It was another mystery he couldn't answer.
Deciding not to return to his car just yet, Sam doubled back on himself, going around the small island and into the precinct once again. Just as he dared to hope his shadow had disappeared, the figure in the duffel coat and woolly hat re-appeared on his tail. Sam wanted to make certain before making his move, so he spent the next few minutes going in and out of various shops, browsing like any other shopper. When he was satisfied it was time, he selected a suitable location to carry out his plan.
He chose a crowded bargain store, the type that sold cheap tack no-one really wanted but bought anyway. Pushing his way into the store, he forced his way down a crowded aisle, towards an entrance door at the far end of the shop. He nipped out of that, jogged around the back of the store and turned into an alley.
At the far end of the alley, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, was the man in the duffel coat. He was still watching the front of the bargain store, totally unaware Sam had left it. Sam sneaked up behind him, and in one fluid movement, grabbed the man by the coat, turned him around and threw him up against the wall. The startled man had no time to resist.
'Now, why are you-'
Sam stopped talking when he realised who he had in front of him.
It was Peter Canning.
Sam was stunned.
Why was Carl's gardener following him around?
Chapter 30
Sam didn't waste time finding out the answer.
'Why are you following me?' he growled, emphasising each word with a violent shove in Peter's chest. Pinned up against the wall, Peter had nowhere to go. He had his hands up in submission, glancing furtively up and down the alley, hoping some assistance would appear.
'Take it easy, Sam.' he pleaded. 'I can explain.'
This only inflamed Sam further.
'Take it easy!' he shouted in Peter's face. 'Take it bloody easy! You tell me what you're up to and then I'll let you know if I'm going to take it easy!'
'Oi! What are you two doing?'
Sam looked around and in that split second Peter shrugged himself free and ran off down the alley. Sam went to give chase, but a pair of hands grabbed his arm.
'Hold it right there!'
He tried to break free, but someone took hold of his other arm as well. Sam watched helplessly as Peter disappeared out of sight. Rage built up inside him. All the frustration of the last couple of days came to a head. His inability to prevent the fire from spreading and claiming Carl's life. The way he had been interrogated and blamed by the police in the aftermath. He had been chased down country lanes, stalked around town and threatened by total strangers. His home had been ransacked, he had been lied to and people were queuing up to disown him. He had even suffered the ignominy of being expelled from a public building by a spotty kid!
Then, when the opportunity to get answers had finally presented itself, some interfering do-gooders had stuck their noses in and blown it for him.
Hands were tugging at Sam, trying to restrain him.
He was livid. So angry, he swung his arm back in an attempt to release himself. He felt his elbow connect with bone. Someone yelled in pain.
'Right, that does it! You're nicked!'
***
'You broke a policewoman's nose!'
'I told you it was an accident.'
Sam had been hauled into Bursleigh police station for the second day running. It was beginning to feel like a home from home to him.
'I really don't believe you,' said DI Mason, shaking his head incredulously. 'Not only do you go and visit Molly Renshaw straight after I told you not to, you then assault a police officer in a totally separate incident. You're already up to your neck in it with the Renshaw murder.'
Sam had been in custody for hours. For most of that time, he had been left to stew in a holding cell. Every so often, Mason would drag him out for one of these tiresome diatribes.
'Detective, why have you got it in for me?' he asked. 'Why are you so convinced I burned down the factory and killed Carl?'
Mason laughed.
'You can't see it, can you, Sam?'
'Go on, enlighten me.'
Mason got out of his chair and paced up and down the interview room. He stopped and looked smugly at Sam.
'You've lost it,' he sneered. 'You're out of control. The last two years have fried your brain. Just look at your behaviour today.'
Sam had already explained about Peter Canning and the reason for accosting him. Mason didn't want to know, making it clear he thought it was another one of Sam's fairytales.
'You pop up from nowhere and worm your way into Carl Renshaw's life...and within a day or two the man is dead and his business burned to the ground.'
'You're starting to sound like a broken record,' said Sam. 'Have you got any evidence yet?'
Mason narrowed his eyes at Sam.
'It's only a matter of time, believe me. In the meantime, we'll be charging you with assaulting a police officer.'
Half an hour later, the cell door opened. Sam looked up, expecting to be escorted to the custody desk for charging. Instead, DCI Carter stuck his head round the door.
'You're free to go, Sam.'
'What are you talking about? What about-'
'The assault charge has been dropped. You're walking out of here.'
Carter held the door wide open, and with an exaggerated sweep of his hand, invited Sam to make his exit. Sam couldn't fathom it out.
'Is this your doing?' he asked, getting off his bunk.
Carter didn't reply. A small smile played on his lips. He continued to wait patiently at the door for Sam to leave.
'I don't know what's going on here, Detective Chief Inspector, but it smells rotten, and I seem to be caught up in the middle of it.'
Carter looked up at the ceiling.
'Okay, suit yourself,' said Sam, walking past Carter and out of the cell. 'Give my regards to DI Mason.'
Chapter 31
Darkness had fallen and the rain was coming down even heavier as Sam left the station. A howling wind swept the streets. People scurried past him, collars pulled up against the storm. He walked briskly through town to the car park, grateful for the cash Carl had given him the other day. The Capri had been parked up for hours. It was going to cost him a small fortune at the ticket machine.
