‘It’s rubbish,’ Thorne said. ‘He’s pissing us around, same as always. We don’t want to get hung up about this, Russell. I really don’t think we should change our plans.’
‘You need to calm down,’ Brigstocke said.
‘It’s shit.’
‘We should at least talk about it.’
Thorne was pacing up and down a short section of unlit muddy track, fifty yards from the slipway. Behind him, Huw Morgan had a hose trained on the keel of the
Benlli III
while between Thorne and the boat, Fletcher, Jenks, Holland and the two prisoners waited in the Galaxy. Thorne turned and saw Nicklin staring at him through the side window. He watched him shrug as though asking a question.
How are you getting on, Tom?
Thorne tried to control his breathing, to keep the anger from his voice as he told Brigstocke; passing on the story Nicklin had told him as the boat was being hauled back on to the mainland.
‘Well, I needed a shovel, obviously, to get rid of Simon, but rather than go back to Tides House for one, I tried one of the smaller cottages in the other direction. The ones they rented out. I just strolled into the back garden, pinched a shovel out of the shed and came back to start digging, piece of piss. Trouble was, the old bird who was staying there must have heard something and came marching down about ten minutes later. Waving a torch about and demanding to know what I was up to. It wasn’t like I had a lot of choice, was it?’ He’d smiled then, enjoying telling his tale, or simply enjoying the memory. ‘I knew who she was. I knew she was some kind of amateur poet, because she’d been in to read some of her poems a couple of times. Usual shit that didn’t rhyme. I think they brought her in to try and encourage some of us to write poetry ourselves. To share our feelings.’ He’d rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the suggestion. ‘Anyway, so there I am digging a grave for poor old Simon and she comes beetling along, sticking her nose in. What am I supposed to do? Not a lot I
can
do at the end of the day, is there? There’s a boat waiting for me. I’ve not got a lot of time to decide.’ He smiled at Thorne, rocking slightly as the boat was winched from the water on to the trailer.
‘Think of it as a bonus…’
‘A fucking
bonus
,’ Thorne said now. ‘I’m telling you, Russell, it’s a wind-up.’
‘That’s what you thought about Simon Milner,’ Brigstocke said. ‘You thought he was having us over about that.’
‘OK, fair enough. But this time I really think he is. Why wait until now, for God’s sake?’
‘Control —’
‘Why wait until we’re almost back?’
‘
Control
, Tom. You said it yourself. Back foot, remember?’
‘Yeah…’
‘We at least have to look into this.’
‘And what do we do while that’s happening?’
‘What difference is one more night going to make? I’ll clear it with the governor at Long Lartin.’
‘How exactly are we going to check this out? He doesn’t have a name for this woman. He can’t even remember what month it was, for God’s sake.’
‘How many people can have gone missing on that island?’
‘It was twenty-five years ago,’ Thorne said.
‘Even so, it’s not the Bermuda triangle, is it? Somebody will have missed her.’
‘I still don’t think it’s going to be easy.’
‘Just get him back in a cell for tonight,’ Brigstocke said. ‘I’ll make some calls, get everything arranged.’
‘What if it’s just a game?’ Thorne remembered Nicklin’s demeanour just an hour earlier in the school hall, his irritation with Batchelor in the car on the drive up. ‘What if it’s all about attention? How stupid are we going to look?’
‘Not as stupid as we’ll look if there’s another body over there that we fail to find, even when he’s offered to show us where it is.’
‘Well, he’s still being a bit vague about that.’
‘A perfect exercise in how to turn a positive result for us into a PR disaster,’ Brigstocke said. ‘If we get this wrong. And before you say anything, it’s my job to think about crap like that.’
Thorne looked back at the car again and saw that Nicklin was still watching. He wondered what
his
job was?
Nursemaid? Straight man? Fall guy?
At that moment, it certainly didn’t feel like he was much of a policeman.
Brigstocke had clearly pulled out all the stops quickly. Half an hour later, Chief Superintendent Robin Duggan was waiting at an otherwise deserted Abersoch police station to greet them, along with a handful of PCs and the same custody sergeant Thorne had been shouting at twenty-four hours earlier. The man did not look overly pleased to be renewing their acquaintance.
While Nicklin and Batchelor were being processed for a second time, Duggan led Thorne to one side.
‘So not finished on Bardsey yet then?’
‘Not yet.’
‘It’s all going OK, though?’
‘You know how it is,’ Thorne said. ‘Sometimes these things take a lot longer than you expect.’
‘It’s best to be thorough.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Nothing I should know, though?’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as a second body.’
