Resolutions (22 page)

‘We'll come and get you,' Rina said stoutly. ‘Fitch is still here and he has a vehicle. We can be there by . . .' She looked at Fitch.

‘Somewhere around midday if we leave now.'

‘Somewhere around midday. Now, don't you worry, we'll soon be there and everything will be fine.' She could feel Miriam wanting to ask about the knife block, but could think of no way of letting her know that Tim and Joy had done their stuff without incriminating them. In the end she said simply, ‘Tell Mac we all send our love, especially Tim and Joy. They've been really worried about the stress he must be under.'

‘Thank you, Rina,' Miriam said. ‘I'm truly grateful.'

‘We have a vehicle here,' Rina said firmly. ‘We may as well make use of it.'

‘Right,' Rina said firmly. ‘I'll get my shoes and write a note for Steven. He and Matthew will have to get breakfast this morning. You get on to Abe Jackson and tell him what we're doing. I want to know where Karen Parker has got to. Poor George was very upset by her behaviour yesterday; I want to know what else she's up to. And later we'll call Joy and Tim, and they can meet George out of school and find out if Karen told him anything useful.'

Fitch nodded. ‘Right you are,' he said. ‘Rina, do you think Mac may have . . .'

‘Killed Peel? No, I don't. Oh, I've no doubt, given the right circumstances, he may well have been tempted, maybe even capable, but if Miriam says he didn't do it, then I believe her. If she says there was a third person on that beach, then I believe that too.'

‘Looks like we may be the only ones,' Fitch said gravely.

‘Then we'll have to help him convince everyone else, won't we?' Rina said.

Karen stood in the basement where Thomas Peel had briefly held Miriam Hastings prisoner, and felt both satisfaction and disappointment. This house was hers now, part of a deal that had nothing to do with killing Peel. That act had been a bonus, both for her and her current employer. Peel was an irritation to many – a blackmailer, a cheat, someone who had been protected only because he had information that could make trouble for certain business rivals his protectors had, and which had, for a while, made him useful. But, as Peel of all people should have known, usefulness can be outlived, and when Karen had asked for him as part-payment for other work she had undertaken, no questions had been asked. She'd then seen the safe house he'd been using and decided she'd like that as well. It was as close to perfect as she could imagine.

The trouble was that her pleasure at the acquisition was diminished by George's refusal to join her. She'd had such hopes. It would be like it used to be, only better. All of the pleasure and none of the pain.

Karen knew that her relationship with her younger brother was much closer than most sibling relationships, and that was because they'd both had to grow up so fast and take so much responsibility. Childhood had simply not been an option for Karen; she had done what she could to make it possible for George to have a semblance of one. And now she felt betrayed, abandoned and very angry, not with George but with just about everyone else. It pleased her immensely that Mac would take the blame for Thomas Peel's death. Maybe George would think him less of a hero. George seemed to think that taking life diminished Karen; why would Mac be viewed in such a different light?

Karen did not try and justify what she did. She wasn't some righteous vigilante, ridding the world of those who afflicted the innocent. Those she had rid the world of were no better or worse than those who paid for her to do so. They were, in Karen's view, mostly vermin, mainly unimaginative, generally driven by pure self-interest, but Karen understood their type and their motivations and was perfectly at ease with the implications. She earned her money using her skills. End of story. And if someone should raise the question of her only being twenty years of age, she would point them in the direction of the frontline troops currently serving in Her Majesty's forces. There were snipers her age, doing what they had a talent for and being paid a darn sight less for it than she was. That, as far as she could see, was the only difference between her and them. Oh, and the fact that she wasn't restricted by the need to kill at a distance, a fact to which the dead body of Thomas Peel, among others, could now testify.

George would come round, she thought. Just give him time. Just let him realize that everyone in the world except for Karen would let him down.

She took the pictures of the children from the basement wall, stacking them and then, leaving the basement, taking them upstairs. In the dining room, overlooking the small but pretty garden, was a wood burner, lit and ready and throwing out welcome heat. She opened the door, dropped the photographs on to the glow of wood and coal, and watched them curl and burn.

