Die Twice (28 page)

But running away from everything – my career, my life: it was a big step. And then there was Carla Graham. Maybe she didn't want anything serious, but it was just possible that I could change that. Amid all this, she was the only positive thing keeping me going.

I picked up my mobile and thought about calling her. I was aware I might piss her off, but events were moving too rapidly for me to sit back and be patient. If she rejected me now it wasn't actually going to make a great deal of difference. I stared at the phone for maybe ten seconds, then put it down. I'd wait until tomorrow.

I finished my cigarette, then went up to the bar to get another drink. Joan was still chatting to the middle-aged man, and they were laughing like old friends, though you could tell from the way she excused herself from the conversation that they didn't actually know each other.

‘What can I get you, Dennis?' she asked, before turning back to the guy. ‘You see this bloke here?' she said, meaning me. ‘Changes his drink all the time. You can never tell what he's going to have. Isn't that right, Dennis?'

‘A man should never be too predictable,' I told her, and ordered a bottle of Pils, as if to prove the point.

As she turned away to get it, I gave the guy a brief smile. He smiled back awkwardly, then looked away. I noticed he was drinking Coke. Suspicious in a place like this, but not unheard of.

Another youngish couple came in and I found myself eyeing them closely. She sat down at a table near the bar and removed her hat and scarf, appearing not to notice me. Her boyfriend/colleague approached the bar and I turned away and paid for my drink, careful not to draw attention to myself. Jean asked me if I was dealing with the case of the old lady who was mugged. She told me that the victim was the mother of one of her former regulars. I told her I wasn't, but that I thought there might be arrests soon. ‘It was kids who did it, and kids always end up giving themselves away. They can never keep their mouths shut.'

‘Little bastards,' she said. ‘They should bloody hang 'em.'

Which were probably the sentiments of 80 per cent of the population, not that it would ever make any difference. Usually, at this point, I'd have put on my police hat and tried to convince both myself and my audience that the perpetrators would end up receiving their just punishments, but this time I didn't bother. They wouldn't.

‘Don't ever rely on the courts for justice, Joan,' I told her. ‘They're afraid of it.' I turned to Coke Drinker. ‘Isn't that right?'

‘I never talk politics,' he answered, without looking me in the eye. ‘It's too easy to make enemies.'

‘Well, someone should do something about it,' Joan grumbled, and went off to serve the guy who'd just come to the bar.

I didn't bother returning to my seat but drank my beer quickly and in silence. When I'd finished I looked for Joan but she'd disappeared out the back. I nodded to Coke Drinker, who nodded vaguely back in my direction, and walked out.

The cold spell from Siberia had well and truly arrived, and an icy wind ripped through the narrow street. I pulled my coat tight around me and started walking, occasionally looking back. The parked cars lining both sides were empty and no-one came out of the Chinaman behind me.

After about fifty yards I turned into a side street and waited in the shadows, shivering against the cold, telling myself I was a fool because if they were following me it would only confirm what I already suspected, and would make no difference to my predicament.

But still I stood there. Five minutes passed. Then ten. A car came by slowly with two men in it, but I couldn't make them out properly. It carried on and accelerated away at the end of the street.

An icy rain began to fall and I broke cover, heading for home, but keeping to the shadows, not knowing who was going to be waiting for me when I got there.

28

When I got near my flat, I surveyed the street carefully, looking for anyone or anything that might be out of place, but it seemed the cold had driven everyone indoors. Only when I was satisfied that the silence was genuine did I walk hurriedly up to my front door and ram the key in the lock, still half expecting some hidden assassin to emerge from the darkness, or a shouting posse of armed police to charge me, screaming staccato orders.

Nothing happened, and there was relief when the door closed behind me for the last time that night.

