Authors: A. Garrett D.
Bar-Code Man leaned in close, his breath reeking of coffee and cigarettes. ‘You’re right, Professor – too many witnesses. You and her – outside.’
Oh, shit
. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Bar-Code was supposed to speak to his boss and then clear out. On his own. Fennimore looked at the faces of Becky’s friends, he took in the other people: teens and mothers and shoppers relaxing, unaware of the danger they were in, and he looked at Becky, her eyes wide with fear.
He nodded and she stood. He put himself between the thug and Becky again, and in a second he felt the man’s paralyzing grip on his upper arm.
The goon hissed in Fennimore’s ear: ‘Just so you know – I don’t mind shooting through you to get to her.’
The cab driver was waiting. He did a double take when Fennimore crossed in front of him, heading towards the alley opposite. He opened his door and began to get out, but when he saw the ton of meat that was steering his cab fare, he got quietly back behind the wheel.
Fennimore looked desperately for a way out. There was a shopping arcade at the end of the alley – if he timed it right, maybe he could shove Bar-Code Man off balance, tell Becky to run. He must have tensed, or the thug read his mind, because he said, ‘Try it, if you want. But a skinny geek like you? I wouldn’t fancy your chances. And you can’t outrun a bullet.’
He tried a door, then the next, and the next; these were back entrances, shop delivery doors. On his fourth try, a door swung open. Fennimore balked. He felt a sickening pain in his shoulder. He sagged and a second later he and Becky were through the door and in a scuffed and dimly lit service corridor.
The thug shoved Fennimore back hard. His head crunched against the wall and a thousand drums boomed in his ears. He pressed his hands to his skull and another spike of pain shafted through his shoulder.
The man snatched hold of Becky’s wrist and she yelped. ‘Shut up,’ he snarled.
Tears stood in Becky’s eyes, but she blinked them away and held still, sucking her cheeks in and frowning at the concrete floor.
‘What now?’ Fennimore asked.
‘We wait.’
Wait for what?
Fennimore wondered.
The all-clear? Jesus, what’s to stop him shooting us anyway, leave us for the shop staff to find?
He said, ‘Okay, but don’t forget – you were seen by a lot of people. Those people in the coffee shop – they
will
remember you.’
Bar-Code pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit up one-handed, smoked it down to the filter. A minute or two later they heard a
plink plink
of footsteps, like stones falling into water, echoing off the walls. The thug crushed his cigarette under his heel and gave Fennimore a warning look. A woman rounded the corner. She froze, half turned as if she was deciding whether to run back the way she came.
Bar-Code jerked his head for her to come on and she edged past, the man still holding Becky’s wrist in his massive paw.
A blast of cold air from the outer door, a quiet
thunk
as it swung closed. They waited. The thug rocked on his heels, whistling through his teeth. He stopped abruptly, tapped a button on his headset. ‘Yeah,’ he said, looking at Fennimore. ‘Yep.’
He disconnected, dropped Becky’s wrist and reached for the pistol tucked into his waistband. Becky gasped and Fennimore braced himself. The man gestured for them to back up, and once more Fennimore eased Becky behind him.
The man bent, keeping his eyes on them, and picked up the cigarette butt and slipped it into his jacket pocket. ‘Always clean up after yourself, eh, Professor?’ He backed away to the door and seconds later he was gone.
46
‘Maturity is sensitivity to human suffering.’
R
ABBI
J
ULIUS
G
ORDON
Fennimore hustled Becky further down the corridor, moving fast away from the street exit. The man with the bar-code tattoo had most likely melted into the evening crowds, but Fennimore wasn’t about to take the risk of running straight into him in the unlit alley.
Heads turned as they entered the shop through the wrong door, but staff were slow off the mark and they were out onto the main street before anyone thought to challenge them.
He tried Simms’s mobile; it switched directly to voicemail. He hung up and tried again. Across the square, he saw the taxi, still waiting. He guided Becky to it, expecting Bar-Code to reappear any second.
‘Uncle Fenn, what did that man want?’ Becky demanded. ‘Why are you all messed up?’
‘Becky, it’s nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘You’re safe now.’
‘Don’t patronize me!’ Now the threat was gone she was angry. Fennimore, however, felt like his body had turned to jelly below the waist. And now he couldn’t reach Kate.
