“Fair enough,” Ian said distractedly, switching the TV off.
“Have a good night,” was all Martin had to add.
Not sure whether to be offended, annoyed, suspicious or concerned, Tanya finished her drink.
Twenty Two
The gate clattered against the post. The breeze had developed into a strong wind, snatching the gate from his grip. It wasn’t like him to be caught out like that. Further evidence that he was distracted. He cursed as he caught the gate in his hand - probably too late. Chances were that the noise would have been heard from within the farmhouse.
Carefully, he eased the gate closed, and turned to face the house. A low light seeped out at the edges of the blind in the kitchen window. Too low to come from the kitchen itself. He suspected it came from one of the living rooms. Moving with his usual stealth, he crossed the yard, reaching the door in a few strides. He rested his hand on the knob for a moment, listening for any sound coming from inside. If he really strained his hearing, he could make out a low muttering. Definitely further into the house. Perhaps they hadn’t heard the gate after all.
Gripping the knob, he turned it and was surprised when the door opened. A cold gust blew past him, rattling pans that he knew were hanging up from one of the beams in the kitchen. The muttering stopped. He stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind him. The key was in the lock. He turned it.
Tentative footsteps had replaced the low voices. He recognised the tread on the wooden floorboards in the hallway that lay beyond a half open door on the other side of the room. There was no point in using stealth now, he realised. He flipped the nearest light switch as he moved swiftly across the kitchen. They almost collided as they reached the doorway at the same time.
“Why’s the door unlocked?” he demanded. He should have been angry, but he had found from experience that anger was very difficult to maintain with the woman he was looking at.
Jennifer Hawthorn’s hair was light brown, almost to the point of being blonde. Her olive skin and bright blue eyes contrasted with her hair to give her an exotic appearance. Undoubtedly in generations past there had been mixed parentage, but exactly what that mix was would be impossible to establish. She was five feet five and a half inches in height. She wouldn’t try to round up to five and a half feet, but she wasn’t prepared to negotiate on that extra half inch. From some people, that pedantry would be irritating. From Jennifer it was endearing.
Inevitably, he found himself staring at her, drinking in her beauty. After so many years – decades even – of being together, he was still very grateful to have her as his wife. And even more grateful to see his love for her reflected in her eyes. How lucky was he to have earned the love of this amazing woman?
She reached out and put both arms around him, pressing herself against his body. “I’m sorry,” she said. And he knew she understood that his concern was for her safety. “We just thought it would be easier for you.” Then she pulled back and looked up at him, her brow creased with worry. “There isn’t any danger is there?”
As she said this, he was aware of movement to his right. Adam looked over at his sister, who had just come out of the sitting room. The pair of them had obviously been waiting for him in there. Her expression was very serious, questioning.
There was no easy way to break it to them.
“He’s here.”
Part Two - Feel the Fear
One
Going with Martin for the walk in the woods had clearly taken its toll. Tanya wasn’t used to that amount of exercise or fresh air, so she had fallen into a deep sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. She had no idea what time Ian had come up and joined her. When she looked at the alarm clock after being woken up by the sound of him opening the wardrobe, she was surprised to see that it wasn’t yet quarter past seven. And from the relative liveliness of his movements around the bedroom, she guessed he’d already been up for a while. She had pulled the duvet over her head and pressed the right side of her head into the pillow, hoping that with one ear incapacitated she would minimise the disturbance.
Inevitably, she couldn’t go back to sleep, but at least her waking was a more gradual process. And as she woke, she started to think.
Ian’s meeting with the bank was scheduled for ten o’clock. This meeting was only in Westfield, so he didn’t need to leave until 9:15. She knew plenty of people who would leave it until 9:30. But she also knew that Ian would be ultra cautious. He would want to make a good impression, so he would give himself extra time, then wait around outside the bank until a couple of minutes to ten. That way he would be confident of being punctual. With any luck, that degree of punctuality would catch the manager out. He would expect his customers to turn up early or late, and so assume that when Ian wasn’t early, there was only one alternative. And when the manager assumed that, he tended to get involved in another job. So when Ian’s arrival was announced, he would either have to finish it quickly, or leave it to one side, and be distracted by the unfinished work. Whichever was the case, the outcome was the same. The manager was at a disadvantage, and Ian had control of the meeting.
It was a ridiculous theory, but Ian had shown that it worked so often she’d come to accept it as fact.
The question was: what was he doing up and about this early? He always showered and ate breakfast before dressing, so she knew he must have been up no later than 6:30. By the time she had reached this point in her thinking, she could hear him gargling in the en-suite. She lifted the covers half-heartedly to look at the clock again. It was still not yet 7:30. But gargling meant he was almost ready. Which meant he’d be leaving within the next five to ten minutes.
Whatever his reason for going this early – and she could think of several – it began to dawn on her that this presented her with a fantastic opportunity. At the very least, the meeting with the bank would last half an hour. It could very well go on for a lot longer. And if it started late – which is what Ian would expect – it could be well past eleven before he left. But even if she assumed the worst-case scenario, he wouldn’t be back at the farm before 11:00. And if he was gone by twenty to eight, that gave her over three hours in the house with Martin. Curled up under the duvet, she allowed her fingers to wander just as her mind did.
