Stephen Leather - Dead Men

‘Billy, what do you want to eat tonight?’ called Katra, from the kitchen door.

‘Bacon sandwich’ll do me fine.’

‘You had that last night,’ said Katra. ‘And this morning for breakfast.’

‘What can I say, sweetheart? I like bacon sandwiches.’

‘You’ve got to eat vegetables,’ said Katra.

‘Put ketchup on it,’ said Bradford.

Katra laughed and went back into the house.

‘Come on, Liam, take your best shot,’ shouted Bradford.

Tariq put down the binoculars. He had parked his hire car on the brow of a hill overlooking the road where Daniel Shepherd lived. Earlier that afternoon he had seen Shepherd get into the dark green Honda CRV with a young woman he had assumed was his wife. They had returned half an hour later with a boy of twelve or thirteen, obviously Shepherd’s son. But Tariq thought the girl could only be in her mid-twenties, which meant she was too young to be the boy’s mother and too old to be his sister. That meant the boy’s mother had gone and the girl was probably Shepherd’s girlfriend. Not that the exact relationship mattered. They were clearly a family, which meant Salih wanted them dead.

The digital clock in the dashboard showed just after five, which meant it wouldn’t be dark for a few hours. He couldn’t stay parked where he was until then. There were several houses nearby and the road was reasonably busy. An old man had walked by twice with a small terrier on a leash and the second time he’d looked at Tariq’s car. Tariq had quickly lowered the binoculars and he was fairly sure that the old man had been curious rather than suspicious, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He knew where the house was, he knew who the targets were. There was nothing to be gained from sitting in the car and watching the house. He decided to drive to the nearest motorway and find a motel. There, he could bathe, pray and prepare himself. Once it was dark he’d come back and keep the house under surveillance until he was sure everyone was asleep. Then he’d do what he had to do.

A silver Volvo was parked outside Shepherd’s house. A man sat in the driving seat, his coat collar turned up. Shepherd slowed as he drove by and recognised the driver. It was John Maplethorpe.

Maplethorpe climbed out of his car as Shepherd parked in front of his garage. ‘How’s it going, Jamie?’ he asked. He put his hands into his coat pockets.

‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you here to see Elaine?’ Her car wasn’t outside her house.

‘Thought I’d drop by and say hello to you, as it happens,’ said Maplethorpe.

‘Sure, come on in,’ said Shepherd. ‘Everything’s okay, yeah?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ said Maplethorpe. His right hand reappeared from his coat pocket. Shepherd tensed, but relaxed when he saw Maplethorpe was holding a packet of Benson amp; Hedges. Maplethorpe lit a cigarette and offered one to Shepherd.

He shook his head. ‘I’m a Marlboro man.’

Maplethorpe chuckled. Shepherd took him into the house. ‘Beer or something stronger?’ he asked, as they went into the sitting room.

‘Have you got whiskey?’

‘Jameson’s,’ said Shepherd.

‘Perfect,’ said Maplethorpe.

‘Ice?’

‘Just a splash of water,’ said Maplethorpe. He stretched out on the sofa.

As Shepherd poured a whiskey and soda for himself, then a whiskey and water for his visitor, he wondered what Maplethorpe wanted. No red flags would have flown when the detective ran a PNC check on Jamie Pierce. He gave Maplethorpe his whiskey, then sat in an armchair facing him. ‘So . . .’ said Shepherd.

‘Yes,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘So . . .’

‘Is there anything in particular you wanted? Or is this purely social?’

‘Elaine’s a good friend of mine,’ said Maplethorpe.

‘I know that.’

‘I was best man at their wedding.’

‘I know that, too.’

Maplethorpe’s eyes narrowed. ‘How?’

Shepherd had made the cardinal error of an undercover agent – he had revealed that he knew something his character shouldn’t. He knew that Maplethorpe had been Robbie Carter’s best man because he’d seen the wedding photographs in the trunk in Elaine’s attic. ‘Elaine mentioned it,’ he said. He cursed himself because now he’d been forced to tell a direct lie – which Maplethorpe could check.

‘Robbie was like a brother to me,’ said Maplethorpe.

‘And Elaine?’

‘What do you mean?’ said Maplethorpe, leaning forward.

‘You obviously care a lot about her. That’s why you’re here, right?’

‘There’s something not right about you.’

Shepherd’s mind was racing. What had he done to make the detective suspicious? ‘Specifically?’

‘That’s the thing, Jamie,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘There’s nothing I can put my finger on. Bit by bit everything makes sense. Education, work record, no criminal offences. You’re a model citizen.’

‘You checked me out? Isn’t that against the Data Protection Act?’

‘Elaine’s a good friend of mine, and I want to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.’

‘I’m a good guy, John,’ said Shepherd.

‘That’s what the stats say,’ agreed Maplethorpe. ‘But it’s a sum-of-the-parts thing. It doesn’t add up.’ He winced and put a hand to his temple.

‘Are you okay?’

‘It’s nothing,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘Headache.’

‘Do you want an aspirin or a paracetamol?’

Maplethorpe fumbled in his pocket, brought out a small plastic bottle containing white tablets and shook out a couple. He swallowed them and washed them down with whiskey.

‘Sure you’re supposed to take painkillers that way?’ said Shepherd.

‘Yeah, well, you’re a website designer, not a doctor.’ Maplethorpe put the bottle away. ‘Are you with MI5, Jamie?’

Shepherd laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘There’s something about you that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I don’t think you’re a serial killer or a paedophile, but I don’t think you’re a computer geek either.’ He swirled his whiskey in his glass as he studied Shepherd with hard eyes.

‘I could show you my CV.’

‘If you were a spook, your CV would be perfect. Which it is.’

‘I swear to you I don’t work for MI5,’ said Shepherd. ‘But if I did, why would that concern you? I’m hardly likely to be spying on Elaine, am I?’

‘It’s a question of honesty, Jamie. I don’t think you’re bad, but I don’t think you’re being honest with her. And I don’t want Elaine hurt. She’s taken to you. She’s not exactly been celibate since Robbie was killed, but she’s very selective, and the few relationships she’s had haven’t lasted long.’

‘I’m not surprised, if you paid her boyfriends a visit like this,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m looking out for her,’ said Maplethorpe.

‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’

Maplethorpe thrust out his chin. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘Are you married, John?’

Maplethorpe scowled at him. ‘You want to be careful, Jamie,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t believe all the PR crap about Belfast being a changed city. It’s still a very dangerous place to have a cop mad at you.’

‘And are you?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Mad at me?’

Maplethorpe gave Shepherd a long, hard look. ‘Not yet,’ he said.

‘That’s a relief,’ said Shepherd.

‘You see, that’s what worries me, Jamie,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘You’re not intimidated by me, are you? I mean, you pretend to be, but under that soft exterior you’re as hard as fucking nails, aren’t you?’

‘Wanna arm-wrestle? Or slap dicks on the table and see which of us has the biggest?’

Maplethorpe put his glass on the coffee-table and stood up. ‘I’ll be off,’ he said.