Road Kill

Twenty-six

“So, what happened, Gleet?” Sean asked.

I’d let Gleet pull himself together for a moment longer before we went out. He’d heaved himself upright and, awkwardly with one hand, had splashed cold water onto his face first. He didn’t bother to dry it, just shook his head a couple of times like a wet dog.

Maybe he thought it might obscure the fact that he’d been crying – enough to be worth the pain it clearly caused him to move his head so abruptly. Nobody who looked at those red-rimmed eyes could make any mistake about that, but I didn’t think it kind to say so.

When we emerged to the others’ scrutiny, Sean’s question was gently put. As though he was only too aware of the pain it was going to cause to go over the events again, now Gleet knew that Tess was dead.

It was strange. In the past I’d watched Sean kill without compunction, without a hint of hesitation or regret. And yet here he was, behaving with such compassion towards a man he barely knew.

“I followed you all down to Mondello this morning,” Gleet said, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed and shuffling back against the headboard, hunching his shoulders so his elbow didn’t bump against the woodwork. “I met up with Tess down in the car park last night and she told me the plan.”

I looked at him in surprise. “That was Tess?” I said. “I knew someone had been down there with you but I didn’t think she could get up the stairs so fast in those heels.”

Even as I said it I realised there wasn’t any mystery. She’d just taken them off to scamper up the smooth concrete steps and across the polished lobby floor, and put them back on to walk back into the bar. Not exactly a difficult trick.

Paxo shot me a dark look, like I was side-tracking Gleet unnecessarily, and waved him on with some impatience.

“Seeing as I knew what was going on, I just hung around near the main gate at the track and waited for the pair of them to leave, like. Only I thought I’d got more time so I went for a bit of a wander. I thought the bunch of you would all be in with the advanced mob and you’d send Gnasher – Jamie – out with the intermediates.”

That flat grey gaze swept over Sean and me, cutting the others out. “He must have been spittin’ feathers when you two decided to drop down a group and force him in with the novices, but they needed you out of the way so Jamie could slip out with Tess, like,” he went on. “They shoulda been there and back inside twenty minutes and you’d never have been any the wiser, see?”

“Yes,” Sean said, ominous, “we do see.”

Gleet paused a moment as though the long speech had tired him. His skin had that waxy pale tinge and he’d started to sweat. He had his right hand tucked under his left forearm and was gripping it tightly, as though he could squeeze the pain away. From this angle it was pretty clear that his elbow joint was smashed and, from the scars, it probably wasn’t the first time.

“So,” Gleet went on, labouring a little now with the distraction, “I was in the wrong place. I was watchin’ the action from in the stands when I saw his bike leavin’. Took me a little while to get back to the Suzi and set off after ‘em, like. By the time I got to the petrol station, it was too late. They’d already gone.”

“And you didn’t see anyone else?” Sean asked.

Gleet started to shake his head and stopped, wincing. “No, nobody. Nobody except all the lads who were fillin’ their bikes up for the track. I stuck my head into the bog, but there didn’t seem to be nobody there, neither. I thought I must have missed ‘em on the road, but I knew I hadn’t.”

Sean and I exchanged a quick look. Had Gleet seen the dead courier? It would seem not. He had no reason to lie if he had. Should we tell him? Sean shook his head slightly. No point.

“So, what then?” he prompted instead.

“Well, I shot back here and cruised round the car park a coupla times, but I couldn’t spot that little four hundred of Jamie’s anywhere, so I was just about to hightail it back to Mondello – feeling a right plonker if you must know – when the lift doors opened and there he was,” Gleet said, eyes focused inwards, remembering. “He was struggling like a bastard, I’ll say that for him, but two of ‘em had a hold of him and they knew what they were about – bouncer types.” His gaze snapped back, skimmed over Sean and took in the size and the way of him, recognising something of what he was.

“Struggling?” Daz said, frowning. “But we thought Jamie was the one who—” He broke off abruptly as Gleet’s head swung in his direction.

“Who what? Who did for Tess, you mean? No way,” Gleet said, stony. “Not the way he was fightin’ and yellin’, like. Whatever they’d done, he didn’t look like he wanted to be any part of it.” And he went quiet because now, unlike then, he knew exactly what it was that Jamie had not wanted to be a part of.

