by Frank Smith
‘I’ll look into it,’ he promised. ‘I’m going out there now, so I’ll have a word.’
As if by mutual consent, they both rose, and Paget helped Grace on with her raincoat. It was a cool day, and the threat of rain hung in the air. His hand brushed her hair as she flipped it over the collar, and he caught the fragrance of her perfume.
‘You’re welcome to come along, if you wish?’ he said, and immediately regretted the invitation. It was an impulsive thing to do, and quite pointless. It wasn’t as if she could be of any help out there. She had told him everything he needed to know. ‘But you probably have work to do,’ he added hastily, ‘so…’
Grace turned to face him. ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’d like that very much. And thank you, too, for the lunch. If you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll phone Charlie to let him know where I am.’
* * *
TREGALLES had spent the morning with Len Ormside in the mobile unit at the back of Bracken Cottage. Together, they’d been over every scrap of information gathered by the team assigned to the local area, but the results seemed hardly worth the effort. No one, it seemed, had seen anything that had a bearing on the case, although a woman from Chedstone, who travelled the road regularly, had seen a dark blue car leaving Bracken Cottage one morning about seven o’clock.
‘I remember it quite clearly,’ she said, ‘because he came out right in front of me. I had to put the brakes on or I would have hit him. I almost rang the firm and reported him, but then it slipped my mind, and when I thought about it again there didn’t seem much point. I mean, they stick together, those people, don’t they?’
‘Which people are you talking about?’ the constable who had interviewed her had asked.
‘Why, those young computer people. I saw the name on the car. Protronics, it was. I remember it quite clearly. Well, I should, shouldn’t I? He couldn’t have been more than ten feet away from me when he shot out into the road.’
‘Did you get a good look at the driver?’
The woman nodded emphatically. ‘Like I said, young—fair hair. And cocky. Waved at me. That’s what he did. Gave me a big smile and waved at me. Young devil. Late for work, I expect.’
‘Do you remember what day that was?’
But the woman couldn’t remember. The best she could do was either the very end of February or the beginning of March, and that it wasn’t a weekend. When they checked those dates with Foster’s appointment book, they found that he had been away from home from February 26th to March 1st.
‘It’s not conclusive,’ Ormside said, ‘but it’s as near as dammit. Gray was having it off with Lisa Remington whenever Foster was away for a few days.’ He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘I can’t say as I altogether blame Foster if he came home and found the two of them in bed together. But the thing I can’t work out is what he did with Lisa’s body. She has to be dead. If she’s alive we’d have found her by now.’
The two men assigned to checking the hotels and pubs at which Merrick might have stayed—always assuming that he was telling the truth, and that they were on the right road—had so far found no record of the man. ‘We’ll give it one more day,’ Ormside told Tregalles. ‘If they haven’t come up with anything by then, chances are that Merrick’s lying, and they’re probably wasting their time.’
* * *
PC YATES arrived in a state of apprehension. He had only just returned to regular duty when the call came through for him to report to DCI Paget at Bracken Cottage, and he couldn’t help wondering why. Not that he’d done anything, he told himself. At least, he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant such a summons, but one never knew what funny ideas a DCI might get. Perhaps it was to do with that piece of cloth he’d turned in. Perhaps it was the very clue they needed, and he was the one who’d found it. He perked up at the thought. There might even be a commendation in it; DCIs didn’t call you for nothing.
Paget and Grace Lovett arrived shortly after Yates. Tregalles and Ormside, who were standing by the window, exchanged knowing glances.
‘She’s definitely after him,’ Tregalles said. ‘I thought she had her eye on him the other day. Not that she’ll get anywhere with Paget. Got a shell around him like casehardened steel. Take more than our Gracie to crack that. She’s wasting her time.’ He drew back from the window before Paget saw him. ‘I doubt if he’s even noticed that she’s a woman,’ he concluded.
Sergeant Ormside, a contentedly married man of many years, sighed. ‘I noticed it right away,’ he said wistfully. He squeezed in behind his desk and made himself busy as Paget opened the door for Grace and ushered her inside. Yates jumped to his feet as Paget entered.
