GABRIEL had not died easily. Some psycho had worked on the premise of fingers and toes, followed by kneecaps and elbows, working up to the more essential bits. Strung up, Gabriel had also had his tongue cut out.
Kennedy came to ID the body for himself. He’d recovered his composure and seemed almost relieved. Tallis couldn’t work him out. Kennedy might be glad that Gabriel was no longer in a position to talk, but how was he hoping to conceal Gabriel’s disappearance and keep this somewhat inconvenient hiccough from the police? With a chill, he remembered Justin’s remark about incinerators.
Kennedy made several phone calls. Tallis waited and watched and noticed the phone. Brand-new Samsung: Melissa’s.
‘Christ, I’m hungry,’ Kennedy said. ‘You?’ he asked Tallis.
Not really. He found blood and viscera had an appetite-suppressing effect on his digestive system. ‘Hungry as a lion.’ He smiled cheerily.
‘Me, too,’ Justin chimed in.
‘You’ll need to stay here, oversee things,’ Kennedy said, curtly clicking shut the phone and putting it into an overcoat pocket. ‘Tallis, you’re with me. I know a great little greasy spoon. You can drive.’
Tallis could almost feel Justin’s eyeballs lasering into his back as he walked out of the killing zone.
In the car again, Tallis demanded answers to questions. ‘Are you going to tell me why you wanted Gabriel dead?’ The thought that Kennedy might have set up the whole episode suddenly entered his mind.
‘Patience. You need to take a right here.’
Tallis indicated, glanced at his rear-view mirror, took the turning. ‘You said Gabriel knew everything.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You mean the nature of the business.’
‘Yes.’
‘Like me.’
Kennedy smiled. ‘You’re still a pup. Haven’t been with me long enough to know all the ins and outs.’
Tallis wondered what exactly, apart from the obvious, Kennedy was trying to protect. ‘You thought Gabriel was going to inform on you, right? He might have done.’
‘Have to wait and see,’ Kennedy said, cool.
‘Never had time for grasses.’ If Tallis hoped to provoke a strong denial, it wasn’t forthcoming. Kennedy’s reply was philosophical.
‘We live in an informer society. Our wonderful nanny-state government has seen to that. Every year hundreds of so-called “friends” tip off Inland Revenue, Customs, you name it, about a neighbour or member of their family who they suspect of fiddling the taxman. Councils have even recruited little kids to spy on litter louts and report on them. In this industry, however, grassing up has always been an occupational hazard.’
‘Fucking people over, I call it,’ Tallis said.
‘Left here.’
Tallis glanced at the mirror again. Yup, they were being followed. He was sure of it in spite of the originality of the disguise. A lilac-coloured VW Beetle, artificial flower poking out of the dash, was not everyone’s immediate choice for undercover surveillance. The Golf engine under the bonnet, however, ensured that it could put in a swift and robust performance when necessary. He looked again, saw the indicator suddenly flashing left. Female driving. He felt strange relief that it definitely wasn’t Charlie Lavender. Last thing he wanted was of his image of her to be spoilt. He took another look. Probably the same woman he’d seen watching the offices. Possibly the person behind the camera lens in the tower. Clear of the turning, he pulled over, blew her a kiss as she drove past, and saw the flush of red on her neck and cheek when she glanced in her rear-view mirror. Yes, he thought, same woman.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Kennedy burst out.
‘We were being followed.’ Tallis reeled off a description, including the registration. ‘Familiar?’ Kennedy shook his head, no sign of recognition in his seal-grey eyes. ‘Is there another route we can take?’ Tallis asked.
‘Go back the way we came, down to the roundabout and take the third exit.’
Tallis threw the TT into reverse. ‘A witness said the guys who came for Gabriel were Turks.’ A lie, but he wanted to study Kennedy’s reaction. Tallis glanced across as he looked left and right to check it was clear to pull away.
‘Them again,’ Kennedy said with disdain.
‘Didn’t run into anyone in particular last time you were there?’ Tallis said, sliding up the gears.
‘Saw lots of people.’ Kennedy shrugged. ‘Did you know Turks have taken control of half the European heroin market? They used to be what we call the facilitators—’
‘Contact men,’ Tallis pushed in. Like you, he thought. Then another more compelling thought crossed his mind. ‘Facilitator’ was a word used in terrorist circles to describe a mastermind.
