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  ‘If it is my daughter’s friend I would like to be the one to tell her,’ Maddern said, adding ‘and she wants to come home with me tonight.’

  ‘Not surprised,’ the DI said. ‘Where’s home?’

  He listened carefully, watching both men from the fens. ‘So you came just to see your daughter?’ he asked, ‘both of you?’

  Cannon nodded.

  ‘Not settled at university, has she?’ he asked Maddern.

  ‘Two younger sisters at home,’ Maddern said. ‘I think she misses them, but she was fine, until this….’

  ‘But you didn’t know about the delivery of the wreath until you arrived?’ The DI left the remark hanging in the air like an accusation.

  ‘No, but I’m on annual leave and it’s only a three-hour drive,’ Maddern said.

  The DI turned to Cannon. ‘So you came along for the ride?’ the DI asked, adding, ‘You came together in the same car?’

  ‘No, I came in mine some time later,’ Cannon said and stopped himself doing fanciful embroidery on the truth. Along the corridor Katie appeared out of her room, carrying a bag and a black and white tweed coat.

  ‘Ah,’ the DI breathed out, still looking at Cannon, ‘so we might need to talk a little more about all this,’ adding in muted tones, ‘The porter has identified the girl as Amy Congreve.’

  ‘I must just have a word with Amy,’ Katie told them as they approached.

  ‘She’s not there, Katie.’ Maddern reached his daughter and checked the hand she raised to knock her friend’s door, turned and propelled her gently back towards her own room. Cannon heard the father’s quiet words and saw the violence of the daughter’s reaction as she jerked to a stop, stricken, motionless for a long moment, then she dropped the bag she still carried and fell to her knees on top of it. Maddern crouched beside her, pulling her close in his arms, talking to her.

  ‘I hope you’re going to let her father take the girl home tonight,’ Cannon muttered to the DI.

  ‘I think we’ll get a doctor to have a look at the young lady before we make any decisions on that,’ the DI replied as Maddern lifted his daughter, who now seemed in a state of total collapse, and turned as if to put her on the bed.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ the DS warned, ‘there’s evidence on the bed.’

  ‘Move it,’ Maddern ordered.

  The DS practically dived beneath Maddern’s arms, pulling gloves from his pocket which he half put on, and lifted away the wreath and the box.

  The DI produced clear plastic evidence bags from his pocket, but only after he had contacted the foyer to request a doctor be called.

  Katie roused and would have sprung to her feet had Maddern not prevented it. ‘No, Dad, no!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am going home. I’m not lying down, not here, I’m not staying here. Not now. Not now!’

  ‘Sit in the chair for a bit then,’ Maddern insisted.

  When the doctor arrived, Dennis, the porter, had obviously filled him in with all the details. A square, grizzled-haired man, he brusquely turned everyone out of the room except Jim Maddern, and emerged some ten minutes later to say, ‘She is a very determined young lady, with a mind that is definitely not for turning. She wants to go home with her father, and I think that is the best thing that can happen. She won’t accept any help from my medical bag.’

  Who does she take after, Cannon wondered ironically.

  The DI frowned at the doctor and cleared his throat as if warning against interference in police matters.

  ‘These people are victims not suspects I presume,’ the doctor said unabashed as his phone bleeped again. ‘There’ll be many repercussions after this tragedy, so I won’t be far away if you need me again. Students are highly strung creatures.’

  As the doctor left, the DI’s phone bleeped.

  Going to be a busy night for everyone, Cannon thought.

  His call over, the DI turned to Cannon and said the Lincolnshire police had vouched for him as the landlord of …

  It had not been a question so much as a gap left for Cannon to fill. He did, with the name of his pub, its location and the name of his partner, ‘Liz Makepeace, also a former Met officer, and whose red MG I have driven to Leicester.’

  ‘Right,’ the DI said, his lips pursing momentarily to stop any hint of amusement, ‘you ticked all the right boxes, and I think if the young lady is up to it and can give a preliminary statement to my sergeant here, there is no reason why we should not let you take her home tonight, though we shall almost certainly need to contact her again.’

