Читать книгу The Last Exile - E.V. Seymour - Страница 12

THE job mainly consisted of looking important and acting as a glorified car-parking attendant. His working environment was a sentry box complete with barrier to allow staff in and out. Tallis spent much of his time studying grainy images captured on the archaic CCTV system. The only highlights were the odd spot check, usually in the run-up to Christmas when theft was considered a good little earner, and the occasional request by one of the ops managers to frisk a member of staff suspected of stealing. If said suspect was found guilty, it was down to Tallis to liaise with police and escort the culprit, usually swearing and protesting innocence, off the premises. Big deal. Lately, if there was more than one security man manning the fort, he’d taken to hiving himself off and reading one of the many cookery books distributed through the company at knock-off prices. There wasn’t much he didn’t know about how to feed a family of four healthily, or the various types of power foods reputed to keep the aging process in check. There was no literature for sad, lonely bastards on a tight budget.

The shift, which finished at nine-thirty at night, seemed to drag more than usual. Fortunately, Archie, one of the other security blokes, broke the boredom by sneaking out to the fish and chip bar up the road and smuggling enough booty back for both of them.

When Tallis returned home he half expected Cavall to be there. She wasn’t. All that lingered was the faint smell of her perfume, a pleasant contrast to salt and vinegar. He changed out of his work clothes and took a beer from the fridge, flipping off the top and drinking straight from the bottle. He’d barely sat down when the phone began to ring. He glanced at his watch. This time he felt no anxiety. There was only one person it could be: his mother.

She spoke softly so as not to wake his dad. Tallis asked after him.

“Not so good. Had another session of chemo yesterday. Always knocks him about.”

Tallis bit his lip. How long could his dad go on like this? he wondered. Did stubborn men take longer to die? “And you, how are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, stoic as usual. Only Tallis could detect the false note in her voice. Early on, when the cancer had been diagnosed, he’d thought her nursing experience would help. Now he believed it a curse. She was far too aware of the medical implications. However viewed, his dad’s condition was terminal, and his mother was in bits about it.

“Shall I come over?” he asked. “To visit you?” he added nervously. His father had refused to see him since the blow-up with Dan and Belle. With his dad being so ill, Tallis didn’t feel he could challenge the old man’s decision.

“It’s difficult at the moment,” his mum said, guarded. “I really don’t like leaving him.”

“What about the nurse? Couldn’t she stay with him for a while?”

“He wouldn’t like it.” No, Tallis thought. There was so much his father disliked—him, for a start. An early memory of sweating over maths homework flashed through his mind, his father standing over him, jaw grinding, demanding the correct answer and, in the absence of one, telling him he was no bloody good. For a long time Tallis had believed it to be true. They’d always had a strained relationship, probably because his dad had been a police officer and his youngest son had had a habit of running with the pack as a teenager. His dad had never been so pleased as when he’d decided to join the army. Of course, by then, Dan was already cutting it with West Midlands Police. Dan, the favoured one. Dan who never did any wrong.

“You need to take care of yourself, Mum, keep a bit back for you.” She hadn’t done in almost forty years of marriage, so why start now? he thought. Except now it was more important than ever. How else would she survive when his dad was gone?

“I’m all right, son. You mustn’t worry.” You have your own troubles was what she meant. “Any luck with finding another job? Didn’t you have an interview lined up?”

“Care of Max. It fell through,” he said honestly.

“Never mind. Something will turn up.” It just did, Tallis thought gloomily, but he’d have been mad to take it. “I spoke to Dan yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tallis said with cool. “All right, is he?”

“Fine. Settling in well, enjoying the new job. Seems to be finding his feet nicely. Says the other officers are friendly enough.” She sounded breathy and awkward.

“Good.” Not that it ever bothered Dan if colleagues liked him or not.

“He asked after you.”

“Did he?” Why? Tallis thought suspiciously.

“Don’t you think you two …?”

“No, Mum.”

“But you can’t go on like this.”

Why not? Tallis thought. His father hadn’t spoken to his own brother for over twenty years. Vendettas must run in the family. “The way it has to be.”

“Funny, that’s what Dan said.”

“Did he?” Tallis said, genuinely taken aback.

“I hate all this. You used to be so close.” Her memory was cushioned by nostalgia, Tallis thought. He mostly recalled being beaten up and humiliated. It had been Dan who’d swung a spade at his head from which he still bore the scar. “Remember when you were kids?” she said brightly. “You used to play removal men.”

“Doug and Kredge,” Tallis burst out, grinning in spite of his feelings. God knew where the names had come from. He’d have been about six at the time. Dan had played the foreman, bossy as ever. He’d been Doug, his oppo.

“You spent hours shifting stuff about.” His mother laughed.

His mother’s laugh was so rare these days it made Tallis misty-eyed. “No change there,” he told her.

“Still steeped in home alterations?”