‘Not any more,’ Kennedy spoke. ‘They’ve joined the game. Got a number of bases in Birmingham, but I expect you already knew that.’
‘They also have quasi-terrorist links with organisations like the Grey Wolves,’ Tallis said pointedly.
‘So I’d heard,’ Kennedy said, dismissive.
Tallis ground his jaw. Kennedy was behaving remarkably like a man who was not only back in the game, but also on top of it.
Tallis decided to push his luck, see what Kennedy was really made of. ‘You don’t have a view?’
‘On what?’
‘Terrorism.’
‘’Course I do. Fuckin’ ragheads, sick of the lot of them. And this government,’ Kennedy said, banging on again, voice thronged with contempt, ‘just love ’em to bits.’
‘How do you work that out?’ Tallis was genuinely bewildered.
‘Gives them the opportunity to turn this country into a fuckin’ police state. One more politician droning on about frigging ID cards to prevent us from being blown to bits on our streets and I’ll scream. It’s here,’ he said, indicating a row of shops with a café on the corner. ‘Park in the private slot.’
The service was outstanding, the food less so. Tea, poured out of huge metal tea urns, was thick enough to stand a spade in. While Kennedy tucked into bacon, sausages and eggs, Tallis tried another approach.
‘Think Gabriel’s death is connected to the attempted kidnap?’
‘Of my wife and daughter?’
Tallis nodded. Kennedy surveyed him slowly. ‘Maybe.’
‘What’s the motivation?’
Kennedy popped a piece of bread into his mouth, chewed it well and swallowed. ‘If I knew that, I’d be a very smart bloke indeed. Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold.’
When they’d finished Kennedy announced a change of plan. After a visit to the offices in Lye, he asked Tallis to take him to the clinic.
‘Not feeling well?’ Tallis asked.
‘Never felt better,’ Kennedy said, unsmiling.
The medical centre was situated halfway between Harborne and Bournville, posh areas of Birmingham, the latter home to the Cadbury chocolate empire. Tallis recognised the clinic from his time on surveillance. The cars in the car park were a steal-to-order thief’s wet dream. Tallis counted a Bentley Arnage in among the Jaguar convertibles and Porsche Cayennes.
The entrance was cool and inviting. No smell of bodily fluids, disinfectant or old age. Nursing staff were good-looking and friendly and, without exception, white Caucasian. As soon as Kennedy’s shoe hit the plush carpet, he had everyone’s attention. ‘Afternoon, Mr Kennedy,’ rang out in unison.
‘How’s Billy today?’ he asked a tall brunette with flashing eyes.
‘Enjoying the sunshine,’ she replied, smiling warmly. ‘He’s in the garden room.’
‘I’ll see myself there. Come on, Tallis,’ he said, turning towards him. ‘Time I got you up to speed.’
They walked down a wide corridor, doors off, modern art prints hanging on the walls, classical music piped out of a sound system overlaid with the sound of trickling water. Reminded Tallis of the Basilica in Turkey.
Two men, one seated, one walking towards them, greeted Kennedy.
‘All right, Rex?’ Kennedy said, shaking the man’s hand.
Rex nodded. He was an academic-looking individual, clean-shaven, with fashionable oblong-rimmed glasses. After a brief exchange and introductions, Tallis was asked to remove his jacket, socks and shoes. The man who’d been seated, a short, colourless individual with steel-grey hair, patted him down, obviously checking for wires and weapons.
‘It’s all right,’ Kennedy said as Rex studied the Glock Tallis was carrying. ‘He can have it back later.’
To Tallis’s surprise, Kennedy then took off his socks and shoes. Ritual complete, Rex punched in a code to the door behind them. As it sprang open, Kennedy entered, followed by Tallis.
The reason for bare feet became immediately obvious. They were walking into a bubble. The walls were padded, the floor was padded, no sharp corners, no furniture, everything smooth and round. Even the light in the room was moderated by gauze drapes at the windows. The air seemed unusually pure, as if they were standing on top of a mountain in Switzerland. Tallis glanced up and saw two filters, one at each end, embedded in the ceiling.
