‘I’m enquiring about a Mr Fred Smith who was admitted last night …’
And who was I, a relative? My perjury stakes were already high – I lifted them further.
‘Yes, I’m his son, Jake.’
The outright lie opened doors. Fred’s condition was critical. Could I bring his things, pyjamas, toiletries in asap, please? Today if I didn’t mind. I did mind, very much. There was nowhere in the entire universe I wanted to go less.
‘Of course,’ I reassured the female on the phone. ‘I’ll come straight away.’
Swearing into my breakfast cereal, I wondered how the devil I was going to avoid being found out as an impostor. No point yet in informing Jake his father’s condition was critical – it would only inflame his temper even more. What he didn’t know would keep Annabel safe for at least a little while longer.
Checking I still had Fred’s keys in my pocket, I locked the cottage and headed over to Newark. It was busy, the tail end of the rush hour, and took me nearly twice as long as it should have done before I pulled up outside Fred’s house.
If the house was under scrutiny it was too damn bad. It was just one more risk I had to take. The old man had to have his stuff and there was only myself who could collect it. Even so, I glanced both ways and picked up the bottle of milk waiting on the doorstep before sliding the key into the lock and gaining entry. The house already had an empty, unoccupied air about it. I put the milk in the fridge. It seemed very doubtful whether Fred would ever drink it.
Opening a drawer in the kitchen, I pulled out a plastic shopping bag. I cast a glance around the downstairs rooms but they seemed undisturbed and just the same as I remembered from yesterday.
There was a pair of worn, down-at-heel checked slippers beside Fred’s chair. As I bent down, the strong ammonia smell of urine was breathtaking – the chair appeared to be saturated. Gagging, I pushed the slippers into the bottom of the bag and added his spectacles in their case from where they lay on the sideboard. Also on the sideboard was an open tobacco tin practically empty but with just a few shreds of cigarette filling in the bottom. I left it there.
Climbing the staircase, I went into the bathroom. It was a sight I’d rather not have seen. Filthy was a massive understatement. Biting back a feeling of revulsion at the squalor, I looked in the wall cabinet and found an ancient toothbrush and a three-quarters empty tube of toothpaste together with his razor and some soap. I added a comb that had far more gaps than teeth and was clogged with greasy hairs. Lifting the lid from a round plastic pot, I grimaced as Fred’s false teeth smiled up at me. They joined the rest of his stuff in the plastic bag.
Backing thankfully out of the bathroom, I went in search of his bedroom and some pyjamas. The overpowering smell of urine in the house was something I’d braced myself to deal with but, if anything, it was slightly less noticeable upstairs, so I was totally unprepared for the smell that hit me when I opened the next door along the landing. Then, before I’d identified the cause, I knew this must have been what Jim Matthews was having trouble trying to describe. He said it was like rotting straw. Stepping carefully into the tiny bedroom, I could see the source of damp. There was a huge damp area on the ceiling near the one wall with a window. On top of the lino covering the floor was an old single mattress that had obviously been absorbing the rainwater coming through the ceiling from a defect in the outside roof. It was covered in mildew and mouse droppings.
At one end, the mattress cover had been ripped away, exposing the interior contents. Lying on the lino by the side of the mattress was an open empty tobacco tin. Empty, except for an old, used, dried-up tea bag. That, too, was ripped and the dried leaf scattered in the bottom of the tin.
How a human being could sink to this stage of degradation was beyond shocking. I stood and shook my head in disbelief. Just looking at it answered one of my questions as to how Fred had managed to smoke roll-ups if he had been unable to get to the shops for either food or tobacco.
The mattress wasn’t made of flock or padding with springs like a modern conventional mattress. It was an ancient palliasse. I’d heard of them but never seen one. Basically, it was a mattress made out of compressed straw. And underneath the portion where the outer cover had been ripped away was a gaping hole disgorging mouldy straw.
This was Fred’s source of material for filling his home-made paper roll-ups.
I left the little room of horrors, located Fred’s bedroom, snatched up some pyjamas and hastily exited the house, locking it behind me with thankfulness.