‘I’m not patronizing you, Becky, it’s just – it’s best if your mother explains.’ He’d said it without thinking, but she jumped on it.
‘Mum? What would Mum know about it? What’s it got to do with Mum? Where is she? Is something wrong with her?’ Her eyes filled with tears and he cursed himself. ‘Uncle Fenn, where’s Mum?’ She was shaking, afraid all over again.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, helplessly, ‘but I’m sure she’s okay.’
She shoved his guiding hand away. ‘It’s about that
bloody
case, isn’t it? Why couldn’t you just leave us
alone
?’
He opened the cab door, but she stood glaring at him. ‘I’m sick of being pushed about. Tell me what’s going on,’ she shouted.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll explain, but we need to get away from here – please?’
She scowled at him for a few more seconds, but finally she stomped past him and clambered into the far side of the cab.
He gave the driver Kate’s address, desperately trying to think how much he dared to tell her. The jangle of his mobile rescued him.
‘Is Becky all right?’
Kate. Relief flooded through his veins.
‘She’s fine. Are you—?’
‘Let me speak to her.’
He handed over the phone.
‘Mum?’ she said. ‘There was a man – he had a gun.’
The cab driver looked in his rear-view mirror.
‘Mum are you okay? Uncle Fenn’s bleeding. Mum? Mummy, I was so scared.’
Fennimore heard the echo of his own daughter’s voice in her words. He looked out of the window, trying not to listen, trying not to think about anything at all.
After a few minutes, Becky fell silent, listening to her mother. ‘Mm,’ she said. ‘Yes … yes …’ She handed the phone back to Fennimore without looking at him. ‘She wants to speak to you.’
‘It’s all gone, Nick,’ Simms said. ‘He handed me a lighter and made me burn everything, even the textbooks.’
Fennimore wiped his eyes. ‘You’re okay. Becky’s okay. That’s all that matters, Kate.’
They arrived at the Simms’s home just as she was pulling into the driveway.
Becky flew into her mother’s arms and clung to her.
Fennimore paid the cabbie and turned to face her. She looked at him, over Becky’s shoulder, her eyes desolate.
‘Come on, darling,’ she said, kissing her daughter’s forehead and face. ‘Let’s get you out of the cold.’
Becky helped Fennimore make tea, while Simms called the Drugs Squad DC to let him know where they were. She frowned and Fennimore raised his eyebrows and she said, ‘It’s going to voicemail.’ She spoke into the phone. ‘Gary? DCI Simms. Call me as soon as you get this.’
Becky handed him a pint of milk. ‘It was me, wasn’t it?’ she said.
Fennimore frowned, not understanding. ‘That man was using me to get at Mum.’
He broke eye contact, using the bottle top as an excuse, giving himself time to think. ‘The man’s boss, anyway,’ he said, picking at the edges of the foil cap, getting nowhere. ‘They want your mother to stop investigating a case.’
She snorted. ‘Fat chance.’
Fennimore smiled, and she took the bottle back from him and opened it with a practised movement. Simms was talking to Ella Moran.
‘Where are you?’ she asked. A pause, then, ‘Are you all right?’ She listened to the answer. ‘Well, clear any computer searches and your desk, and get out of the office. Do you have any friends you can stay with?’
Fennimore watched Becky place a clean mug carefully on the worktop, as if it might explode, her eyes wide with fear.
‘Good,’ Simms said. ‘Go there – stay put – call in sick. I’ll get a message to you when I know it’s safe.’ She became aware of Becky’s scrutiny and turned her back.
Fennimore tried to distract Becky with a question, but she shrugged impatiently, her gaze fixed on her mother.
Kate lowered her voice, but they both heard her say, ‘Talk to
nobody
about the case. I’ll be in touch.’
She bowed her head for a second, and Fennimore got the sense she was bracing herself. She turned to Becky. ‘Just one more call.’
She fast-dialled a number, left another message for Parrish.
Moments later, her mobile rang and her face flooded with relief. ‘Parrish?’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you—’
She broke off, a frown creasing her brow. She had a lump on her forehead that was beginning to bruise and her fingers strayed to it. Suddenly, her eyes widened and a tremor seemed to run through her, then she went very still. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll … Thanks.’
