The truth, p.24
The Truth, page 24
Jason said, ‘I’ve activated it, this morning. It’s a fully-functioning smart card now. It’s linked to your identity.’
Smith regarded it with some suspicion, as if he’d been told it was a little radio-active as well. Then he said, ‘What time? I never felt a thing.’
Now it was the brother’s turn, and Smith felt Jo watching him as Jason launched himself into the techno-sphere – ‘We find these very useful, David. I’ll just explain the basics now and…’
On their way back to the Volvo, they didn’t say much. Jo did offer ‘That went well…’ and Smith agreed that it could have gone worse but only because he’d met them before. In the car, before she started the engine, Jo sat staring forward, both hands on the steering wheel, and said in the same tone of voice, ‘Is she always…?’ and Smith said, ‘Yes.’
Jo – ‘Did I imagine it or did she offer me a job as well?’
Smith – ‘No you didn’t and yes she did. If Layla’s not careful, she’ll find herself on sniffer-dog duty.’
Jo – ‘They’re quite strange people, really.’
Smith – ‘Yes.’
Charlie Hills lived in the same semi on the southern outskirts of Kings Lake as he had when Smith first knew him too many years ago. Jo was driving and he gave her directions, knowing he could have added in details of half a dozen cases associated with different roads and streets along the way. It occurred to him that instead of those ghost tours of towns and cities, he could set up a crime tour of Kings Lake and the Norfolk coast for wealthy American tourists. They’d have to select the ones who understood the British sense of humour, of course, but he had some useful connections; after all, he was in touch with a well-known writer in the same field, for a start and…
The phone symbol on the dashboard lit up and began to blink. Jo said, ‘It’s Chris.’
Smith said, ‘Oh. He doesn’t make social calls in working hours. I wonder what’s up…’
She hadn’t pressed the accept button on the steering wheel yet – her fingers was hovering above it as she said, ‘Still, I think it’s nice you’ve got all these young people as friends.’
He reached across and pushed her finger down onto the flashing phone symbol.
‘DC?’
‘Yes. As you just called me, that cannot come as a surprise. What’s up?’
Waters said, ‘Oh, nothing particularly. How is Jo?’
She answered for herself – ‘I’m fine, Chris – thank you for asking. How’s Miriam?’
‘Yes, she’s good, Jo…’
Smith shook his head just a little. She’s good? He didn’t like to think how far things had slipped semantically in Central since his retirement. When the niceties were complete, he said to Waters, ‘We’re on our way to see Charlie Hills.’ If his erstwhile detective constable was calling in relation to the case, he’d given him an opening. And sure enough…
‘Right, DC. The story’s doing the rounds this morning. Charlie must be over the moon.’
Smith managed to contain his aghastment – no other word came quickly to mind and so he had to invent one. “Over the moon” was what overpaid centre forwards and foreign-sounding football managers said after the game every Saturday afternoon, without fail. Waters was in trouble.
Yes, said Smith, Charlie is delighted. Was that why he had called?
Waters said, ‘No, actually. I was going to ring you tonight. You said to let you know if there were any guitarists appearing at The Blue Note. It seems jazz guitarists are scarce but next Friday, a week tonight, there’s one. He’s a Canadian, touring small UK venues. If you’re interested, I’ll message you the details.’
Smith said yes, he’d like them, and then, ‘So, you were going to ring tonight, but…?’
‘OK, yes. A few minutes ago the DCI stopped at my desk. She knows we’re still in touch. She said that when I was next speaking to you, could I pass on a message? This seemed a bit unusual but I said I would. Have you been in contact with her recently?’
Smith looked at Jo, who had glanced at him when that question was asked – she was waiting to see how he would handle this. He said to Waters, ‘What was the message?’
There was a rustle of paper through the speaker. ‘As I said, DC, I wouldn’t have called straight away but as she gave me this to pass on… Here it is. It’s a bit on the cryptic side.’
