Cause of Death (14 page)

‘And now she's done that she'll bugger off?' Stan laughed. ‘You're both kidding yourselves if you think that. I know people like Karen Parker. They don't back off, not until they've completed the mission.'

‘Mission?'

Stan shrugged. ‘Call it what you like. She's got something in mind, something big. I figured from the start it would be about dealing with Haines. And before you object on the ground that Haines had no direct dealings with her, stop thinking like a logical, normal person because Karen won't be. If she wants him dead then she'll find a reason.'

Rina was momentarily taken aback but Mac nodded. What Stan said felt right. It felt like Karen.

T
ed Eebry hadn't gone to work. He'd been due to bid on a couple of mixed lots at the local auction house, but somehow he could not bring himself to go. Once there he'd have felt obliged to talk to people and Ted wasn't sure he was up to that particular task.

Instead, he'd driven into Honiton and found a stationer's he'd not used before and bought himself a will form, visited a convenience store for a bottle of cheap gin, and then come back and dug around in the medicine box for the strong painkillers left over from the time he'd dislocated his shoulder and the sleeping pills prescribed for Stacey after she'd got so stressed during her exams.

The labels on the pill bottles were faded and he didn't bother to look at the dates on them. He'd been meaning to take the unused medicine back to the pharmacy for years, just like those adverts in the doctor's said you should, but it had never seemed to get to the top of his list; instead, the tablets in their childproof containers had slid further and further down into the depths of the biscuit tin he used as a first aid box.

Ted had come home and locked the doors, lined up the gin and pills and the folded form on the kitchen table and spent the past half hour looking at them and wondering what to do next. He'd heard such horror stories about people who had not taken enough pills and had woken up with half their organs wrecked, or people who had taken too much at once and then just made themselves sick. He vaguely remembered reading somewhere that you should take the pills with milk, something to line your stomach, but he wasn't sure if that was a real memory or something that had got itself conflated with his dad's advice about going out in a boat.

Ted, unlike his dad, had always been a lousy sailor.

He wished he had the courage to get his computer out and Google the question, but that just seemed so inappropriate, and Ted always had this odd feeling that if you searched for something like that it would be found out – somehow people would know.

Taking a deep breath, Ted did what he always did when faced with a dilemma. He got up and put the kettle on.

From across the room Ted surveyed the pills, alcohol and unwritten will. Leaning against the kitchen counter he folded his arms across his chest and thought through his options one more time. He could give himself up to the police, but after all this time he'd have a hard job getting anyone to believe Kath's death had just been an accident. I mean, why cover something up if it hadn't been deliberate? Or he could go on as normal and hope no one put two and two together and worked out they added up to Ted.

Or he could . . . leave.

The kettle boiled and Ted made tea and took the pot back to the table, setting it down between the gin and the pills. Somehow, the old brown pot diminished the potency of both. Ted took a mug from the rack and poured a large measure of gin, sniffed it suspiciously and wondered why on earth he had bought a spirit he didn't even like. His logic had been exactly based on that. He much preferred a nice drop of whisky, but the idea of using a single malt or even a good blend for such a purpose somehow appalled him. Scotch was for celebration, not for doing yourself in. He took a sip, grimaced. It always tasted far too perfumed for his liking and he'd not even remembered to buy any tonic.

‘Oh, Christ,' Ted said. ‘This is just stupid. Who do you think you're kidding, Ted Eebry?'

Embarrassed now, he poured the gin back into the bottle, spilling half of it as he did so. Then he cleared the pills and booze from the table and stuffed them into the cupboard under the sink, hiding everything behind the bottles of bleach and wash powder.

He didn't want to die. Kath hadn't wanted to die. Killing himself wouldn't make Kath any less dead or anything else less complicated; it would just leave a mess behind for his girls to deal with. Ted could not bear the thought of causing them such distress or inconvenience.

His hand trembled as he poured the tea in the mug and cupped it between his hands, quite forgetting that he should have added milk. He could still smell the gin.

