Deadly Admirer

by Christine Green

  ‘It's on the cards, naturally,’ interrupted Roade. ‘We'll have to find her quickly.’

  Roade avoided my eyes. He knew we were dealing with a madman. A man at the end of his psychological tether. A man with a shotgun who, it seemed, had been waiting for some time for this opportunity.

  ‘Could you tell me why they took Vanessa back to her own house? Hook promised her protection. It seems very callous in the circumstances.’

  Roade had the decency to look ashamed. ‘That was a real cockup,’ he admitted. ‘That was O'Conner's bright idea. He thought it might make our man attempt to see her.’

  ‘Take her, don't you mean?’

  ‘No, he thought with a man posted outside and Vanessa locked well in she would be safe. And she was desperate to get home. She insisted. Now they think HE may have managed to hide in the garden shed and then when the coast was clear to get in the house.’

  ‘How, for God's sake?’

  Roade blinked and looked away, embarrassed. ‘If you must know the PC on duty had to go for a pee. He came back to find there was a fire and pandemonium broke out. It was only later when they couldn't get any answer from the house that they realised Vanessa had been taken.’

  I couldn't blame Roade for that. In fact I was feeling increasingly sorry for him.

  ‘What does HE hope to gain?’ I murmured, thinking aloud. ‘Who knows with a nutter?’ said Road. ‘It's beyond me. I suppose it depends if he's obsessed with her or wants revenge for something. If he's obsessed she's got a chance of living – if she plays her cards right. She's got to talk to give herself time. If she starts screaming and tries to make a run for it … well that's it.’

  ‘DS Roade, you have hidden depths,’ I said in admiration.

  Roade turned his away in another bout of embarrassment but he recovered quickly to say, ‘So has this bloke. That's what stopping us finding him. A dark horse, a sleeping villain. But we'll get him in the end.’

  ‘Just as long as we're in time to save Vanessa.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah,’ said Roade. ‘I've got to go now.’

  ‘Just one thing before you go …’

  Roade stood up now, his stomach full, raring to be out and back on the hunt.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Colin Tiffield?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You've seen him?’

  ‘Of course. Our first choice. A nasty creep but he got sorted out.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘In prison.’

  ‘Prison?’

  ‘Yeah. Didn't you know?’

  ‘No, I didn't.’

  ‘He got ten years for raping a twelve-year-old. That's how he lost his leg. Someone threw him over a prison balcony. He was in a coma for three weeks. Didn't do his full term because of his injuries. The little bastard is even trying to claim compensation from the prison authorities for injuries sustained.’

  ‘But he's not capable of doing that.’

  ‘No, but Vanessa's sister has hired a brief. She's doing all the organising.’

  ‘Vanessa didn't tell me. Why didn't she tell me?’

  ‘It seems she didn't know. Her sister didn't mention her existence and unless she saw it in the papers how was she going to know?’

  As Roade moved towards the till that stood near the door of the Happy Sausage, I asked, ‘What time did Vanessa … get taken?’

  ‘No one's at all sure. The fire started about eight thirty but we didn't find she was missing until ten.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  That most certainly let young Christopher off the hook. He had been with me at the time the fire started. Not that he'd been much of a suspect anyway, I thought dejectedly.

  ‘See you then, Kate,’ said Roade cheerfully as he paid the bill, insisting on paying for my tea and toast as well. ‘Make sure you stay well out of this, won't you? You'll only make things worse if you interfere.’ Then he added shyly, ‘You can call me Rob if you like.’

  ‘Gee thanks, Rob.’

  I watched him stride purposefully away on his mission and I felt a tinge of envy that he had the comfort of someone telling him exactly what to do.

  Walking seemed to be therapeutic because I managed to make two decisions. One was I was going to catch him, the other was I was going to save Vanessa. And, as if it might do some good, I kept saying to myself, just hang on, Vanessa. Just hang on!

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I walked slowly back to Percival Road and sat for a while in my car. I couldn't go charging off to Derbyshire suggesting to an excon that his injuries were fake. Nor would that necessarily find Vanessa. He couldn't risk keeping her in the house because of Sheila, or could he? Did she know what was going on or did she deliberately turn a blind eye?

