Page 36 of Tell No One
When windows were opened at the front of the cottage, Tag felt the breeze flowing through the room. There were a few paintings on the walls, all of them landscapes or seascapes, and Tag liked them. But no ornaments, no knick-knacks, no photographs. Not a home.
“I need to go and buy food,” Delaney said. “There’s a guest room upstairs you can use. Don’t go out. Don’t answer the door, not that I expect anyone to come knocking. I’ll be an hour or so.”
He walked past Tag through to the kitchen.
“What if you don’t come back?” Tag asked.
Delaney turned and raised his eyebrows.
Tag shrugged. “Car crash, spontaneous combustion, alien abduction? Can I have your room if I like it better?”
Delaney laughed and left through the back door.
Tag exhaled. He didn’t know what to make of the guy. What was real? Was this even his house? He put his backpack down on one of the couches and explored.
Just four doors upstairs. The first one led to a bathroom with a shower over the bath. There was a pile of neatly folded blue and grey towels in a cupboard. Tag ran his fingers over them. They were so soft. He swallowed hard. Full bottles of bodywash, shampoo and conditioner were stored in the vanity unit. Everything looked unopened.
The next door was an airing cupboard, the one after opened onto what he thought was the guest room. A double bed, empty chest of drawers and equally empty wardrobe. Was this where Delaney wanted him to sleep? Not with him? Sleeping with him wouldn’t be a hardship. Tag was a bit disconcerted that he wanted to after what Delaney had told him.Is he really a killer?
Tag looked out of the window onto the back of the house. At the bottom of the garden, which was mostly lawn—and the grass looked recently cut—was the field he’d seen earlier. It was planted with some sort of cereal crop that was waving in the wind. In the distance, on the left, he could see a church tower and the roofs of houses. He wished he knew where he was. He wished he’d taken all his money out of the bank because now he was going to worry when he used his card.
Delaney’s room wasn’t much different to the guest room, just a little bigger. There was a book at the side of the bed, a thriller by a Scandi writer Tag hadn’t heard of. Jussi Adler-Olsen. There were clothes in the chest of drawers and the wardrobe, but not a lot. Nice clothes though. Lacoste polos, Calvin Klein boxers, Paul Smith shirts… Casual and smart wear. The sort of clothes Tag couldn’t afford. The ensuite had a huge shower and more of the same towels, and along with shampoo, razors and deodorant, there was lube and condoms.
Did Delaney have a boyfriend? A partner? A husband even? It didn’t feel like it, but what did Tag know? Nothing he’d seen had told him much about Delaney. The guy liked things to be neat—possibly. He liked the colour blue—possibly. He liked to read. Unless the books were just for show, bought in bulk from some charity shop. He’d not been here for a few weeks at least and it didn’t feel like his home. Were the lube and condoms for show too?
Tag went back downstairs and looked in every cupboard and drawer, and only found the sort of things that any house would have. Pots, pans, plates, glasses, cutlery… One thing that puzzled him was that there was food in the fridge and freezer. Not fresh food, but enough to eat that Delaney hadn’t needed to go off to the shops right then. They could have had pasta and pesto, for a start. Defrosted a loaf or eaten beefburgers and buns. There were even bottles of beer and wine. So why had he left?
The other thing that nagged at him was the thought that there was something he was missing. Maybe a secret place where Delaney kept stuff he didn’t want anyone to find. Somewhere maybe that he’d keep that gun. Any hold Tag could have over him, any information he could use made it worthwhile looking again. So he did another search, this time with different eyes, tapping walls, feeling for hidden panels, fumbling for catches in odd places. Tag started to sing as he snooped. Maybe it was nerves, but the place was too quiet.
He found a box hidden at the back of the woodpile next to the woodburning stove. Just a tattered biscuit tin, the sort Tag might have put his treasures in when he was a kid. Inside were two UK passports with Delaney’s picture but two different names. Scott Butler and David Walsh. And one US passport with the name Ryan Ellis. Tag didn’t think any of those names were Delaney’s either. There was also a wodge of cash: pounds, euros and US dollars. And six mobile phones and chargers. He put everything back.
Tag almost wished he’d not found it. He thought about going up into the attic, but what else did he need to know? Delaney was an under-the-radar guy. The sort of bloke it was dangerous to know, but one that Tag had to currently rely on. He grabbed a picnic blanket from the utility room, plastic covered on one side, material on the other, chose a book from the shelf at random, then went out onto the lawn.
He unfolded the blanket, flapped it into the air and let it fall. Then he stripped to his boxers and lay down in the sun. He tried to read, but his mind was racing too fast to concentrate. Did he already know too much for Delaney to let him go? But if he could get Delaney to like him, he wouldn’t want to get rid of him. Would he? The Stockholm Syndrome thing?Could I fake it?
A guy like Delaney would see through him in a second.Why do I even like him? He’s dangerous. Oh God, maybe that’s why. Different and dangerous. And sexy and good-looking and…Oh fuck it. He rescued me.No one had ever saved Tag from anything. Delaney had saved him twice. Once at Harborne House and the second time today when that guy had held that gun on him. Maybe he didn’t need to fake the kidnap syndrome. Tag wanted to stay with him and even if Delaney didn’t care for him in the way Tag would have liked, maybe that would change.
Delaney had no intention of being away for an hour. He went to the local shop, picked up a selection of items and was soon on his way back. But instead of pulling onto the drive, he continued past the house, parked in the entrance to a field, a spot he’d used before, and called Henry.
“Can you talk freely now?” Henry asked.
“Yes.”
“I assume you had the young man with you, which is somewhat of a surprise, considering you told me that you’d delivered him back to where he lived. What the hell is going on?”
“I did deliver him back. But when I came down into the shop after dealing with Chason, Tag was standing there. He’d found a ripped-up envelope on the driver’s side of the car on the way back from Harborne House. On the back of the envelope, someone had scribbled the Kirby Street details. Not me. Who had the Mercedes before me? Why wasn’t it valeted?”
Henry sighed. “I’ll find out. Rap some knuckles. But how the hell did he figure out it was happening today?”
“Tag was with me yesterday when I had a call from Barker telling me when it was happening. Tag put a very obtuse two and two together and was on Kirby Street when we arrived at the dealers. He recognised me.”
“But you were in Jewish garb.”
“He still recognised me.”
“Fuck.”
“He’s bright. And not the rent boy I was told he was.”
