Abel and Bradley were inside the container again but this time it was almost full, with cardboard boxes on pallets secured by straps. A narrow, twisting path led to the back. Bradley hated small spaces but their conversation couldn’t be overheard here so he sucked up the tightness in his chest and aimed to keep it short.
‘I dunno what Roscoe’s problem is, boss,’ Abel said. His eyes were bloodshot, and he lacked the usual energy Bradley was accustomed to. Late night.
‘Explain.’
‘He’s looking over his shoulder all the time. Cops visited him and then bailed up one of his men outside the building insisting that Hardy is in communication with them,’ Abel said.
‘Good luck with that. He’s not going to tell them if he is and anyway, Malcolm Hardy has to be master of the disappearing act. Who else could take advantage of the smallest lapse in security and escape custody with handcuffs and an injured foot in the middle of a busy city and still be in hiding?’
‘Almost sounds like you admire him.’
Bradley shrugged.
‘Anyway, Roscoe has his knickers in a knot over last night’s killing,’ Abel said.
‘The call girl?’
‘She was Hardy’s go-to before prison.’
He’d not known that. The air was getting harder to breathe. If Abel felt it, he didn’t show it, but there was a smirk on his lips. Probably could see how uncomfortable it was in this enclosed space and thought it funny.
‘Still have no idea why that affects us, Abel.’
‘He’s terrified that Hardy was sending one of his famous messages by killing her. A message for Roscoe that his patience is running out and he wants to leave the state.’
‘And what did you tell him?’ Bradley started back out.
‘Same thing as before.’ Abel hadn’t moved. ‘And boss?’
Bradley stopped halfway through the container and waited.
‘Got the feeling Hardy has the upper hand. Let’s hope we don’t fall on his wrong side.’
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And my heart… it hurts. Do you know how often I’ve dialled your number just to hear your voicemail?’
Carla gripped an oversized bouquet of lilies and roses. She gazed at the new headstone.
Susan Marie Weaver.
Beloved daughter of Vince and Marion.
Adored mother of Melanie.
Soulmate of David.
Your light guides our hearts.
‘It really does, Susie. You shone so brightly and even through the darkest moments I feel you are with me, telling me it will get better.’ She sighed deeply and laid the flowers near the headstone. ‘But why didn’t you make a new will? One which would have shown the world you wanted Melanie to come to me and Brad? We’re going to fight for her, of course we will, but every day she’s with Vince, Melanie gets closer to him.’
Under any other circumstances that would be a good thing.
But Vince Carter wasn’t a typical grandparent. He’d fooled plenty of people into putting him on some pedestal as a hero. Not Carla though. Not even Susie, although she loved him despite his true nature and had struggled with the sadness of making him stay away for the past year.
Her eyes roamed to the church in the distance. A place of comfort and forgiveness. A pang of guilt touched her. Was she being too hard on Vince? She shouldn’t speak ill of him… not here.
‘Melanie came to visit earlier. We were making a batch of brownies and she said her arm hurt a bit. I made her sit and gave her some orange juice, but she wasn’t comfortable. Anyway, Vince took her to the hospital to check her and she’s fine, she really is. They did an x-ray, and the bones are healing but her cast needed adjusting. Anyway, the point is that Vince phoned me to say she was fine. I never thought he’d do that.’
A group of people wandered past and she said a prayer until they were out of earshot.
‘I am keeping her as safe as I can, Susie. Brad is going to meet with Vince in the next day or two and see if we can arrange at least partial custody, so Melanie gets to spend some time with him and most with us. We’re closer to her school so she could go to him on the weekends. Do you think that is okay?’
She and Bradley had talked it through last night for several hours. It was unlikely Vince would entertain the idea of them having full custody of Melanie, so this was a compromise. If the two parties were able to arrange something privately, then surely social services or whoever made final decisions about these things would look favourably on it. They had a lovely home and security. A long history with Melanie. Stable people.
‘And I promise I’ll make sure Melanie never forgets you. She’s been so brave and today I showed her the photograph of you and me at Her Majesty’s Theatre and told her a bit about how we met. She had a small cry… we both did. But then she said that mummy is always here…’ Carla touched her chest. ‘I almost lost it. But then I looked at her sweet face and decided I’m going to be like Melanie and be brave.’
The weak winter sun disappeared behind a cloud and Carla shivered. She had to do grocery shopping on the way home and would rather not end up soaking wet getting back to the car.
‘I might go past that furniture store near the mall. See if there’s anything for Melanie’s new room. And I’ll tell you all about it next visit.’ She stepped forward and touched the headstone. ‘Love you, Susie. Always and forever.’
As hard as it was to walk away from the grave, the idea of choosing furniture for Melanie was enough to take the heaviest of the pain away. God willing, Melanie would be living with them soon.
‘I want him in for an interview. Time to rattle some cages and see if he bites.’ Terry fastened several photographs of Abel and Roscoe to the whiteboard.
‘More likely one of Hardy’s old contacts will be bitten. Like Ginny.’
Pete had been in a better frame of mind since they’d spotted the duo on the pier, but Ginny’s death obviously still stung. He’d finally told Liz that Ginny had been an informant before Hardy went on his killing spree and she’d talked of leaving her life behind for a family. Liz had rarely seen Pete upset over an informant or criminal so Ginny’s tough exterior must have had a softer side which had got under his skin.