  As I sat there a woman came out of the burnt house. I waited until she drew alongside me and then wound down the window. She was young and she'd been crying.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said.

  ‘You from the press?’

  I shook my head. ‘I'm an investigator.’

  ‘Fire insurance?’

  ‘No, not exactly. I just wondered if you could tell me what happened last night.’

  She stared at me for a moment, her pale grey eyes still showing worry and shock. ‘We're lucky to be alive. If the baby hadn't been crying and been with me downstairs we would never have got out. Our front room is gutted but the upstairs is okay. We were just lucky, very lucky. If a passer-by hadn't banged on my window to tell us the hall was on fire … Well, as it was … we managed to get out of the window.’

  ‘Passer-by?’

  ‘Yes, a woman. She definitely saved us.’

  ‘How was the fire started?’

  She shuddered slightly. ‘A lighted rag in a bottle of petrol put through the letter-box, so the fireman said. Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘And you didn't see or hear anything?’

  Shaking her head she said, ‘No. That's what is so scary. We didn't hear a thing.’

  Hubert met me in the hallway.

  ‘I've got jam doughnuts,’ he said, shaking a paper bag in front of my eyes, ‘to cheer you up. They only need a cup of coffee to wash them down.’

  ‘Come up then, but I haven't got much time. I'm going to Derbyshire.’

  Once in my office Hubert tried to persuade me to wait until tomorrow.

  ‘I'm free all day. I'll buy you lunch.’

  ‘Hubert, you can't buy me for mere chicken and chips in a basket.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Hubert with one of his half smiles.

  ‘I'm going to keep watch on Maple Cottage. I'm taking my camera and with any luck I'll get a photograph of Colin Tiffield doing things he's not supposed to be capable of. He might even lead me to Vanessa.’

  As I mentioned Vanessa I felt depression hit me like a lead weight to the chest. He'd already killed her. He'd planned it long enough and now he'd risked his freedom to have his revenge. Revenge for what, though? After all she wasn't responsible for him going to prison. And it seemed that he had professed love for her. And why had no one seen him hanging around? Even if he had walked well with his artificial leg he would still have been stiff-legged and walked with a slight limp. Noticeable enough even for a busier place than Longborough.

  ‘Is it wise,’ Hubert asked, ‘to go there on your own? You should have more sense.’

  ‘I only plan to watch the house, Hubert. I'm not planning to do anything foolhardy but Vanessa could be still alive, shut up somewhere in the dark, terrified.’

  ‘Of course she's alive,’ said Hubert. ‘You've got to believe that. Even so, it won't help her if you get hurt.’

  ‘I'll be as careful as an elderly nun at Matins.’

  ‘Wish I could believe that,’ he said.

  ‘Tell you what. How about if I leave the heroics till you are with me?’

  Hubert frowned. ‘I don't like the sound of that either. The police are trained to be heroes, we're not.’

  ‘You're never satisfied,
Hubert.’

  He didn't answer and I made coffee and ate my doughnut while Hubert sulked.

  ‘Ring me if you get into bother,’ were his last words as he left my office, his doughnut and coffee left untouched.

  I packed my instamatic polaroid into my shoulder bag, made a flask of coffee, sought out some biscuits and, as a final businesslike token, I put on a scarf, gloves and a pair of boots.

  Driving away from Longborough I was given a bit of a jolt by the sight of search parties wending their way through fields towards barns and outhouses. Silhouetted against the greyish skyline they looked like stick men from a Lowry painting. A bit further on I passed another group. Led by a few uniformed police officers, the bulk of the numbers were made up of villagers who looked as if they were out on an afternoon ramble and occasionally thrust walking sticks into the roadside bushes. They walked two abreast and I had to slow down to pass them. Somehow those thrusts into the hedgerows depressed me. It was as if they were convinced that all they would touch was something that would not be disturbed by a stick. Like a body.

