Hard Landing (32 page)

Carpenter patted Digger on the back. ‘Tell him, I’ll take care of any expenses. And I’ll put a couple of grand his mother’s way, too.’

‘He’ll appreciate that,’ said Digger.

‘Come on, let’s go and burn off some of that excess energy.’

Shepherd upped the speed on the treadmill. On the outside he tried to run at least five kilometres a day, ideally on grass, and he was determined to take full advantage of whatever gym time Lloyd-Davies could get for him.

There were more than two dozen prisoners in the gym. Most of the West Indians had gathered at the weights area where Digger was holding court. A prison officer watched them from the balcony with a look of disdain. Carpenter was on a bike, his legs pumping furiously. The machine next to him was unoccupied, but Shepherd didn’t want to seem too eager to approach him. Carpenter’s routine never varied. He did thirty minutes’ running on the treadmill, ten minutes on bike, and whatever time was left he spent on one of the multi-gyms. The only variation came on the multi-gym when he’d work either his arms or his legs. He never went near the weights area, and he rarely spoke to anyone. He never had to ask for a piece of equipment to be vacated: prisoners always moved away as soon as he approached. He’d acknowledge them with a tight smile and a nod, but never a word of thanks, accepting the deference as his right.

Shepherd upped the speed of the treadmill and increased the incline. His calf muscles burned but he ignored the pain. He fixed his eyes on the wall and concentrated on maintaining his rhythm. A couple of minutes before Carpenter was due to finish cycling, Shepherd got off the treadmill and went over to one of the multi-gyms. He was working on his pecs when Carpenter came over. He got off and nodded for Carpenter to take his place.

‘Can I ask you something, Gerry?’ said Macdonald, as Carpenter pulled the metal bar down to his chest.

‘What?’ Carpenter grunted.

‘It’s just that you’re smarter than the average bear, right, so why are you inside?’

‘I was set up. Undercover cops. Got me on conspiracy.’

‘Bastards.’

‘I was so bloody careful. Followed the golden rules. Never went near the drugs. Never went near the money. Never wrote anything down.’

‘What – nothing? Not even phone numbers and stuff?’

‘Especially phone numbers. Never write them down, never store them in your phone’s memory.’

‘Yeah, but I can’t remember my own, never mind anyone else’s,’ lied Shepherd. His memory, of course, was infallible. ‘If it wasn’t for the phone book in my mobile, I’d never be able to call anyone.’

‘Recipe for bloody disaster. You know the cops can access them whenever they want?’

‘If they get hold of the phone, you mean?’

‘Nah, that’s the point. They don’t need it. They can access all the info on the Sim card over the airwaves. Every number you’ve called, every number that’s called you, every number in the phone book.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Shepherd. It was old news to him. Getting access to a suspect’s phone records was one of the first things the police did when they had a target under surveillance. All they needed was the number and the technical boys did the rest.

‘I’ve known half a dozen guys go down because of info on their phones,’ said Carpenter. ‘They’re a liability. Stick to landlines or throwaway mobiles, and never write
anything
down.’

‘That’s what I was asking,’ said Shepherd. ‘How do you remember everything? Is it a photographic memory?’

Carpenter stopped working on his arms and wiped his neck with his towel. ‘It’s a technique,’ he said. ‘Anyone can do it. You have to remember images instead of numbers. Say the first digit is five. You represent it with a five-letter word. Like tiger. Then say the next digit is three. Use dog for that. So you have a tiger, followed by a dog. Easy to remember, right? Five then three. You just do that for every number.’

The technique made sense, and Shepherd could see how an image would be easier to remember than a string of numbers. It wasn’t the way his own memory worked – he simply remembered the numbers.

‘How many numbers have you remembered that way?’ Shepherd asked.

‘Couple of hundred. It’s virtually foolproof.’

‘And what about bank-account numbers and stuff? It works for that?’

Carpenter looked at him and for a moment Shepherd thought he’d pushed it too far. He shrugged. ‘Just interested, that’s all. I have to write down all my pin numbers and I’m buggered if I know my bank-account number.’ The lie came easily. He had spent several months being coached by actors and psychologists before he’d gone on his first undercover operation and he knew how to mask the tell-tale signs of dishonesty.

