Hard Landing

me.'

He took his CD player off its shelf and used the metal clip from his ballpoint pen to unscrew the back. He laid the four screws on his blanket, then eased off the plastic casing. The tiny Nokia phone was tucked behind the left speaker and the battery behind the circuit board. Carpenter's cell was rarely turned over, and even when it was he was usually given plenty of notice. Any search was generally cursory, but that didn't mean there was any point in taking risks so the mobile was always well hidden. He always kept the battery out of the phone to minimise the risk of it accidentally discharging. He clipped the battery into place, switched on and tapped out a number. The phone rang for some time and Carpenter cursed. 'Come on, Fletcher, you lazy bastard,' he muttered.

Just as he was convinced that the answering-service was going to kick in, Fletcher answered. 'Yes, boss?'

'What's happening, Kim?'

'We've found Roper.'

'Where?'

'Milton Keynes.'

'Safe-house?'

'Seems so. We're taking a run up today.'

'Softly, softly, yeah? If they know that we know, they'll bury him so deep we'll need a submarine to get to him.'

Shepherd tucked the duvet under his son's chin and kissed his forehead. He smelt of spearmint: Shepherd had made sure he'd cleaned his teeth for a full two minutes, despite Liam's protests that his mother never made him do it that long. Now Liam mumbled something in his sleep, then started to snore quietly.

Shepherd closed the bedroom door and went downstairs. There was a bottle of Jameson's in the kitchen cupboard over the fridge and he poured himself a large measure. He added a splash of tap water and took it through to the sitting room where Moira was sitting on the overstuffed sofa in front of the television. She frowned critically at the drink in his hand but didn't say anything. Moira was a confirmed teetotaler and always had been.

'Straight off to sleep,' said Shepherd, and sat in an armchair. There was something hard under the cushion and he pulled out a paperback book. Philip Roth. The Human Stain. She'd folded down the corner of the last page she'd read, about midway through. Shepherd sniffed the book, wondering when Sue had last held it. He wondered if she'd enjoyed it, and if she'd planned to give it to him to read. She'd always done that when she found a book she enjoyed. She'd loved to sit down with him and talk for hours about something they'd both read. She'd drink white wine, he'd have his whiskey, and truth be told it was Sue who did most of the talking. Most of the time Shepherd would just sit and listen to her, loving the enthusiasm in her eyes, the excitement in her voice. He'd kept telling her she should try writing herself, maybe do a course or join a book group, but she'd always insisted that it was reading she loved, not writing.

'I've spoken to the school,' said Moira. 'They said he can stay off as long as he needs to.'

'Good,' said Shepherd, sipping his whiskey. 'Thanks. Dinner was lovely.' He took another sip of whiskey, then put the glass on the coffee-table. 'How's Tom?'

'It's hit him hard,' said Moira. 'His deputy's away on holiday so he has to stay with the branch. He'll be here at the weekend.'

'I should phone him.'

'I'd leave him be,' cautioned Moira, 'for a day or two. The doctor's prescribed something.' She grimaced. 'He wanted to give me something, too, but I said I didn't need it.' Tears were in her eyes again and she dabbed at them with a white handkerchief. 'It's been twenty-six years since I've been to a funeral, and that was my father's,' she said. 'I've been so lucky. My brother's family all well, Tom's relatives seem to go on for ever. It was like we were blessed. But now this . . .' She sobbed into her handkerchief.

'What do we do? About the arrangements?' Shepherd had never had to organise a funeral, and didn't know where to start.

'I've spoken to a local firm already. They'll arrange everything. I gave them my credit-card number. They said . . .' Moira dissolved into tears.

Shepherd looked around the sitting room. Sue's presence was everywhere. The book she'd been reading. The TV Times on the coffee-table, open at the listings for two days earlier. The video she'd rented was still on the sideboard, in its box ready to be returned. A scribbled note to herself - a reminder of shopping she had to do: shampoo, rubbish bags, tea. Sue's memory wasn't a patch on his, he thought, and she was forever making lists of things she had to do. He'd always teased her about it. When they'd gone shopping together he'd taken a brief look at her list and wouldn't have to refer to it again. She had a Filofax and an electronic organiser for her phone numbers, but Shepherd had never forgotten a number in his life. Other husbands might forget birthdays and anniversaries but not Shepherd. He could recall the date of every event in his life, important or otherwise.

'This job you're doing, what is it exactly?' asked Moira.

'I can't tell you,' said Shepherd. 'I'm sorry, but it's a sensitive operation.'

'It was tearing Sue apart, you being away so much.'

'I know,' said Shepherd, 'but there wasn't anything I could do about it.'

'Well, whatever it is, it's over now.'

'Moira!' protested Shepherd.

'He's your son,' said Moira emphatically. 'He comes first.'

'Of course he does. You don't have to tell me what my priorities are.'

'Maybe somebody has to,' said Moira. 'Your family always played second fiddle to your army career and things weren't much better when you joined the police.'

'I gave up the army for Sue,' said Shepherd quietly. He didn't want an argument with his mother-in-law, especially one that he'd had a thousand times with his wife.

'Sue wanted you to have a regular job. She didn't expect you to start working as an undercover policeman doing who knows what.'

'She shouldn't have told you what I was doing,' said Shepherd. 'There's no point in my being undercover if people are shouting it from the rooftops.'

Moira looked at him scornfully. 'The thing you don't seem to realise, Daniel, is that family comes first. Sue had no secrets from me.'

Shepherd knew that Sue had kept dozens of secrets from her mother. The time they'd made love in the bathroom while Moira and her husband had been downstairs watching EastEnders. The lump he'd found in her breast, which had kept her awake for weeks with worry until the specialist had pronounced it benign. Shepherd knew that family was more important than anything, but what Moira didn't seem to understand was that he had been Sue's family. Him and Liam.

'This job's important, Moira.'

'I knew it. You're not coming back, are you?'

'It's more complex than that.'

'No, it isn't!' hissed Moira. 'You've got a simple choice to make. Your job or your son.'

Shepherd put his head in his hands. 'Moira . . .' he said.

'Sue's not even buried and all you can think about is your pathetic little job. You're an adrenaline junkie, that's what you are. We warned Sue that nothing good would come of getting involved with a trooper. You're all the same. You thrive on danger, on putting your life on the line. That's what you did in the SAS and that's what you're doing now. You're like a junkie who needs his fix of heroin and you put that fix ahead of everything else in your life.'

'That's not fair.'

'You're right it's not fair. You're putting your job ahead of your son's welfare - and for what? It's not as if it pays well, is it? The amount of hours you're away from home, you'd get more working in a factory.' She waved her hand around the room. 'Look at this! It's the same furniture you had in Hereford. Tom and I bought your bed and the wardrobes. And look at the state of the carpet - you can almost see through it. Whatever it is that you get from your job, it's not money.'

'It isn't about money,' said Shepherd.