by J M Gregson
‘You must not, Peach. In case you should be in any doubt, that is an order.’ The head of Brunton CID sighed theatrically at this unwelcome destruction of his Friday afternoon. ‘I suppose you’d better brief me fully on this.’
Percy did that, patiently but succinctly.
Tucker pursed his lips and looked for a way out. ‘This isn’t evidence, you know. Not evidence that would stand up in court.’
‘No, sir. That’s where I started from, if you remember. That’s why we shall need surveillance and will need to move carefully. According to what I’m told, Hayes is now employing some pretty violent people. He must not become aware of our interest in him until we are ready to move against him.’
‘How reliable is your snout?’
Percy shrugged. He thought for a moment of the thin, crafty, fearful face of Ron Peggs, and of how long it was since Tucker had had any direct contact with such denizens of the underworld. ‘How reliable is any snout, sir, when the going gets tough? He might lose his nerve, and frankly I wouldn’t blame him if he did. What I can say is that he’s been entirely reliable in the past and is confident he can provide us with further valuable information.’
Tucker frowned and sighed again, as if his minion had brought him a heap of trouble rather than valuable information. ‘You’d better follow this up, I suppose. But for heaven’s sake proceed with caution.’
It might have been the motto over his door, thought Percy Peach, as he went back down the stairs to the real world. But he consoled himself by muttering again that delightful notion, ‘Tommy Bloody Tucker, the Sherlock Holmes of Brunton.’
* * *
It was quite dark by the time Leroy Moore was able to reach the house where Jane Martin lived with her mother.
Jane opened the door almost immediately when he rang the bell. He could see from a glance at her tear-stained face that something was seriously wrong. She said, ‘Mum knows nothing about this. I didn’t come home until she’d gone out and her shift at the supermarket doesn’t end until ten.’
‘What’s happened, Jane?’
‘I’m sorry, you don’t know, do you? I’ve been living with it all day - it seems to me like everyone should know.’
But still she bit her lip and did not tell him. He sat her down on the sofa, put his arm round her and drew her to him. At twenty-four against her nineteen, he felt immensely protective. He also knew in that moment that he loved her. He had never felt like this about a girl before: her distress brought to him a pain which was almost physical. He spoke soothingly, as his mother used to speak to him as a child: he could not remember ever using this tone before. ‘You’re all right now, Jane. I’m here to look after you. Nothing else bad is going to happen. No one can get at you here. It’s something bad, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It’s much worse than you think. You’re going to think I’m a slag. And perhaps I am!’ She burst suddenly and violently into tears, when she had thought an hour ago that she could cry no more.
‘You’re not a slag! Nothing could make my Jane a slag!’ But his words felt inadequate. He wondered what was coming next, whether after all he would be strong enough to take it.
‘It was last night. At work.’ The words came between shuddering sighs.
‘What happened?’ He felt suddenly empty, drained of the emotion which had been so strong a moment earlier.
‘It was Mr Hayes. I - I didn’t know who he was, at first. I’d never seen him before.’
‘What did he do?’
Leroy spoke now like an automaton, but she did not notice. ‘He made a fuss of me. Came into the rest room when I was on my own and bought me a coffee. He seemed very nice at first.’ She spoke wonderingly, as if trying to describe accurately a thing which had happened to someone else.
‘And then he took advantage of you.’ That was a phrase which Leroy had not known he knew, which fell almost comically from his lips. He must have picked it up from some film, he thought.
‘I don’t know quite what did happen. I don’t know why I went with him.’ For the first time, she looked up into the pained black face, into the brown eyes which had widened with horror. ‘I wasn’t drunk. I was working, until he came. I didn’t have a drink at all.’
‘So what happened?’ His chest felt very tight.
‘I told him I had a boyfriend. He seemed to understand at the time. I thought he was just being nice to me. I thought he was too old and too important to be interested in me.’ Her voice broke again on that ridiculous thought. She thrust her face into Leroy’s chest, muffling her voice as she said, ‘Leroy, how could I ever have been so stupid?’
