Guilty as Sin

by Judith Cutler

  ‘Good. I want your word on that. And didn’t you promise Griff to read through Paul’s suggestions for the future of this shop? Have you got round to it?’

  ‘I couldn’t understand a word,’ I confessed.

  ‘Bring it down here and we’ll go through it together. Believe me, Lina, this is more important than the application of one more coat of paint. And then we’ll go through the contract together. But not until you’ve been in touch with Freya.’

  Somehow Paul and Griff had valued our stock and premises at way below what I’d have imagined, and in normal circumstances any bank would have been happy to give me a loan, with the restoration business as collateral, whatever that was.

  ‘But we’re not living in normal financial times, are we, Paul? Banks aren’t friendly things with handfuls of cash to throw at potentially good businesses. We both know some are actively closing down firms that are actually in profit so they can realize their assets.’

  Paul oozed exasperation. I was supposed to be the artistic half of Tripp and Townend, not the one who knew a bit about current affairs. He insisted he still had plenty of contacts from his accounting days, and had no doubt he’d find one to support me. Would I give him the go-ahead?

  With Griff breathing down my neck, how could I refuse? But the proof of the pudding, as the cliché goes, would be in the eating.

  There was still no response from Freya, but that was typical of her. So I did the obvious thing. I got out Kate’s business card and phoned her.

  First I established that she’d got the plates home and liked them enough to keep them: it was Tripp and Townend policy to exchange items if they didn’t work in their new home. Then, PR done, I said, ‘I know you don’t want to accuse anyone of anything, but the police are being remarkably slow in dealing with my request about the CCTV footage. Something clearly worried you when I slipped. Off the record, could you tell me what?’

  She clearly did not want to be pinned down.

  ‘If the footpath is uneven, I should report the near-miss in the hope that the council will repair it before someone takes a real purler.’

  Silence.

  ‘Kate, there’s that old punchline – did he fall or was he pushed? Are you worried that my fall might not have been accidental?’

  Pause. ‘I didn’t like your friend’s joke about you being drunk.’

  ‘The man’s an idiot. Absolutely not a friend of mine. Though perversely he fancied me. Might still do. But I don’t care the click of my fingers for him.’

  Another pause. ‘Perhaps he thought you might find him more attractive if he rescued you from a dangerous situation?’

  ‘Kate, you really do think he pushed me, don’t you?’

  A pause so long it was nearly another silence. ‘Yes. I do. But you must see for yourself,’ she said with a rush. ‘And don’t say anything, anything at all, to anyone, till you’ve looked at the footage yourself. And, Lina, I’d much rather not have to say all this in court, you know.’

  ‘Of course.’ Though I couldn’t see – if it was a case of attempted murder – that she’d not be invited into the witness box. ‘Kate, you’ve been more than helpful. And I’m so glad the plates are happy in their new home.’

  It was time for another phone call. To Jane Dockery. Did she know if Martin Fellows was back yet? I really needed details of that phantom stallholder. ‘And I can’t just phone a man I’ve never met and ask him, out of the blue, to give me information, can I?’ I concluded sunnily. If I’d thought I’d get anything out of him, I wouldn’t hesitate, of course. But there were times when a subtle approach might work better.

  ‘Actually, you might know him,’ she countered. ‘He’s got family your way. No? Very well, I’ll put it down on my To Do list.’

  ‘Jane, it really is quite important. I know I’m being a pain, but …’

  ‘Data protection phooey,’ Freya declared. ‘Have you noticed when people are too idle to do something they blame the Data Protection Act or “Elf and Safety”? Of course this Dockery woman can tell you Martin’s address. But my computer can do it more quickly.’ Tossing me an apple, she sank her teeth into hers as she tapped away. ‘Yes, here we are. Martin Fellows. The Big House – that’s an original name for you – Middle Bredeham. Must be some pad to have such a perfunctory address.’ She clicked again. ‘Hey, come and look at this.’

  I went round to her side of the desk to peer at the screen. ‘It’s a gem, isn’t it? Perfect Tudor – all those tiny bricks in herringbone patterns. And look at those curly chimneys. Amazing. So how is a man who owns a place like that associated with a one-horse village antiques fair? Why bother?’

