a pint of water, made strong coffee and picked up the phone. It was coming up for noon. The line rang for a considerable time before being answered. Tallis didn’t dwell too heavily on the standard hi, how are you warm-up routine. He could tell from Stu’s voice how he was—grim, sense of humour failure, depressed.
“You ever spoken to anyone about my reservations about the Liberian girl?”
“Fuck you take me for?” From sour to fury in 0.4 seconds.
“Fine,” Tallis said.
“Why?” Stu growled. There was a paranoid hitch in his voice.
“Nothing, nothing. Know how it is. Too much time on my hands, I expect.”
His poor-old-soldier act had the intended effect of softening his friend’s prickly edges. “No luck, then? Still doing the warehouse job?”
“Got one or two irons in the fire,” Tallis said, jaunty. Who was he kidding?
“Glad for you, mate. Does your heed in, not having a proper job. I should know.”
“But you’re all right,” Tallis pointed out.
“Aye, pushing bits of paper around.” His voice was corrosive.
If Tallis had been a decent sort of a mate, he’d have told Stu that he was never going to get his old job back as long as he was on the sauce. Truth was, Stu wasn’t in the mood for listening. Hadn’t been for quite some time.
“You’ve got to stop thinking about the past, Paul. Won’t do you any good.”
Tallis could have said the same. Why else was Stu drinking himself to hell in a bucket? “You’re right,” he said. “Well, you take care, now.”
“Aye, have to meet for a bevy.”
“You’re on,” Tallis said, eyes already scanning his address book for the next number on the list.
This time it was answered after the first ring.
“Christ, you’re quick off the draw.”
“Right by the phone. How you doing?” Finn Cronin’s voice was full of warmth and, for a moment, Tallis was reminded of Finn’s brother, Matt. Matt had served with Tallis way back. They’d joined the army together, trained together, got drunk and pulled birds together. Matt had been the colleague he’d rescued under friendly fire. In spite of Tallis’s best efforts to save him, Matt hadn’t made it home.
“Good,” Tallis lied. “And you?”
“Not bad. Carrie’s pregnant again.”
“Christ, how many’s that?”
“This will be our fourth. But that’s it.”
“Going for the unkindest cut of all?” The thought made his eyes water.
“Carrie’s idea. Doesn’t want to spend the rest of her days on the Pill, screws around with her body apparently, mood swings, headaches, mostly.”
“Fair enough,” Tallis said, feeling awkward. “I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”
“You want to doss down at ours for the weekend.”
“Smashing idea but no.”
“Pity. I’d hoped we could have a repeat of the Dog and Duck.”
“Only just recovered from last time.” Tallis let out a laugh. “No, it’s…” He hesitated. Was he asking too much of Finn? Would it put him in a difficult position? Oh, sod it. “I need something checked out.”
“Come to the right man. I spend my entire life checking things out.”
“Well, it’s not a thing exactly, more a person, a cool-looking blonde, actually.”
“Tell me more,” Finn said, voice throbbing with curiosity. “I can feel my journalistic streak stirring.”
That what these Southerners call it, Tallis thought drily. “Her name’s Sonia Cavall. She’s connected to the Home Office.”
“The Home Office?” Finn sounded amazed. “And you’re asking me to check her out?”
“That’s about it, yes.”
“Nice looking, you said.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Not like what?” Finn laughed. So what’s it really like? his voice implied.
Tallis held back. He’d known Finn for years. After Matt’s death, they’d vowed never to lose touch so that whenever Tallis was in the West Country, he made a big point of seeing him. However long the absence, they always had a blast. Tallis was also godfather to Finn’s youngest son, Tom. Tallis trusted Finn, but he was still a journalist and God knew what he might do with the information. “She’s tying up loose ends, you know, from last year,” he said elliptically.
“Right,” Finn said, his curiosity seemingly appeased. “Timescale?”
“Soon as. Don’t kill yourself for it.”
They talked a bit. Tallis sent his love to Carrie and the kids, double-checked Tom’s birthday, which happened to be the following week then signed off.
In the two hours before he went to work, Tallis tidied up, pulled on some sweats and trainers, and went for a run in the hope that it would flush the last of the alcohol from his system. A shower and cheese sandwich later, and dressed in black trousers and a bright white shirt with the company logo emblazoned on the breast pocket, he drove the short distance to the out-of-town warehouse where he worked.
CHAPTER FIVE
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