I’d never have to go in there again. I didn’t envy the people who would have to clean it all out. The whole place was rampant with germs and would need sterilizing.
I double knotted the plastic bag and put it in the boot. Whether the contents would be of any use to Fred was debatable. The next thing would be to drop the bag off at the hospital. Undoubtedly, I’d have to lie again, and resentment rose in me. Being over a barrel forced me to do things I never usually did and rankled strongly. I retraced my journey of the previous night and turned off the main road on to the approach road to the hospital. I never got there.
Up front, turning into the car park of the hospital were two police cars, blue lights flashing. They swung round and stopped in front of the main entrance. I didn’t stay to count the number of officers hastily exiting the cars and entering the hospital. I took a sharp right-hand turn down a side street and kept going. Obviously, an incident was taking place inside – most likely an assault on the poor overworked nurses to warrant that amount of manpower. Whatever was happening, there would now be one less spectator – me. Running into the arms of the police at this moment was a no-no. Even as I drove away fast, I was thinking at least Jake would agree that hightailing before the police spotted me was the only thing to do.
I drove home. I wanted to talk to Annabel but although I tried her number twice it went to answerphone and invited me to phone back to make an appointment. She was clearly busy with clients. I gave up and decided to leave it until she was back home this evening.
I booted up my computer and attempted to bury myself in producing some copy, with a rapidly approaching deadline, for my regular newspaper column. For once, the prose flowed and with satisfaction I saved it to read through later before sending to the editor of the paper.
Stretching and yawning, I ambled through to the kitchen and fixed a coffee. There was no sign of Leo. I hoped he hadn’t staked out another lady friend. Any more ginger kittens being dumped on the table I could do without. Taking a gulp of coffee, I wondered vaguely just what his score was right now. Cats have upwards of around six in a litter twice a year. The number could conceivably run into the hundreds – conceivably was the right word! My musing was interrupted by my mobile stridently playing The Great Escape.
‘Yes?’
‘Harry?’
‘Yes. Who is it?’
There was a breathy little sigh of relief at the other end. ‘I’m so glad to get through; I’ve been trying for ages. You’re either switched off or engaged.’
‘Would that be Georgia?’
‘Oh, sorry, yes, it’s me.’
‘How are you?’
‘Good, thanks. But I need to speak to you, see you, because it’s too difficult over a phone.’
‘Right.’
I’d initially thought she’d rung simply to re-establish contact but it clearly wasn’t just to further our possible friendship.
‘Could we make it soon, Harry? How about if we met up for lunch, say, Wednesday? It’s my day off from the shop.’
‘Sorry, no, can’t make Wednesday. I’m hoping to be passed as fit and racing at Leicester. You could come to the racecourse and watch the racing if you’d like.’
‘I’d love to, Harry, but, really, I need to see you, speak privately. It’s a bit, difficult …’
I had a quick think. ‘Look, I’m free around lunchtime today. How about we meet up, say in a pub?’
‘Well, there’s a decent café only a
couple of doors away from the shop. I could lock up for half an hour and be there at twelve thirty.’
‘Fine, yes, let’s do that. What’s the name of this café?’
‘The Whistling Kettle.’
‘See you there then. Bye.’
Georgia said goodbye and disconnected. She’d seemed flustered but I didn’t see what could be so important. We’d only met the once. As far as I knew there were no loose ends demanding tying. I’d intended to head back to the hospital and check on Fred when the police presence had disappeared but it was already well gone eleven. It was not viable now. I had to be in Grantham at lunchtime.
Instead, I went upstairs and had a very hot and protracted cleansing shower – the second today – followed by dumping my clothes in the washer. I didn’t want any vestige of eau de Fred lingering on my person, especially when I was lunching with an attractive female.
The Whistling Kettle café was about half-full when I arrived but there was no sign of Georgia. The colour scheme was a fresh-looking yellow and white and the interior was ultra-clean. I slid into one of two seats at a corner table and ordered a pot of tea for two. By the time it arrived, Georgia was just hurrying through the door. She cast a quick glance around. I raised a discreet hand an inch or two off the table and her face brightened. She came over.