He plunged his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her neck, held her tight against him for a moment, and then pulled her head away. ‘He raped you, didn’t he?’
That was what he wanted to hear now. She understood that, and it was what she wanted to tell him. But she said dully, ‘He took me home with him. He walked me through the casino and out with him, for all to see. I - I don’t know what I was doing. I didn’t resist that.’
‘And where did he take you?’ The shining, very black features were set in a stone-like mask, a contrast to the mobility of the light brown face a foot away from him as it sought for some sort of control.
‘He took me to his flat. I went to bed with him, Leroy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!’ Jane’s whole frame shook violently in his arms, which held her but this time did not hug her.
It was seconds before he could control himself enough to speak. ‘How did you feel at the time?’ When her sobbing became even more violent, he added gutturally, ‘It’s important, my love.’
Perhaps it was the endearment which brought a measure of control back to her. She looked down at his new jeans, at the black leather boots below them, and said dully, ‘It seems like a dream now. A nightmare. I can’t understand why I didn’t see what was going to happen, didn’t resist, didn’t knee him in the balls and get out. I’ve done that before, you know! Before I met you.’
‘I believe you, love. I’m just trying to get a picture of this. I need you to help me.’
A deep, shuddering sigh as the tears finally ceased and she tried to control her breathing. ‘I can only remember it as if it happened to someone else. I don’t know why I didn’t fling him off. It wasn’t because he was the boss and I was afraid for my job. That wouldn’t have affected me. I feel now as if I was drunk and unable to resist. But I wasn’t, was I?’
‘You say he bought you a coffee in the rest room?’
‘A second one, yes. I think he said the first one would have gone cold whilst we were talking.’
‘Did you see him put anything into it?’
Her brow wrinkled. For the first time in hours, there was a little hope within her. Leroy wasn’t calling her a slag, or a tart, or worse. Perhaps he wasn’t even going to ditch her. Her brow wrinkled in concentration, in that reflection of thought which Leroy Moore had always found so beguiling. ‘I didn’t see anything, no. But he had his back to me when he was at the machine. I didn’t see the coffee until he put it down on the table in front of me.’
The mask of stone cracked for the first time in minutes as Leroy too frowned in thought. ‘There’s a date-rape drug. I can’t remember the name of it, or how it makes people feel. I reckon he gave you that.’
She looked up at him, realized that for the first time in minutes he was looking down into her face and not unseeingly into the distance. ‘It could have been that, Leroy. That would explain why I felt drunk, why I didn't see the signs, why I behaved out of character. Because I did do that, honestly I did.’
He gave her a small, sad smile. ‘I believe you, Jane. I think it’s the only possible explanation.’
She felt that those simple words were the most extravagant declaration of love and trust that she had ever heard. ‘Thank you. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid, though. He seemed so nice at first. And he must be nearly thirty years older than me. I couldn’t believe he’d be intereste
d in me, I suppose.’
‘Believe me, he’d be interested. You’re the prettiest thing on two legs, little Jane Martin.’ It was a recurring expression of his, and it made them giggle a little, even now.
‘And after the first few minutes of chat, he must have given me the drug.’
‘Rohypnol.’ The name had come back to him. His brain was working again, he noticed, but a cold, dangerous anger was yearning for an outlet within him.
Jane reached her face up to his and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘What do I do? Do I challenge him about it? I told you, I’m not worried about my job.’
‘It’s a matter of what we do about it, not you, love. You aren't on your own any more.’
‘I still think I should confront him and accuse him.’
‘No. He would never admit it, and you’d have no witnesses. He’d say you were there for the taking and he took you. He’s a dangerous man, Jane. He employs me to do bad things for him. I’m planning to get out as soon as I can.’
