She was getting nowhere, thinking herself deeper into depression. She already knew she was in a mess. Now she had to devote her mind to thinking of a way out of it. She’d considered a direct approach to Kerridge, but couldn’t see where it would get her. She had tried to identify some intermediary who might help uncover the truth about Jones’ murder, but anyone sufficiently close to Kerridge or Boyle to be of use was, well, likely to be much too close.
She pulled the plug on the rapidly cooling water and stepped out, drying herself hurriedly and pulling on the thick towelling dressing gown supplied behind the bathroom door. One of the perks of the executive-level room, she presumed. She hadn’t noticed many others.
She needed more time to catch her breath. All she could feel was a rising panic, a growing sense that time was running out. There was no one she could risk calling. The police might be monitoring the phones of any of her friends and acquaintances, and would track her back here in minutes. Even assuming, she thought bleakly, that she had any real friends or acquaintances left to call.
There was no one up here. Back home, there was just her family and Liam . . .
Shit, she thought. Liam.
He’d be going spare. She’d tried to call him the previous evening after her return from meeting Jones. There’d been no answer early on, and she hadn’t bothered leaving a message on his voicemail, assuming that she’d try again later or – more likely – that he would call her. In the end, exhausted by the previous disrupted night and the trials of the day, she’d fallen asleep in front of the TV. She’d woken at eleven or so, and barely opening her eyes, staggered into the bedroom, sleepily undressed and fallen into bed. She hadn’t stirred till she’d been disturbed by Blackwell’s unexpected arrival.
Had Liam tried to call her back? It was likely. He didn’t allow many evenings to go by without a call. She’d have expected the phone to wake her, but had been so knackered she could easily have slept through it. She hadn’t thought to check the voicemail this morning.
Would the Agency have contacted Liam? If so, Christ knew what they’d told him. And no doubt he’d been trying to call her on one of her inoperative mobile numbers ever since.
She couldn’t even phone him now. Liam’s line would surely be monitored. Shit, she thought. He’d never forgive her for this.
She pulled open the door of the bathroom, rubbing her face with a towel, her mind still wrestling with this latest problem.
It was the sound that made her stop. The sound of a cough and a shuffle of feet. The sound of someone in the room.
She lowered the towel slowly from her face, as a voice said, ‘Jesus, Marie. You’re one hell of a woman to keep up with.’
Chapter 23
Her first reaction was fear, then bafflement and finally anger.
‘What the fuck are you doing in here, Joe?’ A small part of her mind was thanking Christ that the executive room had included provision of a dressing gown. Another part was registering her handbag, open where she’d left it on the bed.
Joe was half-rising, in the manner of someone about to greet a visitor. Seeing the look on her face, he slumped back down into the armchair.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘Little tip, Joe. If you don’t want to startle people, don’t let yourself into their fucking hotel rooms.’
‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Wasn’t really thinking.’
‘What are you doing here, Joe?’ She paused. ‘More to the point, how’d you track me down?’
‘I followed you.’
‘
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.
‘Don’t keep apologizing, Joe. Makes me nervous.’
‘Police came to the shop, early this morning. Before they came to you. Six thirty or so. I’d gone in early. Didn’t sleep very well last night, and we had the Henshaw job to finish. Darren had messed up—’
‘Get to the point, Joe.’ Her anger was subsiding now. It was difficult to sustain it in the face of Joe’s abject demeanour.
‘Yeah, sorry. Anyway, I got in about six. About six thirty, these coppers turned up. Couple of plain clothes, one in a uniform. Looking for you.’
She frowned. ‘Why’d they go to the shop?’
‘I think they were expecting a domestic address or that you lived above the shop or something.’
‘Christ, Joe. Did you give them my home address?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Honestly. They realized straightaway you weren’t going to be there. And then one of them made a phone call. Spoke to someone who gave him your home address. I didn’t say anything.’
That was interesting, she thought, and probably confirmed everything she’d been fearing.
‘No, of course, not. Sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t take it out on you.’
‘What’s this all about, Marie?’
‘Jesus, Joe, it’s a long story. Tell me about this morning.’
Calmer now, she lowered herself on to the bed. Casually, she pulled the handbag towards her and began rooting through it, her eyes still fixed on Joe. The data stick was still there, tucked into a side pocket. To cover her actions, she pulled out a pack of tissues and made as if to blow her nose.
‘Well, I tried to call your mobile, but it was turned off. Left you a message.’ One of the many messages she’d failed to check this morning. ‘Didn’t have your home number. So in the end I set off after them. Stupid, really. I had this idea that they might not go straight there, that I might get there first and at least warn you they were coming. But of course they were already there when I arrived. There was a police car parked out front.’
She nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘I hung about across the street. I had an idea I’d wait till they’d gone, then come across and make sure you were OK.’ He paused and lowered his head, as if embarrassed by the concern he was showing.
‘And you saw me leave?’
‘Well, I was a bit taken aback. I was sitting there and saw you scurrying around the building. Didn’t know what to think. Then I saw your car coming out of the car park. In the end, I decided to follow you. I’m not really sure why.’ He paused. ‘Just a bit worried, I suppose.’
‘You followed me all the way?’
He shrugged, reddening. ‘Well, yes. Saw you park up. I drove straight past you, parked on the floor above. Nearly lost you after that. Came out into the street just as you were going into the bank—’
‘And you hung around while I had my hair done?’
‘There was a coffee bar over the road. Read the paper.’
She was staring at him, incredulous. ‘But I got a cab to the hotel.’
‘Follow that cab,’ he mumbled.
‘Jesus, Joe, you’re fucking incredible. Why didn’t you let me know you were there?’
‘I don’t know, really. You looked . . . focused. I wasn’t sure how you’d react.’
It was a fair point. She’d probably have punched his lights out. She nearly had just now.
‘You haven’t told me how you got in here.’
He was even more red now. ‘Didn’t know what to do when I saw you coming to the hotel. Nearly turned on my heel and went back. I hung about near the door while you checked in. Watched you call the lift, and then watched what floor it stopped at.’ He paused, as if scarcely able to credit his own ingenuity. ‘Then I followed you up. I thought I’d lose you then. But I saw you at the end of the corridor, opening the door just as I came out of the lift.’
