‘Two men. One could have been Vic, but I didn’t really recognise either of them.’ After a pause, he added, ‘One had a gun.’
‘A gun?’ In the act of massaging her bruised shoulder, Melissa stopped and shuddered. The villains in her books usually carried guns, but she had never encountered them in real life and had no wish to. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
Once again, he fell silent, concentrating on the road. Every few seconds he glanced in his mirror, but there was no sign of pursuit. Melissa’s pulse rate had almost returned to normal when the unexpected warble of the car phone sent it soaring again.
‘Yeah?’ Chris listened for a moment before saying, ‘Sorry, boss. Me and Melissa have been kinda busy.’ Another pause, during which she could hear faint, staccato barks coming from the receiver. ‘Tell you later. I’ll drop Melissa off and be with you in about forty minutes.’ Another bark. ‘Yeah, sure.’ He handed Melissa the instrument. ‘The boss’d like a word.’
She barely had time to get the receiver to her ear before he started speaking. ‘Mel? What’s been going on?’
‘I’d rather not talk on the phone, if you don’t mind. Where are you?’
‘Having supper at some bloody awful restaurant in Stratford. Pen organised a theatre party. Shakespeare.’ He made no effort to conceal the fact that he had not enjoyed the evening. She made a mental note to pass the news on to Dittany at the earliest opportunity, but for the moment, other matters were paramount.
‘Can anyone overhear you?’ she asked.
‘No. You got something to report?’ Excitement sent his voice rocketing up the scale.
‘Mitch, listen carefully. When you go back to your friends, don’t give the slightest hint that anything unusual’s happened. Act absolutely naturally. All you’ve done is make a routine call to Chris, okay?’
‘Sure, but …’
‘We’re on to something big.’
‘Right, listen, Chris is coming to pick me up.’ She pictured him, eyes laser-bright, thinking on his feet. ‘You come too. We’ll drop Pen and her mates at their hotel, then we can talk on the way home.’
‘Not a good idea. How would you explain me to the others?’
‘That’s a point. So when do we talk?’
‘Tomorrow morning?’
‘Stuff that, I wanna know right away. Why don’t Chris ’n’ me come back to your place tonight?’
Melissa glanced at the instrument panel; it took her a second or two to locate the clock among the array of dials. It was almost eleven. Hard to believe that all that action had been crowded into less than an hour. She looked out of the window and saw that already they were on the outskirts of Cheltenham. She might as well agree straight away as be badgered into it.
‘All right. I’m nearly home now. You could be at Hawthorn Cottage soon after midnight.’
‘Great. See you then.’
‘Remember what I said – not a word, not even a hint, to anyone.’
‘No, ma’am. See you later.’ From being successively irritable, impatient and domineering, his tone suddenly dripped with honey. He had got his own way.
‘Are you telling me I’ve got to let that bastard carry on running me hotel as if nothing’s happened?’ Hands in pockets, Mitch paced to and fro in Melissa’s sitting-room like the proverbial caged animal. ‘The man’s a crook, he should be banged up …’
‘You have no means of proving that Vic’s involved in this,’ reiterated Melissa for the umpteenth time. ‘Everything I’ve told you so far is circumstantial and no policeman would arrest him on what we have to tell. You can’t sack him without good reason. In any case, the last thing we want is for him to think anyone’s on to him.’
‘He’ll have guessed by now that someone’s been inside his Aladdin’s cave.’
‘He can’t be sure. Chris and I left everything as we found it, so with any luck he’ll assume it was a gremlin that set off his alarm system. It’s not unusual, but he might change the combination, just to be on the safe side.’
‘There must be some way we can get him.’
‘Not us, the police.’
‘But you said the fuzz won’t touch him.’
‘I said, he’s got influential friends who can protect him from being pushed around on mere suspicion. When I tell Ken Harris what I’ve seen tonight, he’ll take it seriously, I can promise you that – but he’ll do things his way.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Absolutely nothing. Business as usual. There’s a very sophisticated organisation running this lot and I doubt if Vic Bellamy is the brains behind it. It could be anyone; that’s why it’s vital to keep all this strictly to ourselves.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Mitch admitted grudgingly. Then his face broke into an unexpected grin. ‘Perhaps it’s the Hon. Pen. I’ll bet half her clients are crooks – what a lark if she turns out to be the arch-villain!’
