Blood and Stone (31 page)

‘No, you're fine.' She sat down beside him on the edge of the bench, but made no effort to take off her coat. ‘I'm not staying, I just came to apologize.'

‘For what?'

‘Last night.'

‘No apology needed,' Mariner protested mildly, wondering with some apprehension where this might be going. ‘It was a great stir-fry.'

‘That's not what I meant.' She was finding it hard to look at him. ‘I shouldn't have come on to you like that. I realized afterwards that I made some big assumptions about you, and I shouldn't have.'

‘What kind of assumptions?' Mariner was intrigued.

‘Oh God, you're not going to make this easy for me, are you?'

‘I just don't understand,' Mariner said, genuinely baffled. ‘What assumptions?'

She took a deep breath. ‘Well, firstly that you're straight, and secondly that you would have any interest in me. I'm really quite embarrassed now. I made a fool of myself.'

‘No, you really didn't,' said Mariner gently, but with a growing awareness that he was going to have to somehow explain his way out of this. ‘You were right on both counts. I am very straight and I am also attracted to you. But … there's a complication.'

‘You're married,' she smiled, suddenly understanding, ‘or at least in a relationship. See, I've thought through all the possibilities.'

‘No, it's not that either. It's an even worse cliché than that.'

She read his hesitation. ‘Oh look, I'm sorry. If this is something you don't want to talk about …'

‘No, I owe you some kind of explanation at least,' said Mariner.

‘Is it to do with that “some other time”?'

‘Sort of,' said Mariner, relieved that she was helping him towards the obvious escape route. ‘I
was
in a serious relationship. But it ended suddenly, and not because I wanted it to,' he said. So far so true. ‘I'm still coming to terms with it. It just doesn't seem like a good idea to get involved …'

‘No, of course,' she said. ‘I get it.' She got to her feet. ‘I'll let you finish your lunch in peace. I hope we can still be friends?' she said hopefully.

‘Of course,' Mariner said. ‘When's your next day off?'

She shrugged. ‘I could probably sneak some time off on Friday.'

‘Well, how about a walk then?'

‘Okay, I'll see you Friday at ten. You can call for me.'

‘Great.'

She headed towards the door. ‘For the record,' she said, hesitating in the doorway. ‘It was only sex. I wasn't expecting any long-term commitment.' A relieved Mariner stared after her as she walked out of the bar, leaving him with a smile and the sudden sense that an opportunity had been missed.

Knox must have picked up Mariner's message, because when he got upstairs that afternoon he found a text to say that Kat had been found, safe and well. Mariner rang him from his room.

‘Kat is fine, but her flat's been turned over too. She's come to stay with me for a couple of days.'

‘Good,' said Mariner. ‘So where has she been?'

Knox told him about Giles' unwanted guest. ‘I think she just heard “Tirana” and panicked. It may have nothing to do with Zjalic at all. Her flat has been turned over in the same way as your house, but it sounds as if this Hugo has caused all that.'

‘Any progress on the drugs thing with Charlie?'

‘I haven't spoken to him or heard about any more developments,' said Knox. ‘But I have had a message from Rick Fraser about your soil samples. It sounds complicated, so you may want to give him a call yourself, get it from the horse's mouth.'

It was a good idea, and when he'd finished speaking to Knox, Mariner rang the lab. Rick Fraser was typically laid back, something that belied his thoroughness and the speed of his thinking. ‘How's it going?' he asked, as if this was a social call.

Mariner wondered if Fraser knew anything about the situation he was in. ‘Fine,' he said. ‘What have you got?'

‘Two bags of soil, right? On the parsnips; on its own,' Fraser checked.

‘That's it,' said Mariner.

‘Right. The soil on its own is just about chemical free,' Fraser said. ‘A bit of home-made compost but that's about it.' The soil was from Elena's garden, so no surprises there. ‘The soil on the parsnips is a different story,' Fraser continued.

‘Oh yes?' said Mariner in anticipation.

‘There are compounds present there that are consistent with most of the commercially available pesticides, and are used all over the place.'