It was the first time he had ever hinted at what sort of work he did within the Hayes business empire. Jane realized that she hadn’t questioned him because she hadn’t really wanted to know. ‘I’ll leave. I like the croupier job and it was going well, but I can’t stay there now.’
Leroy Moore thought for a moment. ‘You shouldn’t leave. Don’t give him that satisfaction. He won’t come near you again. He’ll probably make certain you don’t even set eyes on him, for a week or two. He doesn’t know I’m your boyfriend. Let’s leave it that way.’
‘I don’t want you getting yourself into trouble, Leroy.’
He gave a grim smile as he stood up. ‘That won’t happen. I can bide my time until I get the right opportunity. But Mr Tim Hayes is going to pay for this.’
* * *
Tamsin Hayes felt that she did not even need to visit the doctor. The appointment had been made three weeks earlier, and she felt completely different now. But the doctor had been good to her through her depression and the problems of the ‘change’, and she felt she should thank her for her care and report how much better she was feeling.
Dr Davies gave her the usual welcoming smile as she sat down in front of the desk. ‘And how are you feeling now, Mrs Hayes?’
‘Much better, thank you. I’ve knocked off the antidepressants. I shan’t be needing them any more.’
The doctor smiled and tried not to look surprised. ‘That’s good news. I’m always happy when I hear a patient telling me they no longer need medication - as you know, I think people in this country look to drugs for a solution when often they should be looking elsewhere. But you’ve been on them for quite some time. Are you sure you feel confident enough to knock them off completely? What about trying half the dose and then moving on from there if things go well?’
‘No. I don’t need them. I’ve been off them for the last week and I feel no ill effects. In fact, I feel better than I’ve done for years!’
‘That’s good news. You certainly look well.’ She looked at her patient’s positively radiant face, at the eyes which shone and the mouth which carried the wide smile she could not remember seeing before. Tamsin Hayes looked almost too well, she thought. ‘I don’t want to be a Jonah, but I feel that I should warn you that sudden mood swings can be a feature of the “change”. It’s one of the ways in which physical changes in the body affect the mind: in that sense, it’s perfectly natural and you should almost expect it.’
‘I expect I shall feel more cheerful at some times than others. That’s only natural, isn’t it? But I’m sure I’m not going to lapse into the deep depressions I’ve been prey to over the last year or two.’
‘Well, I’m delighted. And I’m certainly not going to counsel you against giving up the antidepressants. All that I will say is that if you do find yourself feeling low again, don’t hesitate to come in and see me. Don’t be too proud to ask for help if you need it, will you?’
‘That’s good of you. And thank you for all your help, doctor. But I feel confident that you won’t be seeing much of me over the next few years.’
Dr Davies thought for a moment that Mrs Hayes was going to shake her hand as a gesture of farewell before she left. She eventually contented herself with another expression of her gratitude and a final beaming smile from the door. It was a smile which lingered in the medic’s consciousness for minutes afterwards, like that of an animal in a cartoon. It was so wide and knowing that it was almost disturbing. Not many of her patients were as ebullient or as glowing as that.
Dr Davies wondered what new interest could have brought about such a change in Tamsin Hayes’s life.
Chapter Nine
Jason Thompson was talking to his sixth-formers about the geomorphology of the Lake District.
It was a formidable word, and the subject sounded dry and uninteresting, especially on a Monday morning. But as usual, his own enthusiasm for both the subject and the area communicated itself to his students. In this very compact area, he explained, were some of the oldest rocks in the world and a potted history of the planet’s development, as well as immense variations in the local microclimates.
With his vivid red hair flopping out of control as usual as his head nodded and shook with his enthusiasm, his brown eyes alert and sparkling behind the thick glasses, his gangly frame lurching unpredictably, his thin hands moving swiftly as he wrote and drew on the overhead projector, his whole physical appearance demanded attention. Jason got that attention, even from those who had been determined to be bored when they came into the room.
