The Power of One (18 page)

‘I lied about my employers,' Hale said. ‘Not my employment. How are Mr and Mrs de Freitas?'

‘Well, and safe.'

‘Perhaps. You've had dealings with a certain Abe Jackson.'

‘What of it?' Mac asked.

‘You know he had the de Freitas's followed when they left here?'

‘What makes you think it was him?'

‘Because it wasn't me,' Hale said flatly.

Mac considered. ‘What do you think Abe Jackson wants?' he asked. ‘He seemed to think that Paul was working for the government?' He let the question hang but no response. ‘He mentioned something about reverse engineering certain technology?'

‘I wouldn't know.'

‘Like hell you wouldn't.' He straightened up and began to walk on. Hale fell into step beside him.

‘I work for the government,' Hale said. ‘But not in their direct employ, that much is true. Inspector … Mac, Paul was doing some very specialised research. He promised to get the results of that research direct to me. He and one of my men, Ian Manning, they were doing final testing on the work when they were attacked aboard Paul's boat. I'm led to think that it was Abe Jackson's doing. He is very capable of such an operation. Very capable. And now, it seems, you've lost track of him.'

‘It seems to me,' Mac suggested, ‘that if you'd been so sure of that, you'd have taken action against him yourself. No, I don't buy it.'

Hale said nothing for a moment. They crossed from the walkway and on to the promenade.

‘So,' Mac continued, ‘if Paul and your man weren't killed by Abe Jackson, and you didn't do it yourself, then there must be a third party involved. And I ask myself, what could be so important that so many people want it? What was Paul doing that was not only worth killing for, but was worth killing
him
for? And that leads me to a further question. Or a further observation. There is no question that Paul was killed by accident; he was executed, kneeling on the deck, shot through the back of the head. Which, as I've said, makes me wonder. Did whoever it was on board that boat kill him because he'd already handed over whatever it was they wanted, handed it over and therefore rendered himself useless? Or did they kill him because they knew he was ready to hand it on and they wanted to prevent that?'

‘And do you have an answer to any of that?'

‘Not yet,' Mac admitted. ‘Not yet, but I promise you we will get there. I have an objection to people being shot, in Frantham particularly. There's been far too much of it going on.'

‘You are beginning to sound like your friend, Rina,' Hale told him.

‘That's no bad thing,' Mac said, wondering, slightly anxiously, what Hale might know about Rina Martin. ‘Incidentally, while we're asking questions, did your people take Paul's laptop?'

‘Why would you think that?'

‘Because I know Abe Jackson didn't and if it wasn't you, then it must have been our fabled third party. And my second question. I visited Paul's lab, his inner sanctum as his assistants called it. Whatever he was working on was gone.'

Hale flinched. A tiny movement, soon hidden, but Mac noted it.

‘You don't have it, do you? You're as in the dark as we are?'

Hale had recovered himself. ‘I doubt that, Mac,' he said. ‘I doubt that very much.'

T
im was at the Palisades Hotel for the first time since his eventful night. He had rented a car and Rina had accompanied him. Red-haired Andy, Mac's probationary constable, had followed them over, ostensibly as protection, though, as he freely admitted, Rina would probably be a greater force than he. He had told the owners, Blake and Lilly, that he was investigating Tim's accident, as the other driver had left the scene.

Tim had come to meet the engineer who had come to help plan the Pepper's Ghost illusion and Andy, having spent some time talking to the hotel owners and interviewing staff, joined them in the main ballroom.

Blake and Lilly were watching as Tim and the engineer paced the stage, discussing something technical that involved much hand waving.

‘So, what's going on?' Andy wanted to know.

‘I think they're figuring out how to fix the glass,' Rina said.

‘Were the staff able to tell you anything?' Blake asked. ‘I really hope it wasn't a guest from here. I don't see how it could have been. Tim was almost the last to leave that night.'

‘Almost the last?'

‘The night porter was late arriving so Callie stayed on for an hour.'

‘Did he say he'd be late?'

