TWELVE

Rising to his feet, Tom stalked to the sitting room next door. Jay didn’t look at Sofie as she followed him. She didn’t want to see the girl’s triumph that she was going to get a dressing down.

Tom swung round as Jay entered the room, closing the door behind her. ‘Blake?’ His voice had risen. ‘You want Blake to advise you about my daughter?’

Jay made dampening motions with her hands. ‘No, it’s not like that. I mean . . . Look, Tom. Blake thought that as long as I kept quiet, they’d leave me alone.’

‘Obviously –’ Tom’s voice was like acid – ‘he’s wrong.’

Jay ran a hand over her face, feeling shaky. She hated rows. She hated upsetting Tom. She was glad she was headed to Norfolk tomorrow, where her mother would hug her and tell her everything would be all right.

‘What’s the Garrison?’ Tom asked.

Jay hadn’t told Tom the question came from Blake. She suddenly felt weary of standing between the two men, fighting to keep Tom’s trust, fighting to keep her distance from Blake.

She said, ‘Blake initially thought it was a security company, but he’s now thinking it might be a code, or a secret organization.’

Tom was looking at her with an expression of disbelief.

Jay ploughed on. ‘I warned you to be careful. He’s worried there are a lot of fingers in a lot of official pies.’

‘He thinks it’s a conspiracy?’ He was shaking his head. ‘I don’t believe this . . .’

Jay fiddled with her watch, unable to meet his eyes. Finally, she heard him heave a sigh.

‘Jesus, Jay.’

She looked up to see he was gazing at her. His expression was resigned. ‘Run everything past me, would you? I need to know what we’re up against.’

He indicated the sofa. Jay sat. Tom took the armchair next to her. His expression switched to his cop face. Cool, calm, professional. Slowly, Tom took her through every step she’d taken since Blake had entered his kitchen five days ago. Finally, he looked at the floor. His hands were dangling between his knees. He was frowning.

‘So,’ he said. ‘Blake’s been set up for murder, and there are two nasty pieces of work hanging around making sure you’re not going to report anything to anyone official.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And they don’t know you’ve got a copy of Sol’s SIM and memory cards.’

‘I’m not sure whether they checked my mobile phone at the farmhouse.’ She thought further. ‘If it’s that important, and they knew I had it, wouldn’t they be demanding it?’

‘How would they know you hadn’t copied it in the meantime? Sent dozens of copies around the world?’

‘They wouldn’t,’ she admitted.

‘Which is why they want to keep you scared,’ Tom remarked. ‘So you don’t share Sol’s information with the wrong people. Can I have a look?’

‘How about I email it all to you later? Then you’ll have everything on file.’

He nodded. He wasn’t looking at Jay, but past her. He was still frowning. He said, ‘I asked about the Garrison.’

Jay blinked.

‘It’s only now,’ Tom said slowly, ‘that I’m wondering if Nahid’s warning was connected to my questions, rather than to my merely being a policeman.’

Jay swallowed. ‘Who did you ask?’

‘I was careful, as you suggested. I only spoke to two people. Goose and Clarky.’

Goose was a plain-clothes cop who Tom had known and worked with for over ten years. Clarky was Tom’s boss; Superintendent Clarkson. Jay liked Goose and Clarky enormously. Tom trusted both with his life.

‘If those are the only two . . .’ Jay began.

Tom scrubbed his face with both hands. ‘Clarky warned me off.’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t realize it at the time. It’s only now that I can see it . . . He wanted to know why I was asking. I said it was a favour for a friend, nothing serious. I was really casual about it. He said, “In that case, let sleeping dogs lie.” But when I didn’t let it drop, he asked me if I’d considered moving cities in order to promote my career. He said it jokingly, but now I realize he was serious.’

Jay felt her skin tighten. ‘Jesus, Tom.’

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, Tom said quietly, ‘I don’t like you being in touch with Blake.’ As she began to open her mouth he added, ‘It’s the fact he’s wanted for murder. I really don’t want to see you in the dock for aiding and abetting.’

‘I can appreciate that,’ she said neutrally.

‘Dammit.’ He clenched his teeth. ‘Blake got you into this . . .’

‘I didn’t mean for Sofie to get involved,’ she said.

‘I know.’ He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingertips into his temples. Gave a wry smile. ‘You just attract trouble, right?’

She smiled tentatively back. ‘Sorry.’

He raised an arm. Said, ‘Come here.’

