by Liz Evans
‘Allow me.’ Henry’s hand had dropped to my knee and was following the route upwards. I forestalled him by finding the business end of Beano’s muzzle and shoving him away. Henry commanded him to lie down.
With a sigh, Beano panted away until just his amber eyes were staring unwinkingly from a corner.
‘You’re very late, m’dear. Are you here in response to my message?’
‘What message?’
‘I left one on that answering contraption at your office. I was wondering if you had any news for me. I take it you do?’
‘It’s more a request. For information. And I’m sorry about the time, but I had trouble getting away. I’ve been to a garden party. In fact, I’m surprised we didn’t bump into each other there. Doesn’t Joan Reiss invite you to her knees-ups? After all, she is your sister-in-law.’
I didn’t detect any reaction in the stiffly seated figure, but Beano’s antennae were more finely tuned to his master’s vibes; he’d whined at a pitch that made my teeth itch.
After a short pause, Henry had admitted the relationship. And then calmly added he didn’t see it made the slightest difference to our business.
‘Of course it makes a flaming difference!’
‘In what way? May I offer a nightcap, incidentally? Tea or coffee? A snifter?’
‘No. Thanks,’ I added grudgingly. When I’m on to a good self-righteous rant I just hate to be interrupted. ‘If it’s not such a big deal that you’re related to the directors of Wexton’s Engineering, how come you didn’t mention it when I told you that was where Kristen, or rather Julie-Frances, worked?’
‘I found it irrelevant. Who told you about me? Not Joan, I should imagine.’
‘No. It was a man called Alfie Carnegie. He’s ...’
‘I remember Alfred. I can see him now, escorting Blanche down the aisle. Isn’t it strange the things that stick in one’s mind ... perhaps because it was one of the last days I saw. I’d been watching the vicar, staring at him so hard my neck was stiff with the effort ... he had a port-wine birthmark shaped like Malta on his left cheek ... then the music changed and I turned my head - and there was Blanche, with the sun coming in through the rose window and lighting up her hair like the palest golden silk. I got a pain, an actual physical pain in the centre of my chest just looking at her ... smiling ... gliding towards me. I couldn’t believe that she was really mine, that this ... enchanted creature had actually agreed to be my wife.’
My eyes had become more accustomed to the lack of lighting and I could see the fingers of his right hand clasping and twisting the sweater over his heart; now they relaxed and his shoulders slumped. ‘I’m sorry ... you must forgive an old man, but you see, in my head I still look like the young chap at the altar that morning ... and Blanche, my beautiful Blanche, she’ll always be as she was on that day to me.’
Awkwardly I moved over to sit beside him and took a hand. ‘No. It’s me who should apologise. It’s just... you can see it looks bloody odd. You pay me to find someone, I discover she’s working for a company you’re related to in a manner of speaking ... and you don’t bother to mention the fact.’
‘Because there is no relationship, m’dear. That ended on the day Blanche died. Indeed, it would never have started if Joan had had her wish. She was still trying to run Blanche’s life, as she had done ever since Blanche was small. Joan had a very forceful personality and, if I may say so - and who else could - a blind faith in her own invincibility.’
‘She still has.’
‘I think it was the first time Blanche had ever stood up to her. Perhaps if she hadn’t, she might still be alive ... in the end I suppose you could say Joan was proved right when she said I would ruin her sister’s life. She blames me, of course. I was driving the car.’
‘On your honeymoon, Uncle Alfie said.’
‘Scotland. It was getting dark, raining ... we were coming down into a glen ... hit a patch of mud ... I couldn’t hold it ...we went over the edge. Blanche was killed outright, her neck broke. And I ...’ He touched the spectacles.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No you’re not, m’dear. It was a very long time ago. And no doubt you can’t imagine that an old man like me could ever have felt love or passion. I was in hospital in Edinburgh for months; they operated six or seven times. At first they thought one eye might be saved, but in the end an infection set in so it had to go. Joan and Derek came to see me in the hospital. I had no family of my own and I remember I was quite touched at the time that they should have made that long journey on my behalf ... given their earlier antipathy ...’
