Trust No One

thought – she had something. Morton’s ‘insurance policy’, as Salter had called it. They’d probably been afraid that if she’d ended up in the frame for Jones’ death or even dead herself, the material might still leak out. So they wanted to get their hands on it. She’d given nothing away to Salter last night. Now they’d come to get the information out of her, no doubt using the same techniques that Boyle’s people had used on Jake.

She’d kept her eye fixed on the hallway as the third figure entered. Welsby. So Salter had been telling the truth about that at least. Welsby really was on Kerridge’s payroll. Salter had just omitted to mention that Welsby wasn’t the only one.

She heard the three men move into the sitting room. Moving as silently as she could, she edged her body slowly forwards along the planks, until she judged that she was above them. Conscious of every creak in the wooden joists, she pressed her ear to the plasterboard ceiling, hoping to hear something of the conversation below.

Their voices carried clearly through the thin boarding, and apart from a few mumbled words, she had no difficulty following their discussion.

‘Of course it was Boyle,’ Salter was saying. ‘Who else would it have been?’

‘So how the fuck did he work out who she was?’ Kerridge’s voice was low and growling, the voice of someone used to getting his own way. She’d never seen this side of him. In his few dealings with her, he’d always displayed an old-fashioned courtesy that, she’d thought, was only just the right side of patronizing sexism. Outside of that, she’d seen him only in unctuous mode, glad-handing the great and good at business and charity events.

‘How the hell would I know?’ Salter said. ‘Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just worked out that she was close to Morton. Maybe he’s just flailing in the dark like we all are.’

‘Bollocks. Boyle does nothing without thinking. If he thought Donovan was worth putting down, he must have had a good idea who she was.’

Marie felt a chill down her spine. Putting down. Like a fucking dog.

‘Someone tipped Boyle off, then.’ Welsby’s voice.

‘Well, what the fuck do you think? Boyle’s smart, but he’s not a fucking clairvoyant. How the hell else does he know that Donovan’s one of yours?’ There was silence for a few moments, then Kerridge went on. ‘OK, tell your story again and let’s see if it sounds any more convincing this time.’

This was clearly addressed to Salter. After another pause, Salter said, ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate—’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Kerridge said. His voice had dropped, and Marie could hardly made out the expletive. He sounded even more intimidating when speaking quietly. ‘I’m not insinuating. I’m telling you to your fucking face that I don’t fucking trust you. Little Boy Scout who’s suddenly decided to join the bad guys. That clear enough?’

‘Crystal,’ Salter said. His voice was icy, but to Marie’s ears he still sounded the most nervous of the three of them. Out of his depth, she thought. Well out of his depth. ‘I just thought I was doing you a fucking favour.’

‘Very generous of you. So tell me again.’

‘I’ve been keeping tabs on her,’ Salter said. ‘Like we agreed.’

‘You didn’t tell us she’d been to see Jones.’ Welsby’s voice again. ‘Not till after he was dead.’

‘I didn’t get the chance,’ Salter said. ‘I didn’t think Jones was significant. I thought he was small fry.’

‘He is fucking small fry,’ Kerridge said. ‘But he’s small fry who works for Boyle.’

‘Christ, I didn’t know—’

‘That’s your trouble, Hugh. There’s a lot you don’t know. And you don’t even know how much you don’t know.’ Welsby sounded dismissive, as though he was wearily trying to deal with a student who’d failed to live up to his initial promise.

‘I don’t know why I fucking bother, that’s what I don’t know,’ Salter said. He was trying to match their aggression, Marie thought, but he succeeded only in sounding petulant. ‘I’m not a fucking clairvoyant either, you know.’

‘So you kept tabs on her after she slipped out of brother Blackwell’s clutches,’ Welsby said. ‘Why didn’t you tell us where she’d hidden herself away? Why wait till now?’

There was another pause. ‘I don’t know,’ Salter said after a moment. ‘Just being a bit too smart, like you say. Maybe I just felt a bit sorry for her. I thought I could get whatever she’s got without things coming to this. I thought she’d trip up and I’d get it out of her. Then things moved a bit quicker than I expected.’

‘Story of your life, Hugh,’ Welsby said.

‘Don’t notice you doing all that much better. Don’t notice you having much success in keeping a lid on all this,’ Salter said. ‘Don’t notice you doing much at all. Seems to me that we could all be up shit creek if Boyle gets hold of this stuff and uses it against Kerridge.’

‘We don’t even know that there is any stuff.’ Kerridge. ‘Unless you’ve got your hands on something you’ve not told us about.’

‘Not yet,’ Salter admitted. ‘But she’s got it. Or knows where it is.’

‘And you think Morrissey was after the same thing?’

‘Sure of it. I stood there listening for a bit. She’d said she’d got something in her handbag. That could have been a bluff, though. She threw it at him. Tried to distract him.’

‘Resourceful lady,’ Kerridge said. ‘Maybe you should have let Morrissey finish the job.’

‘Then we’d be even deeper in the shit, wouldn’t we? Wouldn’t have had any way of getting hold of it.’

‘Might have stayed buried,’ Welsby pointed out.

‘Not if Morrissey had found it. Anyway, Donovan’s not stupid. She’d have made some insurance arrangement of her own. She’s probably got someone lined up to release the material to the authorities if anything happened to her. That boyfriend of hers, for example.’

If only, Marie thought. She’d had no time to organize any backup arrangement. And, for that matter, no one to arrange it with. Even if things had been different, she wouldn’t get Liam involved in something like this. Still, she was happy to let them carry on thinking it. She’d also noted what Salter had said about listening to her and Morrissey. So the lateness of his intervention hadn’t been entirely accidental.

‘Whichever, you went in like some fucking white knight and saved her neck. Hope she was suitably grateful.’ Kerridge let out a salacious snort.

‘Not grateful enough to hand over the fucking evidence, it seems,’ Welsby said. ‘So where is she?’

‘Must be still in bed,’ Salter said. ‘I slipped her a couple of pills last night to give myself a chance to go through her stuff.’

‘But you didn’t find anything?’ Kerridge.

‘Not yet.’

‘I’m ever the optimist,’ Welsby said. ‘I’d expected a bit better of you. Thought you were a smart lad. One of life’s high-flyers even. Imagined you’d be a bit cleverer than this.’

‘I don’t—’

‘You really must think we’re a right pair of fuckwits, Hughie. That’s what really disappoints me. I expected a bit more respect.’ Marie could hear movement from the room below but couldn’t work out what was happening. ‘Where are they, lad? Where are the fucking microphones? Or is it cameras? Smile, Jeffrey, you’re on candid sodding camera.’

‘That’s not—’

There was a crash.

‘Stop fucking us about, lad. This crap about coming across. Doing us a favour. Bit late in the day to change sides, I’d say. We got you sussed, Hughie boy, well and truly sussed.’

There was more noise. The sound of a struggle. Something breaking. Whatever was happening, it was clear that Salter was getting the worst of it.

Short of breath, Welsby said, ‘Don’t you try it, son. Just don’t you fucking try it.’

She could hear some response from Salter but the words were too muffled to make out. Then she heard Kerridge’s voice, slightly softer than Welsby’s. He sounded relaxed, untroubled.

‘Take it easy, Keith. We need to think this through.’

‘If you think I’m letting this bastard—’

‘We’ll deal with him. But we need to get some things straight first. Like who the bastard’s working for.’

She heard another sound. The crunching, brutal sound of a boot hitting flesh. An agonized groan from