Night Vision (21 page)

‘Didn't anyone come?'

‘One guy, some producer fella she worked with. I'll introduce you.' Gaynor sighed. ‘I'd never have pegged Jamie as the first to leave. She was always the last one out the door.'

Naomi nodded. Terry McAllister touched her arm and said how sorry he was, someone else expressed disbelief. She heard Belinda's voice thanking them for coming and expressing thanks to the vicar. It was obvious that everyone was drifting away, and no one seemed inclined even to suggest a visit to the local pub to have a drink in Jamie's honour. Just how far apart had the sisters moved?

Gaynor returned with someone in tow. ‘This is Matthew Broughton,' she said. ‘He was working with Jamie just before she died. Matthew, Naomi Blake. Sorry, it's Friedman now isn't it, doofus. And her husband, Alec.'

Where had Harry disappeared to, Naomi wondered as she shook hands with Matthew.

‘Look, I've got to dash, got to collect the kids from my mum's. She picked them up from school.' She pecked Naomi on the cheek. ‘I'll give you a ring next week and we'll have that coffee.'

‘So,' Alec said as the silence after the first introduction threatened to become uncomfortable. ‘You worked with Jamie?'

‘I did, yes. She talked about the two of you. In fact I think you were the only friends she ever mentioned.'

‘She had a lot of friends,' Naomi said defensively. ‘Once upon a time,' she added sadly. ‘Matthew, did no one else want to come for the funeral?'

She could feel him hesitate, and then he said. ‘A few years ago if this tragedy had happened, there'd have been standing room only in the church, I can promise you. I knew her from when she first moved down, and the Jamie I first met was not . . . was not the woman who died. Recently, Jamie had work colleagues, not friends. People she
had
to interact with to get the job done. I don't believe she saw anyone socially. She'd leave work, and while the rest of us might go for a drink, or stand around and chat for a few minutes before we went off home, Jamie was just gone. She seemed to go out of her way to alienate people, and that was costing her. I mean, not only on a personal level. Work-wise too.'

‘Look,' Alec said. ‘There's a pub down the road. The Black Horse. They serve reasonable food too. How about we all adjourn there?'

‘Yes, that would be good,' Matthew agreed. ‘I could do with a drink, and I drove up first thing so something half decent to eat would be welcome. You're a policeman, aren't you? In fact I think—'

‘I was too,' Naomi confirmed. ‘Officer, not man, I mean. That's how we all met up. We found ourselves covering the same incidents. I liked her a lot. Alec, where's Harry got to?'

Alec looked around. ‘Talking to Munroe,' he said.

‘Oh?'

‘Oh indeed,' Alec said.

Munroe had separated himself from the funeral attendees, standing off to one side in the shade of a cedar tree and watching the interaction. Or lack of it. Alec had seemed to know most of those present, briefing him on who was friend and who was stranger.

‘Small turnout,' Munroe had observed, and Alec had agreed.

Munroe had been very surprised when Harry Jones wandered across to join him beneath the cedar.

‘Feels a bit awkward,' Harry said, as though Munroe had asked. ‘Not really having known the deceased. Don't you feel that too?'

Munroe found he was amused. ‘I often attend funerals,' he said. ‘I rarely know the one who died.'

‘Well,' Harry observed thoughtfully, ‘I suppose we all need a hobby.'

Munroe made no comment. He made himself comfortable leaning against the bole of the tree and continued to watch.

‘I don't think I want a eulogy at my funeral,' Harry said.

‘Oh, and why is that?' Despite himself, Munroe was amused by this balding, dumpy man.

‘Because eulogies always seem to pick out the things people think
should
be remembered, not the things that are really important to the dead person. I can remember my sister's funeral so vividly. Well, her memorial, really. First time around we didn't have a body to bury.'

Interested now, Munroe glanced at the man beside him. ‘So you had two funerals?' Something from the background reading he had done on the Friedmans, Alec and Naomi, clicked into place. ‘Ah, so you'll have been Helen's brother. Naomi's best friend when they were kids.'