‘Go on.’
‘DCI Freeman said to tell you well played, that was the first thing. The second part was just this – there are emails. That’s it. That’s all she said. There are emails.’
Charlie said, ‘He’s upstairs – he still has a few calls to make. He’ll be down shortly. As I was saying, it’s good to meet you at last!’
Jo said the feeling was mutual and that she’d heard lots about him – Charlie, that is – followed by the usual things people say, the usual reactions – not all bad, I hope, and don’t believe everything he tells you! If it comes to that, I’ve got more than a few stories of my own! And then the laughter that eases us past the awkwardness of forming new relationships and unexpected first impressions. Charlie was a little loud, almost too hale and hearty with the relief of it all, and Jo wondered, just as she knew Smith would be wondering. They had sat outside in the car for some minutes and she thought at one point he would decide to go straight back to Drift’s End – that he might even call Freeman. She had persuaded him against both courses of action.
He stood with Charlie’s wife across the lounge, apparently discussing the sausage rolls she was holding on a tray. There were half a dozen other people in the room whom she could only think were family members and close friends – it wasn’t a party, just a small social gathering but they were here to celebrate, nonetheless. The house was open plan and beyond Smith she could see a young mother and two small children – a boy in her arms and a little girl by her side – talking to two more women of her own age. That had to be Emma Hills and Charlie’s two grandchildren.
‘… I don’t think I’ve ever had full credit, you know. I’ve said that to him before…’
Jo waited for the explanation, a puzzled half-smile on her face, still aware that when Anthony appeared back in the room, the first person he would meet would be David.
Charlie said, ‘I passed on the first message between the two of you. You’d rung the station and asked to speak to him. It was me that gave him your number. If I’d forgotten, would we be standing here now?’
She said questions like that one are best left to philosophers and novelists but she liked to think they’d have met anyway, that destiny would have played its hand another way if he had forgotten. Charlie said, ‘Ay, well I’m glad destiny sent him our way a couple of weeks ago. We owe him, and that’s a fact.’
Jo didn’t answer him, and she wondered whether he could read her thoughts – that they owed him indeed and more than they could imagine. When she looked again, Anthony Hills was there.
She saw that David was offered a drink, some of the champagne Charlie had been saving for a special occasion, and she heard him decline, telling them he was driving. Susan Hills said something to Anthony and then moved away, maybe recognising that her son should offer his thanks privately. Just the two of them, then, Anthony saying the words, Smith saying nothing. She, Jo, had seen him angry only a handful of times. When it was something serious, he became very still and quiet. Anthony Hills hadn’t seen it yet – he was still talking, easily, glibly, the way salesmen do. Then he put out a hand as if to clinch the deal, and Smith took it.
The words were too softly spoken for anyone else to hear but Smith said something. The young man’s face altered into uncertainty, and he asked a question, which was answered – the eye-contact between the two of them remained unbroken. Jo glanced at Charlie, who was watching and seeing something quite different going on. Charlie looked back at her and smiled.
Smith said something more and Anthony nodded – Jo saw distinctly the moment when Charlie’s son tried to let go of the hand and could not. Smith seemed to say the same words again. Anthony broke the eye-contact at last – she saw him glance around as if this was a little embarrassing now. And was he almost wincing in pain? Smith’s hands were strong – she knew that much.
Finally, Anthony looked back at Smith and said a single word – she thought it was ‘Yes’ – and Smith let go.
When they got back to Drift’s End, he found a reason to go out on the boat and she let him go, alone. He was gone most of the afternoon, and when she walked Layla along the shingle ridge, she could see across to the estuary where the small red sail was heading back in with the tide – he must have travelled much further than usual, out onto the open sea.
It was later still when she finally asked him. They were sitting on the patio behind the cottage. The sun slants through here from about half past six on a May evening, and the honeysuckle on the trellis was in full bloom, its perfume heavy on the warm, still air. There was a hawk-moth hovering, nectaring at the blossom, an Elephant Hawk-moth he told her; last Christmas she’d bought him a photographic guide to British insects and he was compiling a list of the creatures they had recorded in the garden.
