Beneath the Ashes Page 11
He didn’t answer. Drove back in the direction of Stratford.
For a day they hadn’t been in touch, both too stubborn to break down the barriers. When he started texting, he didn’t mention his mother and that only served to irritate her even more so she ignored him. Three days later he’d turned up on her doorstep.
She’d made them both tea. He sat in the lounge, apologised and told her that he wanted them to be together. To have no secrets. He hadn’t had a relationship in a long time and she needed to bear with him. But he did tell her that his mother was called Audrey and she lived in Northampton. Their relationship was complicated but he promised to take Nancy to meet her when the farm settled down for the winter. Nancy could relate to complicated. Her upbringing certainly wasn’t textbook.
At the time, that day had felt like a pivotal moment in their relationship. She remembered it clearly, it was the only time he ever stepped foot into her bedroom. They’d made love passionately, more deeply than before. It was as if they’d passed a new hurdle and their relationship had elevated to a new level. Although, when she thought of it now, he hadn’t mentioned his mother again. And there never seemed the right moment for her to raise the issue.
Nancy swallowed as she stared back at the detective. “He was quite private.”
“So you never asked him about his background, old relationships, that sort of thing?”
“I did ask. A few times. But it just seemed to make him sad. Evan was deep. I thought he’d tell me in his own time.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jackman clicked off the screen and swivelled his chair. Janus had returned to Stratford shortly after her meeting that morning, motivated by the assistant chief constable’s keen interest in the case. The press were circling. It was only a matter of time before the discovery of the cannabis was made public.
“Do you think she’s being deliberately mysterious?” Janus asked. She was perched on the edge of a desk, peering across at him over the top of her glasses. They’d been watching Nancy’s interview, listening to her answers, focusing on her body language for any signs of latent guilt.
“It’s possible. She speaks coherently, yet she still claims to have no knowledge of what happened on Sunday. Difficult to tell if she genuinely can’t remember, or if she’s covering something up. We’ve been through her phone records, bank statements. She has a few credit card debts, but nothing of any significance. The CSIs found some money in the farmhouse, presumably dirty drug money, so she hasn’t done much digging.”
“Maybe he had an affair and she found out?”
“We’ve nothing to suggest anything like that at the moment. Witnesses who have seen them over the past few weeks have said they looked close, happy. We are struggling to get much on him though. It seems he didn’t like to form close associations, kept himself to himself.”
“Which is pretty much what Nancy said. Understandable if you are living under a false identity. You wouldn’t seek to draw attention to yourself.”
Jackman’s laptop bleeped, indicating a new email. He leant across and clicked it open. “That’s interesting,” he said.
“What?”
“Mike Clarke has received some intelligence that might help us. Too long to share on email apparently, he’s on his way over from Leamington.”
“Thank God for that. Let’s hope it’s good. With the assistant chief constable breathing down my neck, I could really do with some news. And soon.”
***
Nancy closed the door behind her. It was good to be back in the privacy of her flat, away from the police station’s cameras watching her every move. She checked her phone. Another message from Ryan and a missed call. She ignored them both.
She made her way into the lounge, switched on the television and slumped onto the sofa. The man on the screen was stood outside the front of a terraced house talking about rendering. Nancy loved home renovation programmes. She usually watched them on her days off, enjoying seeing how peoples’ homes were transformed. But today she stared at the screen blankly. Time passed by. All of sudden she was watching the end credits and became aware that she hadn’t actually seen any of the programme.
A key turned in the lock, footfalls on carpet. Becca’s face appeared around the doorframe, “Hey.”
Nancy managed a weak smile.
“How’re you doing?”
“Did you give Ryan my number?”
Becca rolled her eyes. “Don’t be angry. He’s only trying to help. Anyway…” She held up the bag in her hand. “I’ve brought you McDonald’s, chicken nuggets and chips. Your favourite!”
The sweet gesture brought fresh tears to Nancy’s eyes. She blinked them back. “You don’t like McDonald’s.”
“I’m having a chicken sandwich. Come on, we can share the milkshake.”
Becca pulled out the coffee table and began arranging the food.
Nancy didn’t feel like eating at all. She forced herself to look interested. “Thanks.”
“What are you watching?”
“Nothing much.” A presenter with a huge smile filled the screen, talking about people seeking a new home in the country.
“Oh, I love this.” Becca sat down next to her, unwrapping her sandwich.
They ate in silence, eyes fixed on the screen. When she’d finished, Becca screwed up the paper, put it back in the bag and sucked on her milkshake. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
Nancy poked the last few chips in the bottom of the carton. “Awful. Angry. Numb. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Becca pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry.”
“I wish people would stop apologising.”
“Sorry.”
Nancy gave her a hard stare and they both smiled.
“Any post?” Becca asked, staring towards the door.
Nancy thought about the note this morning, opened her mouth to tell Becca, but at the last minute something told her not to. “No, nothing.”