‘Oh yes, it was all arranged,' Blake assured him. ‘Callie left about a half-hour after Tim.'

‘Well, no one saw a thing,' Andy told them. He turned his attention back to the stage. ‘So, what's this all about, then?'

‘Creating ghosts,' Rina told him. ‘Tim is working on revamping a very old illusion. It's going to look amazing.' She beckoned Andy to the side of the stage. ‘Look, there's a little orchestra pit, lower than the stage and a partition which blocks the view of the audience. The actor or magician stands there, in the pit, with a light there and a mirror on this side, furthest away from the stage, set at an angle. The light is set to illuminate the actor. His reflection in the mirror is then projected on to the glass sheet hung above the stage. If it's done right, the audience won't be able to see the glass, all they'll see is a shadowy image, ghostly and transparent, floating above the stage. Very spooky and very impressive.'

‘That'll work?' Andy sounded unconvinced.

‘Oh yes. Tim says this is the perfect stage for it. Have you talked to this Callie, yet? She may well have seen something.'

‘Not yet,' Andy said. ‘She's not due on duty until,' he glanced at his watch, ‘about now, actually.'

Rina nodded. ‘I'll come with you,' she said.

‘Oh,' Andy wasn't sure that was the way it was supposed to be. ‘I suppose so, Mrs Martin, but I think that should be my job, really.'

‘Nonsense,' Rina told him. She glanced back at the stage, making sure that Tim was still gainfully employed and not likely to wander off without her. ‘Now, where will she be?'

They found Callie in a small office off the reception area. She was glad to hear that Tim was all right but felt she could add little.

‘Tim left, the car park was empty apart from my old banger. I'd have noticed if there was anyone else around.'

Rina looked out through the main entrance. Callie was right. The car park and the exit on to the road were in full view.

‘There was one thing, though. I didn't think about it until now.'

Rina turned. ‘What was that?' she asked, earning herself a slightly resentful look from Andy who felt that should have been his question.

‘Well, probably nothing, but just a few minutes after Tim left, this big black car … at least I think it was black, could have been blue or green I suppose. You can't really tell that late at night, can you?'

‘So, this car?' Andy prompted.

‘Speeding, it was. I saw it go by on the road. Heading towards Frantham. I mean, I thought, oh I'm glad he's not going my way. I turn right, you see, outside the gate, not left like Tim does.' She paused for breath. ‘I remember thinking about Tim, that the car would be going the same way.' She turned quizzical eyes on Andy and then on Rina. ‘Was it the car that caused Tim's accident, do you think? Oh, my lord, I should have called the police, should have told someone about a dangerous driver, but I never thought, and with Frantham police station being closed they'd have had to come all the way out from …'

‘Thank you, Callie,' Rina interrupted her flow. ‘I doubt the police would have been able to get anyone out here fast enough to have made a difference, so don't you worry about it.' Tim appeared in the lobby, saw Callie, and ducked back into the dining room. Rina hid her smile. ‘We'd better be off, then,' she said. ‘And don't you worry.'

‘You realise,' Andy said as they made their way back to where Tim was waiting, ‘that by the time she gets home tonight she'll know the make and model of the car and have a full description of the driver and be telling all and sundry that the police should have done something about it anyway. Psychic, she expects us to be.'

Rina patted his arm. ‘I know,' she said. ‘Just lucky then that we talked to her now when her memory had only been partly refreshed.'

‘I suppose,' Andy agreed. ‘Do you think she even saw the car?'

‘Oh, I think the car was real enough, probably the fact that it was speeding, but I doubt she thought any more about it. I doubt very much she anticipated consequences for Tim or that she should report it,' she shrugged. ‘I don't suppose she gets much in the way of excitement. Are you ready, Tim?'

‘I am, we've done all we can today.'

‘Then we'll get on,' Rina said. ‘Andy, I want to take a look at the place where Tim went off the road, so we'll be stopping for a moment.'

‘Right you are, Mrs Martin, but I don't think you'll find anything. CSI took photos and that. Of the tyre tracks and that. But there weren't much else.'

