Written in Blood (27 page)

‘I know we haven’t had much of a chance to discuss this,’ she went on. ‘But events have taken over.’

You can say that again.

‘It’s a big step,’ Mariner said, lamely.

‘Sometimes life is about big steps. Another word for it is commitment. I thought we both wanted the same.’

‘Things change.’

Despite their physical closeness Mariner could feel a gulf opening up between them. He’d had the feeling for some time that he was standing in a boat that drifted further and further from where she stood on the shore. Already the landscape around him had changed significantly and soon he would drift so far away from her that none of it would be the same as hers. What he’d failed to realise that was Anna was in her own boat drifting in the opposite direction, and her landscape was changing too. There were oars in the bottom of the boat and with a bit of effort he could have locked them and rowed back to meet her halfway, but each time he had that chance something stopped him.

There seemed nothing more to say. Turning back to the TV, Mariner turned the sound back on and resumed watching the film. Undeterred, Anna snuggled closer. ‘Jamie’s crashed out. Why don’t you come and join me?’

‘I want to watch the end of this.’ He must have seen the film at least four times and could practically recite the dialogue, but she didn’t point that out. Maybe she recognised his fear.

 

Next morning, as penance, Mariner left Anna sleeping in and got Jamie up and dressed before driving him to the day centre. From there he went to Granville Lane. Walking in to the building the warmth hit him like a solid wall. ‘They’ve finally got the heating to work properly,’ Ella grinned. In CID Tony Knox was behind his desk, a welcome sight. ‘It’s Coleman’s last week. I wanted to be here.’ He cast a dazed look over the stack of files. ‘I’ve a mass of paperwork but I can’t settle to anything.’ He unbuttoned his shirt cuff and rolled up a sleeve. ‘And this bloody heat doesn’t help. It’s like being in a sauna.’

‘Give it a chance.’ Mariner was staring at a row of deep scratch marks on Knox’s arm. ‘What happened there?’

Knox blushed, pulling his sleeve down again to cover the marks. ‘I was cutting back some stuff in the garden,’ he said, which was strange because Mariner had never known him to garden.

As arranged, one of the first things Mariner did from his own work station was to call the garage about his car.

‘It’s all set,’ Carl told him. ‘You can collect it whenever you’re ready.’

Mariner went back to Tony Knox. ‘Want to get out of here for twenty minutes?’

‘Sure.’

‘You can give me a lift to the garage.’

Knox waited on the forecourt while Mariner went inside to settle up.

‘You were right about the brake cable,’ Carl said, rooting around under the counter in his shabby little office.

‘Time to start looking for a new car?’ It was the last thing Mariner wanted to embark on right now.

But, as he finally produced the curved tube he’d been looking for, Carl shook his head. ‘It wasn’t wear and tear,’ he said. ‘It looks more like a cut.’ And as they both examined the clean straight incision in the toughened plastic, the feeling that Mariner had kept at bay for several days slithered back over him like a chill fog. He emerged from the garage office still clutching the tube and trying to remain calm, but apparently not succeeding.

‘What’s going on?’ Knox demanded.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s fine.’ And for now Knox seemed to have enough on his own mind to let it lie.

But Mariner needed an explanation. The spilled brake fluid was on the car park at Tally Ho, so again the most obvious culprits were the Harlesden plods. But a tracking device was one thing, sabotage was in a different league. Tampering with the brakes might endanger Mariner’s life, but it would also put at risk the lives of innocent bystanders. Surely it was too reckless an act for men who would have often seen the resulting mayhem from such pranks.

No, there was someone else who would be much more likely to take that chance without considering the full consequences. Mariner had to face the possibility that Rupert Foster-Young might know about him. When Foster-Young was applying the pressure, either by accident or by design Ryland must have told him about Mariner’s existence. He might even have used Mariner’s job as a counter-threat, and with enough information Rupert Foster-Young would have had little difficulty in tracking him down. Mariner thought back to that curious feeling he’d had since before Christmas of being followed. Perhaps it hadn’t been his imagination after all.

