He turned them over, examining the undersides, then reached into each one and felt around the base and sides, his fingertips carefully tracing the smooth metal surfaces. With the second box, something interrupted the glide of his fingers: a small bump just beneath the rim. Looking closely, he saw a tiny square of plastic: a micro SD card.
****
It had been attached with a dab of Blu-Tack. Robbie prised it off and stared at it for a moment. His heart was pounding in a way that made it feel entirely separate from his body: a discomforting and vaguely nauseous sensation. But he could withstand a little nausea in return for a discovery on this scale.
He’d had a similar card to this in one of his mobile phones. Somewhere there was a plastic sleeve that would convert the micro SD into a standard SD card, and thus fit into the card reader on his laptop. But where was it?
He swore the place blue as he searched, riffling through the drawer full of office stuff and junk: rubber bands wrapped in dust and half-bent paper clips, pens and coins and batteries, instruction books and chargers for electronic devices that had been thrown out years ago. Finally he yanked out the entire drawer, breaking one of the runners in the process, and upended it on his bedroom floor. A hell of a mess, but ten seconds later he had the adapter.
The memory card, no larger than a fingernail, had a capacity of 32 gigabytes. Less than half of this was used, which had Robbie wondering how much more data Hank had been hoping to collect.
The files were arranged in a couple of dozen folders, and each one had dozens of documents. The first few he checked appeared to be high-resolution scans of the physical paperwork already in his possession. Feeling slightly disappointed, he broke off for another coffee.
Back at the laptop, he studied the folders and selected one with the intriguing name
Primafacie
. It contained a number of sound files, a sequence called
Templeton1, 2, 3
and so on, and a similar sequence:
Blakes 1-4
. There was also an AVI file, called
Blakes July10
.
Robbie double-clicked, then remembered that he probably should have run a virus check on the contents first. Too late now.
****
The media player opened and brought up a grainy image of a place Robbie knew quite well: Hank O’Brien’s living room. For a moment he thought he was going to be seeing a clip of the movie that had been filmed there.
Instead, Hank O’Brien was in the shot, wearing a garish summer shirt and indecently tight shorts. A well-groomed, snotty-looking couple were with him, sipping from tall glasses that might have contained Pimm’s. Robbie had the impression that they were unaware of the camera’s presence, whereas certain subtle movements on Hank’s part suggested that he knew it was there.
A covert recording, then. With the benefit of sound. The clip lasted just short of six minutes, but Robbie heard what he needed within the first thirty seconds.
The woman – it had to be Patricia Blake – was holding forth in a fashion that reminded him of Hank’s sister, Cheryl.
‘We knew exactly what you’d find because it’s in the nature of the man to steal from others. Mark Templeton is a thief, a liar and a cheat. He deserves nothing, so what we’re going to take from him is remarkably fair.’
Hank was nodding. He was red in the face, his piggy eyes gleaming, and Robbie thought of how he’d looked in the ditch on Tuesday night.
I had the last laugh, Hank
.
On screen, O’Brien said, ‘I’m concerned about how he’ll react, when the time comes to approach him. I mean, it’s blackmail, pure and simple.’
The woman was dismissive. ‘I don’t care how he reacts. As long as he pays up, that’s all that matters.’
‘And he’ll have to pay up,’ her partner cut in, his voice smooth to the point of annoyance. ‘We’ve got him by the short and curlies, as they say.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Patricia assured Hank. ‘We’ll be there to look after you, every step of the way. We’ve put a great deal of effort into this. Just keep on playing your part, and we’re all going to be very rich.’
Laughing, Robbie hit pause and said to the screen, ‘Correction, my dear lady. I’m going to be very rich.’
****
It wasn’t the happiest of journeys back to Surrey. Before leaving, the Blakes had discussed with Stemper what they required, and what actions they would sanction to achieve their aims. It was a heavy, sombre conversation, stretched tight with a palpable sense of desperation. Now they were on the move again, just the two of them, and Gordon did his best to lift the mood. But he knew he was pushing a boulder uphill.
