‘Enjoy it while you can.’ Hargrove laughed. ‘Teenagers are a whole different ball-game.’
Shepherd cut the connection and went back to the kitchen. Katra and Liam were running around the garden, chasing a football. Liam was whooping and waving his arms. Shepherd hadn’t seen him so happy for a long time. It was good to have a woman back in the house, even if she was an employee.
Shepherd woke up with a start. He looked at the bedside table and cursed. He hadn’t set the alarm. He grabbed a dressing-gown and rushed down the hallway to Liam’s bedroom. He wasn’t there. Shepherd hurried downstairs. His son was sitting at the kitchen table, washed, dressed in his school uniform and demolishing a plate of scrambled eggs and cheese on toast. His favourite. Katra was pouring coffee.
‘Look what Katra made for me,’ said Liam through a mouthful of egg. ‘I showed her how to do it, but she uses water instead of milk.’
Katra handed Shepherd a mug of coffee. ‘There’s no need to get up,’ she said. ‘I can take him to school.’
‘I said I’d show her where to go,’ said Liam.
‘Are you sure?’ Shepherd asked Katra, and sipped his coffee. She’d made it just as he liked it.
‘It’s no problem,’ said Katra.
Shepherd forced a smile. It was the first time he’d entrusted his son to anyone other than family, and he barely knew Katra. ‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Is the white car yours too?’ asked Katra.
‘It’s for work,’ said Shepherd. ‘You can use the CRV.’ He hadn’t told Katra the exact nature of his work, but she knew he was a police officer.
Liam finished his breakfast and Katra helped him put on his coat. Shepherd kissed him. ‘You be good, yeah?’ he said.
‘I’m always good,’ said Liam.
‘I’ll do the shopping on my way home,’ said Katra.
Shepherd took out his wallet and gave her two fifty-pound notes. Then he knelt beside Liam. ‘I won’t be here when you get home,’ he said. ‘My shift finishes at ten, so I won’t be back until you’re in bed.’
‘I could stay up,’ said Liam.
Shepherd laughed.‘You’ll be in bed by nine,young man.’
‘But you’ll come in and see me, even if I’m asleep?’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.
He stood at the front window and watched Katra and Liam climb into the CRV. Panic gripped him and he fought to control it. Liam had been in the back of the car when Sue had jumped the red light and crashed into a delivery truck. He’d emerged from the accident unscathed but he’d seen his mother die and Shepherd couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for an eight-year-old boy.
Liam waved. ‘Seatbelt,’ mouthed Shepherd. Katra turned and said something to the boy, then Liam clipped on his belt.
The CRV was a big four-by-four with airbags and anti-lock braking system and it was high off the ground, more crash resistant than the VW Golf Sue had been driving when she’d died. Even so, Shepherd had to fight the urge to run out and tell Katra he’d drive Liam to school. It was ridiculous, of course. Moira had been running Liam to and from school in Hereford and Shepherd hadn’t given it a second thought. Sue’s accident had been a stupid mistake, coupled with bad luck. Liam was no more at risk in the CRV with Katra than any other child on the school- run that morning. He’d be fine. Katra beeped the horn and Shepherd raised his coffee mug in salute. Suddenly he remembered that he hadn’t given Katra a mobile phone so that she could contact him in an emergency. ‘Relax,’ he whispered. ‘He’s in good hands.’
He stood at the window until the CRV was out of view, then changed into his running gear and the black army boots. He ran on auto-pilot, barely aware of his five-kilometre route through the streets of Ealing and on to Scotch Common, skirting three golf courses, a circuit he’d run almost a thousand times during the four years since he’d bought the house. Sue had suggested he joined the local gym or even put a treadmill in the garage, but Shepherd wanted the ground beneath his boots and the wind in his face – the smell of grass and trees, or even car exhaust, was preferable to the perfumed deodorants that pervaded the gym. He wanted to run outdoors and he wanted to run hard; he wanted peace and quiet so that he could think. He had to become Stuart Marsden.
By the time he got back to the house he was in character. He shaved, showered and changed into his off-duty policeman clothes: blue denim shirt, black jeans and leather jacket. He put the boots into the black nylon bag with the rest of the SO19 equipment, set the burglar alarm, locked the front door and headed for the Toyota.
He called Miss Malcolm as he drove along the A40 towards the SO19 base at Leman Street and told her he wanted to hire Katra. She said she’d put the paperwork in the post to him.
He reached Leman Street at midday. He’d been told to report two hours before his shift was due to start so that he’d have time for a briefing with Rose. There was a confusing one-way system and he passed Aldgate tube station twice before he got on to the northern end of Leman Street. He found a space and bought a pay-and-display sticker that gave him an hour’s parking.
The nondescript building halfway down the street looked as if it had once been a police station but the only indication that it was a Metropolitan Police building was a sheet of paper stuck to the glass door that had the force’s blue and white logo in one corner. It was a six-storey concrete and glass block, bland and featureless except for a forest of radio antennae on the roof. Three Vauxhall ARVs were parked in front.
Shepherd pulled open the glass door and went over to the reception desk to find out where he could park for the duration of his shift. A bored uniformed constable checked his warrant card and gave him directions to an underground car park.
After he’d moved the Toyota, he walked back to Leman Street with his kit-bag and went in search of Keith Rose. A civilian secretary told him he was in the indoor range in the basement. Shepherd had to ask for directions and felt like the new boy at school.
As he went down the stairs he heard the sharp cracks of an MP5. He let himself in. Six men in black overalls were standing twenty-five metres from bullseye targets. They were all wearing bright orange ear-protectors. Shepherd took out a small plastic case containing yellow foam earplugs and fitted them as he headed towards the group. He recognised Keith Rose from the photographs in the file Hargrove had given him. He was just under six feet tall and broad-shouldered. His head was shaved and he had a sweeping Mexican moustache. He was talking to one of the men who had been shooting at the targets.
They looked over at Shepherd. ‘Stuart Marsden,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m looking for Sergeant Rose.’ He had to pretend he didn’t know what Rose looked like.
‘Guilty as charged.’ Rose stepped forward and held out his hand. Shepherd shook it and dropped his kit-bag. Like the rest of the men, the sergeant had an MP5 hanging off his shoulder on its nylon sling. ‘Stuart’s here to show us how the Jocks do it.’
‘I’m not Scottish, sir,’ said Shepherd.
Rose frowned. ‘Strathclyde, they told me.’
‘That’s right, but I was born in London.’
Rose handed his MP5 to Shepherd and gestured at the targets. ‘Show us what you can do, then.’ He grinned.
Shepherd checked the weapon, then slid the safety selector to fire. He swung the gun smoothly up to his shoulder and fired six single shots into one of the targets. His grouping was good, all within the two inner circles.
‘Nice,’ said Rose. Shepherd gave him back the carbine. ‘Let’s go into the canteen for a chat. Then we’ll get you fixed up with a Glock.’
Shepherd picked up his kit-bag. Rose held open the door and took him along a corridor. ‘Word is you were in the army,’ he said.
‘For a few years. The Paras.’
‘Why did you leave?’
Shepherd smiled easily. ‘Didn’t realise I was being interviewed for the job. Thought I was being transferred here.’
Rose didn’t smile. ‘In the Trojans it’s all about knowing your team,’ he said. ‘If we go into a building and there’s bad guys with guns, we all have to be on the same wavelength and that’s down to knowing everything about each other. No secrets.’