Pity, she thought, that all memories, all trace, all difficulties could not be disposed of in that same way: burnt to ash, transformed into heat and light and comfort, gone in a small blast of purple flame.

TWENTY-SEVEN

P
insent was not ready for the arrival of Rina Martin. She had spoken to Miriam twice more on their journey and, by the time she walked into reception at Pinsent police HQ, had worked herself up into a most vengeful mood. Miriam was waiting for them there, clearly upset. Her face, now the bruising and scabbing had had time to develop, looked even worse than it had the night before.

Rina hugged her, then held her back at arm's length and surveyed the damage. ‘What on earth are you wearing?' she demanded.

Miriam was nonplussed. ‘Trace evidence,' she said. ‘They took my clothes. Someone found me some trackie bottoms, and I borrowed a jumper from Alec. I'd got blood on my coat.'

Alec's jumper was dark blue and hung almost to Miriam's knees. The red tracksuit bottoms must have belonged to someone very tall with a love of loud colours, Rina thought. On Miriam's feet, half-hidden by rolled-up trouser legs, were bright pink socks and a pair of the blue waterproof covers she would normally have worn at a crime scene.

‘You need some cream for that face. Come here; let me see what I have in my bag.' Suiting action to words, Rina rummaged and brought forth a pot of calendula cream. ‘Here, let me.'

Looking like a child dressed up in her parents' clothes, Miriam stood obediently as Rina applied cream and affection in equal quantities, tutting all the while and muttering her displeasure.

Fitch saw the desk sergeant glance uneasily their way. He'd seen that look before when Rina was in moods like this. He decided to divert her.

‘What's going on?' he asked as gently as he could. ‘Is Mac all right?'

‘You must be Fitch,' Miriam said. ‘Thanks for coming. I didn't know what I was going to do.'

She hadn't cried yet, but she did now, breaking down completely and allowing Rina to draw her into a comforting, motherly hug and then to dry her eyes and tell her to blow her nose on a proffered tissue.

‘Don't we have somewhere private we can go?' she demanded. ‘And I want to see Inspector McGregor.'

‘I'm sorry, you can't do that right now.' The desk sergeant eyed Rina and then Fitch with considerable suspicion. Fitch was used to that, but he could see it riled Rina. Not a good thing to rile Rina.

‘And why can't I see him?'

‘Inspector McGregor is not available,' she was told. ‘He's with DCI Wildman. I don't know any more than that.'

Fitch intervened again. ‘There's a café across the road,' he said. ‘Rina, I could do with a coffee, a bite to eat, and I'll bet Miriam could do with a break from this place.'

‘But I can't leave Mac,' Miriam said.

Fitch took a business card from his pocket and laid it on the counter. The desk sergeant picked it up. To Rina's surprise, it was very expensive-looking: cream card, embossed, neat black lettering. ‘My mobile number is on there,' he said. ‘If Mac becomes available, we'd be grateful of a bell, all right?'

The sound of Fitch trying his best to be polite and businesslike, and still sounding like some 1950s gangster, caused Rina to smile and the desk sergeant to drop the card back on to the counter as though it might nip his fingers.

‘I'll see what I can do,' he said. ‘But you may be waiting a while.'

Across the road, Fitch settled the ladies in a corner and went to the counter with an order for tea and whatever looked edible. Miriam had been given a sandwich at some unearthly hour of the night, but she had been too upset to eat; she had not eaten since breakfast the day before. ‘Oh, and a chocolate cream,' she told Rina.

‘A what?'

Miriam half-smiled. ‘Peel took me to a basement. I woke up and there was a water jug and a chocolate bar. My favourite kind. Rina, he knew what chocolate I liked.'

Rina patted her hand. ‘He knew a lot about both of you,' she said. ‘But it's over now, sweetheart. He's gone.'

‘And Mac is going to get the blame.'

‘No, he's not.'

‘Tim?'

‘Did as you asked. No more questions about that. It didn't happen. Now, tell me what's been going on, as much detail as you can; we need all the ammunition we can get.'

