The Power of One (21 page)

‘He did try,' she whispered. ‘I didn't understand. Then …'

‘Then it was too late. I know. What I don't know is what they want with you and that, girl, is what we are going to find out.'

Twice Abe glimpsed what he thought was their pursuers' car. Once at a crossroads and once three cars behind in a queue of traffic. Each time he told her to get down on to the floor and she crouched miserably in the footwell, fear exuding from every pore. Abe could smell it on her, acrid and familiar and he was disturbed and a little relieved to find that, in contrast, he was absolutely calm. He had gone beyond the adrenaline rush, the tension, the – almost – stage fright that he associated with the preparation for combat. Beyond that and into a kind of steady state mode of clear thought and something close to enjoyment. He knew himself, knew his enemy, knew what to do and that was all there was.

He was, though, profoundly glad to be out of the town and on to darkening country roads.

‘You can get up now.'

‘Are you sure?' She was scared enough for her voice to shake and she was pale with shock.

‘I'm sure.' They'd had the advantage of surprise this time, and squeaked clear. Abe knew they would not be so lucky another time. His phone rang and she jumped. ‘It's all right, just my friend checking in.'

They spoke briefly, Abe assuring him that they were all right, learning that the third man had left Lyndsey's building. ‘Clear yourself out of the flat, don't either of you go anywhere near the place again. I'll be in touch.'

He rang off. ‘You have a mobile with you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Take the SIM card out, chuck the rest out of the window.' He smiled at her. ‘Open it first.'

‘Throw my phone away?'

‘Yes. Look, girl, modern phones carry a GPS tracker. If they have your number, you only have to make a call and they can track you.'

She shook her head. ‘I know that's possible, but that's high-tech stuff. They won't have …'

‘Yes, love, they will. They do.'

‘Then I won't make any calls.'

He sighed. ‘You might say that, might even believe it but truly, you have that temptation, you'll give into it sooner or later. Besides, some phones can be traced even if they're not turned on. I don't want to take that risk.'

‘And what about your phone?'

‘Pay as you go, not registered, and I change it every few days.'

He watched from the corner of his eye as she took the phone from her bag. This was crunch time, the final act of trust and letting go. She stared at it for several moments and then opened up the back and removed the SIM. ‘I suppose that makes it harder to trace if someone finds it. Not having a SIM card, I mean.'

‘Not foolproof, but it helps.'

She wound the window down and tossed the phone without a second look. ‘Happy now?' She sounded angry, bitter, her voice thick with tears.

‘Not happy, no. I won't be happy until we've sorted this.' He tried to inject a more sympathetic tone in to his voice, understanding that she needed this but aware that it was not quite his forte. ‘Look, we hide out tonight and we talk, try to sort out what's going on. Tomorrow, well, we're going to need some help and it's a question of who we can trust and how far and, I know this isn't easy for you but …'

‘Isn't easy!' Her voice cracked, almost squeaked with outrage.

Maybe, he thought, his attempts at sympathy had misfired. Maybe he was even worse at it than he'd thought.

‘Isn't easy. You grab me off the street, you make me throw away my phone. You claim to be a friend of Ian's, you …'

‘Saved your life,' he said harshly. ‘Girl, don't forget I just saved your life.'

M
orning brought developments even before Mac collected Tim for their trip to Manchester.

Kendal phoned, telling him to switch on the morning news. He caught the local bulletin halfway through and realised that the story had now fully broken. Paul de Freitas had been shot aboard his boat,
The Greek Girl
, and he had not been alone. Another man had been killed and the rumour was that he too had been shot.

‘Police have not yet issued a full statement about the killings.' The reporter was clearly relishing his moment. ‘Was this a double murder? A murder suicide? At the moment all we can do is speculate …'

‘Speculate away,' Mac muttered under his breath. ‘That's what the rest of us are doing.' He muted the television and picked up the phone again and spoke to Dave Kendal.

‘Formal statement?'

‘Will be going out mid-morning. Yours truly has the job of dealing with the press conference. That's being timed to coincide with the lunchtime news. Expect Frantham to be awash by then. A double murder is national news.'

