Fox Evil

by Minette Walters

  Vera tapped in agony at her mouth. "He's a good boy. You put your feet up, Ma, he says. You've been a drudge and a slave all your life. What's Bob ever done for you? What's the Colonel ever done for you? What did the missus ever do except take the baby away because you weren't good enough?" Her mouth writhed. "He'd have gone away if she'd given him what he asked."

  Wolfie seemed to grasp suddenly that Nancy was trying to work her way to the edge of the seat because he wedged his elbows onto the chair arm behind him and took his weight off her lap. "Of course he wouldn't have gone away," she said loudly, to keep Vera's attention. "He'd have gone on bleeding Ailsa till there was nothing left. Thieving and killing're all he knows, Mrs. Dawson."

  "She didn't bleed," Vera countered triumphantly. "My boy was cleverer than that. Only the fox bled."

  "Then there's a nice symmetry to this whole wretched story because it isn't my blood on this jacket, it's your darling boy's. So if you know where he is-and if you care for him at all-you should be persuading him to go to hospital instead of gibbering like a senile ape."

  Vera's mouth puckered into uncontrollable movement again. "Don't you call me an ape… I've got rights. You're all the same. Do this… do that… Vera's been a drudge and a slave all her life-" she tapped the side of her head-"but Vera knows what's what… Vera's still got her marbles."

  Nancy reached the edge of the seat. "No, you haven't."

  The blunt contradiction was too much for the old woman's fragile hold on reality. "You're just like her," she spat. "Making judgments… telling Vera she's senile. But he is my boy. Do you think I don't know my own baby when I see him?"

  "Okay, Mark, this is the deal. Take it or leave it. Lizzie and I will get Dad off the hook as long as he agrees to reinstate the previous will. We don't have a problem with everything going to Lizzie's kid in the long run but, in the short term, we want-"

  "No deal," said Mark, breaking in as he moved into the corridor.

  "It's not your decision to make."

  "Right. So phone your father on the landline and put the offer to him. If you give me five minutes I'll make sure he answers."

  "He won't listen to me."

  "Congratulations!" Mark muttered sardonically. "That's the second time you've got something right in under a minute."

  "Christ! You really are a patronizing bastard. Do you want our cooperation, or not?"

  Mark stared at the corridor wall. "I don't view a demand for reinstatement as cooperation, Leo, and neither will your father. Nor am I prepared to test him on it because you and Lizzie will be dead in the water from the moment I open my mouth." He stroked his jaw. "Here's why. Your niece-Lizzie's daughter-has been in this house since ten o'clock this morning. Your father would give her the entire estate tomorrow if she'd agree to accept it… but she won't. She has an Oxford degree, she's a captain in the army, and she's due to inherit her family's two-thousand-acre farm in Herefordshire. The reason she's here is because your father wrote to her in a moment of depression, and she cared enough to follow it up. She expects nothing from him… wants nothing from him. She came with no ulterior motive except to be kind… and your father's besotted with her as a result."

  "And showing it, I suppose," the other man said with a trace of bitterness. "So how would she be doing if he was treating her like a criminal? Not so well, I'll bet. It's easy to be nice to the old man when he treats you like royalty… bloody hard when you get the bum's rush."

  Mark might have said, "You brought it on yourself," but he didn't. "Have you ever thought he might feel the same? Someone has to call a truce."

  "Have you told him that?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "A little help in the present situation would go a long way."

  "Why does it always have to be me who makes the first move?" There was a muted laugh at the other end. "Do you know why he called me the other day? To rant about my thieving. I got the whole catalogue from the time I was seventeen to the present day. And from that he deduced that I killed my mother in anger, then embarked on a campaign of vilification to blackmail him into handing over the estate. There's no forgiveness in my father's nature. He took a view of my character while I was still at home, and he refuses to change it." Another laugh. "I came to the conclusion long ago that I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb."

  "You could try surprising him," suggested Mark.

  "You mean like the squeaky-clean granddaughter? Are you sure you've found the right girl? She doesn't sound like any Lockyer-Fox I've ever met."

  "Your father thinks she's a cross between your grandmother and your mother."