The chief inspector wasted no time. ‘I want you to come with me and show me exactly where you found that piece of cloth you turned in on Friday,’ he told Yates. He made no attempt to introduce Grace Lovett.
Yates led the way to the spot where he’d been digging. ‘It was here, tucked in under that bush,’ said Yates, bending to indicate the spot. The bush was, as Grace had said, a pyracantha.
‘You’re quite sure?’ Paget said.
‘Quite sure, sir,’ said Yates. He felt proud of himself.
‘Tell me,’ said Grace, ‘did you have to pull very hard to get it out of there, Constable?’
Yates shrugged modestly. ‘It was in a bit,’ he confessed. ‘Scratched my hand getting it out. Good thing I spotted it, though.’ He became bolder. ‘We’d been working around it most of the day, but nobody else saw it.’
‘Could I see your hand?’ Grace held out her hand.
‘Oh, there’s nothing to be seen, miss,’ said Yates. ‘The scratches have gone now.’
‘I’d still like to see your hand.’
Yates glanced at Paget, but the chief inspector’s face was impassive. Grudgingly, he lifted his hand. ‘See, there’s nothing there.’
‘Yes, you’re quite right,’ Grace agreed. ‘Where did you find that piece of silk, Constable? It certainly wasn’t underneath that bush, was it?’
Yates swallowed nervously. She couldn’t know. How could she? Unless … That had to be it. His mates had turned him in. Bastards! Some mates! Well, bugger them. ‘It was right there where I showed you,’ he blustered. ‘Just because I was the one to find it when it wasn’t more than a foot from their faces, they probably…’
‘That’s quite enough, Yates.’ Paget’s voice cut across his protestations like a knife. ‘I don’t know what your reasons were for lying about where you found it, and I’m not sure I want to know, but I do want the truth. It’s important, and I want it now.’
Yates shifted uncomfortably. ‘But I’m not…’ he began, but something in Paget’s eye told him it was better to stop now before he dug himself in any deeper. ‘I didn’t mean any harm by it, sir,’ he whined. ‘I mean, we hadn’t had a break for hours—well, it seemed like hours—and I just nipped round the corner for a smoke while the sergeant was away. Then, when he came back and nearly caught me, I told him that I’d found that piece of stuff there.’
‘Where did you find it?’
Yates breathed slightly easier. Perhaps he’d escape without a rollicking after all if he showed them. ‘It was round here, sir.’ He led the way around the side of the house to the water butt. ‘I sort of tucked myself in here, you see, and it was stuck on the side of the barrel.’ He moved aside as Grace moved forward and peered into the narrow space.
‘Ah, yes, I see,’ she said. ‘That’s more like it. There’s the metal band, rust and all, and it’s sheltered.’ She bent to examine the ground. ‘I’ll need to take samples,’ she told Paget, ‘but I think we might find evidence that someone took shelter here.’ She straightened up and dusted off her hands. She smiled at Yates. ‘Thank you, Constable.’
Yates almost returned the smile, but the look on Paget’s face stopped him, and his heart sank when Paget said, ‘I’ll be having a word with your sergeant, Yates. That’s all. You can go.’
* *
*
‘I KNOW there’s not very much to go on,’ Grace Lovett said, ‘but I think it’s possible that Lisa Remington escaped from the house and tried to hide behind the rain barrel.’ She looked at the three grave faces in front of her and spread her hands.
‘It seems I’m always saying that, doesn’t it?’ she said wryly. ‘But there isn’t much else to go on, is there?’
Paget had to admit she was right. The whereabouts of Lisa Remington was the key to this whole maddening business. If Grace was right, then where could Lisa have gone? Everything pointed to the killing of Gray having taken place at night, but where would a woman go clad only in a nightgown? Was she hurt? If so, how badly? They had searched the area thoroughly, but there had been no sign of her. On the other hand, whoever was supposed to have searched behind the water butt hadn’t done a very good job, so perhaps other evidence had been missed as well.
A wild thought occurred to Paget. ‘Did anyone look inside the water barrel?’ he asked. ‘The damned thing is big enough to hold a body.’ Three pairs of eyes stared at him blankly.
