Ravens Gathering (21 page)

Gates looked puzzled.  “How do you mean?”

“Well, you made it sound like it was unusual.  You
seemed to be saying that’s why you got up.”

“It was.”

“It was what?”  When this was met with a blank look,
Collins helped him.  “It was unusual, or it was the reason you got up.”

A flicker.  Subtle, but not too subtle for an old
pro.  He’d realised where the question was leading.  And he’d realised
that he might have made a mistake.

“I meant, it was the reason I got up.”  A pause. 
He wasn’t sure whether to elaborate, but clearly felt he had to.  “And the
reason, just to clarify, Inspector, was that the interrogation your constable
subjected me to yesterday was still playing on my mind.”  Interesting,
Collins thought.  He’s decided to go on the offensive now.  “So when
I heard the engine, I wondered whether it was the van.”

“Bit odd, though, don’t you think?”

“Odd?”

“Well, for a stolen van to be brought up here one night,
then taken away, only to be brought back again.  Doesn’t that seem odd to
you?”

“The whole bloody thing seems odd to me.  But then I’ve
not had a lot of experience of stolen vehicles.”

That was interesting too.  Was this a case of
protesting too much?

“So you got up straight away,” Collins went on.  “And
you went straight out.  Weren’t you worried about bumping into whoever was
in the van?”

“Of course I was.”

“Well why didn’t you just phone it in?”

“Because I didn’t know for sure that’s what I’d heard.”

“So you went out in the dark, unarmed, just to check
it?”  He managed to stay just on the right side of sounding credulous.

“Inspector, have you ever done something in the heat of the
moment, and when you looked back on it later you realised you’d been a complete
bloody idiot?”

More times than he cared to think about, if the truth were
known.  And a lot of them while he was on duty.

He nodded.  “I take your point.”  But there was
something else he wanted to cover.  As he glanced back at his notes, he
was aware of voices elsewhere in the house.  They weren’t raised, as such,
but the volume had suddenly become louder.  Before he had a chance to ask
O’Neill to go and find out what was happening, there was a knock on the door. 
Someone opened it without waiting for a response.

Predictably, the man standing in the doorway wasn’t one of
his.  The three stripes on the sleeve told Collins his rank.  “I’ve
got orders to move everyone away from here, sir.”

“You do know I’m carrying out a police investigation here,
don’t you?”  Even as he said it, he knew he was wasting his time. 
Under the circumstances, the Army were the ones who were really in charge.

“The Colonel said to tell you he wasn’t going to force you
to go, but the specialists have arrived and they’d prefer it if the farm was
cleared.”

And, frankly, so would I, Collins thought to himself. 
He smiled at Gates.  It was best to keep things amicable for the time
being.  “It looks like we’ll have to finish this elsewhere.”  Turning
back to the sergeant, he said: “It’ll take a while to get my men
together.  Can you ask the Colonel to give us half an hour?”

“I’m sure that’ll be fine, Inspector.”  He turned to
go, but Collins called him back.

“Sergeant!  What about the rest of the village?”

“That’s taken care of, sir.  There’s no need to worry
about it.”  The soldier threw a glance at the civilian.  Collins got
the message.  The village would just have to risk it.

The all clear didn’t come through till early
afternoon.  From one perspective, that was bad news for Collins.  It
meant he couldn’t let his officers loose on the farm, and he was desperate to
start a search for evidence.  On the other hand, it gave him a good excuse
to detain the witnesses without formally treating them as suspects.

Before starting his interviews with them, he wanted to talk
to Brian Oakes about the enquiries he’d made yesterday.

Almost inevitably, Oakes hadn’t received the message about
the withdrawal from the farm, and had been greeted by a hostile group of armed
men.  So by the time he arrived at the station, he was clearly
disgruntled.

It’s not uncommon for older, more experienced officers to
watch the young bloods at work and curse them, whilst at the same time being
reminded of themselves when they were first starting out.  They’re faced
with a combination of irritation and nostalgia.  Irritation at the lack of
ability, and nostalgia for those days when they had been so full of energy and
determination to be the best they could.  Where Brian Oakes was concerned,
there was only the irritation, and that was escalating into something
approaching annoyance after forty minutes of watching him laboriously trying to
make sense of his own notes.  And not once did the dozy idiot ask what all
the fuss was about.