Many people would have been perturbed that he knew that, or would have asked if Alec had told them, but Harry merely nodded. ‘Helen's brother, yes. You know, for a very long time I think that's how we defined ourselves. I was Helen's brother. The brother of the little girl that disappeared, who everyone knew must be dead but who everyone still talked about as though she might turn up one day and it would all be fine. And Naomi was Helen's friend. The one that
didn't
get killed, or go missing or whatever it was people chose to think had happened to her. I believe, you know, it even affected the way my son thought of himself. Helen was there, in the background. The ghost at the feast.'

Monroe nodded briefly. ‘Often the way of it,' he said.

‘And yet, I don't think it's going to be that way for this poor dead thing, is it?'

‘I'm not sure I'm following you.'

‘Jamie. Naomi tells me that Dale was a pen name. She was Jamie Foucault. She apparently thought that Dale was snappier – more tabloid, I suppose.'

Munroe laughed softly. ‘That's a very snobby thing to say, don't you think?'

‘Oh, probably. It wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of that. But don't you think it's sad?'

‘I take it we're not talking about her choice of pen name.'

‘No, we're not. I mean, Helen was, as I say, the ghost at the feast, but she was at least there, and there was at least a feast for her to be at. We celebrated my little sister. I don't think this poor young woman will be celebrated, do you?'

Munroe shifted his position and looked more directly at Harry. ‘What do you
really
want to say to me?'

Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then he said, ‘I suppose I want to say that I am very protective of those I love. As is Alec.'

‘And?'

‘But the difference between us is that Alec also has a sense of honour. It's that sense of honour that made him agree to come back and work with you and the rest. Agree much against his better judgement, I might add.'

‘And you don't have a sense of honour?' Munroe laughed again. ‘Harry Jones, you are one of the most conventional—'

‘Perhaps I am. But don't mistake that for—'

‘Harry, are you trying to threaten me?' Munroe was truly amused now.

‘Threaten? No. Look, I've known men like you before. My ex-boss was one, and I can make a pretty good guess about your background and what you can be capable of. I'm just telling you. So far you've been able to take advantage of Alec's sense of honour, of his sense of what is right. After Helen died, I realized something about myself. I'm not proud of having realized it, and it doesn't fill me with any sense of superiority, I've just learnt to accept it over the years. I discovered hatred and anger were very much a part of Harry Jones. That I had, if you like, a vengeful spirit. I discovered that, and I made myself a promise: that if anyone I loved were ever threatened, and it came into my purview to do something about it, something to protect them, I would take the part of myself that is angry and vengeful and I would turn it loose. I discovered that, at heart, I'm not a terribly honourable man, Mr Munroe.'

Phillip Munroe studied Harry with more amusement and then new interest. Harry might be balding, dumpy, and too flabby around the middle, but Munroe looked into his eyes and saw something of himself reflected back.

‘Harry? Phillip?' Alec was calling to them.

Munroe nodded. ‘Time to join our friends,' he said. ‘Take my card, Harry Jones. Give me a ring any time your evil twin decides to break out.'

The Black Horse was an old hostelry. It had been a coaching inn and still retained the archway into the stable block, the cobbled yard and the massive fireplaces inside. The fires were not lit at this time of year, and Naomi missed the scent of wood smoke and the crackle of flames as they were settled at a table and handed menus.

‘Come and order at the bar when you're ready,' a cheerful voice told them.

‘I've never been here in the summer,' Naomi said. ‘I've always thought of this as a winter pub.'

‘It's certainly very charming,' Matthew Broughton commented. ‘Do you know if they still do rooms? I'm not relishing the thought of the drive back tonight.'

‘I think so. I'll ask when I go and order,' Alec said.

There was quiet while they all contemplated the menu. Alec and Harry went to the bar to place the order and get drinks. Naomi wondered what Harry and Munroe had been talking about, but didn't really know how to ask.

Matthew broke the silence. ‘So, did you know Jamie?' he asked Munroe.

‘No. I'm like Harry, just providing the taxi service. Alec's working with me on another case.'