The first thing I did when I got upstairs was phone in sick. I didn't know how much they knew at the station about the investigation into me but I found it hard to imagine that Knox wouldn't have been informed of it by now. Next I rang Raymond's mobile, but he wasn't answering, and neither was Luke, his bodyguard, so I left a message asking for him to call me and telling him I wasn't going to be at home for the next couple of days. Just in case he was thinking about sending anyone round. Then I made a cup of coffee and told myself not to panic. Foresight, if not right, remained on my side.

I went to bed about ten o'clock and fell asleep surprisingly easily. I remained out like a light the whole night, and for once I actually felt partially refreshed when I awoke the following morning at just after eight.

It was now time to plan my next move. Each day I remained here the chances of my being arrested grew higher, which meant that I was going to have to take the plunge fast. I needed to shake off my surveillance, grab the money from the Bayswater deposit box, and go to ground for a bit. As soon as I started running and they realized that I was on to them, that was it; there'd be no turning back. I was going to have to keep running for the rest of my life.

I went round the corner to get a paper, acting as casually as possible and not spotting anything or anyone untoward, then returned to read it over a light breakfast of toast and coffee. There was no obvious mention of the Traveller's Rest investigation within its pages and nothing on the Miriam Fox case. Now that an arrest had been made and charges laid, there'd be no further mention of her murder until the trial, and probably not much coverage then. Instead, there were the usual tales of woe from Britain and abroad: a farming crisis; renewed famine in Africa; a couple of food scares; and a liberal sprinkling of murder, mayhem and fashion tips.

When I was on my sixth cigarette of the day, I decided I had nothing to lose by calling Carla Graham. I phoned her office from Raymond's mobile, concerned about the possibility that my own phones had been bugged. She picked up on the fourth ring and I was relieved to hear no meeting-type noises in the background.

‘Hello, Carla.'

‘Dennis?'

‘Yeah, it's me. How are you?'

She sighed. ‘Busy. Very busy.'

‘Well, I won't keep you long.'

‘I was going to call you today anyway,' she said.

‘Oh yeah?'

‘Look, I don't want you to take this too seriously, but you said to let you know if anyone else went missing.' An ominous sensation crept up my back as partially buried thoughts suddenly unearthed themselves like zombies in a graveyard. ‘And someone has.'

‘Who?'

‘Anne Taylor.'

Anne. The girl I'd shared coffee with less than a week ago. The girl I'd saved from abduction.

‘Jesus, Carla. When did this happen?'

‘She was last seen on Sunday afternoon.' She seemed to sense my unease. ‘She's done this before on several occasions so I don't think there's any real cause for alarm. And obviously, there is a man in custody for the murder.'

‘I know, but it isn't as cut and dried as that. There are a lot of unanswered questions, and everyone's innocent until proven guilty. You of all people should know that.'

‘I still don't think you should read too much into it. Anne is that type of girl.'

‘And so was Molly Hagger, but you can't help getting concerned. When did Anne last go missing like this?'

‘About a month ago.'

‘How long was she gone for then?'

‘A couple of nights. A similar length of time to this. That's why we haven't been too worried. The last time she went AWOL it was because she was off on a binge with an older woman. She got stoned, fell asleep, and when she woke up twenty-four hours later she came back here.'

‘And before that? When did she last go missing before that?'

‘I can't remember. A few months ago. Look, Dennis, no-one here thinks anything untoward's happened.'

‘So why were you going to phone and tell me?'

‘Because you asked me too. Personally, I think Anne's doing her usual thing, which is going out, taking drugs, and doing exactly what she fancies, regardless of what anyone tells her, because that's what she's like. But I felt I ought to tell you because you were worried and I suppose I'd never forgive myself if Anne did end up like Miriam Fox, dead in some back alley with her throat cut, and I hadn't bothered reporting it. Although I still think the chances of that happening are fairly remote.'

‘OK, OK, I get your point. I don't like it, though.' And I didn't. Anne's disappearance had sown more doubts in my mind. Maybe somehow, defying all the odds, Mark Wells wasn't our man. Not that it should have mattered; I had far bigger fish to fry now. I sighed. ‘Look, do me a favour and inform the police. Tell them what's happened.'