  ‘If I drive Sergeant Maddern’s car he can give all his attention to his daughter, but it will mean leaving the MG overnight, it’s in a street nearby, is that OK?’ Cannon asked, and explained where it was.

  ‘No restrictions there,’ the DI said. ‘Tell me the registration number.’

  Cannon obliged and the DS looked at the notebook he held, made a tick and nodded to the DI.

  Katie was very shaky, but still controlled – almost alarmingly so, Cannon felt – as she made and signed her statement. Immediately afterwards, Jim left her with Cannon while he called a taxi to take him back to the hotel where he had left his Peugeot and bag. Cannon stayed very close to her, making her tea in her room, talking of being home in three hours or so. She was very quiet.

  Once her father returned and they were loading the car, Katie seemed to go into overdrive, hurling her belongings into the boot, while Maddern stood meticulously repacking them.

  ‘Dad, it doesn’t matter, for God’s sake!’ she shouted at him. ‘My friend’s dead, murdered because of me! Do you understand that? Hey?’

  Cannon saw the look he gave his daughter; he was a staunch churchgoer, and not a man who liked to hear the Lord’s name taken in vain.

  ‘No,’ he said evenly, ‘it is probably more to do with me.’

  Cannon heard but Katie was too beside herself to listen, and stamped her feet like a child as her father finished the loading so that none of it could roll around as they travelled.

  ‘Just get in,’ he said mildly, opened the back door for her and got in beside her.

  Taking the driving-seat Cannon wondered if there was a satnav in the car, probably shut away in the glove compartment, but decided it was not wise to delay a moment longer. He would not ask or stop until they were away from the immediate vicinity of the university and the park.

  After a few minutes, he heard Katie apologize. Straining up in his seat he could see in his rear-view mirror that she was now huddled under her father’s arm, but must have still been shaking because he heard Maddern ask if she was cold.

  ‘A bit,’ she said.

  Maddern told him how to turn the car’s heating up, adding, ‘We’ve come the wrong way.’

  Cannon had realized as much some moments ago as he found himself entangled in a system of one-way streets all heading in the opposite way to the one he felt they wanted. They were now on a multi-lane, one-way highway, well studded with a series of traffic lights, and it was obviously closing time for some popular clubs in the area. Young pedestrians were crowding the pavements and crossings, laughing, fooling about. He drove forward slowly as one set of lights changed, very aware of the youngsters, many of the boys, shirt-tails blowing, hardly looked old enough to have left primary school, while the scantily clad girls were enough to disturb men of any age. The old arguments about girls being allowed to be as undressed as they liked no matter what fires they lit in the minds of the opposite sex, flickered through his mind until one of the youths slipped off the kerb just in front of him, nearly falling. Several of his mates gave Cannon the finger as if it was his fault.

  He passed this group and ahead could see a large rugby stadium, that of the famous Leicester Tigers, he realized, while over to his right was a huge hospital and to his left what could only be the towering walls of Leicester Prison. Built by the Victorians, he imagined, to impress the power of the law on the local inhabitants, it had castellated towers and above its double doors a portcullis; the only
thing missing, he thought, was the moat.

  The road veered away from the prison, but not before he saw the wicket set in the huge double gates open and a broad-shouldered man turned sideways for ease of exit. Two men hurried to him, taking his bag. They were both big, broad-shouldered men but not as tall as the grey-haired man they greeted. A strange time for anyone to be released from prison, but that was certainly what was happening, although these matters were always at the discretion of the prison governor as far as he knew. There must be special circumstances.

  The three converged into a kind of tight hug. Then one raised a beckoning arm; even from inside the car Cannon heard the piercing whistle he gave and saw a stretch limo draw to the end of the side wall of the prison. A man jumped out of the passenger side and ran to open the door rather as if it was royalty leaving the Savoy, London, than someone who had served their time in prison. Special circumstances indeed!

