change beyond the superficial decision to leave Bradfield and move into the splendid Edwardian house in Worcester. OK, that had also meant jacking in his job at Bradfield Moor secure mental hospital, but Carol was convinced that giving up work wouldn’t last for more than a few weeks. Tony identified himself too closely with the exploration of damaged minds to abandon it for long. There would be another secure hospital, another set of messy heads. She had no doubt of that.
However, the idea of taking off on an unplanned excursion to anywhere on a narrowboat was entirely out of character, a genuine marker of change. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d even taken his annual leave, never mind actually going on holiday. Maybe he too was feeling the fear gnawing at his heart. ‘We’ll sail under that bridge when we come to it,’ she muttered, getting up and heading for the door. ‘But the first thing I need to do is break the bad news to Chris. Then we have to get cracking on tracking down the others and telling them.’
Tony got to his feet.
‘No, you’re staying right here,’ Carol said, reaching past him and closing the blinds.
‘I need to go home for my laptop,’ he protested.
‘No, you don’t. You can use my computer.’
‘It doesn’t have my boilerplate.’
Carol gave a grim smile. ‘If you mean your standard intro, just use one of your old profiles. You’ll find them in the directory conveniently entitled “profiles”. Sorry, Tony. If this is as serious as you made out, you have to take as much care of yourself as you would like to take of me.’
There was, she thought as she marched into the main squad room, absolutely nothing he could say to that.
12
Vance had found a Boston Red Sox baseball cap in the taxi driver’s glove box. It wasn’t exactly a disguise, but if there was already a description of him out there, the hat wouldn’t be part of it. It was probably enough to give him a few moments’ grace. He was pleasantly surprised by the new service area on the motorway. Back when he’d gone inside, a motorway service area was a depressing necessity, trapped in a 1960s time warp. Now this one at least had apparently been transformed into an attractive open-plan diner with an M&S food store, a coffee shop with twenty varieties of hot drink, and a motel. Who cared about ripping up the countryside? This was a huge improvement.
Vance drove to a quiet section of the car park, as far as he could get from the motel. He checked out the CCTV cameras and made sure he was parked in a position where the number plate couldn’t be seen. Any time he could buy himself was an advantage at this point.
Out of curiosity, he opened the boot. Tucked in a corner at the back was some clothing. He reached in and shook out the folds of a lightweight rain jacket. Perfect. It was a bit tight on the shoulders, but it covered his tattooed arms, which was the most noticeable aspect of his current look. All the better for getting in and out of the motel.
Leaving the keys in the ignition in the hope that someone would steal the taxi, he walked briskly up the paved path to the motel, keeping his face tucked down into the upturned collar of the jacket. As he walked, he could feel the tension in his body. It wasn’t fear; there were no grounds for fear yet. It was a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, he thought. It was a heightened awareness that would keep him safe. Not just for the moment, but for as long as he needed to carry out his plans.
He turned down the last lane of parked cars, studying them as he passed. Halfway down he saw the dark blue Mercedes estate car that he was looking for. Propped on the dashboard was a piece of paper with a number on it. The last three digits were 314.
Vance peeled away and made straight for the motel. He pushed the door open and walked confidently across the lobby to the lifts. None of the people chatting on sofas or drinking coffee at the functional tables so much as glanced at him. The receptionist, busy with another arrival, barely looked his way. Everything was exactly as he expected. Terry had done a good job of setting this up and reporting the salient details during his visits. Vance hit the call button and stepped aboard as soon as the doors opened. On the third floor, he turned left down a corridor that had the sharp chemical tang of artificial fragrance. He walked along the corridor till he came to the door marked 314. He knocked three times then stepped away from the door, ready to run if that proved necessary.
But there was no need to worry. The door swung silently open to reveal the wiry frame and monkey face of Terry Gates, the true believer who had done Vance’s bidding in every particular since the day he’d been arrested. It had been Terry whose lying testimony had cast doubt on his first murder convictions, Terry who had never questioned what had been asked of him, Terry who had never wavered in his belief in Vance’s innocence. For a moment he looked uncertain. Then their eyes met and his face crinkled in a toothy grin. He spread his arms wide, stepping backwards. ‘Come away in, man,’ he said, his Geordie accent obvious even in that short greeting.
Vance quickly crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. He let out a long whoosh of breath and grinned right back at Terry. ‘It’s great to see you, Terry,’ he said, relaxing back into his own honeyed tones.
Terry couldn’t stop smiling. ‘It’s champion, Jacko. Champion. It’s been so depressing all these years, only ever seeing you in them places.’ He waved an arm at the room. ‘How nice is this?’
It was, in truth, a lot better than Vance had expected for this stopping point on his journey back to the luxury and comfort he craved as his right. The room was clean with no stale notes of cigarettes or booze. The decor was simple – white walls and bedding, dark wood panelling behind the bed and the table that doubled as a desk. The curtains were tobacco brown. The only rich colours came from the carpet and the bedspread. ‘You did well, Terry,’ he said, pulling off the hat and shrugging out of the jacket.
‘How did it go? Can I make you a brew? Is there anything you need? I’ve got all your paperwork and ID here in the briefcase. And I got some nice salads and sandwiches from M&S,’ Terry gabbled.
‘It went like clockwork,’ Vance said, stretching luxuriously. ‘Not a hitch.’ He clapped Terry on the shoulder. ‘Thanks. But first things first. What I need now is a shower.’ He looked at his arms with distaste. ‘I want to get rid of these eyesores. Why anyone would do that to themselves is a mystery to me.’ He headed towards the bathroom.
‘Just as well Jason did, though,’ Terry said. ‘With tattoos like that, nobody’s looking too closely at your face, are they?’
‘Exactly. Have you got a razor, Terry? I want to get rid of the goatee.’
‘It’s all in there, Jacko. Everything you asked for, all your regular toiletries.’ Terry flashed him a smile again, ever anxious to please.