“So why were they taking him at all?” I wondered. “And where?”

Gleet forgot himself long enough to attempt a shrug, then had to pause to catch his breath. He’d begun to rock a little, almost unconsciously, in self-comfort.

“Search me,” he said at last. “But he didn’t want to go, that’s for sure.”

“So, what did they do with him, these men?” Sean asked, repeating my question.

“They had a big white van near the exit,” Gleet said. “Merc of some kind, I think. They started trying to bundle him into the back of it, but he didn’t want to go. Eventually, one of them pulled out one of those extending night-sticks and thwacked him one.”

Sean’s eyes flicked to mine again. Eamonn? I wouldn’t give him an answer.

“They hit him?” Paxo said, sounding puzzled. “But we thought he must have been in it with them.”

“No way,” Gleet said. “I saw them hit him and it wasn’t no friendly tap, neither. He went down like a sack of spuds.”

“And what happened to you?”

“I hopped off the bike and waded in, like,” Gleet said, rueful. “Should have waited until they put that damned stick away first, though. Took one on my arm, first whack, then got lamped round the back of the head and that was me out of it. Next thing I knew, you lot were standing over me.”

“We still don’t know why they were taking him – or where,” Sean said, almost to himself. He glanced at me. “If they were going to kill him, why bother to take him with them at all?”

“They don’t seem too fussed about leaving a trail behind them,” I agreed.

“Oh, I don’t think they were out to kill him,” Gleet said and all eyes turned in his direction. “Well, just as the first bloke clouted Jamie, the other one grabbed his mate’s arm and yanked it back, like. Told him to ‘go steady’ or ‘go easy’, something like that. I didn’t catch it right. Sorry.”

So, who would want the kid in one piece? Sean’s gaze flicked towards me and I saw the same answer that had been forming in my mind.

His mother.

“It’s got to be,” Sean said, as though I’d spoken out loud.

“Shit,” I muttered, suddenly replaying the conversations I’d had with Jacob since we’d arrived in Ireland. His questions. My answers. I’d kept him up to speed and thought no more about it. “Isobel must have made a deal with Eamonn. And I know just how she’s been getting her intel.”

“You weren’t to know, Charlie,” Sean said, almost without censure.

Paxo had been following the brief discussion backwards and forwards like a tennis fan, scowling. “Hang on. Are you trying to tell us that Jamie sold us out to his mother?” he said, voice rising. “The little shit.”

“I don’t think so,” Sean said. “They thumped him and chucked him in the back of a van. Hardly the way you’d treat a co-conspirator, is it?”

“So why have they taken him?” William asked.

“I’ve no idea,” I said, grim. “But I think I might know someone who can answer that.”

I crossed to the phone and followed the instructions for dialling out international. Everyone’s eyes were riveted on me, with the exception of Gleet. He’d allowed his head to sag back against the pillows and his eyelids had sunk into a doze like someone had flicked a switch.

“Who are you calling?” Paxo demanded as the call connected and rang in my other ear. “Come on, Charlie, don’t—”

I held my hand up to silence him as the phone was picked up at the other end.

“Hi Jacob,” I said. I was aiming for a light tone but my voice came out tight and ever so slightly angry. Which was hardly surprising, given the circumstances.

“Charlie!” Jacob said, sounding just as tense. “What’s happening?”

“We were rather hoping,” I said, “that you could tell us that.”

He paused a fraction too long. “What do you mean?”

I sighed. “Just let me talk to Isobel,” I said tiredly. “I know she’s there. Just tell her the courier’s dead, Tess is dead, and Eamonn’s boys have taken Jamie, but that if she thinks that cold-hearted bastard is going to let the boy live after what he’s seen, she’s kidding herself.”

For a whole five seconds I stood there clutching a silent telephone then Jacob said, quiet and subdued, “Hold on a moment,” and all the background noise at his end abruptly disappeared.

I closed my eyes briefly. I suppose that right up until that point I’d been hoping Jacob would blow up at me again for getting it all wrong. Instead all I felt was the stab of betrayal in my side, like a vicious stitch.

There was some crackling at the other end of the line. “Jamie is Isobel’s son as much as mine. I’d no right to keep her out of it,” Jacob said then, his voice sounding more distant, echoing. “I’ve put it on speakerphone. Go ahead, Charlie. Isobel’s right here.”

