Nick arrived back at Hunter Lane just in time to see Mercer disappearing at high speed in the front passenger seat of a Volvo estate patrol that was also an Armed Response Vehicle. As he watched the ARV reach the end of the street with unobtrusive haste, Nick knew he’d missed something vital while he’d been away. He hurried across towards the station entrance.
Just as he stepped up onto the kerb he picked up a small blur of colour in his peripheral vision, closing fast, accompanied by a shriek of, “Daddy!”
His head snapped round as the small figure clamped onto his legs and stuck there like industrial Velcro.
“Sophie? Sweetheart!”
She let go then, stood back a pace and held her arms wide in mute demand, eyes huge. He hoisted her up immediately, held on tight, burying his face in her hair, inhaling baby shampoo and the blueberry Ribena that was her latest favourite. The smell of his child instantly triggered every memory of her Nick had ever had. He shut his eyes, breathed deep, and let them all wash over him.
When he opened them again, it was to find Lisa standing awkwardly in front of him with her fingers tucked into the back pockets of her white linen Capri pants. She was watching the two of them together and there was something wistful in her gaze.
“Lisa,” he said, wary after their last parting, shifting Sophie so she was balanced on his hip facing her mother. “Is anything wrong?”
Lisa gave a little lift of her shoulder that didn’t quite make it into a shrug.
“You’re all right, are you?” he tried again. He glanced at Sophie. She was a bit flushed but that could simply be the heat, the excitement of seeing her daddy. He stroked the little girl’s hair away from her face, ran his knuckle gently down her soft cheek.
“Yeah.” Lisa’s eyes were fixed on Sophie. “We’re OK.”
Ah… Nick kept his face carefully blank. “I hear a ‘but’?”
“It’s Karl,” she said miserably. “Your lot have arrested him.”
Nick had to work hard not to break into a triumphant grin. When he didn’t immediately speak, Lisa threw him a quick, wounded glance. “Did you know about this?”
Nick shook his head slowly. “No,” he said truthfully. After he’d handed off his file on the quad bike case to Kendal, he purposely hadn’t kept up to speed on it. “I’m sorry.” He rocked Sophie automatically and she gazed at him, fingers in her mouth. “We’ve been kind of busy.”
Lisa nodded, doleful. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been watching the news. It’s horrible, and I’m really sorry to ask, but…” She shrugged helplessly. “He’s my brother. Mum’s worried sick. What can I do?”
Cut him loose before he sinks the lot of you, he thought bitterly.
Instead, he said, “I understand.”
“Do you think you might be able to find out anything?” she asked in a rush, as though knowing she was pushing her luck. “Karl swears he’s done nothing wrong. That it’s just some mate he works with, dropping him in it.”
“Nice mates he’s got.” Nick’s tone was dry.
Lisa’s colour rose, and she took a breath to blast at him, but then the fire went out of her. Her gaze flicked to Sophie again, fell away.
“Yeah, well,” she muttered. “He’s been really good, helping out with Sophie since—,” she paused, swallowing. “Well, since we split up.”
Since you left, you mean?
“Leave it with me. I can’t promise, with all this going on, but I’ll look into it when I can.”
“Thanks, Nick.” She checked her watch, frowned. “We need to get back to the car.” She gave an embarrassed little smile. “Otherwise I’ll be asking you to get me off a parking ticket as well.” The joke was strained, but Nick smiled with her anyway.
She held out her arms to Sophie. Nick’s heart twisted at the way his daughter instantly wriggled to go to her mother. He gave her a final kiss, a tight squeeze, and set her down.
Lisa started to turn away, stopped. “I know he’s a bit wild, but he’s still my big brother,” she said, uneasy. “I don’t want to see him in trouble for something he’s not done.”
Nick stood and watched them, mother and daughter, until they reached the end of the street. Sophie looked back twice. He waved each time, and she waved too, happy now.
“Yeah,” he murmured when they were well out of earshot. “But what about seeing him in trouble for something he has done?”
He was still wrestling with his dilemma when he reached the CID office, hung his jacket over the back of his chair. Yardley was the only other occupant.
“Where’s Mercer gone haring off to?” he asked, not expecting much of a reply.
To his surprise, Yardley rocked his chair back, grinning at him, almost friendly. “Some anonymous call to the tip-line about a possible sighting down in Mallerstang. Don’t know what they said, but he went chasing off like his tail was on fire, eh.”
“We live in hope.” Nick sat down. “Where’s Mallerstang, anyway?”
Yardley rolled his eyes. “Mallerstang Common,” he said, like that helped. “East side of the M6, between here and Tebay.” He swivelled back to his desk, paused. “Oh, someone called Bill rang—said you used to work together and wanted a word, eh. Your mobile was off.”
“Must have been at the funeral.” Nick reached for his phone. Wow, a message actually passed on. “Thanks,” he added as the number connected.
It was quickly answered. “Nick, mate! Can you talk?”
“Uh-huh,” Nick said easily. “I’m listening.”
“Oh, like that, is it?” Bill said. “I called in a few favours about this Mercer bloke.” He hesitated, his voice dropping into seriousness. “Bearing in mind what’s been going on up there, you’re not going to like it much.”
“Tell me.”
“Couple of years ago, Mercer was in charge of vetting asylum seekers from countries that were, shall we say, sensitive, sniffing out potential terrorists. He cleared a lad who went straight into some radical extremist group. It caused a right stink. Mercer took heat for it, and by the looks of it he was pretty anxious not to make the same mistake twice.”
“So he went too far the other way?”
“Got it in one, mate.” Nick could picture his former colleague sitting back in his chair with his feet up on the desk. “Anyhow, he finds this other kiddie, in from Afghanistan, and he’s convinced he’s looking at the same again. The kid’s only sixteen, but he can field strip an AK-47 blindfolded. He’s from some troublespot province in the arse-end of nowhere, got relatives in the Taliban, the whole shebang.”
“So, what happened?” Nick asked. “Deported?”
“Would have been better all round if he was. Think Guantanamo Bay,” Bill said grimly. “Mercer got it into his head he needed a full confession to restore his credibility, so he locked the kid up in a detention centre and went at him, practically day and night.”
With a creeping sense of unease, Nick knew where this was going.
“Anyway, after days of interrogation, the kid tore up his bedsheets and hanged himself,” Bill went on, sad disgust in his voice. “Mercer, of course, took it as a sign of guilt. Case proved.”
“But?”
“You always did spot the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’, didn’t you, mate?” Bill gave a humourless laugh. “Turns out the kid had been working as a local guide for our boys out there. Ended up as a spotter. Practically earned himself a medal, by all accounts. The sniper—one Sergeant Conor O’Keefe, would you believe. Irish father, Scottish mother—was the one who persuaded him to come to the UK, promised him a better life. So, O’Keefe brings him over, expecting he’s going to pass straight through the green channel—priority case. He goes back to finish his last tour and next thing he knows, the kid’s dead. There were some nasty reprisals out there, apparently. Messy all round.”
“How did O’Keefe take it?”
“Ah, now we’re talking. He went ballistic, as you’d expect. Swore he’d get Mercer ‘a bit at a time’. Not sure what to make of that, eh? The old death of a thousand cuts, maybe? Women and children first?”
“No,” Nick said tightly, pushing his chair back. “More like death at a thousand yards. And he’s already started with the women.”