by Rebecca Tope
‘Hey!’ said Thea again. ‘What’s going on? We were expecting Sheila. Tiffany phoned her mother, not you.’
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Sophie calmly. ‘She called me, and here I am. It’s not a problem. Mind your own business, will you?’
Thea had had enough. ‘Stop saying that,’ she grated furiously. ‘How can I mind my own business when a girl arrives on the doorstep without a coat and tells me a whole lot of terrible things?’
‘What terrible things?’ Tiffany blinked at her. ‘I never said anything like that.’
‘Never mind. I’ve got to get my dog. But I can’t just let you—’
‘You can’t very well stop us, can you? There’s four of us and one of you. We’ve got something very important to do. You’d approve, actually, if you knew what it was.’
‘What is it, Soph?’ asked Tiffany, transparently bewildered. ‘And who is this?’ She indicated the woman in the front passenger seat.
‘We’ll explain on the way. You just caught us, when you phoned. It’ll be good to have you with us. Given what’s happened to Ricky, it’ll be an excellent bonus. Now shut that door and let’s get going.’
There ensued a tug of war with the door, which was easily won by the passengers once Steve leant across and added his weight. Thea let go when the car began to move, simultaneously furious and afraid for her dog, which could well be under the wheels.
But she wasn’t. She emerged from somewhere in the shadows and jumped up at Thea’s legs. ‘Bloody dog!’ she said. ‘Get in the house, will you.’
She watched the car intently as it disappeared towards the centre of the village, memorising its number plate and model. A black Volvo estate, the number starting with CN12, she would recognise it again. For a few seconds she considered giving chase in her own car, but it would take too long to find the keys, lock the dogs in, and reverse out into the road. They’d be miles away by then.
But she kept thinking it might be possible. The chances were that they were going back towards Cirencester, along the main road. If Thea dashed down to the Stratton road and turned left, she’d get on to the straight stretch to the big roundabout in a minute or two – possibly soon enough to coincide with them. ‘Get in the house,’ she ordered her dog again, and flew to find her keys. Coat pocket. Good. No need to lock the house up – just flick the Yale and slam it shut. The car was still outside, because she’d forgotten to come out again and put it away properly. It was definitely worth a try.
Everything seemed to move hopelessly slowly, and when she finally got to the junction beside the Stratton church, she calculated that it was actually hopeless. Sophie would have long since passed the point where she could hope to intercept her. But then a miracle happened. A black Volvo came towards her from the left, heading towards Stratton. Frustratingly hazy about the precise geography, Thea concluded that as a local resident, Sophie would choose the smaller roads, on a more direct route through Cirencester. At this time of day, it would be quiet and clear.
‘Thank you, God,’ breathed Thea, and pulled out behind the oblivious black car.
Chapter Twenty-Four
There was so little traffic that Thea expected her presence to be immediately detected by the car she was following. But there was no discernible reaction – no sudden deviations down a side road or increase in speed. Instead they proceeded at a normal pace down into Cirencester via the road that must once have been the main highway. Traffic lights and roundabouts were successfully navigated without any other vehicles interposing themselves and Thea found herself with time to think. What was she planning to do? What were the most likely scenarios, once the Volvo reached its destination? How was she going to explain herself – or even defend herself, if things got nasty?
Because something nasty was definitely possible.
She had come without her phone. It was still at Galanthus House, on the little table in the living room. If she’d had it with her, she might have called Higgins. Perhaps not quite yet, because nothing so far had actually happened. But it would have been nice to think she had that option to fall back on. Even if she got hold of another phone, she didn’t know his number in her head. Calling 999 would have to be the last resort, then.
Nobody would be looking for her. It wasn’t even certain that anyone was looking for Tiffany. The whole story about rushing out of the house could have been an invention. If she was sneaky enough to pretend to call her mother, anything was possible.