Miriam had been unable to speak with Mac. She had been questioned, asked to make another statement, pressured by Wildman to say that Mac had been lying.

‘There was someone else there,' Miriam insisted. ‘I kept telling them. Peel was attacked from behind. I could see Mac all the time, but they're insisting that I'm lying just to protect him.'

‘What do they say must have happened?' Rina queried. ‘Miriam, just try to be calm and tell me. I've got thinking to do.'

Miriam nodded.

Fitch returned with a tray of tea and news that lunch was on its way. ‘Bacon and sausage baps,' he said. ‘I got a mix 'cos I didn't know what you'd prefer.' A thought struck him. ‘You're not a veggie, are you?'

‘No,' she laughed through tears that threatened to start again. ‘I am hungry, though,' she said, wondering at that.

‘Good, because we need you thinking straight,' Rina said. ‘Now drink your tea and tell me everything you can remember. Then we'll go back over the road and sit there until they let us talk to Mac.'

They returned to the reception area to find Alec Friedman talking to a young couple who held hands tightly and looked as pale and battered as Miriam.

Alec and Rina had not met, but the desk sergeant had told him about the old lady and the bouncer, shown him Fitch's card, and Alec had guessed who she must be.

He left the young couple, came over with his hand outstretched. ‘Mrs Martin? I'm Alec, a friend of Mac's.'

Rina shook hands. ‘This is Fitch,' she said.

‘Mr Fitch,' Alec turned to greet him.

‘No, just Fitch.'

‘Right. OK.' Alec let it pass. ‘Can I introduce you to Emily and Calum? Emily is, or was . . .'

‘Thomas Peel's child,' Rina said quietly. ‘Mac told me a lot about you, my dear. This must be a terrible time.'

‘They're saying Mac killed my father,' Emily said. ‘Mrs Martin, I almost wish he had, but Mac wouldn't. It's not in him.'

‘Of course it isn't,' Miriam said. ‘I keep telling them there was someone else, but no one is bloody listening.'

‘I'm listening,' Rina said.

‘I know, but . . . you know what I mean.'

Alec sighed. ‘Look,' he said. ‘I can show you to somewhere you can all talk.' It was irregular, he knew, but then so was a group of five would-be defending counsels having a case conference in the reception area. ‘I'll have a word with DCI Wildman, see if he can come down and have a chat. Please, come on through.'

He opened a door off the main reception area and ushered them all inside. It was a room kept for waiting relatives or for anyone needing a quick, private word. It was small and cramped, but just now it was the best he could do.

Rina nodded her thanks. ‘I'd like to speak with whoever is in charge,' she said.

‘I'll tell Inspector Wildman,' Alec said and retreated to the safety of the briefing room.

Rina made the introductions and surveyed the little group thoughtfully. ‘Now,' she said, ‘we'd better talk, find out what each of us knows and see how best to get Mac out of this mess.'

Three fifteen, and Tim and Joy waited outside the school George and Ursula attended, watching kids fight for places on the school buses and parents double-park on zigzag lines before grabbing their offspring and bundling them into waiting cars.

‘What if they get on a bus?' Joy said.

‘They don't; they go down into town and meet the minibus there. It has to pick up the younger ones first.'

‘OK.' She grinned at him. ‘Don't they all look young? I was never as young as that.'

‘She says from her ancient position of just turned twenty. If you think they all look young, imagine how I feel.'

‘Cradle-snatcher,' she teased.

‘Don't,' Tim said seriously. ‘Really, don't.'

Joy, disturbed by the sudden serious note, looked up at him in concern. ‘Sorry,' she said. ‘I didn't mean anything.'

‘No, I know. I just worry what people think.'

‘The people who matter are happy about it. Mum thinks the world of you.'

‘Bridie thinks the world of Rina. She figures I come as part of the package.'

Joy laughed. ‘You really think that? Tim, you may have noticed that my mother is as ready as Rina when it comes to speaking her mind. If she disapproved, you'd know about it. She loves Rina; she approves of you. She thinks you're sophisticated.'