Donaldson stood up, exasperated. In his role at the Legat, he had access to many computer files at all levels, but as he clicked on to the ones he particularly wanted to see, this access was denied.
‘Goddamn technology,’ he said through gritted teeth and paced around the study. It had previously been a garage, but when the house had been rebuilt following the fire, the space had been converted into a fairly airy office. Donaldson’s mind went briefly back to the arson attack that had almost killed Kate. That had been a hell of an experience for both of them.
There was a tap on the closed door. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course you can ma’am,’ Donaldson cooed as he opened the door.
‘I heard you muttering.’
‘Just annoyed at the computer. I can’t access something I need to see, but it’s probably because I’m doing it from here rather than in the embassy,’ he reasoned, not really knowing too much about such things. He used technology well enough but didn’t understand how or why it worked.
‘Could you use another drink?’
‘That would be fine.’
He followed her into the kitchen where the coffee-filtering machine was dripping and hissing away. He leaned against a worktop as Kate reached for a couple of mugs from hooks on the wall. It was still on the tip of his tongue to admit his unfaithfulness, but he checked himself. Telling Henry had been as far as he was prepared to go in the self-torturing stakes for one day. To reveal all to Kate, he guessed, would be disastrous. He was of the opinion that men and women were wired up differently, that the picture they saw might be the same, but each sex viewed it differently. He knew Henry wouldn’t say a thing to anyone, but suspected Kate might see it as her duty to tell Karen.
She filled a mug for him and handed it over, looking directly into his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t say a thing, you know,’ she said as though she’d read his simple mind.
A thought skittered through his synapses. If I were being tortured, water-boarded, nails pulled out, branded by hot irons, my balls wired up to the electrical circuit, I would not reveal a national secret. But this — this — was much worse than torture. Subtle, psychological prodding, accompanied by a beautiful face and big innocent eyes, a package designed to draw information out of him. And mind reading. Fight it.
‘I’ve nothing to say, honest. You’re barking up the wrong tree. And I need to phone my boss.’
‘There’s a lot of ground to cover, Mark,’ Henry said turning squarely to the lad in the back of the Mondeo. He held up a hand to stop Mark’s protestation. ‘Let me just tell you what I know and then let me tell you something very important.’
Mark sneered, an expression that seemed permanently affixed to his face.
‘First off, I know that you and Rory Costain were out on the rob two nights ago. You beat up two people and stole from them. Maybe you even did more I don’t know about.’ Mark opened his mouth. Henry snapped, ‘Shut it. You robbed a lad in the town centre and a girl just down the road from the nick. But that’s not all, is it? Tell me about the old man, Mark.’
‘What old man?’
‘The one you tried to rob.’
‘Didn’t rob no old man.’
‘What did you do to him?’
‘Don’t know what you’re blabbing about, Henry.’
‘Mark, you stupid little shit. I’ve talked to Bradley and I’ve talked to Katie…’
‘The little twats.’
‘Your mates, actually. People who care about you.’
Mark’s sneering expression showed he thought differently. He folded his arms. ‘Nothing to say.’
‘Have you any idea who the old man was?’
‘What old guy?’ Mark said stubbornly.
‘Ever heard of the Mafia?’
‘Course.’
‘That old man was a Mafia godfather…’ Henry stopped speaking as Mark sniggered. ‘Put two and two together, Mark. You saw him get killed and the people who did it saw you watching. And then they killed Rory and you managed to get away… and they would’ve had you last night, but you got lucky, but Rory’s dad didn’t.’
‘Is he dead?’
Henry nodded. ‘Very.’
‘So you think I’ll be safe if I come and tell you what I saw? Stop taking me for a goomer, Henry. You couldn’t protect anyone.’
‘And you think you’ve got a chance by running away to London?’
Mark stared ahead.
Henry said, ‘Things have changed again.’
Mark sighed. ‘Sure they have.’
‘These people will stop at nothing to get you.’
‘Why would that be?’
‘Because they think you can identify them.’
‘They’re wrong.’
Henry was starting to bubble crossly. ‘Let me lay it down, Mark. I know you and Rory saw that old guy being murdered. You were right up at the end of the alley. I know you tried to rob him first and that he turned nasty, didn’t he? Not your usual victim, eh? He turned nasty because as a matter of course he killed, or had people killed, in his line of work. He was hiding out in Blackpool from a gang war in Naples and whoever killed him is desperate not to be caught, even if it means innocent people get killed.’
‘Like Billy?’
‘Like Billy,’ Henry confirmed. ‘And someone else…’
Donaldson was back at the computer, still getting nowhere. He had phoned Don Barber to tell him of his initial findings — that some of the killings attributed to the Marini clan didn’t quite fit in with their usual MO and were more professional than normal. He had even discovered a newspaper cutting relating to one of the long-distance shootings in which a Marini boss claimed they were not responsible for the hit.
Donaldson thought it was an unusual step for a Mafia boss to take — to deny a killing. Barber had sounded suitably unimpressed, then asked if there was anything more on the lad who’d witnessed Rosario Petrone’s murder, but Donaldson said he didn’t have any more updates, although he expected that the witness was probably back in Blackpool with the SIO by now.
‘OK, keep me informed,’ Barber said, ending the call just as Donaldson was about to ask him if there was any problems with the computer down at the embassy. He was about to call his boss back, but as he was about to hit the redial button on his mobile, he stopped and raised his face, looking at the 1964 picture of the Rolling Stones that Henry had put up on the study wall.
Mark climbed heavily out of the car and walked towards the beach, his eyes transfixed on the horizon. Henry walked behind him, Bill Robbins a few paces behind Henry, watchful, tense, not relaxing. Mark stopped on the edge of the sand dunes, then squatted slowly down on to his haunches, put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.
But he did not cry, just remained silent.
Henry moved to his side, placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Mark,’ he said sincerely.
‘I have no one,’ Mark said, matter-of-fact, glancing up. ‘Best thing for me is to end up in a young offenders’ institute until I’m eighteen. Then I can go on the dole, father a dozen kids and live off the state.’
‘It’s a plan,’ Henry said.
Mark smiled and said, ‘There was a camera.’
FOURTEEN
Donaldson was just about to pick up his laptop and hurl it against the wall when he glanced out of the study window to see Henry’s car pulling up outside the house. He placed the computer gently down on the desk and watched, slightly puzzled, as Henry got out of the back of the car and trotted up the driveway to the front of the house. He saw a driver at the wheel, but could not make out any of his features because of the reflected light off the windscreen. There was also a dark, indistinguishable shape in the back seat of the Mondeo. He heard a muted conversation between Henry and Kate, before Henry opened the study door and leaned in.