When he was satisfied that there was nothing useful he was
going to learn, Collins sent Oakes to get the notes typed up while he started
with the witnesses.

He had told them he wanted to take statements, but what he
really meant was he wanted to interrogate them, and he did.  At
length.  He did it in a friendly manner - he chatted, he smiled, he looked
for opportunities to make a joke.  But he also made copious notes, and he
went back over things with them, “just to make sure I’ve got this right...”

McLean had responded well.  Collins was sure he
understood what was going on, but was happy to go along with it.  He had
the air of a man who had nothing to hide.

Mrs McLean was different altogether.  She had clearly
recovered somewhat by the time Collins sat down with her.  All of the
interrogations were held in his office.  He felt that the formality of an
interview room might have put them on their guard.  Of course, the office
itself wasn’t without formality, but he’d softened that by arranging the chairs
on one side of the desk.  For all of them, this was helpful.  In Mrs
McLean’s case, having no barriers between them had obvious benefits, and
O’Neill certainly took advantage of them.  And, in her somewhat refreshed
state, she was clearly willing to take advantage of
that
.  Her
sitting position, and every adjustment she made to it during the course of the
interview, was carefully considered.  Every time she had to stop and think
about an answer to a question, she tilted her head back and angled it slightly
away from them.  She knew what to do to make herself look good. 
Collins wasn’t immune to her charms, but he was a student of human behaviour,
and that interest distracted him enough to avoid falling into any of the traps
she was laying for them.  O’Neill, on the other hand, was jumping
gleefully into them, and seemed quite happy to impale himself on the spikes.

Collins was fascinated by the manipulation.  As he
carefully went through his questions with her and found nothing suspicious in
her answers, he couldn’t help wondering why she did it.  The behaviour
suggested that she might be trying to hide something by diverting their
attention away from what she was saying and on to her.  By the end of the
interview, he was confident that this wasn’t something she was doing because of
the circumstances.  It was just what she did.  She needed attention,
and took every opportunity to get it.

They saved Gates till last.  It was a deliberate choice
by Collins.  His impression from the early morning meeting had not been
good, and the feedback from Oakes also gave him cause for concern.  The
interviews with the
McLeans
had provided a further
opportunity to unearth more so he had something else he could use, but nothing
obvious had come up.

By the time O’Neill led Gates into the office, the
McLeans
were on their way home.

The three men sat down in a loose triangle.  Collins
ran a weary hand through his thinning hair.  Although he was nearly fifty,
his hair was still very dark, almost black, but his widow’s peak was becoming
more pronounced.  His sharp features, softened only slightly by the weight
he’d put on over the last couple of years, gave him a hawkish appearance. 
If anyone looked at a photograph of him, they could easily assume he was a mean
spirited and possibly even a bitter man.  There were times when that
impression was useful to cultivate.  If a good cop/bad cop routine was
required, Collins was already typecast.  It was a testament to his
character, though, that he could dispense with that image very rapidly, as he’d
already demonstrated in the interviews with the
McLeans
.

He looked tired now, partly due to the early start. 
But he was deliberately overplaying it for
Gates’s
benefit.  It didn’t do any harm to make the witness think you wouldn’t be
paying proper attention.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Martin.”  Collins gave
a short sigh.  Not too obtrusive, but enough to be noticed.  “It’s
been a long day for us all and I’m sure you just want to get back to the farm.”

“It’s safe to go then?”

“Oh yes.  The van’s been removed.”

Collins made a big show of checking his notes, even though
he had read them thoroughly before asking for Gates.  After a moment or
two, he looked up.  His head was shaking slightly, his face registered
puzzlement.

“I’m sorry about this, Martin.  It’s been that long
since we last spoke, I’ve forgotten where we were up to.”

Gates made a show of checking his watch.  “Well it
has
been over eight hours.”  He made no attempt to hide his annoyance.

“Have you been treated okay?”  The question was filled
with concern for his wellbeing.

“Yes, fine,” Gates said impatiently.  “Now can we get
on?”

“Of course.”

