Kate played through the whole service on automatic pilot: she neither knew nor cared whether the choir was with her or following half a bar behind. Zenia hadn’t phoned again, nor had Graham. She still had no idea what the interesting leads might be that surveillance had thrown up. This was without doubt the worst assignment she’d ever had – cut off from all the action and with no support. She reasoned with herself: it was far less tricky than working undercover. She had to trust her colleagues. Hadn’t they planted listening devices so she could sleep?
Tim and Marcus overslept, and she’d had to call three times before they’d appeared for their sausages and bacon – also organic, accordingly to a tetchy Paul. He’d taken a couple of phone calls while she was frying eggs, neither of which he assured her was for her. Whoever they were from, they hadn’t improved his health or temper.
The boys had agreed with some reluctance to go to church, on the grounds that it wasn’t Giles who would be taking the service. It was part of Marcus’s contract with the Boys’ Brigade that he should turn up regularly, and Kate told Tim not to be parochial, a word he enjoyed when he’d looked it up. Paul didn’t back Kate, but there was a general assumption that he’d be going. Marcus and Kate took tracksuits to change into.
At this point Kate realised the flaw in her plans. Tim wasn’t in the BB, was he, nor was he sufficiently keen on football to join in training as a treat of sorts. And she’d made it abundantly clear to Paul that she preferred his room to his company at training sessions. Hoist with her own petard. As soon as she was able she slipped upstairs to phone Graham’s number – at work, this time. It rang and rang. Next she tried the extension on Colin’s desk. It might have to be Graham’s mobile, after all. But then it was answered, by Reg Tanner. She passed a message on as tersely as she could – they were all waiting downstairs.
‘Leave it to me, sweetheart. You can’t maintain surveillance and the suspect needs to be tailed. Right? Right!’
They were just leaving when the Manse phone rang. Doug Fulton, asking for his son.
‘I’ll be able to go to soccer practice, won’t I? I mean, I haven’t got to see them straightaway?’
A muffled murmur.
‘Yes. But I’ve got to train, haven’t I? … We’re supposed to be having dinner here, Dad. Steak and ice-cream.’
This time the murmur was less muffled.
‘A real pub? Steak there? OK.’
‘Well?’ Kate prompted, when he seemed about to walk out of the door. ‘Well? Have you got a brother or a sister?’
He turned. ‘I think it’s a girl. Or it might be a boy.’
‘Ever had your neck wrung, Marcus? What’s its name?’
He pushed out his lower lip. ‘Ah. Emma.’
‘And is your mum all right?’
‘I suppose so. Look, aren’t we going to be late?’
So all the way through the hymns and the readings and the sermon she was waiting for it: Paul’s casual announcement that he was taking Tim to see his anonymous friend’s train set. And she couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t. Not one. She knew if she said she wanted to go too he’d find an excuse – would insist that before lunch was the only option. Knew it. And played a really violent closing meditation.
Paul and Tim had already left by the time she had finished.
Considering the team had done so well the day before, she worked them very hard. She had words with Leo about taking corners without having practised.
‘But I did, Miss. Practice. At school. I do it all the time. We’re top of the league.’
Kate pulled a face. ‘Sorry. I’ll be telling Cantona off next when he drops by for the odd match. Well done. Right, everyone. No time for resting on our laurels. Let’s try that all over again only faster!’
Kate never did know what order the thoughts came in. Paul and Tim. Her car: was it at the Manse or outside her house? Her house. And probably boxed in. It would take time to shuffle it out. The railway set. Reg Tanner. A lift to her house. Paul and Reg Tanner. And she was the adult in charge of all these kids with no one to deputise while she went off. Paul and Reg and Tim.
Working the kids hard wouldn’t bring escape time any quicker. Go easy on them. Remember Marcus’ asthma. Go easy.
For all that, she had the balls locked away and the kids ready for collection a good five minutes before time. Thank goodness for prompt parents. And damn the dilatory ones. Damn them all to hell. She paced, trying not to glare at the three lads remaining. Two, now. And then one. Marcus. At least she felt entitled to hurtle to the car as he did.
‘Doug: can you do me the most enormous favour? Give me a lift to my house?’
He nodded, opened the door. ‘Problems?’ He pulled away, and drove commendably quickly. Only a few yards, when all was said and done. A few yards. Hardly time to congratulate him. And then the wretched man started to talk about her sponsoring the child at her dedication.
‘A sort of Baptist godparent,’ he added. ‘You’d be a role model.’
They were opposite her house. He wanted an answer.
‘It’s a great honour. But I’m not –’
‘Please – you’ve done so much –’
‘It’s not that. We’ll talk about it later – right? What I want you to do now is see me out of this space. Or I shall shunt that cretin into the middle of next week.’ And she was out of the car, trailing tights and suit and handbag, all of which she dumped on her passenger seat.
Even with Doug it took six or seven slow backwards and forwards moves. And then she was on her way.
No sign of Paul’s car, of course. Nor of the surveillance team – would they be in the house at the back or in that tatty builder’s van? Quite a lot of unmarked vans around, come to think of it. So she wasn’t alone. And a marked car: Graham! What was he doing here?
Slinging her car on to the kerb, she ran across.
‘Talk about timing. I’ve decided it’s time we went in, Kate. Despite Gordon’s reservations. There was what surveillance threw up, then you and the train sets. Then – then Paul and Tim arrived five minutes ago.’
‘Only five minutes? Where have they been for the last hour?’
‘We’ll find out.’
‘Who’s here?’
‘Everyone. Plus Kings Heath in force.’
‘Tanner?’
‘Gone off sick. Got the bug at last, it seems.’
‘You believe him? Graham – he knows Paul!’
‘Does he, by Christ! OK.’ Voices crackled over his radio. He nodded, just as if they could see him. ‘Right. You stay in the rear, Kate. Take over the kid as soon as we get him out. OK?’
He was already out of the car. And she didn’t need to ask whether it was an order. It was. She’d missed the briefing, all the careful arrangements. This was the price she paid. Just so a few kids could score a few more goals.
The team were moving in. She brought up the rear, taut with anxiety, despondent, angry. She was halfway up the immaculate path when the little door that no doubt concealed the dustbin in these refined parts was flung open from the inside. The bastards must have fixed an escape route. Yelling for back-up, she hurtled towards it. And to Tim and Paul who were coming out. And then there was a shout, and Tim and Paul turned – in slow motion, they all, Kate included, turned towards a big Mercedes van. It was coming up the drive, straight towards them, bull-bars at body height. Coming towards her and Tim. Aiming at them.
Robin throwing her clear. The bust going wrong. She remembered seeing the driver’s face as he drove at them, sheer horror at what he couldn’t stop doing because his van was out of control. But this driver, he was in control. He was smiling. Nice, friendly smile. Reg Tanner’s smile. And he was going to kill all three of them. No. Just her and Tim.
No time to do more than try to shield Tim. Although it was all in slow motion. No time. And then a huge blow in her back, and she was lying on top of Tim, and there was a scream she would never forget.