‘And the official line is?'

‘That there are issues of national security here, hence the low-key investigation. We ask our brethren in the media to accept that we can't issue full details yet and then sit back and let them invent what they like. You never know, one or the other of them might get it right before we do.'

‘I imagine Aims is not pleased.'

‘Aims is surprisingly sanguine. Handling the media is something he does know how to do, by and large. He's joining me for the press call, making the main statement and I think the plan is to look grave and impressive while I do my damnedest to answer questions I don't actually know the answers to.'

‘Some people have all the fun. I'll warn Baker and Andy we're about to be famous yet again.'

‘Oh, Andy enjoys the fuss, you know he does. You're still going up to Manchester?'

‘Any reason I shouldn't? I can stay if I'm more use here.'

‘No, I think you're best keeping to your plans. The de Freitas's will need reassurance once they see the news and you never know, the added pressure might jog some memories loose.'

‘Do we know how the media got hold of the full story?'

‘Oh, Mac, you know as well as I do, dozens of people saw the second body brought ashore. Speculation must have been rampant among the local journos. I imagine one or other of them decided to let the cat out of the bag, just to see how big a cat it was. I've no doubt we'll see some sort of exclusive in the local dailies.'

Mac considered he was probably right. He made a couple of calls, priming Sergeant Baker and Andy Nevins, then drove round to Rina's to collect Tim. She had heard the news on the radio.

‘Inevitable,' she said. ‘But it will put the pressure on, Mac, and not just on the investigation. I suspect things will really start to move now.'

D
id you get some sleep?' Abe was frying bacon over the camping stove that Tim had left at the farmhouse.

‘Must have done,' Lyndsey said. ‘I remember looking at my watch at half one and the next thing I knew it was morning.'

‘There's tea over there and the kettle boiled just a few minutes ago. There's milk in the cool box.'

She frowned. ‘You're prepared. How do you know this place anyway?'

Abe flipped the bacon. ‘You want eggs?'

‘Um, yes. Thanks.'

‘We have a certain lady called Rina Martin to thank for our accommodation, though she doesn't know it. She hid Lydia and Edward de Freitas here before a friend of hers came to collect them and take them to a place of safety. I'm sort of hoping she might do the same for you.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Let's just say I keep my eyes open. Rina knows about this place because of a kidnapping Mac – that's DI McGregor – was investigating. Long story, but let's just say I'm taking advantage of their local knowledge.'

She poured water from the kettle on tea bags and poked them impatiently with a tea spoon. ‘So,' she said. ‘What now?'

‘We ask for help.'

‘From this Rina whatshername?'

‘Martin. Yes.'

‘Why? What is she, some sort of superhero?'

Abe sighed. He removed the bacon from the pan and broke eggs into the bacon fat, lowering the heat when they began to spit. ‘She is someone who seems able to get things done,' he said. ‘And the de Freitas's trusted her; she didn't let them down. With the possible exception of Inspector McGregor, she's the only person outside of some of my ex-colleagues that I'd take a chance on.'

‘The exception of the Inspector? Why?'

‘Because he might well feel obliged to involve others and that is something I'd very much like to avoid. Pass the plates, will you? Just there. And there's a loaf of bread somewhere, behind the cool box, I think. Good.'

‘And what can this woman do that you can't?'

Abe raised an eyebrow. From being scared stupid by him last night, she seemed suddenly to have turned him into a potential saviour. ‘Protect you, I hope. Sit down. Let's eat.' He sliced bread, passed her the butter and set to with appetite. After a moment's hesitation she poked at her food and then, as though realising how hungry she was, she began to eat too, falling silent.

Abe watched her, seeing a little of what Ian had seen. She was pretty, certainly. Loose dark curls softened what might have been a rather too angular face. Bright blue eyes, clouded with deep anxiety the night before, now clearer after sleep and a break from the tension.

She was clever, Ian had told him. Intelligent and smart too and the two did not always go together. Resilient, Abe decided. She was still scared, yes, but with some food inside of her and a cup of strong tea, life would not look quite so bad.