  But something more was trickling into Cannon’s consciousness – a Leicester connection? Russell, the newsagent, had described Danny Smithson, the boy Maddern called Jakes, as a well-put-together lad, good shoulders on him for a thirteen-year-old. The trio that had just climbed aboard the black stretch limousine could all have been heavyweight stars in the boxing world, from their build.

  In normal circumstances he and Maddern would certainly have exchanged opinions about all this, but as it was the silence from the back of the car was absolute; far, far, too absolute.

  Chapter 5

  As he drove, first light came as a thin grey strip over the flat Lincolnshire horizon – like a stage curtain lifting, Cannon thought, revealing the backdrop he had chosen for his life, and Liz’s; and both he loved without reservations. ‘Another hour,’ he said quietly, then asked ‘Is Katie asleep?’

  Maddern whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Those men?’ Cannon questioned.

  ‘Yes,’ Maddern confirmed.

  Cannon knew that was all he would hear until they were alone and could talk openly. He hoped it was not a bad sign as the line of light disappeared under a great lowering mass of black cloud.

  It was barely light and raining hard when they pulled into Sea Lane and Maddern’s drive. Margaret was at the door before they stopped, but Maddern was faster, out of the car and by her side as she saw Katie, and who the driver of her husband’s car was.

  ‘Jim,’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t understand. What is happening?’

  Cannon’s heart sank as he thought of the amount of explaining that was going to have to be done in this household, but Maddern had said to ‘Sit tight, give me five minutes, then I’ll drive you home, we can talk on the way. I’ll unload Katie’s things later.’

  Cannon watched as Maddern – arm round the still sleep-and-shock stupefied Katie – included his wife in the embrace, stooped to kiss her and drew them both inside, closing the door behind them. Momentarily Cannon felt excluded. Then – as he was wont to do at such moments of enforced idleness – fell to dealing with the next item on life’s agenda, this time composing a good verbal explanation for Liz, including why he had left her car behind, and how safe it was – he hoped. He also hoped that what Maddern was going to tell him on the short distance back to The Trap was going to make some sense of it all.

  A light went on upstairs in the house, and a second, then the front door opened and Jim, closely followed by his wife, came out. Maddern shook his head at whatever she was requesting. Margaret lifted a hesitant perfunctory hand in Cannon’s direction then turned back inside. Maddern walked quickly to the car, got in the passenger’s side. ‘I must not be long,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll drive and you talk.’ Cannon heard his tone slip momentarily back into senior officer mode and when Maddern did not begin immediately added, ‘According to Margaret, you seemed to have had a kind of special relationship with this newspaper boy, Danny Smithson.’ Cannon flicked the wipers to fast speed as a great flurry of huge rain-spots thundered down onto the car.

  ‘I felt sympathy for the lad.’ Maddern raised his voice above the clamour. ‘But as for the family, the last thing anyone would want is a relationship, or any kind of contact.’

  Cannon reverted the wipers to normal as the brief onslaught subsided. ‘The local newsagent tells me Danny and his mother are new to the area, but Margaret said you thought he was local, a local family, and you called him Jakes.’

  ‘He’s a Jakes all right,’ Maddern confirmed darkly. ‘That build and that square-jawed face are unmistakeable. Ask any other local family, and many of ’em will have suffered at the hands of a Jakes over the years. Ask Hoskins!’

  Cannon thought wryly that his oldest and most loyal customer would certainly not have encountered the paperboy. Didn’t he take the newspaper home with him from The Trap every single evening? Though when it came to local knowledge, Hoskins was probably one up even on the sergeant.

  ‘Way back, my great-grandfather had trouble with the family rustling and butchering his pigs. They were all pretty handy with knives and axes even then. My father used to say the police would clear up eighty per cent of all crime in the area if they could get rid of the Jakeses.’ Maddern drew in a deep reflective breath. ‘After the war, they graduated to blowing safes when a couple of the sons came out of the army with plenty of knowledge of explosives, but no wish to earn an honest living; that has never been what that family do, earn and live on a fixed wage.’ Maddern paused to laugh at the very idea. ‘They’ve moved higher up the criminal ladder with each generation, progressed in their chosen profession, you might say, and like a good many of these families they breed early, multiply fast.’