‘Pesticides?' Mariner echoed. ‘That doesn't sound very organic.'

‘Depends on your definition of organic I suppose,' said Fraser. ‘But no, I wouldn't class them as particularly natural or wholesome.'

‘So what about this supposed magic formula that this guy is meant to be developing?'

‘I didn't find anything magic or even unusual. There was one
weird
thing though,' said Fraser, saving the best till last. ‘The two soil types are completely different.'

‘How do you mean?' asked Mariner.

‘The soil on its own is a heavy, clay-based soil, of the type you would expect in that part of Wales,' Fraser told him. ‘But the soil stuck to the parsnips is a much lighter, sandy soil. I'm not an expert so I wasn't sure what that meant so I talked to someone who is. She said that the parsnip soil is characteristic of what you'd find in the east of the country, Norfolk or Kent; those kinds of areas.'

‘So what are you saying?'

‘I'm saying that those parsnips were not grown where you found them, nor anywhere near.'

Letting Katarina into his house, Tony Knox was suddenly ashamed of the way he'd let things slide. Housework had never been his forte. But Kat was so delighted to meet Nelson that she seemed not to notice. He showed her where everything was and told her to make herself at home.

‘I hope it won't be for long that I get in the way,' Kat said, her English suffering under the stress of it all.

‘You're not in the way,' Knox reassured her. ‘Me and Nelson are glad of the company.'

‘And Tom, he's coming back soon?' She seemed anxious about it and Knox wondered if she realized herself how much she missed his presence.

‘I hope so,' he said. There was no option but to explain to her what had been happening in Wales.

‘But he is innocent!' she insisted touchingly, without knowing any of the details.

‘He is,' said Knox, mirroring her confidence. ‘But he needs to stay around there for now, in case they have to speak to him again.'

‘But he is safe?' She seemed almost afraid to say it.

‘Yes, I'm sure he is,' Knox said, with more certainty than he felt.

There was no reason to believe that anyone other than Knox, Saira and Kat herself, was aware of where she had moved to, but when the doorbell went it startled them both. ‘Wait here,' Knox said. Opening the door, he found Michael on the doorstep.

‘Wondered if Nelson wanted a walk,' the boy said awkwardly.

‘That'd be great,' said Knox, keen to re-establish communi-cation. ‘Come through, he's in here.' Michael followed him into the kitchen where Knox introduced him to Katarina.

‘Can I come with you?' she asked, seeing what Michael's plans were, ‘then I will know where I can take him too.'

Predictably, Michael shrugged. Kat took it as encouragement and they both set off with Nelson trotting along beside them. Before they left Knox gave Katarina a spare key. ‘I need to go into work for a couple of hours to catch up with a few things. Don't answer the door to anyone you don't know, and if you're worried about anything, you call me straight away.' Unnecessary precautions, he felt sure, but it made him feel marginally better about leaving her.

When Mariner went downstairs, he found the pub uncharacteristically deserted. Ron Symonds was on his own behind the bar replacing clean glasses, replenishing the chiller cabinets and preparing for the evening's business. ‘Police have put people off probably,' he speculated, casting around the empty room.

‘Any sign of Hennessey?' Mariner asked, knowing the answer.

‘Not yet, but I hope for his sake he turns up soon,' said Symonds. ‘He's not a bad young man to have around. What'll you have?'

Mariner indicated one of the pumps and Symonds drew him a pint. Perhaps because it was quiet, for once the landlord had his own drink on the go, and passing Mariner his pint, he lifted it in a toast. ‘Joe Hennessey,' he said.

‘Joe Hennessy,' said Mariner, reciprocating. ‘How's Megan coping?' he asked.

‘Not well, if I'm honest,' said Symonds. ‘I don't know why but Joe seemed to have taken a real shine to her and she'd got very fond of him too. If he's done a runner she'll be gutted.'

‘You get your veg from Abbey Farm, don't you?' Mariner said conversationally, handing over the payment for his drink.

‘We do,' said Symonds. ‘We like to do our bit to support the local economy.'

‘So Willow sells direct to you, or is it part of the mail order service?'

