CAUSE & EFFECT (5 page)

He expected Caliban’s to be empty before five thirty but the bar was heaving. It took a moment to realise that the talk was a mixture of English and German. Sheryl homed in on him straight away and cocked a slow, suggestive finger, reeling him in to the bar. The punters loved the show, laughing and offering encouragement — mainly by gestures. He was glad he’d stuck to French at school.

“Take no notice, honey.” She fetched him an orange juice. “Sam and Terry have done a deal to get a few coachloads of tourists here.”

He tried not to look at her Stars & Stripes t-shirt. “Is business that bad?”

“Hey, I just work here — you’d have to ask Miranda. But no good business ever turns down good business.”

He braced himself to mimic her
Noo Yawk
accent. “And you can take dat one to da bank.”

“Damn right you can!” She flicked a finger skyward. “She’s all yours.”

Two young guys were at the pool table upstairs. They looked him over then continued with their game while they muttered in German. He walked through and knocked on the reinforced office door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.” He took a sip of juice and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to prolong the sharpness.

“Are you gonna huff and puff if I don’t let you in?”

“Only if you want me to.”

The door unlocked, revealing a vision in designer jeans and a white blouse; her blonde hair was tied back and crowned with reading glasses.

“It’s a good look — sort of sultry secretary.”

“Wanna step inside and look over my figures?”

He crossed the threshold and found a convenient spot for his glass, leaving his hands free. She met him halfway.

“You do know,” she licked her top lip and made it glisten, “that this is now a soundproofed room?”

Was this a genuine come-on or another tease? When he’d almost given up on the idea she reached for his neck and pulled him close.

“No speaking,” she said, undoing his buttons with practised ease.

* * *

Once he’d readjusted his clothing, he finished his juice and stared at the edge of the desk that had just been so accommodating.

“You know, that little boy lost face can sometimes be irresistible.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. Anyhow, I won’t ask how your day has been, because I’m guessing it just got a lot better!” She checked her blouse one final time and made a show of fixing her bra.

He kissed her until he needed to breathe. Then he unlocked the door and left the office. The German pool players had gone. He suddenly realised that if the room were truly soundproof he wouldn’t have heard her inviting him in. Those lads would have something to talk about on the coach back to Germany.

Karl arrived around five. Sheryl sent him straight up with a tray of drinks and crisps. Miranda joined them at the table.

“Someone’s had a busy day.” Karl nodded in Thomas’s direction.

He avoided Miranda’s gaze. “How was your day at the office?”

“Grand.” Karl’s hand hovered over the crisps. “I was expecting you though.”

“Christine needed me for something and then I got off early.” He flinched as Miranda’s foot rose up his calf under the table. “I went to see Janey to get some background.”

“And?” Karl’s notebook was ready and waiting.

“The kid’s in hospital. Janey’s got this on-off thing with her ex, Greg. Can’t see him harming his own kid unless it’s to get cosier with Janey, which would be pretty sick.”

“I’ll check him out anyway,” Karl concluded. “Is that it?”

“Not quite. Janey reckons all isn’t well in the Langton household. Jack keeps a case at her place — he told me it’s for paperwork but she said it’s a change of clothes.”

He grabbed a swig of orange juice while Karl was thinking.

“Was there any post at the flat?”

He handed it over and his mobile went off.

“Alright, Thomas?” John Wright sounded bad news edgy. “I’ve ’ad a message from Ray Daniels. He’s Jack’s . . .” he seemed to be fishing for the right word, “ . . . deputy — taking care of things till Jack gets out.”

Thomas waited for the punchline.

“He wants you to fetch that suitcase from Janey’s and take it round to Jack’s missus tonight.”

Thomas greeted the royal decree with silence.

“Are you still there? He says it’s just a one-off thing, and he’ll owe you.”

“I’m gonna need a cupboard for all these IOUs.” He checked his watch and gestured for Karl to stand up. “You better give me Jack’s home address. Incidentally, I gather you spoke with Jack’s solicitor, Elizabeth Locke?”

Karl twitched and then shook his head.

He took the hint. “Do you wanna give me the details for the other people Jack mentioned? Save me ringing his brief tomorrow.”

One look at Karl’s face told him Ms Locke wasn’t a stranger.

