And he must have seen him. There are lights in Jubilee Street,’ Trevor reminded her.
‘Adam Weaver shot me and set fire to the factory. Even if he didn’t murder his wife, he’s a killer now.’ Peter lifted his feet on to the desk. ‘The man’s a psychopath.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Anna went to the door.
Peter was pig-headed, abrasive and chauvinistic but he made sense. Just as Adam had the night before.
Peter picked out a pale grey leather jacket from his wardrobe. He slipped it over the black silk shirt he was wearing and walked into his living room.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Trevor.
‘Prosperous dealer?’
‘Mafia hood,’ Trevor retorted. ‘No one wears black shirt, trousers and tie any more.’
‘You obviously don’t look at the Sunday colour supplements.’
‘Not with a view to wearing what they advocate.’
‘Aren’t you looking forward to our night on the town?’ Peter switched off the light. ‘Station first for the briefing, then we start. The clubs or the pubs?’
‘The clubs,’ Trevor buttoned his jacket.
‘That suit was never wonderful but a pressing might have lessened the dog-eared look.’
‘It’s the new, lived-in crumpled style.’
‘Play second fiddle to my lead. No one’s going to believe a dealer in a suit that cheap.’ Peter couldn’t resist one last glance in the mirror before walking out of the door. ‘You know something, Trevor. You make a more convincing down-and-out than you do prosperous villain. Rags suit you better.’
‘You all right?’ Sarah asked Anna as they sat side by side in front of a computer that rose like an island in a sea of multi-coloured files.
‘Not really,’ Anna tried to pick up one of the files with her wrists.
‘Now we’ve collected all the information, I can carry on just as well without you,’ Sarah said.
‘Inputting data is a one-man job.’
‘You sure?’
‘Absolutely. Want me to check if there’s a car free to take you home?’
‘Please.’ Anna sat back as Sarah picked up the internal telephone. ‘My idea of heaven at this moment is to stick plastic bags over these,’ she held up her bandaged hands, ‘have a hot shower, and crawl between the sheets before carrying on with this lot,’ she indicated a second pile of files at her feet.
‘That sounds like a recipe for sleep, not work.’
Peter stuck his head around the door. Anna stared at his well-groomed hair and wide boy outfit, Sarah wolf whistled.
‘This is nothing,’ he winked. ‘Wait until you see Trevor. He’s wearing a suit and tie.’
‘No shirt?’
‘That too. You rang for a lift for the invalid?’
‘I can get a taxi,’ Anna protested.
Peter wondered if it was his imagination or if Anna was trying to avoid him. He tried to think of something he might have done to upset her. ‘We’re going your way.’
‘It’s all right…’
‘For once, do as you’re told.’ Peter scooped the files at her feet into his arms. ‘These going with you?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘No buts, into my car.’
‘I’ve got your coat.’ Trevor was in the doorway.
Merchant sniffed.
‘You two should have got together. Your colognes fight dreadfully.’
‘Only Trevor’s,’ Peter said. ‘He has no taste.
Anna, do I have to carry you out?’
Anna allowed Trevor to drape her coat over her shoulders. She’d warned Adam to stay out of sight.
She hoped he’d have the sense to do just that until she came to a decision about the case – and him.
‘How about inviting us in for a cup of coffee?’
‘Mine is the house you’re afraid of catching the plague in, remember?’ Anna pushed down the door handle with her elbow.
‘We’re prepared to risk it, aren’t we, Trevor?’
‘I really am tired…’
‘You can’t stop me from carrying your files to the door.’
‘I can manage.’
‘Just as far as the door, for Christ’s sake.’
Trevor stayed in the car. Peter didn’t even make it as far as the doorstep. Anna unlocked the door and blocked Peter’s path. He dumped the files on her forearms and turned on his heel.
‘What have you done to the lady?’ Trevor enquired as he returned to the car.
‘Nothing much, as yet.’
‘Perhaps it’s the “yet” she’s wary of.’
‘When this case is over, she’ll have good reason to be wary,’ Peter muttered.
‘She could have a lover holed up in there,’
Trevor teased. ‘Some officers have private lives.’
‘And some make a total balls-up of them, even when they’re lucky enough to find an ideal partner,’
Peter bit back viciously.
Trevor had almost forgotten about nightclubs. The close, fetid darkness with its animal lair smell of sweat, cheap perfume and stale beer; deafening music that extinguished thought along with conversation; raucous female groups wearing fixed smiles; men, drunk, predatory, circling, looking to get laid before morning.
