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 was the faint smell of her perfume, a pleasant contrast to salt and vinegar. He changed out of his work clothes and took a beer from the fridge, flipping off the top and drinking straight from the bottle. He’d barely sat down when the phone began to ring. He glanced at his watch. This time he felt no anxiety. There was only one person it could be: his mother.
She spoke softly so as not to wake his dad. Tallis asked after him.
“Not so good. Had another session of chemo yesterday. Always knocks him about.”
Tallis bit his lip. How long could his dad go on like this? he wondered. Did stubborn men take longer to die? “And you, how are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, stoic as usual. Only Tallis could detect the false note in her voice. Early on, when the cancer had been diagnosed, he’d thought her nursing experience would help. Now he believed it a curse. She was far too aware of the medical implications. However viewed, his dad’s condition was terminal, and his mother was in bits about it.
“Shall I come over?” he asked. “To visit you?” he added nervously. His father had refused to see him since the blow-up with Dan and Belle. With his dad being so ill, Tallis didn’t feel he could challenge the old man’s decision.
“It’s difficult at the moment,” his mum said, guarded. “I really don’t like leaving him.”
“What about the nurse? Couldn’t she stay with him for a while?”
“He wouldn’t like it.” No, Tallis thought. There was so much his father disliked—him, for a start. An early memory of sweating over maths homework flashed through his mind, his father standing over him, jaw grinding, demanding the correct answer and, in the absence of one, telling him he was no bloody good. For a long time Tallis had believed it to be true. They’d always had a strained relationship, probably because his dad had been a police officer and his youngest son had had a habit of running with the pack as a teenager. His dad had never been so pleased as when he’d decided to join the army. Of course, by then, Dan was already cutting it with West Midlands Police. Dan, the favoured one. Dan who never did any wrong.
“You need to take care of yourself, Mum, keep a bit back for you.” She hadn’t done in almost forty years of marriage, so why start now? he thought. Except now it was more important than ever. How else would she survive when his dad was gone?
“I’m all right, son. You mustn’t worry.” You have your own troubles was what she meant. “Any luck with finding another job? Didn’t you have an interview lined up?”
“Care of Max. It fell through,” he said honestly.
“Never mind. Something will turn up.” It just did, Tallis thought gloomily, but he’d have been mad to take it. “I spoke to Dan yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah?” Tallis said with cool. “All right, is he?”
“Fine. Settling in well, enjoying the new job. Seems to be finding his feet nicely. Says the other officers are friendly enough.” She sounded breathy and awkward.
“Good.” Not that it ever bothered Dan if colleagues liked him or not.
“He asked after you.”
“Did he?” Why? Tallis thought suspiciously.
“Don’t you think you two …?”
“No, Mum.”
“But you can’t go on like this.”
Why not? Tallis thought. His father hadn’t spoken to his own brother for over twenty years. Vendettas must run in the family. “The way it has to be.”
“Funny, that’s what Dan said.”
“Did he?” Tallis said, genuinely taken aback.
“I hate all this. You used to be so close.” Her memory was cushioned by nostalgia, Tallis thought. He mostly recalled being beaten up and humiliated. It had been Dan who’d swung a spade at his head from which he still bore the scar. “Remember when you were kids?” she said brightly. “You used to play removal men.”
“Doug and Kredge,” Tallis burst out, grinning in spite of his feelings. God knew where the names had come from. He’d have been about six at the time. Dan had played the foreman, bossy as ever. He’d been Doug, his oppo.
“You spent hours shifting stuff about.” His mother laughed.
His mother’s laugh was so rare these days it made Tallis misty-eyed. “No change there,” he told her.
“Still steeped in home alterations?”
“‘Fraid so. Not that I seem to be making a great deal of progress. The garden’s a wilderness and I still can’t decide whether I did the right thing, knocking the sitting room through to the kitchen.”
“Must be costing you a fortune.”
“It is.”
“Thought about getting a lodger?”
Only if they were dark-haired, thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six. Tallis smiled to himself. “I don’t think so, Mum.”
“Might help with the money.”
“The way the place is, I’d have to pay them.”
His mother laughed softly. “Think you’ll stay?” The question was floated like a feather on a millpond. He