She hung up. ‘Becky, I need to speak to Uncle Fenn in private.’ Becky began to object but Kate shook her head. ‘It’s police business.’ She sounded implacable, but her face was lined with pain. ‘I’m sorry, darling. Just give us a few minutes, okay?’
Becky chewed her lip, making up her mind whether she wanted a fight. ‘All right,’ she said, sounding like a parent trusting their wayward teen against their better judgement. ‘But you owe me an explanation.’
Simms watched her daughter leave; she listened to the thud-thud-thud of Becky’s footsteps on the stairs; she waited a little longer until she heard the bedroom door close, and Fennimore thought it must be something truly horrible to make her want to put all that distance between her daughter and this fresh crop of bad news.
When she turned her eyes on him, she looked numb with shock.
‘That was a DCI from Traffic Division.’ Her voice lacked emotion, yet he knew that whatever she was about to say, it was tearing her up.
‘Gary Parrish has been killed. Hit and run. The DCI called Parrish’s line manager first, and was put onto me.’
‘Line manager? Does that mean—’
‘Tanford.’ She nodded, her eyes red-rimmed. ‘He told Traffic I needed to know.’
‘The bastard,’ Fennimore breathed. It was a threat – he could get to her family, and he could destroy anyone who tried to help her.
‘It’s over, Nick,’ she said. ‘We’re finished. I burned
everything
. The ash is probably scattered across three counties by now. Without DC Parrish’s testimony, I’ve got nothing.’
He took her hands in his. ‘We
will
get him,’ he insisted. ‘The evidence is there. We’ll keep after him until we have him. It might just take a bit longer.’
‘I’m out of time, Nick.’ She slid her hands from his grasp. ‘Even if we find his DNA on Marta, I have no sample to match to him and without Marta’s notebook I’ve no legal justification to
demand
a sample from him. Shit – you said it yourself – even if we did get a match, it wouldn’t really prove anything.’
‘We still have the Hull victim.’
‘They’d need to dig her up with Tanford’s business card clutched in her mummified hand to convince Spry.’
‘What about the drugs recycling? Tanford was SIO during Operation Snowstorm. There has to be a paper trail; it’ll lead back to him.’
‘Oh, yes, the drugs.’ She blew air through her nose as if she had a bad smell in it. ‘He was
very
cocky about that. I think he’s covered his tracks pretty damn well.’ She smoothed her fingers across her brows. ‘Gifford will fillet me for this. I’m going to lose my job, Nick. So who do you imagine will go after Tanford then? Not me – I’ll be working security at … I dunno … Aldi. We can’t do this without Marta’s evidence, and that’s gone for good.’
‘Come on, Kate, you can’t give up – not now.’
‘Why?’ she demanded, suddenly angry. ‘Because you need to satisfy your curiosity, solve your scientific puzzle? He got to my
family
, Nick.’
There was nothing he could say to that.
She saw him to the front door and he stepped over the threshold.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘If you hadn’t been there …’
He shook his head; he didn’t want to hear this.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Then, at least let me thank you for bringing her home safe.’ She took him by the overcoat lapels and kissed him on the cheek. Nothing in it, just a chaste kiss, a thank you kiss. Yet it set off a chain reaction in his blood and his muscles and brain. The effects of that kiss travelled through him, fizzing and popping under his skin, tingling in his fingertips and the roots of his hair. He wanted to reach out and pull her to him and kiss her lips. But she was already gone; retreated back inside the house, closing the front door softly after her.
The euphoria of that kiss lasted to the end of the driveway, where he realized that his injured leg was giving him hell and he’d sent the cab driver away. With a sigh, he turned up the collar of his overcoat, and began hobbling slowly towards the main road.
47
‘Context is the key – from that comes the understanding of everything.
’
K
ENNETH
N
OLAND
Josh Brown took the news of DC Parrish’s death without much emotion.
‘It wasn’t Tanford who killed him then,’ he said, looking thoughtful, rather than troubled.
‘Tanford was too busy forcing Kate to burn the evidence at the time.’ Fennimore was sitting on the sofa in his hotel suite, his leg ached and his head boomed and he felt nauseous.
‘The Henry brothers must’ve organized it.’
Fennimore thought about the big no-necked thug, and nodded. ‘It’s a safe bet. What’re you thinking?’
‘Only that Marta must’ve got some bloody good stuff on those guys.’