Then they were suddenly there. The Volvo stopped outside a modest house in a row of similar properties, somewhere in the backstreets of Cirencester. She hadn’t noticed any street names, the whole place feeling like a jumbled warren of houses dating back nearly a hundred years. She drove on to the next junction, noting a sign announcing Lewis Lane, and parked in the first gap she could find. Then she walked cautiously back the way she’d come, staying on the opposite side of the street from the Volvo, hoping nobody would notice her.
It seemed that there was already some trouble. Tiffany was speaking loudly, and Steve was holding her arm. ‘I won’t believe you!’ she said, as if not for the first time. ‘It’s impossible.’
‘Just come with us, and listen,’ ordered the man. ‘We know how you feel. We were the same, a few hours ago. It’s awful, Tiff. But it looks as if it must be true, just the same. And stop making a noise, will you? You’ll make it all a whole lot worse if you keep on like this.’
Thea had no need to worry about being spotted. The four people were much too intent on their own business to worry about passers-by in the street. They were all facing the house, and starting to move towards the front door. ‘She might not be in,’ said Sophie. Steve muttered a reply that Thea couldn’t hear.
They stood in a huddle on the doorstep, and a light went on in what must have been a hallway. Then the door opened and they all trooped in. It looked to Thea as if the person inside had been rather roughly pushed out of their way. The unknown woman went last, and Thea heard Nella’s voice on a high note, saying, ‘Who’s this?’ No answer was audible.
The door closed, and Thea was left safe but frustrated. It was not an unfamiliar situation, she slowly admitted to herself. She had developed a habit of confronting people, once she had developed a theory as to who was guilty of what. But rarely had she done it on her own. And rarely had one of her theories felt so unstable. One of the people inside that house was a killer – of that she was reasonably sure. Sophie was the one she distrusted most strongly, but Steve had behaved in ways anyone would find suspicious. Nella and Tiffany had both presented starkly straightforward emotions that Thea had believed herself to be fully aware of and in sympathy with. As for the unknown woman, anything was possible.
There really wasn’t any choice. She needed to know what was happening with a visceral urgency that would be impossible to explain. She was the only witness available to what could quite possibly lead to another murder, or at best some sort of violence. She ought, of course, to summon the police – and she would, if necessary. Somehow. In the olden days she might have found a public phone box on the street corner. Now she would have to accost a total stranger and demand to use their mobile in order to summon help. That ought not to be unduly difficult, on reflection. But first she needed to know whether help was in fact required. Perhaps there was a perfectly amicable and civilised conversation going on inside the house. There certainly weren’t any crashes or screams or gunshots emanating from it.
It was a semi-detached property, with an alleyway leading around to the back, on the left-hand side. But a solid wooden door barred the way at the further end, so any thoughts of creeping in through the kitchen or utility room had to be abandoned. Nor was there any possibility of lingering under a front-room window, hoping to catch what was being said inside. The street was quiet, but not entirely deserted. A responsible citizen was bound to see her and enquire as to her intentions.
In deep frustration, she walked slowly back to her car, trying to think of a course of action. Co
ming towards her was a muddy Land Rover, looking out of place in the spruce little town. As it passed her, she was standing beneath a street lamp and the driver saw her face clearly lit.
The vehicle stopped and the driver called something from inside it. No electric windows, Thea noted. And too far to lean over and wind the one on the passenger side down. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but she understood that this was Sandra Handy, who had also grasped who she was. Thea grabbed the door and yanked it open.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
Mrs Handy was in no mood for pleasantries. ‘Bloody hell – it’s true what they say about you, isn’t it?’
For once, Thea could not deny it. ‘I suppose it must be,’ she agreed. ‘And I guess you know who this house belongs to and who’s in there as we speak.’
‘Steve called me. They’re having a sort of meeting. He thought I should hear what they say. I’m late. I really hate driving at night. I can’t see well enough to do it safely.’
‘They’ve only been there for ten minutes at most. I followed them,’ Thea explained without shame. ‘But now I can’t get in.’
‘Did you try the doorbell?’
‘They wouldn’t want me. Believe me, I’m quite sure on that point, at least.’
