Beyond Reach (38 page)

‘It’s not unheard of.’

‘But rare?’

‘Definitely. This kit is pretty robust. We did the update a couple of months ago. The batteries are first to go but they last a minimum of eighteen months, and there are visual and audio warnings if there’s any kind of problem. Like I say, the system was working fine.’

‘So there’s no way in? Is that what you’re saying?’ They were outside now, looking up at the house.

‘Not without alerting the system. The sensors are state of the art. The science has come on in leaps and bounds. Even the cat would have a problem sneaking in.’

‘So how do you get round that?’

‘You disable the system with a remote, just the way the owners do. You simply aim and press, just like a car or a telly.’

‘And you can buy spare remotes?’

‘Of course. But only from us.’ The technician gazed at Faraday a moment, then shook his head. ‘The answer’s no,’ he said. ‘I took the liberty of checking this morning. There are only two issued remotes on the system, one for Mr Norcliffe and one for his wife.’

 

Winter managed to corner Esme in the spare bedroom she was using upstairs. Stu had just disappeared into another bedroom across the corridor. The kids were down in the kitchen, helping Marie make brownies.

Esme was sitting on the bed, studying a text message on her mobile. She’d been getting changed and was down to her underwear. A pair of newly bought jeans were on the carpet beside her feet. She looked up, startled.

‘Don’t you ever knock?’

Winter ignored the question. He wanted to know about the money.

‘What the fuck’s Baz up to? Anyone care to tell me?’

‘He’s come up with a plan. You were there, down in the kitchen. You heard him.’

‘He’s going to pay? You believe that?’

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Really?’

Winter’s tone of voice sparked a reaction. Esme reached for a T-shirt and then had second thoughts.

‘It’s called family,’ she said. ‘If money is what it takes then he’ll spend it, I know he will.’

‘That’s bullshit, love. Bazza never spent a penny he didn’t have to. That’s why he’s living here. That’s why you’ve got more property, more land, more everything than you’ll ever need. That came from Baz being clever. A million quid to some bloke he’s never met in his life before? How clever is that?’

‘He’s got no choice. None of us has. And anyway what makes you think it’s just Dad with the money? Stu’s loaded. It’s not down to me to tell you how much he earns but the last Christmas bonus would have covered Guy several times over.’

‘So Stu’s paying? Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘I’m not telling you anything. Except it’s none of your business.’

‘Wrong, love.’ Winter was standing over her now, staring down. ‘Like it or not, Baz pays me to look after his interests. Just now his interests are in deep deep shit and unless someone gets a grip you lot are fucked. Are you hearing me? Do we understand plain English?’

‘You’re jealous.’ Esme returned his look, unflinching.

‘
Jealous?
How does that work?’

‘You’d like what we’ve got. You’d like what it buys - and I’m not just talking property and cars and all that other stuff. I’m talking respect, Paul. Dad isn’t joking when he bangs on about doing something in politics. Tide Turn is just the start. You’re right, he’s a clever, clever guy. I trust him completely. We all do.’

Winter turned away, wondering whether this conversation was worth the effort. Big money shuts you away, he thought. It locks the doors and seals the windows and keeps the real world at arm’s length just the way you hoped it would until the going gets really tough. Like now.

Esme had reached for her jeans. She began to tug them on but Winter was back in her face.

‘Your dad is this far away from losing it all down the khazi.’ Winter’s thumb and forefinger were a millimetre apart. ‘You can’t see it and neither can he but I spent most of my working life around situations like these, and from where I’m standing you have one big fucking problem.’

‘Like what?’ Esme was having trouble with the zip.

Winter refused to answer. Instead he asked her about the hotel in Baiona.

‘Whose idea was it in the first place?’

‘Mine. I just loved it. Dad was with me. Even he had to admit it was gorgeous.’

‘When was this? Exactly?’

‘Before Christmas. Early December. He’d had a long email from your mate Rikki. That was what put us into the bidding for the apartment block. The hotel wasn’t for sale at that point.’

‘But after you saw it?’