Back at Granville Lane Mariner phoned Chapel Wood prison. ‘I’d like some information about a former inmate; Rupert Foster-Young.’ Mariner gave the details.

The receptionist at the other end was understandably cautious. ‘I’ll need to check your credentials and call you back.’

‘Of course.’ It was routine procedure. Information couldn’t be given out to just anyone, but it did nothing to curb Mariner’s impatience.

As he waited, Mariner’s phone rang. ‘Mr and Mrs Evans are here to see you,’ said Ella.

This time he had no trouble recalling. ‘They’re here?’ He felt a breathtaking rush of adrenalin.

‘They’ve been having trouble getting you on the phone,’ said Ella generously.

‘I’ve been busy.’

Ella’s tone was placatory. ‘They understand that. They just want to speak to you, sir.’

Mariner had, for a split second, seriously thought about asking Ella to lie for him again. But she was right. This was about them, not him, and it was something he’d eventually have to face. Best to get it over with. He went down to the interview room where Ella had taken them and they stood as he went in. ‘Mr and Mrs Evans?’ he stepped forward to shake hands. ‘Please, sit down.’

‘No, we won’t keep you.’ It was Mr Evans who spoke. ‘We know how busy you are. But we just wanted to thank you personally for what you did.’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Mariner said, wanting to curl up with guilt.

‘Oh yes you did,’ blurted out Mrs Evans. Looking at her for the first time Mariner could see where their daughter had inherited her big blue eyes. ‘We spoke to another of the rescuers, a fireman. He said that you talked to Chloe constantly, all the time you were trying to dig her out. You let her know that someone was there and that she wasn’t abandoned. You kept talking to her even after . . .’ She faltered, took a trembling breath, as tears traced patterns down her face. ‘It means so much to us, knowing that she didn’t die alone.’

‘I only did what anyone else would have done,’ said Mariner, swallowing a wave of emotion.

‘Have you got children of your own?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ She looked genuinely surprised. ‘I was so sure that you must have. You knew exactly what to do.’

Without warning she stepped forward, grasped Mariner’s arms and pulled him to her. After the clumsy, desperate embrace they thanked him again, and went back to their private hell. The encounter left Mariner feeling weak and sick. What if he and Anna did have children? How could he bear to go through what they had endured? How could anyone?

At Chapel Wood, Mariner’s credentials had apparently been deemed up to scratch. There was a message on his desk inviting him to call back.

‘Rupert Foster-Young got parole,’ the prison administrator told him. ‘He was released eighteen months ago, April fourth.’ It would have given him plenty of time to approach Ryland in person and set up the blackmail operation.

‘Could you give me details of his parole officer?’

‘May I ask why sir?’

‘I just want to rule out a link with a triple murder.’

Charlie Glover, hovering in the doorway, looked on with interest.

‘Just laying it on a bit thick,’ Mariner said, for his benefit, as he replaced the phone. ‘Follow-up on a case from a while back.’

Glover seemed to swallow it.

‘How’s it going with our Albanian friend?’ Mariner asked.

Glover shook his head. ‘It’s what I came to say. We’ve heard nothing yet. The ICPS is taking for ever.’

‘I’ll talk to Coleman.’

Mariner was in demand. This time when the phone rang, it was Dave Flynn. ‘I’ve got your DNA results. I’m about to put them in the post to you.’

‘There’s no need,’ Mariner said, a plan taking shape. ‘I can come and collect them in person if you like. I’ll be back in London tomorrow.’

‘You’re coming down for the inquests?’

Until then it hadn’t crossed Mariner’s mind, but if the timing was right . . . ‘Officially I’m chasing up the extradition of our Albanian, but if I get the chance to stop by, I will. When are they?’

‘Wednesday, ten thirty, Westminster Coroner’s Court, Horseferry Road.’

‘Cheers. I’ll see you there.’ Mariner was about to hang up but Flynn stopped him.

‘Tom, wait. The DNA result wasn’t the only thing I called about. Eleanor Ryland is dead.’

