Soft Target (17 page)

'I wish you'd let us know you were coming, Daniel,' Moira said. 'I could have aired your room.'

Shepherd hadn't known he was going to Hereford until the helicopter had landed on the parade-ground in London.

'It's a flying visit, literally,' he said. 'I'm only here for two days and then I'm back to London.'

Shepherd heard Liam shouting in the background. 'Is that Dad?'

'Liam wants to talk to you, as you probably heard,' said Moira.

'Dad, where are you?' Liam asked excitedly.

'On my way to see you,' he said. 'I'll be there in fifteen minutes.'

'Are we going to London?'

'Not yet. Soon, though.'

'But you can stay here for a while?'

'For tonight, at least,' said Shepherd. 'Let me talk to your gran.'

Liam put his grandmother back on the line. 'You don't have to go to any trouble, Moira. I can bunk down at the barracks.'

'Nonsense,' she said briskly. 'You'll spend the night with us and that's the end of it. And you shouldn't be using the phone while you're driving. That's how accidents happen.'

She cut the connection before he could explain that he was using the hands-free kit.

When he pulled up in front of the house, Liam was in the garden, waiting for him. Shepherd picked up his son and swung him round. 'I missed you, kid.'

'Put me down!' squealed Liam.

Shepherd lowered him to the ground and tickled him.

Liam ran giggling into the house and Shepherd chased after him. They stopped short when they saw Moira in the kitchen doorway, her arms folded across her chest. 'No running in the house, Liam,' she said.

'Sorry, Gran.'

'Sorry, Moira,' said Shepherd. He winked at Liam and his son giggled.

'Don't forget your homework,' said Moira.

'Gran . . .'

'It's got to be done. You either do it now or you do it after supper. And I'm sure after supper you'll want to play with your father. Why not pop up to your room and get it out of the way?'

Liam looked up at his father. 'You're staying?'

'Of course.'

Moira took Shepherd into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. 'Just two days, you said?'

'Today and tomorrow. I'll head back to London Thursday evening, but I'll be here at the weekend.'

'And you're doing something with the Regiment?'

Shepherd could hear the suspicion in her voice. She'd never been comfortable with the fact that he was an SAS trooper,

and Shepherd realised she thought he might be planning a return to soldiering. She had no need to worry because that 133 was the farthest thing from his mind. 'Just some technical training,' he said, 'to do with a police job.'

She poured milk into his tea and handed him the cup and saucer. There were no mugs in Moira's house.

She sat down at the kitchen table. 'Tom and I have been talking,' she said, 'about Liam. He's settled in so well with us. The school was prepared to take him on a temporary basis because of the circumstances, but I've already spoken to the headmistress and there's a permanent place for him if we want it. We'd have to move quickly, though, it's a popular school . . .'

'He's my son,' said Shepherd. 'He belongs with me.'

'Of course he does,' she said. 'No one's trying to take him away from you. But he's been with us for most of the past four months, and when you do come it's usually a flying visit. It's not as if your job is nine to five, is it?'

Shepherd opened his mouth to reply but shut it again when he heard a key in the front door. He stood up and smiled when Tom Wintour walked in. 'Dan, good to see you,'

he said. 'I was wondering whose car that was out front.

Where's the CRY?'

'It's a loaner,' said Shepherd. 'The CRV's in London.'

Tom shook hands with him, then dropped his battered leather briefcase under the kitchen table. 'Are you staying?'

he asked, as he sat down at the table next to Moira. He was portly with receding grey hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses. He was a bank manager and looked the part in his dark blue pinstriped suit, starched white shirt and inoffensive tie.

Moira poured him a cup of tea. 'Of course he's staying,'

she said.

'I was going to bunk at the barracks, but Moira insisted,'

said Shepherd.

'You'll be able to have breakfast with Liam,' said Tom. He 134 sipped his tea. 'Did Moira tell you we've been talking about Liam's future?' he said.

'Yes,' said Moira.

'We love having him here,' said Tom. 'There's plenty of room. There's the garden. The school is only ten minutes away.'

'I was telling Daniel about the school,' said Moira.

'I appreciate the offer, Tom, really I do, but I want Liam with me.'

