Jack sat in his hired BMW with the broken side window, looking along the dirt track ahead of him. He knew once the gate closed behind him, he was on his own. Jack checked his mobile — no signal. Every ounce of common sense was telling him to drive away.
The dirt track was a network of deep tyre tracks that were impossible to avoid, so Jack drove, slowly. In his rear-view mirror, the closed gate got smaller until it finally disappeared out of sight.
The road forked and Jack turned left, as he’d been instructed. A few seconds later he saw a hand-painted wooden sign which read STUDIO. Then the track disappeared completely and was replaced by a steep but walkable path. Jack got out and started to follow it.
He trudged on, past thick hedges separating him from the lush fields beyond. After fifteen minutes of arduous walking, a slate-roofed bungalow gradually appeared.
Jack saw a quad bike and a motor bike were parked next to each other down the side of the building beneath a lean-to shelter, while an old army Jeep was parked around the rear wall.
Jack walked to the front door, again checking his mobile for a signal. Nothing. But he’d come too far to turn back now. His heart pounded in his chest. He’d made the assumption that Greg had led him to the home of the elusive Adam Border, but he’d only know for sure when he got inside.
There was no answer after the first knock, nor after the second. So Jack tried the black iron latch. It lifted with ease and the heavy wooden door pushed open. Immediately beyond the door was a polished pine wood floor.
Jack wiped his shoes on the grass, removing as much mud as he could, then ventured inside.
There were several doors leading off the hallway, but one in particular caught his eye. It was a double sliding door, slightly open, with a light shining from inside. He slid the door wide to reveal a vast room with dozens of paintings stacked along the walls. In the centre of the room was a large easel on a square of paint-splattered rubber, holding a big canvas draped in muslin. A small wooden table held a wooden tray of oil paints, brushes, glues, turps and a water jar. There was a worn, plum-velvet sofa, and two leather chairs placed within the bounds of a large Mexican-style rug. The rain rolled down the tall windows and — even as the dark clouds were forming outside — this room still looked magically bright and airy.
Jack heard footsteps behind him. He spun quickly to see a man standing between the open double doors, and instantly Jack knew he was finally face to face with Adam Border.
Chapter 41
Adam Border was a tall, slender man with long reddish-blond hair tied in a ponytail with a leather cord. He was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, and had fine gold bracelets on both wrists. He didn’t look particularly like any of the photographs Jack had seen of him, but he did look like the sketch provided by Henrick Chi.
The men stared at each other, each waiting for the other to speak first.
Eventually Jack broke the silence. ‘I’ve been looking for you for quite some time. It is Adam Border, isn’t it?’
Adam gestured to the two leather chairs sitting about a foot apart on the Mexican rug, then sat down himself in one of them.
Jack had so much to say and so much to ask. But he had to be careful and steady, because there was still the possibility that this enigmatic man sitting opposite him could be an integral cog in a huge drug-trafficking machine and, possibly even a murderer. Jack chose to start by asking about Jessica Chi.
Adam spoke very quietly. The tone of his voice was soft and Irish, with a slight European lilt. He took his time, as though choosing his words very carefully. ‘I read about her death in the papers. An accident, wasn’t it? I assume you’re a policeman.’
Jack saw no reason to hide the fact and nodded.
‘I cared for Jessica very much. She was damaged... I seem to attract damaged people. Or maybe they attract me. She was clean when we met but relapsed over time. When that happened, I’m afraid to say that I walked away. I’ve learnt over the years that if I don’t protect myself, then I’m of no use to anyone. Truthfully, I was very sad to read about Jessica... and my mother.’ Jack could tell that Adam’s sadness for Jessica was genuine, whereas his mention of Avril sounded very much like an empty afterthought. ‘I don’t know your name.’
‘DS Jack Warr. I knew your mother briefly, when...’ Jack realised that he didn’t know how to end his sentence, other than by saying, When I was investigating your thefts, psychological torment and death threat, but that might have put an end to their so-far amicable chat, so he left the sentence unfinished. ‘There’s been a lot of speculation around your relationship with your mother. Lots of gaps. Would you mind helping me to fill them in?’
Adam laced his fingers on his lap, ‘I bet you’ve heard that she was an eccentric, yet somehow loveable type. A free spirit who comes and goes on the wind, bringing fun and mayhem before drifting off into the sunset again. Until next time. That’s all lovely, unless you’re a five-year-old boy.’ Adam gave a hefty sigh before he continued. ‘I was left with various men who she’d married, lived with or just screwed. That, in her mind, meant they were obliged to show some sort of parental responsibility towards me which, to be fair, most reluctantly did. Others didn’t. Mainly I lived in Amsterdam with my actual father, in Leeds with my grandparents, or in various places with her and her lovers. Until she came here and met Shaun.’ Adam smiled. ‘It seems you’re familiar with all of the names I’ve said so far. You really have been looking for me for a long time.’
‘Your name seemed to change quite a few times. That made it hard to track you,’ Jack said with a smile of his own.
‘Well, bloody well done for finding your way here. Do you want me to carry on with the family history?’
Jack said that he did.
‘OK, my mother stole everything from Shaun that wasn’t screwed down and vanished back to the UK, leaving me behind. It was the only good thing she ever did for me. Shaun was the best father I’ve known, and he eventually gave me his name, so I’d feel like I belonged. And I did. For a time. I was fifteen when he died. I could have stayed here but by then I was ready to start life on my own. I went to London with the aim of going to art college. I needed a parent or guardian to sign some papers for that, so I had to detour through Leeds to track down my mother. My grandparents had died, but my uncle — her brother — well, he was no help on account of his psychological problems. She was horrified to see me. She launched into an explanation about her current man not wanting someone else’s kid in tow. She was relieved to hear that I only wanted her signature. I think she must have felt guilty for being quite so harsh, because she gave me some money and the name of a friend who was renting out rooms. That’s when I knew that her new man was rich. The next Chapter of my life started when I began lodging with Hester Mancroft and Julian in Chelsea. You know about this?’
‘From Hester, yes. But it’d be good to hear your version.’
‘She’s almost as idiotic as Avril, don’t you think? I expect you can’t answer that, being a policeman. Anyway...’
Adam turned away frowning, then he sighed, as if he felt some kind of pain in his soul. After a moment he continued. ‘Her son Julian was another damaged person. Self-inflicted. Julian and I were inseparable for a time. As well as college, living and studying together. But when I quit, he sort of followed me, and we travelled through Amsterdam and lived in Germany. I can’t remember the year, but he had to come home when Hester ran out of money and needed his help to sell the place in Chelsea. He OD’d — I presume you know that.’
Jack nodded without elaborating, as he didn’t want to break the flow of Adam’s recollections. As Adam filled in all of the gaps in the story so far, Jack was enthralled by his quietly engaging manner. With every moment that passed, Jack hoped more and more that Adam had done nothing at all illegal.