‘Derek didn’t like you either?’
‘Derek did pretty much what his wife wanted ... and what she wanted in this instance was for me to sell my share in Wexton’s to Derek. Blanche and I had made wills in each other’s favour so everything her father had left her came to me.’
I did a bit of quick mental arithmetic. If Uncle Alfie owned fifteen per cent of the company, then assuming Joan and Blanche had been left equal shares, Henry must have been sitting on forty-two and a half per cent at that time.
‘You agreed?’
‘It seemed sensible. I needed money for medical care ...’
‘Didn’t they have the National Health back then?’
Henry snorted. ‘I’m not quite that ancient, m’dear. Of course they did. But there were other expenses - convalescence, home nursing, someone to sort out the cooking and cleaning ... As Joan so kindly pointed out, these things mount up, and with a substantial sum in the bank, earning interest ... anyway, the upshot of it was I sold ... bloody stupid move, I saw that later ... matter of fact, I tried to take them to court later. I was full of drugs, painkillers and the like, didn’t know what I was signing away ...’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. Lawyers didn’t give it odds ... said expenses could bankrupt me ... all right for the Reisses of course ... they had plenty of money to put up a fight. Anyhow ... upshot ... nothing, no case, no restitution, no damn money. Are you surprised I don’t wish to boast any sort of connection with Joan Reiss or her family?’
‘I guess not.’
‘May I ask if this is getting us any closer to finding Kristen?’
‘Julie-Frances.’
‘The name scarcely matters. It is her current location that is of importance. Do you have it?’
‘No.’ I had to admit that the last definite location I had for Kristen/Julie-Frances was the Bridgeman house.
Quickly I filled Henry in on her movements up until the morning Stephen had said goodbye to her and gone off to his meeting at Wexton’s.
I’d had a bit of a tussle with my conscience on whether I should tell Henry about Stephen’s scheme to rip off the Sumata designs, but in the end I figured he’d been my first client so he had a right to anything I found out about Kristen’s motives for disappearing.
‘She may have just decided to go in for a bit of private enterprise. Grab the designs and sell them elsewhere. I’m getting the airlines checked out to see if I can get a handle on her
‘She was a thief ... a lying little cheat. My God, is there no honour left in this world?’
‘We don’t know that. She might just have ...’
‘Have what?’ Henry snapped. ‘Been smitten by a light on the road to Slough and decided to confess all? I think Bridgeman might have had a visit from the Fraud Squad by now if that was the case, don’t you, m’dear?’
The bitterness in his voice surprised me. She’d really got to him. How long would it be before he trusted anyone else enough to let them penetrate the loneliness, I wondered? A heck of a time, I suspected.
‘So what happens now? Will this airline tracing faddle work?’
‘It might.’ I’d half expected him to tell me to can the whole investigation.
‘Then you can keep me informed. I wish to know as soon as you locate her. I shall have words to say to that young lady. She has proved to be a great disappointment.’
&nbs
p; Boy, that was going to have Julie-Frances quaking in her pink suede mini-skirt, I thought ruefully, pointing the car back towards the promenade.
I’d approached his house along St John’s Road via the inland route and I could have got home the same way, but after an evening of rich rollicking I suddenly felt a yen for a bit of common old nightlife.
And you didn’t get much commoner than downtown Seatoun. The reverberation of the games machines and thundering beat of the music were tingling through the base of my feet on the car pedals. There were more kids around than normal; probably due to half-term. They tended to come down for the evening; party until their money ran out; then crash out on the beach if the rain held off, or clutter up the shelters and station waiting room if it chucked it down.
Down on the front, the steadily strobing blue pulse of the emergency vehicle parked up round the corner beyond the cinema stood out amongst the strings of multi-coloured fairy lights and pewter moonlight reflecting off the sea.
Coming up on it, I assumed it was a police van collecting up a contingent of those who’d decided to round off the evening by slinging a rubbish bin through the plate-glass windows or starting a fight with some other thickos who hadn’t shown them ’nuff respect.