“Have you told her what’s happened?”

“Yes,” Isobel’s voice sounded uncharacteristically wavery. She seemed to take a breath and said, more firmly, “Yes, he has.”

“I don’t know what kind of a deal you cut with Eamonn, or what promises he’s made you, Isobel,” I said, harsh, “but he won’t keep them. He can’t. As soon as he’s got what he wants, your son is history.” I paused, and couldn’t resist adding, “And you as well, probably.”

Even the poor reproduction of the phone system couldn’t hide the gasp my words provoked, although I couldn’t have told you which of Jamie’s parents it came from. But it was Jacob who said, hesitantly, “Can you . . . do anything?”

“We can try,” I said. I looked up, met Sean’s gaze and took what I needed from it. I shut my eyes briefly. Maybe there were times when Sean was in danger of being close to the monster my father claimed, but who else would be so willing to walk with me into situations like this without balking? “We need to know where they’re taking him.”

“I don’t know,” Isobel said, faltering. “Eamonn didn’t tell me exactly what he had planned. Just that he was going to take the diamonds after the courier had handed them over.”

“Well, the poor bloke didn’t exactly hand them over. They had to cut his throat first,” I snapped, infuriated by her vagueness. “Come on, think, Isobel! You know the man. Where is Eamonn likely to have taken Jamie?”

“Erm, well, he has an industrial unit at a place just north of Newry. Used to be a farm,” she said. There was a reluctance to her, as though she was still loathe to sell Eamonn out, in spite of everything. But once she’d begun the words seemed to pick up their own momentum and she gave me detailed directions on how to find it. “But you wouldn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of getting in there unannounced,” she added, more like her old brisk self. “It’s out in the middle of nowhere, isolated. You can see anyone approaching over a mile away. And he won’t be alone.”

I thought of the men we’d seen following us from the ferry. Were they the same ones Gleet had encountered, or did Eamonn have more muscle at his disposal?

I covered the receiver and relayed the information to Sean. He shook his head.

“We haven’t got the time or the equipment to mount an assault,” he said. “Our best chance is to take them on the road.” He checked his watch. “They’ve nearly an hour head start on us but if they’ve any sense they won’t want to risk getting stopped for speeding.” He flashed me a quick hard grin. “If we don’t hang about we should be able to catch them before they hit the border.”

I lifted the receiver back up to my mouth. “Jacob?” I said, my eyes still on Sean. “We’ll do what we can.”

“Thank you,” he said, heartfelt, like he knew we were his last chance.

“Just one more thing,” I said, hearing Isobel start to speak and deliberately cutting across her. “Don’t let Isobel make any phone calls.” And I hung up on her outraged squawk.

“Hell of a time to get caught without a gun on me,” Sean said, rueful. “I didn’t think I’d need one for this trip.”

“Can you get hold of one round here?”

He laughed shortly. “You can buy anything just about anywhere if you know where to go,” he said, then shook his head. “But not without wasting time we haven’t got. We’ll just have to improvise.”

Almost in step, we started for the door.

“Hey, just hold on a minute, guys!” Daz’s voice halted us. We turned back to find the Devil’s Bridge Club members eyeing us in varying stages of dismay. “What about us?”

“What about you?” Sean echoed, cold. “You’ll have to stay here and say your bit to the Irish police.”

“While you two go and try to ambush a moving van from two motorbikes?” William asked calmly. “Not very good odds, are they?”

Sean shrugged. “We’ve had worse,” he said.

“Why go at all? Why not let the little sod get what’s coming to him?” Paxo said bitterly. He’d began to shiver like he was freezing, his thin frame vibrating with delayed shock.

“Can’t do that,” Sean said. “Besides anything else, we’ve given our word to his father that we’ll get him out of this.”

“And what about the rest of us?” Daz demanded, his voice low.

Sean didn’t reply to that one, just stared the other man down. He didn’t need to spell it out that Daz and the others had lied to us, if only by omission. That, if they’d come clean earlier, two ugly deaths might have been avoided.

Daz dropped his eyes and looked away.

“What about the cops?” Paxo demanded. “You said yourself that running would only make things worse.”

“For you, yes.”

“You need us,” Daz said, intensity holding him still now. “Let us go with you.”

