Stephen Leather - Dead Men

‘Oh, no, I’m sure.’ She rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘I’ve got a headache,’ she said.

‘From the look of you, it’s not all sweetness and light with Miss Ellis.’

‘You think you know someone, and then you find out you never knew them at all.’

‘Story of my life,’ said Shepherd.

‘You’re an undercover agent, lying goes with the job,’ she said. ‘I’ve been lied to by people I thought were on my side.’ She gulped more wine.

‘Elaine Carter called me,’ said Shepherd.

‘And?’

‘What’s going to happen to her?’

Button pulled a face, as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. ‘John Maplethorpe was the killer and he’s dead.’

Shepherd nodded slowly. ‘So that’s the end of it?’

‘Sleeping dogs,’ said Button. ‘Even if she was involved, even if she was helping Maplethorpe, what’s to be gained by proving it?’

‘Nothing,’ said Shepherd.

‘Exactly . . . Tell me something, Spider. I know she didn’t actually pull the trigger, but do you think she was helping Maplethorpe?’

Shepherd thought about the ticking watch in the trunk. Did it mean she’d helped Maplethorpe, that she’d given him the rounds for her husband’s gun? Or did it just mean she’d been through the trunk, handling her husband’s things? And even if she’d helped Maplethorpe, what would be gained by punishing her? He looked into Button’s eyes and prepared to lie to her. ‘No,’ he said.

‘There you go, then,’ she said. ‘Sleeping dogs.’ She refilled her glass, but her hand was unsteady and wine sloshed over the table.

‘Come on. My car’s outside,’ said Shepherd.

Button giggled. ‘You’re not trying to pick me up, are you, Spider?’

‘I’m driving you home,’ he said. ‘Your husband will be waiting for you.’ He opened his wallet, dropped a handful of banknotes on the table, then helped Button to her feet. She stumbled and bumped against him, and he put an arm round her waist to steady her.

‘You’re my knight in shining armour, aren’t you, Spider?’ she said, slurring her words. ‘My guardian angel.’

‘Charlie,’ he said, guiding her towards the door, ‘you’ll never know the half of it.’

Salih stood at the window. The sky was streaked with red as the sun prepared to dip below the horizon. It was time to pray. He took a small compass from his pocket and noted the direction in which Mecca lay. Salih would have preferred to cleanse himself before praying but there was a chance that he’d not hear Button return if he was in the bathroom. The bedroom he was in belonged to the daughter. There were cuddly toys on the bed and posters of pop stars on the walls. Also on the bed, beside a toy cocker spaniel, lay a carving knife he’d taken from the kitchen.

From the bedroom he could see the driveway and, through the trees, most of the road, left and right. He moved into the centre of the room, turned towards Mecca, lowered his head and closed his eyes. ‘Thanks be to Allah,’ he said. ‘We thank him, turn to him, ask his forgiveness, and seek refuge in him from our wicked souls and evil deeds. Whomever Allah enlightens will not be misguided, and the deceiver will never be guided. I declare that there is no God but Allah alone. He has no partners. I also declare that Muhammad is his servant and prophet.’

Salih knelt down and placed his hands on the carpet in front of him. He leant forward and continued to pray. Outside, the sky darkened.

They drove past the entrance to Wentworth golf club and Charlotte Button pointed at a turning ahead. ‘Left there,’ she said. Shepherd flicked on his indicator.

‘Nice area,’ he said, as he made the turn, the Audi’s headlights cutting across the trees that blanketed either side of the road. To the right were the forests of the Crown Estate but much of the land to the left was taken up with the multimillion-pound residences of the Wentworth Estate, gated communities with their own security force.

‘We like it,’ said Button. ‘To be honest, with the way the job is, I’m hardly ever here to enjoy it.’ She pointed at a large detached house set back from the road, with decorative white shutters on all the windows. ‘That’s it.’ The lights were off inside the house but twin coach lamps illuminated the front door.

‘Nice,’ said Shepherd.

‘Now you’re being sarcastic,’ she said.

‘It is a nice house.’

‘You’re using “nice” in a not very nice way,’ slurred Button.

‘Charlie, it’s a nice house in a nice area.’ Shepherd turned the Audi into the driveway and stopped next to a large Mercedes parked in front of the double garage. ‘Is that your husband’s?’ he asked.

Button nodded. ‘Come in and say hello.’

‘Some other time,’ said Shepherd. ‘I want to get back to Hereford.’

‘At least have a coffee.’

‘Really, Charlie, I’d rather get off.’

‘Raincheck?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I do need to talk to you about what happened.’

‘A debriefing?’

‘More to get my thoughts straight than anything else,’ she said. ‘I’m pretty confused about a lot of things just now.’

‘It’s a confusing trade we’re in,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now’s probably not the best time to talk about it. Certainly not over coffee with your husband.’

‘You’re right, of course. You’re always right. You’re my rock, Spider, you know that?’

Shepherd smiled. ‘I know you’ve had a lot to drink,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome. Go on with you.’

Button sighed. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a cigarette, have you?’ she asked. ‘Graham won’t have them in the house.’

Shepherd opened the glove box and gave her a packet of Marlboro. ‘On me,’ he said.

She took out a cigarette and Shepherd lit it for her. She inhaled deeply, held the smoke in her lungs, then exhaled with a sigh of pleasure. She climbed out of the car and went to the lawn. Shepherd laughed as she bent down, stubbed out the cigarette and covered the butt with soil, like a cat covering its traces. Then she went unsteadily to the front door, gave him a final wave and put the key into the lock. As she entered the house, Shepherd put the Audi in gear and reversed down the driveway.

Button pushed open the door. ‘It’s me!’ she called, then smiled as she realised how stupid that was. Who else would be letting themselves in with a key at that time of night? ‘Sorry I’m late. No rest for the wicked.’ She took off her coat and opened the hall cupboard. ‘Graham, where are you?’ There was no reply. She hung up her coat and closed the door.

She heard a scratching noise from the kitchen. Poppy was outside, scrabbling to get in. Button opened the door and the Labrador bowled in, tail wagging frantically. Button knelt down and made a fuss of her. ‘What are you doing outside?’ she asked. The dog tried to lick her face and she pushed it away. Poppy scampered across the tiled floor to her dish and pushed it with her nose, then made a soft grunting sound. She looked up expectantly, her tail swishing from side to side. ‘Has he not fed you?’ asked Button. ‘What’s he playing at? Did he forget you, Poppy?’ Poppy woofed and pushed her bowl again. ‘I guess he did,’ said Button. ‘Shame on him.’

She went to the cupboard where they kept the dog’s tinned food, opened a can of Pal and spooned the contents into Poppy’s bowl. The dog started to bolt the food, and by the time Button had taken a box of dog biscuits from the cupboard, half the meat had gone. She pushed Poppy away, scattered some biscuits into the bowl, then stood up and smiled as Poppy started to wolf her food again. ‘Where are your manners, girl?’ She switched on the kettle. ‘And where’s your lord and master?’