Nowhere to Hide (24 page)

‘Well, I don't
know.
But like everything else in this, it's a hell of a coincidence otherwise.'

‘But why would he come after you?'

‘Because he knows who I really am? But that takes us back to Salter's involvement. Why would he send me up here to have me bumped off?'

‘He might,' Brennan said, thoughtfully. ‘If you're right about him, I mean. If he – or Boyle – wanted McGrath out of the way for whatever reason, maybe you were set up to be the scapegoat. If you'd gone missing, or killed in a way that looked like suicide, the police might have decided to look no further.'

‘I'd thought of that. But I can't see it. It's too risky for Hugh. Too many loose ends. He couldn't have concealed who I was, not for long. Too many people knew. Including you.'

Brennan frowned and resumed shredding a bunch of basil leaves. ‘I suppose,' he said. ‘But if not that, then what?'

‘I don't know. Maybe someone else saw me as a scapegoat.'

‘But it only works if McGrath's killer knew something about you. He wouldn't just pick a random new employee. So either he knows who you really are, or he knows about the legend for the mysterious – what was your name?'

‘Maggie Yates.' She stared gloomily at her half-empty glass. ‘Yes, I can see that. You might make Maggie Yates fit the profile of a contract killer. You might even be able to pin it on the semi-real Marie Donovan. But it wouldn't work if I was just a local housewife doing a week's temping.' She swallowed the rest of the glass in one mouthful.

Brennan pushed the bottle towards her. ‘You were right, though,' he said.

‘Was I? There's always a first time.'

‘About your Lizzie and Keith Welsby.'

She looked up. ‘Really? I'd begun to think that was just another case of me putting two and two together and making seventeen.'

‘Not absolutely certain,' he said. ‘But it fits. I had a delve through the personal files this afternoon. Welsby's been married twice. Divorced both times. He's got one child by the first marriage. A girl. Would be in her early twenties. Elizabeth Rose.'

‘Sweet,' she commented. ‘Don't imagine that was Welsby's choice. Fits though, doesn't it?'

‘Question is, what does it tell us?'

‘Did you find out anything about McGrath?'

‘Something. Certainly not as small-time as you were led to believe. Or if he was, there's been a lot of interest in him over the years.'

‘Go on.' She took the liberty of pouring herself another glass of the wine, then dutifully topped up Brennan's glass.

‘I found the files on McGrath. He's been under surveillance for some time. Five or six years at least.'

‘And?'

Brennan paused to take a swallow of wine and give the sauce a stir. ‘That's the thing. I can't tell you much more. There was a lot a data in the files. But it was all restricted. Authorisation required. Guess who?'

‘Salter,' she said. ‘Doesn't prove much. I was undercover with McGrath. Salter had every right to keep that confidential, even within the Agency. Chinese walls.'

‘I can see he's got to protect the operation,' Brennan said. ‘Not to mention you. But would that involve restricting everything in there?'

‘I don't know. Probably not the earlier stuff. But he might err on the side of caution.'

‘There was loads of stuff on McGrath. You could see the file sizes in the directory. It must have included PDF files. Scans of documents. But I couldn't get access.'

‘It doesn't square with what Salter told me,' she agreed. ‘But then what Salter told me didn't square with making McGrath the target of a full-scale undercover operation. There wasn't much background material in the briefings I was given.' She paused. ‘It's not exactly a smoking gun, but it does suggest that Salter's not on the level.'

‘Doesn't get us very far, though,' Brennan said, spooning pasta and sauce on to two plates. It looked pretty good, she thought. Several notches up from student spag bol. A male copper who could cook. Whatever next?

They ate at the kitchen table. The food was simple but tasted as good as it looked. Brennan even produced fresh Parmesan with an elegant-looking grater. ‘Like I say, nothing fancy. Just what I was throwing together for myself.'

She was feeling more at ease than she'd felt for days. The earlier terrors had already begun to fade in her memory. She felt she deserved a brief respite.

Brennan topped up both their glasses. ‘Then there's Jeff Kerridge,' he said.