Melissa smiled. ‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘It beats me why there’s no way into that hidden gallery from the hotel. Are you sure there isn’t another door anywhere?’
‘We didn’t see one. The only way would be through the cellar, and they couldn’t run the risk of its being spotted by someone working down there. They’ve got electricity, though – there’s air-conditioning and lighting. It probably runs off one of the power points the other side of the wall.’
‘And you didn’t recognise either of the men who nearly caught you?’
‘One may have been Vic, but we don’t know for certain. We’ve no idea who the other could have been.’
‘There’s Des, the security bloke.’
‘Did you employ him?’
‘Nah. He came with the place.’
‘You didn’t vet him?’
‘Never thought of it.’ Mitch stopped pacing and stood on the hearthrug, chewing his lip. ‘And what about poor old Will Foley? We still don’t know how he died.’
‘They haven’t released the results of the tests yet,’ said Melissa wearily. It was gone one o’clock in the morning, her shoulder was sore and it had been, one way and the other, an eventful day. ‘Look, Mitch, Chris and I have told you everything that’s happened, everything we’ve seen and heard. I’ve called my friend in the CID but all I got was his answering machine. As soon as he gets the message, he’ll call back – I’ve told him it’s urgent. Once I’ve spoken to him, he’s bound to want to talk to you.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ll be around till Monday evening, then I’m off to New York for a couple of days. Like you said, it’s got to be business as usual.’
There was another silence. Mitch stared moodily at the floor. Chris sat in an armchair with his arms folded, his face expressionless. Melissa stifled a yawn and began gathering up empty coffee-cups. Khan, stretched out beside her chair, lifted his head and followed her with his eyes.
‘I suppose we’d better be going,’ said Mitch. ‘It doesn’t look as if your copper’s going to call back tonight.’
‘No,’ agreed Melissa, thinking that it was just as well. She was not looking forward to confessing her escapade to Ken Harris and the last thing she wanted was to do it before witnesses.
Mitch picked up Chris’s coat and threw it across to him, then put on his own. Chris took the car keys from his pocket and made for the door. ‘Khan, heel,’ he commanded.
The dog sat up, looked first at Melissa and then at Chris. He gave a soft whine, but stayed where he was.
‘C’me on, don’t sod me about.’ Chris snapped his fingers. Reluctantly, Khan got to his feet, followed as far as the front door and stopped, whining again.
‘What’s up with him?’ Mitch grasped the studded leather collar and tugged. Khan resisted, sitting back on his haunches.
‘He doesn’t seem to want to go home,’ said Melissa, trying not to sound impatient, wishing they would all leave and allow her to go to bed.
Khan most certainly did not want to go home. They managed to coax him outside, bu
t when Chris held open the rear door of the car he backed away. He stood for a moment with pricked ears, then put his nose to the ground and began running to and fro, growling softly.
‘Something’s upset him. Maybe there’s a prowler around,’ said Mitch. ‘You’re pretty isolated here, Mel. Don’t you ever get jumpy?’
‘I’m not the nervous type, and anyway I normally have Iris next door.’ She tried to sound unconcerned, but the dog’s strange behaviour was beginning to make her feel uneasy.
‘Tell you what, why don’t we leave him with you for tonight? He seems to want to stay.’
‘Thanks, I’d like that.’ Until that moment, she had been unwilling to admit, even to herself, that she was growing more edgy by the minute. It was irrational and idiotic, probably caused by the excitement of the evening combined with sheer exhaustion, but none the less disturbing.
‘That’s settled, then.’ They all went back indoors while Chris gave Melissa instructions on feeding. She assured him that there was meat in the freezer and that the village shop, which opened on Sunday mornings, had a good supply of dog biscuits. At last, the men departed, leaving her free to lock up.
‘There’s going to be fireworks when Binkie shows up in the morning and sees you,’ Melissa informed her new companion. ‘And I can’t wait to see Iris’s face. Now, where are you going to sleep?’
