A Thoughtful Woman

by K T Findlay

  ◆◆◆

  May and June passed swiftly, with Sally and Emma fitting their explorations around Sally’s painting. Then, in early July they got their first big break, just a few hundred yards from Sally’s own front door.

  Wick Lane was a strange little road that ran across the top of Throcking from her place at the north western corner of the village, to Peregrin’s house at the north east, before winding downhill to the golf course and the sea. Originally a drover’s track, it went around the rest of the village without intersecting it and as such got very little traffic. Sally was used to having it to herself, so she was more than a little surprised that day when someone wheeled a bicycle through a gap in the hedge. An even bigger surprise was who it was. She knew that Thomlinson lived on Messines Road of course, but she hadn’t realised that he had a back entrance onto the lane. None of the other properties along there did! Why him of all people?!

  Thinking quickly, she cycled past without giving any signs of recognition, before risking a look over her shoulder. He was cycling back towards her place, so she turned and followed. Initially the plan was to hang back so he wouldn’t spot her, but very quickly she realised that hanging on to him at all was going to be a much bigger challenge. His ten speed racing bike was much quicker than her mountain bike and he effortlessly pulled away. By standing on her pedals as hard as she could, she managed to keep him in sight until he reached the end of Wick Lane, but then he vanished as he turned south down the hill. Completely out of breath, Sally got to the end of the road just in time to see him exit the bottom of the public access zigzag path, cross the main road into the Sky river valley lanes and disappear amongst the hedgerows.

  Thoughtfully, she turned and resumed her original ride. When she got to his gap in the hedge, she pulled over and had a good look. It was definitely his place. She could see the nose of his car down the side of the house. Well, well, well…

  She abandoned her planned visit to the McEwans, and instead spent a happy few hours exploring the trails in the hills above Thomlinson’s place, looking for good vantage points to see into his property. For the next three weeks, Sally and Emma spent whole days up there, ostensibly photographing butterflies.

  ‘Have we seen enough of his comings and goings yet?’ asked Emma, in the bored tones of a child asking when they could go home.

  Sally nodded. ‘I think we’ve nailed his routine now. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday afternoon, he pushes through the hedge just after one, regular as clockwork. The question now is, where does he go? We can’t really follow him into the lanes without raising his suspicions.’

  Emma pursed her lips in thought. ‘Why don’t we go up to Throcking Castle and watch from there? It’s the highest hill around, and looks right down the valley. We should be able to see him often enough between the hedgerows that we can work out his route.’

  Sally beamed. ‘Great idea! Let’s do that.’

  At the end of the following week, Sally was happy. He always followed the same route, and did three laps on each run.

  ◆◆◆

  Freddy and James had been busy too of course. Their boss had coughed up for a pair of mountain bikes after the accident and they’d used them to good effect, splitting up to cover the ground quicker. By the end of June though, they hadn’t found a trace of Walker anywhere. With a similar lack of progress on finding the stolen safe, their boss called it a day and pulled them off onto other jobs.

  For James in particular though, it was unfinished business. ‘He’s here somewhere, I can feel it.’ he said as he and Freddy drove through Throcking for the last time. ‘And those two women have something to do with it. I don’t know how but they do.’

  Freddy mused. ‘Well they were certainly watching Thomlinson when I came across them last week at Throcking Castle. Could have been a coincidence though.’

  James shook his head. ‘Nope. They’re up to something.’

  ‘Oh well,’ sighed Freddy, ‘no sense in stressing about it. We’re off to sunny Italy tomorrow, so Thomlinson will just have to look after himself.’

  ◆◆◆

  On the second Wednesday in August, Sally pulled out the Ordinance Survey map and laid it on the kitchen table.

  ‘You’re remembering I’m going to France next week, to study oils technique with Michelle Lelong and won’t be back until the end of October?’ she asked.

  Emma frowned. ‘I remember. But why do you have to do it now when the weather’s so nice for exploring?’

