Dead Feint

by Grant Atherton

  My heart jumped.

  That came from nowhere.

  I licked my lips and swallowed hard. It would have seemed churlish to refuse, but I needed to think about what I would be letting myself in for.

  Before I could respond, Karen said, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She sounded dubious. “Wouldn’t that put Mikey at risk too?”

  My thoughts exactly.

  There was an uncomfortable silence while they waited for my response. I groaned inwardly. How could I refuse?

  “I can look after myself,” I said, “and it does seem like the best solution. My place is out in the open, nothing else around. It would be difficult for anyone to approach without being seen.”

  Lowe agreed. “I know your cottage backs onto the woods but you’d soon spot someone coming from that direction too. And we can always make sure we keep an eye on the place. Regular patrols.”

  Personal safety wasn’t my only concern of course, important though it was. It also put paid to any hopes of spending more quality time with Nathan. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine the three of us sharing cosy tête-à-tête evenings together.

  “Then it’s settled.” I rose to my feet, signalling the end of the discussion, and hoping my reluctance didn’t show.

  The rest of the group rose too and Lowe said, “I’ll get back to the station and put things in motion.”

  So that was it. A done deal. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be at my expense.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Rusty wasn’t up to talking much. Not surprising in the circumstances. And yet here was Karen chattering away ten to the dozen, seemingly oblivious to his mood, as if all was well with the world.

  She’d driven him over from the Fairview that morning, the day after I’d agreed to his moving in - no doubt bending the poor guy’s ear all the way - and was helping me get him settled in at Woodside Cottage. I’m sure she was trying to stay upbeat and cheer him up, but it clearly wasn’t working; Rusty had hardly said a word since he arrived. He wandered about the lower floor as if in a daze as Karen and I busied ourselves around him.

  Karen had brought over some badly needed bedding, towels and household necessities. While I distributed this assortment of items to their allotted places, she occupied herself in the kitchen, making tea and arranging biscuits on a serving plate, ready for elevenses when we took a break.

  We occasionally caught each other’s eye and pulled wry faces after a quick glance in Rusty’s direction but, on the whole, we left him to mooch around the place while we pretended not to notice his dismal mood.

  He stood with his back to us, staring out of the window into the sun-dappled garden beyond, while Karen and I kept up a running stream of small talk. Eventually, he turned, half smiling, and made his excuses, telling us he was going to take a walk outside. He was probably tired of listening to our inane gabbling.

  Once he was out of the way, Karen flopped onto the couch, exhaled loudly, and said, “Dear God, he’s hard work at the moment.”

  I watched Rusty amble down the path, shoulders slumped, until he reached the far end of the garden, and then I fell into place at Karen’s side. “Understandable. He’s had a hell of a shock.”

  “The press conference didn’t help much either.”

  “Oh, shit yes. I’d forgotten about that. How did it go?”

  “Not good.” Karen pushed herself up and crossed over to the kitchen. She called back, “Richard says they tore his sister to shreds. The press lapped it up.”

  “Ouch.”

  The clatter of crockery from the kitchen was interrupted by the insistent whistle of a kettle which slowly died away. A few minutes later, Karen returned with a tea tray laden with cups and saucers, a steaming teapot, and a plate of shortbread biscuits.

  “Should I call Rusty,” she said. She placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  “Best leave him be.” I reached over to the table, grabbed a piece of shortbread and munched it as Karen poured the tea. “I doubt he’s quite ready yet for polite chit-chat over a cup of tea.”

  Teacup in one hand, Karen patted my thigh with her free hand, a doleful expression on her face. “Might be a good idea to talk it through with him later. I think he could use a friend right now.”

  I helped myself to another piece of shortbread and nodded.

  “In fact…” She returned her cup to the saucer on the tray and rose to her feet. “…I’ll leave you to it.” She grabbed her linen bag from the chair by the door. “I don’t like the idea of him sitting out there brooding.” She nodded towards the garden window. “He needs someone to talk to.”

  Despite my protestations, she took her leave, pleading the need to get back to the Fairview to help with the lunchtime trade.

  After waving her off, I took a long deep breath, mentally braced myself, and went to join Rusty in the garden.

  He was leaning up against the stone wall beside the gate, staring out into the woods beyond.

  I got straight to the point. “I hear the press conference didn’t go too well?”

  His reaction was all the answer I needed. He balled his hand and hit the wall with the side of his fist, his mouth pressed into a hard tight line. His voice strained, he said, “The things they said about Candy. She’s barely cold in her grave, and they talked about her like she was a piece of garbage.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the wall. “A back-street whore would have gotten a better send off.”

  I cringed at his words and squeezed his arm. “I know it’s hard. God knows the press have given me some knocks in the past, but don’t let them get to you.”

  From bitter experience, I knew of the emotional damage inflicted by an irresponsible press baying for blood. I knew how painful this could be.

  “It’s that bastard, Farrow. He did this.”