‘Mail order? That must be something new. I didn't know he was into that too.'

The door swung open to admit a group of customers, and Mariner hoped that the sudden rush might include the returning Joe Hennessey, but when he retired to his room and the rather hard bed, the Irishman still hadn't put in an appearance.

A
fter breakfast on Thursday morning Mariner went up to his room and had a look at his maps to try and decide on a walk for the day. He peered out of the window wondering how likely it was that the rain would hold off, and noticed the Abbey Farm van parked outside. Ron Symonds must have been taking delivery of his vegetables. He studied the side of the van: ‘Abbey Farm Organic Vegetables; all products locally grown'. Not quite accurate after all, if what Rick Fraser had learned was true. Something else Mariner noticed: there was no email or website address given.

Today Mariner took the local bus a few miles up the valley, with a view to walking back along the footpaths. He returned to the Hart in the middle of the afternoon to find a police squad car parked outside and officers loading evidence bags into the boot. This wasn't going to be good. Eventually Ryan Griffith appeared. He took Mariner to one side. ‘We've found Hennessey,' he said. ‘Something about his disappearance was bothering me, so I took your advice and had a trace put on his mobile phone signal. His car had been parked at a picnic site off the road a couple of miles up the valley. There was blood on the ground immediately behind the car, so we opened up the boot. He'd been stabbed, cleanly and fatally, in the chest.'

‘Jesus,' said Mariner. ‘Any idea when?'

‘Not until the PM, but rigor's been and gone so I'd say he's been there at least twenty-four hours. I've come to talk to Megan again so that we can try to establish more precisely his last known movements. As far as we know she was the one to see him leave here on Monday afternoon but we're hoping there might have been further sightings after that.' Griffith walked over to the boot of the car and retrieved something from inside. ‘We're doing a more thorough search of his room now, but we've already come across this.' The evidence bag he held up for Mariner's inspection contained a small business card:
Joseph Hennessey, Private Investigator.

‘We've also found a small stash of dope. It's not enough to worry us too much, but one of my officers thinks it might be the strong stuff, skunk. Not that I know the difference.'

‘Skunk is more powerful,' Mariner said. ‘Usually the plants have been genetically modified. So Joe Hennessey definitely wasn't here just for the wildlife,' he concluded.

‘We still don't know what his main interest was though,' Griffith said. ‘We found his wallet at the scene but no mobile. My guess would be that the killer took it, possibly because there were incriminating calls or texts on it.'

‘Like an arrangement to meet. Megan told me he went out quite suddenly.'

‘The big question is, who was Hennessey working for?' said Griffith. Taking the packet out of his pocket and offering one to Mariner, who declined, he lit up a cigarette.

Mariner agreed. ‘If we can get to the bottom of that we can understand why he was killed.'

‘Either way this is shaping up like a professional job,' said Griffith. ‘And puts you in danger.'

‘How do you work that out?'

‘Someone has been tracking you from the point of Anna Barham's funeral, employing Hennessey to report back on your movements,' said Griffith. ‘The two men killed first – Theo Ashton and Jeremy Bryce – were killed in error.'

‘So why kill Hennessey?'

‘Because you're still alive. Hennessey's intel wasn't accurate enough. The killer, or more likely the man the killer is working for, has blamed Hennessey and punished him for that, or has decided that he knew too much to be allowed to live.'

‘There is another possibility that would more easily explain Theo Ashton's death,' said Mariner. ‘I've been puzzling over Abbey Farm since I first got here. Given the size of the plot and the fact that Willow's magic formula is still, according to him, in its experimental phase,' I've never understood how it could possibly produce enough to sustain weekly market sales and a mail order business and make the profit it does.'

‘Go on,' Griffith encouraged.

‘I had Tony Knox take some of the veg back to a lab for analysis.' Mariner told Griffith about the test results. ‘That got me wondering then about what it was I'd really seen on the farm the night after Theo Ashton was killed. I assumed I'd seen crates of produce being loaded into a transit. It made sense because the following day you told me about Willow's request to get out a delivery.'