‘That’s probably true. Best go away, then.’
‘Tiffany came to me this evening, in a state. And that’s not the only time I’ve been dragged into whatever’s going on. I think I’ve earned a right to an explanation. They might accept me if I’m with you.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Do you know who killed Danny?’
‘Steve said they’d arrested Ricky Whiteacre. I never did like him, self-righteous little sod. Now he’s raising Cain over the so-called river pollution, as if we didn’t have enough trouble. He’s underhand, too. If there was some third columnist in the protest group, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if it was him.’
Could a person be self-righteous and underhand, Thea wondered, as she processed this little speech. Presumably so. But another element stood out as more significant. ‘Third columnist?’ she repeated.
‘Never mind now. Come on. Nothing ventured. United front, or something.’ Sandy marched up to the front door and pressed a button that set a bell loudly jangling inside.
Thea did not feel united to Sandra Handy. She was of another generation, not just to the young protesters, but to Thea herself. She said things like raising Cain, which surely dropped out of the language decades ago. There was every sign that she could be a very disruptive influence, all by herself.
Steve opened the door, which Thea supposed was a blessing. Of all the members of the group, he was the only one who hadn’t shown overt hostility towards her at any stage. But it looked as if that was about to change. He stared at her for a few seconds and then scowled. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He looked to Sandy for an explanation.
‘I found her outside. She followed you. She wants to know who killed Danny. Can’t imagine what it’s got to do with her, but there it is.’
The scowl did not relax. ‘We all want to know that,’ he said. ‘That’s why we’re here.’
‘Who, exactly?’ asked Sandy.
‘Tiff and Sophie. Nella’s upstairs. Says she’s got a migraine.’
‘And the other woman,’ Thea reminded him. ‘There was another woman in the car.’
‘Ah, yes.’ He pulled an odd face that came close to an expression of fear. ‘She’s called Carol.’
‘Who is she?’
‘We were just getting to that when you rang the doorbell. Better come in, then. Safety in numbers, or something.’
He was scared! A lone man amongst a houseful of women – perhaps that was all it was. Unnerved by uncontrolled emotions or appeals for support. Thea felt rather sorry for him, remembering that she had liked him earlier in the day.
Three women were seated around a small room that looked more like a study or office than a lounge. The chairs were small and utilitarian. A large table took up a quarter of the floor space, piled high with papers, leaflets, posters and a computer. There was also a printer on its own little table. Shelves of books and magazines filled a shallow alcove. There was no television.
‘What the hell is she doing here?’ snarled Sophie. So predictable, thought Thea with a quiet sigh. Sophie no longer worried her, because she was almost completely occupied with an examination of the woman called Carol, who was sitting restlessly on a hard little chair beside the fireplace. She was very obviously pregnant.
‘Never mind,’ said Steve tiredly. ‘She’s here now, and she’s not going to do any harm, is she?’
‘Of course she is,’ Sophie shouted. ‘She’s a witness. She’ll go straight to the cops with everything she hears us say. What’s the matter with you, Steve? Don’t you get it yet?’
Tiffany, from another hard chair pulled up to the laden table, swallowed with a visible effort, and tried to assert herself. ‘Sophie,’ she said. ‘Don’t get started. Go and fetch Nella – she really should be here. Why isn’t she? She was well enough to let us in. What’s going on with her?’
Sandra laughed, much too loudly, and said with gross irony, ‘Hello, Mrs Handy, welcome to our abode. Pleased you could come. Would you like a cup of coffee? Or something stronger? Did none of you bloody kids ever learn any manners?’
Steve cleared his throat. ‘Listen – this can’t be allowed to turn nasty. Let’s take it one step at a time. Sophie, I really think you need to calm down and mind what you say. And before we go any further, you have to explain where Carol fits in. Why bring a total stranger along to something like this? She doesn’t know any of us, does she? What’s she here for?’
