Some news is so tremendous that silence is the only possible response.
Everything went still, the breeze in the table cloth, the bees in the roses, the birds in the magnolia, the earth on its axis, the stars in their courses.
Then, as it will, as it must, life went on.
Ellie threw back her head and let out a sob which came close to a scream, Pascoe shook his head like a man betrayed and cried, “No, Wieldy, no!” Wield looked from one to the other, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” And from the table came a crash as Maurice Kentmore slumped forward, his head in his hands, toppling the wine bottle into the sauce boat from Ellie’s best china set.
Pascoe turned to look at him, then turned back toward the doorway and said, “Wieldy, take care of Ellie.”
And to her evident surprise, Ellie, who was moving towards him, her face full of love and concern, found herself caught up in the sergeant’s strong arms and urged irresistibly across the lounge and out of the door into the hallway.
Pascoe sat down heavily next to Kentmore.
After a while the man raised his head and looked at his host with anguished eyes.
Neither man spoke. It was as if they were waiting for a sign.
It came in the form of another high-pitched cry from inside the house.
To the untutored ear this sounded very like its predecessor, springing from the depths of some divine despair, but Pascoe recognized in its long, wavering note the tremolo of a far from divine rage.
The sound unlocked Kentmore’s tongue.
“I prayed this wouldn’t happen…I really prayed…not selfishly, at least I don’t think so…for him, not for me…”
Then he paused and fixed his gaze on Pascoe, and after a moment nodded, as if a question had been answered.
“You know, don’t you?” he said.
“Yes. I know.”
“Peter, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t meant to be like this. I’m so very sorry.”
“Well, that’s all right then, so long as you’re sorry,” said Pascoe with a controlled vehemence. “But sorry’s not going to bring Andy back, any more than murdering people was going to bring your brother back. What were you thinking about, for God’s sake?”
“I was…I don’t know…I owed it to him…the blood debt…I owed it to him!”
He put his head between his hands again as if trying to hide from Pascoe’s cold unblinking gaze.
I owed it to him.
The repeated phrase echoed again in Pascoe’s mind.
It spoke of something more than simple revenge, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. There was nothing Old Testament about Kentmore, no hint of Italianate emotionalism or even a Celtic nursing of old resentments. He was English through and through…and in your true-blue Englishman, loss paralyzes…
But guilt energizes!
I owed it to him.
Not simple revenge, but expiation!
It had to be sexual…English guilt was always sexual.
“It was Kilda, wasn’t it?” said Pascoe.
“Yes. Kilda.”
He removed his hands but kept his head bent forward, his eyes fixed on the ruined tablecloth as he began to speak in a low harsh monotone.
“She was in bed with me that night when the phone rang. Youngman told me he’d tried the Gatehouse number first. Then when there was no answer, Chris asked him to ring me. Youngman said he could see it was only willpower that was keeping him alive. He should have been long dead, but he wanted to speak to Kilda before he went. Instead he spoke to me. And Kilda was by my side, her warm naked flesh close against mine, and he gave me words of love and farewell to pass on to her and I wanted to say she’s here and let him hear her voice, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t let my kid brother die knowing that while he lay dying, I was fucking his wife.”
Pascoe felt a pang of sympathy, quickly suppressed. Sympathy was not on today’s agenda.
“How much of this did Youngman know?”
“I’ve no idea. I never told him. I don’t know about Kilda. He came to see us when he got back to the UK. It was I believe a simple act of kindness, of duty even, one soldier looking out for another. He came back several times. We wanted him to. Sometimes he saw us together, sometimes separately. Gradually he passed on more and more detail of what they’d actually done to Chris. Whatever his motives were originally, I think at some point he started assessing our readiness to be recruited to the Templars.”
“And you passed the test with flying colors,” said Pascoe. “Maurice, what the hell were you thinking of? This is crazy stuff! This is torch-light processions and master-race mythology! From what I’ve seen of you, it’s just not your sort of thing at all!”
He’d picked the right tone. Kentmore raised his head and looked straight at him.
“You’re right,” he said. “I was a bit crazy, I think. It was Kilda. No, I’m not blaming her. After Chris’s death, she went very strange. Started drinking heavily, practically stopped eating. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the bit of nourishment she got from the booze, I think she may have starved herself to death. Last thing Chris said to me was to look after Kilda, and pretty soon I was thinking that just as I’d betrayed him while he was alive, I was going to let him down now he was dead. Then things began to change.”
“After Youngman came?” Pascoe guessed.