‘Hello, Mr Kennedy.’
Tallis looked across the room. A middle-aged nurse dressed in a dark blue top and loose white trousers was sitting on the floor, legs apart. Between them, half lying, half propped, upper torso supported, rested the ruined body of a man.
Kennedy fell to his knees and crawled towards him. ‘Hello, Billy,’ he said. ‘How are you doing, mate?’
At the sound of his father’s voice, Billy’s head, which seemed too big for his emaciated frame, lolled to one side, mouth flopping open, saliva spuming forth followed by a grunting sound that seemed to come deep from his diaphragm.
‘Yeah,’ Kennedy said tenderly, stroking his son’s pale cheek, ‘it’s your old dad, isn’t it?’
Without any fuss, as if the routine had been carried out hundreds of times before, Kennedy gently swapped places with the nurse. Tallis crouched down, acutely uncomfortable at intruding on private grief. The man in front of him was hardly recognisable as the same young man in the photographs. Sure, he had neatly cut dark hair, his clothes casual, T-shirt and jeans carefully chosen to resemble any other thirty-something. But physically he was a wreck. Features slack and distorted, his eyes looked as if something in them had died long ago. One arm hung down from his shoulder inert, the hand a claw, fixed as if in rigor mortis, the other arm curled in, spastic. His legs were thin and wasted. The only area of bulk was around the lower half of his trunk. Tallis guessed Billy was wearing incontinence padding.
As for Kennedy, he bore no resemblance to the thug who only hours before had given orders to kill, who had, in his time, cheerfully taken the lives of others. He was simply a father taking care of his son. And he was doing it brilliantly. Humbled, Tallis felt something dark stir inside him. If his own father had shown him even a modicum of the same regard, how different his life would have been.
When Billy was settled, Kennedy asked Tallis to come over. ‘He doesn’t like sudden movements so approach him slowly.’
Tallis dropped on all fours, quietly creeping along, a fleeting memory of playing with his sister’s children flashing through his mind. When he was close enough to feel Billy’s spittle-laden breath on his face, see the vacancy in his injured eyes, Tallis gently took Billy’s hand in his, felt the slab of cold flesh, and wondered how long a human being could survive such disability.
‘He was hit by some louse driving a car,’ Kennedy explained, his voice dull and without inflection. ‘Dragged for 400 metres. Bits of his skull fractured and penetrated his brain. Broke both legs, his arms, shattered his pelvis, ruptured his spleen. Didn’t think he’d pull through.’ Kennedy suddenly erupted, his voice rising in a howl of pain then falling, eyes blinded with tears and rage. Tallis didn’t speak. What could he say? He felt as if he knew nothing about suffering. Nothing at all. Kennedy was speaking again, softly, coldly. ‘Did you know that when a moving head comes to a sudden stop, the brain continues to travel? Does a fucking lot of damage.’ Kennedy bowed his head, kissed the top of his son’s damp hair, and whispered in his ear something that Tallis failed to catch.
‘Who was driving?’ Tallis asked softly.
‘A prat,’ Kennedy said. ‘Stupid prat.’
Not cunt, not bastard. Seemed a very inconsequential word for someone who’d mown down your son, Tallis thought, for he didn’t doubt that in Kennedy’s mind, Carroll was guilty of a grave offence. Why else had Simon Carroll been sent death threats?
‘Hit-and-run,’ Kennedy spat out, ‘and he got nothing more than a fine and points on his licence. You call that justice? I call it corruption. Fucking police. And they have the cheek to come after people like me. That’s right, isn’t it, Billy?’ Kennedy leant forward, hugging his son to his chest. Billy grunted and howled. ‘He likes you.’ Kennedy beamed, looking up at Tallis, a strange light in his eyes.
Tallis smiled uncertainly. Take your word for it, he thought.
‘You haven’t forgotten about tomorrow, have you?’
‘Saturday, no. Kept a space in my diary especially.’ Maybe he’d find out about those repeated connections to Turkey, and why Gabriel, and even Garry, had been killed.
‘Big learning curve.’ Kennedy was still smiling. Only the eyes said something else.