And they did.  Slowly, methodically, Collins went to
work.  At first, Gates came across as defensive, which he’d expected after
the feedback from Oakes.  But gradually the barriers came down, and they
even shared a few smiles along the way.  Even so, after an hour and a
half, Collins felt he’d learnt little more than he already knew.  He also
felt sure that, in spite of the rapport they’d built up, Gates was keeping
something from him.  Unfortunately, feelings alone weren’t enough to
detain him further.

“Well, Martin,” he said brightly, covering his
disappointment, “I can’t think of anything else we need to cover at the
moment.  So I’ll let you get home and get some rest.”  He hesitated
for a moment, clearly pondering something.  “Not that the farm is your
home.”  He made the remark as if it was a puzzle to him.  “In fact,
where
is
your home, Martin?”

It was
Gates’s
turn to look
thoughtful.  “That’s a good question, Inspector,” he said at last. 
“Technically, I have an apartment in Gran
Canaria
,
but the rent on that’s only paid to the end of the month.  After that, I
could be homeless.”  The idea seemed to amuse him.

“Do you think you’ll move back to the UK?” 
Conversational, not interrogative.

“I doubt it.”

“Can’t say I blame you.  Bloody lousy weather.”

“More like a bloody lousy family.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“Mine’s in a class of its own.”

A chuckle from Collins.  “Are they
really
that
bad?”

“I’d be here all day telling you,” Gates said.  “And
you’ve got bad guys to catch.”  He gave Collins a meaningful look. 
“Unless you think I’m one of the bad guys.”

“In all honesty, Martin, I can’t rule anything out at this
stage.  But I would struggle to see how your family problems could have
anything to do with a stolen van.”

“Especially not a stolen van with a bomb in it.”

And not just any bomb, Collins thought, but he kept it to
himself.  He stood up and stretched out his arm.  As Gates responded
in kind, Collins gestured to the door with his free hand.

“Obviously, you’ll need to sign the statement, and we’ve got
to get that typed up first.  Sergeant O’Neill here will make sure you’ve
got somewhere comfortable to sit while you’re waiting.  But as soon as
that’s done, we’ll have a car take you back to the farm.”

“Thanks.”  Gates turned to the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Collins added before he opened
it.  “It’s likely that we’ll need to have another chat with you over the
next day or two, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t head back to the Canaries.”

“Do you want my passport?”

“Just your cooperation will be fine.”

Martin nodded his agreement and allowed himself to be
steered out of the room by O’Neill.

When O’Neill returned a few minutes later, Collins was
sitting behind his desk reading through the notes he’d made.  They would
be needed for typing up the statement, but he obviously wasn’t in a rush to let
Gates go yet.

“What do you think,
Guv
?” he asked
after closing the door.

The DI looked past him to make sure the door was
closed.  Within CID only a handful of officers knew how serious this
enquiry was, and he was pretty confident they’d be forced to sign some
paperwork concerning the Official Secrets Act before long.

“I haven’t got a clue what to think, Les.  All three of
them are hiding something.  I just don’t know what it is.  And that’s
not helping us to find out how a van containing a device stolen from the Atomic
Weapons Establishment ended up in a barn in Sherwood Forest.”

Tanya was tired, but restless at the same time.  The
police enquiries yesterday afternoon had been disturbing enough for her, but
the events overnight and today had left her with a mixture of emotions. 
Being told you have a bomb only a few yards away from your home was hardly an
every day event.  To be ordered to leave your home because of it threw yet
more feelings into the mix.  Fear of death or injury, combined with
frustration and anger at being told what to do, and having no choice about it.

Ian hadn’t been much help either.  He’d just gone along
meekly with whatever the police or the soldiers said.  Why didn’t he argue
with them?

As she wondered that, she knew that there wouldn’t have been
any point in arguing.  And she also knew that Ian would have recognised
that, and saved his energy for more important things.  But she hadn’t
wanted rational and considered thinking.  She’d wanted some action. 
Someone to show they’d got a bit of life in them.

Even though she was still concerned about what he was up to,
she still preferred the way Martin had behaved yesterday with the Plod. 
It probably wasn’t very productive, but at least it showed there was a spark of
life in him.  Whether he’d shown the same spark this morning, she couldn’t
tell.  When Ian had come up to the bedroom, Martin had been busy
downstairs.  She thought she’d heard him talking to someone, but couldn’t
be sure.  While Ian sat on the bed and talked to her, she’d heard him go
outside again.  She’d only been vaguely aware of it.  Ian was telling
her that they’d found the missing van in the barn.  That they were going
to phone the police soon, but Martin had to do something else first.