  Sally sighed. ‘I know, I know. It isn’t the best timing for sure, but Michelle tends to make these offers just the once.’ Then she smiled. ‘How about I bring back a case of champagne to say sorry?’

  Emma laughed. ‘Okay, fair enough. What’s the plan while you’re gone?’

  Sally pointed on the map to the hills and trails north of Little Throcking and Throcking Castle. ‘We haven’t explored any of these yet, so I’d like you to give them a good scouring. We need to know which trails can take bikes, and even the ones where the Range Rover might be able to go.’

  ‘That’s no problem.’ said Emma. ‘I’m fit enough now to do that in the next ten weeks.’

  ‘Excellent!’ said Sally. ‘Now, the one I want us to do before I go to France is to look at Wesser Bech. Today.’

  Emma paled. ‘I don’t really want to go there! What if we meet Bob Harland?’

  Sally shook her head. ‘On a week day? Unlikely, but even if we do, so what? We’ve a perfect right to be there! However, I thought you’d be uncomfortable about it, so I have a plan.’

  She pointed to the map again. ‘There’s just the one road into the western end of the village, so there’s no choice there. But you can take the road down along the beach past the Anchor where your boys did their thing, while I take Larkin Road, above the pub, to scope out Harland’s house. I’ll come down the steps at the eastern end and meet you on the beach. Then we’ll head east along the coast to the mouth of the Gelt, and up the river to the main road. You’ll only be in the village itself for about three minutes.’

  Emma still looked deeply unhappy, but nodded her agreement.

  Two hours later she was cycling past the Anchor as slowly as possible so she wouldn’t have to wait by the steps at the other end, but she needn’t have worried. Sally was already remounting her bike when Emma drew level.

  ‘It was easy to spot.’ said Sally. ‘Not exactly loved! The garden’s overgrown, the paint’s peeling, the windows are filthy, and the roof has a few slates missing. Just what you’d expect! Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  At the mouth of the Gelt river, there were no cliffs like those at the Sky, but the hills were still quite steep and close to the beach. Nevertheless, right where the river met the sea was a lovely area of short grass where people could sit, play, or picnic.

  ‘Lots of dog walkers here! The evidence is everywhere!’ laughed Emma, steering carefully around the many piles.

  A short distance up river, they found a little used four-wheel-drive track twisting up the steep hill to their left. It was a tough pull on a bike, the steepness exacerbated by the loose surface, but after a few hundred yards they found themselves back on the main road.

  ‘Well,’ said Sally ‘this gives us possibilities!’

  Emma looked at her quizzically. ‘To do what exactly?’

  Sally grinned. ‘To dump a body!’

  4 A lunch with spice

  Sally celebrated her return on the third of November by taking Emma to lunch at the Cutty Sark café. They sat at the bench table by the window, looking out across the road to the sea, and pored over the map as they ate their pies, sandwiches and cakes. Emma was giving Sally chapter and verse on what she’d discovered in the hills, when they heard a familiar voice behind them.

  ‘Hello mum. Enjoying your lunch?’

  Emma looked up. ‘Alan! What a nice surprise. Do you want to join us?’

  Alan looked at the number of cakes still left on the table and smiled. ‘I don’t see
why not. There seems to be more than enough left!’ He sat down and leaned in confidentially. ‘What I really wanted to tell you though, is that Holmes is in Miss Helen’s place again! I reckon he goes to see her every week! Must cost him a fortune.’

  Sally stared at him. ‘Who, or what, is Miss Helen?’

  Alan grinned. ‘I understand she offers specialised services to gentlemen who like strong women.’

  ‘Ooooooh!’ said Sally. ‘Now that is interesting!’

  Emma rolled her eyes.

  Sally ignored her, and asked. ‘Which place is hers?’

  ‘Just across the street, a little way up, the dark wooden door with the iron knocker.’ said Alan, selecting a piece of chocolate cake.

  Sally examined the door keenly.

  ‘Blackmail’s illegal you know.’ said Emma quietly.

  ‘And so is slander.’ added Alan, tucking into a nice piece of fudge.

