Flesh And Blood (29 page)

Was it Donald? Elder asked one of the technicians to transfer the image on to disk so that it could be blown up, sharpened, printed off. He was still thinking about it with part of his mind as he stood at the front door, waiting for a response to the bell.

Joanne’s face registered surprise, then relaxed into a smile.

‘Frank, you could have phoned.’

‘And give you time to leave?’

‘Martyn’s not here.’

‘Shame.’

Joanne hesitated just a moment before stepping back from the door.

‘You’d best come in.’

The hallway was pale wood, spotlights sunk into grey walls, a tall single flower in a tapered vase.

‘Come on through.’

He followed her into the living-room, the raised ceiling and faint blue-grey paint making it seem afloat in space. Outside, at intervals on the stone patio, lights burned inside silvered lanterns, though it was not yet dark.

‘Can I get you a drink? Some wine? A beer.’

‘A beer might be nice.’

Elder watched his reflection closely in the sliding glass, as if not trusting what he might yet do.

‘I hope this is okay.’ She handed him an open bottle, cold to the touch, condensation already forming on the sides. ‘It’s Martyn’s favourite. French, I think.’

Elder let the remark pass.

She stood there, a glass of white wine in her hand, not quite at ease, surveying him.

‘I’ve seen you look better, Frank.’

‘I’ve felt worse.’

She was wearing a skirt in a creamy colour that was most probably called taupe or ecru, a violet top that clung to her perhaps a touch more snugly than it should, and Elder hated her for being as beautiful as she was.

‘So, Frank, to what do we owe the honour?’

‘We?’

‘Martyn’s out, some meeting or other…’

‘You said.’

‘Katherine’s not back yet from training. Often she hangs out afterwards with friends.’

‘Just you and me, then.’

‘Like old times.’

‘No.’

Joanne sighed, as if already tired of the game they were nearly playing. ‘What was it, Frank?’

‘This girl who went missing locally, a few days back…’

‘It’s all over the news. Emma something.’

‘Harrison.’

‘What about her?’

‘I’m involved in the investigation. A consultant. As from today.’

‘Why you?’

‘Something I was involved in before, there might be a connection. Nothing’s definite.’

‘Oh, Frank.’ She half-turned away. ‘I thought that was all over.’

‘Maybe it never is.’

Joanne sat on the sofa, head down, glass of wine held lightly in both hands.

‘I thought you should know,’ Elder said. ‘It means I’ll be around for a while. Longer than I’d expected.’

‘So?’

‘It’s not so big a town, Jo, you know that.’

‘I know.’

‘Because of Katherine, if nothing else, I wanted you to know, that’s all.’

‘You’ll be able to see a little more of her.’

‘Yes.’

‘She’ll like that.’

‘I hope so.’

Joanne tried for a smile that didn’t quite arrive.

‘Do you want another beer?’

‘I’ve hardly started this.’

‘I think I need some more wine.’

Neither of them moved. Faintly, the sound of a car negotiating the curve of the street outside. Something – a cat? – moved along the far edge of the patio, distracting Elder’s attention. When he turned back into the room, Joanne was on her feet, empty glass in hand. The front door opened and then closed.

‘Frank! What the fuck’re you doing here?’

Martyn Miles grinned from just inside the doorway, suit jacket thrown back over his shoulder, one finger through the loop at the collar holding it in place. His hair was tousled as though he’d been driving with the top of the car down, and his cheeks were flushed.

‘You and Jo, just like old times.’

‘I said that,’ Joanne observed.

Elder said nothing.

‘Sorry to come home early and disturb your little tête-à-tête.’ Martyn draped his coat across the back of a perspex chair, lowered himself down on to one end of the sofa, kicked off his leather slip-on shoes and swung round his legs. ‘I don’t suppose, sweetheart, there’s any chance of some coffee.’

Joanne stared at him for a moment, barely hostile, before turning away.

‘And a couple of aspirin while you’re about it.’

Elder drank some more of his beer.

