Good Bait (DCI Karen Shields #1)(70)

She splashed some more wine into her glass.

Cormack had been listening at the door for a little while. Of Dennis Broderick there was no sign.

‘Would it surprise you to know,’ Cormack said, ‘Gordon Dooley’s last known trade was in illegal drugs? Import and supply. Heroin. Marijuana. Cocaine.’

‘Surprised? No, not really. Never really liked him, Gordon. Too brash, loud. Too full of himself. Full on. Dennis should have dumped him years ago, but there was always something, made him hang on.’ She drank some more of the wine. ‘Take the boy out of South London, but you can’t … You know how it goes.’

‘He wouldn’t be involved? Some kind of partner?’

A laugh, genuine, open. ‘Dennis? Drugs? He’d run a mile. All I can do to get him to take a couple of aspirin for a hangover. No, not a chance.’

‘And you’ve no idea,’ Cormack said, ‘where he is now? When he might be home?’

‘Like I said, none at all.’ Not a whit unsteady, she was on her feet. ‘Only conversation we have nowadays, through our lawyers.’

He nodded. ‘Thanks for your time.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Karen said.

‘Helping out the forces of law and order. A pleasure, always.’

She walked them to the door.

‘The old aerodrome,’ Cormack said, ‘out at Wing. Your husband has some property there, doesn’t he? Somewhere he uses for storage?’

‘He used to. Not for a good while now, not as far as I know. Why d’you ask?’

‘Oh, nothing important. Thanks, again.’

‘One thing,’ Karen said, glancing at the Alfa. ‘You’re not thinking of driving? The next little while? Automatic disqualification and a possible six months in prison, that’s without the fine. I should stay put. Either that, or send for a cab. And if you are thinking of ringing your husband, dispute or no dispute, do tell him to get in touch. Nothing he should be unduly concerned about, just a few small matters need clearing up.’

‘What do you reckon?’ Cormack asked, once they were back at the car. ‘She on the outs with her husband as much as she says, or do you think a lot of that was for our sake?’

‘You mean that could all have been a big act? I’m not so sure. But it’s not impossible. She could be phoning him right now, warning him to stay clear.’

‘We’ll have someone keep an eye on the house. Soon as he turns up, we’ll know. Nothing by this time tomorrow, we’ll go looking for him.’

‘And Forensics, how soon d’you think it’ll be before we get something definite from them?’

‘Lean hard enough, maybe a couple of days. Meantime, I’ll suggest SIS take a closer look at Broderick’s business dealings. Check his phone records and so on. And hope we turn up something on the Volvo. Link that to Dooley and we’re really getting somewhere. At last.’

‘Amen to that!’

Karen drove back down to London with Aretha at full volume all the way. Lady Soul, Spirit in the Dark, Aretha Live at Fillmore West. Those old albums: singing in a way that made you believe.





44


More often than not, the mornings began in a slow drift of rain that laced across Cordon’s face as he strode the lane to the boulangerie and back, rucksack slung over one shoulder, protecting the croissants on his return. It suited him well, this small routine, the chance to stretch out, the time to himself. Birds, lively at that hour, singing their presence, darted between the trees to either side; Charolais cattle heaving themselves from the ground in the adjacent fields, coats creamy white in the haze of lingering mist.

By the time he arrived back at the house, Letitia would, with any luck, have stepped out from the shower and set the coffee on the stove; Danny would either be sitting up in bed, rereading for the umpteenth time one of his books, or be stretched out full length in front of the television watching cartoons.

Don’t get too fond of him, Letitia had warned, but in the circumstances it was hard not to. Considering all that had happened to him, being wrenched without proper explanation from one home, one country to another, Danny was surprisingly equable, ever eager to play, to please. His ready laugh and quick response brought a smile to Cordon’s face and, however sentimental, a touch of gladness to his heart.

All right, he knew what it was about. Understood that what he was doing, at least in part, was reconstructing the relationship with his own son that had so desperately failed. Even at Danny’s age there had been tensions with Simon he was aware of only in retrospect: tensions that came in part from the hostility that had been building up inexorably between his wife, Judith, and himself; partly from the way Cordon had pushed the boy too hard in a vain attempt to keep him in line. Do this and do it now. Don’t bloody question me, just do it! Do it, you understand? Until, by his early teens, the boy had turned quite against him.

You’re not a father, you’re a f*cking policeman!

Cordon had slapped him hard, unthinking, and the boy had punched him back.

Punched and run.

Neither the first time, nor the last.

One life, one chance: when they were young, small, dependent for the most part, though they learned fast, accumulating more skills and knowledge than they ever would again, those early months and years seemed to move slowly, grinding on and on – then suddenly they were twelve, thirteen, and everything went past in a rush of hormones and angry words.