'Absolutely,' said Tom. 'That's where he belongs. But until your situation is a bit more stable, why not let him stay with us?'

'I don't see him enough as it is,' said Shepherd.

'But how is that going to change if you take him back to London and get a housekeeper?' asked Moira.

She and Tom were facing him and Shepherd felt as if he was being grilled in a police interrogation room. He toyed with the idea of refusing to say anything until his lawyer arrived.

'He'll be in the care of a stranger most of the time. The 3 agencies that fix up housekeepers can be a nightmare. Half the time they don't even know the girls they're dealing with.

At least here Liam is with family,' Moira added.

* 'I'm his family,' said Shepherd.

'We're his grandparents, Daniel. We have rights, too.'

Shepherd didn't want to argue with them. He knew they i| only had Liam's best interests at heart. And, besides, they were right. 'I'll make sure I get someone decent,' he said. 'I'll check references and stuff. It'll be fine.'

'And what happens if you're sent away from London?' said Moira. 'Susan said you were away all the time.'

'Not all the time,' said Shepherd, defensively. But, again,

he knew she was right. He could as easily be assigned to a case in Aberdeen as London. And while he was always free 135 to turn down an assignment, he doubted that Hargrove would keep him on the team if he only accepted jobs close to his home. 'Even if the case is outside London, I'll be able to get home at night and at weekends more often than not.'

'Daniel, you've been in Manchester for the past week,' said Moira, patiently.

Shepherd took a deep breath. It would have been easier if his mother-in-law had been shouting at him but she was calm and reasonable, the logic of her argument forcing him into a corner. 'I want to try,' he said. 'If it doesn't work out, I'll rethink my situation. But I was a good father when Sue was alive, and I don't see that I'm going to be a bad one now that she's gone.'

'Nobody's suggesting that,' said Tom. 'We just want the best for your boy.' He sighed and ran his finger around the rim of his cup. 'Have you thought about moving jobs within the force?'

'Pounding a beat, you mean?'

'There are jobs, surely, that would allow you to spend more time at home.'

It was something Sue had raised a few weeks before she'd died. Shepherd had said he'd think about it, but in his heart of hearts he knew he'd never ask for a transfer to a desk job.

He'd given up his army career without hesitation when Sue had become pregnant with Liam. Life in the SAS was dangerous at the best of times and he had narrowly escaped death in Afghanistan after taking a sniper's bullet in the shoulder. But it was only after he'd been recruited into Hargrove's undercover unit that he'd discovered police work could be every bit as dangerous as serving with special forces.

At least when he was in the SAS he had had a pretty good idea of who was going to be taking pot-shots at him. Now that he mixed with the criminal fraternity, he never knew who might decide to stick a knife in his back, both literally 136 and figuratively. It was what gave the job its edge. There were times when it was considerably more stressful than going into battle with men you trusted with your life. But he couldn't tell Tom and Moira that. He always downplayed his police work with them, as he had with Sue.

'I can't be stuck in an office,' said Shepherd, and immediately regretted the words - that was exactly where Tom Wintour had been for the past thirty years. 'I need to be out and about...' he added. Tom was a good man and had done a sterling job in raising Sue and taking care of Moira. While it wasn't a life that Shepherd could have lived, he respected the man as a good father and husband.'. . . there are fewer perks when you're office-bound. I get travelling expenses,

overnight expenses, lots of overtime. It makes a big difference to my pay cheque.'

'Money isn't everything, Daniel,' said Moira.

Shepherd forced himself to smile. 'No, but it'll make our life easier,' he said.

'Just think about it,' said Tom. 'He'd have stability here,

and he wouldn't have the problems you get in inner-city schools these days.'

'What problems?' asked Shepherd. 'I live in Ealing.'

'Oh, come on, Daniel, we read the papers,' said Moira.

'« 'Drugs, shootings, classrooms full of asylum-seekers.'

'You don't want to believe everything you read in the Daily MaiV a 'It's not about what paper we read,' said Moira. 'It's about the quality of education. The schools in London, the state ones anyway, are dire, and you can't argue with that.'

