and said they were placing someone in an impossible situation and it was his responsibility as handler to see that nothing happened to them. He thought it was madness but couldn’t get them to call it off.’ She shook her head. ‘He wasn’t supposed to talk about his work, but I wasn’t stupid — I knew what he did right from the start. We were always close, you see.’
‘The other man in the photo,’ said Harry. ‘Do you know him?’
Sheila nodded without looking at the photo. ‘His name’s Andrew Marshall. He was one of Gordon’s superiors — a major, I think, although he’s a civilian now. They’d worked together before in. . well, in other places.’
‘Is he one of the good guys?’ Joanne asked
Shelia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I always thought so. With what they have to do, it’s difficult to tell sometimes.’ She looked guiltily at Joanne. ‘Sorry.’
‘But Gordon trusted him?’
‘Oh, yes. He trusted Andrew. Not,’ she added softly, ‘that it did him any good in the end, did it?’ She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her nose. ‘A step too far.’
‘Pardon?’
‘He always said that things went badly when you took just one step too far. Like taking that last run down a ski slope.’ She gave a stiff smile. ‘He loved skiing. Nearly broke his leg a couple of times, taking a final run.’
‘What did they tell you about it?’ Harry asked.
‘The accident? Actually, Andrew came to see me. He said he didn’t want anyone else to do it, not after all he and Gordon had been through together. I thought that was very kind of him. He told me Gordon’s car went off the road somewhere in Kuwait. But I knew that couldn’t be true — he was nowhere near Kuwait at the time. They’re very good at concealing things from families. . they have to be, I suppose, otherwise we’d never sleep nights. There was even a report in the paper and a picture of the car.’ She took a deep breath, a catch in her throat. ‘Gordon never normally told me exactly where he was going or staying, but he did this time.’
‘Why was that?’ Harry waited. This could be the opening they needed.
‘He had trouble sleeping, which was very unusual for him. And the last time he was home on leave, he told me what he’d been doing and where he was going next. It was the first time he’d ever done that. That’s how I knew about you.’ She looked at Joanne with an odd look of compassion. ‘He thought you were a very special young lady. There weren’t many people he said that about. He was really very unhappy about it. He wanted to protect you. . but deep down, I think he knew that was impossible. I still don’t know why you do it — any of you. But I suppose somebody has to, otherwise where would we be?’
A bell sounded along the corridor. Sheila shook herself and glanced at her watch. ‘I’m sorry — I have to go. You wanted something, didn’t you? Something connected with Gordon.’
Harry considered his words carefully. There was no point making her aware of what they were involved in; it would serve no useful purpose. She had been fed an official story covering the death of her brother, but had recognized it for what it was, even though she knew there must be something deeper involved than a mere road traffic accident. The truth was probably best left buried. But at least they now had a name. He opted for a direct question.
‘Do you know where we can find Andrew Marshall?’ he asked.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The air in Joanne Archer’s Battersea flat was filled with the tang of cleaning fluid. Trapped in the stillness of the hallway, it hung in the atmosphere like a thick veil. It was enough to tell Rik he was too late; the cleansing had already taken place.
He ran his hand down the doorjamb. A new latch had been fitted, with a fillet of wood inserted and planed smooth to replace the damaged section. It hadn’t yet been painted, and whoever had been the last out must have forgotten to click the door behind them. He pushed it shut and slipped the button to lock it.
First he checked the bathroom. It was empty, scoured clean; no coiled tights, no razor, no traces of soap or powder. The kitchen was pristine, as were the other rooms, stripped of all trace of the previous occupants. No bags, no empty wine bottles, no takeaway food containers, not even a layer of dust.
And no body.
There was a patch of bedroom carpet where the dead woman had been lying. Looking at the way the edges were curled up against the wall, Rik guessed the floor underneath had also been scrubbed. Not exactly a thorough job — replacing the carpet would have been more professional — but enough to cover up what had happened to the untrained eye.
He rang Harry. ‘Battersea’s cleaner than a vicar’s conscience,’ he told him.
‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ said Harry. ‘Best get out of there.’
‘Will do.’ Rik was already moving towards the door. ‘Any joy your end?’
‘We got a lead from Humphries’ sister, but it could be a waste of time. We’ll meet at your place.’
‘You betcha.’ Rik switched off his mobile. Heard the clatter of footsteps on the metal stairway.
He stepped up to the door and peered out through the side window. Two men were climbing the stairs. They were both heavyset and purposeful, dressed in casual clothes.
One he recognized as the passenger in the Volvo.
He stepped back, wishing he’d got a weapon. But that was as pointless as hoping to meet Jennifer Lopez on a beach at sunset. Anyway, against two he’d be at a disadvantage. And these men looked like they meant business.
He retraced his steps to the living room and looked out of the front window overlooking the shops. Immediately below was an overhang, a section of flat roof covered with heavy felt and a scattering of gravel. It was roughly four feet wide, easy enough to walk on. The question was, would it be strong enough to support his weight?
There was only one way to find out.
The window was single-glazed and opened outwards to the side. He flipped it open and clambered out. It was a bit public, but a much better option than going down the other way and trying to get past the two men. Dropping to the flat roof, he ignored a few surprised looks from pedestrians on the opposite pavement and walked along the roof to the end of the row of shops, careful not to tread too heavily. When he reached the end, he found a convenient rubbish skip placed within easy reach, and swung down to the ground and walked away without looking back.
His car was parked on the main road, but he ignored it. Instead, he turned and walked along the access road behind the block. Each shop had its own rear door, with a stairway to the flats above every thirty yards. In between lay a clutter of vehicles, skips, pallets and other rubbish, and he used this cover to approach Joanne Archer’s stairway.
He found a couple of large wheeled bins at the rear of a takeaway, and stopped, nose twitching at the sickly sweet smell of spicy food and grease.
A door slammed overhead and footsteps pounded down the stairs, causing the structure to vibrate. The two men appeared, looking grim, and Rik smiled at their discomfort. It was tinged, though, by an awareness that they had clearly worked out what he was doing and were close behind him.
Too close. Next time he might not be so lucky.
The men walked across the road and disappeared round the corner. Moments later, a familiar blue Volvo appeared and edged out on to the main road, then surged away with a brief squeak of tyres, heading north towards the city.
Harry hit the wheel with his hand and skidded into a lay-by, a cloud of dust drifting past as they came to a stop. They were only a few miles away from Green’s Morton after leaving a tearful Sheila Humphries, and Harry had just ended the call with Rik about Joanne’s flat.
‘Damn — how stupid am I?’
‘What’s up?’ Joanne reached instinctively for her gun, twisting in her seat to glance through the rear window.