‘What the hell? It’s not as if it’s a secret,’ said Carpenter. He started working his arms again. ‘Memory experts do it all the time. You know
pi
, right? From school. The circumference of a circle divided by whatever. The number never ends.’

‘Sure.’

‘Well, there’s a guy in Tokyo who can rattle off the value of
pi
to more than forty-two thousand places.’

‘Sounds like he should get a life,’ said Shepherd.

‘Macdonald!’

Shepherd turned his head. It was Hamilton, standing at the door to the gym. ‘Stop nattering,’ Hamilton shouted, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘Your brief’s here.’

Shepherd walked away from the multi-gym, frowning. ‘Have I got time to change, Mr Hamilton?’ he asked.

‘He’s waiting for you,’ said Hamilton, ‘and I’ve got work to do.’ He waved at the officer on the balcony. ‘Macdonald’s brief is here,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll take him back to the wing when he’s done.’

The prison officer flashed Hamilton a thumbs-up but his face remained impassive.

Shepherd followed Hamilton out of the gym. When they reached the administration block, the officer showed him into one of the private interview rooms. Hargrove was sitting behind the Formica table and stood up awkwardly. Shepherd could tell that something was wrong.

‘Press the bell when you’re done,’ Hamilton said to Hargrove.

Shepherd wondered what had happened. His first thought was that the operation had been blown and that he was about to be pulled out, but if that was the case there’d be no need for a conversation in the interview room. His second thought was that Hargrove was there to tell him Roper had been killed. The superintendent’s face was like granite and he was avoiding Shepherd’s eyes.

It was when Hargrove asked him to sit down that Shepherd realised he was there for personal reasons and that could only mean Sue or Liam. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Sit down, please,’ said Hargrove, folding his arms across his chest.

‘What’s happened?’ repeated Shepherd, his voice shaking. ‘Is it Liam?’

Hargrove put his hands up, fingers splayed, and when he spoke it was with the measured tones that a trainer might use to calm a restless horse. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Spider. It’s Sue. There’s been an accident. She’s dead.’

Shepherd stared at Hargrove, unable to say anything. He felt light-headed, as if all the blood had drained out of his brain. He wanted to tell Hargrove that there must have been a mistake, that there was no way Sue could be dead.

‘I’m sorry, Spider. I’m so, so sorry.’

Shepherd’s mouth was bone dry. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Hamilton, watching from one of the observation windows. He sat down and put his hands on the table, palms down.

Hargrove sat opposite him. ‘It was a car accident. She died instantly, Spider. It was nothing to do with Carpenter.’

Shepherd put his head into his hands, clenched his fists and pulled at his hair, wanting to feel the pain, trying to use it to blot out the reality of Sue’s death. Images flashed through his mind. The first time he’d set eyes on her, walking down the main street in Hereford, one of half a dozen girls out on the town. She was wearing a bright yellow dress, cut low to show lots of cleavage, the hemline mid-thigh, a thin gold chain and crucifix round her neck, a cheap plastic watch on her left wrist, a gold charm bracelet on the right. The bracelet had belonged to her grandmother.

Shepherd had been with three of his friends from 22 SAS and they’d stopped and chatted with the girls. Shepherd hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Sue. She’d had a couple of drinks and kept insisting that she’d never go out with a soldier, that she knew what they were like, how they broke hearts wherever they went. She’d walked away and called for her friends to follow her, but Shepherd had hurried after her and begged her to go for a drink with him. He could remember every word of their first conversation in the snug of a smoky pub. How she hated her job, how her boss had body-odour, how she was bored with Hereford and how she wanted more than anything else to travel the world. How she didn’t want kids because kids only held you back, and wanted to live her life to the full before she thought about settling down. They’d married six months later in a small stone church on the outskirts of Hereford and Liam had been born the following year. She’d never got to travel the world. Then, images of the last time he had seen her flashed through his mind. ‘I hate you!’ she’d shouted. ‘I hope I never see you again, ever! You can rot in here for all I care!’ and she’d dragged Liam out of the visitors’ room. The last thing she’d said to him was that she hated him. She hadn’t meant it, it had been a lie, but the words had hurt then and the hurt was a million times worse now. Now that she was dead.

‘Spider?’

Shepherd opened his eyes. ‘How’s Liam?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Sue’s mum’s taking care of him.’

