Death Comes for the Fat Man (46 page)

“It seemed unreal. It was a step-by-step thing. At fi rst it was just a matter of leaving a small bomb in the shop and doing a lot of damage.

This was a terrorist operations center, Youngman said. People came here to get instructions, to discuss targets, to plan attacks.”

“How did he know this? Why did you believe him?”

“He was convincing. He showed us photographs and documents, copies of Security Service reports.”

“Where did he get these?”

Kentmore shrugged.

“There was a contact inside the Service, he said. He implied this came close to unoffi cial offi cial approval.”

348 r e g i n a l d h i l l

“Any name?”

“He just referred to him as Bernard.”

“Bernard?”

Bernie Bloomfield? Could it be that simple?

“Yes. After St. Bernard. He was the big religious name behind the Templars, I gather. The one who provided their moral justifi cation.”

“Ah yes, that Bernard,” said Pascoe.

So not that simple. Unless of course this was a CAT joke. Not much different from Freeman using Wills and Crofts.

He said, “So the plan was . . . ?”

“First to get into the video shop. There was a window open on the side of the end house of the terrace. Once in, we got up into the roof space and worked our way along.”

“Were you expecting to find anyone in the shop?”

“Possibly. It was a Bank Holiday but terrorists don’t keep bank holidays, said Youngman. So like Boy Scouts we should be prepared. He provided us with guns.”

“And a bomb.”

“Yes. And a bomb. It didn’t look like much. Just a small plastic box. The kind of thing you’d put sandwiches in. Youngman said it would wreck the room it was placed in. I said, what if there were someone in the room? He said anyone in there would be the kind of bastard who’d tortured and murdered my brother, so where was my problem?”

“And you said?”

“I said I didn’t have one,” replied Kentmore in a low voice. “And I didn’t. But I still hoped the place might be empty.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No. When we got into number three, we found two men there already. They were totally flabbergasted when we appeared. They offered no resistance. I tied them up and gagged them. As I was fi nishing the job, we heard a noise downstairs. Kilda said she’d take a look.

A little later there was a shot. I nearly died of shock. I went to the door and was just going to call down when I heard voices. I stood there, not certain what to do. But eventually Kilda came up the stairs with another Asian and told me to tie him up too.”

d e a t h c o m e s f o r t h e fa t m a n 349

Which you did, thought Pascoe. Probably relieved to have someone telling you what to do. In a crisis, everyone finds their level.

He said, “What did Kilda say had happened.”

“She’d found this other man in the shop and pointed her gun at him and told him to go upstairs. When he realized she was a woman, he’d laughed and said he wasn’t frightened of a replica, human or mechanical. So Kilda fired a shot past his ear and asked him if he still wasn’t frightened. Then the door opened and your man came in.”

Hector. Who’d said the “man” with the gun
looked funny.
Why didn’t I pay more heed to Hector? Pascoe asked himself savagely.

“Kilda said he didn’t seem at all certain what to do,” continued Kentmore. “She moved back into the shadows and lowered the gun, but kept the other man covered. Knowing what was stowed away in the shop, he wouldn’t have been keen to involve the police anyway.

Probably he thought there was a burglary going on. Last thing terrorists expect is to be terrorized, that’s what Youngman said. So when Hector asked if everything was all right, he said yes, it was, and Hector left.”

“And your reaction was?”

“To get away from there as quickly as possible. After I’d tied the third man up, I looked out of the window and saw a police patrol car outside. I told Kilda we had to get out, which we did, via the roof space again.”

“But you left the bomb behind.”

Kentmore sighed and rubbed his eyes and said, “I simply forgot all about it. Kilda had been carrying it. When I asked her she said she’d put it down as planned.”

“And then you sent the signal that exploded it?”

He said, “Not straightaway. Kilda wanted to, but I said no, not while there was any chance that a policeman could be on the premises.”

“That was kind of you,” said Pascoe

The sarcasm slipped out. He didn’t want to antagonize Kentmore, not till he’d got all he could out of him. But he needn’t have worried.

“We argued,” said Kentmore, as if he hadn’t heard the interruption.

