Page 54 of The Dead Come to Stay

Saturday, midafternoon

The Geordie had a name. And he was very forthcoming, even if it required a translator for all the Geordie dialect.

Billie Bowes met Foley some years ago. At the time, he’d been selling sandwiches out of a cart, trying to make a living after

being in lockup for dealing cannabis. Foley came regular, a businessman who didn’t mind buying bacon butties from a former

criminal. They got to be friendly enough for a pint, and Bowes felt honored that a city-boy type in nice suits would bother.

That’s before he knew Foley had been in some trouble himself. It’s just that Foley hadn’t done time; he’d skipped town and

changed his name. Then one day, he asked Billie if he’d like to make a little side money. Yar. All he needed to do was to take a package and hang on to it. Someone would come for a butty, and he’d give him the package

as well.

It wasn’t drugs , Bowes was keen to tell them.

It echoed Dmytro’s earnest admission, too, as if the fact made the trade not truly illegal.

It reminded MacAdams of the old days of car stereo theft.

Someone turned up with a radio, someone else bought it, no questions asked.

It was, as Bowes said for the record, a canny job .

He’d have been happy with that, or so he told them. But Foley had bigger plans.

“And that’s where we begin the last six months,” Green said. She and Gridley were sharing a basket of chips outside in warm

sunshine. They had traded the beloved Red Lion for the pub near the airfield—principally for its view of the river. Possibly

it was all the time spent near the Tyne in Newcastle, but a riverside beer garden just felt right.

“Well, as far as Billie goes, yes,” MacAdams agreed. “But Burnhope and Foley go back a lot further than that.”

“I can see how Foley and Bowes get on. But I’m still surprised a rich boy like Burnhope got mixed up with Foley. He’s not

the criminal type.”

The golden boy wasn’t as spotless as he pretended, though nothing was ever quite a crime. The Eton rumor was probably well-founded and there was further suspicion of cheating at Oxford, as well as a bust-up

over illegal betting on sports. But that was practically clean-nosed by comparison.

“That, I think, was the point.” MacAdams flagged the waiter for the bill. “He as much as told us: he hired Foley to be the

heavy at Hammersmith. Someone who could bully and push people around when necessary.” He nodded to Andrews, who’d just arrived

with brown ale, more chips and a bacon butty. A dish MacAdams was certain he’d never eat again.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“Nah, it’s just getting good,” Green told him, plucking a plastic cup of extra curry from his tray. MacAdams moved over on

the bench.

“We have to make a few guesses on this side of the story,” MacAdams said. They couldn’t ask Burnhope, who was still in hospital and presently in an induced coma. They expected him to pull through, but in the meantime, MacAdams had pieced it together pretty well. “We have to start with Ava.”

Burnhope had everything: A beautiful home, a beautiful wife and, as of five years ago, two kids. MacAdams assumed Ava had

given up her musical career for motherhood; he was right—and wrong. Unable to have children of her own, she determined to

adopt. And that’s when Ava went to Syria, a trip both profound and life altering. She’d found her purpose, and she bent her

will and her efforts—and Stanley’s, too—on bringing over as many refugees to the UK as possible. It was Ava who sought out

Sophie and Fresh Start. But the trip to Syria impacted Stanley, too.

“Burnhope is an art collector. Maybe he brings something back—maybe he doesn’t declare it at customs. Guess what? It’s easy.”

In fact, he and Green were learning just how easy; the UK had surprisingly lax laws by comparison to the EU. “Business had just hit a downturn, so he decides to use his

various connections to bring artifacts in for distribution.”

“Entrepreneurial spirit,” muttered Green.

“Charity, practically,” MacAdams said. “That’s what Gerald Standish told me. Thinks of himself as a mini–British Museum. The

people who buy it—even Burnhope, who trafficked it in—don’t see it as a crime.”

“Oh yes, they do,” Green said, dusting salt from her fingers. “Otherwise, you don’t need the heavy .”

MacAdams pointed a bingo finger in her direction. Foley had told Billie Bowes about his past life; chances were good he’d told Burnhope, too. A semireformed

criminal made the perfect partner.

“Exactly that. And I am guessing the two of them ran the business for at least four years. Burnhope made connections with the art world and cleaned the books; Foley handled the shipping. They weren’t rivals, as we’d suspected, but true partners.

” It put Foley’s last email to Stanley Burnhope in a whole new light.

It really was a partners’ meeting. It just wasn’t about Hammersmith or architecture.

“So Foley’s got the East London connection,” Green said, meaning the Cockney presently in lockup. “The shipments came through

there.”