Jay slipped on to his lap, wound her arms around his neck. Kissed him on the lips. ‘I’ll go to Mum’s tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Warn the family.’

‘And I’ll warn Heather.’

‘Will you report it?’ she asked. She didn’t dare ask if he was going to report the fact he knew Blake was in the country.

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I’ll write it up over the weekend, but I won’t make it general knowledge. Not until I know more. I’d like to speak to Goose first. He’s away until Monday.’

She felt a trickle of relief. She would, she realized, have to tell Blake about Clarky. Keep him in the loop.

‘So, in-between consorting with evil assassins and trying to save every victim trafficked into the UK,’ he said, smiling, ‘what else have you been up to?’

They spent the evening cooking supper and teasing one another. Sofie watched them through quiet eyes, subdued. When Tom made love to Jay later that night, she climaxed so hard, she cried out his name.

Jay’s childhood village, Blakeney, was in the grip of a fierce storm when she arrived, the estuary whipped into grey froth. As she slammed her mother’s front door behind her, she was assailed by the scent of freshly baking pastry. The next moment, a hairy rocket collided against her shins, whimpering an excited greeting.

‘Hello, Tigger.’

She ducked down to pet the miniature schnauzer, who wagged and panted and tore into the kitchen and back, trying to let Jay’s mother know she’d arrived.

‘Darling!’ her mother called. ‘I’m in here!’

‘Coming!’

The kitchen windows were steamed up, the Aga going full blast. Jay bent to hug her mother, kiss her cheeks. They couldn’t look less alike, Jay thought, not for the first time. She felt like a giraffe, all height and long limbs against her mother’s rotund, compact body. As usual her mother checked Jay’s wedding ring finger. ‘Still no ring?’ She tut-tutted. ‘I guess you haven’t set a date either.’

‘You guess correctly.’

‘Surely Tom’s suggested a date?’

‘He thought spring might be nice.’

‘Spring?’ Her mother looked appalled. ‘That’s six months away!’

‘Plenty of time to get your outfit ready,’ Jay told her, ‘and to order your hat.’

They ate the chicken pie with sautéed green beans, and washed it down with glasses of red wine. Rain lashed against the windows, and Jay was glad her mother had lit a fire in the sitting room. Snuggled on the sofa, coffee to hand, Jay passed over her mother’s bracelet. She didn’t tell her mother the whole story.

‘He wanted to frighten me,’ Jay said.

‘Like that nasty Russian man did with Cora.’ Her mother’s lips had pursed.

Earlier in the year, two men had snatched her cousin’s necklace outside church, in order to show Jay how vulnerable her family was.

‘I guess so,’ Jay admitted.

‘Oh dear.’ Her mother sighed.

Jay didn’t say any more. That way, should Tivon turn up again and ask her mother a question, her mother would appear genuinely bewildered. Like Blake with Jay, Jay thought that the less her mother knew, the more it would keep her safe.

They shared the weekend newspapers. Jay dropped off to sleep after a while, only waking when her mother brought in tea and cake and switched on the TV to watch the news. More doom and gloom over the economy. More soldiers dying in Afghanistan. More civilians dying. Jay felt sorrow rise and was grateful when her mobile phone rang.

‘Yo,’ she answered.

‘Yo yourself. What’s happening?’

‘I’m having tea with Mum in front of the TV. Eating home-made chocolate cake.’

‘My kind of afternoon,’ Blake said.

His kind of what? She couldn’t see Blake sitting in front of the fire all afternoon, no matter how foul the weather. He was too active to stay still for long and would probably prefer to be jogging up a mountain with a fifty-pound pack strapped to his back.

‘Tom?’ her mother mouthed at Jay.

Jay shook her head. ‘Work,’ she mouthed back.

‘More tea?’ her mother whispered.

Jay nodded, watched her mother take the tray outside.

‘About your text,’ Blake said. ‘Fill me in.’

Jay told him about Nahid delivering her mother’s bracelet to Tom’s house. ‘It confirms beyond doubt that Nahid is Sol’s assassin,’ she told him.

‘Agreed.’

‘Tom asked about the Garrison,’ she added. ‘He got warned off.’

‘Who by?’ Blake’s tone was alert.

‘His boss. Superintendent Clarkson.’

‘Interesting,’ Blake said. ‘Because I’ve hit a couple of walls my end. Any chance you could put some feelers out with some old army buddies of yours? Help us get a wider picture?’

‘I’ll start with the girls.’