The words instantly dispelled the peace she'd momentarily enjoyed. Jesus, she thought. Jeff Kerridge. The last man she wanted to think about. The man who, along with Keith Welsby, had been nearly responsible for her death a year before. ‘In connection with McGrath?'

‘Maybe.'

‘You found a link between McGrath and Kerridge?'

‘Nothing definitive. Like I say, I couldn't even get into McGrath's files. But Kerridge's were mostly accessible. I'd be interested to see the paper files. There's a hell of a lot of stuff there.'

Marie knew only too well how much evidence they'd gathered on Kerridge. Much of it provided by her former lover, Jake Morton. It had cost him his life.

‘We'd have put Kerridge away, if Salter hadn't killed him first,' she said. ‘No question. And Boyle too, probably.'

‘Makes you think, doesn't it?'

‘It certainly made me think. Though I still don't know quite what.'

‘I couldn't spend all day on the files,' Brennan said. ‘I was already attracting attention. But I skimmed through as much as I could. And I found something.' He leaned over and reached into the pocket of a smart-looking sports jacket slung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He unfolded a sheet of A4 paper and handed it to her.

She looked up quizzically. ‘A copy of a passport.'

‘Recognise him?'

She squinted at the passport photograph. It was a black and white print of a scanned document. The image was blurred, but she had no doubt. ‘McGrath.'

‘Passport in the name of one Paul Kavanagh.'

‘You found this in Kerridge's files?'

‘There was a whole stack of fake documentation. Passports, driving licences, you name it. Stuff pulled together for various members of Kerridge's team.'

She had seen the material on the data stick Morton had sent her just before his killing. ‘I remember.' She held her voice steady. She'd put Jake Morton behind her now. She recalled his face, his warmth, the feel of his body in bed. But she no longer knew how it had happened, why she'd allowed herself to have a relationship with him. Loneliness and insecurity. Nothing stronger than that. A stupid mistake made by a different person. But, just occasionally, something unexpected brought him back to her mind, and for a moment her feelings for him felt stronger than she allowed herself to believe.

‘This was just one document among all that,' Brennan went on. ‘I was lucky to spot it, but that handsome face caught my eye. Far as I could see, there was nothing else relating to McGrath.'

‘Suggests he was on Kerridge's team at least, doesn't it?'

‘Doesn't tell us how big a player he was, though. Or how close to Kerridge.'

‘I can't see Kerridge getting a fake passport made for just anyone. He must have had some significant dealings with Kerridge. You find anything else?'

‘No. Took me a while to plough through the documents. I was getting a bit paranoid. Thought people might be wondering what I was up to.'

‘It's a start, though,' she said. ‘Means that Salter could have had some ulterior motive for planting me with McGrath.'

‘Keeping an eye on one of Kerridge's former associates? Makes more sense if McGrath was a bigger fish.'

‘Didn't see much sign of that in his business. But maybe he was smarter than he seemed.'

‘It's a hall of mirrors, this, isn't it? Is this what life's like for you lot all the time? Thought standard policing was tricky enough.' He emptied the last of the wine into their two glasses.

‘It's undercover work,' she said. ‘Out in the field, you can't afford to trust anyone. You need a safe anchor back at base. Someone to rely on when everything starts shifting around you.' She paused, realising that she had almost begun to see Brennan himself as that anchor. Stupid, she thought. She still couldn't be sure whether to trust him. ‘That's why it's such a nightmare with Salter. It's not just that he might be bent. It leaves me out here twisting in the wind.'

‘But this one's done now, presumably? Now McGrath's no longer in the picture?'

She couldn't tell whether there was a note of regret in his voice. ‘Salter's playing silly buggers with that as well, though. Stringing me along.'

Brennan gestured towards the wine bottle. ‘You want any more? I can open another bottle.'

‘Tempting, but I'd better not. My head's not very straight as it is. I'm feeling all in.' She felt as if she'd been sleeping all day but was still unrefreshed. ‘You sure it's okay for me to stay over?'

