Night Vision Page 16

  ‘Ah. So what colour dog are we likely to get back?’ He helped Naomi into the rear seat and then collapsed beside her with a deep sigh.

  ‘Tough time?’ Harry said softly.

  ‘It has been, yes. I have to say it would have been tougher if I hadn’t known you’d all been there for Naomi. I’m grateful, Harry.’

  ‘No need to be, you know that. We’re all family, Alec.’

  She felt him nod. She wanted to ask about the case, about Munroe, about so many things, and, for once, she didn’t think he’d be reticent about Harry listening in. Harry already knew so much. Naomi sensed, though, that he didn’t want to talk right now. That all Alec wanted was to sit quietly in the car and forget for a few minutes. Instead she said, ‘There didn’t seem to be many in the church. I’d have expected it to be full.’

  ‘A dozen or so people,’ Harry confirmed. ‘Maybe there’ll be more at the cemetery.’

  ‘A lot of the old crowd have moved away,’ Alec said. ‘And I suppose we’re a long way from London. Will there be a wake?’

  ‘No one said anything.’

  ‘The mother wasn’t there,’ Alec said. ‘What was her name . . .?’

  ‘Gwenda,’ Naomi said. ‘I didn’t get to speak to Belinda.’

  ‘I said hello as they all came out. I’m not sure she knew who I was. Clive McAllister was there, with Josie and Terry Livingstone. Gaynor Hedges, and a man I didn’t recognize. Others that seemed to be family.’

  She reached for his hand and held it tight, feeling the weariness that suffused him. Weariness and something, she sensed, close to despair. ‘Don’t go back,’ she said. ‘Alec, you can always just walk away, you know that. No one will think any the less of you.’

  ‘I will,’ he said. ‘I’ll think less of me.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Afterwards, we’ll talk about it.’

  The car turned into the cemetery gates, and the wheels crunched on the gravel surface. Harry stopped the car. ‘We’re here,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘Um, seeing as Alec’s here and I didn’t really know the deceased . . . I’m happy to stay in the car if—’

  ‘Harry, please come with us,’ Naomi said.

  ‘Besides,’ Alec added, ‘I’m sort of on duty. I’d better get back to Munroe. Look, if any of the family ask, I just managed to call in on the way to somewhere else and Munroe is simply a work colleague who got dragged along. Naomi, not even Belinda knows exactly what happened to Jamie in that car.’

  ‘You mean it’s still not an official murder enquiry?’ Harry was startled. ‘Alec, how can you all keep that from the family?’

  ‘It’s a murder enquiry, yes, but no one is saying that officially. Harry, this is not like any situation I’ve ever been involved in, and I’ll admit I’m far from happy, but . . .’

  ‘No, but it’s so . . . What will happen when the family have to be told? They will be told eventually, won’t they?’

  ‘Eventually, yes. I expect the official line will be that new evidence has emerged. Fortunately, that isn’t my call, Harry, and I’m hoping I won’t be the one to break it to them. All this came from well above my rank and pay grade.’

  ‘And must have been decided practically on the spot,’ Naomi said wonderingly. ‘Alec, that’s so irregular.’

  ‘What isn’t about this? You aren’t supposed to know either, never mind Harry, so—’

  ‘Secret is safe,’ Harry said. He sighed. ‘I suppose in a way it’s better for the family to believe this was just an accident. That’s bad enough, but to know your loved one was deliberately murdered, that’s something else again.’

  And Harry knew the truth of that, Naomi thought. His sister Helen, her closest childhood friend, had been taken from her family in exactly that way, and it had been years before the family knew the full truth of the matter.

  ‘Who else is here?’ she asked as they walked to the graveside.

  ‘Only those who came to the church, by the look of things.’ Alec laughed, but there was a sadness in the sound. ‘I can remember the time when if Jamie called and suggested a night out there’d be—’

  ‘Usually about twenty of us, even at short notice.’ Naomi smiled. ‘What happened, Alec? This is so not right.’

