Deadly Practice

by Christine Green

  ‘What time?’ he asked morosely.

  ‘I'll be in touch. Thanks, Hubert.’

  Tuesday was a Riverview free day and I knew I should pay Geoff a visit but I prevaricated. If he hadn't known before that his wife was planning to move in with another woman he would be upset and I wouldn't know what to say. Of course he didn't really need me to say anything but he would want me to listen and somehow that seemed unproductive. So far in this investigation I'd lost one client/suspect and I hadn't yet managed to focus my suspicions on anyone else.

  The ringing by my elbow made me snatch the phone up quickly. It was Alan Dakers. ‘How about that drink, Kate?’ he asked with no sort of preamble.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘I think I can make that.’

  ‘Great. I look forward to it. I'll pick you up about eight.’

  ‘No. I'll meet you at the Swan in Longborough High Street.’

  He paused slightly. Perhaps he was wondering if I was worth the petrol. ‘Fine. See you there. I've got some news, by the way.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘You'll just have to wait and see. But it's about Charles Amroth. He's admitted …’

  ‘Admitted what?’

  ‘Come tonight and you'll find out.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  I walked into the Swan just after eight. There was no sign of Alan but I could see the back of Hubert's head and next to him Danielle. I crept into a corner booth so that he couldn't see me and wondered how long I could sit there without going to the bar to buy a drink.

  Alan arrived about ten past eight. He wore cream chinos and a pale green short-sleeved shirt. I noticed that he walked with a poseur's hand in trouser pocket amble. And he no longer looked intrepid. In fact seeing him out of Riverview made me realize how much I liked Neil. Neil had a vulnerable face. Alan Dakers was far more calculating.

  He glanced around the dim interior and I knew he expected me to be there already, which I found irritating. When he did find me, he kissed my cheek, asked me what I wanted to drink and went straight to the bar. Customers were in short supply and it was so quiet that only Desperate Dan's husky tones could be heard and although I tried to catch a word here and there my hearing wasn't that acute.

  The vodka and lime Alan placed in front of me was very welcome and he drank half a pint of beer before he even spoke.

  ‘I needed that,’ he said eventually. ‘Sorry I was late, I had a phone call just as I was leaving. By the way, you look younger than ever out of uniform.’

  I smiled. ‘Why exactly did you want to see me tonight, Alan?’

  ‘Do I need a reason other than wanting to take an attractive woman out?’

  ‘I'm sure you do plenty of dating, now that you're a free man.’

  He laughed, attractively. ‘The rumours are all lies, I can assure you, Kate.’

  ‘What rumours?’

  ‘That I'm a womanizer and that Jenny was having an affair with me?’

  ‘I hadn't heard that. Was she?’

  He smiled with a cocky brightness revealing how much pleasure it gave him to be thought irresistible. ‘No. I liked her but she had a mission.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean she was preoccupied with finding someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  He smiled and patted my hand. ‘Hey, this was meant to be a light-hearted evening. Why are you giving me the third degree?’

  I finished my vodka in one final swig. ‘I'd love another,’ I said casually. ‘Sorry about the questions but I'm naturally nosy.’

  He smiled again at that, picked up the empty glass and walked to the bar. In moments he was joined by Hubert and as Hubert turned sideways I tried to duck back into the booth but I knew he had seen me. Damn … moments later my worst fears were confirmed – he was coming my way.

  ‘Kate, why didn't you—’ He stopped speaking abruptly when he saw my expression.

  ‘I'm working, Hubert,’ I whispered, like a French resistance worker caught with a Nazi.

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Hubert, tossing his head towards the bar.

  ‘Hubert, go away. I don't want to have to explain to him who you are.’

  He shrugged and walked slowly away as if he were Peter and the cock had just crowed three times.

  If Alan noticed Hubert retreating from my booth he didn't comment on it. We sipped our drinks in silence for a while until he said, ‘Why exactly are you here, Kate?’

  I nearly choked on my drink. ‘In this pub, do you mean?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, living in Longborough. I would have thought a spirited girl like you would have worked abroad or lived in a city?’