‘Right,’ Thorne said, quietly. He could have done with a nice grave-shaped hole opening up to swallow him. It made perfect sense, of course, that Brigstocke would have told him; that as a senior officer on the force concerned, Duggan would be the most obvious port of call in terms of getting the story of the murdered woman checked out. Thorne’s decision to keep Nicklin’s latest confession to himself had made him look self-serving and duplicitous. As it was, Duggan seemed content, for the time being at least, with having made Thorne look stupid.
‘A second murder’s going to make things a lot more complicated,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think anyone wants that.’
‘No, sir.’ Thorne guessed it was time to show a little deference.
‘So, fingers crossed it’s all bull.’
Thorne nodded.
‘I’ll see what I can do about confirming things one way or another, checking missing persons records from back then.’ Duggan straightened his cap. ‘Long before my time, of course, but there’s still a few knocking about who might be able to help.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
Duggan nodded towards Nicklin, who was being walked back to the desk from one of the rooms off the custody suite. ‘Let’s hope it’s just mind-games, eh? You look anxious to get home.’
The custody sergeant waved a couple of PCs over to the desk then shouted across to let Duggan know that both prisoners had been searched and were ready to be escorted to the cells. Thorne asked the PCs to hold on and walked across.
‘I’ll come with you.’ He looked at Nicklin and Batchelor. ‘But let’s take one at a time.’ He thought about it, then pointed. ‘Him first…’
As soon as they were on the other side of the door and in the corridor leading down to the cells, Thorne moved up close to Batchelor. He nodded to the PC to let him know it was all right to step back a little. He put a hand on Batchelor’s arm.
‘Anything you want to tell me, Jeff?’
‘About what?’
‘About this. About the latest revelation from your pal, Stuart.’
‘He’s not my pal.’
‘Whatever. Your travelling companion. Anything at all you might be able to help us with here?’
With his handcuffs removed, Batchelor was rubbing at his wrists. He blinked, closing his eyes for a second or more each time. ‘I’d like to speak to my wife,’ he said. ‘Can you arrange that?’
‘Well, there are plenty of phones here.’ Thorne nodded. ‘I can ask.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem, but you’ll have to help me first.’
‘How?’
‘This cock and bull about a second body… all of us going back to the island tomorrow to find this woman he killed. You sure there isn’t anything you can tell me about that?’
Batchelor tensed and seemed almost to shrink a little. He looked like he was in physical pain, as though his face were a smooth plaster mask that was cracking with it, and Thorne saw the face of the man who had discovered his daughter’s body. He watched Batchelor’s Adam’s apple move in his neck as he swallowed hard.
‘Is Nicklin threatening you?’ Thorne looked for a reaction. ‘Is that what this is about? Are you afraid he’s going to hurt you?’ Thorne felt the need to ask, but was well aware how stupid the question was. Anyone who knew Stuart Nicklin and was
not
afraid of him had as many screws loose as he did.
Batchelor looked away from him, shaking his head.
Thorne turned to the PC, said, ‘He’s all yours,’ and went back to fetch Nicklin.
Halfway along the corridor, Nicklin looked at him and said, ‘Nice to get the personal touch. Very much appreciated.’
Thorne did not answer. He said nothing until Nicklin had been shown to his cell. Then, just before the door was locked, Thorne stepped in after him. Nicklin looked momentarily thrown, his eyes darting to the PC by the door, as if he thought that Thorne were about to attack him. Nicklin could see by the look on the PC’s face that the officer had similar concerns.
‘Wouldn’t be the first time, would it, Tom?’
Five years before, after Nicklin had got a little over-involved in a case Thorne was working and with people Thorne was close to, a message had been sent via one of Nicklin’s fellow inmates. A message in broken glass, delivered at dinner time.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Thorne said. He took another step into the cell. Pushed the door shut on the confused PC. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’ve been reading the letters you wrote to your mother, OK, Stuart?’ He studied Nicklin’s face, looking for a reaction. ‘Really interesting stuff, seriously. So, there’s not very much I don’t know when it comes to what’s going on inside your big, bald head. I know all about your mummy issues, not that they were much of a surprise. I know what it’s like for you inside…
Professor
. So, whatever the hell this stupid game is you think you’re playing now, you need to remember that I know far more about you than you do about me. I don’t care what you think you know or what you think you’re capable of doing with that information.’
Nicklin lowered himself carefully on to the bare, blue mattress.
‘There’s no way you’re going to win,’ Thorne said. ‘You need to know that. You’re wasting your time, because now I’m in
your
head.’ He tapped a finger hard against the side of his head, shook it slowly. ‘You’re not in mine.’