  ‘That’s what I intend to find out. Actually, no, not me in person, because I’ve got something else to do. But I got talking to this bright young woman DS in the loo the other day – seems she knows you. Something to do with an old lady you’ve been keeping an eye on. Had loads of clothes stolen? Well, she was at a loose end and I sort of co-opted her.’

  ‘Fi Hunt? She’s been in the thick of liaising with Devon and Cornwall about the theft of Dodie Boulton’s netsuke.’

  ‘Quite. In fact she should be knocking on the big front door of the Big House about now. I really want to pull all this together, Lina. Sometimes I disappear under all I have to do, but sometimes, like you, I get a niggle that won’t go away and I have to act on my gut instinct and prioritize that. And I’ve got a niggle now. To do with all this business. But first, let me take you down a couple of corridors. I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘I take it it’s not pictures of Imogen …’

  Nor was it. Banks of screens surrounded an Amazon of a woman, who looked as if she’d rather be out on the streets sorting out brawls herself rather than merely directing her colleagues to trouble spots. Acknowledging Freya and me, she slid her chair to one particular monitor, its frozen frame showing a young woman in mid-flight towards a lorry.

  ‘And this must be the star of our video,’ the Amazon declared. Her badge insisted she was Finuola Byrne; perhaps she was an indirect descendant of Finn McCool. ‘Trouble is, we can see you here, Miss, and here.’ There I was, beside Spencer, with another figure, presumably Kate Evans, hurrying up. The next frame showed Spencer apparently putting his arm round my shoulders to hug me. Then there were two hands on my back, but they must have been pulling me back, as on the following one I was between the two of them, dusting myself off. ‘Nothing worth having of the alleged incident itself. Not from that camera. However,’ she added, with the air of one about to pull at least a hare out of a top hat, ‘there is another one here.’ She clicked her mouse efficiently. ‘There. I’d say the guy was looking round before that arm went out. And it was only when that woman’s arm shot out to grab you that he opened his fist and grabbed you too. But that’s only my interpretation. Who knows what madam here thinks?’ She winked at me, looking across at Freya.

  ‘Or what defence counsel would make of it,’ Freya said cautiously. ‘Thanks, Fin. Did you have time to check any other sightings of Chummie? Aka Spencer Blakemore, of course.’

  ‘Sorry, Guvnor. There’s a lot going on, this time of day. RTAs; tailacks; road rage. But I’ll hang on ten minutes at the end of my shift to go through it all, just in case.’

  I was about to protest that she oughtn’t to give up her spare time, but found I could only add my thanks to Freya’s.

  As we walked back to her office, I said, my lips strangely rubbery, ‘Why should a bloke who’s appeared to fancy me pull a trick like that?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said slowly, her voice disconcertingly kind for a woman whose usual mode was bracing, ‘it was just a trick. Perhaps he would have pulled you back in the nick of time, hoping to look like a hero in your eyes.’

  Just what Kate had wondered. This time I had enough time to think.

  ‘That’s a bit subtle for Spencer. We’d been talking about the business of the fake scaffolders. And I just thought that a man interested in me as a person might have
been more interested in how the whole business had affected me.’ I recounted our conversation. ‘But all he was interested in was that the guys weren’t wearing balaclavas. Weird or what.’

  ‘Weird indeed,’ she said. But then she was paged and had to dash off.

  Feeling as if someone had punched me all over again, I headed – carefully – back to the station.

  TWENTY-SIX

  My usual brisk walk from Bredeham station felt more like a trudge, as if I was carrying a lot more cares on my shoulders than I ought. One of my immediate concerns was Griff’s safety. If Spencer had been cross-questioning him, did that mean he was next in line for a push? The funeral of his dearest friend wouldn’t make a good birthday present at all for poor Aidan, would it? But on the other hand, having Griff under his roof to celebrate just might improve what promised to be a pretty dull event. I’d certainly be a lot happier if he was tucked away in genteel Tenterden.

  I was so busy working out how I could organize this subtly – or even not very subtly – that I nearly walked into my father. To be fair, he was the last person I expected to see strolling round the village.

