out?’
Shepherd glared at her, then turned back to the door. He knocked on it gently. ‘Come on, Liam. Let’s not be silly. I don’t have long.’
‘I hate you. I just want you to leave me alone.’
‘Daniel . . .’ said Moira.
Shepherd ignored her. ‘I didn’t want to answer the phone, but it was important. I had to take the call. I wanted to talk to you, but this person might not have called back and it was important.’
There was no answer from Liam, but Shepherd heard a sniff.
‘Liam, I love you more than anything. I’m sorry if I’m a bad father at the moment but I’ve a lot on my plate and this is all new territory for me.’
Shepherd put his ear against the door but Liam didn’t say anything. ‘I’ll count to ten, okay? Then you can come out and we’ll be friends again.’
Moira went back downstairs. Shepherd was ashamed at the way he’d spoken to her, but there were times when his mother-in-law’s holier-than-thou attitude got on his nerves. She meant well, but she hadn’t worked since the day she’d married Tom, and the grand total of her life experience came down to her suburban friends, a weekly game of bridge and an annual holiday to either France, Spain or Italy. She had no idea of what Shepherd’s life was like or the pressures he was under. Yes, he wanted to be a good father. Yes, he wanted to do the right thing by his son. But it was easy for her: she had Tom, his bank manager’s salary and an index-linked pension a few years away. Shepherd had a job to do, a living to earn, and a woman in Manchester who wanted her husband dead.
Shepherd started counting. When he got to five he tapped on the door in time with the numbers. ‘Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.’ Shepherd took a deep breath.‘Liam?’The door was so flimsy he could have knocked it down with one kick. ‘Liam, please. At least give me a hug before I go.’ He rested his forehead against the door and sighed. ‘Okay. Look, I have to go, but I’ll phone you this evening. I promise.’
Shepherd started downstairs but he had only gone a few steps when the bedroom door opened. Liam stood on the landing, his cheeks wet. Shepherd rushed back upstairs, bent down and picked up his son. ‘I’m sorry I’m such a rubbish father,’ he said.
‘It’s okay,’ said Liam.
‘I’m trying, I really am. Bear with me, until I get things sorted.’
‘I just want to be with you, Dad.’
‘I know you do.’ He kissed Liam, then sniffed his hair. ‘You need a bath,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘And wash behind your ears.’
‘I always do.’
Shepherd lowered his boy to the floor. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Cross your heart?’
Shepherd solemnly crossed his heart.
‘And you’ll phone tonight before I go to sleep?’
Shepherd crossed his heart again. Liam nodded, satisfied. Shepherd went downstairs.
Moira was in the kitchen, filling an earthenware teapot. ‘Have you got time for tea, at least?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got to go, Moira. I’m sorry I snapped.’
‘You didn’t, Daniel. You just told an interfering old woman to mind her own business. Nothing wrong with that.’ She finished pouring water into the teapot and replaced the lid.
She wanted to be mollified, Shepherd could tell. Self-criticism was one of the overused weapons in Moira’s extensive psychological armoury. ‘You’re not interfering, and I know you’ve only got his best interests at heart,’ he said.
‘We all have,’ said Moira. She began wiping down the worktop, even though it was spotless. ‘He’s been through a lot and what he needs now, more than anything, is stability.’
‘I’m getting there,’ said Shepherd.
Moira opened her mouth, then evidently decided not to say anything. She carried on wiping.
‘I’ll phone tonight from Manchester,’ he said.
‘What’s happening up there?’
‘Just a job. It should be over this afternoon, then I’ll be back in London.’
‘What about Sue’s things? I could come down one weekend. Help you sort out the clothing and shoes. There are charity shops that will take them.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Shepherd. He kissed her left cheek awkwardly, then hurried down the hallway and out of the front door. She was right, of course. It was time to clear out Sue’s clothes. Four months was a long time. He’d tried several times. He’d opened her side of the fitted wardrobe in the bedroom and even gone as far as taking out some of her clothes, but he’d never managed to throw any away. Somehow it seemed disloyal. They weren’t just clothes, they were Sue’s clothes. Everything she had, everything she’d touched, everything she’d worn – it was all a part of her and he wasn’t prepared yet to discard anything. Or her.
He looked up as he climbed into the car and saw Liam standing at a bedroom window. Shepherd waved and flashed him a thumbs-up. Liam did the same and Shepherd grinned. At least his visit hadn’t been a complete disaster.
Shepherd parked on the top floor of a multi-storey car park close to Piccadilly Gardens and sat for ten minutes to see who drove up. There were housewives, families with children, young couples out for a Saturday’s shopping in the city centre. Eventually he locked the car and walked down to the third floor. The blue Transit surveillance van was in the corner furthest away from the stairs and lifts. Shepherd tapped the rolled-up copy of the
Hargrove took a swig from his plastic bottle of Evian water. ‘This is Amar Singh,’ he said. ‘He’s on attachment from the National Criminal Intelligence Service with some state-of-the-art surveillance gear.’ Shepherd shook Singh’s hand.
‘I can’t imagine a worse place to record a conversation,’ said Singh.
‘Yeah, it wasn’t my choice,’ said Shepherd. He nodded at Faley and sat down on a plastic stool.
Singh pushed a black attache case across the metal floor. ‘Make sure the briefcase is as close to her as possible,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to teach me to suck eggs,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m not teaching you to suck anything,’ said the technician, ‘but its effective range is down to three feet on the outside and I wouldn’t want you blaming me if all we pick up is traffic. I’d be happier if you were wearing a wire, too.’
‘She’s jumpy enough to pat me down,’ said Shepherd.
‘In a crowded square?’
‘A lover’s hug, hands down my back, a quick grope between the legs, all she’s got to do is touch something hard and she’ll be off.’
‘She might just think you’re pleased to see her,’ said Singh.
Shepherd gave him a tight smile. ‘I’ve got better things to be doing on a Saturday afternoon, believe me,’ he said. He looked at Hargrove. ‘Long-range mikes?’
‘We’ll have two guys on top of the office blocks overlooking the square, but I don’t hold out much hope. There’s a lot of noise out there.’ He pointed at the case. ‘That’s our best hope.’
Shepherd clicked the twin combination locks and examined the interior. It was lined with a light brown fake suede material and had pockets for pens, business cards and a small calculator. He took out the calculator and examined it. There was nothing unusual about it. He put it back into its pocket, then inspected the exterior. It looked like an ordinary attache case. ‘Okay, I give in,’ he said. ‘How does it work?’
Singh grinned. ‘The batteries and transmitter are built into the body of the case, and there’s a recording chip in there as back-up in case we lose transmission. There’s no way anyone will find it, short of cutting the leather. There are two microphones, one in each lock. You set the combinations to nine-nineeight to open, nine-nine-nine to start transmitting.’
‘The three nines would be your idea, I guess,’ said Shepherd.
