The Outsider, page 2
‘Me and another bloke who came along a bit later. I didn’t think we’d get him back, to be honest with you.’
‘Thanks.’ Den came forward with his hand out and shook mine, clapping me on the shoulder for good measure. ‘You saved his life.’
‘I hope so,’ I said honestly. ‘I hope he’s going to be OK. I didn’t want to intrude on the family, but the receptionist sent me in here. How’s he doing?’
‘He’s got a chance.’ It was Harry Dillon’s turn to shake my hand. He squeezed hard enough to crush the bones together and I just about managed not to wince.
Bruno was still looking at me with a thoroughly unnerving hot-eyed glare, and Carl seemed to be lost in his own world. Juliet jumped up and sashayed across the room. She walked as if she was in high heels though she was wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and trainers.
‘I don’t know how we can thank you, Mark.’ She threw her arms around me and I was enveloped in a cloud of very sweet perfume. A kiss on the cheek left me blinking and slightly sticky.
‘Give it a rest, Juliet.’ Bruno looked even less impressed. ‘What do you want, pal? A reward?’
‘No. Nothing of the sort.’ I reached into my back pocket for the wallet and phone I’d taken out of Geraint’s jacket. ‘I thought he might need these back though.’
Harry gave a low hum of relief and took them out of my hands, turning them over to examine them.
‘We thought they’d been nicked.’ Bruno’s voice was cold.
‘I meant to give them to the paramedics but I didn’t get a chance.’ I had quite deliberately let the paramedics go without them. Before I went to the hospital I’d taken the opportunity to download the phone’s memory to a handy little data stick which was already on its way to my boss. Then I’d gone through the wallet and photographed everything in it, from receipts to the photographs Geraint carried around with him: his wife, his granddaughter, Juliet and her sister Cassie, Carl as a boy. Bruno was conspicuous by his absence and I wondered if he knew that. I’d got full value out of the phone and wallet before I gave them back, and if I’d done my job properly, Geraint would never know.
Harry handed the wallet to Bruno, who weighed it in his hand. ‘Did you help yourself to any money?’
‘No,’ I said calmly, as if it was a reasonable thing to ask. ‘It’s all there.’
‘For God’s sake, Bruno,’ Den said. ‘Don’t be so fucking rude.’
Bruno whipped around to glower at him. ‘Dad carries a lot of cash. It would tempt anyone, let alone someone like him.’
Someone like me. I kept my expression absolutely neutral, amused if anything. Bruno clearly didn’t appreciate my worn jeans and faded T-shirt, or the cheap watch on my wrist, or the battered trainers that were well past their best. Bruno was wearing the kind of watch that will get you mugged in the wrong postcode in London. Everything he was wearing had the buffed perfection and discreet logos that spoke of wealth.
‘I’m sorry about my brother,’ Juliet said, her voice edged with contempt. ‘He has no manners.’
‘It’s fine.’ I shrugged. ‘If I wanted to steal the money I probably wouldn’t have brought the wallet back, though.’
‘He’s got you there, Bruno.’ Harry gave an actual chuckle and Bruno looked crosser than ever.
‘Well, thanks for taking the time out of your day to return it.’ Den was smooth, I thought, and obviously used to being courteous with strangers when Bruno was not.
‘I didn’t have anywhere better to be. I was on my way to a job interview when Mr Carter crashed his car. Once I’d missed that I had nothing to do today.’
‘Are you unemployed?’ Bruno, giving the question roughly the same sort of horrified intonation as if he’d asked me, are you diseased?
‘At the moment. The last few months have been a bit rough since I lost my last job.’ I shook my head as if I didn’t want to talk about it and allowed myself to look faintly troubled. ‘There’ll be other interviews.’
‘Where were you working before?’ Den’s face was open and friendly; this was polite conversation rather than an interrogation. His curiosity suited me down to the ground.
‘I was driving for a company in Swindon. Luxury cars, like Mr Carter’s Mercedes. Weddings and funerals and special occasions.’
‘How did you lose your job?’ Bruno again, presumably hoping for some disgrace that I wouldn’t want to talk about: theft, dishonesty, a brawl, sleeping with the boss’s wife …
‘Usual thing. It was a family business and they had a cousin come over from Pakistan who needed a job.’ The back story was so familiar to me that I hardly had to think about it; we had worked on it for weeks, adding in details that might hook Geraint Carter’s attention. Just because he was out of action, that didn’t mean I couldn’t use it, since I’d been handed the chance. ‘My boss needed to get rid of one of the drivers and I … didn’t fit in the way the others did.’ I tried to laugh. ‘He did give me a good reference, so I should be grateful.’
‘Sounds rough,’ Den said with real sympathy.
‘I should have known. They look after their own.’ It wasn’t quite overt racism but you couldn’t mistake my meaning. If I’d heard someone say that, I’d have felt jarred at the least, but there was no shock on the faces around the room, just nodding. Even Bruno looked marginally less hostile. He flipped open the wallet and pinched a wad of cash. He held it out towards me without counting it.
‘Here. Take this.’
‘No, thank you.’ I took a step back, as if I needed to physically distance myself from the temptation to take it.