‘Fine by me. Happy to offer you a bed for the night.' If there was any double-meaning in his words, he gave no sign. ‘Nice to have female company, to be honest. Civilises the place.'

She was tempted to ask about his domestic circumstances, but couldn't think of any question that wouldn't seem intrusive. Or that wouldn't give the impression that she cared. ‘You haven't seen my place. Do you mind if I turn in? I'm feeling pretty knackered. Not the best company, female or not.'

‘I'll show you where things are. Can't offer you a change of clothes, I'm afraid, unless you fancy cross-dressing. But I can lend you a dressing gown.'

‘Thanks, Jack. I'm really grateful for this, you know.'

‘What else would you expect me to do? I hope you'll do the same for me next time some bastard breaks in here with a knife.' He laughed. ‘Seriously, it's nothing at all. Just get a decent night's sleep.'

He led her upstairs and showed her round the small upper floor. The second bedroom was, endearingly, set up as a guest room, with a small selection of toiletries and even a tray with tea and coffee. She could see Brennan as the kind of punctilious soul who would keep a guest room prepared for unexpected visitors.

‘All yours,' he said. ‘Do you want waking? I usually head off around eight.'

‘Whenever suits you,' she said. ‘Once it's daylight, I'll be happy to get back home and find out if my visitor left any signs.'

‘Sure that's wise?'

‘He didn't strike me as a pro. My guess is that he made himself scarce as soon as I legged it. Can't see him coming back straight away.'

Brennan gazed at her face for a moment, as if he were trying to think what to say. ‘Just be careful, for Christ's sake, Marie. We don't know who we're dealing with.'

She looked back at him, a little surprised by his concern. ‘I'll be careful, Jack. This time I'm going to be bloody careful.'

He had watched from the shadows, wondering what to do. His instructions were clear. Observe, monitor, report back. Take no action until told to.

It was only luck that he was out here this evening. He had intended to leave her once she was safely home. However careful he was, if he spent too much time in the proximity of her house it inevitably increased his risk of being detected.

But as the evening came, although he knew that her car had never left the drive, he began to feel uneasy. Maybe it was the arson attack. He'd reported that back. The text he'd received in reply had instructed him to carry on as before. But he'd detected something, even in the terse syllables of the text message, that suggested the news had been unexpected.

That wasn't a surprise. If they'd wanted McGrath killed, he'd have been given the job. So McGrath's killer was some third-party. Which raised some interesting questions. He sensed that the job had just become more complicated.

So he'd come out here again tonight, impelled by some sixth sense. Feeling that something would happen. Something that might complicate things still further.

He was checking over the front of the house when he registered the car arriving further down the street. It had parked some distance away, near the main road. Moments later, he'd seen the driver walking down the street towards him.

This wasn't how people behaved in an estate like this. You didn't park your car at one end of the road and walk to your destination. This place was built for cars. You parked outside your own house or the house you were visiting.

He moved a step or two further back into the darkness, watching the figure approach. The body language wasn't right either. There was an air of wariness about the movement. The gait of someone who wanted to be unobtrusive.

He waited silently as the figure drew level with the house, stopped, looked cautiously around, and made its way down the side of the building to the rear garden.

He watched, wondering what to do. The house was in darkness. She'd probably been exhausted after her disturbed night. Maybe gone back to bed, or fallen asleep in a chair. Either way, she wouldn't be prepared for an intruder.

He stood and watched in the chill night air, as patient as ever in his reconnaissance, listening for any disturbance within the house. Long minutes went by, but he saw nothing. The house remained unilluminated, and it was too dark to discern any movements inside.

When the movement finally came, it almost took him by surprise. He heard a clatter of footsteps up the side of the house, heading towards the street. It was her, running breathlessly towards her car. He watched as she thumbed open the locks, clambered inside and, after an agonised second or two, started the engine. The car sped off, initially unsteadily, towards the main road.

The intruder had reached the car just too late. But she was already gone and the silhouetted figure – his own car parked too far away for any chance of pursuit – was left staring morosely after her.