Trust No One

Salter.

‘So who is it, Hughie boy? For a bit I thought you were working for those buggers in Standards. That right, Hughie? Those bastards put you up to this?’

Another crunch. More muttered words from Salter. Jesus, she thought, this was almost worse than witnessing it. Her hands were clutched tight to the joists, her head pressed against the ceiling below. Her great fear was that, at any moment, the dust would get into her lungs and she’d explode in a fit of coughing.

‘Yeah, and they’ve got us fucking surrounded. You know what, Hughie? I don’t think I believe you. I don’t think you’re working for fucking Standards at all. Which, the way I see it, leaves only two possibilities.’ There was the sound of another blow, another pained yelp from Salter. ‘Christ, you’re pathetic, Salter. Look at you. At least try to show a bit of dignity.’ Welsby laughed. ‘So which is it? Either you’re on some frolic of your own, or you’re working for our friend Peter Boyle. I wonder which you’d rather we believed. Interesting dilemma, that one, Hughie.’

Another blow, seemingly even harder than before. Another cry, shrill now. The sound of someone with not much more to offer.

‘Not sure it matters all that much, Hughie. If you’re working for Boyle, this should send him a clear enough message, I’d have thought. And if you’re not – well, more fool you, boyo. Shouldn’t go playing with the big boys.’

Another scream from Salter.

‘OK, Keith, he’s got the message.’ Kerridge again. ‘Let him stew for a minute. You reckon Donovan’s even here?’

Marie tensed at her own name. She could hear no sound from Salter now.

‘I doubt it,’ Welsby said. ‘Don’t know whether our friend here’s just lying through his teeth, or whether he’s got Donovan tucked away somewhere else. Either way, he wouldn’t just leave her here for us to find.’ There was a pause and some exchange she couldn’t make out. Then Welsby said, ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll go check if it’ll keep you happy.’ More movement. The sound of Welsby tramping through the hall, her bedroom door opening. Some scuffling, more doors being opened. Welsby returning.

‘Who’d have thought it? She’s been here all right. Look at this.’ She heard the sound of something being thrown clatteringly to the ground. Her handbag, she guessed. Her handbag with the data stick still in it. ‘All right, Hughie boy. So if she’s not here now, then where the fuck is she?’

She could hear Salter saying something, but could make out none of the words. Welsby’s response was clear enough, though. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Hughie. I’m not a happy bunny as it is. You really don’t want to antagonize me.’ Another blow, louder this time, again the awful sound of a boot on flesh. ‘Tit for tat, I’d say, if you really are working for Boyle. I saw what you bastards did to Morton. I’ve got no problem in doing the same to you. What goes around comes around. You got some bad karma, Hughie.’ Another louder sound. Then something falling over.

Marie could sense that, whatever might be in store for Salter, it would be worse even than the kicking he’d received so far. He might be a duplicitous bastard – Christ, they were all duplicitous bastards – but he didn’t deserve that. She thought back to Jake and what he must have been through. No human being deserved that.

‘Now, if you tell us where Donovan is, we can get this sorted nice and gentle, just like my friend here would prefer,’ Welsby went on. ‘If you don’t – well, then we’ll just work on you till you do. Nice and slowly.’

Finally, she heard Salter’s voice. ‘I’m telling you, Welsby. I don’t fucking know. If I knew I’d fucking tell you. She was here. I left her here . . .’ His voice sounded cracked, as if they’d done something to his throat.

‘And you left her the key to that door, did you?’

‘The whole place was fucking secured. There’s no way she could have got out. Have you checked . . .?’

‘I’ve checked every inch of this sodding place,’ Welsby said. ‘She’s not here.’

‘But that’s not . . .’ Salter’s words collapsed into an incoherent gurgle as there was yet another crunch. Something harder than a boot this time, Marie thought.

‘Where is she, Salter?’

‘I don’t . . .’ That sound again, cutting his words short.

Marie had been hesitating. The smart move, she thought, would be just to lie low. Hang on until they’d finished with Salter, wait till they left, then just get out. Through the bloody roof if necessary. She told herself she owed Salter nothing. He’d lied to her, used her as a pawn in whatever game he’d been trying to play, even risked leaving her to die at Joe Morrissey’s hands. She had no doubt that, if he had known where she was, he’d have betrayed her already.

But another thought had already struck her. Whatever they were planning to do with Salter, they wouldn’t want any witnesses. They’d already worked out that Salter must have the place wired up with surveillance equipment. They’d assumed Salter was acting alone – it sounded as if his claim to be working for Professional Standards was just so much bullshit – so the equipment would be for recording rather than providing any live feed. But they wouldn’t want to leave any possibility of evidence at the end of this. Which would mean they’d scour the house for any recording or intercept devices.

Which in turn would mean they’d find her.

She knew that, if it came to it, they’d treat her the same way they were treating Salter. Sentiment wouldn’t count for very much in Welsby’s world. And I thought he was a fucking father figure, she thought. The sort of father they wrote misery porn about.

There was another dull thud and a scream from below. Christ, she couldn’t just stay here and allow this to happen. Allow them to complete their work on Salter, and then, in due course, start on her. It would suit them to leave Salter and her here, dead or close to death. They’d probably torch the place. Leave not much but a dealing house – this place must be one of Kerridge’s after all, a fitting location for Salter’s intended double-cross – and two charred corpses. When the corpses had been identified, they’d leave behind only the kind of mystery that doesn’t demand much police time. She was already on the run, suspected of murder. Salter would be denounced as corrupt – maybe even as the suspected leaker. No one would know what had brought them up to this neck of the woods, or what their connections were with whoever had run this place, or even whether their deaths were accidental or deliberate. And no one would care. Whatever the story, they’d just be two bent coppers getting their desserts. Worth no one’s time of day.

She looked around her for something she might use as a weapon. There was the screwdriver, which might do as a last resort, but the pile of old tools might yield something better. There were a couple of spanners, an old hammer, and, lying beyond the next joist, a rusting Stanley knife. That looked the most promising.

Her body was pressed flat against the planking, her left ear still resting on the ceiling. She reached out carefully to pick up the knife, which was just at the limit of her reach. Gently now, she thought, gently.

But as she stretched out for the knife, her body shifted slightly, her foot brushing softly against one of the joists behind her. She looked back but it was already too late. An old yoghurt pot, filled with rusting screws and nails, tottered momentarily on the edge of the joist and then tipped sideways, scattering its contents noisily across the ceiling.

Marie held her breath, realizing that the men below had fallen silent. A moment later, she heard Welsby’s voice moving beneath her as he made his way into the hall.

‘What the fuck . . .?’ he was shouting eloquently. ‘What the fuck was that?’

Chapter 29

Marie could hear Welsby stomping through the hallway, his voice echoing around the small building. ‘The lying bastard. She’s here. She’s fucking here.’

Following the sound of his voice, she shuffled on the planks, finding the tiny hole she’d drilled in the ceiling. She could see Welsby’s figure framed below, his red face staring up at the ceiling. ‘Donovan,’ he said, his voice lower than before. ‘You up there, girl? No point in hiding yourself away now. Why don’t you come down and make it easy for both of us?’

Why did everyone want her to make it easy? She held her breath, perfectly motionless, but knew that it was too late. Welsby had no doubt now that she was up here. She couldn’t imagine him dragging his own hefty bulk