‘You earned it.’ Juliet put her arm around her brother. ‘You saved Dad’s life.’
‘That wasn’t why I helped him. I don’t want anything in return.’
‘But you missed your job interview,’ Den said. ‘And you’re unemployed. Won’t that leave you short?’
‘I’ll manage.’ I shoved my hands in my pockets, awkward. ‘If you heard of a job going somewhere you could put in a good word for me. Otherwise …’
Bruno snorted. ‘Do we look like a job centre?’
‘Sorry,’ I said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Juliet took a step away from Bruno, her face troubled. ‘It’s no problem. We can ask around – or Dad might know someone, if he—’
She broke off and bit her lip, remembering that her dad was currently halfway between life and death. I bowed my head.
‘You’re very kind but please, don’t worry. I’ll be off. Give him my best when you see him.’ I turned and got as far as putting my hand on the door when the cloud of perfume swirled around me again.
‘No. Wait. Daddy would want to thank you.’ She blinked the heavy lashes a few times as she started tapping on her phone. ‘Daddy will want to thank you. Give me your number.’
‘There’s no need—’
‘Just do it.’ Harry’s gravelly voice cut me off. ‘She’s right. Her dad will want to get hold of you when he’s back on his feet.’
I took the phone and keyed in the number and my name, then gave it back to her with a smile. She stared into my eyes for a beat and then let her gaze slide down to my mouth.
‘See you round sometime, Mark.’
‘Hope so.’ I said it with just the right amount of feeling in my voice, which was considerably less than I was actually experiencing.
Provided that Geraint didn’t actually die, it had turned out to be a good day after all.
3
When I got back to the flat, I couldn’t help imagining what Bruno would make of it. The best you could say was that it was suitable for someone who had been sacked from a dead-end job, which was how it was supposed to look. It didn’t bother me much to live a bleak life, even though my family had money and I’d grown up in a privileged world. I was uneasy with inherited wealth and had always sheared away from taking advantage of it. I had walked out of my old life to take on this job, leaving without warning, and the few things I’d kept were now in storage. The flat, horrible though it was, counted as my only home at the moment. I told myself that I preferred things to be simple, though I still missed some things: a comfortable sofa, my old colleagues, the king-sized bed I’d shared with my girlfriend, and most of all the girlfriend herself – Maeve.
I only allowed myself to think about her now and then. DC Kerrigan was just another colleague on the same murder investigation squad until I’d fallen for her, hard. I hadn’t thought she would ever feel the same way, and I’d been right about that, because even though she’d been my girlfriend I never felt she was truly mine. She had become the centre of my world. I’d loved her, and wanted to marry her, but every time I’d hinted at it she had backed away. Not ready. Not sure. All I’d succeeded in doing was pushing her away.
I shifted uneasily on the battered sofa, replaying it all in my mind against my better judgement: how I’d loved her to distraction, how I’d thought we would be together forever. And then the gradual realisation that she was holding something back, and I knew she wasn’t even aware of it, but it broke my heart. And I hadn’t given it time, or talked it through with her. I had too much pride. Instead I lost my patience and my temper, and walked away, taking on this new, solitary life, where I had already had two different identities and disrupted two major criminal conspiracies. Most of the time it felt like a good and satisfying substitute for what I’d had.
Most of the time.
You can’t keep what you never had. It was what I thought whenever I wanted to kick myself for what I’d done.
This was my third major investigation, and the toughest, even though the biggest danger so far was dying of boredom. The last few months had tested not my courage but my ability to withstand loneliness and a spartan existence. My boss, Opal, took the view that bank records could give you away, just like phone records, so I lived the part of Mark, unemployed failure. As Mark, I had started off with a small float and got the jobseeker’s allowance I’d have been entitled to had I really lost my job. I had made very little of the unpromising space I’d rented. The flat was in a purpose-built block that dated from the period in the eighties when builders didn’t bother with decent proportions or access to daylight. The narrow living room ended in a cheap kitchen, and both were dingy. The bedroom was just big enough for the bed and a rail for my few clothes. The bathroom was windowless and smelled even though I kept it spotless. The stained couch looked more than usually depressing that evening and the fridge was empty apart from a single bottle of beer.
If I’d taken the money Bruno offered me, I could have had a takeaway.
At least the beer was cold. I sat on the couch and stared at the wall while I drank it, gathering the energy to go out and buy some bread or noodles. I’d eaten more toast in the last few months than ever before in my life. I did make soup or a stew now and then, just to get some vegetables, but it wasn’t healthy, long-term. I was ready for a change. All in all, today’s adventures were looking as if they’d be to my advantage.
Ringing interrupted my thoughts: my phone. Not the one I’d been carrying around all day – the other phone. I grabbed it from its hiding place on top of the kitchen cupboards and answered it without looking to see who was calling. Only one person called me on that phone.
‘You have a lot of explaining to do, young man.’
Opal Gilroy was ten years older than me, if that, but she talked to me as if she was my mum, and fed up with me, and that was at the best of times. This was not the best of times.
‘Boss.’
‘Well?’
‘It wasn’t planned.’
