Fourteen
After arranging to meet Kelly later, Karen then found herself battling with nagging doubts. Was she doing the right thing? After all, she had originally promised herself that this investigation, and the extent to which she was allowed to investigate it at all, would be strictly by the book.
She picked up the paper cup of coffee which she had extracted from the machine a little earlier, then half forgotten about, and took a mouthful which she promptly spat back into the cup. It was barely tepid, and the stuff was bad enough even when it was hot.
She poured the coffee into the pot of the rubber plant she kept in one corner, noticing as she did so that the plant no longer looked all that happy, which could, she reflected, be not unconnected with the many previous cups of highly questionable coffee which had been emptied into its container. None the less, she set off downstairs to fetch herself another one. There were all kinds of people in a CID office who could, without too much difficulty, be persuaded to fetch coffee for their boss, but somehow Karen was never comfortable asking people to do such menial tasks for her. In any case, running the errand herself gave her thinking time.
She didn’t really have any doubts. Just some fears, she supposed. And that was only rational.
But by the time she reached her home that evening, only just before 7.30, she had conquered her fears and come to terms with her intentions.
He arrived on the dot of 7.30. She had barely had time to take off her coat and rush around her flat picking up the abandoned shoes and various other items of scattered clothing, which she then hurled indiscriminately into the bedroom. Sometimes her untidiness did spread from there into the living room and other parts of her flat, in spite of her best efforts not to let that happen.
She had only just shut the bedroom door on the mayhem within, even greater now than it had been that morning, when her front doorbell rang. As she hurried to open it, she ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, in a pathetic effort to bring it to order after her exertions. She thought her face was probably bright pink. But, in any case, it was only Kelly waiting outside in the corridor. And she forgot about herself when she saw him. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale and drawn. He did not look well at all, and she thought he had aged dramatically over the last few days.
‘Come here,’ she said, and, almost automatically, gave him a big hug. ‘You look all in.’
‘I’ve had better days,’ he said. ‘And better times in my life.’ He paused. ‘Mind you, I’ve had worst times, too.’
He grinned. Karen smiled. She knew all about his chequered past. Yes, he almost certainly had had worst times, she suspected.
Yet Kelly’s sense of humour rarely failed him, even in the grimmest of situations, and it was, to Karen, one of his most endearing characteristics. He was acutely aware of his own shortcomings and had always used humour, often directed quite harshly against himself, to deal with the more unfortunate consequences of his frequently wayward behaviour.
‘Come in,’ she said, ushering him into the sitting room with one hand, as she closed the front door with the other.
She offered him tea and went to the kitchen to make it and to open a bottle of red wine for herself.
When she returned he was standing by a window, with his back to the room, looking out over the bay. She walked silently across to him and held out the mug of tea without speaking.
He turned and took it from her. ‘You know, I think Moira enjoyed walking along Torquay seafront more than almost anything else. We had holidays together — even one or two quite flash ones — but I think the times when we both had an afternoon off and we walked together along the front, had an ice cream or a hot dog, and maybe a drink in the early evening and a fish supper, I think those may have been our happiest times together.’
He stopped abruptly and immediately looked as if he wished he had not said so much. Karen knew only too well that it did not come easily to John Kelly to share his feelings. And it was highly indicative of his state of mind for him to tell her a story about Moira, rather than jumping straight in to cross-examine her about any developments in the Hangridge case.
She waited for a moment, but he said nothing else. She also knew better than to try to prompt him. Instead, she squeezed his arm and invited him to sit down on the sofa.
She sat next to him and, without waiting for him to ask her anything, launched into an account of her problems with the hierarchy concerning any further investigation of Hangridge.
‘At the moment, I cannot get the CC to agree to launch an official police investigation. I think that is wrong—’
‘So do I.’
‘Don’t interrupt. This is tricky enough, and if you ever tell anyone a word of what I am about to say to you, I shall deny everything. OK?’
‘Can I speak now?’
‘Kelly!’ There was a warning note in her voice, but she was actually mildly reassured. He might be in a bit of a state, but he was still the same old Kelly. And as sharp as ever.
‘OK. I shall press delete immediately and wipe this meeting from my memory.’
‘Very funny. This is no joke, though, Kelly, as you well know, and you really will have to do just that for both our sakes. You see, I actually want you to blow this thing wide open, because it’s the only way, I’m afraid, that anyone is going to get even close to the truth.
‘So, I’m prepared to give you every bit of information I can to help you investigate. And I’ll be working with you behind the scenes. Officially I can do bugger all, not yet, anyway, but unofficially everything I can glean will be yours. However, in return, I do expect you to tell me everything you get. I don’t want any holding back.’
Kelly looked doubtful. He really was a typical journalist, thought Karen, much better at acquiring information than giving any away. And that went for his personal life, too.
‘That’s the deal,’ she said. ‘Take it or leave it.’
‘You’re a hard woman,’ he replied.
‘Sometimes I think I’m soft as shit,’ she replied.
‘Never.’
She waited.
‘OK, it’s a deal,’ he said.
He hesitated then. She saw through him at once. She knew Kelly well.
‘Come on,’ she instructed. ‘Spit it out. You’ve something to tell me already, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah, I guess I have. The families are getting together. Margaret Slade called me this morning, sounding, much to my surprise, extremely switched on...’
He then gave her a précised version of the call.
‘So, there you have it,’ he said when he had finished. ‘The families are going to form an action group, and they want me to be their official representative. Funny old world, isn’t it?’
‘It sure is. That could be extremely good news, though, Kelly. The authorities won’t be able to ignore you if you’re representing the families of the dead young soldiers, so you should be able to get access, certainly with a little persistence, to almost anyone you want to see. And it distances you from the media too.’
‘Well, up to a point...’ said Kelly cautiously.
Karen grinned. She was a realist. She would not even ask about whatever deal Kelly may have made with Margaret Slade, and indeed it was probably better that she didn’t know. But she could imagine it well enough. And, deal or no deal, to imagine even for one moment that Kelly would investigate Hangridge without recording everything that happened and attempting to turn it into the story of his life would be completely unrealistic.