?” he asked.

Gina explained about the evidence she’d been gathering about her father’s last day, tentatively asking, “Do you want to see it?”

“Of course I do.” He nodded supportively. “Why don’t you talk me through it?”

He leaned towards her, his shoulder touching hers. She tried to stay focused as she went through the pages. She could see him trying to mask his surprise at the amount of detail she’d scribbled down, but he listened patiently as she deciphered the words for him and explained the timelines. He didn’t interrupt as her jumbled thoughts tumbled out. He didn’t once look at her like she was crazy, but she noticed his eyes widen when she described the man she’d seen outside her house on the day of the funeral.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he answered emphatically.

When she’d read out all her notes, she looked at him expectantly. “So, what do you think?”

“I don’t know. I
really
don’t know. There’s definitely parts of the story that seem strange but they may or may not be suspicious.”

“So you think I’m wrong?” she asked, holding her breath.

He hesitated, looking into her desperate eyes. “I think that you knew your dad and that you completely believe that he wouldn’t have killed himself but, whether he did or not, there are still questions that haven’t been answered about his death.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s good enough. So will you help me?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll do anything.”

“Then would you keep an eye on Tom in the warehouse?”

Declan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not sure I should do that. He’s my boss.”

“But it’s not like you’ll be spying on him, you work there anyway. Just let me know if he does anything that seems dodgy, if he says anything odd about my dad. Please, Declan, I need you on my side.”

“Okay,” he said. “But don’t be disappointed if I have nothing to report.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes you have; you’ve listened to me. You haven’t said that I’m wrong about everything. You’re helping me, Declan. You’re brilliant!” She broke into an enormous smile.

But her words seemed to upset him. Declan suddenly seemed tense and awkward around her.

“I’ve got to get home,” he said abruptly. He didn’t even look at her as he said goodbye and walked out of the cafe. She was left sitting on her own, feeling embarrassed, wondering what she’d done wrong.

“Ooh! Look at those muscles,” Kylie cooed as she trotted past Declan, who was carrying a bulging sack across his shoulders.

Declan smiled through gritted teeth, straining to maintain his grip on the coarse jute that, even in the three short weeks he’d been working there, was already causing calluses on his hands.

“Where are you off to?” he asked. “It’s not even dinnertime.”

“Tom’s sent me for an early lunch,” she said gleefully. “There’s a couple of fellas just arrived. I think he wants a private meeting.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Some business associates, I guess. There’s a skinny, old guy with a funny accent – he was very polite, not like the big guy! He swaggered into the office like he owned the place and then tried to chat me up,” she said, feigning outrage. “Said I was far too glamorous to be working in a warehouse. Said I was as beautiful as the women back home in the Ivory Coast. Wanted to take me out for a drink.”

“You said no, then?”

“I didn’t say anything. He wasn’t all bad. He’s got some impressive jewellery on him and he’s a sharp dresser.”

Declan’s ears pricked up. “Really?”

“Ooh, Declan, you’re not jealous, are you?” she trilled. “I thought your heart belonged to someone else.”

“Who?”

“Well, Tom tells me that you can’t keep away from Gina. Knocking around with her all the time. I’m happy for you, babe. You make a cute couple and Gina’s a great girl, but she’s been through a terrible time, so make sure you treat her right – you’ll have me to answer to.” Kylie didn’t look like she was joking.

Declan looked flustered. “But we’re not going out.”

“Well why not? Don’t you fancy her?”

“Yeah I do, I
really
do,” Declan blurted out. “But things are complicated.”

Kylie rolled her eyes. “How complicated can things be at your age? Stop making excuses and just ask Gina out. I’ll see you later, handsome.”

Declan watched Kylie walk away, swinging her handbag. He groaned.
If only she knew.

Declan couldn’t let his thoughts dwell on Gina. He had to focus. He grunted as he threw the cocoa sack off his shoulders and back onto the shelf. He rubbed his hands to get rid of the welts the sacks had left on them, brushed down his overalls and headed towards the office.

As he approached he could see the three men through the grubby windows. Tom had his elbows on his desk, his hands in a steeple, fingers touching his lips. In the corner of the office sat a skinny, sallow-looking man, with a wispy grey comb-over and half-moon glasses perched on his bony nose. Tom’s other visitor strode up and down, his substantial frame dominating the room and the thick gold chain across his jacket bouncing on his chest. The man gesticulated and smiled like he was delivering some sort of entertaining lecture, and every so often he pulled a spotted silk handkerchief from the pocket of his pinstriped suit and patted his bald head.

Bingo!
Declan thought, his pulse quickening.
That’s the man in the photo.
And it could be the same guy who was outside Gina’s house.

Declan stepped closer to the windows, straining his ears, whilst trying to think of a legitimate reason to be there. As he looked into the office, he saw Tom staring back at him. Tom came out of the room.

“Hey, Declan,” he said. “I hope you’re not slacking. There’s a whole batch in Aisle Four needs shifting. Get Pete to give you a hand. Use the forklift – you’ve been trained.”

“The windows, Tom,” Declan said hesitantly. “I just thought I’d give the office windows a clean, they’re filthy.” He began to rub the glass with the sleeve of his overall.

Tom looked at him, baffled. “Maybe later, hey,” he said. “You may have noticed that I’m
trying
to have a meeting here.” Tom shooed him away and went back into the office, shutting the door behind him.

“Idiot,” Declan mumbled to himself, as he walked away. But he was determined not to mess this up. He backtracked, finding a good position at the side of a towering shelf. He still had a clear view of the office, even if he couldn’t hear the conversation.

Declan felt like he was watching a silent movie as he observed the visitor getting back into his stride. Whatever the man was saying was clearly upsetting Tom. Tom threw his hands up in protest. The swaggering man smiled and seemed to be pointing at the stumpy fingers on Tom’s left hand. Declan caught a look of sheer terror on Tom’s face before he shot out of his chair, squaring up to the big man.

A full-scale argument seemed to be raging now. Declan suddenly noticed the sickly-looking man in the corner. He appeared to be fighting for his breath, like a fish out of water. The man ferreted around inside his coat and pulled out an inhaler. Shaking it vigorously, he put it to his mouth and took two sharp puffs. This caught the attention of the other two, who pulled away from each other. The sickly man looked over his half-moon glasses and spoke. Whatever he said seemed to finally calm them down.

The big man handed Tom a slip of paper. He hesitated before taking it. He glanced at it and put it in the inside of his jacket. Declan thought that the big man seemed triumphant, smiling broadly and extending his hand to Tom, who reluctantly shook it. The big man laughed and headed towards the door. His colleague eased himself out of the chair and bowed sharply to Tom.

Declan watched the two men leave the office. He followed them at a distance out of the warehouse and saw them get into their cars, the big man into a silver Mercedes, the other into a Fiat Punto. Declan grabbed his phone from the pocket of his overalls and, as the engines fired up, he took surreptitious photos of the cars’ number plates.

Declan walked back towards the office feeling pleased with his quick thinking. Maybe he was going to be quite good at this, after all.

He positioned himself back in his secluded spot and observed Tom, who was seated back at his desk. Tom ran his hands down his grim face before opening the side cupboard of his desk and pulling out a whisky bottle and a glass. He poured himself a large measure and, steadying his hand, raised it to his lips, slugging it down in one go. Declan leaned forward, peering closer as Tom stood up. The man’s face was twisted, his knuckles white around the glass. He let out a growl as he flung the glass to the concrete floor; the shards ricocheted up at him.

Declan flattened his back against the shelf in alarm.

What the hell is going on?
he thought.