‘Lucky you could both be spared for the afternoon,' Matthew said. ‘Wouldn't it have been easier just to let Alec drive his own car?' He sounded amused.

‘Probably,' Munroe told him in a tone that stopped the conversation dead.

Matthew won't give up, though, Naomi thought. His curiosity has been piqued, and he'll press the point. She said, ‘I understand Jamie was working on a story about ex service people. Were you involved with that?'

‘I was, yes. It's going to be called
Rough Sleepers
– at least, it is at the moment, you can never tell what some exec producer will finally do with the title or the sales pitch. And I'll make sure there's a dedication to Jamie when it goes out. She started the groundwork for it four or five years ago, but we didn't get the final go ahead until last year.'

‘Is that usual? To have that kind of delay?'

‘It's not uncommon, but in this case there were a couple of rival programmes commissioned, and that put the brakes on. We were told we'd got to find a new angle, and Jamie did. She started looking at comparative care here and in America, and in countries in the old Soviet Bloc, and she'd managed to do follow-up interviews with several of those featured in earlier documentaries. What was unusual is that she'd got help from several earlier filmmakers, and our film was, in part, updating and collating information about what happened after all the interest had died down.

‘Originally she wanted to do a second documentary off the back of this one that focused on other groups in conflict zones and what happened to them when they came home. I've got her preliminary notes for that, and I'm going to do all I can to move it on.'

‘What kind of groups?'

‘Oh, aid workers, medics, both army and civilian, media – that sort of thing.'

‘I'm not sure I get the link,' Naomi said. ‘I mean, you said this was a related documentary. Surely there aren't as many of those people homeless as among the service group?'

‘I think that might be the point,' Munroe said drily.

‘Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. We tend to forget that some people are working either in parallel to the armed forces or mopping up after the conflict is officially over – and note, I said “officially” here. I spent years reporting on frontline operations all over the world, and usually the ceasefire was just the start of the bigger problem. Anyway, Jamie's question was: when you reckon there are really quite large groups of people living in war zones for probably as long a period as many of the troops, maybe even having to defend themselves on occasion, certainly seeing the death and mayhem first hand, what is it about the support systems for them that largely cushions them from the after-effects?'

Monroe snorted. ‘Give them guns and a body count, see what happens then.'

‘That's exactly the point,' Matthew persisted. ‘OK, you've got aid workers and the like who, often as not, are conscientiously opposed to armed conflict and therefore don't get directly involved in the shooting. But what about the mercenary groups, the private security, the intelligence agents? Where do they end up?'

‘Bouncing at your local nightclub,' Munroe suggested.

Alec and Harry returned with drinks. ‘I've booked you in for the night,' Alec told Matthew. ‘You've just got to fill in the register. I thought it might be best.'

‘Thanks, Alec,' Matthew said.

‘You said, back at the funeral, that she didn't really have friends.'

‘No, she didn't, not now. It started a couple of years ago. She was seeing this guy called Dan Toon. He was a cameraman she'd worked with – well, we'd both worked with on occasions. We all thought there'd be wedding bells, or at least a bit of cohabitation. She'd always liked to go out, enjoyed a drink, a club, you know Jamie – or rather you knew Jamie. Suddenly, out of the blue, she dumps him, moves out of her flat and changes her phone number. She even threatened to get an injunction out if he tried to see her. And it wasn't just Dan – she dropped out of sight except for work, and even that was hit and miss. I'm afraid Jamie started to get a reputation for unreliability. After a time, the list of people that wouldn't work with her – well, let's just say it was a long one.'

‘But what happened? Surely it couldn't have happened just like that. There must have been signs. Did this Dan hurt her in some way?'

‘No, you see, that's what was so strange. There were no signs. It was that sudden. There was this Friday night, November, two years last November. She and Dan and a whole group of us were out celebrating a birthday. Jamie was happy, laughing, as much fun to be with as she always was. Dan was happy, talking about a flat they'd just been to look at. We all went our separate ways about two in the morning, then I got a phone call from Dan on the Sunday saying Jamie had dumped him.'