  ‘Slouching, Lina. Come on, shoulders back, chin up – I’ll stand you a drink.’ Taking my arm he propelled me into the Pig and Whistle, sitting us down at a table for two and raising a lordly finger to the bartender. Instead of responding, as I expected, with two of his own, the young man trotted over obediently. ‘Your usual, sir?’

  ‘Of course. And one for yourself, too, don’t forget.’

  The lad tugged his forelock – really! – and scuttled off.

  ‘Your usual?’ I prompted.

  ‘Often drop by when I’ve been to see Dodie,’ he said. ‘And I’ve brought her in that contraption of hers a couple of times. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare, young lady? Of course I bring her here. Why not? Both consenting adults. Those church folk of yours do their best, but they can’t make her laugh like I can. And I’ve got a bit of time on my hands now.’

  The bartender reappeared with champagne, an ice bucket and two chilled glasses. He dived off, reappearing with some nibbles. I was so disconcerted I didn’t pick up on Pa’s last sentence until too late.

  He was already talking again. ‘I hear you go round pretty regularly. But she says you never stay as long as either of you would like. Something about a debarring certificate. Couldn’t make head or tail of it.’

  ‘If I go as a church representative, I need to be signed off as a good citizen. If I go as me, as an antiques dealer, I might arouse her family’s suspicions – they might think I’m after her stuff.’

  ‘They might if they ever showed their noses.’

  ‘Noses in the plural, Pa?’ Heavens, the champagne was good.

  ‘Two lousy sons. From two lousy husbands. A bit naive, my Dodie – got in with some bad lots,’ he declared, entirely straight-faced. ‘That ambassador chappie, Boulton, he was her third. Decent, that one, but dull as ditchwater. First one gave her Tiny: premature, you see. Second husband was a prize shit: he begat – that’s the sort of word Tripp would use, eh? – Tim. Tiny, Tim – get it? I promise you that was what they were always known as.’

  ‘But Dodie’s social worker, Emma Something or other, always refers to the son. Just the one.’

  He topped up my glass. ‘Of course. No one ever refers to Tim. The black sheep. Well, Tiny’s pretty grey too, come to think of it, as sheep go.’ Without missing a beat he asked, ‘Did you know they’re planning to use them to mow the front lawn at the Hall? Wanted to know what I thought of the idea. Fine, so long as you don’t expect me to walk on it, I said. And think of all that crap being trodden into the carpets.’

  ‘Dodie’s sheep,’ I prompted. ‘Start with the black one.’

  ‘Drugs, booze, gambling … Big gambler. Lost his pa’s car once, they say. Not your average Mini, either. Should have told you, the father got custody. Son wouldn’t have anything to do with poor Dodie. Families, eh?’ He reached and stroked my cheek with the back of a finger. ‘It seemed Tim blamed her for everything he did. Walked out of his pa’s place one day. No word of goodbye. But they knew he’d gone for good because he’d taken the best silver. They covered it up – blamed some chance burglar long since in France. And that was that. Never saw him again.’

  ‘And Tiny?’ My heart felt sore at the thought of all the family strife. How could such a nice woman as Dodie inspire such loathing in her own son?

  ‘Tiny was a mummy’s boy. He’s still in touch with her, after all. But he takes after his dad, and if he isn’t the one who’s stolen all her clothes and other bits and pieces I’ll eat that bucket. Actually, I could eat anything.’

  ‘In that case, you can eat it at ours. I’ve got a plan, Pa, and all you need do when I put it to Griff is nod sagely. OK?’ I jammed my thumb into the neck of the bottle – I needed to be sober – and led the way to the cottage.

  Griff would probably have been delighted to go off to luxuriate in the best of Tenterden’s wining and dining, all within reach of Aidan’s fabulous house, but he didn’t want to leave me in Pa’s company. Or worse still, on my own.

  To hell with being subtle. ‘Griff, you’ve been talking quite a bit to Spencer – the arch-interrogator. I might be paranoid on your behalf, but there’s something I should tell you.’

  By the time I’d finished my story, both men were red in the face with anger. ‘And the police have done nothing?’

  ‘They’ve hardly had time, Pa. They’ve got fewer resources, less money, more targets. Freya’s taken on someone else’s case load as well as working on a nasty murder—’

  ‘Not that man with a pot of geraniums where his stomach should be?’

