Instead he climbed out and ran to try to help the drunk to his feet, or just drag him out of the way, if that proved to be all that was possible. A cloud of whisky fumes hit him in the face. The drunk seemed comatose. Like a dead weight. And he was not a small man. Parker could not move him. Not easily anyway.
Parker was almost never indecisive, but he really wasn’t sure what course of action he should take. Maybe he should just abandon his cab and try to catch up with Fairbrother on foot. He looked along the pavement. He could no longer see Freddie. But it was after dark, although the street was well lit, and there were pedestrians blocking his view. He decided to take off at a run, and weaved his way along the pavement for 100 yards or so. There was still no sign of Freddie Fairbrother. He gave up, and ran back to his cab. The drunk had gone. Disappeared.
‘Shit,’ muttered Joe Parker to himself. ‘I think I’ve just been had.’
Twenty-Five
From the moment of Vogel’s road to Damascus moment concerning Jack Kivel, it took just over two and a half hours for Saslow and Vogel to reach the Kivels’ Wrangway cottage. The heavy rain which had hindered their progress along the M4, from the moment they joined the motorway heading out of London, followed them all the way west, but on the M5 the traffic was relatively light.
It was not a pleasant journey, Vogel had been impatient and unusually anxious, and his mood was not improved by receiving a phone call from Nobby Clarke in which she confessed that MIT had lost Freddie Fairbrother. He chose not to share with her his suspicions about Jack Kivel, preferring to wait until he had at least some evidence to back up what was little more than a hunch. He knew only too well what Clarke thought about hunches. And it remained possible that he and Saslow were about to learn that Jack had not been anywhere that day. Let alone popped up to London to commit a murder.
The two officers hurried from their vehicle and stood outside the front door of Moorview Cottage, huddling beneath the inadequate porch in a bid to find shelter, whilst waiting for an answer to their knock. Vogel noticed the Kivel Land Rover was parked outside, but that didn’t necessarily mean Jack was at home, he could be using another form of transport.
‘Who is it?’ called Martha, after what seemed a very long time, from behind the closed, and almost certainly locked, door.
‘Police,’ called back Vogel. ‘DI Vogel and DC Saslow. Sorry to arrive unannounced. Just something we need to check with you and your husband, Mrs Kivel.’
The door was promptly unlocked. Martha Kivel stood silhouetted in a dimly lit hall, the bright lights of the kitchen, which the Kivels’ clearly used as their main living area, behind her.
‘Jack’s not here,’ said Martha. ‘I never answer the door after dark if he’s away. Not without checking who’s there, first.’
‘Uh yes, quite right, Mrs Kivel,’ began Vogel. ‘I wonder, could we just...?’
Martha Kivel stepped back out of the doorway. ‘You must come in, of course,’ she said. ‘Come on in, the pair of ’ee. Get out of this terrible weather we’m having. Come into the kitchen where ’tis warm.’
Vogel and Saslow did so gratefully. Martha proved to be as hospitable as ever, offering tea and, once again, home-made sponge cake before even asking what the two officers wanted.
‘You said your husband isn’t here, Mrs Kivel?’ queried Vogel.
‘No. E’s away with some of ’is army buddies. They meet up every so often and relive old times, drink more than’s good for ’em, too, I shouldn’t wonder. But I don’t begrudge my Jack. He’s worked hard all ’is life, and he’s a good man.’
Vogel and Saslow involuntarily exchanged glances.
‘I’m sure he is,’ commented Vogel levelly. ‘Might I ask when he left, Mrs Kivel, and when you are expecting him back?’
‘Oh, he went this morning. He got a call from one of his mates. Short notice, but a couple of them had met by chance, somewhere up London way, wanted him to join them, if he could. I drove him to the railway station, and off he went. He won’t be back til tomorrow. They’ll make a night of it, that’s for certain. He asked me if I minded, like, and I said course I didn’t, you go and enjoy yourself.’
Martha Kivel stopped abruptly, her expression suddenly concerned. ‘Why are you asking?’ she enquired somewhat nervously. ‘Has something happened? Has something happened to my Jack—’
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Vogel interrupted.
‘Is Jack in some sort of trouble?’ Martha Kivel persisted.
Vogel didn’t answer that question directly.
‘I’m sure everything’s fine, Mrs Kivel,’ he said obliquely. ‘We’d just like to talk to Jack, that’s all. I don’t suppose you know the names of any of the chaps he was meeting?’
Mrs Kivel shook her head. ‘Well no, just ’is army mates, I don’t know them, you see...’
She looked puzzled now.
‘Do you know exactly where they were meeting up?’ asked Saslow.
Mrs Kivel shook her head again.
‘Did Jack tell you where he would be staying overnight?’
‘Well no, a B &B, I expect. That’s what they usually do. I mean, I can always get ’old of ’im if I want to, can’t I? I only have to ring his mobile...’
She paused. Her face brightening. ‘Why don’t I do that? Then you can speak to him straightaway. Now...’ She looked around the kitchen. ‘Where did I put my phone? It’s got to be yer somewhere...’
‘No, don’t do that, Mrs Kivel,’ said Vogel quickly. Too quickly, he suspected. He immediately sought to soften his words. He wanted to see what more information he could glean from Martha Kivel before her husband was alerted.
‘I mean, it can wait. We’ll pop back and see him tomorrow. No need to ruin his night out by interrupting him now.’
‘Oh, all right then, if that suits you...’
‘It suits me very well,’ said Vogel. ‘Perhaps you’d give me his mobile number before we go, though, Mrs Kivel. I don’t think we took it the last time we were here. I might call him in the morning to make an appointment.’
He took a mouthful of sponge cake. ‘Even better than last time, Mrs Kivel,’ he gushed. ‘You must give me the recipe for my wife.’
‘Oh, I’ll write it out for you, Mr Vogel,’ said Martha, beaming. ‘I’d be delighted to. Handed down to me from my grandmother, it was.’
‘Well, it’s delicious,’ commented Vogel, trying not to think about what Mary might say to him if he brought her home a cake recipe.
‘I didn’t know Jack had been in the army, Mrs Kivel,’ he added, trying to sound as casual as possible.
‘Oh yes, he went in as a boy. The Parachute Regiment. Sir John was already in. Jack followed him, really. The Kivels have worked for the Fairbrothers for generations. And Sir John and Jack was kids together, you see. Just like our kids and his two. They saw some action too. Northern Ireland, The Falklands. Goodness knows how long they’d have stayed in, but then Sir John’s father died suddenly. And that was that. Sir John had to take over the bank. That’s what Fairbrother men do. Jack followed him out like he’d followed him in, and Sir John employed him straightaway, up the manor. Course, men bond through all that sort of thing, don’t ’em?’
‘Yes, I believe they do,’ agreed Vogel.
‘That was what was so terrible, you see,’ Martha Kivel continued. ‘They was that close. My Jack worshipped Sir John. And then he dumped us, Jack and me, just like that, without a word of explanation. Jack’s never said much, he doesn’t, but I don’t reckon he’ll ever get over it, not ever.’
‘I see,’ said Vogel.
‘So what do you know about their army careers?’ he continued, trying to sound conversational.