“What?  What’s he got to do?”

He’d shrugged, unsure what to say to her.

“It’s him, isn’t it?  He’s the one who stole the
van.  He’s covering his tracks, isn’t he?”

But he’d shaken his head very firmly.  “No.  It
isn’t Martin.”

“Well what’s he up to then?”

Instead of answering, Ian said: “Look, we need to give him
some leeway.”

“Leeway!”  Her voice had risen, and he responded by
lifting his hands and waving them downwards, indicating that she should do the
same with her volume.

“We need to tell the police that we only found the
van...”  He glanced at the alarm clock.  “...around four o’clock.”

She followed his gaze.  “It’s not even half-three yet.”

He ignored her protest.  “Martin needs a bit more
time.”

“For
what
?  Has he got another dog to butcher,
or is he going to see if he can catch some of those bloody ravens, so he can
sacrifice
them
?”

At five o’clock in the afternoon, she still didn’t know what
Martin had been up to.  Ian either didn’t know, or wasn’t telling. 
He’d given nothing away when he’d returned to their bedroom this morning. 
Instead he’d stressed that he hadn’t time to explain, that he needed her to
back him up.  By the time he’d convinced her to do that, Martin was back
in the house and on the phone.  She could hear his muted tones as she
dressed.

And when Ian had finally led her down the stairs, they had
only a few minutes before the police arrived.  Then Ian and Martin had
taken the officers to the barn, and after that all hell seemed to have been let
loose.  Lots of sitting around on her own.  You couldn’t really class
the police officers as company.  She’d hardly seen Martin or Ian over the
next several hours.  They were kept apart at the house, they were driven
to Westfield in different cars, and they were taken to separate offices within
the police station.

There were times when she’d been tempted to tell the
detectives that her husband and lodger were up to something.  But her
annoyance at being treated like a common criminal more than balanced out that
urge.  And, even though she had always enjoyed male attention, there was
something unusually distasteful about being ogled by men who were supposed to
be investigating a serious crime.  Especially one in which her own life
could have been threatened.

So she’d held out.  Hoping to get some answers from Ian
and Martin when they got home.

But the answers hadn’t come.  Once the bomb had been
removed from the site, the police had been allowed back on to the farm. 
And when Tanya and Ian were dropped off at the house, it was to find it still
occupied by officers who were searching for evidence.  Evidence of what,
they weren’t prepared to disclose, though it didn’t take a rocket scientist to
work out that they were going through the process of “eliminating the
McLeans
and their house guest from their enquiries”. 
Or not, as the case might be.

When she’d first gone into her bedroom, it had briefly
crossed her mind that they might have been burgled in their absence. 
Drawers had been left half open, clothes had been dropped on the bed or floor,
their hangers lying loosely nearby as if they’d been deliberately
separated.  Ornaments were scattered haphazardly across the surfaces on
which they’d previously stood so neatly.  Whoever had carried out the
search had been given orders to do a thorough job as rapidly as possible. 
Finesse wasn’t part of the job description.

On reflection, burglars might have been preferable.  At
least they’d have taken what they wanted and gone.  Instead, her most
private areas had been breached by strangers, but strangers who were still in
the house.  And from the looks exchanged between a few of them, she knew
they’d found things even Ian didn’t know were hidden in her drawers. 
Being judged by those bastards made her feel ashamed – even though she knew she
had nothing to be ashamed about.  And then there was the anger she felt
knowing they’d been pawing through her underwear.  More conflicting
emotions.  Adding to the confusion in the same way that she didn’t know
who to be more angry at: the police for invading her privacy, Martin for
possibly being the cause, or Ian for persuading her to cover for him.

To make matters worse, because the police were still
searching the house, it was impossible to talk to Ian properly and try to find
out exactly what had happened in the early hours of the morning.

They could have left the police to it, but she didn’t feel
happy about that.  Not that she was overjoyed at the prospect of staying
close by where they could let their eyes drift over her, imagining her wearing
some of the more adventurous underwear they’d come across.  Or maybe the
videos in their heads were playing images of her using some of the toys they’d
found.  And they had definitely found them.  One had been left in the
middle of the bed, a far from discreet message for her.