‘We don’t know for sure that it’s a conspiracy. It could be just a run of ghastly luck.’
‘Oh, Gordon. Please ...’
‘All right, bear with me. If they don’t have prior knowledge of our plan, the chances are that this paperwork will be completely meaningless to them.’
‘Whether it makes sense or not, the very fact of its concealment tells them something.’
‘True. But it’s bound to take them a while to figure out what they’ve got ...’
Encouraged, Patricia said, ‘By which time Stemper will have them. We hope.’
‘Hmm.’ Choosing his words carefully, Gordon said, ‘Did you, ah, detect anything awry?’
‘With Stemper? Yes, I did.’
‘My impression was that he seemed almost unwilling to act.’
‘I never thought I’d say this, but I hope he’s not going the way of Jerry.’
Dead?
Gordon thought. He choked back a laugh. ‘Oh. Losing his touch, you mean?’
‘Well, he’s been comprehensively outwitted, hasn’t he?’
‘And he can’t like that one bit,’ Gordon said with unconcealed relish. ‘A man with such ridiculous levels of pride. Hubris, even.’
Patricia said nothing. They ate up another mile, crossed a roundabout, overtook a lorry, the silence easy but building to something, a slow ratcheting of the tension in the air around them.
‘You know,’ Patricia said at last. ‘Once we’re concluded, I’m not sure if it’s wise that Stemper should be permitted to waltz off into the sunset ...’
‘I won’t argue with that. But how would we prevent it?’
‘It depends on the final outcome, I suppose.’ A short laugh. ‘Fifty million pounds ought to buy one rather a lot of options.’
****
After Robbie walked out on her, Maureen Heath stewed for a couple of hours. She knew she wanted satisfaction – revenge might be a better word – but was unsure of the best way to achieve it. She was also aware that Bree was a conniving little bitch, and could in future use her knowledge of this morning’s disaster to humiliate Maureen within their little circle.
Having worked herself into an indignant rage, Maureen called Donna. Donna was a proper mate, but unlike the rest of them her marriage remained blissfully happy after thirty-two years. Donna and Mike still whispered and canoodled like a pair of horny teenagers.
Donna answered the call like the trouper she was, coming round with chocolate cake and a decent bottle of red wine. Maureen had already knocked back a couple of vodkas, so even one glass of vino was enough to convince her that she ought to tell Donna
everything
.
That marked something of a departure. Up till now the rest of them had agreed it was best not to burden Donna with the details of their sometimes ‘complicated’ love lives.
It’s for her own sake
, they all stressed.
It’s not fair to weigh her down, not when she can’t keep a secret. Every word you tell her gets passed straight to Mike
.
But today it seemed like an insult that they’d kept such things to themselves. Donna was part of the gang. She had a right to know.
Of course, it helped that Donna’s husband wasn’t particularly close to Maureen’s other half. Whereas Mike and Bree’s hubby, that was a whole different story. Mike and Jim were the very best of buddies and had been for years.
In fact, Maureen couldn’t imagine those two ever keeping secrets from each other.
****
Stemper knew the Blakes were dissatisfied with his performance. Not sufficiently dissatisfied to dispense with his services – on that score he was safe, not least because they had nowhere else to go – but it was a warning shot. In failing to recover the paperwork, he had let them down. But he’d also made the situation more complicated by killing Caitlin’s former partner.
Once again he was reminded of Jerry’s gloomy assessment of a curse on Hank O’Brien.
And everyone who came into contact with him, perhaps
.
Stemper had tried to put such nonsense aside when he set out what the next stage might entail. The Blakes hadn’t baulked at the prospect of extreme measures, so now Stemper had to make it happen. Increase the pace, increase the pressure, even though it meant ignoring the voice of caution.
He had no choice. He had painted himself into this corner, and only he could extricate himself.