‘Looks as if it’s an open meeting,’ quipped Thea, trying to catch Carol’s eye. The woman was big and fair and oddly lethargic, despite the restless wriggling on the chair. Her shoulders and head drooped, and her legs stuck out in front of her, showing swollen ankles. ‘Except there aren’t enough chairs.’ Sandra Handy had taken the last one, leaving Thea to stand awkwardly by the door. ‘Where’s Nella going to sit?’
Sophie got up. ‘I think Nella knows who Carol is. If she doesn’t now, she’ll soon work it out.’
A ripple went round the room. The atmosphere was increasingly strained, with an acute sense of waiting for something to happen. Thea felt the start of a headache, which she fancied might be shared by most if not all the others.
‘I’d have thought it was obvious,’ said Sandra. ‘So it wasn’t Ricky, after all. Jack got that wrong, didn’t he?’
‘What?’ said Tiffany.
‘Don’t you people read the papers? Have you no idea what the police are capable of? Or is it that you never understood how much of a threat you’ve been to a lot of highly respectable local businesses? It was obvious that you had to be stopped. And how do you suppose that was going to be best achieved?’
Everyone stared at her, including Carol. She went on. ‘How did you find them, then?’ Sandy asked Carol. ‘I don’t imagine you were told what he was up to, were you? But he’s been missing for nearly a week – no nightly phone calls or whatever it was. I bet you haven’t seen much of him these past months, either. And you won’t live within a hundred miles of here.’ She gave a slow look around at each face in turn. ‘God, you’re thick,’ she told them.
To Thea’s surprise, Tiffany was the first to explode. ‘We are not thick,’ she protested. ‘We knew somebody was leaking our plans. And yes, most of the group thought it was Ricky, which is why he was excluded from the last few operations. So – what are you saying? Surely not that the informant was Danny?’ She shouted his name, following it with a wild laugh. ‘That would be insane.’
‘True, though,’ said Carol in a whisper. ‘He was a police detective sergeant with the Kent Constabulary. There’s a system where they second people to other areas, to reduce the chances of them being recognised. I did know about it,’ she flashed at Sandra. ‘Why wouldn’t I? A
t least – I worked it out after the first couple of jobs. I knew he was up here – so I came to look for him.’
‘And found me,’ said Sophie. ‘Called me on my mobile this morning.’
Thea’s mind was flitting from one awful idea to another. The word operation, uttered by Tiffany, had sparked a realisation that had nothing to do with the people in the room. Her thoughts were all on Jessica, who was working undercover. She was being asked to spy or sneak, to pretend to be someone she wasn’t, and entrap some unwary criminal into betraying himself. And spies ran terrible risks. Just see what had happened to Danny Compton.
Steve stood up slowly and approached Sophie, who was frozen in position between Tiffany and Sandra. ‘Did you kill him, then?’ he asked her. ‘You figured it out and killed him.’
‘Of course she didn’t,’ said Tiffany. ‘Don’t you understand? Go and fetch her, Soph. She has to come down and face us.’
‘She won’t come.’
Alarm simultaneously filled Steve and Sandra’s faces, and Thea thought her own might not be dissimilar. ‘She’s not … She wouldn’t …?’ Steve spluttered.
‘What do you think? You know what she’s like.’ Sophie spoke coldly, lacking all emotion. ‘She asked me to make sure she had enough time.’
‘Call an ambulance,’ Thea ordered Sandra. ‘Come on, Steve – we’ve got to stop her.’
‘It’s okay – I didn’t have the nerve when it came to it.’ A voice spoke from just beyond the door, which opened before she’d finished speaking. ‘And why should I let the bastard wreck my entire life, anyway? He’s done enough damage as it is.’
Nella entered the room with her head held high. Dark shades ringed her eyes, and grooves joined the corners of her mouth to her nose. ‘You must be his wife,’ she greeted Carol. ‘I thought that was going to be me, you see.’
‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,’ said Sandra, much too brightly. ‘I guess I don’t have to call an ambulance after all. Should I make it the police instead?’