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Later that evening
Though startled to see him standing bold as brass in the kitchen, with a mug in his hand, Thurstan succeeded in not showing it. “How the hell did you get in?”
Nicks smiled at him. “It’s amazing the courses the Police will send you on if you’re in the right department.”
“But ... it was alarmed?”
“You have to turn it on first.” He put the mug on the counter. “I hope you don’t mind, Chief Inspector, but I helped myself to a cuppa. Red Bush, very discerning.”
Thurstan put his briefcase down, removed his jacket and placed it calmly on the hooks screwed to the kitchen cabinet. Ostensibly, it was an act of relaxation but the reality was he wanted freedom of movement should he need it.
It wasn’t missed by Nicks. “You’re not planning to do something silly are you?”
“Like what?”
“Like, trying to arrest me.”
Thurstan ignored the question. “Had a good nose around, have you?”
Nicks shook his head. “No, but that’s quite a classical music collection you have there.” He took a sip of tea. “Classical Ads 1 and 2. I’m impressed.”
Thurstan almost thanked him but managed not to. “What do you want, Nickson?”
“I need your help and let’s face it, you owe me.” He paused, observing the reaction. Satisfied, he continued. “I always thought you’d be a sympathetic ear, albeit reluctantly.” He pulled a chair from under the table. “I know it goes against the grain, and I’d be the same, but we both know they’re just pond scum.”
Nicks sat down and waved his hand at the empty chair opposite. “What the Police can’t achieve, I can. Permanently. Take me out the equation? Someone else will take my place and you’ve worked that out, now, I know you have.”
Thurstan joined him. “So, a simple ‘thank you for dragging me out of that burning building’ won’t do? You want me to throttle back, give you a free rein?” He took a deep breath. “I might have some sympathy or empathy, call it what you want, for what you’re doing but it’s not what I do. I catch killers and whichever way you might dress it up, you’re a killer.” He shrugged his shoulders, “It’s up to a jury to decide if you’re a murderer.”
Nicks looked at him, a slight smile playing across his lips. “Ah, room to manoeuvre then.” He held his hand up, halting Thurstan’s reply. “I’m not asking you to ignore evidence and opportunities. I am asking you for a ‘truce’, for want of a better word ... and some assistance.”
They eyed each other in silence for several moments then Thurstan replied, “OK, I’m listening.”
Relief flooded through Nicks. “Your body in the cottage? Don. He was my controller. Without him, I’m out on a limb and I need to even up my chances.”
“Chances of what?”
Nicks sat back, rubbed his hands up and down his face and sighed. “I’m not entirely sure but I may be next.” He saw the disbelief in the DCI’s face.
“I’ve read the newspapers. It’s not right. There’s a lot more to Don’s death than a possible sex game gone wrong. He wouldn’t have been interested in a woman for sex. A bloke, yes, but not a female.” He leaned forward. “At the moment I can only speculate, but I need to know what you’ve got, what you found then, maybe, I can help you solve this.”
Thurstan sat thoughtfully for several moments, examining Nicks face and lack of body language. “Who, exactly, do you work for? I presume it’s a shadowy Government thing?”
Nicks laughed. “I don’t, exactly, know. I presumed the same thing. My handler does as well.” For the following minutes, he explained the depth of his and Simon’s knowledge. It was a shallow grave.
Thurstan got up from the table and produced a bottle of Black Bush, taking two crystal tumblers from a kitchen cabinet. “Ice?” A shake of the head.
He sat back down. “I know it’s not what it was made to look like. I’ve read the pathologist’s report.” A mouthful of his drink and he told Nicks what he knew, describing the scene, the lack of meaningful evidence, the pure heroin overdose, the missing clothes, the curious threads and the fact he still didn’t know who the hell Don actually was. “He didn’t and doesn’t officially exist, as far as I can determine. No cards or other ID.” Another sip. “Funny thing is, I remembered I’d seen him before, in town, speaking with the Chief Con’s secretary. We even tried tracing the ownership of the cottage but it led us nowhere. I presume, now, it was a safe house?”
Nicks shrugged his shoulders. “It would seem that way. He never told me anything about it. I liked him but it wasn’t that kind of relationship.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “I take it you spoke to her?”
“Missus Byrne?” Thurstan nodded and told him what she’d said.
Nicks shook his head. “Don wouldn’t be taking those lessons. He was fluent in several languages, French being one of them. Either she’s lying about the whole thing, and you have to ask why, or he was using it to cover some activity?”
He sipped his drink. Thurstan was about to speak when Nicks cut him off. “What does she look like, the Chief’s secretary?”
He described Mrs Byrne and asked, “Do you know her?”
Nicks shrugged. “We were never formally introduced but I’m pretty certain it’s her. I went for a briefing at a safe house. She was there. It explains a lot.” He caught the enquiring look.
“We were getting intel from somewhere within Fantasy Island. Nothing over the top: just shift rotas, police interest in my targets, analysis of patrol activity, personal info and your drinking habits, that sort of thing. It would seem she’s the one supplying it. She’s ideally placed anyway. It would account for why she’d lie about their association and Don could’ve used the lessons as a legitimate point of contact.”
Thurstan sipped his whiskey, pensively. There was silence. Finally, he said, “Who’s the girl?”
Nicks suppressed a smile. “Anca? She’s my wife.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“What? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t spot your guys in the van?”
Another sip and a little shake of the head.
Nicks spoke again. “Where’s your woman these days? Still together?”
He noticed the look of subdued shock in Thurstan’s eyes. “I’ve known where you live for a long time. She looks a nice girl and I have to say, you both looked very happy together.”
“We’re still a couple. Shifts are a problem but we manage.” He swirled the contents of his glass. “I’m surprised you don’t know.”
Nicks smiled. “I’ve had other things on my mind. Still in the FIU is she?” Thurstan nodded, reluctantly.
“Look, I have to go, Chief Inspector. I’ve someone waiting for me. I need to mull all this over and I’ll be in touch.” He finished his drink.
“Just call me Thurstan. What do you prefer I call you?”
They walked to the front door.
As they shook hands, the DCI looked at him searchingly. “What makes you think I won’t just say, ‘fuck it’, Nicks, and have you arrested, next time? A tick’s a tick. Another arrest notched onto the old career stick.”
“You’re an honourable man, Thurstan.” Nicks smiled at him.
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Maybe not.” He grinned. “But I’d bet on it.” He unlatched the door and strolled down the path. Night had crept over the close. The security lights came on and the headlights of a car, parked on the corner, briefly flashed.
“By the way, the alarm will be on, next time,” Thurstan called after him.
Nicks turned and waved a small black object back at him. “Not to worry. It won’t be a problem. I’ll give you a call. Same means.”
Thurstan watched them drive away; interior light disabled and the registration light only coming on when too far away to be read.
As they turned the corner, Simon looked at Nicks and said, “Well? Did he come across?”
Nicks buckled his seat belt. “Yep.”
“Can we trust him?”
“Hell no!” Nicks laughed.
Back in the kitchen, Thurstan poured himself another whiskey. Two cubes from the dispenser on the fridge and he swirled the contents, taking a mouthful. He pulled his job’s phone from the jacket on the door and eyed it, thoughtfully. Placing it on the table, he wandered into the back room to view his security footage.
Five minutes later, he returned to the kitchen disappointed; Static interference and the occasional unfathomable clip, all the result of Nick’s disruption device. He topped up his glass.