Suttle nodded. He wanted to kiss her but he didn’t. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he’d miss her, that it was all some gigantic fuck-up, but he couldn’t find the words. She looked up at him, a strange expression on her face, her lips puckered, then she gestured him closer.
‘Yellow Fiat,’ she said. ‘In the car park.’
Suttle found the Fiat minutes later. It looked brand new. It carried a Hertz rental badge and it was empty. He was still stooped beside the driver’s window, looking for more clues, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He straightened up, glanced round.
Paul Winter.
They drove out of the city, Winter visibly nervous, checking the rear-view mirror, braking at the last minute for turns that would throw anyone in pursuit. Suttle sat in silence, ambushed by a million questions. Was this why Lizzie had been so desperate to talk last night? Had Winter spent the night at Chantry Cottage?
They came to a stop in the middle of a trading estate on the outskirts of the city. The acre of car park outside B amp;Q was nearly empty.
Suttle was looking at Winter. The older man had put on a little weight since they’d last met and he seemed to have acquired an early tan.
‘So how come?’ Suttle asked.
‘How come what?’
‘How come you’re here?’
‘Lizzie belled me.’
‘She’s got your number?’
‘Yeah. She’s had it for ever. She sends me photos of Grace from time to time. That’s me doing the family thing, if you’re wondering. And something else, son. She didn’t tell you because I made her swear she wouldn’t. All right?’
Winter was angry. Suttle could see it in his eyes. He’d been flattered by Lizzie’s invitation to become Grace’s godfather and had never taken his duties less than seriously. Hence, Suttle assumed, the enormous risk he was taking.
‘She told you about the Pompey situation?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Dave Fallon? The Spanish bounty hunter?’
‘Yeah. She phoned me.’
‘And?’
‘We’re on the move. It’s under control.’ He didn’t go into details.
‘So what else did Lizzie tell you?’
‘Pretty much everything, as far as I can judge. You’re living in a shit hole, son. You should have sorted it out.’
‘I know.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
Suttle stared out through the windscreen. He didn’t have an answer. This was like talking to his dad, he thought.
‘Did she tell you about a bloke called Pendrick?’
‘That’s all bollocks. The woman was upset. She’d been upset for months. When that happens, all bets are off. You should have noticed, son. Then there wouldn’t have been a problem.’
Suttle nodded. Winter was probably right.
‘It’s crazy down here. The job’s non-stop. There aren’t the bodies to go round any more. This isn’t Pompey. You work your arse off and then some.’
‘Great. Except you happen to have a wife. And a daughter.’
‘I know.’
‘And that matters?’
‘Of course it does.’
‘Then sort it, son. Get a fucking grip.’ His hand was in his jacket pocket. He produced a bulky white envelope. When he tossed it across to Suttle it landed in his lap.
‘What’s that?’
‘Money.’
‘I don’t want money. I don’t need it.’
‘Wrong again, son. You need to get out of that khazi of a place, you need to find somewhere fit to live in, and you need to start behaving like a human being. That little girl loves you. And so does your daughter. So take a few decisions, eh? And make it happen.’
Suttle had never heard Winter like this, so forceful, so aggressive. Twenty-plus years in CID had made him the master of ambiguity, of the hidden threat, of the carefully prepared traps that littered every conversation. Not this onslaught.
‘Do I get a say?’
‘Of course you do, son. But do me a favour, yeah? Don’t tell me you’ve been betrayed. Don’t bang on about this guy Pendrick. Lizzie was out of her head. And that was down to you.’
‘My fault, then.’
‘Yeah. Fucking right. So like I say, get a grip.’ His eyes hadn’t left Suttle’s face. ‘Are you listening or do I have to start all over again?’
Suttle wouldn’t answer. He fingered the envelope. It felt like a lot of money. Winter was still watching him.
‘Euros, if you’re wondering. High-denomination notes.’
‘Where did you get it from?’
‘None of your business, son. Sell the place. Buy somewhere half-decent. Then she’ll come back.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I’m not stupid. Because I watch as well as listen.’ He held Suttle’s gaze a moment longer then checked his watch. ‘I’m off back to Heathrow in an hour. Where can you get something to eat in this town at ten in the morning?’
Suttle took him to a hotel back by the station. They ordered a full English each, and prior to its arrival Winter raided a neighbouring table for a bottle of HP sauce. There were plenty of very good reasons for living in Croatia but breakfast evidently wasn’t one of them. Even Misty, he said, was starting to pine for a proper plate of bacon and eggs.
‘How is she?’
‘Barking mad. It was my birthday last week. You know what she bought me? A set of salsa lessons. Nightmare.’
The thought of Winter stepping onto the dance floor with the high-kicking Misty Gallagher put a smile on Suttle’s face. He wanted to know about her daughter, Trudy, the third member of Winter’s little ménage. A car accident last year had broken her neck and left her with serious nerve damage. How was she doing?
‘Fine. She’s got a boyfriend, and you know what he does for a living?’
‘Tell me.’
‘He’s a cop. Mad about her. Nuts. But you know something? He’s another one who can’t see further than the end of his dick.’
‘You think I’m like that?’
‘Only you know, son.’
‘That wasn’t my question.’
‘OK, so what were you up to last night?’
‘I was with a woman called Gina Hamilton.’
‘Shagging?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, was it?’
‘Very nice, since you’re asking.’
‘She’s a D/I, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Divorced?’
‘Nearly.’
‘And what else?’
‘Neurotic as hell.’ Suttle was grinning this time. ‘Stuffed animals everywhere. Just like Misty.’
The waitress arrived with breakfast. Winter attacked his black pudding with relish. A tiny comma of HP sauce attached itself to the corner of his mouth.
Suttle wanted to know more about Croatia. In a year or so it’d be joining the EU. After which Winter was back in the firing line for a European Arrest Warrant.
‘You’re right, son. Unless Dave Fallon gets me first.’
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Serbia. They’ve got proper gangsters there. Misty thinks she can pull some real animal who can sort out the likes of Dave Fallon. It’s a neat idea. I just hope he’s good with salsa.’
Suttle had no idea whether he was joking or not and knew — in any case — that it didn’t matter. This brief glimpse of the old Winter had revived something deep inside him. They’d finished breakfast. Winter mopped his chin with a napkin and Suttle accompanied him back to the Fiat.
Winter wanted to know how to get onto the motorway north but Suttle had something else on his mind.
‘You want out, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Out of where, son?’
‘Croatia. Serbia. Abroad. Wherever.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I’ve been watching. Like you always told me to.’
Winter shot him a look, then extended a hand.
‘Glad to hear it, son. Take care of her, eh? And Grace too.’
Winter turned to go but Suttle called him back. He was holding the envelope. There was no way he could take this money.
‘Leave it then.’
‘Where?’
‘Here. Any fucking where. It’s not for you, son. It’s for them.’
Three weeks later Lizzie was back behind her old desk at the Pompey News. The editor had agreed to let her work three regular days a week plus freelance payments for supplementary features she put together in her spare time. This was a blessing for her mum, who found Grace a bit of a handful, and it also permitted Lizzie to kid herself that very little had really changed. She still got her daughter up every morning. She still put her to bed every night. The only difference was that now she had more to think about than dripping taps, elderly neighbours and incessant rain.