‘Good idea.’ Small pause. ‘Sorry. Gotta go, hon.’

He hung up.

Jay rang home. Angela answered the phone. ‘A favour,’ Jay asked.

‘Sure.’

‘Could you ask old friends whether they’ve heard of something called the Garrison? It could be a code, or some kind of underground organization. Be really cautious. I mean really cautious.’

‘This to do with your possible watchers?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. We’ll tread carefully.’

Jay’s mother returned with a fresh pot of tea, and Jay put the Garrison aside for the moment. Later, her mother served home-made soup and crusty bread in front of an old Agatha Christie movie, and Jay was about to head for bed when her mobile rang. Her mother looked at it disapprovingly. It was after ten o’clock. Her mother considered it the height of bad manners to call anyone before nine a.m. and after ten p.m.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ she said as she answered. ‘Hi?’

‘Hi, Jay.’

Her mouth opened. It was her old boss. ‘Major?’

‘Rick,’ he corrected.

‘Rick,’ she repeated, but after calling him Major for three years it still felt strange using his Christian name. ‘Good grief,’ she added. She couldn’t help herself. Rick Wayland had been central to her being invalided out of the army. He’d been the one to call time out on her, take her weapon from her, and sent her to a shrink for evaluation. It had been, she realized later, a good call, and she never blamed him for her abrupt change in career. If anything, she was grateful. She loved her current job.

‘I’ve just received a call from a friend of mine in Portsmouth,’ Rick said. ‘RMP. I can’t do this by phone. We have to meet.’ His tone was curt, all business.

RMP: Royal Military Police. Jay cleared her throat. She hadn’t realized she’d jumped to her feet the second she’d heard his voice. Her body was rigidly standing to attention.

‘Where are you?’ Rick asked.

‘Blakeney. On the northern coast of Norfolk.’

‘I know Blakeney. Give me a time and place.’

Instinct made her choose somewhere away from her mother’s house. ‘The Red Lion at Stiffkey, around midday?’

‘Midday it is. See you then.’

Without another word, he hung up.

The Red Lion stood overlooking the marshlands. Stone walls, flagstone floors and a roaring log fire in the grate, it was as familiar to Jay as her mother’s house. She used to walk here most weekends in her teens, and now the landlord greeted her with a kiss and berated her for living in London.

‘You’re not a city girl,’ he told her. ‘Move back home.’

‘I like London.’

‘London’s for pussies.’

Jay took her cider to a table near the fire. It was still blowing a gale outside, spattering rain against the window panes, and although it was relatively early for lunch, the pub was already half full. Few people were out walking today. Most preferred to tuck up in the warmth and socialize.

Jay recognized a couple of faces and said hello to an old school friend, Josie, and Josie’s boyfriend, both of whom came and sat with her. Every time the door opened, she flicked her eyes over the newcomer and away. Major Wayland was known for being absolutely punctual, usually early, but not today. After half an hour, she checked her phone, but there was no message, no text. She tried his number. Her stomach tightened at the automated response: this service has been disconnected.

When two hours had passed, Jay returned to Blakeney. The harbour was grey and foaming with waves whipped by the wind. Tucked up by the fire, more newspapers to hand, she waited for as long as she could before leaving for London, but the Major never called. Come eight p.m. she decided enough was enough and packed up.

‘Bye Mum.’ She hugged her mother before stroking Tigger’s head. His stumpy tail was down.

‘Be careful, darling.’ Her mother’s embrace was tight.

‘I will.’

The drive home was slow, the traffic hard to see through the spray. At one point, she had to slow to a crawl when she passed an accident on the A1065. A black Audi lay upside down on the hard shoulder, crushed against a tree and surrounded with police tape. The ambulances were long gone. Just a police tow truck remained, along with two cop cars.

As usual, when Jay got home, she rang her mother to tell her she’d arrived safely. ‘Thanks for the takeaway,’ she said. Her mother always sent her home with boxes of Tupperware filled with goodies. Today she had slices of pink roast beef, a whole quiche, and a box of chocolate brownies. The girls had taken one look at the brownies and snaffled them next door. They loved her mother’s cooking.

‘I heard there was an accident south of Mundford,’ her mother said. ‘It was on the local news.’

‘It was all over when I went past. Someone driving too fast, no doubt.’

Jay didn’t know how wrong she was until she listened to the news the next day. Apparently a Major Wayland had been found dead when his black Audi had overturned on a country road in Norfolk. He had been shot through the head.