‘Would madam like some tea?’
She grinned and nodded. ‘Madam certainly would, it’s been so busy in the shop this morning. Mustn’t complain … business and all that.’
Slipping off her jacket, she hung it over the back of the chair. We sipped hot tea appreciatively for a few moments.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’
‘Hmm, yes, a cheese toastie would be lovely.’
I went up to the counter and ordered two. No telling where I’d be later, or even if I’d have chance to grab any food. Since I’d been unable to go over to the hospital this morning, it looked like the only chance I’d have to take Fred’s possessions would be much later tonight, after I’d placated Jake with some hot food.
‘Now,’ I sat back at the table and finished off my tea, ‘what is it you have to tell me? You said it was a bit tricky.’
‘And it is.’ She nodded. ‘I know I told you I couldn’t disclose that name of the person who bought the dozen white roses …’
‘But?’ I prompted, my interest sparking.
‘I’ve done nothing but wonder ever since if I ought to … I’m aware of data protection but it seems important, apart from the flowers, that you should be aware who the person is.’
We were interrupted by the waitress, who brought two crispy-looking toasties with side salad. I thanked and complimented her on the tempting look of them. Then switched my attention back to what Georgia was saying.
‘This is getting intriguing.’
‘Not for me.’ She gulped, fixed her attention on cutting off a small piece of her toastie and putting it in her mouth. I realized she’d done it deliberately to give herself thinking time, so I also made a start on my own lunch.
‘You know when we were in the car park at the Dirty Duck … after we’d had our meal?’ I nodded and chewed.
‘Did you wonder why I zipped off so quickly out of the car park?’
I stopped chewing. ‘Yes, I did, actually. Unless you were just relieved to be rid of me.’
She smiled briefly. ‘Don’t be silly, we had a lovely evening. No, when we were saying cheerio, I was put in a difficult position. I couldn’t drive away immediately because there was another vehicle coming in through the entrance. Do you remember?’
‘Yes.’ I did remember. It had been Uncle George and Aunt Rachel. I’d waved to them.
‘I had to wait,’ Georgia went on, ‘and I saw you put your hand up to them. You knew those people.’
I nodded and waited.
‘The lady in that car – she was the person who bought the white roses.’
‘What?’ The shock went right through me. ‘Are you sure, Georgia?’
‘Hmmm.’ She sat opposite me, nodding. ‘I’m quite sure.’
‘But … it couldn’t have been. Honestly, Georgia, it couldn’t.’
‘It was, Harry. I don’t know her name; I’m guessing the one she gave was false. I’m sorry if it’s a shock but it was definitely her.’
I was speechless. Knowing the family background and Aunt Rachel’s opinion of my mother, it was unbelievable.
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘It’s not possible.’ I said aloud the words that were emphatically echoing around in my brain.
Georgia shook her head gently. ‘You’d better believe it, Harry, it was that woman.’
It seemed a standoff. And there was only one way to resolve it – I had to ask Aunt Rachel if she’d bought those white roses. But assuming she had, what prompted her to do so? And even more disturbing was the reason for writing those words on the card.
‘I’m sorry it’s upset you, Harry, but did I do right telling you?’
‘Hmm?’ I brought my attention back, ‘Oh, yes.’ I nodded. ‘Just a pity you didn’t tell me before. I went over to visit both of them yesterday. I could have asked her then.’
‘You haven’t told me who we’re talking about.’
‘No, sorry, I haven’t. It’s my Uncle George and Aunt Rachel.’
‘Oh, dear.’ She looked stricken. ‘They’re your relatives …’
I smiled ruefully. ‘My only relatives.’
‘Could I ask why it’s so important, because the effect it’s had on you is … awful?’ She shook her head. ‘You can’t see your face, but it’s as white as this plate.’
Her words drew our attention to the food that was rapidly cooling.