  So that was it; the cause of his uncommunicative mood. A silent seething anger for the man he held responsible. I hoped he had the strength of character to bear up under the strain. It’s not as if his ordeal was about to end any time soon.

  “I’m here for you,” I said. “I hope you know that.”

  A brief nod, and he slow-punched my arm.

  “Come on,” I said, “Let’s get you settled in. We can talk some more inside.”

  We left the shade of the large beech and made our way back along the gravel path towards the house. Before we were halfway there, someone stepped out of the open doorway.

  It was Nathan.

  He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “The front door was open. Not very clever in the circumstances.” He sounded annoyed.

  As he made his way down the path towards us, he said, “There’s no point Rusty moving in if you’re not going to take security more seriously, is there?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You got that right.” He pushed past us and made his way to the bottom of the garden where he stopped, ran his gaze around the stone walls, and rattled the gate.

  He made his way back to us. “Those walls are high enough, but I’ll have some anti-climb guards fitted as an extra precaution, and that gate will need to be padlocked.”

  Rusty said, “I’m sorry to cause all this trouble.”

  Nathan ignored him. “And I’ll have a sensor alarm fitted to the back of the house. The cottage is too open to the woods for my liking.”

  As he turned back towards the house, he dropped his voice and said, “We need to talk, Mikey.” He clearly didn’t want Rusty involved in the conversation. “Walk back to the car with me, would you?”

  Raising his voice again, he said to Rusty, “Sgt Lowe is arranging to have one of our patrol cars keep an eye on the place. So I suggest you stick to the house as much as possible.”

  It was the first time he had acknowledged Rusty’s presence.

  I followed Nathan out to the Astra. “You have some news?”

  Opening the Astra’s doors with the remote as he rounded the car
to the driver’s side, he said, “Get in.”

  I slid in beside him as he climbed in from the other side and we closed the doors. “Sorry, I wasn’t around yesterday”, I said. Why was I always apologising?

  “It might have been better if you’d rearranged your schedule.” A disapproving tone. “I would have liked you in on the interviews and the press conference.”

  “It wasn’t something I could put off.”

  He grunted and changed the subject. “I’ve just been through the latest report on Marcus Farrow. His employers dismissed him some months ago. Seems he has a drink problem. It was interfering with his work.”

  “Hardly surprising he didn’t want them involved then.”

  “He’s been keeping up the pretence of travelling to work every day so his family wouldn’t find out.”

  I snorted. “Dumb idea. They were bound to find out, eventually.”

  “He was hoping to find a new post before they did.”

  “Does he have an alibi?”

  “There’s an Internet café he’s been using to search for work. They vouched for him. He’s been spending his days there.”

  “That’s one suspect accounted for then. What about the rest of his family?”

  “As you’ve already pointed out, they both have motives, but their stories stand up so far. I’ll let you have the files. See what you make of them. We can call them back in if need be.”

  “It’s beginning to look as if Rusty’s old crew might be involved after all. Anything there?”

  “We’re making enquiries in that direction. But nothing yet.”

  Our conversation so far had been professional and to the point. Nothing unusual there. Nathan always adopted a businesslike tone when discussing work. But why did I get the impression I was being given the cold shoulder? I hoped this had nothing to do with Rusty.

  I said, “You are okay with Rusty staying here?”

  “Your choice.” He switched on the ignition, ready to leave, signalling the end of our conversation.

  “I couldn’t really turn him down could I?”

  “If you say so.”

  My temper was fraying. His curt responses were a clear sign of his displeasure. And there was only one reason I could think of for that.

  “I thought we’d settled this?”

  No response

  Enough was enough. I made no attempt to hide my annoyance. “I’m getting tired of being on the defensive all the time.” I opened the door and got out. “If you still can’t trust me, that’s your problem.” I slammed the door shut and stepped away from the car.

  He leaned over, wound down the window, and glared up at me. “You’re the one with the problem here, Mikey. You need to get over yourself.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your relationship with Rusty is the least of my worries. Does it not occur to you I might be concerned for your safety?”

  He didn’t wait for a reply, just wound up the window, stepped on the gas, and drove away.

  I watched after him as he headed towards town, and a knot formed in my stomach.

  Was that it? Had I misjudged him? It wasn’t his lack of trust that was the problem here. It was my guilty conscience. I hadn’t yet learned to accept his trust.

  He was right. I needed to get over myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Nathan answered on the third ring with a brisk ‘hello’.

  I stopped pacing the room and steeled myself. “Was I being a bit of a jerk earlier?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but I’m used to it.” Direct as ever. But the icy tone had thawed to something warmer.

  “How do you put up with me?”

  He chuckled. “I guess you’re an acquired taste.”

  Now more at ease, I slumped down onto the couch.

  “I got it wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I know it’s not easy.”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you come over this evening and I’ll make it up to you? We both need to chill out. And it would be nice to get you to myself.”

  A pause. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable being around Naylor right now. He is part of our investigation after all.”