‘Nevertheless,' Rina said firmly, ‘I'd like to take a look. I'd like Tim to show me exactly what happened.'

‘Fine, by me,' Tim told her, ‘so long as there's no running to be done. I've done my share of running for the year.'

Rina stood thoughtful and silent beside the little copse in which Tim had taken shelter. She knew it, of course, but now, seeing it with fresh eyes as a place of refuge, she was struck by how small it was; how little cover, how few places to hide. She tried not to think what might have happened if they had found Tim, and done whatever they planned to do. The thought of Tim dead, or beaten or in any way hurt, sliced in to her belly, reminded her so horribly of that agony she had felt when her beloved Fred had been taken from her. It was not that she loved Tim in anything like the same way as she had adored her husband. Not the same
way
, no, but with something of the same intensity. Tim was her friend, her ally, maybe her surrogate son. Rina would not have been able to allocate a single relationship to him, but the thought of life without Tim was an unbearable notion.

She bent to examine the tyre tracks, more to hide the fact that tears pricked at her eyes than because she thought she could tell anything by looking at them. She straightened up. ‘Show me where you hid.'

Tim led them into the copse. It looked different in daylight and, like Rina, he was struck by how little cover there actually was. He vividly recalled the tightness in his chest, the dry mouth and the all-consuming fear that he would be discovered. The leaves and grasses he had thrown himself down upon still showed signs of bruising. ‘Here,' he said. ‘I got as far under the bushes as I could and lay down flat. I was dressed in black, but scared to hell they might see my face, so I kept as low as I could. I thought when they turned the car headlights this way they were sure to spot me. I'd have completely lost it if they'd come all the way into the copse.'

‘So, why didn't they?' Rina wondered. ‘Tim, when they came looking for you, what path did they take?'

Tim pointed. ‘Through there, other side of that tree. I guess it looks like an easier route and you can get through right into the field. I think they assumed I must have run.'

Rina nodded slowly. She backtracked to the road and looked back to where Tim had lain hidden. He was right; the trees opened out and gave a view across fields and sea. The lighter glimpse of moon and ocean may well have drawn them to look that way rather than the thicket and tangle across the route that Tim had chosen.

But it still didn't feel right. Had they just intended to frighten Tim, force him to back off? But to back off from what? Unless someone, the men in that speeding car, knew that she and Tim had protected the de Freitas's and that Tim had smuggled them from the house, then there was nothing to say that Tim had either interest or involvement in this confusing affair.

And if they'd seen Tim take the de Freitas's out, why hadn't they intercepted him then, or tackled Lydia and Edward when they'd been alone at the farmhouse?

No, only one set of people that Rina could think of had witnessed Tim's direct involvement and that had been those up at the de Freitas's house when she and Tim had gone to collect their belongings.

The men who had shot at them.

In which case, those men knew exactly who she and Tim were and where they could be found.

‘I think we should go now,' Rina said, a theory beginning to form in her head.

Tim started the car and allowed the silence to grow for a few minutes.

‘So,' he said, ‘what is the analytical machine that is Rina's brain telling her?'

‘That they meant to scare you that night, to scare you badly enough to force you to act … or not to act. Truly, Tim, I've not worked that one out yet, but it occurs to me that the men who ran you off the road and the men up at Edward and Lydia's house are one and the same. It makes me wonder, also, if they really were such bad shots as they seemed to be.'

‘How do you mean?' Tim asked.

‘I mean, Tim, that despite your valiant attempts at defensive driving, your car is still a large target and the rear screen one that even I could hit with very little difficulty. A good shot could have shot out a tyre. A good shot could have killed you or me. I doubt the headrest would have been much of a disruption to a speeding bullet. Tim, that gun-man fired at the gatepost, he wanted us scared but not injured. Not dead.'

‘Considerate of them. And those two in the car?'

‘Maybe they thought we'd not taken enough notice the first time.'

‘And if they'd caught me?'

‘Then I'd probably be visiting in hospital. Tim, if they wanted you dead, wanted either of us dead, I get the feeling that is exactly what we'd be.'