“Yes. Not at first, but eventually, as he became a fairly regular visitor, she seemed to get herself together. Didn’t stop the drinking but started taking on board enough food to pull herself back from the brink. He broached this Templar stuff with her first and she mentioned it to me. I was furious, but when she saw that, she clammed up. Things had been strained between us since it happened. We never…did it again. There was no way either of us could think of each other in that way again. But somehow we were bound closer than we’d ever been…bound together on a wheel of fire…don’t know why that came into my mind…something I read at school…but now I knew what it meant…and at the same time I think we hated each other for being part of the pain. Then when she started on about the Templars, for the first time in a long time she opened up like she’d done in the old days. And I cut her off short.”
He shook his head as though to dislodge the memory.
“So next time it came up, you listened, because you’d promised your brother to take care of her,” prompted Pascoe, keen to get beyond naked souls to naked fact.
“Yes, I listened. And I listened to Youngman. Look, I’m not saying I got involved simply because of Kilda. I was off balance myself, and I’d felt for a long time that politically we were pretty wishy-washy in our response to the terrorism, and the idea of fighting fire with fire had a lot of appeal. Also to start with it seemed like a game. Secret names, special ways of contacting each other, it was, I don’t know, it was sort of fun.”
“Like Stalky and Co, you mean?” said Pascoe savagely. “Like being back at boarding school? And when you discovered your particular mission was to blow up a video shop in Mill Street and murder the men who ran it, did it still seem like fun?”
“It seemed unreal. It was a step-by-step thing. At first it was just a matter of leaving a small bomb in the shop and doing a lot of damage. This was a terrorist operations center, Youngman said. People came here to get instructions, to discuss targets, to plan attacks.”
“How did he know this? Why did you believe him?”
“He was convincing. He showed us photographs and documents, copies of Security Service reports.”
“Where did he get these?”
Kentmore shrugged.
“There was a contact inside the Service, he said. He implied this came close to unofficial official approval.”
“Any name?”
“He just referred to him as Bernard.”
“Bernard?”
Bernie Bloomfield? Could it be that simple?
“Yes. After St. Bernard. He was the big religious name behind the Templars, I gather. The one who provided their moral justification.”
“Ah yes, that Bernard,” said Pascoe.
So not that simple. Unless of course this was a CAT joke. Not much different from Freeman using Wills and Crofts.
He said, “So the plan was…?”
“First to get into the video shop. There was a window open on the side of the end house of the terrace. Once in, we got up into the roof space and worked our way along.”
“Were you expecting to find anyone in the shop?”
“Possibly. It was a Bank Holiday but terrorists don’t keep bank holidays, said Youngman. So like Boy Scouts we should be prepared. He provided us with guns.”
“And a bomb.”
“Yes. And a bomb. It didn’t look like much. Just a small plastic box. The kind of thing you’d put sandwiches in. Youngman said it would wreck the room it was placed in. I said, what if there were someone in the room? He said anyone in there would be the kind of bastard who’d tortured and murdered my brother, so where was my problem?”
“And you said?”
“I said I didn’t have one,” replied Kentmore in a low voice. “And I didn’t. But I still hoped the place might be empty.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No. When we got into number three, we found two men there already. They were totally flabbergasted when we appeared. They offered no resistance. I tied them up and gagged them. As I was finishing the job, we heard a noise downstairs. Kilda said she’d take a look. A little later there was a shot. I nearly died of shock. I went to the door and was just going to call down when I heard voices. I stood there, not certain what to do. But eventually Kilda came up the stairs with another Asian and told me to tie him up too.”
Which you did, thought Pascoe. Probably relieved to have someone telling you what to do. In a crisis, everyone finds their level.
He said, “What did Kilda say had happened.”
“She’d found this other man in the shop and pointed her gun at him and told him to go upstairs. When he realized she was a woman, he’d laughed and said he wasn’t frightened of a replica, human or mechanical. So Kilda fired a shot past his ear and asked him if he still wasn’t frightened. Then the door opened and your man came in.”
Hector. Who’d said the “man” with the gun looked funny. Why didn’t I pay more heed to Hector? Pascoe asked himself savagely.
“Kilda said he didn’t seem at all certain what to do,” continued Kentmore. “She moved back into the shadows and lowered the gun, but kept the other man covered. Knowing what was stowed away in the shop, he wouldn’t have been keen to involve the police anyway. Probably he thought there was a burglary going on. Last thing terrorists expect is to be terrorized, that’s what Youngman said. So when Hector asked if everything was all right, he said yes, it was, and Hector left.”
“And your reaction was?”
“To get away from there as quickly as possible. After I’d tied the third man up, I looked out of the window and saw a police patrol car outside. I told Kilda we had to get out, which we did, via the roof space again.”
“But you left the bomb behind.”
Kentmore sighed and rubbed his eyes and said, “I simply forgot all about it. Kilda had been carrying it. When I asked her she said she’d put it down as planned.”
“And then you sent the signal that exploded it?”
He said, “Not straightaway. Kilda wanted to, but I said no, not while there was any chance that a policeman could be on the premises.”