  They stood beside the grave, Alec to her left and Harry on her right. Someone read a poem; the vicar, or so she assumed, repeated almost word for word the eulogy he had given in the church. Perhaps he, too, had expected there to be a new audience at the cemetery, or perhaps he hadn’t been able to think of anything new to say. Belinda said a sad farewell to her sister. ‘There’s only me left now, sis. Dad gone and then mum and now you.’

  Ah, the mother was dead too, Naomi thought.

  ‘I’ll miss you so much, and I’m so sorry that we drifted so far apart.’

  Naomi felt the tension in Alec’s body as he heard that. So Belinda had lost touch with her too? That sounded so wrong as well. The sisters were only a couple of years’ difference in age and had always been very close. What had gone so wrong that she’d cut herself off from those she loved, and what had driven her to appeal to Naomi for help? An appeal that had reached out only after Jamie’s death, and then with such a different intent.

  The little party broke up. Naomi and Alec managed to speak to Belinda at last, offering condolences, though it was clear she barely remembered them. Gaynor Hedges, the friend who had invited Naomi on Belinda’s behalf, sidled up to them as they moved off. ‘Hi, Naomi, hi, Alec, glad you could make it.’

  ‘There’s hardly anyone here.’

  ‘No, that’s what we were afraid of. Bel asked me if I could round up as many old friends as possible, but so many of us live somewhere else, and I don’t know any of Jamie’s London friends. I thought some of them would be here though.’

  ‘Didn’t anyone come?’

  ‘One guy, some producer fella she worked with. I’ll introduce you.’ Gaynor sighed. ‘I’d never have pegged Jamie as the first to leave. She was always the last one out the door.’

  Naomi nodded. Terry McAllister touched her arm and said how sorry he was, someone else expressed disbelief. She heard Belinda’s voice thanking them for coming and expressing thanks to the vicar. It was obvious that everyone was drifting away, and no one seemed inclined even to suggest a visit to the local pub to have a drink in Jamie’s honour. Just how far apart had the sisters moved?

  Gaynor returned with someone in tow. ‘This is Matthew Broughton,’ she said. ‘He was working with Jamie just before she died. Matthew, Naomi Blake. Sorry, it’s Friedman now isn’t it, doofus. And her husband, Alec.’

  Where had Harry disappeared to, Naomi wondered as she shook hands with Matthew.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to dash, got to collect the kids from my mum’s. She picked them up from school.’ She pecked Naomi on the cheek. ‘I’ll give you a ring next week and we’ll have that coffee.’

  ‘So,’ Alec said as the silence after the first introduction threatened to become uncomfortable. ‘You worked with Jamie?’

  ‘I did, yes. She talked about the two of you. In fact I think you were the only friends she ever mentioned.’

  ‘She had a lot of friends,’ Naomi said defensively. ‘Once upon a time,’ she added sadly. ‘Matthew, did no one else want to come for the funeral?’

  She could feel him hesitate, and then he said. ‘A few years ago if this tragedy had happened, there’d have been standing room only in the church, I can promise you. I knew her from when she first moved down, and the Jamie I first met was not . . . was not the woman who died. Recently, Jamie had work colleagues, not friends. People she had to interact with to get the job done. I don’t believe she saw anyone socially. She’d leave work, and while the rest of us might go for a drink, or stand around and chat for a few minutes before we went off home, Jamie was just gone. She seemed to go out of her way to alienate people, and that was costing her. I mean, not only on a personal level. Work-wise too.’

  ‘Look,’ Alec said. ‘There’s a pub down the road. The Black Horse. They serve
reasonable food too. How about we all adjourn there?’

  ‘Yes, that would be good,’ Matthew agreed. ‘I could do with a drink, and I drove up first thing so something half decent to eat would be welcome. You’re a policeman, aren’t you? In fact I think—’

  ‘I was too,’ Naomi confirmed. ‘Officer, not man, I mean. That’s how we all met up. We found ourselves covering the same incidents. I liked her a lot. Alec, where’s Harry got to?’

  Alec looked around. ‘Talking to Munroe,’ he said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Oh indeed,’ Alec said.