Khan seemed in no hurry to sleep anywhere. He accompanied her while she checked all the windows and doors and turned off the downstairs lights, sniffing round every room as if he were the gas-man checking for leaks. Melissa, yearning for her bed, was becoming impatient.
‘Come on, boy, settle down, will you?’ She started up the stairs but the dog did not follow. Instead, he stood by the front door, ears pricked, hackles raised. ‘What is it, boy?’ she whispered. ‘Is there someone out there?’
Khan began scratching at the door, whining softly. Melissa could hear nothing, but the dog’s teeth were bared in a snarl and a soft growl rumbled in his throat. Hardly daring to breathe, she stood still and listened.
For several seconds there was silence, followed by faint sounds as if someone was tiptoeing along the grass verge that bordered the drive to the cottages. A ripple of fear ran through her. She thought of what had happened to Stumpy’s caravan and the ripple built up into a wave, threatening to turn into blind panic.
The sounds came closer, then stopped. Her groping fingers found the torch that she kept in readiness against possible power failures; she must act swiftly, catch whoever was out there off guard. Muttering, ‘Go for it, Khan,’ she switched on the torch and flung open the door.
She heard a gasp of alarm as the beam fell on a helmeted figure in jeans and bomber jacket, holding in one hand something that glinted in the light. Then Khan sprang; there was a yell of mingled pain and alarm and, with a thud and a tinkle of breaking glass, the intruder landed flat on his back, one arm firmly clamped between the nutcracker jaws, the other making futile efforts to beat the dog off. Fragments of a shattered milk bottle littered the driveway and the pungent odour of petrol hung in the air. From somewhere not far away came the spluttering roar of a motor-bike starting up and driving away at speed.
Melissa shone her torch on the intruder’s face. He was a hollow-cheeked youngster with a wispy moustache and untidy locks of mousy hair straggling beneath the helmet.
‘What’s the game?’ she demanded.
The youth screwed up his eyes, blinking and twisting his head to and fro in his efforts to avoid the powerful beam. ‘Call off the dog, miss,’ he pleaded. ‘I won’t give no trouble, honest.’
‘He won’t hurt you if you lie still. Was that your mate making off on the bike?’
‘Yeah, the rat.’
‘Who sent you?’
‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’
‘We’ll see about that. Was it just the two of you?’
‘That’s right. Please, miss, call ’im off.’
‘Stand up slowly and don’t get any ideas about running away or he’ll tear your arm off. Khan, leave!’ She had no idea if the threat had any substance, but it had the desired effect; as Khan obeyed, the lad struggled to his feet and stood, stock-still and trembling, waiting for orders.
‘Right. Inside!’ With a gesture of the torch, she marched her prisoner into the kitchen and told him to sit down and remove his helmet and boots.
‘What’s your name?’ she demanded.
‘Clegg,’ he muttered. He cut a sorry figure in his shabby jeans and cheap jacket; his hands were trembling and his eyes blinked incessantly as if he was trying to dislodge a speck of grit. He was none too clean; already, Melissa was thinking that making him remove the boots had not been a good idea.
‘Let’s try again. Who told you to fire-bomb my house?’
Clegg’s eyes seemed to glaze over; it was as if a shutter had come down. ‘Dunno what you’re talking about,’ he repeated sullenly.
‘Okay, you can explain to the police. Khan, guard!’ She went to the telephone.
The bell rang several times before a sleepy and disgruntled Ken Harris answered. ‘Mel! For God’s sake, couldn’t it have waited … what?’ She heard a creak and a thud as he leapt out of bed. ‘How many?’
‘Two. One escaped on a motor-bike. I’ve got the other here.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ The concern in Harris’s voice gave her a momentary, quite unexpected pleasure.
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’
‘I’ll send a patrol car, and I’ll be along myself as quick as I can.’
‘No need to bust a gut. He can’t get away.’ She glanced at her bare-headed, bootless prisoner, still apprehensively eyeing the watchful Khan, and was amazed at how calm she felt. ‘Oh, and look out for your tyres. There’s broken glass all over the place.’