“That was kind of you,” said Pascoe
The sarcasm slipped out. He didn’t want to antagonize Kentmore, not till he’d got all he could out of him. But he needn’t have worried.
“We argued,” said Kentmore, as if he hadn’t heard the interruption. “I insisted we talk to Youngman. There was this silly procedure with texts and code names. When we finally spoke, I told him what had happened. He told me to wait and rang off. About half an hour later he rang back and said it was OK, all taken care of, there would be no policemen in the building, and any outside would be a safe distance away. I was still doubtful but Kilda said I was being stupid. And without further ado, she sent the signal.”
“Ah,” said Pascoe. “So it was Kilda’s fault, not yours.”
This time the sarcasm got through.
“If you imagine I am trying to dilute my share of the responsibility, you’re a fool,” said Kentmore wearily. “If anything, I’m much more guilty. From the start, Kilda has been in a very disturbed state of mind. I make no such claim. Everything I have done I have done with my eyes wide open. Earlier you accused me of treating it like a game. That was how it felt. Now I can see what a stupid, pathetic game it was. I saw it from the moment I heard about the extent of the explosion, and the injuries to you and your colleague. Since then I’ve gone about my business as normal, as if by so doing I could help make come true what I prayed for every morning and night. That was that your friend Superintendent Dalziel would make a complete recovery.”
“That’s nice. Pity God’s choosy about whose prayers he answers.”
“Mr. Pascoe, believe me, there’s nothing you can say that can match what I feel about myself. I was stupid. He paid the price. But even though I know how wrong I was, I still believe there are questions that need to be asked. If, as I believe, the invasion of Iraq was justified and men like my brother died fighting a just war, then as a citizen of the country he died to defend, aren’t I right in expecting our security forces to attack the enemy who killed Chris with every weapon at their disposal, within or without the law?”
Curiously this stilted expression of a right-wing tabloid viewpoint touched Pascoe more than anything else he’d heard from the man. How many nights had the poor bastard lain awake desperately trying to formulate a defense which played better than I was fucking my brother’s wife, so when she said let’s kill some Abs, I went along with it?
“Needs a bit of work on the syntax,” he said. “But once the Voice has reduced it to tabloidese, you could have the jury waving Union Jacks and singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory.’ Mind you, the same flag-wavers will probably be screaming for your public execution. Juries, god bless ’em, don’t like cop killers.”
He paused, judged that Kentmore was as softened up as he was going to be, and moved into direct interrogation mode.
“So who do you know besides Youngman?”
“No one. He was our only contact. Referring to others he always used Templar names. The one pulling the strings was called Hugh, after Hugh de Payens, the first Grandmaster of the Order.”
“When did you last see Youngman?”
“On that Bank Holiday afternoon. We had a debriefing meeting arranged in Charter Park. I was very angry. I’d heard about the results of the explosion by then.”
“So no contact since?”
“I talked to him on the phone on Wednesday night after I’d lunched with Ellie.”
“Why?”
“Because of PC Hector. Kilda had already told me he was in hospital. I believe she got the information from you at the fete. When she saw how agitated I was by the news she told me not to be silly, it was just a traffic accident. But I think she knew more.”
She knew it was a black Jag because I told her, thought Pascoe. And she knew Hector was making a good recovery. And she probably passed on this info to Youngman, which was why he decided to finish off the job in the hospital. Shit! I have not been a friend to poor old Hector in all this!
Kentmore was still speaking.
“Then at the start of the week, the papers, the Voice anyway, were hinting that an attempt had been made on a policeman’s life in the Central. Now I was seriously concerned. This wasn’t collateral damage, this was attempted murder. I arranged to see Ellie in the hope that I could get some details. When I told Kilda she seemed to approve the idea. Probably she was hoping to pick up more information useful to Youngman.”
“And did you find out anything?”
“Don’t worry. Ellie was very discreet. But I was able to work out from what she said that an attempt had been made and the target was PC Hector. Afterward I tried to contact Youngman. But his mobile wasn’t responding. Kilda said he’d probably dumped it because he was on the run as a result of what happened at the hospital. She also said I should be grateful rather than angry. Hugh had decided Hector had to be dealt with because he might be able to identify her, and once he’d done that, the police would be on to me in no time.”
“And were you grateful?”
“No, I’ve told you. I was horrified.”
“So horrified you did…what? Sent yourself to bed without any supper?”