‘See anyone?’ Peter shouted in Trevor’s ear.
‘You’re Drugs Squad, not me. I haven’t been in a club in over a year.’
Peter fought his way to the bar and ordered two pints. He handed Trevor his and surveyed the scene.
‘Over there.’
Peter glanced in the direction of Trevor’s nod.
Hands passed discreetly one over the other, thumbs tucked in. Concealing small packets? Or rolls of notes? Holding his glass above the heads of the crowd, Peter fought his way towards the short, thin, rat-faced man Trevor had been watching. ‘Bentley?’
The man backed away. ‘I’m clean, I’m…’
‘What’s this?’ Trevor’s hand closed over Bentley’s first.
‘I don’t know. I swear it. Man gave it to me…’
‘Not so loud, Bentley,’ Peter cautioned. ‘You’re disturbing these good people. Let’s take a walk outside.’
‘I’m clean, Sergeant…’
‘Either you come quietly, or we book you for dealing,’ Peter threatened.
Trevor squeezed Bentley’s fist.
‘I’m coming,’ he squealed.
Peter clamped his hand on Bentley’s shoulder.
‘To the door. Three mates having a chat. No problem. Understand?’
When they reached the pavement Peter unlocked the car and opened the doors. Trevor pushed Bentley on to the back seat and followed.
Peter sat in the driver’s seat.
Peter leaned over the back of his seat, thrust his hand into the inside pocket of Bentley’s jacket, and pulled out half a dozen small plastic bags. He switched on the interior light. ‘This what I think it is?’ he asked Bentley.
‘Why guess, when the lab will tell us?’ Trevor squeezed Bentley’s hand again. He yelped and dropped a roll of bank notes.
‘There has to be five hundred quid here,’
Trevor guessed.
‘I want my lawyer.’ Bentley yelped.
‘What do you think he’s going to do for you?
Here are the goods,’ Peter tucked the plastic envelopes back into Bentley’s pocket, ‘and here’s the price.’ He opened Bentley’s hand and placed the roll of notes on his palm. ‘It’s the station for you, lad.’
‘I’m not telling you anything. You can do what you like to me. I won’t say a word.’
‘Who’s asking you questions?’ Peter turned to face the road.
‘You’re booking me?’
‘We may put a few words out on the street before you’re able to arrange bail.’
‘What kind of words?’ Bentley was sweating despite the cool night air.
‘The names of those you’ve shopped. And there’ll be all the raids we’ll arrange, as a result of information received. We’ve been watching you, son,’ Peter lied. ‘We know your suppliers, your customers…’
‘They’ll kill me.’ Bentley was shaking so much the car began to rock.
‘Possibly,’ Peter agreed.
‘If you know my supplier you know more than me,’ Bentley gibbered. ‘I swear on my mother’s life I never see anyone. I picked this up same place I always do.’
‘From the dustbin at the back of the club.’
‘If you know that, then you must know I put the money there at the end of the night. I’ve never seen no one, please…’
Peter thrust a photograph of Tony under Bentley’s nose. ‘This man has to be getting his stuff from somewhere.’
‘Not from me. I swear it… I’ve never seen him…’
‘You’re a bloody liar. His picture’s in all the papers. On the television…’
‘I never said I hadn’t seen his picture, only him.’
‘The man is a killer.’ Trevor tried to speed up the interview. ‘And the man who sells him his next fix could end up like the poor bastards in the abandoned factory.’
‘He did that?’
‘Where’ve you been living, Bentley?’ Trevor said wearily.
Peter switched on the ignition.
‘I haven’t seen him. But I’ll ask around…’
Bentley panicked as Peter pulled away from the kerb. ‘Where you taking me?’
‘You didn’t come up with the goods,’ Peter slammed the car into gear. ‘So we’ll read you your rights in the station and ask you to empty your pockets.’
‘Please…’ Bentley begged.
Peter slammed on the brakes. ‘You know the street workers. You put the word out. If you come up with our man we’ll forget tonight.’
Bentley opened the door and ran.
Anna walked through her living room into the kitchen area. She’d left the curtains drawn that morning, and Adam hadn’t opened them, but he had cleaned up. The floor was clear; there was a smell of soap, disinfectant, and something appetising. She opened the oven door and saw a casserole bubbling.
Closing it, she dropped her shoulder bag on to the table and went upstairs. The bed was made, the furniture dusted, but there was no sign of Adam. She tried the bathroom door. It was locked. She knocked quietly.
