As naturally as any person could with a bad leg and stretched nerves.
***
Sam dropped into the chair, took the camera out of his pocket and placed it down on the desk. Extracting a fresh bottle of whisky from the drawer, he rang Archie. It was late, but he wanted to check Moira and Alice had settled in alright. As he listened to the phone ring out, Sam poured himself a double measure and gingerly stretched out his bad leg.
'Hello? Sam?'
'Archie, why are you whispering, mate?'
'Because the girls are asleep. They both went out like lights, bless 'em.'
'Is everything alright there?'
'Yeah, no worries, Sam. Hopefully, they'll catch this Richard bloke soon and everything can go back to normal. In the meantime, there's plenty of people about during the day, and Rocky's upstairs with us at night.'
Rocky was Archie's Doberman. A soppy old sod, more inclined to lick someone to death than scare the life out of them.
'Well, try and keep Moira and Alice indoors for the next couple of days. I'll pop round when I-'
'Easier said than done, Sam.'
'Why's that?'
'She wants to go into the shop tomorrow...says Saturday's her busiest day.'
Sam closed his eyes. His head was starting to swim.
'Archie, hasn't she considered the possibility Alice's husband might have followed her or Alice to the shop?'
Archie went quiet.
'I don't think she has,' he said eventually. 'To be honest, it hadn't crossed my mind, either. Look, I'll have another word with her in the morning.'
The two men rang off. Sam lowered his throbbing leg and rested his head down on the desk. Saturday. The funeral. Sam's thoughts returned to Benjamin's telephone conversation.
It's been dealt with. The investigation has been called off.
Benjamin hadn't been talking to his brother.
So, who had he been on the phone to?
With his mind awash with hazy images of shady figures and car silhouettes, Sam fell asleep where he was.
Chapter 15
Sam heard the sound of somebody rummaging about, moving items, dropping them on the floor. He opened his eyes, yawned and looked around him, realising he had slept all night at his desk. Cramp suddenly struck his upper body, forcing him to stand up and stretch out his limbs. Thankfully, the pain in his leg had subsided to a dull ache. Sam had a feeling he would need it in good condition today.
A loud crash sounded below him. His first instinct was somebody was trespassing downstairs in the shop. Then he heard Moira curse loudly. Sam looked at his watch and grimaced. It was nine o'clock. He had intended making an earlier start today. He made his way down to the shop and knocked on the locked door. Through the glass, he saw Moira jump and look up in alarm. Sam could see anxiety on her face. She was on edge.
'Sam, you scared the life out of me!' she said, opening the door to him, forcing a smile. She looked tired and distracted. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail, her face was totally free of make-up, and she was dressed in an old jumper and jogging bottoms. Sam had never seen her so unconcerned about her appearance.
'What are you doing here, Moira?'
She ignored his question and went back to the counter, where she continued arranging a bunch of flowers. Sam looked around the shop. He was no expert on floristry, but he reckoned the place looked a mess this morning. Boxes and flowers were strewn everywhere. He turned his attention back to Moira. Her hands were trembling. He watched her snip at some stems, miss them entirely and curse again. Sam raised his eyebrows. Twice in one morning. Moira rarely swore.
'Moira, do you know what you're-'
'Yes, I know, Sam,' she cut in. 'Archie's already given me the benefit of his worldly advice this morning.'
'And you've clearly not taken it.'
'I've still got a business to run.'
Her words were defiant and emphatic.
'But-'
Moira dropped the flowers on the counter and gave Sam a searing look. Her eyes were ablaze with indignation.
'Look, Sam, people have paid for this stuff. They're expecting their orders today. I've rung every one of them and arranged to deliver to them. That means as soon as I get everything loaded on the van, I'll be out for the morning, and I won't be back here until Monday. Alice is safely tucked up in the pub, and I'll be joining her soon, so it's all sorted. Satisfied?'
Suddenly, all the energy seemed to drain out of Moira. She sighed and leaned on the counter. Sam grabbed two stools and guided her onto one of them.
'You're feeling guilty, aren't you?' he said, sitting down opposite her.
She sighed again.
'Too right I'm feeling guilty. This mess is all my fault. If only I hadn't...'
Sam shook his head.
'Look, if this Richard was determined enough to find Alice, he'd have tracked her down one way or another.'
Moira's features softened, the final remnants of frustration leaving her.
'You're probably right. I'm not concerned for myself, Sam. I'm just worried for that poor girl.'