‘For God’s sake, sit down,’ Martyn said. ‘You make me nervous. Or maybe that’s the point.’

Elder angled a chair towards the sofa and sat.

‘You came round to see Katherine, no doubt,’ Martyn said.

‘Actually, I called round to say I’m staying in town for a bit.’

Martyn looked at him carefully. ‘That’s nice. You must come to dinner.’

‘Probably not.’

They said nothing else until Joanne came back carrying a tray; coffee, water and aspirin for Martyn, wine for herself.

‘I was just saying, Frank must come to dinner one evening. Soon. You don’t mind me calling you Frank?’

‘Fucking my wife must give you some privileges.’

‘Except she’s no longer your fucking wife.’

‘Frank,’ Joanne said, ‘I think you should go.’

‘I should never have come.’

‘Why don’t you phone next time, it might be easier?’

‘Yes,’ Martyn said, slightly drawling his words. ‘Send an email. You do know about email?’

Neither of them moved when Elder crossed the room towards the door.

At the end of the short drive, an ageing 2 CV was parked behind Martyn Miles’s Audi convertible, and Katherine was leaning back against it, being kissed by a tall youth in dark blue sportswear, one of her arms round his neck.

Elder coughed and slowed his pace.

‘Spying, Dad?’ Katherine said, stepping clear.

‘Not exactly.’

‘Dad, this is Stuart. Stuart, my father.’

The two shook hands.

‘Stuart trains with me sometimes.’

‘I see.’

‘I’d better be going,’ Stuart said. His accent was local without being overstated.

The engine fluttered into life and made its usual sewing-machine sound as it pulled away.

‘Serious?’ Elder asked, with a nod in the direction of the departing car.

Katherine grinned. ‘He might be.’

‘I feel sorry for him then.’

‘Don’t,’ Katherine said, and then, ‘You’ve been to see Mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘About time.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You didn’t have a row?’

‘Not exactly.’

Slowly, Katherine shook her head. ‘Is Martyn here?’

Elder nodded.

‘Well, that makes a change, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Kate…’

‘Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.’

A car went sedately past on the opposite side of the road, headlights full on. The dark was starting to crowd in about them now, filling in the spaces.

‘What I came to tell your mother, I’m going to be here for a while, helping out with this investigation into the girl who went missing.’

‘I know.’

‘How can you?’

‘We had the local radio on in the car. It was on the news.’

‘Jesus.’

‘You’re famous, Dad, let’s face it. Infamous, anyway.’ Smiling, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘Do that.’

Quickly he hugged her, then stepped away. Her hair smelt fresh and slightly lemony from her shower. He would go back and, if Willie Bell was out, read some more
David Copperfield
, get an early start in the morning.

They sat outside a small café close to the river’s edge. It’s smack in the middle of the town, Pam Wilson had said on the phone, turn right at the lights and you’re there. There’s a little car park close by, a bookshop across the street. You can’t miss it.

The traffic had not been as fierce as Elder had imagined and he had arrived early, no sign of anyone answering the probation officer’s description inside the café or out. He thought the bookshop, which seemed mainly to sell remainders, might provide him with something to read when he had finally laid
David Copperfield
to rest. But fifteen minutes of shuffling between heavily loaded tables and packed shelves still left him empty-handed; each time he picked out a book and turned it over to read the summary on the back, flipping it open perhaps to try the first few sentences on his tongue, only resulted in him, undecided, sliding it back.

Back out on the narrow pavement, he recognised her from across the street. A biggish woman with short, jagged hair, wearing a loose and faded T-shirt, running shoes and jeans. Seeing him crossing the street towards her, she got to her feet and held out a hand.

‘Pam Wilson.’

‘Frank Elder.’

‘You found it okay, then.’

‘No problem.’

She looked directly at him without avoiding his gaze. On the table in front of her were a mug of coffee, some kind of fancy croissant, a blue disposable lighter and a packet of cigarettes.

‘Do they come out,’ Elder asked, nodding in the direction of the café, ‘or what?’

‘You order inside, they bring it out.’