‘I told Dad we had to have it.’

‘
You
had to have it.’

‘Whatever. It was an investment too. The market’s depressed over there, and in any case I think the guy was ready to sell.’

‘So what did Bazza say?’

‘He agreed. The hotel here works fine for him. He’s learned a lot. I know it’s Spain and everything but the principles have to be the same. We’d run it as a going concern.’

‘Hands on?’

‘Yes. That was my idea.’

‘You’d run it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’d met Madison by now?’

She didn’t answer for a moment. She reached for a T-shirt and put it on. Then she nodded.

‘Yes.’

‘So he’d be part of this plan? You and Perry out there together? The shag palace of your dreams?’

‘Don’t be a twat, Paul.’

‘But was that it?’

‘Yes. Plus the kids of course.’

‘And you thought Baz would buy into that fantasy? A couple of million euros to set up some bastard copper who’s nicked off with his daughter and his grandkids? Was that it?’

‘Yes.’ She was defiant now, more sure of herself. ‘I could talk him into it. I knew I could.’

‘And that’s what you told Madison?’

‘Yes, sort of.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said he’d go anywhere with me, anywhere in the world. He said he’d had enough of being some bastard copper as you put it. In fact he’d had enough of pretty much everything. He loved me, Paul, believe it or not.’

‘Loved?’

‘Loves.’ She shrugged. ‘Present tense.’

They both looked at her phone. Esme covered the text message with her hand then slipped the mobile under the pillow. There was a long silence.

‘So what about the hotel?’ Winter asked.

Esme gazed up at him. For the first time she was smiling.

‘It’s still for sale,’ she said. ‘As far as I know.’

 

Faraday met Willard in Fordingbridge, an attractive market town on the western edge of the New Forest. They’d made their separate ways to the car park of a pub in the town centre. Faraday had often used the place for a late breakfast after dawn birding expeditions to nearby Martin Down, with its possibilities of turtle dove and lesser whitethroat.

‘He lives in Bullingdon Crescent.’ Willard had written the address down. ‘We’ll go in my car.’

They drove to the outskirts of the town. Number 14 Bullingdon Crescent was one of a dispiriting line of post-war bungalows. Madison’s had newish-looking dormer windows in the roof.

‘I thought he was living in a bedsit in Romsey.’ Faraday was looking at the Renault parked outside the house. A man’s leather jacket lay across the front passenger seat.

‘He was. Until yesterday.’

‘He’s back home?’

‘Yeah, so he says. PSD have also suspended him. My recommendation, if you’re asking.’

Faraday nodded. The Professional Standards Department policed the police. Within the space of an hour or so, pending an official hearing, Madison would have become a non-person: his warrant card surrendered, his email account closed, his work mobe returned to his head of department.

Faraday was still looking at the bungalow. The windows at the front were curtained.

‘What’s the charge?’

‘Officially, it’s bringing the organisation into disrepute. Unofficially, the man’s been a complete twat. How much of a twat we’re about to find out.’

They walked to the front door. Unlike his neighbours, Madison had resisted the temptation to litter the tiny pocket of lawn with garden-centre gnomes.

His wife answered the door. She must have been very attractive once but there were streaks of grey in the blaze of auburn curls and hints of bitterness in the set of her mouth.

‘Come in, guys. Help yourselves.’ She stood aside. She seemed to be expecting them.

A boisterous Labrador leapt at Willard. She grabbed it. The dog was called Mason.

‘Think Perry,’ she said. ‘It was his idea.’

The joke was lost on Willard but Faraday dimly remembered an American TV defence lawyer of the same name. They walked through to the kitchen. The back garden was longer than Faraday had expected and Madison was visible at the far end attacking a patch of green with a garden fork.

‘That’s our salad plot. It’s the best he can do in the way of therapy.’

They watched Madison for a moment or two. He was wearing nothing but jeans. He kept his head down, thrusting at the soil, bending from time to time to lift a weed and toss it aside. In terms of body language Faraday needed no clues to the coming interview. Every movement spoke of a savage fury.