“‘Fraid so. Not that I seem to be making a great deal of progress. The garden’s a wilderness and I still can’t decide whether I did the right thing, knocking the sitting room through to the kitchen.”

“Must be costing you a fortune.”

“It is.”

“Thought about getting a lodger?”

Only if they were dark-haired, thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six. Tallis smiled to himself. “I don’t think so, Mum.”

“Might help with the money.”

“The way the place is, I’d have to pay them.”

His mother laughed softly. “Think you’ll stay?” The question was floated like a feather on a millpond. He was aware that his father had suggested he sell up and divide the proceeds with Dan.

“For now,” Tallis said, noncommittal. “Depends on work.”

This seemed to satisfy her. They talked a little more, briefly mentioned his sister, Hannah, her kids, but he could tell that his mum was anxious to end the call. Probably time to administer more drugs to his father. She promised to phone again towards the end of the week. “Doug and Kredge,” Tallis murmured fondly, putting the phone down and returning to the sitting room.

“Jesus!”

Tallis started. He was freezing cold and mildly disorientated. Must have fallen asleep on the couch, he thought, looking blearily around him, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the unaccustomed light. Noise, he registered, noise from … Then it stopped. He staggered to his feet, went through the arch into the tiny galley kitchen and stared at the phone. Who the hell was calling on his landline at this time? Then another noise started, less intrusive. He dashed back to the sitting room to where his cellphone was vibrating on the coffee-table. He snatched it up, thinking it might be his mum, but didn’t recognise the number, then, shit, he thought his dad had taken a turn for the worse, that … “Max?” Tallis said, bewildered.

“Sorry to disturb you.”

“It’s all right,” he said, dizzy with relief. “I wasn’t in bed.” He should have been, he thought, checking his watch. It was three-thirty in the morning. “Something wrong?” Tallis said. ‘Course it bloody was.

There was an uneasy silence as though Max hadn’t quite rehearsed what he was going to say. “Just had the police on the phone.” His voice was grave. “They got my name from Felka’s belongings.”

“Something happened to her?” Of course it had. He knew only too well how people dished up bad news. It started in increments.

“She’s dead,” Max blurted out. “Murdered.”

Tallis felt as though someone had drop kicked him in the kidneys. Four questions pounded his brain. Where? How? When? Why?

“Found in Lisson Grove near the Harrow Road Flyover.”

“What the hell was she doing there?”

“God knows.”

“But I gave her detailed instructions. She was supposed to take the tube from Euston.”

“There was some problem with the rail network, an incident on the line. She had to change trains so she arrived at Marylebone instead. I guess she got disorientated.”

“How was she killed?” Tallis said tonelessly.

“Stabbed.”

“You know why?”

“Does there have to be reason?”

“I was wondering whether it was a mugging, or robbery.” Then another thought occurred to him. “Any sign of sexual assault?”

“Christ, not that they mentioned. Would they tell me a thing like that?”

“Maybe not.”

“They’ve arrested a guy, a fucking illegal, Somalian, the police said.”

Tallis briefly closed his eyes. Somalia was a country of extreme violence, some of which had been exported to Britain. Guy was probably zombied out on khat, a cheap, highly addictive drug, which had already crippled the Somalian economy and help fan the flames of civil war.

“Should have been deported months ago but went to ground,” Max continued.

Tallis swallowed. His throat was so tight it hurt. “Her parents been informed?”

“Just coming to that. They’re catching a flight to London later today, should arrive around five o’clock British time. I could get the next plane back, but …”

“You’ve already travelled halfway round the world.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not that. They don’t speak a word of English.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Could you?”

“Of course.”

“You sure? I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“Not a problem, Max. Let me grab something to write with and I’ll jot down the details.”

Tallis kept a night-time vigil. He didn’t pray for the girl with the flame-coloured hair because, although brought up in the Catholic faith, he wasn’t a believer, but he did plenty of thinking. As darkness made its slow and ponderous passage into the light, Tallis recalled their first meeting. He’d been having a drink with Max. Felka had bounced into the drawing room and introduced herself. She’d seemed so eager to please, to make a good impression.

All sorts of other images flashed through his mind. Felka with the baby juggled on her slender hip, of her playing with the older boy, nursing the kids when they were unwell, cajoling them to eat their meals—quite the little mother. And only eighteen years of age. Snuffed out before she’d even got started. He frowned and drained the last dregs of the Scotch from the bottle into his glass. She’d once told him that her name meant lucky.

As the first rays of sun bled across a pale blue sky he thought of the balletic way in which she’d moved, how she’d spoken, that strange intonation on certain words, how she’d flirted. And, of course, he remembered the sensual way, the very last time he’d been with her, she’d whispered in his ear. Felka, he thought sadly, what a terrible, terrible waste of a life, and what a Godawful way to die—lost, alone, in pain in a strange land. He hoped her little brother would always remember her. Raising his glass, Tallis promised never to forget.