Cold Revenge (Willis/Carter #6)(24)
‘Tell Hector I want Gavin followed up,’ said Carter. ‘I don’t trust anything about him.’
‘Will do.’
‘What’s actually happening between you and Tucker?’ asked Carter abruptly.
Willis shook her head, moved closer to her screen and exhaled loudly.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Carter pushed, as he always did. He’d told Willis from the first time they worked together, when she was a new DC on the murder squad and he was a renegade DS who thought he had no hope of promotion, that if they were to work together, be partners, they had to talk about everything. They had to know one another’s strengths and weaknesses, fears and hopes, they had to have each other’s backs, and over the years together that was exactly what they had done. But, for Ebony, opening up was the hardest thing. She hated putting her feelings into words.
‘Why is he here now anyway?’ frowned Willis, still looking at her tablet.
‘He says he hasn’t had more than a text telling him you are too busy to talk in the last six months. What is it, Eb? Come on, I can see you’re not happy at the moment.’
‘It’s the distance between us, it means I have to go down there for a few days to make it worthwhile, and that’s not working out for me.’
Carter smiled, amused. ‘Why, because you have so much else you’d rather be doing? Come on, Eb, he’s a good bloke, he’s not short of a few women after him. I know you like him, you’re just afraid to admit it to yourself.’ They were snagged in traffic so Carter continued watching her until she looked up. ‘He’s staying at mine,’ Carter said with a look of expectancy.
Willis nodded. ‘How long is he up here for?’
‘He hasn’t decided.’
‘Why did he have to involve you?’
‘Because him and me are old friends and so are you and me. It’s a . . .’ Carter held up his hands and touched thumbs and forefingers together ‘. . . triangle of love.’
‘That’s a diamond,’ she said, hiding a smile.
‘A diamond? Engagement, huh?’
‘Shut the . . . up! Anyway, this all comes from a man who’s been engaged for six years.’
‘Taking my time, it’s going to be a big bash, needs planning for. I’m looking for a place to hold it.’
‘You’re going to be a right Groomzilla, when it does happen.’
‘Probably, Eb. You know Tucker is talking future plans, you need to be clear about things; he’ll walk otherwise. He wants to move forwards; don’t always be holding back, sometimes you need to take risks in relationships.’
Chapter 15
Monday 22 May 2000
Douglas hadn’t seen anything of Ash by the time he prepared to leave on Monday morning. So he walked across to Ash’s van.
Ash was staring out from his bunk. Douglas stepped inside and sat on the bed next to him.
‘Hey, we’re good, aren’t we? We’re friends?’
‘Sure.’ Ash sat up and tried to sit a little away from Douglas but Douglas only moved closer.
‘So what are your plans?’
‘See to Mum.’
‘Leave it to your gran to do it, you’re sixteen, for fuck’s sake. You get rid of all this shit and come and live with me and Nicola, we’ll look after you and maybe you and me can go into business. I’ll cut you into a percentage and I’ll get you a job with me, how’s that? Proper pals, mates, working together like father and son? Maybe we can cut out all the drugs and make enough to start a stud farm, you can train the horses, how’s that? Hey, you like that idea?’
Ash smiled and nodded. There was a faint rekindling of hope in his eyes, just the flicker of an ember.
‘Okay, well, I’ll be away this week. When I get back on Friday, you make sure your mum is sorted.’
Douglas went to the van and sat there for a few minutes as he looked at the list of deliveries and follow-ups on new clients he had to make that week, deciding what he could get out of it for himself. He had some unfinished business to attend to before his first client later that afternoon. He drove down the motorway, M4, M5, and then headed off on the A39 and through Bridgwater towards the farm in the foothills of the Quantocks, in Somerset. Margery Farm wasn’t a place he delivered equine feed to but it was close by one where he did, and he’d struck up a kind of friendship with the farmer.
Douglas pulled off the road just before one and drove down the lanes that led to the dirt tracks at the back of Margery Farm. He pulled into the entrance to a field, opened his glove box, took out keys and unlocked the gate. Douglas had bought the field from the farmer; it was just a couple of acres of stony ground that had been ruined and the farmer used it to dump his old machinery. There were no subsidies for a field where only ragwort and brambles thrived.
He drove in and parked up by an old cattle shed. There were several broken tractors and bits of machinery dotted around, attachments for ploughing and muck-spreading all gone to rust, which had become living sculptures with creeping weeds and bracken. Douglas got out and took a few moments to listen to the silence and to look across the valley from Margery Farm, a place he knew well, to Hill Farm, where all was quiet. He knew that Jones the farmer was so overstretched that Douglas didn’t have to worry about being seen; Jones didn’t have time to stand gazing across his fields.