“Okay. It’s coming in through the London ports. But what’s the loot doing here ? The van was in Abington,” Andrews pointed out. MacAdams understood the confusion all too well; the case had sent them in

circles.

“Golf,” MacAdams said. “Foley played golf with Standish, but not in Newcastle, where he was under Burnhope’s thumb. They played

at the course near Abington Arms.”

It’s probably where Foley first heard about Gerald’s interest in antiquities, where he got the idea about cherry-picking the

best artifacts and selling them off on his own for cash and where he discovered there was a very fine hotel with rich clientele

who might be buyers.

“Can we nail Standish?” Green asked.

“I wish,” MacAdams said, shaking his head. Bowes didn’t give them any names, but even so, he’d been the start of Foley’s endeavor,

not the end of it. “Foley, we now know, had a tendency to get in over his head. Gerald was just one man. To really expand,

he needed a way station. A place where he could go through inventory at leisure. He might have been older and wiser than he

was back in Belfast, but he hadn’t shaken his gambler need for more wins . So he takes over a build in York and starts off-loading some of the shipments there.”

Green had a mouthful of food but waved her hand. “Time to expand,” she said, swallowing. “Get’s the Geordie a van. Then two

vans.”

“Is that when he starts using Dmytro?” Gridley asked.

“No,” MacAdams said, leaning on his elbows. “That’s when he meets Lina.”

It had taken some delicate digging, but Ava had been very happy to help this time. Maryam, the Burnhopes’ nanny, had not come as a sponsored refugee but as an asylum seeker. And she hadn’t come alone. Maryam had a sister named Lina.

They’d come on their own to Fresh Start because refugees were welcome there. Sophie helped with the paperwork and both applied

for asylum. Thus far, all was aboveboard. Except asylum seekers are prohibited from entering the workforce... and Burnhope

needed a nanny. He told Ava she’d been accepted as a sponsored refugee. Lina, meanwhile, remained at Fresh Start on government

support. She was young, attractive and had time on her hands. Foley was single, knew enough Syrian from his travels to be

semiconversant, and—unlike Burnhope—had an easy way with women.

“They fell in love,” MacAdams said.

“Or something,” Green said.

MacAdams ignored the addition. “Then, six months ago, both women had their claims rejected. Burnhope can’t face telling Ava

he lied, so he deepens the hole he’s in. Makes an appeal and greases some palms to make sure things move quickly for Maryam.

Foley naturally expects him to do the same for Lina.”

“But he doesn’t, you’re gonna tell us,” Gridley said rolling her eyes.

“Right. He’s not willing to risk it. And that’s when Foley decides he’s going to bleed him.”

Billie Bowes confirmed that part; suddenly he was driving the vans all over, selling something daily, sometimes for far less

than the things were worth. Foley didn’t care. He sold up and started banking what he could, ready to fly.

“That’s when he tapped Dmytro, and Dmytro tapped the other kids. Right under Fresh Start’s nose.”

“Rash,” said Gridley.

“Desperate, even. Which is how we get to the murder bit,” Andrews said triumphantly. “Dmytro gets caught stealing, Burnhope finds out about the double cross and wham.”

“You’re forgetting our man’s psychology,” MacAdams said. “Stanley doesn’t get his hands dirty. He originally hired Foley to

be the asshole on job sites. No, he isn’t planning to kill him. He needs him.”

“So what happens?”

“You have to remember,” Green said. “It’s Foley who asks for the meeting. A partners’ meeting, his way of saying this is about the artifact business .”

Andrews threw his head back. “The shoes and suit—Foley was ready to split on him, wasn’t he?”

“He’s already married Lina. Now they are going to run away and leave Burnhope behind,” MacAdams explained.

“What a guy,” Gridley sighed. “Deciding not to abandon his pregnant lover this time.”

MacAdams had made note of that, too. And also his kindness toward Trisha, the single mother. In some way, leaving Tula must

have haunted him. So much so that Burnhope knew of her, even knew her name (despite his denial). That’s why it pleased him

when Jo mentioned her living in Abington. Someone would be able to positively ID the body.

“Burnhope thinks he’s getting the drop on Foley, confronting him with his betrayal,” Green went on. “Instead, a smug Foley

says you first .”

MacAdams could well imagine it. Foley was a bully when it came to men; it’s what made him useful to Burnhope. Now he bullied

Burnhope in turn. “He wouldn’t help Lina the way he helped Maryam,” MacAdams agreed. “Now he thinks Burnhope owes them a wedding

present, which he plans to get by blackmail.”

“Okay, I get it,” Andrews said. “He demanded hush money not to reveal Burnhope’s part in it.”