She said, ‘So, what did you say to Anthony Hills?’
The mouth pursed a little as if at a bad taste.
‘Oh, well, after the pleasantries, I said I thought he’d had a very narrow escape.’
Smith was still watching the moth as it danced from flower to flower – she sensed that for reasons of his own, he still didn’t want to look at her directly while this matter was being discussed.
‘Right. What did he have to say to that?’
‘He laughed. To be more precise, he laughed it off.’
‘Really? So then you said?’
‘So then I said, I think you’ve had a very narrow escape.’
‘And you were still shaking hands at this point…’
He said, ‘Yes, in a manner of speaking. At least I was – I can’t speak for the other party involved.’
Layla had spotted the moth. She edged closer and Smith told her to leave it. There were limits, even for the most cossetted dog in Marston.
Jo said, ‘I had the impression he was trying to let go.’
Smith made no response to that, and so she added, ‘What did he say in the end?’
There was a pause – she realised she had never seen him so coldly angry, and it would be costing him something to keep that out of his voice as he answered her questions.
‘He said yes, he had. And then I told him I’d make sure he wouldn’t have another one if anything like it ever happened again. I can’t say we parted on good terms but I think we have an understanding.’
He paused then, before, ‘I said to you, I’d tell Charlie, didn’t I? If I found anything. But…’
Placing a hand on his arm, Jo said, ‘You did. But what good would it do now? I’m sure Anthony has got the message.’
Smith said, ‘What good would it do? It might make me feel better. But it would break Charlie’s heart.’
She left it there, but later, before she went up to bed, Jo said to him, ‘It was unfortunate. You did the right thing in helping Charlie – and for what it’s worth, I’m certain he didn’t know – and having said you’d help, you had to take some things on trust. When we’re not in the job, we’re never going to see all the evidence; I have the same issues sometimes when it comes to writing about a case. Are you certain that DCI wasn’t winding you up a little, just because you’d got the better of them?’
Smith said, ‘Freeman?’ He shook his head and said, ‘No. I hear she’s a lot of things but she’s straight. If she says there’s evidence, there will be.’
Jo said, ‘Even so, you have to wonder at the decision to charge him. If he was involved, if he had some idea what was on the first boat, he was only small fry, wasn’t he? Why put the bigger investigation at risk?’
Smith shrugged and looked at her then – it was something he’d been over a dozen times, no doubt. He said, ‘Perhaps someone at Regional Crimes thought it would be more convincing if they made a few arrests now and then – better cover for their inside man? Or maybe someone was under pressure to get a few runs on the board. Either way, it was a poor decision. Dropping the charges now suggests they’ll try to keep it going but it’s compromised; I know, you know, Christine Archer knows. Even Diver and Diver have some idea what was going on.’
She said, ‘And what are you going to do about them?’
Smith gave that characteristic little shake of the head, as if he was asking the world when it was finally going to learn. Jo said, ‘This was a one-off, David. It wouldn’t happen again. If they call, at least listen to what they have to say. I know I’m fascinating company but it wouldn’t hurt to have another interest occasionally. And I know you’re angry but I still think it’s done you good.’
He hadn’t told her, of course, how close Pierre and the other man had come at the airport – just that he’d pointed out a couple of suspicious characters to the Dutch police before leaving. But she wasn’t wrong. One of the boys he played guitar with on Thursday nights down at The Lifeboat was a folksinger. He had a song by Ralph McTell, the one about sailing around the wild Cape Horn. It says if you want to love your life, you have to flirt with death, sail close to the harnessed wind, and treat all risks with scorn… So, maybe not with scorn, but if the unconsidered life is not worth living, perhaps the same was true for him of a life without risk. Belfast had left its mark on him, in more ways than one.