Under other circumstances, she’d have perhaps enjoyed
letting a police officer catch a glimpse of some of her private items.  It
might have been fun to pick one of them out and tease him.  It wasn’t
unheard of for her to offer tantalising hints of what she was wearing
underneath a skirt or blouse, or to “accidentally” show a little more leg or
cleavage than might be expected.  The knowledge of what that could do to a
man was exciting.  But it was also on her terms.  She was in
control.  This was different.

As well as the police, there were still soldiers
around.  None of them were in the house, or even in the yard.  But
they had seen the olive coloured Land Rovers and a lorry still parked up by the
barn.  And they could hear them intermittently.  No idea what they
were shouting about or why the occasional clattering noise was happening, but
in their own way she guessed they were being as thorough as the police.

Not that she could blame them.  Another conflicting
thought.  She was pissed off at the intrusion and disruption.  But at
the same time, she knew she’d be just as annoyed if they’d simply taken the
bomb away and then buggered off without bothering to check the area, either for
more bombs or for evidence so they could catch whoever was responsible.

Which made her think of Martin.  What the hell
was
he up to?

She’d expected to find out from Ian, but as soon as the
police left the house he was out the door and jumping into his own Land
Rover.  The timing was deliberate.  She knew that.  As he
crossed to the yard, there were still police cars manoeuvring to make their
exit.  At least one was only moving out to join the Army vehicles
anyway.  An officer had already told them there would be a police presence
on the farm for at least another couple of hours.  If she caused a scene,
they might well decide to stop in the yard – or even come back to the
house.  More frustration, then.  He’d made some comment about going
to check how Matthew and Patrick were getting on.  But she wasn’t sure if
that was just an excuse for him to go in the opposite direction to the police.

Now, an hour or so later, she was feeling angry and
confused, frustrated and bitter, frightened and embarrassed.  And lonely.

The bedroom was tidy.  It had been therapy of
sorts.  At times, her discoveries of what had been unearthed had left her
mortified.  But she’d ploughed on, gradually restoring order to the room,
and hoping that deep down some order would start to be restored inside her.

When she heard the kitchen door open, she assumed it would
be Ian.  She hadn’t heard him drive into the yard, but with military
vehicles still moving around outside, she could easily have missed his Land
Rover.

A part of her wanted to storm down and demand answers. 
Another part of her wanted to be held tightly and reassured that it was all
over.  Either way, she needed to be with him.  Her head and heart in
turmoil, she trudged down the stairs.  Martin was waiting for her.

Strangely, she felt relief.  With the tension between
her and Ian recently, although she needed him to come home, she also dreaded
it, not knowing how he would react.  Or how she would react to him. 
For months, she’d known the marriage was dead.  But that didn’t make
dealing with it any easier.  Ian not being there meant that she didn’t
have to face up to that for a while longer.

Martin was standing just inside the kitchen.  He looked
expectant.  She assumed he must have heard her coming down.

“How are you?”  There was a certain wariness about the
question.  As if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.  Oddly,
she could relate to it, and it reassured her.

“I’ve had better days.”  Her voice sounded weary, and
she realised just how exhausted she suddenly was.

He smiled at her, his own tiredness obvious.  “Haven’t
we all?”

Stepping to one side, he gestured to the table.  “Want
to come and sit with me?”

“Why would I want to do that?”  For a moment, she was
transported back to two days ago.  When they’d first met, they had been
playful and flirty.  She’d enjoyed that, and she was sure he had too.

“Keep an old man company?” he suggested.

“
Are
you an old man?”  She had moved closer, as
if she was going to sit at the table.

“I definitely feel it at the moment.”

Only a foot or so separated them.  She stopped and
looked up at him.  Far from looking old, he seemed like a child.  The
tiredness he was feeling had stripped some of his protective layers away. 
Instead of the cool surfer dude, the real Martin was showing through.  All
signs of confidence were gone.  Wariness and uncertainty prevailed. 
Her anger towards him slipped away.  Instead she just wanted to be close to
him.

“Will you hold me?” she asked.

He studied her cautiously.

“I won’t bite,” she assured him.

Then he grinned.  “Unless I ask nicely?”