  "Point made then. They were only Lockyer-Foxes by marriage. Is she pretty? Does she look like Lizzie?"

  "No. Tall and dark-more like you as a matter of fact, but with brown eyes. You should be grateful for that. If she had blue eyes I might have believed Becky."

  Another laugh. "And if it had been anyone but Becky who'd said it, I might have let you… just for the amusement factor. She's a jealous little bitch… had it in for Lizzie from the start. I blame you, as a matter of fact. You made Becky think she was important. Bad mistake. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. It's the only way if you don't want to ruin them for the next man that comes along."

  "I'm not into revolving doors, Leo. I'd rather have a wife and kids."

  There was a brief hesitation. "Then you'd better forget anything you learned at school, my friend. It's a myth that blue-eyed parents can't produce brown-eyed children. Ma was an expert on genetic throwbacks. It made her feel better about herself to blame her children's addictions and her father's alcoholism on some distant ancestor who belonged to the Hellfire Club." Another pause to see if Mark would bite, and when he didn't: "Don't worry. I can guarantee that Lizzie's baby was nothing to do with me. Apart from anything else, I never fancied her enough to sleep with her… not after she started going with riffraff, anyway."

  This time Mark did bite. "What riffraff?"

  "Irish tinkers that Peter Squires brought in to mend his fences. He had them camping in a field over one summer. It was pretty funny, actually. Ma made a tit of herself by taking the children's education in hand, then went ballistic when she discovered Lizzie was being shafted by one of them."

  "When was this?"

  "What's it worth?"

  "Nothing. I'll ask your father."

  "He won't know. He was away at the time… and Ma never told him. The whole thing was kept very hush-hush in case the neighbors found out. Even I didn't know till later. I was in France for four weeks, and by the time I got back Ma had put Lizzie under lock and key. It was a mistake. She should have let it run its natural course."

  "Why?"

  "First love," said Leo cynically. "No one was ever as good again. It was the beginning of the slippery slope for my poor sister."

  Nancy put all her effort into her thigh muscles and, with an unsteady lurch, rose to her feet with Wolfie sitting on her left hip. It would take a feather to knock her down again, but she prayed the old woman wouldn't realize that. "Move away from the door, please, Mrs. Dawson. Wolfie and I are going downstairs now."

  Vera shook her head. "Fox wants his boy."

  "No."

  Negatives disturbed her. She began smacking her fists together again. "He belongs to Fox."

  "No," said Nancy even more forcefully. "If Fox ever had any rights as a parent, he forfeited them when he took Wolfie from his mother. Parenthood isn't about ownership, it's about duty of care, and Fox has failed to show this child any care at all. You, too, Mrs. Dawson. Where were you when Wolfie and his mother needed help?

  Wolfie pressed his lips to her ear. "Cub, too," he whispered urgently. "Don't forget li'l Cub."

  She had no idea who or what Cub was, but she didn't want to take her attention from Vera. "Cub, too," she repeated. "Where were you for little Cub, Mrs. Dawson?"

  But Vera didn't seem to know who Cub was either and, like Prue Weldon, fell back on what she knew. "He's a good boy
. You put your feet up, Ma, he says. What's Bob ever done for you except treat you like a skivvy? He'll get his comeuppance, don't you worry."

  Nancy frowned. "Does that mean Fox isn't Bob's son?"

  The old woman's confusion intensified. "He's my boy."

  Nancy gave the half-smile that was so reminiscent of James's. It would have been a warning to the old woman if she'd been capable of interpreting it. "So people were right to call you a whore?"

  "It's Lizzie was the whore," she hissed. "She lay with other men."

  "Good," said Nancy, hoisting Wolfie higher on her hip. "Because I couldn't give a damn how many men she slept with-just so long as Fox isn't my father… and you aren't my grandmother. Now, will you move… because there is no way I am going to allow a murdering old bitch to take Wolfie from me. You aren't fit to look after anything, let alone a child."

  Vera almost danced with frustration. "You're so high and mighty… just like her. She's the one took babies away. All puffed up with her good works… making out she knew more than Vera did. You're not a suitable mother, she said. I can't allow it. Is that fair? Doesn't Vera have rights, too?" Up came the finger. "Do this… do that… Who cares about Vera's feelings?"

