'Exactly. It's about you getting your kicks, that's what it's about.'
'It's about making a difference,' said Shepherd. 'It's about making the world a safer place.'
Moira laughed harshly. 'Oh, the world's a safer place now than it was twenty years ago, is it? I don't think so.'
'It'd be a darn sight worse if it wasn't for the work we do,' said Shepherd, but even as the words left his mouth he wondered how true they were. Much of his undercover work involved putting away drug-dealers and traffickers, yet the volume of drugs entering the country had consistently increased year after year. For every dealer that Shepherd had helped put behind bars, another two had taken their place. But Gerald Carpenter had to be dealt with. It didn't matter who replaced him, there was no way he could be allowed to get away with what he'd done. Moira opened her mouth to speak but Shepherd held up his hand to silence her. 'There's a man in prison,' he said, 'who deserves to stay behind bars for the rest of his life, but the way things are going he's going to get away scot- free. He brings millions of pounds' worth of drugs into the country every year, and he kills anyone who gets in his way.'
'If he's in prison, that's the end of it, isn't it?'
'It's not as simple as that. He's been caught red-handed, but there's a world of difference between being caught and being sentenced. He's on remand while he waits for his trial. And he's killing witnesses, destroying evidence, doing everything he can to make sure that he never gets to trial. I'm the last line of defence, Moira. If I pull out, he walks.'
'Would that be so bad?'
'He killed an undercover policeman, a friend of mine. Shot him dead in front of his pregnant wife.'
'That's not your problem.'
'Then whose problem is it, Moira? If I don't do something about it, who will?'
'You're not the only policeman in the country. Let someone else put themselves in the firing line for a change.'
'There isn't time. Look, I can't tell you exactly what I'm doing, but it's something only I can do. There isn't time for someone else to get close to this guy. If I pull out, he gets a clear run. He gets away with murder.'
'You keep saying that. You keep saying he's done this and he's done that and he's having people killed. If you know that, why don't you just charge him with it and have done with it?'
'Because life isn't like that any more,' said Shepherd. 'This guy's got the most expensive lawyers in the country. Any wrong move, any mistake, and they'll get him off. The case against him has to be one hundred per cent watertight.'
Moira's shoulders slumped. She suddenly looked a decade older than her true age.
'I need your help, Moira,' said Shepherd. 'I need you to take care of Liam for a while.'
'He needs his father,' said Moira, but Shepherd could tell that the fight had gone out of her.
'And he'll have me,' said Shepherd. 'Just let me get this thing out of the way.'
'How long?' asked Moira.
'Weeks rather than months,' said Shepherd. 'As soon as his case goes to trial, my job's over. And if I can find out how he's getting his orders to the outside, I'll be done even sooner. Can you stay here? There's no one else I would trust to be with Liam.'
Moira studied him. 'I hope you're less obvious with the criminal fraternity,' she said. 'What do you think, Daniel? That you can soft-soap me with a few sweet words? That might have worked with Sue but I find it an insult to my intelligence.'
'It's the truth,' protested Shepherd. 'There's no one on my side of the family close enough to Liam. He barely sees my brother and I've never been close to my parents. He thinks the world of you and Tom. I know that sounds like I'm trying to sweet-talk you again, Moira, but, hand on heart, I mean it.'
'I'm not sure I can leave Tom on his own.'
'He can stay here.'
'He's got his job. Same as you have.'
'Why not take Liam back with you?'
'What would his school say about that?'
'You said they were okay with him taking some time off, and there are schools in Hereford. In a way it might be better to get him out of this environment for a while.'
'You mean it might make it easier for you to be away?' Moira sighed. 'I'm too tired to argue any more,' she said. 'You do what you want. Tom and I will take care of Liam until you're prepared to accept your responsibilities.' She pushed herself up off the sofa. 'I'm going to bed. What time are you away tomorrow?'
'I don't know. Early afternoon, I guess.'
'I'll do lunch,' she said. 'I was going to do a roast but Liam said he wanted fish fingers.'
'Fish fingers is fine.'
Moira went out, leaving Shepherd nursing his whiskey and water. He stretched out his legs and groaned. Prison felt a million miles away, and there was no doubt he wanted to walk away from the job and let someone else bring Carpenter down. It was true that there wasn't time to get someone else in place, but Moira had been close to the mark when she'd accused him of being an adrenaline junkie. A big part of him wanted to pit his wits against Carpenter's, to put his life on the line as he had a hundred times before. If he was truly honest with himself, Shepherd had to admit that he never felt more alive than when he was in combat, facing an enemy with a gun, knowing that it was his life or the life of his adversary, that there could be only one winner and one loser, and that more often than not the loser's life was forfeit. Undercover work wasn't the same as combat, but the thrill was similar. And nothing compared with the elation of winning the game, of seeing a target led away in handcuffs wondering where it had all gone wrong, while Shepherd knew it had been down to him, that his skills and maybe his luck had made him the better man on the day. There were men, and women, sitting in prison cells around the country because Shepherd had put them there, a living roll-call of victories.
Shepherd drained his glass, then went into the kitchen and refilled it. He wondered what Carpenter was doing. Probably lying on his bunk, listening to the radio. Reading, maybe. Planning his next move. Planning what he'd be doing when he got out, how he'd spend his millions. 'The best-laid plans . . .' he said, and raised his glass in tribute. If Shepherd had his way, Carpenter's plans would come to nothing and he'd spend the rest of his life behind bars, never knowing who had betrayed him.
Jason Lee was sitting at the table when he heard his door being unlocked. He frowned. It was half an hour early. Then he remembered that his cellmate was due back and twisted in his wooden chair, expecting Macdonald. He was surprised to see Eric Magowan, one of the hotplate men, standing in the doorway, holding a plastic canteen bag. A prison officer was standing just behind him but Lee couldn't see who it was.
'Not me, mate, I'm spent up,' said Lee. He leaned back in his chair but he still couldn't see the officer's face, just a black-trousered leg and a glimpse of white shirt. He couldn't even tell if the officer was male or female.
'Don't look a gift-horse in the arse,' said Magowan, tossing the bag at him.
Lee caught it. He was about to argue with Magowan when he saw what was in it. Three Pot Noodles. Two bars of chocolate. A jar of coffee. He hadn't ordered the treats. They were a pay-off - from Carpenter.
Magowan walked away and the prison officer slammed the door and locked it. Lee stared at the bag. He knew that Carpenter never gave anything for nothing. He would be expected to keep a close eye on his cellmate. God help him if Macdonald was up to something and Lee didn't come up with the goods.
Shepherd woke up and rolled over, half asleep. He could smell Sue's perfume and reached across the bed for his wife, murmuring her name, but before his hand touched the pillow he snapped back to reality. The cold emptiness returned and he curled up into a ball as the memories of everything he'd lost washed over him. Shepherd had lost people before, and he'd seen more than a handful of his friends killed, but nothing compared with the loss of the woman he loved.
He'd been splattered with the blood of an SAS captain whose head had exploded in the Afghan desert, and he'd been cradling the man in his arms when a sniper's bullet had slammed into his own shoulder. He'd seen a young trooper die of a snakebite in the Borneo jungle on a survival training course, a stupid mistake because the medic had brought the wrong anti-venom pack with him. The trooper had died in a helicopter just ten minutes away from hospital, his spine curved like a bow, bloody froth at his lips, while Shepherd held his hand and told him to hang on, that everything would be okay. He'd watched from a cliff-top on the Welsh coast as a trooper laden with