  ‘How do you know about that, Pa? They’ve imposed a media blackout.’

  ‘Grapevine. But he’s dead. What about you? You might have been.’

  ‘True. But the CCTV footage also suggests he might have grabbed me at the last minute to stop me falling. So it’s by no means a clear-cut case. He might even have staged it to make himself look heroic.’ I was less convinced by the theory each time.

  Pa wasn’t impressed either: ‘I’d have thought that a rather passé notion.’

  ‘Anyway I had this Kate woman on the other side, and I’m here talking to you both now. So your taking a couple of days out of the way somewhere would be ideal, Griff.’

  He was almost sold on the idea. But not quite. ‘I’m not leaving you all alone in this cottage!’

  ‘No. You’re not. Tonight Pa and I will pick up some of Afzal’s finest and adjourn to Bossingham Hall. I hope you keep that bedroom aired, Pa. And we’ll share our feast with Titus. Because if anyone has the low-down on Dodie’s low-life sons, he will. OK?’ Griff was wavering. ‘And tomorrow I can take some work down to do in the shop. Oh, anything,’ I said as his eyebrows shot up – he knew I preferred the lab-like conditions of my workroom. But something started to ring in my head. I patted the kitchen table. ‘Honey,’ I said, surprising them both. ‘When she and Laura ate here, Honey went on and on about what I could mend and what I couldn’t.’

  ‘Honey is Spencer’s brother,’ Griff told Pa, sotto voce. ‘I thought it wonderful that our girl had friends of her own age. Now I begin to wonder.’

  I looked at my watch. ‘Phone Aidan now. You’ll just have time for a late supper. I’ll get a taxi and pack your overnight bag.’ With enough clothes for at least three days, though I didn’t need to say that.

  The moment we’d waved him off, I phoned an order through to Afzal. The last person I expected in the queue when I stopped to pick it up was Phil, who greeted me with a smile and cheek-kiss that raised both Afzal’s and Pa’s eyebrows. Pa seemed more impressed than Afzal, maybe taking Griff’s view that a man I could introduce as Dr Russell must be a good thing. For a moment I was afraid he was about to summon him to dine with us at the Hall, but in the end he just thanked him for all he did for Dodie and hoped they’d meet again.

  Phil waved at our still
empty bag and at his: ‘We still haven’t had that Thai meal, Lina.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. Things have been a bit complicated. But as soon as Griff gets back – he’s helping a friend celebrate a big birthday – we’ll phone and fix something.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to include Griff, you know.’ He coughed. ‘Actually, we could all adjourn to my place again, if Lord Elham wouldn’t mind.’

  Interesting use of the third person; perhaps he couldn’t get his head round calling him My Lord. And why should he?

  Pa rose to the occasion admirably, despite all that shampoo. ‘My daughter and I are entertaining another friend at my home, Dr Russell, or we’d certainly have accepted. You’d have been welcome to join us, but my friend is an acquired taste.’

  I nodded. ‘Very much so. But as soon as I know when Griff is coming home, I promise I’ll call you.’ It was time to collect our goodies; what I hadn’t quite bargained for was Afzal coming from behind the counter and enveloping me in a bear hug. I was more than happy to hug him back – mate, not date, remember.

  I gave Angus a good pat as we left; he whined hopefully, wagging his tail until it really did seem to wag him.

  ‘Didn’t like to say anything in front of Griff,’ Pa confided, as I picked my way gingerly up his rutted drive, ‘but there’s a bit of a problem with your room. The truth is – well, it’s a bit full just now. This job I’m doing, you see. But don’t worry, I can fix the security system and you can slip through into the Hall and pick your own bedroom.’

  ‘This job, Pa – you promise it’s legal?’

  ‘It’s pretty well for the Crown itself,’ he declared. ‘But no more questions, Evelina; I shall reveal all in my own good time.’

  Titus was already in the kitchen, and to my amazement had laid the table – clearly there were hidden domestic depths to the man. He and I removed the little plastic boxes from the insulated bag and microwaved them, laying them on the peninsula of old-fashioned cork mats he’d had the forethought to find, probably somewhere in Pa’s hoard.