She almost smiles: it’s exactly what her dad would have said.
‘You drive onto my property and ask who I am?’ continues the stranger, his face reddening. He pulls a club from his golf bag.
‘Feel free to take a swing,’ she says. ‘It might iron out a few of the dents.’
There’s something about him that seems familiar: the way he carries himself; the way he’s peering into the car, as if assessing who he’s up against. He’s confident, and his broad shoulders and solid arms suggest he might be right. But that confidence suddenly disappears and he takes several steps back, stumbling on the gravel.
‘I know you!’
At first Katie thinks he’s talking to her and that she was right, he’s recognised her from an old case and it’s more than the bonnet of her car she should be worried about. But she turns for a split second to Nathan and sees he’s pressed his back into the door and lowered his head right down.
‘I’m a police officer,’ she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her warrant card. The man has moved round to the front of the car, and she has to press the card up against the windscreen to show him. He barely looks at it, so she pops open the door and half-steps out, leaving the engine running, ready to slip back in and throw the car into reverse if need be. ‘This is not who you think it is. And we are no threat to you. We just want to talk.’
This time her words seem to have broken through, and he glances across at her, the club now resting on his shoulder.
‘What about?’
She’d like to be honest and say she doesn’t have a clue, but not before she knows who she’s talking to.
‘As you will have seen from my card, I’m DS Katie Rhodes. I work Serious Crimes back in London, and—’
She was intending to continue, to offer up her own story in the hope of hearing his, but from the very mention of her name his mouth has fallen open and the golf club has slipped from his hand and slapped against the gravel. He takes a step forward, staring intently at her.
‘Christ, I can see it!’ he says. ‘How did I not see it before? And this is the profiler?’ He glances across at Nathan. ‘The one who always shied away from the papers, but whose face is now plastered across every single one?’
Once more Katie considers the age of the man, the vague familiarity and the level of aggression and comes to a new conclusion.
‘You worked with my dad,’ she says, trying to make it sound like she’d known all along.
‘I was his partner for fifteen years,’ he says. ‘He talked about you all the time. Sadly we never got to meet.’
She reaches for the name and is relieved when it comes to her.
‘Detective Sergeant Barclay,’ she says with a smile.
‘It was Detective Chief Inspector when I retired a few years back, but don’t you worry about that. Your dad was always very particular about authority, a real stickler for the rules…’ He slows, taking in her crumpled appearance. ‘But you can call me Malcolm.’ He matches her smile, but it doesn’t linger. ‘Now you didn’t come out here just to say hello. In fact, you shouldn’t have been able to come out here for any reason. This address is only known to a select few, seeing as I’ve made some pretty high-profile enemies over the years.’ While he says this his eyes are darting left and right. Katie’s do the same, and she finds there’s not much to see except for a wood on the other side of the road and a glimpse of the neighbouring properties.
She decides to take a punt. It’s not that she has nothing to lose – pretty much everything is on the line here – but whatever might have held her back before seems to have frayed and now finally snapped.
‘Superintendent Taylor,’ she says, and leaves it at that. From the way the man’s head tilts and offers the tiniest nod she knows she’s guessed well.
‘How is he?’ asks Barclay.
‘Better than my dad,’ says Katie.
The old detective’s face twists in discomfort and he releases a long breath. ‘I heard about that. I’m so sorry. I should have gone to visit Simon.’
Simon. She hasn’t heard him called that in a long time; even in the care home it’s always Mr Rhodes.
‘I wanted to go. But…’ Barclay stops to search for the words.
‘I understand,’ she says, thinking of her own reluctance, her own regret.
‘I lost my own dad to dementia. When he was younger than I am now. And some days…’ He reaches up and rubs the side of his balding head. ‘Some days when things aren’t coming to me clearly…’ He seems to have lost some of his original size. ‘I was never scared of anything at work, and we came across so many truly terrible things—’
‘That’s what I came here for,’ Katie jumps in, spotting her chance to move things along. ‘I need to know about the Maclean case.’
‘Really?’ he says casually, slipping the golf club back into the bag and avoiding her gaze. ‘Why?’
‘Because my dad has been talking. Not much, and not cohesively, but it’s clearly causing him a lot of distress. I hoped you might be able to help.’
He lifts the bag and carries it towards the boot of the BMW. It’s a car built for speed more than practicality, and once again Katie finds her anger building. This is the retirement her dad should have enjoyed.
‘It’s all in the papers,’ he says, looking up briefly.
‘All of it?’
‘The important bits are. Your dad was a bloody hero.’
‘Do you remember what happened? Only, he said a few things—’ She breaks off, hoping that Barclay might fill in the rest.
‘I remember,’ he replies. ‘I don’t mind discussing this with you, but we should probably go inside.’
‘You’re worried someone might overhear?’
He smiles at this suggestion. ‘My concern is about keeping dry,’ he says, pointing to the dark clouds gathering above and moving for the door, beckoning her to follow.
‘Is he helping with your investigation?’ he asks, nodding towards the car.
‘Offering a perspective. It’s not personal to him, unlike…’ She moves in closer and lowers her voice. ‘He’s looking to be occupied, as well you can imagine.’
‘But shouldn’t that be the case you’re working on? Shouldn’t you be searching for his brother?’
‘Superintendent Taylor has given me time to recharge my batteries. These past few days have been…’ she looks down, unable to find the words. ‘I’m sure you understand, sir.’
‘Malcolm,’ he corrects her, pushing open the front door at the same time as Nathan climbs out of the car. ‘Can I get you both a cup of tea?’
‘That would be great,’ she says with a genuine smile. She wishes she’d come to see this man sooner, and on her own terms, if only to talk about Dad. Nathan catches up and declines a drink and a handshake, keeping his arms fixed tight to his sides.
The living room is just as she’d pictured it from the outside, dominated by a huge stone fireplace filled with dried flowers, not logs, and with an even bigger television hung above it. The carpets are thick and obviously new, and they’ve been asked to take their shoes off. Katie feels rather embarrassed; in the rush to get out last night she threw on the first pair of socks she could find, which happen to have an enormous hole in the toe.