‘Can’t be pleasant, any of this.’ Willard shot her a look.

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ She reached for the kettle. ‘Gets easier with practice though.’

‘He’s done it before?’

‘Yes.’

‘Lots of times?’

‘Twice. I suppose the mistake was letting him back in the house but then I’m even crapper with gardening than he is. You want tea?’

Willard and Faraday stepped into the garden. Splashes of sunshine came and went. Faraday knew Madison had seen them but he kept going with the fork until they were barely feet away. There was a light sheen of sweat on his chest. He wiped his face, gave them both a nod.

Willard was looking around. ‘Where do you want to do this?’

There was a tiny summer house in a corner of the garden beside the salad plot. Madison organised a couple of chairs out front, leaving Faraday to prop himself against an upright. The summer house badly needed a coat of varnish.

Madison found a sweater and sank into one of the chairs.

‘You’ve been a pillock,’ Willard began. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that.’

Madison said nothing, just looked away. His wife had appeared with a tray of tea. She picked her way through the clutter of garden tools, gave the tray to Faraday and returned to the bungalow without a word.

Willard started again.

‘You need to tell us about Mackenzie’s daughter, about what’s been going on.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s a stupid question, Perry. Because she is who she is. Because she works hand in glove with a Pompey Level Three. Because you’ve just spent the last God knows how many months leaving yourself wide open.’

‘To what? To being in love? To meaning it? To committing myself?’

Faraday, expecting Willard to tear Madison apart, was surprised when he simply nodded.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Go on how? You want the details? How we got it on? How often? Where? What she fancies? What really turns her on? Do you have all day or shall I just stick with the headlines?’

‘You fancied her,’ Willard suggested. ‘Why don’t we start there?’

The question seemed to deflate Madison. He slumped deeper into the chair, began to pick at his blisters. Then he looked up again and shrugged.

‘We used the same gym,’ he said. ‘She’s an attractive lady. The times we were there the place was pretty empty. We just talked, really.’

‘And?’

‘She made me laugh. She was witty, bright. She had a mind of her own and she was fit too. A bloke can miss things like that, believe me.’

Faraday resisted the temptation to look up at the bungalow. Was Madison’s wife lurking in the shadowed recesses of one of those rooms, watching? Or, more sensibly, was she upstairs, packing her bags? To stay with a man like this you had to have more than patience. Maybe he was a brilliant cook, Faraday thought. Or maybe she had a taste for self-abasement.

Madison was talking about the doors that laughter can open.

‘It was so easy,’ he said. ‘One moment we were having another little chat, the next we were in bed together. And after that it just all made perfect sense. We clicked. We were a couple. We were made for each other. It wasn’t me inventing it. It wasn’t her taking another scalp. It just
was
. You do it once and it
has
to happen again. And then again. And then again and again. I’d never come across a relationship like that in my life. And neither had she.’

‘Did you know who she was at that time? Her name? Her family connections?’

‘I knew her name but I never made the link to Mackenzie, no. Not then.’

‘And what about her? Did she know you were in the Job?’

‘Yes. She asked me what I did for a living and I told her.’

‘And then what?’

‘She asked me whether I liked it or not, something like that, then we talked about something else.’

‘Did she mention Winter at all?’

‘No. As far as I knew she was this housewife lady with a law degree she never used who lived with her husband and had three kids and was mad about horses. Her old man obviously had a bit of money because he ran a hedge fund or something. We didn’t talk about him much, either.’

‘I bet.’ Willard was looking at the lettuces. ‘So when did you make the connection with Mackenzie?’

Madison frowned, taking his time, thinking back. The earlier resentment had gone. Now, thought Faraday, he seemed glad of the chance to put the whole story together.

‘It was way into the New Year. We’d been running together in the forest and she’d left her wallet in my car.’

‘And?’

‘I did what every copper does. I had a look. There was the usual stuff in there - a bit of money, credit cards - but there were some photos too, a couple with her kids, one of her old man, and one of Mackenzie.’