something about you – not who you are, but that you’re in the frame for Jones’ murder. Laid it on a bit thick, probably. But in the end he said he’d tell us what he knew, so long as he didn’t have to get involved any further.’
‘And does he know anything useful, do you think?’
‘Maybe. He was being very cagey, but he wouldn’t have offered to talk to us if he didn’t have something to say.’
‘You think we can trust him?’
‘I hope so. He was a friend of my brother’s. They worked on some stuff together and it was Greg who ended up taking the fall. He kept quiet and didn’t take anyone with him. So this guy owes him one.’
‘I’ll trust your judgement, Joe. You think he’s straight.’
‘I don’t think straight’s the word. But, yeah, in this, I think we can trust him, so long as we don’t push him too far. Just listen to what he has to say, and then leave it at that. Don’t know whether it’ll help you or not, but it’s all we’ve got.’
That was true enough. It was clutching at straws, but at least for the moment there was a straw or two to clutch at.
‘What’s the arrangement?’ she said. ‘I said we’d meet up with him. About eight thirty. He wants it to be as discreet as possible. Out on the coast. I’ll pick you up, and we can head on up there.’
It was a risk. Joe had no experience in these matters. Whatever his brother might have done, he wasn’t used to mixing with the kind of people she’d dealt with. But it was all she had. If it came to it, she could look after herself. With a bit of luck, she could look after Joe as well.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s give it a go.’ She paused, conscious of the anxious silence at the other end of the line. ‘Thanks, Joe,’ she added. ‘You’ve done great.’
Fifteen minutes later, she was standing waiting for Joe on the narrow concourse at the front of the hotel. It was a chilly evening, the rain threatening to return, and there was only a scattering of other pedestrians walking past. Office workers heading home. A gaggle of young men heading for the pub. She stepped back into the shadows, watching for Joe’s car.
She felt conscious of every passing vehicle, alert for watching eyes. Behind her, the hotel lobby was as quiet as the street, empty except for a couple of business types chatting over coffee.
Another car passed, not slowing on its way up into St Peter’s Square. Then, finally, she heard the distinctive puttering of Joe’s clapped-out Ford Escort. He pulled into the bay in front of the hotel and threw open the passenger door.
‘Hope I’m not late.’
‘Spot on,’ she said, climbing into the passenger seat.
‘You OK?’
‘Well as can be expected. You reckon this will go smoothly?’
‘Hope so. Can’t promise it’s going to tell you anything new, though.’
‘Worth a shot. You’re sure you want to come with me?’
‘Think I’d trust you with my car?’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you drive.’
‘Fair enough.’
They were travelling through the centre of town, past the rows of brightly lit shops along Deansgate, then out into the gloomier reaches of Salford and on to the motorway, heading west.
From time to time, Marie glanced in the wing mirror. There were cars behind them, but that was no surprise. It was mid-evening. The main commuter traffic had died away, but there was still a steady stream of vehicles leaving the city centre.
Joe fiddled aimlessly with the radio as he drove, flipping from one anonymous pop station to another.
‘You were mentioned on the news earlier,’ he said. ‘Least I presume it was you.’
She caught her breath. ‘What did they say?’
‘Not a lot. Surprisingly low-key, I thought. Well down the news. Body found in suspicious circumstances. Police treating it as a murder investigation, want to interview a young woman. There was a short description.’ He glanced across at her. ‘Don’t think it would help anyone identify you, though.’
‘I can see that “young” might be misleading. Did they say “attractive” as well?’
He smiled. ‘Something along those lines.’
‘Well, that’s me safe, then.’
They were out of the city now, into the suburbs. The houses visible from the motorway were larger and fewer. Trees lined the roads.
‘Where are we meeting?’ she asked.
‘Out on the coast. Near Formby.’
‘Formby? Couldn’t have picked somewhere less convenient, could he?’ She had only a vague idea of where the place was. On the Lancashire coast, somewhere between Liverpool and Southport. Someone had told her it was pleasant, a nice place for a Sunday walk. There were red squirrels, she remembered irrelevantly. Just the place for a clandestine meeting, no doubt.
‘He’s doing us a favour,’ Joe pointed out. ‘Lives out in that neck of the woods these days. Think he’d upset a few of the wrong people in Manchester.’
Marie sat in silence as they made their way up the M6 and on to the M58, past Skelmersdale, heading now towards north Liverpool and the coast. At the end of the motorway, they turned north along the bypass. Marie glanced again in the mirror. Now they’d left the motorway, there was just one set of headlights behind them, some distance back. Surveillance distance, she thought. Or just a sensible driver. Moments later, the headlights vanished as the car behind turned off the main road. Further back, she could see another set of lights, another car, gradually gaining on them.
‘Much further?’
‘No. We turn off soon.’
She didn’t know this area well and she’d lost any sense of distance. They’d been travelling for an hour or so. Maybe forty or fifty miles from Manchester. In the darkness, she caught the occasional glimpse of open fields, farms, neat bungalows.
A few minutes later, Joe slowed, peering through the wind-screen. ‘Turning’s somewhere here.’ He gestured to their left. ‘Yes. Here’s the roundabout.’
They turned on to a narrower B-road. Marie glanced in the mirror and saw, with unexpected relief, that the car behind had sped on past. They drove another half-mile or so, past more fields and then rows of smart-looking houses, an occasional convenience store, a pub. Joe turned left at the next junction, along another residential road. Larger houses, half-concealed behind tidy wooden fences. The place was more built-up, more suburban than Marie had expected. Usually, as you approached the coast, there was a sense of the sea, of windswept openness. This felt like a dormitory town; it could have been anywhere.
Gradually, though, the road narrowed and the houses fell away. They were into woodland now. Ahead, beyond the pale beams of their headlights, there was nothing but trees, darkness and, presumably, the sea.
‘You know this route well,’ she said.
He glanced across at her and laughed. ‘Not really. We used to come here as kids sometimes. Place to come on a Sunday afternoon. Get an ice cream, play on the sands. You know. Of course, as kids, we’d rather have gone to Blackpool. Not much here but sea and sand.’
The place felt eerie enough in the darkness. ‘Half a mile or so,’ Joe said. He had slowed slightly again, his eyes fixed on the road, searching for a turning.
They rounded another bend, and there was a car park ahead of them. Abruptly, Joe hit the brakes and took a sharp right. It was a small parking area, designed for summer visitors. She could envisage lines of parked cars, families munching on sandwiches, preparing for walks along the beach, paddling in the grey-green water. Tonight, the car park was deserted, the place looking bleak and windswept.
‘No one here yet?’ Marie said.
‘I’m quite glad,’ Joe smiled. ‘This used to be where all the doggers came, apparently. Think the police have cleared them out for the moment.’
‘Would be just my luck,’ Marie said. ‘On the run for murder, and I get arrested for suspected exhibitionism.’
