Adrian Magson - No Tears for the Lost

‘Is that why he’s working where he is?’ Riley tried to be tactful, knowing this must be difficult for Barbara to talk about.

‘Yes. He tried other jobs. I mean, his career in the Navy was over, but he did try. Securicor was one place, but when they asked him to do night shifts, he couldn’t sleep properly in the day and it began to tell on him. Tom’s son, Ben — he’s a policeman — helped by taking him out for drives and suchlike. But it didn’t last. Then he saw the attendant position advertised down at the Job Centre and applied.’ She shook her head slowly, eyes somewhere in the distance.

‘That must have been very hard.’

‘Harder for him than me, love.’ Barbara looked up with a touch of fire in her eyes, and Riley saw the pride that Jacob’s wife still felt for him, in spite of his problems. ‘Much harder. Especially when friends asked why — knowing his background in the navy, I mean. But he said that’s what he wants.’ She shrugged. ‘And that’s where he’s been ever since. It suits, him, you see. He feels safe down there. Removed. A bit like being on board ship, I think. He’s on his own for the most part, but there’s always people he knows who pop in for a chat. They never stay long because they know it’s not needed, but it’s enough. He likes to read, and he does puzzles and such, like Sudoku. He draws, too — people, mostly — and makes model ships and stuff. He was always good with his hands like that.’

Riley nodded and felt an unbidden thought creep into her mind. Would that include putting together a fake bomb? ‘But why all this stuff about Myburghe? He wasn’t on board the Sheffield, was he?’

‘Not him, dear. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?’ Riley was about to ask her what she meant, but Barbara twisted her fingers together and continued, ‘What you said about other people… the tabloids. I couldn’t have that happen. It would destroy him. Could you get someone to talk to him? A man, I mean. He won’t talk to you — not alone, anyhow.’

‘But he contacted me,’ Riley pointed out.

‘I know, love. He probably thought…’ She paused and looked embarrassed, and Riley thought she knew why.

‘He thought Riley was a man?’

‘Yes. Sorry.’ Barbara took a deep breath. ‘He’s not good around women these days. I don’t know why. He used to be so confident — a bit of a charmer, actually.’ She stared off into the distance, a faint smile bringing a light to her face as the memories came flooding in. Then she shook herself and continued, ‘I don’t want him talking to others about it. He could get into trouble, couldn’t he, saying things like that? And the tabloids don’t care who gets hurt, do they? Myburghe is important, after all.’

‘You know who he is, then?’

Barbara nodded, eyes flickering beyond Riley as if she didn’t want to make contact. ‘Oh, yes. I know who he is.’ She dropped her head, but not before Riley saw a flash of something deep in her eyes. It might have been anger, but it was too brief to tell.

‘Did Jacob talk about him?’

‘Sometimes.’ She waved vaguely. ‘He talks about…things, now and then. Things he remembers. I’m not sure he knows what he’s saying most of the time. But he mentions Myburghe more than most things.’

Riley held her breath, her heart thudding. This time, while Barbara was talking, she’d seen something more in her face, and heard something in her tone of voice when she talked about Myburghe.

Was it contempt?

When Barbara didn’t speak, Riley urged her, ‘Go on.’

‘Well, he’s the man who got so friendly with those lords, wasn’t he?’

‘Lords?’ Riley leaned forward and touched the woman’s arm. Instinct told her this was important. ‘What lords, Barbara?’

‘Well, they’re not real lords, are they?’ Barbara said dismissively. ‘Not like ours, anyway. Except to their own kind, probably. What is it they call those people in Colombia? Those awful cartels… the drug lords.’

Riley made the return trip to London in a daze. She’d been on the brink of dismissing Jacob Worth as a certified head-case, a man living under massive delusions, when suddenly she’d been snapped back to basics by Barbara Worth’s revelations about her husband’s background and his connection with Sir Kenneth Myburghe. Whatever she’d hinted about the former ambassador had been fuelled by her husband’s ramblings and would have to be verified. Unfortunately, the only person who could do that — apart from Myburghe, and she wasn’t about to ask him — was Jacob.

And Jacob either couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to a woman.

She was still chewing it over when she got home. Tired from the drive, she was about to turn in for an early night when her phone rang. It was Weller.

‘We picked up an interesting visitor yesterday,’ the senior policeman announced breezily. ‘From the States. Used to be one of your lot.’

‘My lot?’ Already with a head like cotton wool, Riley was having trouble deciding what Weller was after. ‘Have you been harassing single women again, Weller? There are laws against that.’

‘Journalist. Hack. Whatever they call ‘em over there.’ She heard the rustle of paper followed by a crunch as he chomped on a sweet. ‘Toby Henzigger. You know him?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘He was freelance, like you. Covering international crime stories for rags like the Washington Post, New York Times, Chicago Tribune… he moved around a lot, mostly in the southern hemisphere.’

Riley desperately wanted to say so what, but she knew Weller wouldn’t have called without good reason. She picked up on the past tense. ‘Was?’

‘He got sucked into a story about drug shipments from Latin America. Rumours put Henzigger a little too close to the action to have survived without having his head shot off — unless he had friends in murky places looking out for him.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ she said bluntly. ‘We all have to share space with some unpalatable characters from time to time.’

Weller chuckled appreciatively. ‘Touché, Miss Gavin. But Henzigger’s upset a lot of people over the years. This could have been their way of getting even. Anyway, the story ran for a while before everyone involved suddenly developed collective amnesia. But the damage was done.’

‘What does Henzigger say?’

‘He claimed his assignment had been set up by a freelance news agency, and he was working alone to keep his profile low because of the circumstances of the story. That should have been enough to get the wolves off his back. Then a photo surfaced showing him head-to-head with a close aide of one of the main Colombian narcotics producers, a man high on the DEA ‘Wanted’ list. That about did it for him.’

Colombia. Riley managed to keep her mouth shut, but the word was enough to send a buzz through her. ‘What happened to him?’

‘By then, they figured where there’s smoke there’s usually somebody with a blowtorch. Bad enough nasty foreigners are shipping drugs to innocent American teenagers, let alone someone from the Fourth Estate being involved. It was enough to cost him his job.’

Riley frowned. Why was Weller telling her all this? He was unlikely to be trying to give her a career boost by tipping her the wink on dubious former journalists coming into the country. ‘What’s he doing over here — lecturing to London’s finest?’

‘How droll,’ muttered Weller. ‘But not such a bad idea, now you mention it. I’m sure there’s plenty we could learn from him. Actually, he claimed he’s here on holiday. He made the mistake of coming in under false papers, but he was recognised at immigration by one of their embassy spotters. They thought we should know, so we picked him up.’