As I crossed the rain-washed courtyard, I returned her call but there was no reply. I left a message.
I opened the vicarage door and, startled, took an involuntary step back and sucked in air. It was a disaster zone. I don't know what had made me think the police would clear up the mess. But why would they?
Clothing was strewn around the floor, papers and documents scattered everywhere.
I stepped out of the sunlight into the dark musty hall, pushed the door to behind me, and moved around cautiously, stopping now and then to move some clutter out of the way with my foot as I followed the trail of debris, checking out each room before making my way back to the hall.
Scenes of disarray were everywhere.
This had been more than a frenetic search for something. It had been an act of violence. Contents of cupboards and drawers hadn't just been tipped out onto the floor but flung around as if in anger. One of the desk drawers in the study had been yanked off its runners. In the dining room, the drapes framing the now boarded-up French doors had been ripped down and thrown to one side. The disarray extended to the kitchen where broken crockery covered the worktops.
I pictured myself back on the hall floor, unconscious and powerless, while someone raged around me, trashing the place. My body tingled. How vulnerable I must have been, lying there, out cold, at the mercy of that violent intruder.
What was so important that someone would risk such a desperate act? What was I missing?
Without any obvious pointers, it was futile to speculate. And so I pushed all such thoughts aside to focus instead on the job in hand. In these stale empty rooms, away from the warming power of the sun, the air was cold. The smell of decay hung around like bad breath. The sooner I completed my task, the sooner I could leave this sickly old house behind for good.
I cleared away most of the mess, gathered together all the scattered papers and documents, and carried them through to the study. Seated at my father's desk, still wearing my coat to guard against the damp, I worked through the morning until I had reorganised all the documents into a number of piles according to their nature and importance. Task completed, I compiled an inventory.
Before leaving, I hunted around for Jonas Wainwright's toolbox and found it in the kitchen under a paint-stained dust sheet.
I took it with me, gathered up the documents on the way, and made my way out, taking a last look around the dismal rooms as I headed for the door.
Dust motes hung in the air, caught by hazy sunlight that found its way in through grimy windows. The heavy old furniture was worn and faded. All was silent. The grandfather clock that had stood guard by the outer door for so long, ticking away the years, was now mute. It was as if the place itself, bereft of human life, was dying.
Maybe, one day, a new incumbent would bring it back to life. But I was glad to be seeing it for the last time.
I locked the door behind me, put Jonas's toolbox in the boot of the Elan, and hurried over to Trivett's house with the keys and inventory.
Giles Trivett greeted me on the doorstep, fussing around me like an old mother hen, clucking and squawking his concerns about the recent break-in, wringing his hands, and expressing his hope that I was fully recovered.
"It's one terrible event after another. And to think that we were just a few yards away. I can't begin to tell you how distressed I was."
Anyone listening in, would have thought he'd been the one to suffer the ordeal.
I assured him I was fine, and I'd suffered no ill effects. "I'm just grateful to be in one piece." Making light of my experience, I tapped my head and said, "Being thickheaded has its advantages sometimes."
Seemingly reassured, he invited me in and apologised for his wife not being at home to wait on us. "She had some shopping to do," he explained.
Oh, yes? How may times had she used that as an excuse? "I'm not staying," I said. "I just wanted to drop off the keys. I won't be needing them anymore."
Along with the keys and inventory, I gave him a note of my mobile number and contact details in case he needed to get in touch with me.
"I hope you can read my handwriting," I said. "I tried using my father's old typewriter but I couldn't get to grips with it. It was like trying to drive a tank. I can't believe people still use those old things."
He laughed. "Your father was a bit of a Luddite in that respect. He hated modern technology; mobile phones, computers. He wouldn't even use a calculator. I'm surprised a typewriter wasn't too high-tech for him."
I pulled a face. "Yes, that sounds like my father."
Trivett said, "He used to say that our brains were a divine gift and anything that prevented us from using them was an insult to God." He tutted. "He could be quite dogmatic about such things."
My father could be dogmatic about most things but perhaps it wasn't the time to say so.
A light rain had blown in from the sea, and so, eager to get away, I wished him well and took my leave.
I hurried back to the car without a backward glance, leaving my old childhood home behind me forever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I sank my teeth into a double decker smothered with melted cheese.
This place made the best burgers in town and I was ravenous. Skipping breakfast had made me even hungrier.
Karen said, "You look like you needed that."
I swallowed and said, "After the morning I've had, you bet I needed it. This is comfort food."
We were sharing a table by the window in the Grill Bar on the Esplanade. It was early afternoon and the staff were busy catering to the lunchtime crowd. From behind the counter, a pimply youth with a pencil moustache barked out table numbers for orders of burgers and fries. All around us, other diners chatted and laughed over their meals. It was a pleasant contrast to the gloomy silence of the vicarage.
I'd managed to persuade Karen to take a break and join me for lunch. After a few cheerless hours on my own, I was as much in need of company as food and was enjoying the change of atmosphere.