Only to be interrupted by the mattress sinking at the side of her. Guiltily, she snatched her arm back, disguising the movement by lifting the covers from her head.
“Sorry to disturb you.” His voice was soft, little more than a whisper. “Just wanted to let you know I was going.”
She forced a smile. “I’m sure it’ll go well,” she said, and she meant it. If anyone could handle the money side it was Ian. More importantly, if anyone could handle the people with the money, he could.
He nodded an acknowledgement, though he didn’t look as convinced as she thought he should. “I’ll see you later.” He didn’t attempt to kiss her, for which she was grateful. Instead, he just stood up and left the room. She heard him on the stairs, and for several minutes there was some movement from – she thought – the kitchen. Eventually, she heard the kitchen door open and close. All the time, listening carefully, willing him on, and forcing herself to wait for him to go. Much as she wanted to jump out of bed, she knew she couldn’t be too hasty. Even after she’d heard the door close, she strained her hearing, waiting for the sound of the Land Rover starting.
She didn’t like the vehicle at all. Ian would argue that it was practical for getting around on the land, and in the countryside. But Tanya wasn’t interested in practical. She wanted sleek lines, distinctive colours, and an engine that made heads turn. The engine was the only advantage the Land Rover had as far as she was concerned. Not because it sounded good, but because it was loud and distinctive. It acted as an early warning system if she was doing something she shouldn’t be. Fortunately, it had served this purpose on only one occasion so far. But equally, it clearly announced its departure so she knew when the coast was clear.
Which it d
id for her thirty seconds after the kitchen door closed. She listened to the engine noise rise in volume as Ian warmed it up, then the pitch changed as he set off, and moments later it was fading away as he drove out of the yard and turned on to the track.
Less than a minute later, she was in the shower.
* * *
By ten to eight, she was at the bottom of the stairs. In spite of her experience at seducing men, she had hesitated over her preparations. Her entrance had to have an effect, and that meant getting her appearance right. Different men found different things exciting. Tanya was quite capable of catering to all tastes, from the near-virginal look to the complete slut – and had the exciting memories to prove it. Working out what would do the trick was normally easy enough, but Martin was difficult to read. In the end, she had decided to keep things relatively simple – a silk kimono-style dressing gown that came no lower than mid-thigh. It clung to her body, leaving any onlooker in no doubt that she was naked beneath it.
The wooden floor of the hallway gave way to cold quarry tiles in the kitchen. A glance out the window and into the yard. Her caution was driven by the possibility that Ian might have returned while she was in the shower and couldn’t hear anything above the water. Unlikely, but she didn’t want to take any chances. As expected, the only vehicle out there was her Mercedes. Not wanting to let her feet get too cold, she hurried to the other side of the room. She didn’t mind the cold, but was thinking ahead, and didn’t want to give Martin a shock when she climbed into his bed – not that kind of a shock anyway.
Fortunately, the floor in the annexe hallway was carpeted. At the end of it, she could see the bedroom door was slightly ajar. Inviting, perhaps? A part of her wanted to savour the anticipation, but there was also some apprehension. In spite of her previous successes with members of the opposite sex, she still had some doubts as far as Martin was concerned. The lack of time was a bigger driver, though. She might have until eleven before Ian returned, but he would be expecting to find her showered, dressed, breakfasted and the washing up all done. If she was going to make the most of this opportunity, she didn’t have time for hesitation.
Pushing the door open, she stepped quietly over the threshold. It would be good to sneak into his bed while he slept. She had a whole range of ways she could gently – and erotically – wake him up. Even as this thought was filtering through her mind, she realised her plans might be thwarted.
His bedclothes had been pushed back. The sheets were still rumpled from where he had lain, and the pillow showed the indent his head had made. She glanced towards the shower room. The door there was half open, the only light coming through was from the small window in there.
It crossed her mind to climb into the bed and wait for him. That would be a surprise for him. But something didn’t seem right. There was no sound, not running water or even the splash of urine flowing into the toilet bowl.
Crossing the room, she popped her head into the en-suite. It was empty.
A minute later, she’d established that he wasn’t in any of the other rooms in the annexe. Within five minutes, she knew he wasn’t anywhere in the house. Irritated and frustrated, she returned to her bedroom. She’d worked up an itch that needed scratching. Lying back on the bed, focusing on her own needs, she didn’t consider where Martin was or what he was up to.
Two
“We didn’t ’ear anything,” John Payne said, shaking his head. “Not that we’d’ve been listening out for it...” He tailed off, clearly at a loss for words. It was obvious the man was still in a state of shock.
He was standing behind the counter. In front of him was the tiered confectionary display, an array of chocolate bars and sweet packets that reminded Brian Oakes of his schooldays. Only six years ago, yet a wholly different way of life. Long gone were the visits to the newsagents on his way home from school, a ritual that seemed as if it would last forever. A selection of goodies at least as wide-ranging as the one Payne was resting his hands on the back of. And yet he’d found himself still buying the same things every day: Opal Fruits and a finger of Fudge. Sickly sweet and all the better for it. These days he’d be more likely to stop off at the pub on his way home.