  Sally sipped her tea. ‘I never said a word!’ But her mind was in overdrive about the intriguing possibilities Miss Helen might offer.

  The following day, Sally drove to Soho in London because the information she needed was not to be found in the tiny worlds of Throcking or Dalton. She worked her way through half a dozen adult stores, coming away with a large collection of magazines and a few videos.

  Emma arrived the following morning in response to Sally’s flags and sat down to a fresh pot of coffee at the kitchen table.

  'I did a lot of thinking yesterday.' said Sally. ‘Beyond mapping out Thomlinson’s routine we haven’t discussed how we’re going to go about catching these guys. I think we have to get Holmes first.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Because he’s the smartest of the bunch, smart enough to infer a possible threat to himself if one of the others is killed, and definitely after a second. So he needs to go first and this Miss Helen business might just give us what we need to do it.’

  Emma opened her hands, silently asking, ‘Explain.’

  'I was wondering if Miss Helen might like an assistant from time to time.' continued Sally.

  'Oh that would do wonders for your reputation!' laughed Emma. 'And in any case, Holmes would recognise you.'

  'Not as myself silly.' giggled Sally. 'I’ll need an alter ego, and transport, a cover story, and to know at least something about what I'm doing. I made a trip to London yesterday, and brought back a few things that will help us learn a little bit about Miss Helen's world.'

  She retrieved the magazines and videos and spread them on the table. Emma's eyes bulged as she flipped through the first of the magazines.

  'Oh my word! Do we really have to?' she said looking at a welted bottom.

  'Think of it as furthering your education.' laughed Sally. 'But I tell you what, I'm the one that's going to have to know this stuff, not you. So why don't you look through these magazines and see if you can find Miss Helen? There's bound to be an ad in here for her. We need a phone number, and a rough idea of what she's into.'

  'I can see quite enough of what she's into!' grimaced Emma.

  'No you can't.' said Sally. 'This is a huge world, with almost infinite variation. She won't do all of it. She will have some specialist areas. We need to find out what they are.'

  For the next hour the two women worked their way through the pile of magazines. Just when Sally was about to suggest a break for morning tea, Emma quietly announced. 'I've found her.'

  And there she was, a three line advertisement in the back of one of the magazines.

  'So,' said Sally, 'she’s a form of governess. She’s into discipline, corporal punishment, control and feminisation.'

  'What the hell does that mean?' asked Emma.

  'It means she's into boys doing what she tells them to, hitting them with things, and dressing them up as girls.’

  She pushed her chair back from the table, and went to make a pot of tea. ‘Which is great to know, because it means I don't have to learn about nurses, rubber freaks, leather freaks, pony boys, or any of the rest of it. I just need to focus on these few areas.'

  'Thank heaven for small mercies!' said Emma.

  Sally returned with the tea. 'Well for a start, we can winnow this little lot down to a much smaller pile.' She rapidly went through the mound of magazines and videos, flicking the irrelevant ones back into the box. She was left with half a dozen magazines, and three films.

  'Right, that's my alter ego research area defined, but there’s one more thing you and I need to firm up today. Who are our confirmed targets, and who’s going to kill who?’

  'I thought we'd already agreed who the targets are?' asked Emma. 'Holmes, Thomlinson, Richard and Bob Harland.'

  Sally nodded. ‘Yes, but it could be a problem if we do all of them. Partly it’s going to depend on who kills who.’

  Emma hung her head. ‘I’ve been losing sleep over this. I’m fine just imagining chucking someone down a hole like I told you the day we met, but I know I won’t be able to actually do it. I just don’t have it in me.’

  She looked up sorrowfully. ‘I’ve made it all a complete waste of time. I’m so sorry!’

  Sally patted her hand. ‘No you haven’t. Lots of conscripted soldiers never fire their weapons at the enemy because they can’t bear the thought of killing anyone. So you’re in good company, and I’m fine with that. But would you be okay playing a supporting role? If all you needed to do was scout things out, run errands and act as a decoy sometimes, would you be okay doing that?’