‘I'm sorry, Kath,' he said. ‘I'm so sorry, my lovely. I never meant to do anyone any harm, least of all you.'

M
ac met George and Ursula out of college and walked with them back into town. Ursula seemed unusually subdued, he thought, and George was both worried and pleased to see him.

‘What's up?' George asked.

‘Does anything have to be up?'

‘Yes, if you're waiting for us to get out of school. If this was a social call then we'd all be at Rina's or somewhere.'

Mac laughed. ‘I suppose we would,' he agreed. ‘George, did your parents ever mention a man called Dave Jenkins?'

‘He was a right creep,' George said. ‘Dad used to bring him home and Mum would get in a panic every time he did.'

‘She was afraid of him?'

George thought about it and then shook his head. ‘Not exactly. I mean I think she was, but, I mean, she was scared of everything. It's like she was half scared of him and half, I dunno, sort of . . . she'd always wear something nice when he came round, make sure she'd got a bit of make-up on, that sort of thing.'

‘So you think she flirted with him? And how did your dad react to that?'

George found that one much harder to answer. He looked away, Mac noted, and a slight flush rose to his freckled cheeks. George was always pale – a classic redhead with almost translucent skin, and a tendency to blush when he was under stress.

‘George . . .' Mac prompted gently.

Ursula shot him a look that told him his pressure was not welcome.

George shook his head. ‘I dunno.'

‘Oh, for God's sake,' Ursula exploded. ‘You want him to say it, Mac? George's dad pimped his mum. He wanted her to get all dolled up for this Jenkins person. It was just another of the despicable things he did.'

George's blush deepened but he did not contradict Ursula, and Mac suddenly felt very awkward and very stupid. But there was another question he just had to ask. ‘And Karen?'

‘Sometimes you can be as thick as . . . what do you think?'

Mac was taken aback.

‘He would have done,' George said quietly. ‘But Karen knew what was going on. Soon as she could she made us leave and she kept us moving. She kept us safe. She tried to anyway.'

‘I'm sorry, George,' Mac said. ‘I'd not hurt you for the world, you know that.'

‘Isn't that the kind of lie adults always tell?' Ursula marched on ahead and George and Mac both stopped and stared at her

‘George, is she OK?'

George shrugged. ‘She went to see her dad at the weekend.'

‘And that's bad?' He was doing it again, Mac thought. Being stupid. ‘Sorry,' he said. ‘I guess it must have been.'

They walked on. Ursula had slowed down now, seemingly torn between her fury at Mac and not wanting to turn up at the bus stop alone. She'd get teased about falling out with her ‘boyfriend' and that would be just too much to bear right now. She didn't look at either of them when they caught up with her, but she didn't pull away when George took her hand, just bowed her head lower and Mac realized she was crying.

‘Ursula, if there's anything I can do . . .'

She mumbled what might have been a thank you. George managed a half-smile. Mac watched them walk on, feeling like he'd caused all of their troubles and wanting to make things right, though he'd no idea what that might involve.

Maybe he should talk to Rina.

Suddenly tired, Mac turned and walked back to his car.

M
ac had caught Kendall on the way into work on Tuesday and perched on his desk drinking coffee while his colleague made phone calls and shuffled paper around.

‘Anything more on Haines?' he asked when Kendall finally laid the phone to rest.

‘Not a lot, but it looks like he and Vashinsky might both have fingers in the same pie. It all leads back to that business a couple of months ago.'

Mac nodded. ‘I had a chat with an ex-colleague last night. It started when a journalist called Jamie Dale broke a story, or rather she tried to.'

‘I saw the reports. I'm still hazy on the details, but from what I can gather she implicated several politicians, some very big corporations and a handful of high-up civil servants.' Kendall grinned. ‘Seems every time you open a newspaper there's another dozen queuing up to resign and at the same time swearing on their honour they did not take bribes and they certainly didn't sell weapons to proscribed governments.' He gestured his disgust.

