by Joan Smith
Chapter 7
It occurred to Loretta afterwards that she remembered nothing of the ten-mile drive back to Flitwell. As fear was replaced by relief that she’d got out of the churchyard alive, a stream of unpleasant thoughts passed through her mind, preventing her giving full consideration to any of them. Chief among them was that she’d lost her evidence – the only concrete proof that people from the USAF base had been waging a campaign of intimidation against Clara. She could just imagine Chief Inspector Bailey’s face if she went to him next morning with her unsupported story. And what would happen to her if she did tell? The American in Steeple Barford seemed pretty well informed about her movements, and the threats he’d uttered were unequivocal. But was she going to allow her course of action to be influenced by concern for her own safety? Theoretically, the answer was a resounding no: bringing Clara’s killer to justice was the single most important thing. On the other hand, the American had been adamant that his men weren’t involved in the murder – but then he would say that, wouldn’t he? Surely she should tell Bailey the whole story and to hell with the consequences! Wait a minute, said the small, seductive voice of self-interest, what will that achieve? How will your death help Clara? Loretta swallowed, her throat dry, and argued back. Revealing what she knew was obviously her best means of protection – the Americans wouldn’t dare kill her then! Oh no? the small voice persisted. Don’t you think they’re capable of making it look like an accident? And what if they really were innocent of Clara’s death? She was still grappling with this appalling dilemma when she remembered Robert. She looked at her watch and made out that it was just after nine o’clock. A whole hour late! Should she go straight to his house on the assumption that he’d long ago returned home, or check the cottage first? And what was she going to tell him? She’d have to think up a pretty good excuse if she wasn’t going to reveal the whole story – but was it wise to confide what had happened to anyone other than the police? And in any case, would he believe her? She hadn’t shown him the tape earlier in the day when she’d had the opportunity. The only decision she came to was to try the cottage first, in case he’d left a note. She’d have to decide everything else as she went along.
She slowed in the road as she reached the wooden gates that led to the front door. She was half out of the car before she realized that the gates were already open and a car was parked in her space; she saw the glowing tip of a cigarette bobbing its way towards her.
‘Loretta! Is that you? Christ, where have you been? I’ve been worried to death!’
‘John! What are you doing here?’ Loretta stood in the road, astonished to hear Tracey’s voice.
‘Come on, let us inside, there’s no point in us all standing out here in the dark.’
The cigarette end retreated and Loretta heard another voice in the garden. Her heart sank; she was fairly sure it belonged to Robert, and she could think of few people in the world she’d rather have kept apart. She sighed, went back to her car and locked it. Then she made her way round what she now recognized as Tracey’s black Golf to the front door. Robert was standing several feet away, his face a pale, unreadable shape in the darkness. She put her key in the door and, as it opened, felt inside for the light switch.
‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ Tracey said conversationally, following her in. ‘Bit small.’
Loretta turned to Robert, who was staring at her grimly from the doorway.
‘Robert, I’m so sorry. I tried to ring you but you were out. I can tell you the whole story –’
‘Yes, where have you been?’ Tracey demanded shortly, stubbing his cigarette out in the sink. ‘Roger here –’
‘Robert,’ interrupted Loretta, casting an anguished glance in his direction.
‘OK, Robert. He says you were supposed to be here at eight o’clock, that’s over an hour ago. What’s going on?’
‘Look, I –’ Loretta stopped, looking from one angry face to the other.
‘Come on, what’ve you been up to? I know you, Loretta, you’re up to no good! I’ve driven all the way from London –’
‘Yes, what are you doing here? I don’t remember giving you my address.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Loretta, credit me with some intelligence. The name of Clara’s house is all over the newspapers. You were hardly difficult to find.’
Loretta closed her eyes, completely drained. The scene in the churchyard had exhausted her, she had no resources to cope with this.
‘Um, have you introduced yourselves?’ she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘Oh yes,’ said Robert, speaking for the first time. ‘John’s explained that he’s your husband.’
‘Ex-husband,’ Loretta said viciously, glaring at Tracey as he lit another cigarette.
‘Well, we’re not actually divorced,’ Tracey said, inhaling deeply.
‘Either way, I think I’ll be off,’ Robert said coldly, moving away from the door-frame on which he’d been leaning. ‘I only hung around to make sure you were safe – that you hadn’t had a car accident or anything.’ He lifted a hand in farewell and stepped into the garden.
‘Robert, wait!’ Loretta started to follow him and got to the door in time to see his narrow frame disappear into the darkness beyond the hedge.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she cried, whirling round to face Tracey. Tears started in her eyes, she felt for a chair, and collapsed weeping. She heard Tracey shut the front door, then he rested a hand on her shoulder.
‘Loretta, what’s the matter? It’s not just that creep, is it?’
‘He isn’t a creep ...’ She sat up, took the handkerchief he was holding out, and blew her nose. ‘No, it isn’t just that. But why did you have to upset him, all that stuff about being my husband? Couldn’t you have been a bit more discreet?’