They sat in silence a moment. “I want to come back to work.” Nancy said finally.
“I’m not sure, Nance. Mum says you need time.”
“I’m going out of my mind here, rattling around the flat. Give me something to do. Please?”
Becca stared back at her a moment. “I’ll speak to Mum. We have those two weddings coming up at the weekend. They’re taking all our time. Maybe you could update the Facebook page or something.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
Becca took a deep breath and rested back into the sofa.
“What do you want to do tonight?”
Nancy shrugged.
“I vote we watch a film. I’ll pop out, grab some wine if you like?” She didn’t wait for a reply, leaning forward to clear up the mess on the coffee table.
“Becca?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“You know.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. You can get rid of this lot. Make sure you put it out in the dustbins so Mum doesn’t see it or she’ll panic about my diet. Insist I’m incapable of looking after myself.” She chuckled as she grabbed her bag. Wandering through to the hallway, she called back, “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”
After Becca left, Nancy pulled all the wrappers together, crossing to the kitchen and placing them in an old carrier bag before taking them outside. She climbed down the metal stairs that led to the entrance to the flat, which was situated at the rear of the property above the shop. There was a yard area at the bottom where they kept their bins and an open passage that ran down the side of the shop and out onto the street.
The air was clean and fresh, providing a welcome relief from the stuffiness of the flat. Nancy placed the rubbish in the bin and stood for a while, taking long deep breaths. The thought of immersing herself back in her work gave her a glimmer of hope, of being useful for the first time in days. At least it would dull down the chilling sense of loneliness that now surrounded her.
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She wandered down the passage, out onto the street and stood beside the front entrance to the shop, absently taking in the activity on the road outside. A few cars filtered through but the rush of the day had long since passed. The sun had slipped below the buildings out front, leaving an amber glow in its wake. She turned and made her way back through the passage, halting at the bottom to take in one last gulp of air when she felt a presence behind her. Just as she was about to turn, she felt a hand grab her hair, pulling it tightly.
She made to scream, but only a high-pitched whimper came out.
“We are watching you, pretty lady. You can’t hide for ever.” The voice was a low growl. The aroma of old chewing gum, past its flavour, hung on his breath.
Nancy froze. Her heart pounded her chest. Then, as quickly as he arrived, she felt her hair released, her body pushed forward. He was gone.
Nancy scrabbled up the stairs, not leaving time to look back. It wasn’t until she was in the flat, leaning against the locked door that she breathed out a shaky breath. She heard a noise. Her chest tightened. It came again. A tap. On the other side of the glass.
Nancy jumped forward, turned. The shadow of a man stood on the other side of the door.
She started to shake as she backed away from the door.
“Nance, it’s me. Open up!”
It was a familiar voice. She rested her hands on her knees, tried to regulate her breathing.
The letterbox flicked open and she looked up to see Ryan’s eyes appear through the hole. “What are you playing at? Open up.”
Nancy’s hands were trembling so much, it took her a moment to unlock the door. It juddered as she wrenched it open. She stuck out her arm, pulled Ryan inside, then locked it again.
“What’s going—” His words were stifled as she hurled herself at him, burying her head in his chest.
“Hey!” His voice softened. He held her tight and stroked her hair as she started to sob.
Nancy wasn’t sure how long they stood there. Time stood still as she cried out the events of the past few days – Evan’s disappearance, the head injury that continued to plague her, learning of his death, her mother’s decline, the notes, the threats. A raw tirade of misery came pouring out of her. Slowly the tears stopped and she pulled away. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He threw her a look. “You’re not answering my messages. I came to see if you were all right.” He peered down at her. “Which clearly isn’t the case.”
Nancy felt a twinge of guilt. “I thought you were him.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Nick Anderson. Forty-two years old, lives out on the Saturn Way estate.”
With the conference room busy, the team were crammed into a meeting room, the only space Jackman had been able to find at short notice for their meeting with Mike Clarke. He angled his head past Davies’ mop of black curls to get a better look at the screen. The man was standing beside a Range Rover mid-conversation with someone just off the edge of the photo. He was tall, unassumingly dressed in a pair of black chinos and white T-shirt. Dark sunglasses rested on his bald head.
“Married to Carly; two kids, Grace and Kyle.” Mike clicked another button and the photo on the screen changed to reveal a family shot of them leaving a restaurant on the High Street. The children barely looked old enough for secondary school. He turned back to face them. “We’ve been gathering intelligence on Nick for a while. We believe he’s not only involved in the supply chain, but is steering it. He’s got his legitimate businesses of course. Carly owns a nail bar in town, he has a car repair garage and a snooker hall.”
“Venues that work in cash. Perfect for passing dirty money through,” Davies said.
“Exactly.”
Janus cleared her throat. “How is this linked with our murder?”
