Carver - By Tom Cain Page 0,80

anyway, and the way she behaved, I believed it.’

‘And you people weren’t violent before she arrived, four or five months ago?’

Bull gave a feeble shake of the head, wincing at the effort. ‘No … I mean, we believed in direct action as a way of making our point. But no one ever got hurt. We were just trying to attract people’s attention to what was being done to the planet.’

‘Then along comes Uschi Kremer and says …?’

‘Well, she never said anything to us women. But she was always whispering with Bryn, or taking him off to dinner … I’m sure he slept with her. She was certainly making it very obvious she was available.’

‘So she’s attractive?’ The bell was ringing louder now.

‘If you like that kind of thing. Personally, I think it’s cheap and vulgar. But you know what men are like …’

‘We fall for that kind of thing …’ Carver said, as it all tumbled into place: the woman who could seduce men at will, who’d always been able to make anyone do anything she wanted. Could it really be her?

‘Describe Uschi Kremer,’ he asked.

Bull gave a little ‘Huh!’ of disapproval. ‘Well, she’s older than she likes to admit, that’s for sure. The way she acts, you’d think she was in her early thirties, maybe even her twenties. But if she’s a day under forty, I’d be surprised. If you really look at her, close up, it’s much more obvious.’

Fenwick was leaning forward a little in his seat now, aware that something had changed. There was a new atmosphere of expectation in the room.

Carver already knew the answers when he asked, ‘Height, weight, eyes, hair colour?’

‘Oh, well … she’s a couple of inches taller than me, I suppose, and I’m five foot six. But she’s very slim. If she weighs much more than nine stone I’d be amazed. She’s less than that, even. She’s a redhead, so she’s got that colouring. You know, blue eyes …’

‘Freckled skin?’

Bull started, surprised. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Quite full lips: you know, pouty … sexy …’

Now she gave a puzzled frown. ‘I suppose so, yes, if that’s what you think is sexy. But how do you …?’

Carver raised a finger to his face. ‘A little groove, on the end of her nose … just here?’

‘Yes … yes, that’s right. Do you know her?’ Now Bull was displaying the anxiety of someone who suspects that they may have been the victim of an elaborate practical joke. Fenwick, too, was looking at Carver as if he was trying to spot the trick he was playing.

Carver got out his phone, put the black and white photo of Celina Novak on screen, and held it up so that Bull could see it. ‘Well, you tell me … is this her?’

‘Yes! That’s Uschi all right, though she looks a lot younger there.’

‘Thank you, Deirdre … thank you very much indeed.’

‘Really … have I helped?’

‘Oh yes. A lot.’ Carver nodded at Fenwick. ‘Thanks, doctor. Couldn’t have done it without you.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll be on my way,’ he said.

59

* * *

Paxford, Gloucestershire

ON THE FRINGES of a village on the northern edge of the Cotswolds, where the last boxy little houses of a newly built estate met the first drab fields of farmland, stood a run-down scrap metal site. Its single-page website was dotted with contemporary, eco-friendly buzzwords like recycling and reclamation. But that didn’t alter the reality of a grimy, litter-strewn graveyard for abandoned cars and piles of metallic junk – from shopping-trolleys to radiators and old library shelves – run by three oil-stained, boilersuited men fuelled by PG Tips and nicotine. None of them were present as Uschi Kremer – alias Magda ‘Ginger’ Sternberg, alias Celina Novak – drove up the dusty lane that led beneath the arch of a long-abandoned railway and turned in through the scrapyard gates, ignoring the sign that said the yard was closed. The two black Range Rovers were waiting for her. Braddock was leaning against one of them, smoking. As she drove up, he threw the cigarette on the floor and ground it under his heel. The driver of the other Range Rover got out and walked towards his boss.

‘This is Turner,’ Braddock said as Ginger emerged from her car.

She did not bother to shake their hands or say hello. ‘There’s no one else here?’ she asked.

‘No. Gone to lunch,’ Braddock replied.

‘And when are they coming back?’

‘When they’ve pissed away the five hundred quid I gave them down the bookies and