‘OK, I’m sorry. But how was I to know you and he were ... you know how you keep these things to yourself. I was banging on the door when he appeared and wanted to know who I was – I didn’t like his manner so I said I was your husband. I’m sorry. Can I get you something?’
‘Yes, please – some tea.’
‘A nice cup of tea coming up. Then you’ll tell me what’s got you into this state?’
Loretta nodded, wiping away a few last tears with Tracey’s handkerchief. What was she to do – about the sinister American in the churchyard, about Robert? He could at least have waited, allowed her to explain about her relationship with Tracey, instead of going off in a huff like that. She watched Tracey move across the small kitchen, peering at the range as though he’d never seen anything like it before, complaining about the lack of an electric kettle. Eventually he placed two cups of tea on the table and took a seat opposite her. She took a sip, decided it was too hot, and put the cup down.
‘OK–begin.’
‘I don’t know if you’re going to believe this –’
‘Oh, I am.’ Tracey helped himself to a biscuit from the packet he’d put on the table. ‘That’s why I’m here – I knew you were up to something. Biscuit?’ He pushed the packet towards her.
Loretta hesitated, then took one. This domestic scene – teacups, biscuits – was making her wonder if she’d dreamed the entire episode in Steeple Barford. But she knew she hadn’t; she only had to look in her bag to find the tape was no longer there.
‘What would you say if I told you the Americans were involved? In trying to frighten Clara, I mean?’
Tracey thought for a moment. ‘Who d’you mean by the Americans? And what’s your evidence?’
Loretta sighed, wishing he wouldn’t adopt this courtroom manner. ‘I don’t know who they are. People from the base – the – CIA, I expect.’
‘Unlikely, if they’re from the base. The CIA tends to work out of–’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not a great deal, no. I was about to say – well, let’s not get into that. It’s never easy to get to the bottom of who’s working for who. Go on.’
Loretta paused,
then told Tracey everything that had happened since she arrived back at the cottage and found the anonymous note. When she finished he got up and lifted the kettle back on to the hob.
‘More tea?’
‘Is that all you can say?’
‘I’m thinking.’ He waited in silence for the kettle to boil, added more water to the teapot, and held it over her cup.
‘Oh, all right. As you’ve made it.’
Tracey refilled both cups and sat down.
‘Well – do you believe me?’
‘Oh yes. I’m not sure anyone else would.’
‘I’d worked that much out myself.’
‘OK, OK, I’m trying to think about what we can do.’ He picked up his cigarette packet, took one out and lit it. ‘What it comes down to is this. Clara told you she was getting threatening phone calls and letters. She hadn’t told the police. You both heard voices in the middle of the night. Neither of you told the police, you didn’t even mention it after she was murdered. D’you know if they found any of the letters when they searched the house?’
‘I don’t know – I suppose so.’
‘But they were anonymous, anyway. And maybe they were nothing to do with the base. Could have been someone in the village, those lads who chucked paint at the house. Then you found the tape–’
‘One of Bailey’s men found it. He gave it to me at the end of the interview.’
‘Did he know what was on it?’
‘He didn’t say. I assume so.’
‘I bet they listened to it. Wouldn’t have given it back otherwise.’
‘In that case–’
‘In that case – nothing. You said yourself it sounded like a play. Look, Loretta. I think you’re setting too much store by this tape, even if you still had it. Which you don’t. And if you go to what’s his name –’
‘Bailey.’
‘If you go to Bailey and say it was part of a plot to scare Clara, but you don’t happen to have it any more because this Rambo character took it off you in a churchyard at dusk –’
‘He wasn’t anything like Rambo. More a young Clint Eastwood.’ Loretta started to giggle.
Tracey smiled briefly, then became serious.
‘I’m sorry, Loretta, I shouldn’t have said that – it isn’t a laughing matter. If word did get back to this guy that you’d talked to the police – well, I don’t like to think what might happen.’ He got up, stubbed his cigarette out in the sink again, and gave her a stern look. ‘This is exactly what I was afraid of when you rang off this afternoon – that you’d dash off and get yourself involved in something like this! Honestly, Loretta! You shouldn’t be allowed out alone! You’ve got about as much sense as – as that teapot!’
‘I like that! Just because you –’
‘Loretta!’ He came back to his seat and faced her earnestly across the table. ‘You’re out of your depth and so am I. These guys aren’t joking. Come back to London – forget the whole thing!’
‘I can’t!’ Her tone was anguished.
Tracey reached out and squeezed her hand.
‘I know how you feel. It’s tough. But I don’t want to be rung up in few days and asked to identify your body. Look, I’m not good at conversations like this – you know that. But I care about you. I really do.’
Loretta sat in silence, her head averted. Tracey’s talking in this uncharacteristic way had deeply impressed her. Suddenly there was a scratching noise at the front door, followed by a familiar wail.
‘What’s that?’ Tracey was startled.
‘Only Bertie. Clara’s cat.’ Loretta got up to let the animal in. He followed her to her chair, waited while she sat down, then jumped up on her lap.