‘Always a risk, Pete. I’ve got people collecting footage from all directions, so we’ll find out who killed her.’
‘Boss, what about Mrs Hardy? Is her watch aware she might be in danger?’ Liz asked.
Both Pete and Terry looked at her as if she was mad.
She wasn’t. ‘Think about it. We spent some time there the other day and she was quite happy to tell us Roscoe keeps in touch. So what if she’s on Hardy’s hit list?’
Terry shook his head. ‘His own mother?’
‘Liz, did you notice her living room?’ Pete perched on the edge of a desk.
‘It was gloomy in the house. Curtains closed. Only a lamp or two on.’
‘Figured you’d overlooked the brand new television, expensive artwork, and top of the line lifting chair.’
How did I miss those first two?
‘I saw the chair.’
He grinned. ‘See what I mean? One out of several.’
‘So you think Hardy is funding her fancy gadgets? If he is, why would he take out his own mum?’ Terry asked.
‘Because he’s a lunatic. A sociopath who only cares for his own freedom and if he believed Ginny had betrayed him then he might very well work his way through anyone he gets the shits with.’
‘Fair point. I’ll touch base with the uniforms keeping an eye on Mrs Hardy. Tell them to be more visible.’ Terry made a note on his phone. ‘Anyone else I need to babysit?’
Liz glanced at Pete. He must be thinking the same as she was and neither spoke.
If Jerry Black was a target now, from their brief conversation, it would shock her. Unless he had a pipeline to Hardy—or told someone who did—and then was considered a threat…. Nothing had occurred to put the man in jeopardy.
Apart from that weird feeling of being watched.
She mentally shook the thought—and the feeling—away.
‘So we’ll invite Farrelly in for a chat?’ She asked.
‘Worth it, I reckon.’ Terry tapped one of the photos. ‘Exactly why was he meeting Roscoe in the dead of the night at a deserted pier?’
‘A better question might be what you lot were doing following Richard?’ Abel had said little since the patrol car brought him in, apparently more interested in listening to questions and gazing around the room or at his fingernails. Liz sat watching as one by one, Pete had placed a collection of the photographs he’d taken in front of Abel.
‘Maybe we were following you,’ Pete said.
‘I’m boring. Go to work. Go home. Shop sometimes.’
‘Yet you were out on a freezing night meeting a man who was going to drop in to visit you the other day… until he noticed the police were already there.’
‘We both work odd hours. Mine are around the needs of my boss so sometimes it is eight to five and others it is of an evening. Not much rhyme nor reason to how the docks work, and we have to fit in with them.’
‘And Roscoe?’
‘He is at the beck and call of his clients. We’ve been meaning to catch up for weeks.’
Pete leaned his arms on the table. ‘You both went to the same school. And then what? You kept in touch? Do a bit of work on the side for your old mate?’
‘I work for Bradley. Imagine you’ve done your research on my background which might highlight the lack of legal qualifications.’
‘Nah, I was thinking more along the lines of activities where the law is a hindrance. Those little jobs a lawyer couldn’t do without landing themselves in the very place they aim to keep their clients out of.’
Abel’s face barely changed. He was clever—sly, Liz had no doubt, and would be hard to get an admission out of. Certainly not without proof.
‘So, how does Malcolm Hardy fit into this?’ Pete asked.
‘Into this what?’
‘Relationship of yours. You, Roscoe, and Hardy.’
With a shake of his head, Abel leaned back in his chair. ‘Only ever seen Hardy on television. Richard and I never talk business. Not his. Not mine.’
‘What do you talk about?’ Liz decided to join the conversation.
He didn’t even look her way. ‘We support opposing football teams. That makes for lively discussions and is why we only catch up every so often. Why am I here?’
‘Wait on… you only talk football?’ Pete grinned. ‘Must have been an important round to mean meeting up when it is stupid degrees cold, and he got you riled up enough to push him. Whose team won?’
‘You’re wasting my time.’
Pete kept smiling and moved his chair to look at Liz. ‘Is it a waste?’
‘Depends on which footie team won.’
Abel almost smiled.
The silence dragged for a couple of minutes. Liz had to hand it to Pete—he loved this. He was a natural with interviews and the dirtier the person, the better. Having a quiet room often led to the blurting of useful information or tripping over facts. But Abel relaxed and closed his eyes. This wasn’t a typical response.
‘Roscoe and your boss, Pickering. Good mates?’
Eyes opening slowly, Abel gave off a vibe of not caring. He probably didn’t.
‘You’d need to ask them. Why am I here? Have you found the van yet? It’s a pain with the one we’ve hired. Never starts properly.’
‘My heart is breaking for you. What do you know about the argument between Pickering and Weaver the night of the crash, and don’t tell me you know nothing.’
‘I know nothing.’
‘See, I don’t believe you. I reckon you know everything going on in that warehouse and good for you. It’s your job to know. So do yourself a favour and throw us a crumb. In the long run, it will be better for you.’
Except he believes he’s untouchable.
‘Can’t tell what I don’t know.’ Abel pushed his chair back and stood. ‘We’re done.’
‘And that van, mate? Reckon when we find it there’ll be evidence of it hitting another vehicle.’
On his way out, Abel stopped long enough to sniff loudly. ‘I smell a set-up.’
The door closed behind him.
‘Surprised he can smell anything he’s so deep in shit.’ Pete stood and pushed his chair over.