It was almost midnight. Jo had gone up to bed more than an hour ago. Smith went out onto the bank, Layla at his heels, and stood listening under a sky full of stars. Two oystercatchers conducted a brief musical conversation somewhere out on the mudflats, and it was almost possible to convince oneself one could hear the falling of the tide, the sound of the sea exhaling. And beyond the exhalation, we find peace.
Then he went back inside the cottage and up to his study. Only yesterday he had put the new Alwych back at the end of the line, case closed. He switched on the desk-lamp and looked at the notebook for a moment before taking it out again. Then he sat in the swivel chair and picked up the Waterman’s fountain pen.
He’d write it down, the truth about the Galene and Charlie Hills’ son. There would be a written record. Perhaps the poet had been wrong because the truth isn’t always beautiful, but the alternative is worse, isn’t it? It is the truth that sets us free. In the end, it’s all we can hope for – the truth.
DC Smith/Kings Lake Investigation series
An Accidental Death
But for the Grace
Luck and Judgement
Persons of Interest
In This Bright Future
The Rags of Time
Time and Tide
A Private Investigation
Songbird
On Eden Street
Roxanne
The Truth
Missing Pieces
The Camera Man
Another Girl
The Late Lord Thorpe
Some Sort of Justice
Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek of Peter Grainger’s newest book in the DC Smith/Kings Lake Investigation series, Some Sort of Justice.
ONE
He said, ‘I won’t pretend for a moment it would be straightforward, Cara. But politically there are only two choices. Either Norfolk reinvestigates with a fresh team of its own or the case is handed over to another jurisdiction entirely. The chief constable and the police and crime commissioner have discussed that choice at some length. The final decision has not yet been made but they’ve asked me to suggest who should take on the matter if they decide to go with the first option. That’s why I’m talking to you this morning.’
Harry Alexander’s office was on the fifth floor of the county police headquarters building, and there were only six floors in total – just one more to go, thought Freeman. They knew each other well, of course, and he had mentored her all the way up to her present position as the detective chief inspector who headed the county’s murder squad – indeed, there were some who thought he had created that role for his protégé. She looked at him now, in no hurry to respond, and thought again that he seemed older, that he’d aged within the past few months. She wondered whether he was unwell or whether it was just the job.
It was a spacious office, expensively equipped with first-class furniture and fittings, and a view over open fields – the headquarters had been built just three years ago right on the outskirts of the city, and as yet development had not encroached beyond it. The kind of office for which she herself was probably intended if there really is a grand scheme of things. Everything in her career up to this moment pointed that way. And that, Freeman thought to herself, is somewhat ironic because the case he’s asking me about now is potentially a career-ending one, and he knows it.
Alexander seemed untroubled by her silence, and after allowing it to continue a little longer, he went on, ‘There’s a lot to consider, and I don’t expect an answer this morning…’
Freeman looked at him directly then and he continued, ‘This afternoon will be fine.’
She didn’t need to smile because they understood each other well enough.
‘You said there’s a lot to consider, sir. Such as?’
He leaned back in his leather and chrome swivel chair, making himself comfortable, and she read in that the assumption he’d achieved his first goal, which was to get her interested in the case.
He said, ‘For one thing, it’s already in the public domain. The local media have headlined it, and one or two nationals have taken some notice. That’s not going away – whoever heads the investigation will be dealing with it.’
Freeman said, ‘He was an hereditary peer, wasn’t he?’
Alexander nodded and she went on, ‘Not really surprising, then. What else, sir?’
‘There’s the previous investigation into his death, conducted by Bethel Street. The coroner’s report doesn’t criticise it directly, but… Whoever reinvestigates is not expected to come to any conclusions about how Bethel Street handled it. Nevertheless, some of their officers are now witnesses. They will need to be interviewed. It’s going to require tact but also a certain firmness. I’m sure you know what I mean, Cara.’