“I insisted we talk to Youngman. There was this silly procedure with texts and code names. When we finally spoke, I told him what had happened. He told me to wait and rang off. About half an hour later 350 r e g i n a l d h i l l

he rang back and said it was OK, all taken care of, there would be no policemen in the building, and any outside would be a safe distance away. I was still doubtful but Kilda said I was being stupid. And without further ado, she sent the signal.”

“Ah,” said Pascoe. “So it was Kilda’s fault, not yours.”

This time the sarcasm got through.

“If you imagine I am trying to dilute my share of the responsibility, you’re a fool,” said Kentmore wearily. “If anything, I’m much more guilty. From the start, Kilda has been in a very disturbed state of mind.

I make no such claim. Everything I have done I have done with my eyes wide open. Earlier you accused me of treating it like a game. That was how it felt. Now I can see what a stupid, pathetic game it was.

I saw it from the moment I heard about the extent of the explosion, and the injuries to you and your colleague. Since then I’ve gone about my business as normal, as if by so doing I could help make come true what I prayed for every morning and night. That was that your friend Superintendent Dalziel would make a complete recovery.”

“That’s nice. Pity God’s choosy about whose prayers he answers.”

“Mr. Pascoe, believe me, there’s nothing you can say that can match what I feel about myself. I was stupid. He paid the price. But even though I know how wrong I was, I still believe there are questions that need to be asked. If, as I believe, the invasion of Iraq was justifi ed and men like my brother died fighting a just war, then as a citizen of the country he died to defend, aren’t I right in expecting our security forces to attack the enemy who killed Chris with every weapon at their disposal, within or without the law?”

Curiously this stilted expression of a right-wing tabloid viewpoint touched Pascoe more than anything else he’d heard from the man.

How many nights had the poor bastard lain awake desperately trying to formulate a defense which played better than
I was fucking my brother’s
wife, so when she said let’s kill some Abs, I went along with it?

“Needs a bit of work on the syntax,” he said. “But once the
Voice
has reduced it to tabloidese, you could have the jury waving Union Jacks and singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory.’ Mind you, the same fl ag-wavers will probably be screaming for your public execution. Juries, god bless ’em, don’t like cop killers.”

d e a t h c o m e s f o r t h e fa t m a n 351

He paused, judged that Kentmore was as softened up as he was going to be, and moved into direct interrogation mode.

“So who do you know besides Youngman?”

“No one. He was our only contact. Referring to others he always used Templar names. The one pulling the strings was called Hugh, after Hugh de Payens, the first Grandmaster of the Order.”

“When did you last see Youngman?”

“On that Bank Holiday afternoon. We had a debriefi ng meeting arranged in Charter Park. I was very angry. I’d heard about the results of the explosion by then.”

“So no contact since?”

“I talked to him on the phone on Wednesday night after I’d lunched with Ellie.”

“Why?”

“Because of PC Hector. Kilda had already told me he was in hospital. I believe she got the information from you at the fete. When she saw how agitated I was by the news she told me not to be silly, it was just a traffic accident. But I think she knew more.”

She knew it was a black Jag because I told her, thought Pascoe.

And she knew Hector was making a good recovery. And she probably passed on this info to Youngman, which was why he decided to fi nish off the job in the hospital. Shit! I have not been a friend to poor old Hector in all this!

Kentmore was still speaking.

“Then at the start of the week, the papers, the
Voice
anyway, were hinting that an attempt had been made on a policeman’s life in the Central. Now I was seriously concerned. This wasn’t collateral damage, this was attempted murder. I arranged to see Ellie in the hope that I could get some details. When I told Kilda she seemed to approve the idea. Probably she was hoping to pick up more information useful to Youngman.”

“And did you find out anything?”

“Don’t worry. Ellie was very discreet. But I was able to work out from what she said that an attempt had been made and the target was PC Hector. Afterward I tried to contact Youngman. But his mobile wasn’t responding. Kilda said he’d probably dumped it because he was 352 r e g i n a l d h i l l

on the run as a result of what happened at the hospital. She also said I should be grateful rather than angry. Hugh had decided Hector had to be dealt with because he might be able to identify her, and once he’d done that, the police would be on to me in no time.”