He asked for a regular coffee and resisted the array of cakes and pastries.

When he got back outside and sat down, Pam had lit a cigarette and was squinting slightly as the smoke drifted past her eyes.

‘You don’t mind sitting out here?’

‘No, it’s okay.’

‘I like to take advantage of the weather when I can. Indulge my vices at the same time. One of them, anyway.’

‘How are you feeling?’ Elder asked.

‘Me? I’m fine.’

‘But you are still off work?’

‘A few days’ well-deserved holiday.’ She put down her cigarette and broke off a piece of croissant. ‘Sick leave, actually.’

‘It can shake you up,’ Elder said.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘He threatened you with a knife.’

‘He held it against the back of my neck.’ Reaching round, she touched her skin below the hairline. ‘None too steadily, either. He was probably as frightened as me.’

‘You were frightened because of what you thought he might do?’

She drew smoke down into her lungs. ‘I knew what he’d done before.’

A waitress brought out Elder’s coffee, set it on the table and walked away. A young mother was sitting close by the wall that separated them from the river, her child asleep in its buggy. Traffic moved slowly at Elder’s back.

‘Donald, you think he’s capable of doing the same – similar – again?’

She looked at him for what seemed a long time. ‘Yes. I think I do. I did then, certainly, that evening in the car.’ Abruptly, she laughed. ‘Stupid, isn’t it? I’m brighter than him, bigger than him. Heavier, certainly. Fitter. I could have knocked the knife out of his hand, slapped his face and overpowered him. Instead I sat there like a victim, waiting to be hurt.’

‘Yet you recommended him for release,’ Elder said.

Pam shook her head. ‘Not my decision alone. And if I’d wanted to argue against it, I wouldn’t have had anything concrete to back it up. Whenever I saw him he’d make all the right noises, tell me what he knew I wanted to hear, how he was sorry, understood the seriousness of what he’d done – oh, you know the kind of thing.’

‘And you didn’t believe him?’

‘I didn’t know. That’s just it, I didn’t know. It was just a gut feeling, that’s all.’

‘Sometimes that’s all you need.’

Pam took one more drag and then stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I’m giving them up again tomorrow. Or is that the day after?’

‘How about today?’

‘All right. Here, take them.’ The pack was in her hand, held out towards him. ‘Go on, take them.’

‘You can always go into the shop around the corner and buy more.’

‘So what’s the answer?’

Elder shrugged. ‘Keep those, know they’re there but don’t light one up.’

She smiled. It was a good smile, Elder thought, generous and open. He wondered how Shane Donald had been able to get so far under her skin. ‘I’ve tried that,’ she said.

‘It doesn’t work?’

‘Most of the time.’ She broke off some more croissant and put it in her mouth. Behind them, the baby had woken up and started to cry. ‘When I went to see him at the hostel, Donald, we sat there going through the usual rigmarole and then at the end of it he smiled and when he did that – I don’t know, it just got to me, it was as if he was acknowledging that it was all a game and he knew and underneath nothing had changed. He hadn’t changed. Given the same opportunity he would do the same things again.’

She reached for her coffee mug but it was already empty.

‘Right after that, it was when I had my first cigarette in months.’

‘And you still believe that?’ Elder asked. ‘Now. That he would hurt someone. Like before. For the sheer pleasure, the charge, the thrill.’

‘I think he could.’

Elder leaned away and she read the movement well. ‘You don’t agree.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Because of this missing girl?’

‘Maybe.’

Pam smiled. ‘What does your gut feeling say?’

Elder shook his head. ‘I haven’t laid eyes on Donald for close on thirteen years. You have. But when I did know him, back then, it was his friend, it was McKeirnan, I’m sure, who took the lead, initiated everything.’

‘Prison changes people,’ Pam said. ‘Not always in the way we want. Sometimes it breaks them, sometimes it only serves to make them hard. Maybe what Donald did was grow up inside. Maybe he doesn’t need someone like McKeirnan any more.’

♦

By the time Elder had driven back down the motorway, they’d found the place where Emma Harrison had been held.