Dan walked as far as Roedean, then climbed the steps to the clifftop and caught a bus into Brighton. He’d reached the stage where he’d been alone with his thoughts for long enough, but equally couldn’t face returning home. He wasn’t yet ready to break the news of the separation to his aunt.
He got off the bus at Churchill Square, crossed the road and climbed the hill. He tried not to think about where he was heading, because this really wasn’t a wise thing to do. But then she’d probably be out, in which case wisdom didn’t come into it.
He rang the doorbell. Caught himself clenching and unclenching his hands.
‘Who is it?’
Cate’s voice – although he wasn’t immediately certain of that.
‘It’s me. Dan.’ Now his own voice sounded strange, and the very bad feeling was suddenly crystallised in his mind:
Don’t go inside there are too many things you mustn’t discuss and you know you’ll crack if she pressures you—
‘Dan. Sorry. Come in.’
The door opened. Cate was clinging to it with one hand, the other gripping the security chain that hung from the frame. He took a step forward, but had to wait for her to realise she was blocking his path. Her face was ashen, and she looked years older, somehow.
She stood back, tried a smile. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Cate, are you all right?’ It was clear that something terrible had happened. He wondered if somehow she had discovered the truth about Tuesday night.
Then she said, ‘Not really. I’ve just found out that Martin’s dead.’
****
Cate saw the way it hit him: as if he’d tensed in anticipation of a blow to the stomach, only to be punched in the face. It was the same kind of reaction that had crippled Cate when Janine sprang the news on her.
To think that on Friday evening she had been threatened, harangued, almost assaulted by her ex-husband: in the aftermath of their fight she would gladly have wished him gone from her life, but never in this way.
How hollow and cruel now was her jealousy of Janine, of the baby that Martin’s girlfriend was carrying: a child who would never know his or her father. It put Cate’s own pitiful woes into perspective.
Once Dan was inside, she shut the front door and summoned the effort to walk into the living room. No: the kitchen. She had to offer him refreshments, as though this was a normal visit, a normal day.
But there was something wrong with Dan, too. It wasn’t just her revelation that was making him appear so uneasy.
She said, ‘I take it you didn’t already know?’
‘God, no. How did he ...?’
‘I don’t have many details. He was stabbed, yesterday afternoon. In the North Laines.’
He drew in a breath. ‘I saw that on the news. I never dreamt ...’
‘You don’t.’ Cate shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘It’s always somebody else’s tragedy, isn’t it?’
At that, Dan seemed to shudder. She took this as her cue to ask: ‘What’s been happening with you?’
Embarrassed, he said, ‘Hayley and I have split up.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I thought you had plans for marriage, buying a coffee shop together?’
‘Turns out she was never really interested in the cafe idea. I don’t know.’ He grinned, trying to make light of it. ‘Probably for the best to end it now, while we’re still young. No mortgage, no kids—’
***
It was such a clumsy thing to say, Dan wanted to headbutt the wall. He knew from Robbie that Cate’s split from Martin had been largely to do with having children. Cate had been in favour, Martin hadn’t.
Now her whole face seemed to crumple. Big bright tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She shook her head as he went to apologise.
‘H-his girlfriend, Janine ... she’s pregnant.’
There wasn’t any more to be said, or any consolation that Dan could offer, other than to put his arms around her. She moved into the embrace as if they had been designed to fit together, and the awkwardness he so often felt in her company dissolved in an instant. He clung to her as much as she to him, their bodies pressed so tightly together it was almost painful, as though they were forcing the comfort from one another.
It seemed to go on for a long time, but Dan tried not to count the seconds. He didn’t want to miss the experience in recording its passing, or ruin it by becoming self-conscious.
Before that could happen, he kissed her. His hand stroked her hair, gently cupping the back of her head while he placed a kiss on her forehead. She answered it with a playful squeeze, so he kissed her again, on the forehead, the temple, the cheek, each kiss lasting a fraction longer, his movements slow, deliberate: it seemed important that he didn’t startle her.