* * *

Thomas didn’t like surprises; they usually became problems. Karl stayed in the car, in case word got back to Jack Langton that a bloke with a Belfast accent was poking around. Last Jack knew, Karl had been arrested in Belfast; best he carried on thinking that.

Janey answered the front door hesitantly. He made the decision for her, stepping back from the porch so she could go and get the case. She was gone a couple of minutes, returning with the type of old suitcase Thomas remembered from childhood.

It was brown and scuffed with patches at the corners. The sight of it transported him back to holiday B&Bs in Whitby. His mum and dad arguing outside and his sister, Pat, pinching his leg to get his attention from whatever book he had his nose in.

Janey passed the case across with some effort and he carried it to the car, his leather gloves creaking against the weight. Karl already knew the address from his previous run-in with Jack Langton. The way Thomas saw it, Karl never forgot anything; or forgave it, probably.

“Whaddya reckon to the case, Tommy Boy?”

“Too heavy for clothes and I can’t see that it’d be locked, or why would Mrs Langton want it home?”

“We could always park up somewhere and check.”

“If it’s all the same to you I’d rather not.”

“It’s your call, Tommo.” Karl said it casually, but his body language suggested ‘wrong answer.’

Karl pulled up a couple of streets away from Jack Langton’s house.

“Don’t be any longer than you have to.”

Thomas got out, grabbed the suitcase from the boot and started walking. The street whispered working class respectability, with trimmed hedges and satellite dishes.

The gloves were making his hands sweat and his arm throbbed with the weight so he started switching every hundred steps. It gave him something else to think about. The house was called
Xanadu
. In a toss-up between Coleridge and Olivia Newton-John, he figured on the latter. Jack’s Range Rover sat outside, the windows clear and sparkling — unlike the last time he saw them after Karl had set about them with a hammer.

He put the case down by the hardwood front door and hit the doorbell. Mrs Langton was at the handle before the chime had faded. He motioned to the case, by way of introduction.

“Can you bring it through?”

She didn’t look feeble, more the able-bodied and full of trouble kind. If the Lycra she had on was for an exercise class, she hadn’t managed to work up a sweat yet. He remembered there being two young children in the family though they weren’t in evidence.

“The kitchen will be fine. Thank you, er . . . ?”

“Thomas.” He was pretty certain she knew already.

“Can I get you a drink?”

It was a relief to get the gloves off. “Nah, it’s fine. I won’t stop.”

“Someone waiting for you?” She traced a finger along the kitchen top, as if she were doing am-dram.

“Something like that.” He noticed she hadn’t shown the slightest interest in the suitcase. A large drink was already waiting on the counter, with a bottle of tonic to keep it company.

She gave out a sad little sigh and reached across for her drink, stretching her credibility and everything else in the process. He moved out of reach and breathed in Chanel; not what he normally associated with Pilates.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to your evening. Can you let Jack know I’ve delivered the goods?” He noticed the way her eyes flickered at hubby’s name — something else to file for future reference.

He was halfway up the road when he remembered his gloves. Idiot. Stupid of him to have taken them off there. He sprinted back and composed himself before he rang the doorbell. Mrs Langton was faster than ever.

“Blimey, you timed that well . . .” Her face cycled through surprise, fear and indignation in a matter of seconds. “What do
you
want?”

“Sorry — I forgot my gloves.”

“Wait here.” She dashed inside and then practically thrust them at him.

He thanked her and kept walking until he heard the door slam. He figured she might be watching him through the curtain, so he put on a show and rang Karl as he walked up the street.

A BMW slowed as it drove past — one occupant. The car stopped in the middle of the street and a woman in Lycra and a fur coat lifted a heavy case into the boot before getting into the car.

He clocked the number plate and read it aloud for Karl. “Could be nothing; could be something.”

Karl ferried him to Caliban’s and they played detective on the way.

“Why attack a child?” Karl asked for a third time.

“Maybe it’s really Jack’s child?” He was running out of ideas.

“With his niece? Isn’t that illegal — even over here!”

“Okay then, it’s a warning for Jack. Next time it’s one of his own kids.”

“For what?”

“Dunno.” Thomas rubbed at his temple. “What about Greg?”

“Maybe he’s got another kiddie out there and this is some kind of vendetta? Hell hath no fury, and all that.”

“What, blinding a kid? I can’t see it.” He stopped when he realised what he’d said. “Did you make that call like I asked?”