  I thought about this one for a while, old aunt Edie wouldn't do now. ‘If you really want to know, coming here was an escape. I was bereaved and I needed a change of scene.’

  He nodded and said softly, ‘So you're not on a mission, like Jenny?’

  ‘Since I don't know what mission she was on I can't say, can I?’ Then I added as flirtatiously as I knew how, ‘Come on, Alan, don't tease me any longer. You know I'm curious.’

  And it worked. He began to tell me about Jenny's mission.

  ‘Just before the end of term at Christmas four years ago Simon Martin walked out of school a little later than the others – he'd gone back into his classroom to collect his football. He was allowed to walk home alone then as he had no roads to cross. His football rolled into the road and he went to retrieve it. A car careered around the corner, mowed him down and drove on.’

  ‘Surely someone saw it happen.’

  Alan shrugged. ‘Not really. Simon was on his own, other people were in front, they heard the thud, turned, but the car was already speeding off.’

  ‘No one got the number?’

  ‘No. People were stunned, the car was out of sight by the time they realized what had happened. Simon was killed instantly.’

  ‘What did the police find out?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing. They tried but they had no leads. They decided it was probably a stolen car and a so-called joyrider.’

  ‘And Jenny's mission was to find the driver?’

  ‘Got it. Not at first, though, she was numb and in shock for some time. We were surprised when she came back to work but she was plucky. No, really it was only during the last year she mentioned she was going to find the driver. Ever since she met Teresa, I suppose.’

  ‘Do the police know this?’

  ‘Yes, Kate. I told them.’

  ‘But where would she have started her search? She didn't have anything to go on.’

  ‘Jenny found out something. I don't know how, but she said she had someone local in her sights and it wouldn't be long before she acted.’

  ‘What was she going to do?’

  Alan stared at me for a moment. ‘You're one of us now, Kate. She was going to kill the driver.’

  I was surprised into silence for a moment, trying to work out the implications. Even then I spoke too soon and blurted out, ‘How was she going to do it? Why didn't her husband tell me this?’

  ‘You know her husband?’ asked Alan. ‘Why didn't you say?’

  ‘I … um … I met him in London years and years ago and I dropped in to offer him my condolences.’

  Alan looked at me warily. I had a strong feeling I'd blown it.

  I offered then to buy another drink but Alan said no, he'd get one and I had a minute or two to plan either my exit or how exactly to ask him what Charles Amroth had admitted.

  For a while we talked about his ex-wife, the children, then he began talking about the practice. I let him carry on and when he paused said lightly, ‘You were going to tell me about Charles – what has he admitted? That he was having an affair with Jenny?’

  Alan raised an eyebrow. ‘Not quite. He's admitted to the police that he was having an affair with … Teresa. And it seems he was the last person to see them both alive that night.’

  Now why hadn't I guessed that? Teresa
was more his age group, attractive, unattached. And Jenny was the go-between.

  Perhaps she was a closet romantic having all the pleasure and none of the pain via a proxy lover. Unless of course Jenny had been having her own affair and her friend's involvement just added extra zest to life.

  Alan meanwhile fetched more drinks. Alcohol seemed to be having little effect on either of us. His account was plausible but why did I feel so uneasy? Was it because his words sounded so rehearsed? And why should he be the one who knew so much? Jenny must have trusted him completely, but was that trust misplaced? Could Alan have wanted to protect the hit and run driver?

  It was near to closing time when I heard someone approaching and there looking over the top of the booth above my head was Hubert. His eyes were as red as a monkey's bum and his voice was a smidgin slurred. ‘See you tonight, Kate. Tonight's the night – say no more – about two should be nice and quiet …’ Alan at this point started forward eyes ablaze as if he'd met Satan for the first time. I tried not to laugh. ‘It's all right, Alan, he's a relative. We go out some nights really late sometimes … we're into studying … the night sky … we study the plough and the Milky Way.’