After Fletcher and Jenks had made their preference clear, Thorne dropped them off at the same place they’d stayed the previous night; a pub with rooms above it, that looked as good as deserted. He told them he’d pick them up in the morning and that he hoped to know where they’d be going when he did. The two prison officers implied that a return trip to Bardsey would be all right by them, that like Andy Barber they were looking forward to collecting the overtime. In no doubt that they were also looking forward to a night on the beer, Thorne left them and drove on to the Black Horse, with Holland following in the support car.
Elwyn Pritchard was predictably thrilled to see even two of the previous night’s guests returning. Even so, he still went through the charade of checking the reservations book to make sure he had rooms available. It was made fairly clear that this time the kitchen would not be opened specially and, once he had handed over the room keys on their reassuringly oversized fobs, he was happy enough to let Thorne and Holland carry their own bags.
As they trudged upstairs, they hastily made dinner arrangements.
‘Chinese?’
‘Not sure there’s anything else.’
‘See you back downstairs in ten minutes…’
It was the sort of all-purpose place that served pizza as well as prawn balls. It may have been Pritchard’s warnings about the ratio of seagull to MSG in the food, or the fact that nobody working there looked like they’d be able to find China on a map, but either way, they both decided to settle for chips and walked back towards the hotel eating their dinners out of Styrofoam containers.
‘So, what do you reckon, Dave?’
Holland stabbed at a chip with a wooden fork. ‘Should have got some curry sauce.’
‘About Nicklin.’
Holland popped the chip into his mouth and ate slowly, but the muscles continued to tense in his jaw for several seconds after he’d swallowed. ‘He was right about one thing.’
‘What?’
‘Some of us haven’t forgotten what happened in that playground.’
‘None of us have,’ Thorne said.
‘Sarah, I mean.’
‘I know…’
‘She died because of him and he never answered for it. Not the way he should have done, anyway.’ Holland slowed his pace a little and glanced at Thorne. ‘You knew about me and her, right?’
‘Yeah, I knew.’ Thorne sensed there was guilt lurking just behind the anger. He sensed too that Holland wanted to get stuff off his chest and he was not altogether sure he wanted to hear it. ‘Listen, you don’t need to explain anything to me.’
‘Nothing to explain,’ Holland said. ‘I was stupid, McEvoy was stupid and who the hell knows how much more stupid the pair of us would have got if she hadn’t been killed? But she died, so maybe that… got me off the hook.’ He poked at his dinner, lips pulled back across his teeth. ‘I mean, look at me now, happy family man and all that. Happy as fucking Larry. So, maybe Nicklin did me a favour, you know?’
Thorne looked at him. ‘You’re talking shit, Dave. You do know that, don’t you? People mess up.’
‘I know that I can still remember what Sarah smelled like, and I think about it sometimes, when I’m in bed with Sophie. When I look at Nicklin, I feel like he knows that, like it gives him a thrill or something, and I want to rip his head off.’
They said nothing for a minute or more, walking a little quicker once they were past the terrace that backed on to the beach and provided a barrier between the street and the sea. The temperature was dropping quickly and the wind had started to pick up.
‘So, what do you reckon to this latest bombshell then?’ Thorne asked. ‘This other body.’
Holland shrugged. ‘Haven’t got a clue, if I’m honest. You?’
Thorne shook his head. ‘I can’t read him and the problem is I don’t know if that should be telling me anything or not. Sometimes terrible poker players are just as hard to play against as good ones. They don’t know what the hell they’re doing, so there’s no way
you
can.’ He shovelled some more chips into his mouth; they were soggy and tasteless, but he was hungry. ‘Maybe he’s just making it all up as he goes along.’
‘It’s all possible though, isn’t it? What he’s telling us.’
‘Yeah, it’s possible.’
‘Killing that kid just because he feels like it, then killing the old woman whose shovel he nicked. It would all sound bloody ridiculous if it was anyone else. Him though…’
‘I know,’ Thorne said.
‘Someone like him doesn’t need a reason to do these things, so you never know if he’s really got a reason for doing anything.’
Thorne grunted, chewed.
‘That stuff he said to Howell before, about getting off on the bodies. Was that real, or was he just trying to wind her up?’
‘Who knows?’ Thorne said.
They dumped the remains of their dinners into a bin outside the Black Horse and wandered inside. As far as Thorne could tell, the same people were drinking at the bar as had been propping it up the night before. They did appear to have softened somewhat towards the newcomers though, the hostility of the previous evening having now been replaced by complete indifference.
Holland stepped towards the bar. ‘Pint?’
Thorne hesitated, shaking his head. He was thinking about something Duggan had said back at the station.
‘Later, maybe…’
While Holland ordered himself a drink and fell into conversation with Pritchard, Thorne walked across and spoke briefly to a man at the bar. When he had been given the information he was looking for, he left the hotel, climbed into one of the Galaxys and drove the dozen or so miles to Aberdaron.