  ‘They were big-time,’ Maddern went on, ‘but they tried to move into too many fields – drugs, money-laundering, then gun-running, trod on the toes of a rival gang operating off the coast here, and there were several murders. The present grandfather, the one I’m sure we saw released today, was involved in revenge killings, but he had a good lawyer. The only charge they could make stick was accessory. I think he got about ten years. After that they moved away from our area. Some they said went north, some to London, and I for one breathed a sigh of relief. Now I believe they’re coming back to use the area they know to bring off some kind of coup.’

  Maddern paused, shook his head sadly. ‘The other thing that makes me sure, is that the Jakeses always like to cock a snoop at their victims, or the police. My great-grandfather to the day of his death kept the blackened shrivelled tails of five of his pigs they sent to him after they stole and slaughtered his herd. They’re family heirlooms. I’m not keen to have them added to.’

  ‘So hearses, wreaths, would be just their style,’ Cannon said, ‘as would meeting one of their own out of prison with a stretch limo, though if I hadn’t got lost, we wouldn’t have seen that.’

  ‘And if I hadn’t identified my paperboy as a Jakes, my family would not be receiving death threats and that innocent young girl, Katie’s friend, would not have been murdered.’

  ‘You must be standing in the way of something very big,’ Cannon said. ‘Big plans probably masterminded by the old man while he was in prison, geared to happen when he’d served his stretch?’ Cannon made it a question, but his breathing became quicker. This all had hallmarks he recognized from many gangland plots: increased activity, family and gang members being regrouped, threats, or worse, to anyone who endangered their intentions. A big job was looming. ‘Jim, you can’t handle this alone.’

  ‘What I can’t handle is the thought of any of my family being harmed,’ he replied, ‘and you should understand that, the reason you left the Met had more to do with your heart than your head.’

  A picture of Liz lying in hospital, face bandaged, ready to relinquish him if she was disfigured for life after an attack by a gangland heavy-man, flashed through his mind. He controlled his voice to remind the sergeant, ‘But I was not within a hand’s reach of my pension.’

  ‘And what would my pension mean to me if I lost one of my family through telling what I suspect –
and I have tried. Inspector Jones thinks I’m away with the fairies.’

  A large, low-flying barn owl swooped across their path, pale as a ghost in the car headlights, and Cannon thought it was a dire situation when a man lost confidence in his senior officer.

  They had reached and stopped at the front of The Trap before either of them spoke again.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ Cannon asked.

  ‘I’m going to take my family to my brother’s place. He married a farmer’s daughter in Cornwall. Whatever it costs me I shall move heaven and earth to keep my family safe, and my first move is to get them to Cornwall. I’ve told Margaret to be ready as soon as I get back. She will take turns with the driving and the roads’ll be clear at this time in the morning, a good time to set out. I can be back Monday for duty after my week’s leave, and no one the wiser.’

  ‘Jim …’ Cannon began, shaking his head, ‘it’s only Wednesday tomorrow, you—’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said, anger and resignation in his voice, ‘that’s what I’d like to do, but I know I’ve been a copper too long to be able to keep my mouth shut just because scum like the Jakeses threaten. I shall report all I know as soon as my family are away from here; that’ll most likely be Thursday morning, and Jones can make of it what he will.’

  As a civilian, Cannon felt he could not fault this man’s judgment, or his bravery. His family safe, he would be the one man left in the firing line. ‘What can I do?’ he asked.

  ‘Let me get my family away. Once I’m back I won’t waste time going to Jones. Keep quiet until then,’ the Sergeant asked, ‘and, if you can, look out for young Danny. I don’t know what can be done to help the lad, but …’

  ‘I’ll find out from Russell if he’s turning up for his paper round,’ Cannon said, then added, ‘and you’ll phone me when you can, let me know what’s happening.’

  ‘I will,’ Maddern said, ‘and thanks.’