“No,” said Kentmore. “I went about my business. Things were out of my control. In fact, I could see they’d never been in my control. But at least Hector and Mr. Dalziel were still alive. And with Youngman on the run, surely the men behind the Templars would call their campaign off? Above all I told myself I still owed it to Chris not to let Kilda down. I just wanted to immerse myself in Haresyke, to cut all links with what had happened. Several times I picked up the phone to cancel lunch with you and Ellie.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because no matter how I rationalized everything, part of me still said I had to act. I came along today half believing I could tell you everything. But it’s so hard. It had been such a nice lunch, it seemed a shame to spoil it—funny what banalities we use to divert us from unpleasant duties. And then your friend arrived. Oh Jesus, Peter, believe me, there’s nothing that has happened that I can use to dilute my responsibility for Mr. Dalziel’s death. There’s no punishment you can impose which will make me feel worse.”
It was an outburst to make a jury cry, but Pascoe was not in a tearful mood.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “So do you have any idea where Youngman might be now?”
Kentmore hesitated then said, “No. How could I? I presume if he’s got any sense with you people on his tail, he’ll have got out of the country.”
Sometimes a thing is so obvious it has to be pushed in your face at least three times before you notice it.
Pascoe said, “How do you know he’s on the run? Hang on…You said before that when you couldn’t get through to him on Thursday after your lunch with Ellie, Kilda said he’d probably dumped his mobile because he was on the run, right? So how did she know? It hasn’t been in the papers or on the news.”
He leaned forward to bring his face close to Kentmore’s.
“He’s holed up at the Gatehouse with Kilda, isn’t he? That’s why she didn’t come today. Not a sodding migraine, she’s too busy giving shelter and comfort and God knows what fucking else to that madman. Did she tell you to keep the date, though, to see what you could find out? Is that why you’re here?”
Kentmore shook his head and said, “No…I don’t know…I mean, I haven’t seen him, but when I called at the house earlier in the week she didn’t ask me in and I got to wondering…We’ve spoken on the phone since. I put it to her and she said I didn’t want to know. Maybe she was trying to protect me…”
“You really think she gives a toss about you?” said Pascoe.
“Perhaps not,” said Kentmore wearily. “But when you’re bound together on a wheel of fire…The truth is, I think I’ve been deluding myself for a long time that I could understand Kilda, that I could help save her from herself. The only spark of life that exists in her was lit by Youngman—that’s one of the reasons I went along with his crazy scheme. I was wrong. God forgive me. Now I have to pay for it.”
“Great. OK, let’s go and start you paying the first installment, shall we?”
He stood up, pulled Kentmore to his feet, and urged the man off the patio, across the living room and into the kitchen.
Wield and Ellie were sitting opposite each other at the breakfast table. They both clutched glasses of whisky in their hands. Ellie leapt to her feet when she saw him. He had seen her angry before but never like this. She came at him so violently he brought his forearm up to ward off a physical attack, but she stopped a couple of feet away and hissed, “You bastard!”
Then she threw the contents of her glass into his face.
The raw spirit stung his eyes. He rubbed at them with the back of his hand and gasped, “I’m sorry.”
“Not yet you’re not. What if Rosie had been here? Would that have made any difference?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know…we’ll talk later…I’m sorry, I don’t have the time now…”
“You don’t have the time…?” she yelled, but he wasn’t paying attention.
“Wieldy, take this one in to the factory, book him in and lock him up, and don’t let anyone near him till I say so, OK?”
“Sure,” said Wield. He didn’t look very happy.
“So your little trick worked?” snarled Ellie. “And that makes everything OK?”
“I don’t know,” said Pascoe. “Not yet.”
Kentmore was looking from one to the other in bewilderment.
“What’s going on?” he said. “What trick?”
“Oh sorry, bit of a mistake,” said Pascoe. “Wires crossed. Seems Andy Dalziel’s not dead after all, right, Wieldy?”
“Right,” said Wield. “In fact, like I was just telling Ellie, the news is a bit better. Seems he actually opened his eyes, looked at the nurse who was giving him a bed bath, said, You missed a bit, luv, and then went to sleep. But they reckon that’s what it is this time, sleep, different brain patterns from before or summat.”
For a long moment Kentmore looked stunned, as if this news were harder to take in than the lie about Dalziel’s death.
Then he sagged down onto a chair and said brokenly, “Thank God. Thank God.”
“Right response,” said Pascoe. “Make sure he gets a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive, Wieldy. Now I’ve got to go.”
Ellie’s anger was still there but now it was joined by concern.
“What’s going on?” she cried. “Why are you doing this? Where are you going?”
Pascoe shook his head. Every impulse but one urged him to put his arms around her and beg her forgiveness. The single exception told him he was running out of time. To do what, to prevent what, he wasn’t certain. But it could not be denied.
“I don’t have the time,” he said. “I really don’t.”
He headed into the hallway and out of the front door.
As he slid into his car, Wield called, “Shall I contact Glenister?”
“No!” shouted Pascoe. “Definitely not. No one at CAT. Not a single one of them!”
He saw Ellie standing behind Wield, her face wracked with a conflict of emotions.
He dragged his gaze away and sent the car hurtling down the drive.