  Hubert's face split into a grin and then he fell backwards loudly – he was actually laughing as he hit the deck. How the night sky had suddenly come to mind I don't know and Alan's face showed he didn't believe me.

  ‘Help me up, Kate,’ Hubert was shouting.

  ‘Let me give you a hand,’ suggested Alan.

  I declined his kind offer, helped Hubert into a chair, hissed into his ear to hold his tongue and that I'd see him back at Humberstones' later.

  If Alan had lived in Longborough I might have gone back to his place just out of curiosity. As it was, we sat in his car in the Swan's car park, where, in the dark, he kissed me a little halfheartedly, and when I gently pushed him away seemed somewhat relieved.

  ‘Let's just talk,’ I suggested.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Why … you're divorced and I'm not married.’

  He held my hand and then raised it to his lips, breathing on it gently before kissing the back as though it had unimaginable charms. I had to admit it was more of a turn on than I expected.

  ‘I'm divorced,’ he murmured, ‘because my wife …’

  He carried on flirting with my hand which I began to think a little odd and on a par with Hubert and feet.

  ‘Understood you?’ I queried.

  He laughed lightly. ‘She thought I was having an affair.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘Only a bodily affair – or maybe I should say affairs. My wife couldn't believe I could make love without being in love. We remain good friends. She says I'm immature which is undoubtedly true but as the song says – “growing up is so hard to do”.’

  ‘Were you, in fact, having an affair, bodily or otherwise, with Jenny?’

  He sighed and dropped my hand. ‘Kate. Does it matter to you? It was years ago. We had a fling. Well, a now and again fling. I told her my problems, she told me hers. She was unhappy. We shared a little happiness together. End of story.’

  I didn't know what to say. I couldn't ask him too many questions without arousing his suspicions. Why the hell did I like him anyway? He was a liar and a cheat but was he capable of murder? ‘I have to go, Alan,’ I said.

  ‘Another time,’ he murmured.

  At Humberstones' Hubert lay full length on the sofa snoring loudly. I moved his legs to the floor and shouted that I was making black coffee.

  Two cups later Hubert was sick, sober and scared. Once the beer had departed his body, his burglary career and my information were in definite jeopardy. I was convinced I would find something out at Teresa's house, so if necessary I'd go alone, and I told him so.

  ‘Oh no you won't,’ he said. After a bit of ‘Oh yes I will' it was settled.

  We managed to stay awake by watching TV, drinking more coffee and eating biscuits, then I put on a black track suit and trainers. Hubert disappeared and came back wearing a black sweater, black trousers and the oldest plimsolls I'd ever seen. I made no comment, presuming he was as fond of the plimsolls as some people are of teddy bears. Then we left Humberstones' and began walking down the High Street towards the old part of town.

  It was a dry night, quite warm. We met no one in the High Street, no one on their feet anyway, just two young men huddled together asleep in a shop doorway. Hubert paused, staring at them for a moment. ‘It's a bloody disgrace,’ he said sharply. ‘This government has a lot to answer for.’ He put his hand in his trouser pocket and brought out two pound coins and placed them by the sleeping bodies. A head moved slightly from the pile of blankets and old newspapers. He looked young, about sixteen, thin and with a wary look. Seeing the coins he smiled, ‘Thanks, mate, you're a saint.’

  We walked on, a bit subdued by our encounter, until we reached the beginning of the old part of town. Here there were several streets of turn of the century housing. They varied somewhat in layout, back to backs interspersed with those with alleyways at the back. After the first two streets of back to backs, I realized that we were going to have a hard time getting into a house from the front because the street lighting was excellent and there were no front gardens to hide in. An insomniac somewhere was bound to see or hear us and although many occupants were pensioners there was a fair number of students who could surely be coming home in the early hours of the morning. Burglaries here were a rarity, mostly because local criminals knew there wouldn't be anything in these homes worth doing time for.

  Luckily Teresa's house was of the back lane type and as Hubert and I walked down the dark side alley we tried not to tread on tin cans and various bits of old rubbish. The air smelt of damp and cat's piss and apart from the occasional distant passing car all was quiet.