‘I’ve got to see him.’

‘Absolutely. We’re arranging it as we speak.’

Shepherd pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Now,’ he repeated. ‘I want to see him now.’

‘Spider, sit down and listen to what I have to say.’

‘It’s over,’ said Shepherd firmly. ‘This operation is over. My son needs me. I’m out of here.’

‘Hear me out,’ said Hargrove. ‘Listen to what I’ve got to say and then we’ll get things sorted.’

Shepherd glared at him, then slowly sat down.

‘Liam is with Sue’s mum, and he’s fine. He was wearing his seat-belt, Sue wasn’t.’

‘He was there when she died?’ asked Shepherd. ‘For God’s sake, what the hell happened?’

‘She was taking him to school. Jumped a red light. Hit a truck. It was an accident, pure and simple.’

‘Sue always wore her seat-belt,’ said Shepherd. ‘She had a thing about it. Wouldn’t even start the car if everyone wasn’t buckled up.’

‘The front of the car went under the truck, Liam was in the back. The emergency services were there within minutes. He was shaken but physically he’s fine.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ said Shepherd, putting his head in his hands again. ‘He saw what happened? He saw her die?’

‘He was in shock, Spider. He doesn’t remember the accident.’

‘He’s blocking it out. He needs me.’

‘No question. And we’re going to take you to see him. Soon as we can arrange it.’

Shepherd leaned back in his chair. Hamilton had walked away from the observation window. ‘Sue’s mum came down from Hereford?’

‘The Regiment sent a helicopter. You’ve still got friends there.’

Even a career policeman like Hargrove wouldn’t understand the bond that linked the men of the Special Air Service, Shepherd thought. Once you joined the Regiment you were part of it for ever, and it remained a part of you. It was a bond as strong as blood. Stronger, sometimes. Walking away from the SAS had been the hardest thing Shepherd had ever done, but he’d done it for Sue.

‘She’s moved into your house, and we’ve fixed up a psychiatrist to talk to Liam.’

‘He doesn’t need a psychiatrist,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

Hargrove nodded sympathetically. ‘We’ve spoken to the school, and they’ll do everything they can,’ he said.

‘I’m not staying here,’ said Shepherd. ‘This operation is over.’

‘We’re entering the end phase, Spider. We’re almost there. Just a few more days.’ He held up his right hand, his thumb and first finger almost touching. ‘We’re this close to getting Carpenter. His men are putting the frighteners on Roper. All we have to do is tie them together and we put the lot of them away.’

‘My son is more important than a shit like Carpenter.’

‘Of course he is. And of course he needs you. But if you pull out now, we don’t have time to get anyone else close to Carpenter. He’ll finish what he’s started and he’ll walk. He’ll
walk
, Spider. He’ll be out on the streets bringing in heroin and cocaine and more kids are going to die.’

‘That’s not my problem.’

‘And what about Elliott? Carpenter had him killed. Is that going to be for nothing?’

Shepherd’s eyes hardened. ‘You can’t lay that on me,’ he said quietly.

‘I’m not laying anything on you,’ said Hargrove. ‘But Carpenter’s evil and he needs to be stopped. The only person who can do that is you. There is no one else, Spider. If you pull out now, Carpenter’s home, free, and everything we’ve worked for turns to shit.’

‘It’s just a job,’ said Shepherd. ‘Liam is my son. Carpenter is an assignment.’

‘Carpenter ruins lives. God knows how many die from the drugs he brings into the country. And he kills people. Let’s not forget that. Elliott wasn’t the first undercover agent he’s killed, and if he gets out he won’t be the last.’

‘It’s not fair to dump that on me.’

‘I’m not dumping anything on you. If you decide you want to pull out, I’ll respect that. Hell, I don’t have any choice. No one can force you to do what you do, Spider. I, of all people, know that.’

Shepherd sighed. His mind was still whirling through memories of Sue. The way she’d rubbed his backside as they stood in front of the altar and prepared to say their vows. The first time they’d made love in her bedsit, her on top, her long blonde hair round her shoulders, the way she’d kissed him afterwards and whispered his name. The look of pride in her eyes when the nurse handed Liam to him, his face all red and puffy, wrapped in a soft white towel and crying as if he hated the world and everyone in it.