  I glanced up at the ceiling. The sound of Rusty’s heavy tread on the bathroom tiles announced his presence overhead. “He won’t be here. He’s going out for the evening.”

  “Is that wise?” A hint of frost was back in his tone. “It does rather defeat the point of installing security measures if he’s not going to be there.”

  “Oh, come on. You can’t expect him to stay indoors all the time. He’d go stir crazy. And it’s not as if he can’t look after himself.”

  I got a grunt in response.

  “And let’s face it,” I continued, “his moving in here was as much about protecting public safety at the Fairview as anything else.”

  Begrudgingly, he conceded the point. “Even so, I don’t like the idea of you being on your own right now.”

  “All the more reason for you to come over. You can keep me company.”

  “I have to admit, I could use some downtime. We’ve not had much time together since this goddamn case blew open.”

  “No argument from me there.”

  “Okay, you win. I’ll come over later and pick up some pizzas on the way.”

  “Great. We can make an evening of it.”

  “Best if I don’t stay over though if Naylor is going to be around later.”

  My heart sank at that, but I had expected it, and understood his reasons. “Just seeing you would be good.”

  He promised to come straight over from the local station as soon as he’d finished work for the day and arranged a time before ringing off.

  Now we’d cleared the air, I felt able to concentrate on my work. I sat at my desk, ready, once again, to rattle out my thoughts on the dark and dangerous world of the serial killer. It wasn’t exactly my idea of light relief but my improved mood made it a less sombre task.

  Even Rusty sounded more cheerful. As I pulled the laptop towards me, his tuneful whistling filtered through from above. And when he finally came downstairs, he seemed a more jaunty self.

  He’d hired himself a Mercedes Cabriolet from a local car dealer and, after promising to heed my warning about being extra vigilant while he was away from the house, he made his way out to the car and, a few minutes later, the sound of the engine faded into the distance as he headed towards town.

  Left to myself, I found it easier to concentrate on the task in hand and by the time Nathan arrived that evening, I had drafted out another chapter and, satisfied with the result, was feeling more buoyant and upbeat, ready for a break. And hungry as hell.

  Nathan had what was euphemistically known as a ‘healthy’ appetite and he brought with him not only two large barbecue meatfest pizzas but a couple of garlic loaves and side orders of penne pasta dressed with olive oil.

  Not that I was complaining; I’d been so wrapped up in my work, I’d forgotten to eat, and I was ravenous.

  “I’m looking forward to this,” he said, dropping the boxes onto the coffee table and himself onto the couch. He tore open the boxes as I settled down at his side.

  “Hey,” I said and, once I had his attention, added, “Good evening.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He leaned over, planted a perfunctory kiss on my lips, and turned his attention back to the food.

  I suppressed a smile. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. In Nathan’s case, there were times the journey never quite made it the whole way.

  “I’d best grab myself some of that before you demolish it all.” I helped myself to a slice of pizza. “And while you’re wolfing it down, you can fill me in on the Farrow family interviews.”

  “Drop by the station in the morning and you can check the files for yourself.”

  I finished off the slice of pizza on my way over to the drinks cabinet by the window and, over my shoulder, said, “Just your initial thoughts.” I came
back with a bottle of Chablis and a couple of glasses.

  In between mouthfuls of food, Nathan brought me up to speed.

  He gobbled down some bread and said, “John Farrow’s interview was painful to watch. Poor guy was besotted with her. Can do no wrong as far as he’s concerned. If he’s our guy, he’s making one hell of a good job of hiding it.”

  “It’s always possible.” I put the glasses on the table and uncorked the Chablis. “How about Carol Farrow?” I poured a large measure of wine into each glass before seating myself again.

  Nathan ignored the wine and went for the pasta. “She’s a different matter. Cool and calm.” He picked up one of the plastic forks that came with the pasta and tucked in. “She’s an ex-cop herself so she knows the score. Worked with the Met for some years.”

  I took up a glass of wine and leaned back. “That would make her harder to read.” I sipped some wine and helped myself to more pizza. “She’d be more likely to keep her head under pressure.”

  “We did catch her out in a lie though.”

  “Oh?” I chewed my pizza and washed it down with a mouthful of wine.

  “One thing I can say for Carol Farrow is that she’s fiercely protective of her husband. At least she was until she found out he’d been living a lie for the past few months.” He stopped eating briefly, reached for his glass, and sampled the wine.

  “You told her? Was that a good idea?”

  “We didn’t have a choice. She claimed she phoned her husband daily on the bank’s landline and that’s how she knew he’d been in London on the days in question.”

  I refilled my glass and grabbed some garlic bread while Nathan polished off more of the food. I chewed slowly as I thought through the implications of this piece of information. “Clearly she has no qualms about lying to protect her husband. But if they had colluded, she would have known about his dismissal.”

  “My thinking exactly.”

  I topped up my glass again. “So, ironically, her lie puts them in the clear.”

  “It probably puts him in the clear. But she could be involved in Candy Bayliss’s murder and still want to provide an alibi for her clueless husband.”