  Halfway to Bonsall, spring stepped back into winter. The sky grew dark and huge snowflakes fell relentlessly. My windscreen wipers hardly coped and I had to drop speed and turn off the car radio so that I could concentrate better. Soon the roads became slushy and the soft whishing noise became irritating. At that moment as I checked in the rear mirror I realised the noise I heard was not just snow on tyres but the sound of breathing and there in the mirror was a face. A man's face. The wheel juddered in my hand and the car skidded as I slammed down on both clutch and brakes. As the car finally stopped I was aware of my heart thumping in my chest and an ‘Oh God!’ that croaked from a dry throat.

  ‘Sorry, Kate,’ said Christopher Collicot. ‘I didn't mean to frighten you.’

  I still couldn't speak properly. I was too angry.

  ‘You stupid … boy,’ I managed to say. ‘You could have killed us both. What the hell are you playing at?’

  ‘I didn't think you'd be that frightened,’ he said. ‘I thought you were tough.’

  ‘I am tough,’ I said, ‘and I'll clock you one in a minute to prove it.’

  Christopher giggled nervously. ‘I knew if I asked you wouldn't let me come. I heard about Vanessa and thought you might be going to look for her. I was coming to Humberstones to see you, and the car was there, the door was open so I slipped in under the blanket on the back seat. I thought I could be of some use …’

  ‘The police are looking for her,’ I interrupted. ‘You would have been more help on the search party.’

  ‘Kate, I really am sorry. But I want to find her desperately.’

  ‘So do I. And so do the police.’

  I started the car, reasoning that even though I didn't want him with me I couldn't just abandon him at the side of an isolated road in the snow.

  As I drove the steady rhythm of the wipers and the silent drift of snowflakes against the windows seemed to calm me. Perhaps Christopher could be of some use. Maybe we could get into Maple Cottage. Exactly how I hadn't worked out yet or what to do once we had, but even so it was worth a try.

  I found the road to Maple Cottage quite easily. I was tempted to park the car at the bottom of the hill and walk from there, so that we could have a snoop round first, but the snow would have soaked us through and Christopher was already looking pinched and cold.

  At the top of the hill I parked the car in front of bushes and trees just at the side of the driveway. No one could enter or leave without us seeing them because Maple Cottage was the end of the road. Stoned-walled fields, white with snow, were the only sight for miles around.

  We sat for some time, drank coffee and ate biscuits. Christopher had to sit beside me in the passenger seat to share the blanket but even so we soon felt chilled. I'd just decided dying of hypothermia was an uncomfortable way to go when we heard a car start up.

  I put my head on to Christopher's lap just after I caught a glimpse of the red of the car.

  ‘Who was in it? What make?’ I asked when I heard it go safely past.

  ‘Red Golf,’ said Christopher, ‘newish. I only saw one in the car. A woman driver, I think; the snow was a bit too thick for me to see properly.’

  We waited a while longer and then, because I wanted to prove to Christopher how decisive and tough I could be and because I was perished with cold, I said, ‘Okay, Christopher, this is it. We're going in.’ Then, as that sounded a bit exciting, I added, ‘Not like the SAS, though; we're going in quietly, having a look round and then coming out. The man inside could well have a shotgun at the ready and I don't want to be for ever known as the private investigator who got the vicar's son shot.’

  ‘You are funny,’ said Christopher. ‘I was a boy scout, you know.’

  ‘Well, let's hope you know more than dib, dib, dib, and how to tie a reef knot.’

  ‘I can get through small windows and pick a lock and I know a bit of karate.’

  ‘Which bit?’ I asked, unconvinced.

  He didn't answer and after that exchange I knew that we couldn't delay any longer, no matter how scared I felt.

  We approached the house through the trees and bushes. The ground was wet and slushy with snow and even though I was wearing boots it splashed above the tops. Keeping to the side of the house well away from the still, dark windows I signalled to Christopher that I was going to creep under the window-sills and see if I could see anyone.

  The first room was dark and empty. I crouched my way along to the second window and gingerly raised my head. Although this room was equally dark I could still see HIM slumped in an armchair, asleep. At first I didn't notice. But then his legs caught my eye. One trouser leg was empty. He wasn't wearing his artificial leg.