Brian glanced around the shop. It wasn’t a big place. Apart from the counter there was a single shelving rack in the middle of the floor, as well as shelves on the walls either side of the store. The windows were directly opposite the counter, and stretched floor to ceiling, giving a clear view of the row of houses on the other side of the street. The goods on offer were the usual mish-mash of things you’d expect to buy in a village shop: magazines, tinned food, breakfast cereals, bread, a limited supply of fresh vegetables. He looked again. Well, maybe fresh was optimistic. Without looking at the price tags, he knew everything would be over-priced, but they were only likely to be bought in an emergency anyway. Under those circumstances, he supposed you wouldn’t mind paying over the odds. Brian had been born and raised in a town south of the county. In spite of his four years with the police, he didn’t yet appreciate how important a shop like John Payne’s was to a small community like this. The presence of two customers filling baskets did nothing to alter his thinking. But it did make him realise there was the potential for them to disturb him while he worked.
When he turned back to look at Payne, he was unsurprised to see that the shopkeeper’s face gave no indication that he had been aware of the young constable’s lack of attention. Mrs Payne was another matter. She was standing in a boxed-off area to the right of the main counter. This was the official face of the Post Office. The expression on her face made it clear that she was not suffering from any shock. Instead, he got the impression that she wanted the bastards who had stolen their van to be strung up and left alone with her and a baseball bat for half an hour.
Nodding towards the two customers, Brian said: “It would be helpful if we could talk about this without any interruptions. Is there anyone who could help out while I take all the details off you?” He pulled his notebook out as he spoke, hoping they would get the message that he was taking their situation seriously – and so should they.
The chances were that they were probably impressed that he was there at all. They’d reported the van stolen at eight o’clock this morning, and it was only ten-thirty now. That was a fast response for a case like this, especially with them being out in the sticks. Not that he was inclined to tell them, but the only reason they were seeing him this soon was the fact that he’d already been due to visit Lodge Farm this morning. Although it wasn’t expected that the gruesome accident yesterday would lead to any accusations of criminal action, the injuries had been sufficient to warrant a referral by the hospital to the police. Conscious of the need to stay within budgets, the Desk Sergeant had told Brian he might as well pull this one in while he was in the village.
Behind the counter, John Payne hadn’t budged or changed his expression. Mrs Payne, on the other hand, was leaning through an opening at the back of her cubicle. Brian realised he hadn’t noticed it before. It reminded him of a serving hatch his grandparents had between their kitchen and dining room. Watching the postmistress, he let his gaze fall to her bottom, which was pushed out towards him. Nice arse, he thought. She pulled her head back and turned towards him. Shame about the face. He guessed she might have been attractive once. It was difficult to tell how old she was. Whatever age, she hadn’t worn well. Her hair was blonde, but shot through with grey. Face pasty and creased with wrinkles. He couldn’t even be generous and call them laughter lines, because there was no sign of good humour. There was just a weariness that emanated from her.
Not that her husband looked much better. His age was easier to guess. Brian would put him in his mid-fifties. Silver-grey hair, thick-set and thick-jowled, his complexion ruddy in a manner that spoke more of a fondness for alcohol than the great outdoors. The large, dark-rimmed glasses served to make his eyes look small and sunken in his fleshy face.
A door in the Post Office cubicle opened and Mrs Payn
e’s head poked round the side of it.
“We can’t leave the shop unattended. My daughter’ll be here in a moment to look after the till, but we’ll need to stay close in case she needs any help.”
That seemed okay to Brian. He just didn’t want interruptions from the customers if they decided they wanted to pay for their shopping. A glance at their baskets did make him wonder how they’d managed to find so much to buy in this place. And they were still perusing the shelves.
The sound of a door opening brought his attention back to the counter area. The door in question was behind the counter and on the opposite side to the Post Office cubicle. He watched as a young woman emerged cautiously, her eyes cast down shyly. If this was the daughter, Brian could see why he’d thought Mrs Payne might have been attractive when she was younger. Her features, even from this awkward angle were clearly those of her mother. The rounded nose, the wide mouth, the pale skin with freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. Her hair was long and loose. As she moved, it was almost as if she used it to hide behind.
“Come on, Helen!” Mrs Payne said impatiently. John didn’t even seem to be aware she was there. Apparently startled by the sharpness of her mother’s voice, Helen jumped a little, her shoulders rising, her right hand briefly coming into view. Nodding, her lips moving in a silent apology, she hurried past her father and into the cubicle. A moment later, he saw her settle on to the stool behind the desk. Light reflected off the glass screen, obscuring his view of her. Still, there was something...
“Right!” It was Mrs Payne, closing the door behind her. “Let’s get on with this, shall we?” Without the door or the bandit screen in the way, he heard her voice for the first time and realised she wasn’t a local. He wasn’t very good with accents, but he knew a strange one when he heard it.
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