  It was like listening to a stylus jump tracks on a worn record to produce unrelated bursts of sound. The theme was recognizable but the pieces lacked cohesion and continuity. Who was she talking about now? Nancy wondered. Ailsa? Had Ailsa made a decision about Vera's fitness as a mother? It seemed unlikely-on whose authority could she do it?-but it might explain Vera's bizarre remark about "knowing her baby when she saw it."

  Perhaps Vera saw the indecision in her face because the gnarled finger jabbed in her direction again. "See," she said jubilantly. "I said it wasn't right, but she wouldn't listen. It won't work, she said, better to give it to strangers. So much heartache… and all for nothing when she had to go looking for it in the end."

  "If you're talking about me," Nancy said coldly, "then Ailsa was right. You're the last person in the world anyone should give a baby to. Look at the damage you did to your own child." She started to walk forward. "Are you going to move or will I have to make you?"

  Tears welled in Vera's eyes. "It wasn't my fault. It was Bob's fault. He told them to get rid of it. I wasn't even allowed to see it."

  But Nancy wasn't interested. Telling Wolfie to turn the handle, she backed into the old woman, forcing her aside, and with a sigh of relief hooked the door open with her foot and hurried into the corridor.

  Leo's voice took on an amused drawl. "When Dad got back, about two or three months later, he discovered his mother's rings had been nicked, along with bits of silver from the various display cabinets on the ground floor. Everything else had been shifted around to fill the gaps, so Ma didn't notice, of course-she was far too interested in her charity work-but Dad did. Spotted it within twenty-four hours of walking through the door. That's how acquisitive he is." He paused to see if Mark would rise to the barb this time. "Well, you know the rest. He lammed into poor old Vera like there was no tomorrow… and Ma never said a word."

  "About what?"

  "Lizzie's shenanigans."

  "What did they have to do with it?"

  "Who do you think stole the flaming stuff?"

  "I thought you owned up to it."

  "I did," Leo said with a grunt of laughter. "Bad mistake."

  "Who, then? The boyfriend?"

  "Christ, no! I wouldn't have taken the blame for him. No, it was Lizzie. She came to me, shaking like a leaf, and told me what had been going on. Her bloke persuaded her he'd marry her if she could get some money together to elope to Gretna Green. Silly cow. She was a pathetic romantic. Got comprehensively screwed by a waster… and still looks back on him as the best thing that ever happened to her."

  Mark took to staring at the wall again. Which was the lie? That Leo had stolen from his father… or that he hadn't? He could feel the tug of the man's charm again, but he wasn't so gullible these days. The single thing he could be sure of was that Leo was playing a gamble. "Did Vera know about it?"

  "Of course she did. She was part of the problem. She adored the toerag because he took the trouble to soften her up. He was a bit of a charmer, by all accounts. Vera told lies for Lizzie so Ma wouldn't know what was going on."

  "Why didn't she say something when your father accused her of stealing?"

  "She would have done if she'd been given time. That's why Lizzie came howling to me."

  "Then why did your mother believe you? She must have guessed that Lizzie had something to do with it."

  "It made life easier for her. Dad would have given her hell for letting Lizzie run out of control. In any case, I'm a convincing liar. I told her I'd blown the lot in a casino in Deauville. She had no trouble believing that."

  Probably because it was true, thought Mark cynically. Or partially true. Ailsa had always said that what Leo did, Lizzie did six months later. Nevertheless… "Will Lizzie vouch for you if I tell your father this?"

  "Yes. So will Vera if she hasn't gone completely doolally."

  "Is Lizzie with you? Can I speak to her?"

  "No, on both counts. I can ask her to ring you if you like."

  "Where is she?"

  "Not your business. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you herself."

  Mark placed a palm against the wall and looked at the floor. Pick a side… "It might be better not to mention that her daughter's here. I don't want her thinking she's going to meet the girl." He heard Leo's indrawn breath. "And before you blame your father for that, it's the girl herself who's not interested. She has a brilliant adoptive family, and she doesn't want her life complicated with the emotional baggage of a second. Also-and this is strictly between you and me-Lizzie is the one who will be hurt. There's no way she can measure up… either to the daughter or the daughter's adoptive mother."