‘God, Loretta, you’re a real sucker! Don’t tell me you’ve adopted a cat! You live in an upstairs flat. What are you going to do with a cat in Islington?’
‘Lots of cats live in Islington. Anyway, I haven’t adopted him – I’m just looking after him. Someone’s got to!’ She didn’t want to admit that the possibility that she’d have to take Bertie back to London had already crossed her mind; Jeremy hadn’t shown the slightest interest in the cat’s welfare and Imo, though back in the village, hadn’t come to collect him either. She brushed this thought aside for the moment.
‘John, isn’t there anything you can do? In the paper?’
‘What, run it as a story?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at him hopefully.
‘It’s – it’s impossible, Loretta.’ Tracey groped for words. ‘All you’ve got is unsupported allegations. Even if the Herald was prepared to run it, which I frankly doubt, we’d be a laughing stock. And more to the point, so would you. How would you look after if d been denied by everyone from the Home Secretary downwards? Not to mention the American ambassador. You’d be walking round with an invisible label saying “loony” round your neck. People don’t like conspiracy theories. Think of your –’
‘Wait a minute, what about that woman in the west country – what was her name? The one who grew roses. You remember, she was writing a paper about Sizewell and then she was found murdered. There was lots in the papers about her.’
‘Hilda – Hilda something. I know who you mean. But that was all pretty inconclusive in the end. No one ever proved anything. What I was going to say was, what about your career? Just think of the effect it could have, a story like this. You haven’t even got tenure. Or have I missed something?’
Loretta shook her head. ‘No, you’re quite right. I’m eminently sackable. But it’s so bloody unfair. Can’t you get your contacts to confirm it? Those people you know in MI5?’
Tracey lit his third cigarette. ‘I know you don’t like it, but I need them when I’m under stress.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Loretta, how d’you think your friend with the funny sense of humour knew you’d got the tape? Why leave you a note today? Why not yesterday? You’ve had it since Tuesday night.’
‘Oh, Good God – of course! I remember now – he said something about me asking questions. That means – that means your man tipped him off?’
‘It’s a possibility. Though I didn’t actually say you’d got the tape, I just asked if he knew of any operations of that kind around Dunstow. I think I said I knew someone up here, and there’d been funny goings-on. Anyway, it looks as if all that stuff about bad relations with the Yanks was so much guff. Either that, or – well, there is another possibility.’
‘Which is?’
That someone was tapping the line you used to call me.’
The line I used? Who on earth’d go to the bother of tapping a telephone kiosk?’
‘Well, it has been done.’ Tracey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I mean, it’s never been admitted, but the evidence is quite good. Think about it, Loretta. This box you used is pretty near the base, right – those planes I heard went over very low. And the women from the peace camp, they don’t have phones sitting in the trees. Tap a few local phone boxes, and you’ve got a good chance of finding out what their plans are – demonstrations, blockades, that sort of thing. Forewarned is forearmed.’
‘Gosh.’ Loretta let it sink in. ‘But – say it was your contact? Would he really do that to you? I thought you were on good terms with MI5 or MI6 or whatever they call themselves. Isn’t that where your Berlin story came from last year?’
Tracey pulled a face, giving the impression he was finding their conversation excruciatingly painful.
‘Yes, all right, it did. But the thing you’ve got to understand about the intelligence service ... look, telling a journalist what the other side is up to is one thing. If you must know – and I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence’ – he was positively glaring at her now – ‘that stuff was leaked to me because of a disagreement. They knew there was a spy ring but they couldn’t decide what to do with it. The higher echelons wanted to leave it in place a bit longer, and the people lower down thought too much damage was being done. They used me, if you like.’
Loretta listened in sil
ence, surprised by Tracey’s frankness. It wasn’t like him to play down his role in getting a story, particularly one he regarded as a major scoop.
‘So there’s nothing you can do,’ she said at last.
‘Nothing. But let’s look on the bright side. What if this guy in the churchyard is telling the truth? What if his men didn’t do it? Just because he comes on like the Lone Ranger on a bad day doesn’t make him a liar.’
‘I sup-pose so,’ Loretta said uncertainly. ‘If he is telling the truth ... I wonder if Jeremy’s still at the police station.’
‘Jeremy? That’s Clara’s husband?’
‘Yes, I forgot to tell you. The police hauled him off for questioning this morning. He wasn’t very keen on going. But maybe he’s back by now. Did you see any lights in the house while you were waiting for me?’
‘Oh no, there was no one in. I knocked.’
‘I wonder if he did do it... but surely he’d have arranged an alibi?’
‘Maybe that’s what the police are trying to crack. Listen, Loretta, why don’t you come back to London tonight? I’ll even drive your car down if you’re too tired to do it yourself. Now there’s an offer for you – it’ll mean me getting up at the crack of dawn to come and get mine. I’ve got to be in the office by eleven tomorrow. How about it?’
Loretta considered. Perhaps Tracey was right, and she should wash her hands of the whole affair? Then she remembered something.
‘What about Peggy?’