‘Adam?’
When there was no answer, she said, ‘I’m alone.’
‘I heard voices.’
‘A colleague brought me home. I can’t drive with these hands.’
‘I heard him. He didn’t seem to want to go.’
‘We work together. He’s concerned about me.’
He opened the door.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d be here when I got back.’
‘I nearly ran,’ he admitted. ‘Last night I felt I could trust you. After you left this morning I wasn’t sure. I thought you might bring someone back with you. I thought –’
‘You thought I’d return with a posse to arrest you.’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s what logic tells me I should do.’
‘You haven’t told anyone I’m here?’
‘No, but it will cost me my job if anyone finds out you’ve been here. You wouldn’t believe the time, money and manpower that’s being poured into the search for you. I’ve sat in that station all day, hearing people talk about you – hazarding guesses as to where you are…’
‘I’m grateful, Anna.’ He laid his hand on her shoulder. Standing close to him on the landing, listening to his voice, the years tumbled away. It was as if he’d never left her.
‘Adam, we have to talk,’ she pleaded.
‘I’ve made a casserole with some beef I found in your freezer.’
‘I saw it in the oven.’
‘I came across a few bottles of wine when I cleaned under the stairs. There was a Rioja. Did you remember that it used to be my favourite?’ He stroked the side of her cheek and stepped back into the bedroom.
‘I remember a great deal too much,’ she answered before walking away from him.
Trevor and Peter went from backstreet dealers to the clubs, the pubs, the twenty-four hour corner shops that had more on offer than the sweets and tobacco on the counter.
‘If we were awarded brownie points for busting small-time dealers, we could be everyone’s blue-eyed boys tomorrow,’ Peter said as they left a boarded-up shop on the fringe of a council estate.
‘All units – all units –’
Trevor picked up the radio transmitter from the dash.
‘We’re on special duties,’ Peter complained.
‘The call was all units.’
‘Knife fight in casualty at the General.’
Trevor replied, ‘We’re on our way.’
‘I’d forgotten it was Friday night.’
‘Saturday,’ Trevor corrected as Peter pressed his foot on the accelerator.
Anna checked the curtains were closed tightly, before sitting opposite Adam at the table. She watched him ladle casserole on to two plates.
‘Can we go over Laura’s murder again?’ she asked.
‘Did you know that I was having an affair with her when we were living together?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at the plate he set in front of her. ‘No reminiscing, Adam. Stick to the facts.’ She was angry with him for trying to make love to her, but she was angrier with herself for being tempted.
‘I married Laura because she was pregnant with Hannah.’
‘The days of shotguns held to bridegrooms’
heads are long over.’
‘I was besotted, not with Laura, but with the thought of becoming a father. I thought Laura was carrying a son in my image.’
‘But you had a daughter.’
‘I wasn’t disappointed. Not once I’d seen her.
And Laura got what she wanted.’ He picked up his fork and stabbed at a sliver of beef on his plate. ‘She set out to catch me, and she did with the oldest trick in the book. But she wanted my success more than me. I think she hoped some of it would rub off on her. But I was never happy with her. Not in the same way I had been with you,’ he said softly.
‘And half a dozen others.’
‘Success made me a desirable commodity, socially, financially, sexually – I lost my head.
When Laura told me she was pregnant it came as a shock, but after all the partying the prospect of a family life and kids seemed attractive. We married. I bought the cottage and the lease of a flat in London.
I was working long hours, but there were compensations. Laura never knew how many hours filming were stretched to accommodate a willing fan or actress.’
‘So you weren’t faithful to her either?’
‘I can’t remember being faithful to anyone, except perhaps you.’
‘Cut the bullshit,’ Anna snapped.
‘I mean in the early days when we were both broke. You need money to be unfaithful; even if it’s only bus fare.’
She laughed, in spite of the pain.
‘I knew I was neglecting Laura and Hannah. I’d almost finished filming that last series, and told Laura that I wanted to spend the summer in the cottage; perhaps subconsciously I was hoping to salvage what was left of our marriage. I suspected she was having an affair. There were a lot of wrong numbers. Callers hanging up as soon as I answered the phone. And Laura was wearing good jewellery that I’d never seen before. She wasn’t the sort to buy pieces herself. Fake yes, but not the real thing. She had taken to spending weekends at her sister’s. I’d ring up and Blanche and Hannah would be alone.’