  "It sounds as if Dad isn't the only one who's besotted," said Leo sarcastically. "Is this your way into the family fortune, Mark? Marry the heiress and scoop the jackpot? A bit old-fashioned, isn't it?"

  Mark bared his teeth into the receiver. "It's time you stopped judging the rest of us by your own standards. We're not all middle-aged pricks with self-esteem problems who think their fathers owe them a living."

  The grin came back into the other man's voice to have finally got a rise. "There's nothing wrong with my self-esteem."

  "Good. Then I'll give you the name of a friend of mine who's a specialist in male fertility problems."

  "Fuck you!" said Leo angrily, hanging up.

  28

  By the time Martin Barker returned to the campsite, the search of Fox's bus had produced as much as it was going to. Doors, luggage compartments, bonnet had all been opened, but there was little to show for the search team's trouble. A table had been set up under arc lights with some items of little value across its surface-electric power tools, binoculars, a battery-operated radio-which may or may not have been stolen. Otherwise the only finds of interest were the hammer and razor that had been retrieved from the terrace and a metal cash box that had been under one of the beds.

  "It's small beer," Monroe told Barker. "This is effectively it, and he doesn't even bother to keep it locked. There's a couple of hundred quid, a driver's license in the name of John Peters with an address in Lincolnshire, a few letters… and damn all else."

  "Is the license kosher?"

  "Nicked or bought. The John Peters at that address is sitting with his feet up in front of a Bond movie… deeply incensed to have had his identity stolen."

  It was a common enough story. "License plates?"

  "False."

  "Engine number? Chassis number?"

  The sergeant shook his head. "Filed off."

  "Fingerprints?"

  "That's about the only thing I'm optimistic about. The steering wheel and gear stick are covered in them. We should know who he is by tomorrow, assuming he has a record."

  "What about Vixen and Cub? Anything to show where t
hey are?"

  "Nothing. Can't even tell if there was a woman and a second kid living there. It's a pigsty, but there's no female clothing, and barely any children's." Monroe pushed the box away, and started on a small pile of papers. "Jesus!" he said disgustedly. "The guy's a joker. There's a letter here from the Chief Constable, assuring Mr. Peters that the Dorset Constabulary is scrupulous in its dealings with travelers."

  Barker took the letter and inspected the address. "He's using a P.O. box in Bristol."

  "Among others." The other man shuffled through the remaining letters. "They're all official responses to queries about travelers' rights, and all to different P.O. box numbers and areas."

  Barker leaned over to look at them. "What's the point? Is he trying to prove he's a bona-fide traveler?"

  "I shouldn't think so. It looks more like a paper trail. If he's arrested he wants us to waste our time trying to track his movements round the country. He probably hasn't been to any of these places. The Bristol police could spend months looking for a trace of him while he was in Manchester all the time." He put the letters back into the box. "It's smoke and mirrors, Martin, rather like this flaming bus, as a matter of fact. It looks promising, but there's nothing in it-" he shook his head- "and that makes me seriously interested in what our friend is up to. If he's thieving where does he keep his stash?"

  "What about blood?" asked Barker. "Bella's pretty convinced he's got rid of the woman and the younger kid."

  Monroe shook his head. "Nothing obvious."

  "Forensics might find something."

  "I can't see them getting the chance. On this evidence-" he nudged the box-"we're more likely to be on the receiving end of a solicitor's complaint. If some bodies turn up, then maybe… but that's not going to happen tomorrow."

  "What about traces on the hammer?"

  "It won't help us without some DNA or a blood group to compare it against."

  "We can hold him for the assault on Captain Smith. He beat her up pretty thoroughly."

  "Yes, but not in the vehicle… and he'll probably claim self-defense, anyway." He glanced at the bag with the razor in it. "If that's his blood then he might be worse off than she is. What was he doing at the Manor? Does anyone know? Did you find any evidence of a break-in?"