Sam mulled over his sudden release from the station. He was sure it hadn't been Mason's decision. It must have come from higher above. Was Carter responsible? It was possible. He was sniffing around this case like a bloodhound. But as far as Sam could see, the case was out of Carter's jurisdiction. Sam was certain of one thing, though. Somebody in the police force had a hidden agenda.
The whole thing left him uneasy.
***
Dudsbury was an archetypal country village, containing a convenience store, pub and little else besides quaint thatched cottages. It was the nearest residential area to Sam, several miles from his cottage, just inside Bursleigh's district border.
Sam parked the Capri outside the convenience store and gazed along the main road running through Dudsbury Village. It was deserted and awash with rainfall. Small rivers of water gushed along the gutter, running into overflowing drains already struggling with the downfall. The wind battered the sign hanging outside the pub across the road. Sam watched it swing backwards and forwards violently in the gale, creaking noisily under the strain. Bracing himself, Sam dived out of his car and into the store.
The young woman behind the counter smiled sweetly at him.
'Horrible day, isn't it?' she remarked, reaching behind her and pulling a bottle of whisky down off the shelf. She held it up shyly. Sam nodded in amusement. The staff had him down to a tee. If he walked straight up to the counter, all he wanted was the whisky. The shop's employees had enjoyed plenty of practice. He had been in here practically every day for the last eighteen months.
'Yep, shocking weather,' he replied. 'Keeping everyone off the streets.'
She took h
is money, opened the till and handed him his change.
'Thanks,' he said. 'See you again.'
She didn't reply. She just stared at him thoughtfully.
'Are you okay?' he asked her.
'I think there's something you ought to know.'
'You're not closing down, are you?' joked Sam, dropping the change into his pocket.
'No, the police were in here asking about you.'
***
Sam watched Katherine serve two teenage girls. The youngsters were soaked to the skin. Rain water dripped off them at such a rate small puddles had formed at their feet. They appeared oblivious, linking arms and giggling happily as they left the store. Sam waited until they had shut the door behind them.
'So, Katherine...'
She blushed.
'How do you know my-'
She looked down at the name badge on her chest.
'Oh, yeah. Sorry.'
Sam could see she was flustered.
'Katherine, it's okay,' he said reassuringly. 'Just take your time and tell me what the police wanted.'
'There were two of them. Detectives, I think they said they were. They came in this morning with a photo of you, wanting to know if I recognised you.'
'What did you say?'
Katherine chewed nervously on her lip.
'I told them you came in regularly. I hope you don't mind.'
Sam watched her shift uncomfortably on the spot. She was watching him warily.
'No, I don't mind,' he said. 'You were only telling the truth. You didn't catch either of their names, did you?'
'One of them was called Haskell...or was it Hoskell-'
'Hoskins?'
'Hoskins!' she repeated, beaming proudly at Sam. 'That's it, Hoskins!'
Sam frowned. That meant Mason had his men nosing around the local area.
'Did they ask anything else?'
'Yeah, they did,' replied Katherine, more at ease now. 'They wanted to know if you ever came in with anyone.'
Sam let out a sigh. Mason was trying to find out if he had an accomplice. A partner-in-crime. DI Mason really was clutching at straws. It was pathetic.
'I told them you were always alone, and that you nearly always bought a bottle of whisky.'
Sam looked at Katherine with chagrin. He wanted to ask her why she had felt the need to divulge that information. It was only going to fuel Mason's imagination.
But he couldn't say anything to her.
Not with the way she was gazing at him, an innocent smile spread across her face.
A friendly face was a rarity in his world right now.
***
Katherine watched him leave the store and get into his car. Her heart fluttered. She spent every morning looking forward to the moment he walked in through the door, however fleeting the visit may be. She had told all her friends about him. The quiet, rugged man. Her own dashing knight in armour. She did worry about the alcohol, though. Crossed her fingers it was not always for him. And now there was the police.
She hoped he wasn't in any trouble.
Chapter 32
'Ouch!'
Sam threw the screwdriver to the ground and held his hand up in front of him. Blood began to trickle down his finger. He cursed his carelessness and wrapped a bloodied cloth around the finger. It was the third time he had nicked himself while fitting the new lock. It was too dark, he was too drunk and he had way too much on his mind to concentrate properly. But the door needed securing tonight in case of any more unwelcome visitors. He removed the cloth and studied his finger. Nodding with grim satisfaction, he retrieved his screwdriver and torch off the floor, ignored the driving rain and wind pummelling him, and carried on with his work.
Sam's mind wandered to who he was trying to keep out of his home. After today's events, Peter Canning had shot straight to the top of the list. The gardener hadn't been following Sam around town to get shopping tips off him. What could he have been up to? And something wasn't right with his involvement in the storage of Carl's valuables. Sam recalled Molly’s words, her description of how Peter gave her the creeps with his silent staring. Sam's own intuition had warned of something about the man. Something he could not quite put his finger on. It seemed he was right.
