Nick sat in the lobby of the North Lakes Hotel on the outskirts of Penrith, staring gloomily into the dregs of his third cup of coffee. Not that he didn’t need the caffeine, he acknowledged. Even his legs ached with fatigue. He would have sold his soul for a short run, a long shower, a meal and a bed.
Instead, on his inspector’s orders, he was waiting at the convenience of Superintendent Mercer, who’d checked in and disappeared off to his room, ostensibly to make phone calls too important to be overheard.
Left kicking his heels in the baronial lobby with its huge central stone fireplace, Nick thought savagely that it was a pity the CTC man had not always been so security conscious.
He leaned back in his plush armchair and resisted the lure of sleep. He could just imagine Mercer’s comments if he found his designated driver snoozing on the job.
The hotel had a coffee shop as well as the usual bar and restaurant, and the constant bustle helped. Nick people-watched out of habit. At the reception desk, built into an arched alcove, a family was just checking out, surrounded by the paraphernalia of small children. He thought of Sophie and something tightened in his gut.
Into a lull, his cellphone bleeped. He pulled it out to find a voicemail from Grace. With one eye in the direction of the rooms, he dialled her number.
“Hello Nick,” she said as she picked up, and he thought he could hear her smiling. He wondered why that small fact should please him.
“What can I do for you? Please tell me it’s some kind of emergency that requires my immediate presence?”
She laughed softly at the pleading note. “Sorry. It’s only your mind I’m after. You remember the day I called you out to Major Frederickson’s dog?”
“I’m not likely to forget. Why?”
“When we left the field, where did you turn your car round to follow me back to the cottage?”
Nick heard the underlying tension, shut his eyes briefly, let the memory unfold, opened them again. “There was a lay-by at the top of the hill,” he said. “Just before a cattle grid, on the left. Quite a big one, rough, full of potholes.”
“Do you recall seeing any other vehicles?”
“An old Land Rover.” The picture sprang straight into his mind. “It was pale blue, a bit decrepit—the paint was scabby.”
“I suppose it would be too much to ask if you got the number?” Grace said then, almost breathless.
“The first or last letter was L for lima.” L for Lisa, he’d thought at the time. “Other than that, no, sorry.”
“Goodness, don’t be sorry. I’m amazed you’ve retained that much.”
Movement near the reception desk caught Nick’s eye, made him glance up. Four men had just come in, wearing suits and carrying small overnight bags. They put the bags down, looked about them. The girl behind the desk appeared almost instantly, greeted them with a professional smile.
“So,” Nick said into the phone, “am I allowed to ask what this is all about?”
“I found a pale blue vehicle in the extreme background of one of the images from the show field yesterday. The last one I took just before Robertshaw was shot,” Grace said, nothing in her steady tone. “So far, the colour and shape matches. It could mean we were right about Frederickson’s dog—taking it seriously, I mean. I can’t make out any detail as yet, but I’m going to try and enhance the photo…”
As he listened to her explain the process, Nick watched the new arrivals. Big guys, muscular under their business attire, moving with a physical awareness of their surroundings uncommon in civilians. And the way one of them stood, a little back from the others, with his weight even-spread and his hands clear, made the hair prickle at the back of Nick’s neck.
“…so, thank you,” Grace finished. “That’s been a great help.”
Nick still had his eye on the man, saw his head start turning in his direction and focused himself into the phone call instead, putting effort into showing no unease. He crossed his legs, let his foot swing negligently. “I do my humble best.”
“If there’s one thing I’ll never associate with you, it’s humility.”
He grinned. “Well, if this leads to a startling breakthrough, I’d be grateful if you’d mention my part in it to Mr Pollock,” Nick said. “I’m not exactly in his good books at the moment.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve done—,” she began, stopped suddenly. “Ah, this is because of yesterday—on the field. I’m sorry, Nick, if I’ve caused you grief. Would it do any good if I spoke to him, tried to explain?”
“No,” Nick said, just as Mercer reappeared. “Best to let it lie, don’t you think?”
“Well, if you’re sure? Either way, I owe you the most enormous favour.”
Across at the desk, Mercer was dropping off his key, smiling that crocodile smile of his. The receptionist was still dealing with the newcomers and was too distracted to recoil at the sight of it, Nick thought nastily. But as Mercer turned away, he made eye-contact with one of the four. Mercer clearly picked up the same vibe from them. Nick caught the slightest hesitation in his stride. Interesting.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quickly. “I’ll catch you later, OK?”
He ended the call before Mercer reached him. The CTC man had changed his suit and his slicked-back hair was damp from the shower, Nick noted. He squeezed out a bland smile while cursing roundly inside.
“Sorry about that.” Mercer gave an insincere grimace. “Shall we make tracks?”
It was posed as a question, but he’d turned and headed out without giving Nick much choice but to follow.
As they passed the front desk, the men were being handed their keys amid the usual explanations of breakfast times and use of the indoor pool. They had casually positioned themselves to cover all the exits, jackets unbuttoned, hands empty. Nick kept his face placid, but for the first time since he’d walked into that warehouse ambush, several lifetimes ago, he had a sudden desire to be armed.
The men said their thanks to the receptionist politely enough, picked up their bags without drama and headed off. As Nick followed Mercer outside, he was careful not to make the mistake of looking back.
“Always did like your snazzy motors, didn’t you?” Mercer said as Nick blipped the locks on the Impreza. “Thought you’d have bought yourself a nice people-carrier by now—you being a family man.”
Nick ignored the jibe, pretending to be side-tracked by the sight of an outside broadcast truck pulling off the roundabout, bristling with antennae.
“The vultures are circling,” he said as they climbed into the car. “We’d better hope we get this guy quick.”
“Oh, we’ll get him, Nick—one way or another,” Mercer said with relish, reaching for his seatbelt. “Don’t you worry about that.”
It was the smug little smile that did it. Nick had already slotted the key into the ignition, but at that, he withdrew it again, opened his door.
“Ah, sorry,” he said, with every appearance of innocent regret. “Just remembered I didn’t pay for my coffee.”
Mercer waved an impatient hand. “They can afford it.”
“Not the point, sir. Won’t be a minute.” And he hopped out before Mercer could object further, jogging back across the car park to the entrance.
Mercer wasn’t to know that Nick’s years working undercover and surveillance had made him always prepared to move off at a moment’s notice. Therefore, he’d made a point of paying for his coffees when he ordered.
Now, he walked back into reception and checked the four men had gone. The professional greeting of the girl at the desk faltered a little when he produced his warrant card.
“There’s no problem,” he assured her, “but I need to borrow one of your security tapes.”
“Well,” she said, fluttering. “I’m not sure—”
Aware of his unwelcome passenger sitting drumming his fingers in his car outside, Nick leaned on the counter and turned up the intensity of his smile.