  I hadn't expected it to be quite so dark. Cloud occluded the quarter moon and once we opened Teresa's back gate the garden was as black as a pot hole. I made Hubert walk in front of me so that if he fell I could land on him rather than him landing on me. ‘Where's the torch?’ I asked in a loud whisper.

  ‘In the car.’

  I stopped and stared ahead. Well, it would be, I thought. In that moment I knew I'd made an error of judgement. This was all a ghastly mistake. But it was too late to turn back. And maybe I would find something in Teresa's house that … I took one step and stumbled in the darkness. Treacherous giant pots seemed to guard every yard towards the back door. I walked on, my feet crushing to death several snails on the way, each snapping of the shell sounding loud as a pistol crack.

  Eventually we arrived at the door to the kitchen. I could make out, just, the slated roof of the kitchen extension. Adjacent to the kitchen door was the ground-floor sash window, curtains drawn.

  ‘What now?’ asked Hubert.

  ‘We could force the back door,’ I suggested cheerfully.

  ‘Don't look at me,’ said Hubert as he leant against the wall. ‘I've had it – I'm tired.’

  ‘I'll do it, then,’ I said and even as I said it I knew I was making a mistake. I'd seen doors broken down on television, some beefy policeman taking a run, side on, at a door. I pushed the door with my hand. The dark paintwork felt old and peeling; maybe the door was weak. It was worth a try.

  I steeled myself for impact.

  ‘I can't watch this,’ muttered Hubert.

  ‘Close your eyes, then.’

  I thrust my shoulder against the door. The pain was excruciating, so much so I thought I'd dislocated something. I couldn't cry out so I muttered ‘shit' a few times and felt better for it.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said Hubert and he loped off bent low like Quasimodo about to leap from belfry to balcony. He was looking for a flower pot and in moments he found one, told me to stand back and smashed the back window with it. The sound of breaking glass caused us to catch our breath and pray.

  No lights came on, no one shouted. ‘What the hell's going on?’ Hubert found the safety catch and opened what
was left of the window and I scrambled in straight over the back of a chair, luckily, an armchair, and landed on the floor.

  For a few moments we both lurched around in the dark and then I found a lamp and placed it on the floor, hoping the light would be less noticeable from outside. Hubert and I both sat on the floor for a while trying to get our bearings. The room was long and narrow, with pale green walls decorated with various toning prints. A dining-room table and chairs were placed at the far end by the front window. The long dark green curtains with large pelmets gave the room a coolly elegant feel.

  At our end of the room were filled book shelves, a two-seater sofa and an armchair in cream plus a coffee table with a posy of wild flowers in a pottery vase. As soon as I saw the flowers, day fresh, I guessed someone was in the house.

  ‘We have to get out, Hubert,’ I whispered frantically.

  After all that! Why?’

  ‘We're not alone.’

  It was then we heard heavy footsteps approaching the front door.

  ‘It sounds like clogs he's wearing,’ whispered Hubert by way of light relief. The door opening sounded like ‘our' front door and I snapped off the light. We waited silently, hardly daring to breathe. We heard every step along next door's hall and then silence.

  Just for a few seconds we experienced the euphoria of relief. Then we heard the car, the doors slamming, the heavy footsteps. And the shout of: ‘Open up, it's the police.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hubert and I flashed each other desperate looks. Again came more banging on the door followed by another ‘Open up, it's the police'.

  We started to run, stumbling out through the door, Hubert getting out first, pushing past me and dashing up the garden like a sprinter on speed. I rushed on blindly falling at the second pot plant then tried desperately to move off again. I was too slow, the police fell upon me as fast as flies on jam.

  They dragged me to my feet and I was trotted through the house whilst one PC cautioned me and I protested my innocence in a loud voice. ‘You don't understand …’

  ‘Tell us about it at the station,’ said the younger of the two PCs. His helmet seemed far too large for his small head and he wore rimless glasses that shone in the dark making him seem more sinister than I hoped he was.