'Liam's school is fine,' said Shepherd. 'Sue went to a great deal of trouble to make sure we were in the right catchment area. Anyway, it's not about schools. I'll send him private if I have to. It's about my son being with me, and I'm sorry,

but that's not negotiable.' His stomach was churning and his 137 heart pounding. 'I don't want to fight, I really don't.'

Tom smiled sympathetically. 'It's not a fight, it's a discussion about what's best for Liam.'

'I know,' said Shepherd.

'Let's just leave it for the moment, shall we? You're here,

Liam's here. Moira can cook us some supper and I'll open a bottle of wine.'

'Maybe I'll go and help Liam with his homework.'

'Good idea,' said Tom. 'Red or white?'

'Whatever you're having is fine,' said Shepherd. He saw Moira and Tom exchange a worried look as he left the kitchen. Despite Tom's conciliatory words he knew that there had been only a temporary cessation in hostilities. The war would continue.

Sewell flicked through the TV channels. Comedy shows,

gardening, a quiz hosted by an effeminate comic. A leaflet on top of the TV explained how to access the paid-for system. A dozen new-release movies were on offer, with four pornographic films. The hotel charged ten pounds each,

but Sewell decided that the police could pay for an orgasm or two. At the bottom of the leaflet a brief note informed guests that the hotel was equipped with wi-fi, allowing guests to access the Internet without connecting through a phone line.

'Thank God for four-star hotels,' muttered Sewell. He sat down at the dressing-table, opened the laptop and tapped his fingers impatiently as the computer booted up. He flicked the wi-fi switch and waited while the machine searched for a frequency to lock on to. A bubble appeared at the bottom right of the screen, wireless connection available. Sewell was online.

He launched Outlook Express and waited as more than forty emails dropped into his inbox. There were a dozen 138 from contacts on the dating service he'd joined. He didn't bother reading them. Most of the rest were junk, offering everything from penile extensions to American university degrees. There were a dozen emails from clients and four from people at work. Nothing from Hendrickson, of course.

Sewell cursed under his breath. He was looking forward to sitting in court the day Hendrickson was sentenced. Fifteen years to life, Hargrove had said. Sewell intended to give Hendrickson a piece of his mind before they took him away.

There were two emails from clients he often played golf with, asking why he hadn't turned up on Saturday, and one from his stockbroker, tipping a couple of shares. Nothing urgent.

He closed Outlook Express and opened Internet Explorer.

He was able to access his two personal bank accounts online and checked them both. There had been no withdrawals, but Sewell hadn't expected to see any. There was no way Hendrickson could access them, even if Sewell was declared dead. It was the office accounts he was worried about, but he couldn't get to them online.

He went to the company website and logged on, typing his user ID and password. Nothing much had changed since he'd been in the office. A few more orders had been placed.

He went through to the accounts section and flicked through it. Everything was as it should have been. But Sewell was worried about the company bank accounts. He sat back and chewed his lower lip. He hated not knowing what Hendrickson was doing.

He closed Internet Explorer and opened Outlook Express again. He wrote an email to John Garden, swearing the lawyer to secrecy and asking him to check the status of the company bank accounts. Garden ran the company's legal department as well as acting as Sewell's private legal adviser and had been with him even before he'd set up the company. Sewell 139 hesitated before he sent the email. The superintendent had been unequivocal about him not making contact with anybody until Hendrickson was in custody. 'So sue me for not obeying your every word,' Sewell said, and pressed send.

Shepherd tucked the quilt under Liam's chin. 'Good night,

sleep tight, hope the bedbugs don't bite,' he said, and kissed his son on the forehead.

'Will you be here tomorrow?' asked Liam, sleepily.

'Sure. I'll have breakfast with you and drive you to school.'

'And will you pick me up?'

'I'll try,' said Shepherd. 'I've some work to do at the barracks. Some training.'

'Secret Squirrel?'

Shepherd laughed. 'Yes. Secret Squirrel.'

'Are you going back in the army?'

'Definitely not.'

'So you're going back to London?'

'In a day or two.'

'Can I come with you?'

'I've got to get us an au pair fixed up first, but as soon as I've done that you can be back in your old room.'