Nineteen
‘Well, well, Blinker Clegg. Bit off your patch, aren’t you?’ The uniformed constable’s tone held the mild surprise of one meeting an old acquaintance in unexpected circumstances, but there was nothing friendly in his expression as he stared down at Melissa’s prisoner.
‘Out for a bike ride with me mate, wasn’t I?’ said Clegg.
‘You usually take a bottle of petrol when you go biking, do you?’ Beneath the mildness, the voice had a sharper edge. ‘Emergency supply, in case you run out on a lonely road?’
‘What’s all this about petrol?’
‘You tell me.’
Clegg shifted on his chair, eyes darting here and there beneath fluttering lids. Khan, now seated protectively at Melissa’s side, watched his every movement. She had experienced an anxious moment when the police arrived, wondering if the dog would accept her assurance that they were friends, but he had behaved like a lamb. Now she was sitting as far away from the malodorous Clegg as the small kitchen would allow while Constable Driver put his questions.
Clegg’s gaze came to rest on a hole in his left sock.
‘Lost our way, hadn’t we?’ he mumbled. ‘Saw the light and came along to ask. Next thing, that bleeding dog had me on the ground.’
‘After hitting you with the bottle?’ Driver pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Come on, Blinker, you can do better than that.’
‘I never had no bottle, honest. There must have been someone else prowling around.’
‘You’re dead right there. Who was with you?’
‘Just a mate.’
‘A mate with no name?’
‘Met him in a pub, didn’t I?’
‘You can tell us about him later. Aha, what’ve you got there, Hodson?’ A second officer, who had been searching outside, came in at that moment with a transparent plastic bag in his hand.
‘There it is,’ he said. ‘Primed and ready to throw.’
Driver took the bag, glanced at the contents, sniffed, and then held it out for Melissa to see. ‘You know what this is, don’t you, Madam?’
She breathed in and swallowed, doing battle with the contortions in her stomach at the whiff of pe
trol and the sight of the shards of glass, jagged peaks where the base of the bottle had broken off, the neck still intact and plugged with a piece of cloth from which trailed a strip several inches long. The realisation of what a narrow escape she had had was like a punch in the solar plexus.
‘If that fuse had been alight when the dog brought him down, all three of you might have copped it,’ Hodson said grimly.
‘Yes, I know,’ she whispered.
He gave her an anxious glance. ‘Are you feeling ill, Madam? Can I get you some water?’
‘It’s all right, thanks, I’ll be okay.’
Driver held the bag up to the light, turning it this way and that and peering at the contents as if they were goldfish swimming in a bowl. ‘Any chance of finding your prints on this little lot, Blinker?’ he asked.
‘I keep telling you …’
‘Save it. I’m arresting you on suspicion of loitering near private property with intent to commit arson … and possibly murder.’
At the word ‘murder’, Clegg looked up at him in terror, eyelids madly vibrating, hands clutching the edge of his chair. ‘No … no!’ he gasped. ‘You … you’ve got it all wrong. It was only … I mean, he promised we weren’t going to hurt no one …’ He broke off and clapped a hand over his mouth, realising that he had said too much.
‘I’m sure we’re very glad to know that,’ said Driver silkily. ‘You can tell us who “he” is and exactly what you were going to do, down at the station.’
‘By the way, there’s a nice tyre print in some mud at the end of the drive,’ said Hodson. ‘Unusual moulding – shouldn’t be too difficult to trace.’
‘Splendid,’ purred Driver. ‘We wouldn’t want Blinker to take all the blame, would we?’ He looked down almost benevolently, like a schoolmaster with a penitent pupil, at the sorry figure in front of him. Melissa half expected him to pat Clegg on the head.
The proceedings were interrupted by a growl from Khan, whose keen ears had detected what the others heard moments later – the sound of an approaching car.
‘That’ll be Chief Inspector Harris,’ said Melissa, in response to Driver’s questioning glance. ‘I was trying to contact him on another matter when … this happened. It’s all right, Khan – another friend,’ she added as Hodson went to the door in response to Harris’s knock.
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