As Sam finished fitting the door lock, he thought of who else might want to break into the cottage. It wouldn't be environmental activists, not now he had established they were a figment of Carl's rabid imagination. Mason? Sam laughed at himself. Now it was his imagination running riot. The two bruisers looking for Carl outside the Renshaw house? No, they had no beef with Sam. The blokes who had given chase in the Audi? Sam doubted it. He was convinced that was to do with Carl as well.
In fact, it was all to do with Carl. The break-in. Being followed. Even the weird and wonderful methods of Detectives Mason and Carter. Sam didn't understand it. When Carl perished in the fire, anyone holding a grudge against him no longer had reason to continue with their vendetta. The story of Carl and his troubles should have been all over.
But it wasn't.
Slowly and surely, Sam seemed to be inheriting it.
All the enemies. All the secrecy. All the danger.
Sam tested the door. Satisfied the lock worked, he bent down and picked up the screwdriver and whisky bottle. He heard the sound of a car and turned in its direction. Headlights were approaching his way.
He groaned and clutched the bottle and screwdriver tightly in each hand. Not the scariest weapons, but they would have to do. As the car neared, he realised he wouldn't be needing them.
It was Lucy's Clio.
Sam watched her pull up at the bottom of the path. Lucy was the last person he had expected to see again. He presumed she had come to give him a piece of her mind. She got out of the car and immediately found herself buffered by the strong wind. She pulled her hood up and strode up the path towards him. A few feet short of Sam, she stopped and frowned at him.
Sam broke out in a grin and laughed. He couldn't help it.
Lucy looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
***
Sam had drunk more whisky than he realised while fixing the door. He held the bottle up to the light. It was nearly empty. He started to smile again.
'Sam, are you going to tell me what's so funny?'
Lucy had followed him inside the cottage. Now, she was staring at him with a combination of confusion and impatience.
Sam sat down, unscrewed the top of the whisky bottle and drank a mouthful. Lucy didn't move. She continued to stand on the other side of the room, watching him, waiting for an answer.
'Well, Lucy,' he slurred, cradling the bottle to his chest. 'I've just answered the door to you holding a whisky bottle and a screwdriver...' He gazed down uncertainly at his hand. '...with blood all over my hand.'
'While slightly inebriated,' she added, raising her eyebrows. Her tone wasn't condescending. She was just stating facts.
'That's right!' exclaimed Sam. He tipped the bottle up and emptied the remnants down his throat. With a disappointed look, he studied the empty bottle before gently dropping it onto the cushion next to him.
'Now, this morning,' he said, trying to focus on Lucy, 'when the police called round, my front door was hanging off, and I was waving an almighty knife in their faces. Apparently, I looked ready to take somebody's head off.'
Sam was forced to close his eyes to stop the room from spinning. He heard Lucy talking, her voice quiet and concerned.
'Sam, what has happened to you?'
Something flickered in his muddled head. What did she just say? He asked her to repeat it.
But he never got a answer.
He was asking in his sleep.
Chapter 33
'Wakey, wakey...'
Despite feeling as though he had been twelve rounds with a heavyweight boxing champion, Sam nearly jumped out of skin.
'What the-?'
Lucy smiled at him.
'Good morning. Feeling a bit rough?'
Sam's
first thought was to wonder what sort of dream this was. Lucy was sat opposite him holding a mug. He was lying on the chair, squashed up uncomfortably, with his legs hanging over the side and a blanket draped over him.
He closed his eyes. His dreams were getting more and more realistic.
'Sam...'
He wasn't dreaming.
***
'So, you chucked a blanket over me, took a spare key and went back home?'
Lucy nodded, holding out some tablets in the palm of her hand.
'Then you came back this morning to find me like this?'
Another nod.
Sam took the tablets off her and washed them down with the mug of tea she had laid on the table for him. He lay back in the chair and groaned.
'It's okay, Sam,' said Lucy. 'I've seen worse. A lot worse.'
All of a sudden, he wondered what she was doing here. Seeing him like this. With some effort, he swung his legs over the arm of the chair and sat up.
'How?' he asked, rubbing his coarse chin. 'Do you moonlight for the Salvation Army in your spare time?'
'No,' she replied quietly. 'My dad is an alcoholic.'
'Really?' said Sam. 'Does that mean you're on a mission to save the world from the dreaded drink?'
He regretted the words the moment they slipped out of his mouth. She looked hurt. Her eyes glistened softly.
'Hey, I'm sorry,' he said. 'That was out of order.'
She nodded slowly in agreement.
'Yes, Sam, it was.'
An awkward silence followed.
'It's just that I'm not sure why you're here,' said Sam. 'Not after yesterday.'
Lucy sipped from her own drink. She put the mug down and looked Sam straight in the eye.
'I came to apologise.'
'Apologise?'
'Yeah,' she said, slightly embarrassed. 'For yesterday. I saw the news about Carl Renshaw, remembered you asking about him and jumped to the wrong conclusion.'
'What's changed you mind?' asked Sam, kicking the blanket off his legs and folding it up.
'I don't really know to tell you the truth. Maybe it was the look on your face when you left the library. Or maybe I just remembered what I thought of you the first time I called here.'
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