Abe was a great believer in the settling effects of bacon, eggs and tea.

‘Rina, there's a man on the phone wants to talk to you. Say's his name's Abe something or other and you know all about him.'

Matthew could be a little vague on detail, Rina thought. She put down her dishcloth and made her way through to the hall. Of course she knew about Abe Jackson, but what on earth was he doing calling her?

‘Mr Jackson. What can I do for you?'

‘Mrs Martin. You can meet me.'

‘And why should I do that?'

‘Because there's someone in need of your help and, as I understand it, you're rather good at that sort of thing.'

Rina pursed her lips, amused and also somewhat disturbed. ‘What sort of someone?'

‘Her name is Lyndsey Barnes. She was one of Paul de Freitas's closest associates. Mac may have mentioned her to you?'

‘He may have done. Mr Jackson, why should I get involved?'

‘Because,' he said, ‘you are now intrigued and because, that is what you do.'

Rina came to a decision. He was right, of course. ‘When and where? No,
I'll
tell
you
. Noon, at the marina in Frantham Old Town. I take it you can find your way?'

Abe Jackson rang off and Rina assumed that the meeting had been arranged.

‘Rina, you can't.'

She frowned, she hadn't noticed the Montmorencys loitering at the other end of the hall.

‘Eavesdropping, Matthew? Stephen? That's not very polite.'

‘Looking after you,' Stephen countered. ‘Tim isn't here to do it and neither is Mac.'

‘Therefore,' his brother continued, ‘it falls to us to take their place.'

‘And what makes you think I need looking after?'

The brothers exchanged a look and then Matthew laughed, replying for both of them. ‘Because we all do, Rina dear. That's just the way it is. Now, get yourself ready. Stephen will stay here and take care of the ladies and I will come with you.'

Rina looked askance at them. ‘Well, you know how it hurts his knees if he has to walk too far,' Matthew added, as if that had been her question.

She nodded, finally, agreeing there was a degree of sense in that. ‘All right, thank you, both of you. And Stephen, we'll check in with you every half-hour. If you don't get a call, contact DI Kendal immediately. He'll know what to do.'

Mac and Tim had taken a break at services halfway to their destination. Somehow, he was only mildly surprised to see Hale, walking towards him across the car park.

‘Who's that?' Tim asked.

‘That,' Mac said, ‘is William Hale.'

‘Ah. Right. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?'

Hale paused a few feet away.

‘Are you following me?' Mac asked.

‘I didn't follow you, no.'

Mac let it pass.

‘I want to talk to the de Freitas's. That is where you're going.'

Mac saw no reason to deny it. ‘Sorry, can't be done.'

‘Believe me, Mac. I have their interests at heart.'

‘I find it hard to believe you have any interests except your own.'

‘Harsh, Mac. And what do you think those might be?'

‘Are you going to tell me? From what little I've seen of you, you like to talk even if you don't give any straight answers.'

Tim was studying something across the car park, close to the restaurant entrance. Mac followed his gaze. Two of Hale's men; the two he had met that day in Paul's apartment – them or their clones – stood waiting by the automatic doors.

Mac sighed. ‘If you want to talk, you can buy us both coffee. It's too hot to stand out here.'

Hale stood aside, gesturing elaborately that they should precede him. Mac began to walk, Tim beside him. He wondered if Tim felt as he did, that though Hale had approached them empty-handed and the suggestion to go inside was his own, he could not help but feel as though he had a gun at his back.

Hale found them a table close by the window and his men went to get coffee. ‘Biscuits too,' Hale said. ‘Or cake. Something sweet anyway.'

Today they were casually dressed. Jeans and chinos and short-sleeved shirts, though Hale still wore a tailored jacket, despite the temperatures. Inside the restaurant, the air conditioning whirred and Mac could feel the chill on his back and arm. He wondered if Hale had planned it that way. The two men joined them at the table and Mac wondered how they might look to the casual observer in a situation full of families and holiday makers. Five men, clearly serious, obviously not in recreational mood and, despite the casual dress, still in albeit invisible uniform.