‘From what I can gather someone released her material to the media after she'd died.'

Mac nodded.

‘Well, I'm sorry for her, but to be brutal about it, I don't see that she made a bloody bit of difference. The deals are still being done, it's just new people doing the buying, new intermediaries setting up the deals, and a few new faces doing the selling, but you can bet your pension nothing else has changed.'

Mac laughed. ‘What pension?'

‘Quite. But seriously, Mac, it looks increasingly like Haines and Vashinsky are after a slice of the action while there's still something left to carve up. Our intel is that they've pooled resources.'

‘Not natural bedfellows, I wouldn't have thought.' Vashinsky had links to the Russian Mafia, whereas Haines had always been something of a lone wolf.

‘I'm sure they'll manage if there's a big enough bed,' Kendall said. ‘One more thing, though, and I'm giving you the heads up on this much against the wishes of my bosses. We've got someone on the inside. With Haines. Looks like what little we do know is down to him.'

Mac frowned. ‘Not where I'd want to be,' he said.

‘Me neither, but it looks like he's our best hope of taking Haines down.'

Andy's mother called him at work, an event rare enough to cause the young man to panic. ‘What's wrong? Are the kids alright?'

The kids – like he was the parent and not the elder brother.

‘Oh, we're all fine, love. I'm calling about the, what do you call them, leads you were looking for.'

‘Leads?' Alarm bells began to ring. Andy smiled sheepishly at Frank Baker who was watching him with an amused look on his round face. He retreated into the back office, to the extent that the phone cable would allow. He could hear Frank chuckling to himself. ‘Mum, I—'

‘We've been asking round, discreetly, like. Now don't you worry, no one mentioned you, we just got to talking with the girls, you know, about strange things that happen and people what go missing and we've come up with a bit of a list, me and Aunty Bec. You got a pen?'

‘You already gave me a list, Mum. I—'

‘I know we did, but this is like a refined list. A proper thought through one. You caught us on the hop the other day. Now are you ready with that pen?'

Andy sighed, but obediently grabbed pen and paper. He was writing for some time.

Frank Baker watched as he came back through to the front office and replaced the phone. Andy had a notebook in his hand and an expression on his face some way between embarrassment and excitement.

‘Frank, do you know any of these people?'

‘Let's take a deco. The Franks girl, yes I remember her, we always reckoned she just got sick of her parents, but might be worth following that up. Ditto Miss Emmory, though in that case it was the older sister who probably made her leave, a real old battleaxe. Kath Eebry . . . well, who knows? He was distraught, I remember that much, but we got nowhere with the case. Trouble is, Andy, when a woman that age goes missing and there's no evidence of foul play, I think there's always that idea she don't want to be found. Same with the Franks girl.'

‘You think these are worth a look, though?'

Sergeant Baker nodded. ‘You've got to start somewhere and your mam's right, these were both local women and the cases were a bit off. Give them a go, I say, and if you draw a blank, pick some more names off that list. As things stand we've got nothing better.'

Rina had decided to take the plunge and had walked with Stan up to the De Barr garage to look at cars. The road out of Frantham wound its way up the hill and on to the cliff top. It was one of Rina's favourite walks, with wonderful views almost all the way up. Stan spent a lot of it glancing out to sea.

‘Memories?' Rina asked him.

‘Some.' He laughed. ‘One or two dramatic ones. I suppose I keep expecting to see
The Spirit of Unity
out there.'

‘Is that likely? Won't he want to keep a low profile?'

‘I doubt it. More likely he'll want me and anyone else to know he's around and can strike any time he wants to. Like I said, I'm just not at the top of his list yet.'

They paused a few hundred yards from the garage at a spot where the view was particularly spectacular. The De Barr hotel was now just visible round on Druston Head and Frantham bay laid out in all its glory below them. It wasn't a large bay, Rina thought, but she loved it, relished the way the cliffs reached out to embrace the little town that had become her cherished home.