Tregalles was the first to recover. ‘I’ll check it right away,’ he said.
They waited. No one spoke. None of them knew quite what to hope for. Alcott would have his balls for breakfast if they’d overlooked such an obvious hiding place, Paget thought. He tried to remember how full the barrel was, and couldn’t. It was set up on bricks, and it was difficult to see inside without standing on tiptoe.
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. They saw from the window Tregalles coming back. He came up the steps of the unit and stepped inside, brushing off his hands.
‘Not there,’ he said. ‘And I remember now. The water was siphoned off that first day to make sure nothing had been dropped inside. It’s only a little over a quarter full now from the rains we’ve had since.’
The release of tension was palpable, and Paget said, ‘Thank God’ beneath his breath. But if Lisa Remington wasn’t there, where the hell was she?
* * *
TOM TYSON stared unblinking at the road ahead, his mind preoccupied with what he had to do. He hadn’t slept for weeks, or so it seemed. There had to be another way. There simply had to. But he knew there wasn’t. The more he tried to reject the idea, the more it became embedded in his mind.
This would be the third time he’d made this journey. He had been unsuccessful twice, but now …
He didn’t know whether to feel elated because he’d got what he was after or sickened by the fact that now he had but one choice to make. He slid his hand inside his jacket and felt the small package nestled there. Unconsciously, his broad fingers counted the tablets sealed in their sterile cells. Six. The number registered, and yet there was no need; it was burned inside his skull.
He felt the sweat across his brow; felt his features crumble as tears spilled down his weathered face.
He let himself in quietly, but she was waiting for him, demanding to know where he’d been.
‘I told you, Emily,’ he said wearily. ‘Don’t you remember? I went in to pick up the gear-box I took in last week. Stripped gear, it was. You remember?’
The woman grunted, hoisting herself painfully from the daybed to cross the floor, sticks thumping hard against the tiles. Thud!… Thud!… Thud!… The sound echoed in his brain. It seemed his heart had slowed to match the rhythm. Thud!… Thud!…
He held his hands to his ears and closed his eyes, thankful that her back was turned. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said belatedly, knowing it was no use.
‘It’s woman’s work, getting the tea,’ she snapped. ‘I know my duty. There’s devil’s work for idle hands. Get washed up.’
‘I was just going to…’ he began, but Emily Tyson’s bitter laugh stopped him dead.
‘To see the boy?’ she finished for him. ‘Aye, I know he’s up there. Skulking around when he thinks I can’t see him. He was up the top of the field again today, watching. Can’t leave the place alone, can he? She was another one. I told you then and I tell you now. She was one of them.’
Emily Tyson leaned so far forward on her sticks that she looked as if she would fall. ‘You thought you’d hide him up there, didn’t you? Up there in the old barn. Thought I wouldn’t know. But I can feel him. Feel his evil. He’s a curse, Tom. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again. He’s a curse upon this house, and will be while he lives.’ She spat contemptuously. ‘An evil child inside a grown man’s body. I tell you, Tom, it’s the devil’s work. He has to go!’
* * *
‘GOOD-NIGHT, then, Frank,’ said Peggy Owen. She stood there in the doorway of his office, hesitating. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want me to do? I can stay behind if…’
‘No. No, thank you, Peggy.’ Frank Porter wished she’d go. Everyone else had gone and he wanted to be alone to think. ‘I shan’t be long. Just want to finish up one or two things. See you in the morning.’
‘Well,’ Peggy said doubtfully. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘Quite sure, Peggy,’ he said.
It wasn’t like Frank to work late, the secretary thought as she made her way to the door. She hoped there was nothing wrong. He’d been acting strangely, lately. Well, perhaps not strangely, exactly, but different. He seemed edgy, distracted. Had done ever since that Chief Inspector Paget had talked to him. He’d gone home early that day. Said he was a bit off colour.
Peggy let herself out, making sure to lock the door behind her. Frank would leave by the back door, and he always checked the lock there. Couldn’t afford to make mistakes these days.