“And were you grateful?”

“No, I’ve told you. I was horrifi ed.”

“So horrified you did . . . what? Sent yourself to bed without any supper?”

“No,” said Kentmore. “I went about my business. Things were out of my control. In fact, I could see they’d never been in my control. But at least Hector and Mr. Dalziel were still alive. And with Youngman on the run, surely the men behind the Templars would call their campaign off ? Above all I told myself I still owed it to Chris not to let Kilda down.

I just wanted to immerse myself in Haresyke, to cut all links with what had happened. Several times I picked up the phone to cancel lunch with you and Ellie.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because no matter how I rationalized everything, part of me still said I had to act. I came along today half believing I could tell you everything. But it’s so hard. It had been such a nice lunch, it seemed a shame to spoil it—funny what banalities we use to divert us from unpleasant duties. And then your friend arrived. Oh Jesus, Peter, believe me, there’s nothing that has happened that I can use to dilute my responsibility for Mr. Dalziel’s death. There’s no punishment you can impose which will make me feel worse.”

It was an outburst to make a jury cry, but Pascoe was not in a tear-ful mood.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “So do you have any idea where Youngman might be now?”

Kentmore hesitated then said, “No. How could I? I presume if he’s got any sense with you people on his tail, he’ll have got out of the country.”

Sometimes a thing is so obvious it has to be pushed in your face at least three times before you notice it.

Pascoe said, “How do you know he’s on the run? Hang on . . . You said before that when you couldn’t get through to him on Thursday d e a t h c o m e s f o r t h e fa t m a n 353

after your lunch with Ellie, Kilda said he’d probably dumped his mobile because he was on the run, right? So how
did
she know? It hasn’t been in the papers or on the news.”

He leaned forward to bring his face close to Kentmore’s.

“He’s holed up at the Gatehouse with Kilda, isn’t he? That’s why she didn’t come today. Not a sodding migraine, she’s too busy giving shelter and comfort and God knows what fucking else to that madman.

Did she tell you to keep the date, though, to see what you could fi nd out? Is that why you’re here?”

Kentmore shook his head and said, “No . . . I don’t know . . . I mean, I haven’t seen him, but when I called at the house earlier in the week she didn’t ask me in and I got to wondering . . . We’ve spoken on the phone since. I put it to her and she said I didn’t want to know.

Maybe she was trying to protect me . . . ”

“You really think she gives a toss about you?” said Pascoe.

“Perhaps not,” said Kentmore wearily. “But when you’re bound together on a wheel of fi re . . . The truth is, I think I’ve been deluding myself for a long time that I could understand Kilda, that I could help save her from herself. The only spark of life that exists in her was lit by Youngman—that’s one of the reasons I went along with his crazy scheme. I was wrong. God forgive me. Now I have to pay for it.”

“Great. OK, let’s go and start you paying the fi rst installment, shall we?”

He stood up, pulled Kentmore to his feet, and urged the man off the patio, across the living room and into the kitchen.

Wield and Ellie were sitting opposite each other at the breakfast table. They both clutched glasses of whisky in their hands. Ellie leapt to her feet when she saw him. He had seen her angry before but never like this. She came at him so violently he brought his forearm up to ward off a physical attack, but she stopped a couple of feet away and hissed, “You bastard!”

Then she threw the contents of her glass into his face.

The raw spirit stung his eyes. He rubbed at them with the back of his hand and gasped, “I’m sorry.”

“Not yet you’re not. What if Rosie had been here? Would that have made any difference?”

354 r e g i n a l d h i l l

“Yes. No. I don’t know . . . we’ll talk later . . . I’m sorry, I don’t have the time now . . . ”

“You don’t have the time . . . ?” she yelled, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“Wieldy, take this one in to the factory, book him in and lock him up, and don’t let anyone near him till I say so, OK?”

“Sure,” said Wield. He didn’t look very happy.

“So your little trick worked?” snarled Ellie. “And that makes everything OK?”

“I don’t know,” said Pascoe. “Not yet.”