Karen cut into a baked potato stuffed with tuna mayo. "Bad day?"
"Just putting the past to rest."
"What?" she wrinkled her forehead.
In between mouthfuls, I filled her in on my day so far, starting with Lowe's visit and ending with handing the vicarage keys over to Trivett. "I was glad to get it over with. I feel I can put the past behind me now and move on."
Of course, the other reason for my doleful disposition was Nathan's lack of communication. But I didn't want to get into that. It would depress me again, and I was trying to stay upbeat.
"Well, that's one problem out of the way." She took a mouthful of food and chewed it thoughtfully. Finally, "Nothing else on your mind?"
Halfway through raising a forkful of coleslaw to my mouth, I paused. Something in her tone suggested it was more than a casual question. "Should there be?"
"Just wondered," she said, keeping her attention fixed on her plate.
"There's nothing in particular," I said, guardedly. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." She kept her eyes down.
Lowering my fork, I said. "Come on, out with it."
"What?" She looked up, all innocence.
I put down my cutlery, folded my arms, and stared at her through narrowed eyes. "Listen, lady, I know when you're skirting around something. So let's have it."
There was a defiant gleam in her eyes. "I had coffee with Nathan earlier."
For a moment, I said nothing and then pushed the plated remains of my meal to one side, no longer hungry. "Great."
That came out louder than I'd intended.
A young woman in Grill Bar livery, cleaning the next table, broke off from her task and beamed over to me. "I'm so glad you're enjoying it, Sir. Please feel free to take part in our online customer survey if you have the time. The details are on the menu."
I smiled wanly, assured her I would be happy to do so, and turned back to Karen. Lowering my voice, I leaned forward and said, "So he found time
to talk to you this morning but he's too busy to get in touch with me."
"So there is something wrong then?"
"You tell me. You're the one he talks to." I leaned back, picked up my beaker of now lukewarm coffee and took a long swig. I was peeved. "What did he say? Is he giving me the run around?"
"Have you two been arguing?"
"Far from it."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing." Bad slip. Talking over the more intimate aspects of my relationship with Nathan had been the last thing on my mind. And it was a dead cert he wouldn't have said anything. Ever the soul of discretion.
The guy behind the counter called out more orders. Nearby a piece of cutlery clattered to the floor and someone laughed.
"Mikey!"
I winced. There seemed little point holding back. She would nag me till I told her. I glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot and, lowering my voice, said, "He stayed over."
"He stayed ..?” She paused. And then the blank stare changed to one of enlightenment. "Ah. So that's it."
"That's what?"
"Why he was in such a crabby mood this morning."
"Oh, thank you. That says a lot for your opinion of my sexual allure."
"He just doesn't know where he stands with you.”
"What the hell did he think last night was about?"
"He probably thought it was a one-off. A parting shot.”
"Oh, please."
"Come on, Mikey. Let's face it, when it comes to commitment, you've not had a great track record over the years."
I couldn't argue with that so I said nothing. I pulled my plate back toward me and stabbed at a gherkin. We both focused on our meals for a while.
Karen finished her meal and put down her fork. "You're sending out mixed messages. No wonder his head's all over the place." She picked up her coke and sipped it. "He's asked you several times what your plans are and you just brush him off."
"I have no idea what my plans are 'cos I don't have any."
Karen leaned toward me and said, "What is it you want, Mikey?"
A young couple brushed past us on their way to the door, calling out farewells to friends at another table. We sat without speaking until they had passed by.
I said, "I want him back. There, I'd said it. Plain and simple."
"So why are you telling me and not him?"
Why did she need to ask? It should have been obvious. "How can I? What am I supposed to say? Sorry, I was wrong? Let's just pick up where we left off?" I stared down at my plate and shoved some salad around with my fork. "I don't have the right. I know how much I hurt him. God knows, he made that clear enough."
Karen reached over and pressed a hand on top of mine. "And that's why you have to make the first move, tell him how you feel. Because he's not going to. It's a case of once bitten, twice shy. If you're serious about getting him back, you're going to have to make the running. You're the one who has to put it right."
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Karen was right of course. She usually was. It was one of her more annoying qualities.
And it looked as if I would be able to put her advice into effect sooner than I thought; Nathan's Astra was parked on the doorstep when I reached home.
I slammed the door of the Elan and hurried over to him as he climbed out of his car. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you all day."
He frowned and fixed me with a glassy stare. "I do have a job to do, Mikey."
That stopped me short. Was that it? No apology? I'd been waiting all this time to find out why he'd sneaked off in the early hours, why the hell he hadn't been in touch, and all I got was this short rebuttal. Who the fuck did he think I was. I was pissed.
"I hope this is important then. God forbid I should take up any of your valuable time."
"Erin Corby's been murdered, and you were the last person she spoke to. Is that important enough?"
There was a rushing sound in my head and I froze where I stood as his words sank in, my mind in turmoil. And then I stepped back, open-mouthed. Not sure what to say.