“Why?” Sean said, folding his arms and allowing that obsidian gaze to slide over them in turn. “How much experience have you had at ambush techniques?”

“How much has she?” Paxo threw in, jerking his head in my direction.

“More than you think,” Sean said mildly. “More than the rest of you put together, that’s for sure.”

They fell silent. For a long couple of seconds nobody spoke, then William said quietly, “We might not be as expert as you – and Charlie – at this kind of thing, but we can still help.” He took a deep breath, let it out through his nose, flaring his nostrils. “Let us help. We want to help. God knows, we’ve made a balls-up of things so far. Give us a chance to put things right.”

I saw Sean hesitate.

“What about the police?” I said.

“Don’t worry about the local fuzz. I’ll stay and tell ’em what happened.”

I turned, surprised, to see Gleet was awake again and sitting upright on the bed. He gripped his broken elbow a little tighter and gave us a wan excuse for a smile. “I don’t think I’d be much good to you for anythin’ else, like, would I? And I reckon you need all the help you can get . . .”

***

“OK,” Sean said. “You’re clear what we need?”

“Yeah,” Daz said, listing on his fingers as we hustled into the lift and headed downwards. “Glass bottles – preferably with screw caps – sticky tape, sugar, paint. Any preference on colour?”

“I hardly think it matters,” William said, rolling his eyes. “After all, we’re not planning on redecorating the place.”

“So, what is he planning on doing with that lot?” Paxo wanted to know. “It’s like something out of the fucking A-Team. Suddenly he’s turned into Hannibal Smith. Hey, Charlie could be that token chick, whatever her name was; Daz can be Faceman; I could be Howling Mad Murdoch and—”

“You can stop that right there,” William said sharply as we hit the ground floor and the lift slowed and stopped. “I absolutely refuse to be that tosser Mr T, all right?” He waited a beat, scowling as the doors opened, then muttered under his breath, “Fool.”

Sean didn’t join in the banter but that didn’t mean he disapproved, either. He understood, better than most, that it was just tension finding its own release.

In the foyer we split off in our prearranged directions, only too aware of the clock ticking. William stayed in the lift and headed for the maintenance area in the car park, while the others disappeared in the direction of the bar and kitchens.

I trotted over to the front desk and, using my best smile, managed to snaffle a roll of brown packing tape. The same guy who’d sorted Daz’s keycard out was still on duty and he was still feeling guilty enough to be accommodating.

By the time I’d got back to the lift, Daz and Paxo were already there, clutching half a dozen empty one-litre bottles between them. I looked at them in surprise and Paxo grinned at me.

“There was a big plastic skip of them near the bar, so we just helped ourselves,” he said. “We found three with lids on.”

“Good enough,” I said. “Where’s Sean?”

“Here,” Sean said, appearing. He had a one kilo bag of sugar in one hand and a small metal tube in the other which he held up and shook at me. “Remember those little short sparklers in the dessert last night?” he said.

“Fuses,” I said, smiling. “Perfect.”

***

Right before we left, I used the hotel phone to place an international call to Detective Superintendent MacMillan.

“Hi there, Superintendent,” I said, breezy and reckless, when the police switchboard put me through. “You remember you asked me to find out what that group of bikers were up to?”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. I stood there, holding the phone to my ear while the Devil’s Bridge Club members stood around and tried not to look offended. Besides anything else, now they’d made their choice to go with us, they were mostly too apprehensive to react to my admission.

Gleet was still on the bed, propped up with pillows. We’d folded a bath towel into a makeshift sling around his arm. His eyelids were heavy again and he was fighting to keep them open.

Then MacMillan said in that familiar clipped voice, “Why do I get the distinct impression I’m going to regret saying ‘yes’ to that?”

“Well, make a choice,” I said, matching my tone to his. “I don’t have much time.”

There was another pause, shorter this time but, if silence could have a tartness to it, this one had much more of that.

“All right, Charlie,” he said eventually, with a heavy sigh. “I’m listening.”

“I’m in Ireland,” I began, baldly. “There are two people dead.”

I heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. “What is it with you?” he muttered tightly, then, louder: “All right. Tell me.”

“One we think is a diamond courier, murdered in the gents’ toilet of a petrol station just outside Naas. The other was Slick Grannell’s girlfriend, murdered in a hotel room nearby.”