  Munroe had separated himself from the funeral attendees, standing off to one side in the shade of a cedar tree and watching the interaction. Or lack of it. Alec had seemed to know most of those present, briefing him on who was friend and who was stranger.

  ‘Small turnout,’ Munroe had observed, and Alec had agreed.

  Munroe had been very surprised when Harry Jones wandered across to join him beneath the cedar.

  ‘Feels a bit awkward,’ Harry said, as though Munroe had asked. ‘Not really having known the deceased. Don’t you feel that too?’

  Munroe found he was amused. ‘I often attend funerals,’ he said. ‘I rarely know the one who died.’

  ‘Well,’ Harry observed thoughtfully, ‘I suppose we all need a hobby.’

  Munroe made no comment. He made himself comfortable leaning against the bole of the tree and continued to watch.

  ‘I don’t think I want a eulogy at my funeral,’ Harry said.

  ‘Oh, and why is that?’ Despite himself, Munroe was amused by this balding, dumpy man.

  ‘Because eulogies always seem to pick out the things people think should be remembered, not the things that are really important to the dead person. I can remember my sister’s funeral so vividly. Well, her memorial, really. First time around we didn’t have a body to bury.’

  Interested now, Munroe glanced at the man beside him. ‘So you had two funerals?’ Something from the background reading he had done on the Friedmans, Alec and Naomi, clicked into place. ‘Ah, so you’ll have been Helen’s brother. Naomi’s best friend when they were kids.’

  Many people would have been perturbed that he knew that, or would have asked if Alec had told them, but Harry merely nodded. ‘Helen’s brother, yes. You know, for a very long time I think that’s how we defined ourselves. I was Helen’s brother. The brother of the little girl that disappeared, who everyone knew must be dead but who everyone still talked about as though she might turn up one day and it would all be fine. And Naomi was Helen’s friend. The one that didn’t get killed, or go missing or whatever it was people chose to think had happened to her. I believe, you know, it even affected the way my son thought of himself. Helen was there, in the background. The ghost at the feast.’

  Monroe nodded briefly. ‘Often the way of it,’ he said.

  ‘And yet, I don’t think it’s going to be that way for this poor dead thing, is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m following you.’

  ‘Jamie. Naomi tells me that Dale was a pen name. She was Jamie Foucault. She apparently thought that Dale was snappier – more tabloid, I suppose.’

  Munroe laughed softly. ‘That’s a very snobby thing to say, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, probably. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of that. But don’t you think it’s sad?’

  ‘I take it we’re not talking about her choice of pen name.’

  ‘No, we’re not. I mean, Helen was, as I say, the ghost at the feast, but she was at least there, and there was at least a feast for her to be at. We celebrated my little sister. I don’t think this poor young woman will be celebrated, do you?’

  Munroe shifted his position and looked more directly at Harry. ‘What do you really want to say to me?’

  Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then he said, ‘I suppose I want to say that I am very protective of those I love. As is Alec.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘But the difference between us is that Alec also has a sense of honour. It’s that sense of honour that made him agree to come back and work with you and the rest. Agree much against his better judgement, I might add.’

  ‘And you don’t have a sense of honour?’ Munroe laughed again. ‘Harry Jones, you are one of the most conventional—’

  ‘Perhaps I am. But don’t mistake that for—’

  ‘Harry, are you trying to threaten me?’ Munroe was truly amused now.

  ‘Threaten? No. Look, I’ve known men like you before. My ex-boss was one, and I can make a pretty good guess about your background and what you can be capable of. I’m just telling you. So far you’ve been able to take advantage of Alec’s sense of honour, of his sense of what is right. After Helen died, I realized something about myself. I’m not proud of having realized it, and it doesn’t fill me with any sense of superiority, I’ve just learnt to accept it over the years. I discovered hatred and anger were very much a part of Harry Jones. That I had, if you like, a vengeful spirit. I discovered that, and I made myself a promise: that if anyone I loved were ever threatened, and it came into my purview to do something about it, something to protect them, I would take the part of myself that is angry and vengeful and I would turn it loose. I discovered that, at heart, I’m not a terribly honourable man, Mr Munroe.’