An old Mark II Cortina passed by and tooted to a young woman pushing a pram on the other side of the road. She waved back. Further down the road, someone opened a window and called out to an elderly man clipping his garden hedge. Sunlight, momentarily caught in the moving glass, flashed and caught my eye.
A light breeze stirred some fallen leaves at our feet.
This was a sleepy backwater town. Nothing special. Just ordinary folk going about their ordinary mundane lives. And Erin Corby was one of them. An ordinary pleasant woman with a cheerful disposition getting on with her life. This wasn't supposed to happen to people like her. Nothing bad was supposed to happen here.
My stomach knotted. It was all too much. When I spoke, the words came out in a strained croak. "How? When?"
The blood drained from my face and my legs gave beneath me. I reached out to steady myself against the side of Nathan's Astra. The metal was cold beneath my hand.
He reached out and took me by the arm. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. "Hey, come on. Let's get you inside."
With a shaking hand, I fumbled for my keys. He took them from me, opened the door, and ushered me inside.
Not bothering to remove my coat, I made straight for the couch and dropped onto it. My heart raced. "What happened?"
Nathan headed for the kitchen sink. He returned with a tumbler of water and handed it to me. "Here, I think you need this."
I needed a damn sight more than a glass of water but I took it anyway. My throat was dry, and I gulped down half of it in one go.
He seated himself in the facing chair and said, "It was a hit and run."
I drained what was left of the water. "It was an accident then?"
"Circumstances suggest otherwise."
My heart jumped a beat. "What circumstances?"
"We'll leave that aside for the moment. Right now I need to establish the events that led up to her death. That's why I'm here."
Nathan had adopted his formal tone, and I was apprehensive. My hand tightened on the empty tumbler. I put it aside on the coffee table next to me. "What does it have to do with me?"
"I checked her mobile. She called you just before it happened. And you returned her call." He unbuttoned his coat and settled back in his chair. "What was that about?"
"I have no idea."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly that. I missed her call when I was on the road. I tried to get back to her, but she didn't pick up." She may well have been killed between the time she called me and the time I called her back. I shuddered. It wasn't something I wanted to dwell on.
"You must have some idea."
Nathan hadn't fully turned off the kitchen tap and there was a constant drip drip drip of water into the sink. For some irrational reason, it annoyed me.
I snapped, "If I knew, I'd tell you. I have no idea what she wanted. I was surprised to get the call."
Nathan narrowed his eyes. "You've not been interfering again, taking things into your own hands? 'Cos I warn you, if you have ..."
"No, I damn well haven't." Why did he always have to think the worst of me?
He grunted, as if doubting me. But he didn't pursue it. "What about that problem with the bracelet? How did that go?"
"Erin gave it back to me. And promised to talk to Laura and keep an eye on her. Problem solved."
"There has to be some reason for her call."
"I'm sure there does. But I don't know what it is." He kept pushing me as if I would suddenly come up with an answer. I was getting more agitated by the minute. "Sorry but I can't help."
I pushed myself up out of my seat and went and turned off the dripping tap. "Where did it happen?"
"Tinkers Wood. She was on her way back from Wainwright's place. So I guess she must have called you from there."
Reaching up to the cupboard above the sink, I took out a whiskey glass. I wa
s in dire need of a strong pick-me-up. "What makes you so sure it wasn't an accident?"
I went to the drinks cabinet and unscrewed a bottle of Glenfiddick Malt. Nathan shot me a disapproving look, but I ignored it.
"We have a witness." he said. "A local woman. She was walking her dog on the edge of the wood and saw the whole thing."
Halfway through filling my glass, I stopped. "How can she be sure it wasn't an accident?"
Nathan swallowed hard. "Erin was running from the car. It mounted the pavement and ran her down."
"Oh my God." I poured another shot of whiskey into my glass and took a large swig. "Did this witness see who did it?"
"She was too far away. And the car made a U turn and headed off in the other direction."
I made my way back to my seat. The bright chime of the Westminster clock on the mantelpiece interrupted the silence as I dropped into my chair.
I struggled to make sense of the various events of the past few days. "There has to be some connection to the other two murders. It can't just be coincidence. That would be too much to take on board." I swallowed another large mouthful of whiskey.
Nathan squirmed in his chair. "On the face of it, there's nothing to tie Erin's death to those of your father and Black. But there is one common element." He tugged at his shirt collar. "They all seem to point to you."
"Me?" I tensed and almost spilled my whiskey. I put the glass down on the coffee table next to the tumbler. "What are you saying?"
He spread his hands and said, "Look, Mikey, your father was the first victim. Then you're attacked in the vicarage. And now Erin is killed after trying to contact you. There has to be some connection."
Protesting, I said, "I don't see that. This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. And Erin knew both my father and Black. She worked for them." I was trying to convince myself as much as him. Any connection to a triple murder, however tenuous, was too close for comfort.
"That may well be," he said, "but calling you just before she was killed seems more than just coincidence. You need to have a good hard think about that call. See if you can come up with anything. It could well point us to whoever did this."
The Slow Road to Hell Page 15