‘Dennis, you
are
the police.'

‘Not any more I'm not.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘I resigned. Yesterday.' Not quite true, but it might as well have been.

‘Are you playing games, Dennis? Because if you are, I'm not interested.'

‘No, I'm not. Honestly. I handed my notice in. It's been a long time coming.'

‘But what are you going to do? I mean, are you trained for anything else?'

Killing people, I thought.

‘Not really, but I've got a bit of cash put aside. I thought I'd maybe head abroad for a while. Do some travelling. I've always wanted to do something like that.'

‘Well … Good luck with it. I hope it works out for you. When are you hoping to go?'

‘As soon as I can. Probably before the end of the week.'

‘You know, I think I'm jealous.'

‘You could always come with me.'

She laughed. ‘I don't think so. Perhaps one day I'll come out and visit you.'

‘You should do. What's keeping you here?'

‘I can't believe I'm actually being encouraged to be more of a rebel by a policeman. I don't know, Dennis. At the moment I'm happy the way things are.'

‘Are you? Really?'

There was a short silence on the other end of the line before she spoke again. ‘It just wouldn't work. I don't know you well enough. I think we should leave it at that.'

‘OK, but it'd be good to see you one last time before I go.' As soon as I said this, I knew that this was a risk I should not be taking, but I didn't seem able to help myself.

‘Yes,' she said, ‘it would, but I don't know when we're going to get the chance.'

‘Look, I remember you saying the other night that you liked poetry. They're doing a reading by some contemporary poets tonight at a place called the Gallan Club, not far from me. Why don't we meet there for a drink? It's a nice spot.'

Carla ummed and aahed for a few minutes, but finally agreed to come over for an hour or so. I began to tell her where the club was but it turned out she knew the place vaguely anyway. ‘And don't forget to tell the police about Anne,' I added. ‘Report it formally. You never know what might have happened and it's better to be safe than sorry.' Again she told me that she thought there was nothing to worry about, but I insisted and she ended up agreeing to do it.

After I'd hung up, I made another cup of coffee and lit cigarette number seven. Anne Taylor was not my concern. Even if I'd stayed a copper and remained connected to the Miriam Fox murder case, she would still not have been my concern. Mark Wells was almost certainly Miriam's murderer. But I couldn't help wondering what had happened to Molly Hagger and where Anne had got to. I would certainly have expected really to have surfaced by now. Her best friend had been killed, and it was difficult to believe that she wouldn't have at least shown her face to find out what was going on, or contact the authorities if she believed Wells was responsible. And now Anne had disappeared only a few weeks after Molly. There might, as Carla clearly thought, be a perfectly logical explanation for it, but for me it was all too coincidental, particularly on top of the attempted assault the previous week. I couldn't help but feel that I was missing something, something neither I nor any of my erstwhile colleagues were aware of, but try as I might I couldn't put my finger on what it was. And, with everything else, it felt like it wasn't worth trying.

But sometimes, you know, it's difficult to let go. So I picked up my home phone, this time not caring who was listening in, and made a call to Malik's mobile.

It rang ten times before he answered, and when he heard my voice I couldn't tell whether he was happy that it was me or not. I wondered briefly if he knew that his superiors were on to me.

He asked me how I was feeling, having presumably heard that I'd phoned in sick, and I told him I was OK just a little under the weather.

‘I haven't been sleeping too well. I think I need a holiday.'

‘Why don't you take a couple of weeks? You're bound to be due it.'

‘I am. Maybe I will.'

‘Anyway, what can I do for you, Dennis?'

Dennis. I was never going to get used to that from him. ‘How did the raids go this morning? Have we laid any charges yet?'

‘We pulled in everyone we were meant to, but no charges yet. You know what it's like with these kids. It's like treading on egg shells. You're not even allowed to raise your voices with them in case they get upset.'

‘I'm sure one or more of them did the old lady.'