“Paulette Villers? Uh-huh. Someone will look into it in due course.”

* * *

Miranda was behind the bar, chatting with a woman who thought a busy pub was a great place to bring a nipper for the evening. Miranda saw him and wandered over.

“All sorted?”

“Yeah.” He looked over at the mother and child as an excuse. “I nearly forgot; Ajit wants us to go up to Yorkshire before Geena has the baby.”

“I know — she spoke to me a couple of days ago.”

“You up for it?” He read her face: wild horses couldn’t drag her to Pickering again.

* * *

After the sudden frost at Caliban’s, he wasn’t surprised to end up alone at his flat. Miranda used to like Yorkshire. Then again, it hadn’t been kind to her lately. Especially the last time, when the police had turned up on his sister’s doorstep and carted Miranda off for questioning. Him too, although he’d long since forgiven Ajit for doing his constabulary duty — another shining example of his work and personal lives colliding.

He prepared his special dish —
kitchen surprise
— anything quick and edible. He carried resurrected lasagne and steamed veg through to the living room with a glass of water. If he was going to live like a monk tonight, he had the meal to match. A flick through the TV channels sent him scurrying, mid-lasagne, to the DVD cupboard. He didn’t make it through the ads before the phone rang.

The Wrights’ number. Must be Miranda saying goodnight from her folks’ place.

“Well, hello there!” He opted for unusually cheery.

“Thomas, that you?” The male caller sounded confused. “It’s John. Natalie Langton rang me — Jack’s wife.”

He glanced at the bay window curtains to check they were drawn. “Not here; on my mobile.”

John rang back. “You took that suitcase straight over.” It was more a statement than a question, so he didn’t bother to reply. “Only the contents are light by half a kilo.”

“You
what
?” Thomas felt his hackles rise. Clearly, they weren’t talking about a few extra shirts.

“I didn’t know, Thomas — honestly.”

He remembered Janey insisting she’d never been near the case. “So now what?”

“Well, they want the missing half kilo back.”

“That’s gonna be bloody difficult then, as I don’t know where it went and I
really
don’t want to know what it was in the first place.” He took a large gulp of water. “I’ll have to look into it tomorrow after work. Now, can I have a word with Miranda?”

He heard voices and then Diane grabbed the phone. “She, er, decided to stay over at Sheryl’s. Said she wanted to be left alone.”

“By me, you mean?”

“You know Miranda, Thomas.”

After he got off the phone, he rang Karl, mobile to mobile.

“Hey, Tommo! I’m glad you called.”

“You won’t be.” He filled Karl in about the underweight suitcase.

“Hmm, tricky. Tell you something else strange. Mrs Langton is away for the night in a hotel in Suffolk. And you’ll never guess who’s keeping her company — Ray Daniels.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Vehicle check though the ANPR system — the car is registered to Ray Daniels. I’m in the hotel car park with a long lens, metaphorically speaking.”

Thomas quickly solved the clue: someone else had reported back to him. “So what do you want to do with this new information?”

“You’re the front man for all this — I’m the back-up, remember? And the wee boy sat out there in his car is a trainee; I’m showing him the ropes from afar.”

“So the information only comes to you — that is, us?”

“Right enough. Okay, gotta go — you can tell me tomorrow what the master plan is. Laters.”

“Hold on, I want to ask you about Elizabeth Locke . . .”

The line went dead. He let the DVD play out then returned
The Trouble With Harry
to its appointed slot in the cupboard — comedies, top left. Though entertaining, it hadn’t stopped him from thinking.

He listed all the names on a piece of A4: Janey, Jack Langton, Natalie Langton, Ray Daniels, Greg, little Jacob, Andrea Harrison, Elizabeth Locke, and the unknown Charlie Stokes. He drew a circle around Jacob and one around Jack, linking them with a dotted line. There had to be a connection. He closed his eyes and asked aloud, “What don’t I know?” Then he laughed at himself. What
did
he know?

It was still dark when he opened his eyes next morning. As he eased out the tension in his spine, he felt something jab his shoulder blade. He shifted
The Moonstone
by Wilkie Collins and set it carefully at the edge of the bed. Miranda was on his mind. Was it so big a deal to head up to Yorkshire for Geena and Ajit’s sprog? On his way out the door a text came through from Ajit: Don’t leave it too late! That settled it — he’d talk to Miranda and finalise some travel plans.