But it was a bit odd. Frank was never ill. It wasn’t as if he’d liked David Gray. But he’d looked ill that afternoon. It couldn’t be because … No. Peggy dismissed the idea out of hand. Not Frank. On the other hand, he and Mike had rushed off that day. She brushed the thought away. That was the way Mike was. Mercurial. Up one minute, down the next.
That heart attack had scared him. He tried to pretend it hadn’t, but it had. He’d gone inside himself. Wouldn’t talk the way he used to. Moody. He’d even snapped at her a couple of times and he’d never done that before. She wished he’d take more care.
Peggy Owen sighed heavily. It was all changing. It wasn’t like it had been in the old days. Hadn’t been ever since David Gray had joined the company. All charm and determination. Making a name for himself and the firm. He had impressed Mike. And Janet. But it hadn’t taken Peggy long to see his game.
Her face was grim as she continued on. David Gray would have destroyed Mike Freeman had he lived, she thought. She was glad that he was dead.
* * *
INSIDE THE OFFICE all was quiet. Frank Porter swung his chair around to face the window, and he saw the car. It was one of the company cars, in its place as usual, but his mind flew instantly to that day. That fateful day when David Gray had left the office, whistling.
He’d thought the worst when he saw Paget there this morning. He’d gone cold all over. He was sure the man was coming back to see him, but he’d gone in to see Mike instead.
‘Stop worrying,’ Mike had told him when Frank went in to see him later. ‘The man’s just doing his job. It’s not as if you’ve done anything wrong. It’s this chap Foster they’re after, but they have to check everything out. You’ll see. Relax, Frank. It will be all right.’
* * *
AT HOME, Janet Freeman and her father ate their meal in almost total silence. It had been that way for days, now, and it wasn’t like him to be so quiet. On the other hand, she’d been withdrawn herself. Withdrawn! She almost laughed aloud. That was hardly the word for it, she told herself miserably. How could she have been so utterly stupid? How could she have been so blind? Everyone knew but her, she thought bitterly, yet no one said a word.
It had taken every scrap of courage she could muster to go back into the office yesterday. Everybody looking at her. Whispering behind her back, no doubt. Silly woman. Acting like some lovesick youngster; planning to get married while all the time David wa
s …
The tears came without warning. Blindly, she left the table and ran to the stairs. Behind her, Mike half rose from his seat, then slowly subsided. There was nothing he could do. Let her get it out of her system. Grim-faced, he pushed his plate away. Like Peggy Owen, he was glad that David Gray was dead.
* * *
THE GREY-HAIRED MAN shivered. He turned on the electric fire. Just one bar; had to watch the pennies. It had begun to rain again and he could feel the chill inside the room.
It was a cheerless room, but better than that other place. He shivered again, but this time it wasn’t cold he felt within his bones. He sat before the fire and stared at the shimmering glow of the copper-clad reflector behind the bar, and saw figures there. Figures from another time and place.
He sucked in his breath. She was there! He watched, excited now. He closed his eyes. He didn’t need to see, for she was there inside his head. He raised his hands and caressed his face as if he held her there.
* * *
JOHN TREGALLES would have been surprised if he could have read Paget’s thoughts as he drove home that evening. Contrary to the sergeant’s opinion, Paget had noticed that Grace Lovett was a woman. A very attractive woman, and he’d rather taken to her. She had a good mind. Analytical. Got a bit carried away with it at times; stretched her theories pretty far, but that was the way detection worked. Facts were important; logic was important; hard evidence was important; but so, too, was intuitive imagination, and Grace had that in spades.
It had been pleasant there for an hour this afternoon, relaxing over lunch with Grace. He’d enjoyed her company, but he’d found himself comparing her with Andrea. He hadn’t even realized it was happening at first. It was when he was helping her on with her coat. The hair. That’s what it was, it was the way she flipped her hair over the collar.
Andrea used to do that. The same sort of action, and it immediately took him back. Paget grimaced to himself inside the darkened car as he thought what might have been.
He thought, too, of Jill. No one, not even Andrea, could ever take her place. Jill belonged to another part of his life, a very special part, but that part of his life was over. He sighed. It had taken him a long time to accept that.