He drew lots of questions. And he in turn put questions of his own, leading them into new areas of knowledge, new speculations, new discussions. He sat on the edge of the table at the front of the room, swinging his legs, bringing as many youngsters as possible into the debate, stretching his arms wide as if encircling them all in this exciting process, occasionally clasping those arms tight around his thin chest, as he seemed to hug himself with pleasure at his success.
There were eight girls and six boys in this group. There were no real rules about uniform in the sixth form, and the girls wore clothes which transformed them from children into young women. As his teaching succeeded and the atmosphere grew more friendly and informal between educator and learners, Jason Thompson grew intensely conscious of these females who seemed to have bypassed adolescence; of their scent, of their dancing hair, of their laughter, of the curves of breasts and the stretching of thighs.
Until three years ago, he had taught in an all-boys’ school. It made him now more aware of these distractions. None of the girls would take him seriously as a lover, of course. He was conscious of his gawky, uncoordinated frame, of his boyish, unruly, carrot-coloured hair, of his thick spectacles and the way his myopia sometimes made him peer at people. That was just as well; there was no danger of him getting himself into trouble through unprofessional conduct. But there was nothing wrong with watching and appreciating beauty, was there? It was a good thing in a man, so long as the teaching was going well, which it was doing today. Nothing wrong with the odd male fantasy, nothing wrong with a happily married man being highly sexed.
It was not until later, when he was marking homework in the staff room, that Jason’s thoughts reverted to the situation which he wished only too heartily was a fantasy. He almost regretted now that he’d found Clare out. It was almost comic, the way he had found her badminton kit unworn, when she had supposedly been playing every Thursday night for weeks - comic if it had been someone else, and not him in the situation. He felt the blood pounding in his temples at the thought of Clare in bed with someone else, of the things they might have done, of the sounds she might have made.
That way madness lies, he told himself firmly. It did not prevent him from planning retribution.
Mrs Agnes Blake requests the pleasure of your company at her daughter’s wedding to Denis Charles Scott Peach on Saturday the 3rd of May.
A short ceremony at Goosnargh Parish Church at 11 a.m. will be f
ollowed by a reception and lunch at Marton Towers at approximately 12.30.
Rsvp
* * *
Lucy Blake studied the gilt-edged card with some distaste. It was going to happen, then. She had never really believed that the unlikely concordat between Peach and her mother would bring her to this, but it had. She wanted to marry him, of course she did, but there was no need for such haste. She said sourly, ‘We can’t have a church ceremony. Percy’s been divorced.’
‘You’re out of date, our Lucy. Not as much on the ball in these things as you thought you were, you see. So long as the divorce is all official and concluded, you can get married in the Church of England nowadays. I’ve checked with the vicar and he says he’ll be glad to officiate himself. He wants to know exactly what vows you’re going to make. Apparently there are different formats available nowadays.’ Agnes Blake sniffed her disapproval of such laxity in standards.
‘Percy won’t want all that “Denis Charles Scott” nonsense you’ve put on the cards. He tries to keep his names secret in the police service.’
‘You have to sign the register with your real names, the names you have on your birth certificates,’ said Agnes firmly. ‘And he’s proud of those names really. They’re the same as Denis Compton’s. And I believe that Percy batted a little like Denis, when he was at his best.’ Agnes, who had only read of Percy’s exploits in the Lancashire League and never seen him play, spoke with invincible confidence. ‘He should never have given up the game so early.’
Lucy knew that the comparison with Denis Compton was the highest compliment her mother could give; she felt a little jealous of her husband-to-be. ‘He felt his eye was going a little at thirty- six, Mum. That’s why he plays golf now. The people in CID tell me he’s quite good.’
‘Golf!’
Lucy had never heard anyone condense so much contempt into a single monosyllable. It was a prodigy of compression she loved to hear and could not forbear provoking. ‘Golf’s a good game, Mum, and one you can go on playing for a long time. I might even take it up myself.’