There was something in Tomlinson’s voice that left Karen in no doubt whatsoever that he had only put her in charge with some reluctance. But then, what was new about that? She really didn’t care. She had got her own way, more or less, and that was all that mattered.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Karen jumped to her feet at once and headed for the door. She was buzzing now. She had work to do, and at last her hands were no longer tied.
‘Just one moment.’
Karen stopped in her tracks and looked back over her shoulder.
‘Don’t make a balls of it, will you, Karen? And do keep John Kelly out of all of this, if you can.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Karen out loud. Under her breath she muttered to herself something entirely different. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’
Kelly was taken home in a police car just before 6 a.m., little more than half an hour before Karen set off for Exeter. She had wanted to provide him with protection.
‘Somebody has tried to kill you once, Kelly, it could happen again,’ she told him.
He had declined quite forcibly. He needed time to himself to think. He was horrified by the very thought of a police minder.
‘I’m not going anywhere except bed, I promise, and I’ll keep all the doors and windows locked,’ he said.
They had compromised. No minder, but a police patrol car would call round periodically to check on him.
Kelly felt absolutely terrible. His brain hurt, his face hurt, his eyes ached, and the whole of his head still felt as if it belonged to someone else. He was also totally exhausted. He took himself off to bed straight away, and yet he feared he would not be able to sleep at all. However, after taking another two of the blockbuster painkillers the police doctor had given him, he went out like a light, and was astonished to find when he eventually woke up that it was gone three in the afternoon and that he must have slept for nearly nine hours.
However, the long sleep did not seem to have helped that much. His head ached for England, the bump on his forehead was now truly multicoloured and he had two rather splendid black eyes — the left one, directly beneath his bump, only marginally more spectacular than the right.
Everything he did upon waking up, like making his tea, dressing, brushing his teeth and shaving, seemed to take much longer than normal. It wasn’t just his head which was causing him pain. His whole body seemed to be aching in sympathy.
He was just wondering whether he might as well write off the rest of the day and return to bed, when his phone rang. He glanced at the display panel. If it had been anyone but Jennifer, he may well not have answered. But he couldn’t ignore Moira’s younger daughter.
‘John, I just called to say hello and check you were OK,’ she began.
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. Kelly was sometimes disconcerted by the ease with which lying came to him.
‘It was only that Karen Meadows called last night. She’d been trying to get hold of you. I was afraid you might have shut yourself away and be moping. You’re always welcome to come over here if you’re down, you know that, don’t you? It’s what Mum would have wanted.’
Kelly felt his bruised eyes moisten. Jennifer had a knack of tugging on his heartstrings, and he knew that she did it totally unwittingly too. He felt ashamed, though, that the truth was that he had barely thought about Jennifer’s mother at all since the day of the funeral.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll pop over tonight. Or tomorrow.’
As he spoke, he realised that might not be a good idea even if he did feel so inclined, because he would be forced to come up with some kind of explanation for his damaged face.
‘That would be great,’ responded Jennifer warmly. ‘Oh, by the way, John. How’s Nick? You didn’t tell me he was down again.’
‘What?’ Kelly was completely taken aback. His astonishment must surely have sounded in his voice, but Jennifer did not seem to notice it. Unlike him, she probably was still preoccupied with her mother’s death, he thought.
‘I was in town yesterday evening, for the late shopping, and I saw his car parked just off Fleet Street,’ Jennifer continued. ‘You didn’t tell me he was here. It’s always nice to see him,’ she said somewhat accusingly.
‘Uh, no. Sorry.’ Kelly stumbled for words, automatically seeking refuge in another lie. ‘It was only a fleeting visit. He was on a business trip and just stopped over. He didn’t have time to see anyone.’
‘Right. He’s gone back to London already, then?’
‘Yes,’ replied Kelly promptly. The truth, of course, was that he didn’t have a clue, but that seemed the only appropriate answer. He strove for a way to find out more from Jennifer without giving himself away.
‘Didn’t know you were such an expert on cars,’ he commented lamely.
‘I’m not. But you can’t mistake that special silver Aston Martin of his, can you? Even at Mum’s funeral, you could see everybody was admiring it.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said.
‘Well, give him my love when you speak to him, anyway,’ concluded Jennifer.
Kelly’s hands were shaking again when he hung up. He told himself that Jennifer may have been mistaken. Nick’s customised Aston Martin was indeed very special and it was a limited edition, but there was sure to be a number of others not unlike it around, and there could well be at least one other currently in the West of England.
None the less Kelly was experiencing a horrible feeling of dread, as if some unspeakable monster was being hatched in the pit of his stomach. Once before he’d found himself doubting his only son, wondering what he might be capable of, but then had at once dismissed the thought. Now the doubts were back.
On impulse he picked up his phone again and dialled Nick’s home number. The reply was almost instant.
‘Nick Carter.’ Kelly, grateful for having had the call-identification feature removed from his line, hung up straight away. As he did so, the thought fleetingly crossed his mind how often over the years he had regretted allowing his ex-wife, justifiably bitter at the way Kelly had treated her, to change their son’s surname from Kelly to her own maiden name. He hated to think that there was even a chance that he might one day cease to regret that his son did not bear his name.
He forced his thoughts back to the present. Well, Nick was in London now, he mused. But what did that prove? As far as Kelly could work it out, Nick had built a whole career, both in the army and outside of it, around his ability to move fast and to think on his feet. He could easily have been in Torquay the previous night and back in London by now. Kelly may just have dragged himself out of bed, but it was mid-afternoon. In any case, Nick thought nothing of driving for several hours when other people were sleeping. He was that sort of young man.
Or, at least, that was the sort of young man Kelly thought he was. But, and not for the first time, he was beginning to wonder if he really knew anything much about his only son.
Twenty-one
As soon as she left Middlemoor, Karen’s first impulse had been to drive straight to Hangridge and to confront Gerrard Parker-Brown face to face. But she also knew that this was now the time for consolidation. So instead she headed back to Torquay in order to assemble her troops and to study fully every jot of the potential evidence gathered so far.