‘I suggest we eat. Be a shame to spoil the cook’s efforts.’
She took heed of my suggestion and made a determined assault on her toastie and salad. I followed her example but it could have been anything I was eating. Georgia was right about the outcome of her revelation – and revelation was the correct word. I felt shocked through to my core. The words on the card accompanying the flowers had read …
Forgive me, Elizabeth. I should have had the courage to ask you long ago. Too late for us now – my loss. May you and Silvie comfort each other.
My sincere love to you both.
Initially, I’d assumed it to be written by a man. Subsequently, on reading the order-book entry, I’d been forced to agree that a woman had bought them. That fact had caused enough shock, but now … if Georgia was correct and it was my own aunt … what in God’s name was it all about?
Just what was it my mother hadn’t been asked? I didn’t have a clue but I sure as hell was going to ask Aunt Rachel for an answer.
After escorting Georgia back to her shop, I drove from Grantham to Mike’s Leicestershire stables. I found him laid out in his favourite leather armchair making the most of the after lunch dead part of the racing day. There were no runners today. It was all kicking off tomorrow at Leicester racecourse.
‘Hi, Mike.’ I flung myself down in a comfortable winged armchair.
‘All OK?’
‘Yes, thanks – well, as OK as this crazy world gets.’
‘Any developments in any direction?’
‘Huh,’ I snorted. ‘Where do you want me to begin?’
‘That crazy, eh?’
I nodded and leaned back against the softly accommodating chair.
Pen popped her head round the door. ‘Harry.’ She smiled. ‘Like coffee, both?’ We nodded in unison and she withdrew back to the kitchen.
‘Give, then.’ Mike settled himself more comfortably. ‘With the look of your face, you need to unload.’
He listened without interrupting while I unloaded.
Pen came in when I was about halfway through, left two steaming mugs and took herself quietly off again.
‘Phew,’ Mike whistled softly when I’d finished and shook his head. ‘It gathers momentum.’
‘Yes.’
‘And poor old Fred sounds li
ke he’s on the way out.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
We each reached for our drinks.
‘It’s coming to a showdown, Mike. I’m seeing bits of jigsaw that are starting to interlock.’
‘If you say so, Harry. Myself, well, I can’t see where any of this is leading, except the whole situation’s getting bloody dangerous.’
‘I need to set up a back-up plan. You still OK for riding shotgun?’
‘Yep, pardner, I sure am.’
We looked at each other and grinned.
‘Thanks for listening and for standing in the firing line.’
He flipped a dismissive hand. ‘So, tell me, have you worked out a plan?’
‘I’m working on it but until anything erupts I don’t know which way it will go. However, Barbara’s involved somewhere; Lizzie was photographed in her stable yard. I’m going to do some more digging before tomorrow’s party and then buttonhole her. You remember; she helped out the last time it came to the crunch.’
‘She certainly played her part.’
‘I’ve a feeling she might know something crucial and be needed this time, too.’
‘So if I get an urgent call from her, it means saddle up and bring my loaded shotgun?’
I nodded. ‘Very likely. You see, Jake knows we’re mates but he doesn’t know Barbara’s a feisty lady. He’s a slippery bastard. And I might need an ally he knows nothing about. I had thought I might have to call on her help at Southwell Races that Tuesday. I didn’t in the end, but I knew I could rely on Barbara to help.’
We sat and finished our coffee and I felt a great deal better than when I’d arrived.
‘Changing the conversation, Mike – racing, tomorrow. I’m on Penny Black, then?’
‘I’m sure your being OK’d to ride is a formality, Harry. Like you say, you’re feeling well. And Chloe also wants you to ride White Lace for her.’
I nodded. ‘Just get cleared and we’re in business.’
The grandfather clock in the hall struck three thirty.
Mike stretched and pushed up reluctantly from the comfortable seat. I knew he’d got evening stables to attend to. Had thought maybe I’d give him a hand, but since Georgia’s bombshell I was determined to drive over and confront Aunt Rachel.
Dead Reckoning Page 20