  Creeping back to Christopher I whispered, ‘It's okay, he's asleep. Let's go round the back and see if we can get in.’

  Stealthily we walked to the back of the cottage. The kitchen door was firmly locked and even though Christopher insisted on trying out his all-purpose penknife it made no difference.

  ‘I expect it's bolted from the inside,’ I said. ‘We'll have to try something else.’

  We stared at the back of the house for some time. The kitchen windows were tight shut; all that was open was a small window on the second floor, probably a bathroom. Christopher, though, continued to stare upwards with the look of a man who has seen a revelation.

  ‘Don't even think it, Christopher,’ I said. ‘You're slim but not that slim.’

  ‘All I need is a ladder,’ he said, still looking upwards and ignoring the snow that fell in great wet flakes on to his face.

  Eventually, wet and increasingly cold, thinking perhaps it might be worth a try, I said reluctantly, ‘Well, we could look for a ladder, I suppose.’

  The garden shed only boasted a stepladder, a lawn-mower, a few garden tools and two Calor gas containers. We were luckier with the barn-cum-garage at the side of the house. Hung on the wall was an extending ladder. And in the spacious interior, another car, a dark navy estate.

  Carrying the ladder round to the back did at least warm us up. I stood at the bottom of the ladder, a foot well planted on the first rung while Christopher bravely began his boy scout ladderclimbing exercise.

  By the time he got to the top I had to look away. I'm terrified of heights and that includes watching other people climb. Curiosity got the better of me, however, and I looked up to see Christopher manage to open the window wider and start easing his body through. He's doing it, I thought. And then he stopped. I heard him shout in a strangled fashion, ‘I'm stuck,’ and after a few moments when nothing happened he resorted to ‘Help!’

  I couldn't move. ‘Push yourself,’ I shouted, not caring if the one-legged man indoors woke. I would take my chance with a shotgun rather than attempt to climb the ladder.

  ‘Help me,’ cried out Christopher again.

  I looked up and felt sick. I took hold of the sides of the ladder and lifted one foot upwards. Just one step
at a time. Don't look down, I told myself.

  ‘Help, please help me.’

  His voice seemed far away and disembodied and fluttered in the air like the snow.

  And I still couldn't move.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Christopher stopped shouting for help and had gone very quiet and still.

  I started climbing slowly. On the fourth rung I stopped and started to make myself angry. ‘Stupid stowaway – boy scout indeed – I'll …’ It didn't work, anger couldn't overcome the fear. I kept on going slowly, fifth rung, sixth rung, saying to myself, just look up and you'll be fine but the snow half blinded me and I began to tremble.

  Tightly holding the sides of the ladder I shouted up, ‘I'm not going to make it, Christopher. If you want to see Vanessa again you'll just have to get through that window.’

  I wondered at first if he'd heard, then his feet began to move and I could see he was trying, really trying.

  ‘You can do it,’ I called out.

  And he did. I saw his legs inching through the window painfully slowly and then with a thump he disappeared.

  Gazing upward I whispered, ‘Thank you, Lord,’ and began moving back down the ladder. Once I was on the ground I felt ecstatic. So much so that I forgot for a moment there was a probable murderer inside the house. The main man, faking brain damage to get compensation and being perfectly able to walk with one artificial leg. Douglas Bader had after all been able to fly a plane without benefit of any legs. Even now, I thought, Colin Tiffield could be strapping on that leg to come after us with a shotgun. Because surely he would have heard something, even if it was only the thump of Christopher falling to the floor.

  With some difficulty I lowered the ladder and began dragging it back to the barn at the side of the house. There was still no sign of Christopher. Somehow I managed to get the ladder back in place and then I crept round to the front of the house and peeped through the window. Colin Tiffield slept on. At least he could have been asleep or dead. It was too dark for me to see the rise and fall of his chest, but he looked asleep.

  I stood then under the porch with the sinister ivy overhead and waited. Eventually I heard movement, the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, normal footsteps.