Mike held up a flat hand. “We’re getting there, ma’am.” He clicked again. Another photo, this time of a burnt-out industrial unit. “A month ago there was an arson attack on his garage on Timothy’s Bridge Road. So far, police haven’t traced the offenders. Our source handlers were told that there were rumours he’d upset somebody and it was a message. When we put it together with the other intelligence we had, we applied to put a covert GPS tracker on his car.”
Jackman raised a brow. Covert intelligence was one of the most difficult to set up and required authorisation at the highest level to prove that police involvement was necessary, otherwise it was considered an infringement of human rights. “You must have some interesting stuff on him to secure that,” he said.
“It was touch and go. I didn’t think we’d get it for a while, everything we have is speculation, but when you put it all together… I think the current policing priority to crack down on drugs finally pushed it through. Anyway, we’ve been watching his movements for the past two weeks. And we can tell you that last Sunday his Range Rover was in the car park of The Fish pub at Wixford at 10.41pm. He didn’t stay long, just a couple of minutes, then drove across to the Upton Grange farmhouse.”
“What time was this?”
“He arrived at the farmhouse at 10.52pm, and stayed almost fifteen minutes, before he drove back home.”
“Nothing at the barn?”
“Not on Sunday.”
“And he didn’t go back?”
Mike shook his head.
“So we know he was there when the victim and Nancy were in the pub. But not later when he disappeared?”
“Not personally. Or his car wasn’t. Maybe he was checking up on something, or setting something up for later. In any case it shows a link between the victim and him.”
“Maybe he was the one who broke in?” Janus suggested.
“He was there almost fifteen minutes,” Jackman replied. Seems a long time to hang around if the farmhouse was empty.” The room fell silent. “Any connection with Eamonn Benwell?”
Mike shook his head. “I’m drawing a blank on that name.”
“Can we use this?” Janus asked.
Mike shot her a look. “We’ve invested a lot of money on a tracker and surveillance team. The intelligence we’re gathering has the potential to pull down the whole network, lead us to those in charge, those bringing in the stuff. That’s what we’re interested in. Unless you have something tangible, some unconnected evidence that Nick Anderson himself is involved, we have to ask you to tread cautiously.”
“Where is Anderson now?” Jackman asked.
“Ah. That’s the tricky part. We last tracked him to Birmingham Airport. We’ve checked with the airlines and he flew out to Prague on Monday morning, a stag break for one of his friends, it seems.”
“Don’t people usually go on stag weekends?” Davies said.
“Not this lot, the weekends are their busiest time.”
“Great.” Janus swiped a hand across her forehead. “Do we know when he’s due back?”
“It was a one-way ticket. We’re checking with the airlines, trying to find a return booking. I can’t see him staying out there long. His family are still here.”
“What about the group he’s gone with?” Jackman asked.
Mike shook his head. “They’re a secretive lot at the best of times.” He cast a glance back at the screen. “It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when your man started supplying. We know cannabis plants like these, in forced conditions, can be ready in around eight weeks, then need another two weeks to dry out. They’re looking for a continuous supply, hence the plants are in various stages of growth.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not a huge amount on its own. But local sources in the field have reported drops in the price of cannabis around three months ago though. The price comes down when there is an abundance of supply, which might suggest he hasn’t been operating it long, probably only four or five months since his first crop.”
“And he’s been operating locally, on Anderson’s patch?”
“Seemingly.”
Jackman was deep in thought. They knew that the
Lawtons had left the country in November, around nine months earlier. It would have taken him a while to obtain the container, get builders in to dig up the floor and set it beneath.
The door clicked open and Keane appeared. He held his phone up like a trophy. “Found the diesel supplier.”
“And?”
“We phoned around some trade suppliers. The farm use Aitons, a local firm. We’ve been in touch with them and they checked through the last 24 months. Traditionally there’s an increase between March and September, the more active months on the farm for machinery usage, but from January the spend has practically doubled in comparison to last year.”
The Lawtons flew out to Australia in November. It all suggested that the victim had everything planned and in place. As soon as the owners went away, he was setting everything up. “How is it paid for?”
“Direct debit from the Lawtons’ business account.”
“So, are we thinking Anderson was an investor or a competitor?” Jackman said.
“That’s what we really need to find out.”
Another knock at the door. “Come in!” Jackman called out.
He recognised Jan Leyton, one of the civilian case workers, appear in the doorway. “There’s a phone call for you, sir.”
“Who is it?”
“A woman. Won’t give her name. Sounds pretty desperate. Asked for you specifically.”
***
Nancy took a sip of tea. Milky white with two sugars; baby tea her gran used to call it. Very few people knew how to make it just right, and Ryan was one of them. The incident outside her flat had dissolved her earlier anger towards him. Right now she was grateful to have him here.
He listened as she gave an account of what had happened and waited until she’d finished before he spoke, “What does that mean, ‘You can’t hide for ever’?”
“I have no idea.”
“Is this something to do with what happened to Evan?”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re calling it a suspicious death in the newspapers. Saying the fire was arson. You don’t think he was involved in something, do you?”