It looked like I’d missed the arrest, since the light was pulsing on and off on the top of the ambulance dispatched to collect up the non-walking wounded.
A huddle of spectators were watching the free show, eyes fixed on the attendants bending over something on the pavement, whilst their mouths opened automatically to accept another chip.
I’d have driven straight past if my eye hadn’t caught a glimpse of yellow. Pulling over beyond the ambulance, I sprinted back. They’d just got the casualty strapped into the stretcher and were preparing to lift.
‘What happened? How bad is it?’
The paramedic nearest me glanced over her shoulder. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Yes,’ I said, looking down at the bruised and dirt-covered face held immobile by a neck brace, ‘I know him. He answers to Figgy.’
CHAPTER 33
‘Oh no yer don’t, sticky fingers!’
I resented that ‘sticky fingers’. I’d have resented broken fingers even more. Which was what I’d have ended up with if my reflexes had been a fraction slower. As it was, I managed to snatch them back a millisecond before the size twelves crashed to the pavement.
So much for doing my good deed for the day. Selfish indifference is definitely a healthier attitude to life. I’d got my nose smashed in protecting Rachel in the Downs social club the other night, and now I’d only just missed a broken hand trying to rescue Annie’s radio cassette player.
I’d spotted it half lying under a rubbish bin about twenty yards beyond the spot where Figgy had ended up. It was well stuck. I’d just managed to gently ease it free without adding any more scratches to the case when that foot crashed down.
I leapt, rolled and straightened up in one movement before he could get a grip on me. ‘Hi, Terry. That was a close one. Still, no harm done.’
As proof I extended my middle digit and waggled it under his nose.
Rosco scowled. As usual he was wearing the peaked cap a fraction closer to his eyebrows than required by regulations. He thinks it makes him look macho. The patrol car was pulled off the road behind the ambulance and I could see his partner moving amongst the spectators with her notebook.
‘Pity you missed, really. I could have done with the compensation money. Did they not cover unnecessary force on your training programme, Terry? Oh I forgot, they must have done. You’ve been commended for it several times, haven’t you? Or did they say cautioned?’
‘At least I wasn’t chucked out for taking bungs from pond- life.’
‘That one’s nearly as old as the Titanic look-out’s I think there could be a little bit of ice ahead, Captain.’
‘True, though, weren’t it? And bigger than everyone thought.’
‘Not a phrase that Mrs Rosco uses much, I would imagine. Are you planning to stand here trading insults all night ... or should you be doing something about that hit-and-run.’
‘Who says it was a hit-and-run?’
‘Practically everybody before you turned up. You know how the sight of a police uniform brings on an instant plague of don’t-want-to-get-involved-itis.’
‘Right. I’ll soon sort them out.’ Terry squared his shoulders preparatory to a spot of witness intimidation. ‘But first I’ll have that, thanks very much.’
He grabbed the radio before I could stop him.
‘Oi, give that back, it belongs to a friend.’
‘The victim’s a mate of yours, that what you’re saying?’
‘Not exactly. The radio’s on loan from a mutual acquaintance of us both.’
‘Fine. Tell this mutual acquaintance to come claim it from the station.’
‘No need. Give it to DC Smith.’
‘Zebedee? What’s he got to do with it?’
‘He’s also mutually acquainted with the owner. I’ll give him a ring later. See it got home safely.’
Terry got the hint and told me he didn’t nick from ambulance cases. We were just squaring up for another slanging match when he leant forward and took a deep breath. ‘You been drinking?’ His eyes sought and found my car parked just ahead. ‘And driving?’
‘I’m not over the limit,’ I said with more confidence than I felt. After the champagne in the bathroom, I’d tried to stick to soft drinks ... more or less ... and I’d eaten a lot of food, I reassured myself. Plus there was the delay whilst I settled Uncle Alfie ...
‘I’ll have to ask you to take a breath test, madam,’ Terry said, his official tone rather spoilt by the anticipatory leer all over his handsome (if you like that sort of thing) face.