“Grannell’s girlfriend?” he said sharply. “Wait.” And he hit the silence button at his end without waiting for my acquiescence.

I did as I was told, listening to the static. The boys waited with me, most of them so tense I don’t think they’d remembered to breathe. Only Sean looked at all relaxed and that, I knew, was deceptive. It seemed to take a long time before MacMillan came back on the line.

“Mr Grannell was doing some deals with some nasty people involved with smuggling gemstones out of Africa,” he said without preamble when he returned. “Since his death we’ve had a few enquiries in from other forces and from Interpol. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details with you, Charlie, but I would strongly advise you, for what it’s worth, to contact the local police, to cooperate with them fully, and leave it to them,” he said, spelling out each word very precisely as though someone else might be listening in. “I did try and warn you but, trust me, you do not want to get yourself any deeper involved with this one than I fear you have done already.”

I shook my head. A useless act since he couldn’t see me do it. “It’s not as easy as that,” I said. “After they killed Tess they grabbed one of the lads – Jacob Nash’s son, Jamie.”

“Ah,” MacMillan said, not needing to be told about the strong bond I had with Jacob and Clare.

“We think we might know where they’re taking Jamie, and we’re going to see if we can catch up with them,” I said, deliberately cagey. The last thing I wanted was for MacMillan to try and intercept or divert us. Or, for that matter, ask too many questions about how we intended to go about our task.

As if he could read my mind MacMillan paused again and then said, “Is Meyer with you?”

“Yes.”

He made a humph of sound. “So, why are you telling me this – apart from to make me a possible accessory to whatever it is you’re going to do?” he said, the sarcasm sharp in his voice now.

“We’ve a man injured,” I said, eyes trailing over Gleet where he lay against the pillows, his face still partly clotted with old blood. He’d lost his battle with sleep again, his head lolling sideways in a way that echoed starkly how Tess’s had been. “He tried to stop them taking Jamie and they laid into him. When the police get here, it would help if there was someone who could vouch for him, otherwise I think they’re going to give him a pretty hard time of it.”

“And why can’t you vouch for him yourselves? No, on second thoughts don’t answer that,” he interrupted quickly before I had chance to speak. “I really don’t want to know.” He sighed again, an annoyed release of pent-up breath. “All right, Charlie. If they call me I’ll put in a good word for your friend. What’s his name?”

“Officially he’s Reginald Post, but he’s known as Gleet,” I said.

“Ah, that wouldn’t be the same Gleet who runs a custom bike workshop from his sister’s farm near Wray, would it?” the policeman asked.

It was my turn to pause, taken aback. “Yes, it is. How do you know that?”

“We wondered where he’d got to, and that sister of his is doing sphinx impersonations – or should that be gargoyle?” MacMillan muttered. “We raided his place yesterday and discovered the remains of Slick Grannell’s bike there. I could do with a word with the mysterious Mr Post myself.”

“I’m sure if you can get him away from the gardai unscathed, he’ll talk to you all you want,” I said.

“Hmm,” was MacMillan’s only reaction to that. “Oh, there is one thing you might be interested to learn,” he went on. “Once we’d recovered Grannell’s motorcycle we were able to compare paint traces we found on a Transit van abandoned the day after the accident. Of course, we’ll have to wait for the lab to do their stuff for it to be definitive, but our lads are pretty sure they’ll be a match.”

He paused again, as though carrying out some internal debate on how much more to tell me. Eventually, when I didn’t interrupt him, he sighed and said, “The van was reported stolen, as you would expect. But, interestingly enough, the registered owner is a property company based in Northern Ireland – the director of which is one Isobel Nash. In light of what you’ve just told me I think we might well be having a word with Mrs Nash in due course.”

“I think the person you should really be aiming to talk to is her boyfriend, Eamonn Garroway,” I said. “And watch your step when you do. His idea of a conversation tends to hurt.”

Sean tapped his watch and I nodded to show I understood.

“Sorry, Superintendent,” I said, brusque, “but we need to get moving.”

“All right, Charlie,” MacMillan said, resigned. “I should know by now that trying to talk you out of whatever it is you’re going to do is a pointless exercise so I’ll save my breath, but . . . good luck.”

“Thank you, John,” I said gravely. “We’re going to need it.”