  Emma thought deeply.

  ‘Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear Emma. You need to tell me the truth. Are you okay riding shotgun for me if I do the killing?’ asked Sally gently. ‘If I start this Miss Helen thing, I don’t want to abandon it six months down the track because you get cold feet. So be honest with me now. I promise I won’t be cross. We agreed that it might turn out to be just a game. This is the moment we decide.’

  Emma took another minute to think things through. 'I guess that's fair. You'd be taking a hell of a lot of risk, and doing most of the work. I guess I can take a little heat, but only if we have the alibis all solid for me and the boys.'

  Sally held her hand. ‘Are you really certain? I want you to be sure.’

  Emma’s grief was still raw at times, and she’d had another bad night thinking of George. She narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.’

  Sally nodded. ‘Okay then, we’re agreed. Now, here’s the problem. If we do both Harlands then things are going to point back to us as a partnership. Peregrin knows we’re friends so the chances of getting away with that are almost nil. If we just do Dick Harland then it points to me, and as I'm the one doing the killing, that won't fly either.’

  ‘But if we leave Richard alive and just kill Bob, that will point things towards you and the boys, giving me a free hand to wipe out the evidence. But you three would have to have bullet proof alibis, as you just said.'

  Emma smiled properly for the first time in the discussion. ‘Then here’s to alibis!” and held up her teacup.

  Sally smiled back. ‘Here’s to alibis, and to progress.'

  The cups clinked gently, and they resumed their studies.

  5 Preparing the ground

  It had been nine months since Sally and Emma had met and they had to wait at least twelve more to put enough time between George's death and their planned revenge. It was also essential that the outside world continued to believe that both of them were moving on with their lives, so except for Sally reading her magazines, they agreed to let the Christmas season and the 1988 New Year celebrations pass before doing anything else.

  It was just before midnight on New Year's Eve at the McEwan's house that Sally had an idea which would make her executions so much more personal. Hilary had just given her a glass of champagne for the midnight toast.

  'You know,' said Sally, admiring the bubbles in her champagne, 'I love champagne, but it's not the same as a really good gin and tonic. I can't wait for summe
r so I can enjoy my favourite drink again.'

  Alison Falconer laughed. 'Why wait for summer? It's not like a gin and tonic needs a special occasion! If you want one, go make one. There’s still some tonic in the pantry.'

  Sally accepted her offer, but as she was pouring the gin a thought struck her. 'Their favourite drinks! Now that would really twist the knife!' It wasn't just the wine that was well mulled that night.

  Over the next three months, Sally set herself the goal of finding out each man's favourite drink. As she already knew how to spy on Thomlinson unobserved, she did him first. A few trips to the vantage points above his house revealed a strong preference for bourbon and coke. Sally even noted the brand, Maker’s Mark.

  Sally wanted to do Bob Harland next, but Emma was reluctant. ‘Why take the risk?’ she asked, not unreasonably. ‘We don’t need to do this. What does it matter what you use? As long as it’s liquid, he’ll be just as dead!’

  Sally allowed herself to be fobbed off for the time being, reasoning that there was plenty of time to play with. Instead, she picked up the Ordinance Survey map and opened it out on the table between them. ‘Fair enough, it’s just icing on the cake after all. What we do need to do though, is figure out how I’m going to commute to Little Throcking if Miss Helen accepts me.’

  Emma trailed her fingers along the map between the two villages. ‘Well you can’t use the Range Rover. You’d be spotted on the very first day.’

  ‘And I can’t use the bike either.’ Sally contributed. ‘I’m going to push Helen for two days a week, so I’ll be on the road enough to become a regular and as I’ll be in disguise, some nosey parker is bound to wonder who the hell I am and where I live. No, I’m going to have to get a car from somewhere, one that can’t be traced.’

  ‘How’re you going to do that?’ asked Emma. ‘Know a lot of car thieves do you?’ she laughed.

  Sally shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea yet, but we can figure that out later. The question today is, how best to use it once we’ve got it?’