We were interrupted by his partner. She was a tall, leggy brunette with looks that could melt cheese and a voice that could have turned the milk sour in the first place.
Terry preened a fraction harder. ‘What we got then, Gina?’
‘Naff-all really. Got a witness reckons she might have seen something. Sez a big car, dark blue or black, just smashed into the bloke. Never swerved or nothing.’
‘Joyriders?’
‘Dunno, she never saw the driver. Mind, she’s so spaced out I ain’t dead certain she saw the flaming car at all. ’Ello, Grace.’
‘Hiya, Gina. Still riding with medallion man?’
‘Yeah. Looks like it. What happened to your face?’
‘I got belted.’
‘Looks good on her, don’t it, Gina?’
Telling Terry to stow it with a casualness that said she issued the same suggestion a dozen times a shift, Gina said: ‘Medics reckon you know the bloke, Grace. That right? Only he ain’t got no identification on him.’
‘He answers to Figgy. He’s a street entertainer.’
‘Address?’
I opened my mouth ... and swallowed what I was about to say. Annie knew plenty of people in the force and I didn’t want her unintentional sub-letting of her flat to get back to her via the canteen grapevine.
‘Not sure. A squat, I think. Tell you what, I know his girlfriend. I could have a scout round, see if I can find her.’
‘We don’t need your help, Smithie ...’
‘Yes we do, Ter. The hospital’s going to need a proper name and medical history, ain’t they? He could be a bleeder or something.’
‘No. I’m sure Terry would have recognised a relative, wouldn’t you, Terry?’
Any comeback from Terry was cut short by a more urgent tone from the ambulance’s siren as it prepared to leave. ‘I’m going to ride up the ’ospital wiv him, Ter.’
Gina ran back and Terry stepped into the road to hold the traffic as the ambulance sped away. I did a bit of speeding away myself before he remembered the breath test.
Mickey had plainly been waiting up. She called from behind the door almost as soon as I’d rung the bell.
‘Figgy, is that you?’
> ‘It’s me, Mickey. Grace Smith.’
‘What do you want? You can’t come in.’
‘Can you open the door, Mickey ... Figgy’s had an accident.’
The safety chain rattled in its slider. She opened the door wide enough for me to see she was dressed in striped pyjamas (hers presumably) and a cream towelling robe (definitely Annie’s). Her complexion was several shades paler than the robe.
‘What kind of accident?’
‘He’s been knocked down. They’ve taken him to hospital.’ I read all the emotions flitting over her face: fright, wrong, disbelief.
‘Look, it’s not a trick. Ring the accident department, the ambulance should have arrived by now. There’s a telephone directory in the bottom of the bookcase.’
She let me in. ‘Is he hurt bad? He’s not going to die, is he?
She held her hands flat over her stomach. ‘Who else would take care of us?’
‘I don’t know how badly he’s hurt. But they’ll need details. Name, date of birth, medical history if you know it.’
‘I don’t know ... I’m not sure ... he had chicken pox once, does that count ...?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. Stick some clothes on and I’ll run you up the hospital.’
She moved like she was on automatic pilot. I wanted to scream at her to hurry up, but after she’d had three tries at fastening her trousers and couldn’t get the button aligned with the hole, I ended up taking over and helping her into sweatshirt and trainers.
‘Come on.’ I put an arm round her shoulders and urged her towards the door. ‘I’m parked across the road.’
She sat staring bolt ahead through the short journey, her hands gripping the shelf on top of the dash so tightly I could see every individual vein standing out like some diagram in a medical textbook.
The accident and emergency department was the usual mixture of grumblers, drunks and the patiently resigned. I marched Mickey to the toughened glass cubicle marked ‘Reception’.
‘Say you’re his fiancee,’ I murmured, pushing her forward. ‘It makes it easier if they can put down some sort of relationship. I’ll go and see if I can find out how he’s doing.’ The examination cubicles were all curtained across, but Gina was killing time outside the far one.