 

 

‘What?’ For several seconds Mariner relived the moment he’d been told about his mother’s death, that sudden sense of distorted perspective, when everything around him faded to into the background. He and Eleanor had only just been getting to know one another and now she was gone. Mariner felt numb. Someone, it seemed, was scattering poison over every branch of his family and systematically destroying it. A sixth sense told him this wasn’t natural causes. ‘How?’ he wanted to know.

‘Someone got into her house and knocked her about a bit. It probably didn’t take much.’

He should have insisted on that alarm. ‘When did this happen?’

‘They think sometime Saturday afternoon or evening. She’d been there a couple of days. The gardener found her when he turned up for work on Monday morning.’

‘I was there that afternoon,’ said Mariner, dully. If only he’d taken up her invitation and stayed longer.

‘You may have been one of the last people to see her alive. Thames Valley police want to talk to you as a significant witness.’

‘How do they know I was there?’

‘The journalist you spoke to remembered it.’

‘I didn’t speak to any journalists.’

Mariner went to see Jack Coleman. ‘We seem to have reached a sticking point with the Albanian. How about I go down to the CPS and see where they’re up to, apply a little gentle pressure if necessary.’

‘Can you do it tactfully?’ Coleman was remembering his retirement celebration.

‘You know me.’

Coleman gave him a curious look. ‘I thought I did.’

Mariner decided to keep the conversation with Flynn to himself for now. It would be news soon enough, but there was no reason for anyone to make the connection with him.

 

Anna was cooking dinner when he arrived home that evening, but she left what she was doing to come and hug him. ‘Good news,’ she said. ‘I’ve got Jamie into Manor Park for a night’s respite. I thought it would give us time to talk - and anything else we feel like doing.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Tomorrow.’

Mariner was torn, he really was. ‘I’ve got to go down to London in the morning. Follow up on an extradition. The Albanian.’

She was crestfallen. ‘I thought that was Charlie Glover’s case.’

‘Coleman wants a more senior officer down there.’ Extending the truth again. He’d be able to put it on his CV soon.

‘How long will it take?’

‘Might be a couple of days.’

‘Oh great.’ Breaking from him, she resumed preparing their meal and Mariner turned to go. ‘You’ll be back for the appointment I trust?’

For several long seconds Mariner mentally floundered, trying to work out what she was talking about.

‘With the genetic counsellor,’ she said eventually, exasperated by his ignorance.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Only you were the one who wanted it.’

‘I did. I do. Look I’m sorry about London. It’s just bad luck. And Jamie was pretty good last night.’

But tonight was different. Jamie refused to go to sleep and as the night progressed they got more and more irritable with each other. Finally Anna was reduced to her usual tactic of sitting on her brother’s bed to persuade him to stay there and Mariner went to bed alone. He woke up at three fifteen. There was a light on downstairs and he could hear movement. Panicking, he got out of bed and crept down the stairs. Anna was filling the kettle.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘What does it look like? Now Jamie’s finally gone off, I’m wide awake.’

‘I thought we had intruders.’

Anna dropped her gaze to his boxers and a sly smile crept over her face. She giggled; a magical sound that he hadn’t heard for way too long. ‘And you were going to ward them off with that?’

‘All revved up and no place to go,’ said Mariner wryly. ‘But since we’re both awake now—’

Through her fatigue she managed to be incredulous. ‘You had really better be joking!’

‘Can’t blame a man for trying. Come here.’ He held out his arms and she walked into them collapsing, exhausted, against him. Moments later her mouth was locked over his and she was pushing down his shorts. Wrapping her legs around him, Mariner was poised to consummate when, over her shoulder, like a spectre of the night, Jamie appeared in the doorway. ‘Fuck!’ said Mariner.

‘Tom!’ Anna slapped him between the shoulder blades.

‘Fuck,’ repeated Jamie. ‘Want a drink now.’

By five in the morning when sleep still wouldn’t come and while it was still pitch black outside, Mariner got up.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I may as well go.’

 

Feeling like a seasoned commuter Mariner travelled down to London on the train again and went straight to the International CPS. He was there by mid-morning and caught them out.

‘We’re snowed under,’ the clerk confessed. ‘Haven’t had a chance to look through all your paperwork yet. Can you call back a little later and I can tell you where we’re up to?’