  Phillip Munroe studied Harry with more amusement and then new interest. Harry might be balding, dumpy, and too flabby around the middle, but Munroe looked into his eyes and saw something of himself reflected back.

  ‘Harry? Phillip?’ Alec was calling to them.

  Munroe nodded. ‘Time to join our friends,’ he said. ‘Take my card, Harry Jones. Give me a ring any time your evil twin decides to break out.’

  The Black Horse was an old hostelry. It had been a coaching inn and still retained the archway into the stable block, the cobbled yard and the massive fireplaces inside. The fires were not lit at this time of year, and Naomi missed the scent of wood smoke and the crackle of flames as they were settled at a table and handed menus.

  ‘Come and order at the bar when you’re ready,’ a cheerful voice told them.

  ‘I’ve never been here in the summer,’ Naomi said. ‘I’ve always thought of this as a winter pub.’

  ‘It’s certainly very charming,’ Matthew Broughton commented. ‘Do you know if they still do rooms? I’m not relishing the thought of the drive back tonight.’

  ‘I think so. I’ll ask when I go and order,’ Alec said.

  There was quiet while they all contemplated the menu. Alec and Harry went to the bar to place the order and get drinks. Naomi wondered what Harry and Munroe had been talking about, but didn’t really know how to ask.

  Matthew broke the silence. ‘So, did you know Jamie?’ he asked Munroe.

  ‘No. I’m like Harry, just providing the taxi service. Alec’s working with me on another case.’

  ‘Lucky you could both be spared for the afternoon,’ Matthew said. ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier just to let Alec drive his own car?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘Probably,’ Munroe told him in a tone that stopped the conversation dead.

  Matthew won’t give up, though, Naomi thought. His curiosity has been piqued, and he’ll press the point. She said, ‘I understand Jamie was working on a story about ex service people. Were you involved with that?’

  ‘I was, yes. It’s going to be called Rough Sleepers – at least, it is at the moment, you can never tell what some exec producer will finally do with the title or the sales pitch. And I’ll make sure there’s a dedication to Jamie when it goes out. She started the groundwork for it four or five years ago, but we didn’t get the final go ahead until last year.’

  ‘Is that usual? To have that kind of delay?’

  ‘It’s not uncommon, but in this case there were a couple of rival programmes commissioned, and that put the brakes on. We were told we’d got to find a new angle, and Jamie did. She started looking at comparative care here and in America,
and in countries in the old Soviet Bloc, and she’d managed to do follow-up interviews with several of those featured in earlier documentaries. What was unusual is that she’d got help from several earlier filmmakers, and our film was, in part, updating and collating information about what happened after all the interest had died down.

  ‘Originally she wanted to do a second documentary off the back of this one that focused on other groups in conflict zones and what happened to them when they came home. I’ve got her preliminary notes for that, and I’m going to do all I can to move it on.’

  ‘What kind of groups?’

  ‘Oh, aid workers, medics, both army and civilian, media – that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m not sure I get the link,’ Naomi said. ‘I mean, you said this was a related documentary. Surely there aren’t as many of those people homeless as among the service group?’

  ‘I think that might be the point,’ Munroe said drily.

  ‘Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. We tend to forget that some people are working either in parallel to the armed forces or mopping up after the conflict is officially over – and note, I said “officially” here. I spent years reporting on frontline operations all over the world, and usually the ceasefire was just the start of the bigger problem. Anyway, Jamie’s question was: when you reckon there are really quite large groups of people living in war zones for probably as long a period as many of the troops, maybe even having to defend themselves on occasion, certainly seeing the death and mayhem first hand, what is it about the support systems for them that largely cushions them from the after-effects?’

  Monroe snorted. ‘Give them guns and a body count, see what happens then.’

  ‘That’s exactly the point,’ Matthew persisted. ‘OK, you’ve got aid workers and the like who, often as not, are conscientiously opposed to armed conflict and therefore don’t get directly involved in the shooting. But what about the mercenary groups, the private security, the intelligence agents? Where do they end up?’

  ‘Bouncing at your local nightclub,’ Munroe suggested.