‘I know that. You were doing surveillance to familiarise yourself with the target, not trying to winkle your way into his life. It’s too soon. You’re not ready.’
‘I didn’t have a choice. The man died in front of me. What could I do?’
‘Say a prayer?’
‘Come off it. I had to try to help.’
‘That’s what the training says but I train you to think beyond your training.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘What if they realised who you were?’
‘They didn’t.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘It was a good opportunity to meet the family. I’ll never get a better one.’
‘But that wasn’t the plan.’
‘I had to change the plan.’ I let myself sound amused. ‘Thinking beyond the training, ma’am.’
‘Don’t use my own words against me.’ She sounded marginally less irritated though. ‘All right. I’ll forgive you. Tell me what happened from the start. Where did you pick him up today?’
I described how I’d been following him as he drove across country, hanging well back. I hadn’t been doing much close surveillance in case he started to recognise me. This had been a one-off, motivated more by curiosity than anything concrete.
‘And then he crashed into a tree,’ I finished.
‘What caused it?’
‘If I had to guess, I’d say he had a heart attack, then crashed. There was nothing coming in the other direction and no sign of any interference. I think he passed out and drove off the road.’
‘And you brought him back from the dead.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did you give him the kiss of life?’
‘I did not.’
She chuckled. ‘Never mind. I’ve been on to the hospital and he’s out of surgery. They’re happy with him.’
‘That’s helpful.’
‘Isn’t it? It would have been a lot of work down the drain if he’d died. Who was at the hospital?’
I listed the various members of his family and hangers-on.
‘Must have been strange to meet them.’
‘It was, a bit. There’s a weird family dynamic.’
‘Go on.’ She listened as I told her about Bruno and Den butting heads. ‘Could be useful to us.’
‘Could be.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘I told them I was looking for work.’
‘Did you use the back story we’d agreed?’
‘Yes, and I think it went down well. Hard to tell. No one said anything but after I told them what had happened Bruno tried to give me some money.’
‘Did he? Nice of him.’
‘Well, it was his dad’s.’
‘Everything is his dad’s.’ Opal didn’t have a lot of time for Bruno. ‘What happens now?’
‘Juliet has my number.’
‘And do you think she’ll get in touch?’
‘She will if her dad doesn’t.’
‘Fell for you, did she?’ Opal sounded smug. ‘That’s why I wanted you on this. You’ve got the looks and the charm and the brains to back it up.’
‘It’s not like you to be so nice.’
‘This might be the last time we talk. I need to leave it on a high.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Listen to me.’ Her voice became more serious. ‘You did all right today but this has started something that you can’t control. You have to let it play out at their pace now. I wanted us to choose our moment, but the moment chose us.’
‘That’s probably better though. More natural.’
‘It’s rushed. I don’t like rushing.’ She sighed. ‘From now on you’re on your own, kid. Get in touch when you need to but if I don’t hear from you, I’m going to assume you’re OK. Until the body turns up, that is.’
‘Cheerful,’ I observed.
‘That’s how this works. You have to be careful around these people. Don’t underestimate them. Don’t let your guard drop. If it goes wrong, I probably won’t be able to save you.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’ She hesitated. ‘They’ve killed before, you know. Not one of us, but that wouldn’t stop them.’
‘OK.’
‘So be careful.’
‘I will be.’
I ended the call and sat back on the sofa. There was a half-inch of beer left in the bottle but I didn’t want it. Nor did I feel like going out for food anymore.
Something about what Opal had said – and the way she said it – had made me lose my appetite.
For the first few days I told myself not to expect Geraint to phone me, because he was in hospital recovering from major surgery and a life-threatening accident. For a few days after that, I sat and stared at my phone, willing it to ring, from six in the morning until midnight. I took it with me when I went running, when I went to the shops, when I had a bath. I kept it on the table in cafes and balanced it on my knee in the car so I could feel it vibrating, on the off-chance that I’d switched the ringer off by accident.
It didn’t ring, and it didn’t ring, and after nine days, I gave up. He wasn’t going to call. Juliet had forgotten to pass on my number, or she had tried and got nowhere. Geraint was the kind of man who expected people to do things for him. Saving his life was one step up from washing his car. Why had I expected him to thank me?
I sat on the sofa for endless hours and felt wretched. Now that they knew who I was, I had to wait for them to contact me. I couldn’t think how to engineer another meeting without making them suspicious. I’d had my opportunity in the hospital and I’d blown it. This would be someone else’s job soon, and Opal would find something else for me to do. Paperwork, probably.
Eleven days and five hours after I dragged Geraint Carter out of his car and saved his life, my phone rang. I almost knocked it off the coffee table in my hurry to answer it.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Mark?’ A deep voice, confident, scrubbed so clean of class signifiers that it was impossible to tell where he had come from or how hard that might have been. I should have felt triumphant, or just relieved, but what I felt was cold, all the way down to the pit of my stomach.
‘Speaking.’
‘This is Geraint Carter. You saved my life a couple of weeks ago.’
Forget everything you know about him. Treat him like a stranger.
‘I remember, believe it or not.’
‘I don’t.’
I was surprised into sincere amusement. ‘You weren’t in the best shape to take notice of what was going on.’