Sam gazed out the shop front. Images of his own past flashed by in his mind. The mistakes he had made. The price he had paid. Yet, somehow, against all the odds, he had moved on.
'Moira, there's no point looking back. You can't change what's happened. You're doing your best to help Alice now, and I'm sure the police will catch this bloke before long.'
Moira broke into a smile and patted him on the leg.
'You're a good man, Sam Carlisle. It's no wonder my niece has got a soft spot for-'
She halted and bit her lip. Sam shook his head, trying not to smile.
'Come on, lady,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I'll help you load up. The sooner we get you out of here...'
***
Sam picked up his keys and checked the time. Almost ten. Time to go. The service was due to start soon.
Turning to leave his office, he noticed the camera still on his desk. There hadn't been time to look at the photos from last night. It had taken him a full hour just to help Moira on her way, get himself showered and shaved, then don his smartest black suit.
He would have a look later.
Ten minutes later, Sam parked up on a road overlooking the cemetery. St Monicas was a grand old church, with impressive stained glass windows and a huge cross above the door, situated in the very heart of the cemetery grounds. The graves that surrounded it on all sides were tidy and well-maintained, the grass short and straw-like after weeks of non-stop sunshine. Sam could see a smattering of people already gathered on the steps. He locked his car and walked towards the entrance gates, relishing the fresh breeze caressing his face, bringing relief after all the hot weather. Sam checked his tie in the window of a parked car.
A small black hatchback.
The car was empty.
Sam walked by slowly and glanced around.
The number plate. It was the same.
He was here.
Sam recalled the newspaper clerk describing how the man was only interested in Geoffrey's death.
Something clicked with Sam. The intruder hadn't wanted any valuables from Geoffrey's cottage. It had been simpler than that.
He had wanted Geoffrey dead.
After failing in his attempt last year, he had returned to finish the job off. Only Geoffrey had already passed away. The mystery man had needed to confirm the death in the obituary column of the newspaper. Now he was here to witness Geoffrey's body being committed to the ground. To ensure he had finally gone.
But how had he found out about Geoffrey’s death in the first place? Who had told him? Sam was taken back to Benjamin's phone call once again.
Realisation dawned on Sam. That's why Benjamin had pulled out of the investigation. It was nothing to do with Arnold. Somebody had got at Benjamin, pressured him into changing his mind. Not only had that person been desperate to end Geoffrey's life, he was now trying to ensure Benjamin kept his nose out.
&n
bsp; Sam looked at the hatchback's rear window. He noticed a small sticker, peeling off at the corners. He peered closer. Lexbury Car Rental. Lexbury? That wasn't local.
Suddenly, Sam heard the gentle purr of cars approaching at low speed. He looked up just as Geoffrey's small funeral entourage went by. A hearse containing his coffin, followed by a limo with Benjamin and Arnold in the back seat. Both men nodded solemnly at Sam as they passed. He caught up with the vehicles just as they came to a halt outside the church.
Benjamin and Arnold got out and mingled with the other mourners. Sam watched them talk with Harry and Dave from the Ex-Servicemen's club, then Geoffrey's next door neighbour, John Carr, before greeting the other attendants, including two ladies in wheelchairs. Sam noticed John glance warily in his direction every so often.
'Sam, good of you to come. I wasn't sure you would after...well, you know.'
Benjamin was in front of Sam, hand extended in that stiff, formal manner Sam had become accustomed to. Standing erect, dressed in a tailored suit, without a hair out of place on his head, Benjamin could have been going about his everyday business were it not for the circumstances. Or the troubled look in his eyes.
'Never a doubt, Benjamin,' replied Sam, taking his hand.
'Well, thank-you, anyway.'
Sam could see Benjamin was wrestling with his emotions, trying to keep them under control. It wasn't a surprise he was finding it so difficult. The man was burying his father, aware something untoward was behind his death, yet powerless to do anything about it, forced to back down and accept he may never know the truth.
As Benjamin moved on, Arnold appeared and gave Sam a warm handshake.
'Sam, how's the leg?'
'Better,' replied Sam. 'How's the hotel?'
'Sumptuous.'
'Arnold, I never thought to ask if any of your family have come down with you.'
A frown appeared on Arnold's face.
'They didn't know my father, Sam. Even my wife had never met him. There was little point in bringing them along...'
Sam suspected they would have been rebuffed even if they had asked to come.
A hush descended over the small group of mourners as Geoffrey's coffin was taken out of the hearse and carried into the church. Sam waited back as Benjamin and Arnold followed the coffin in, trailed by the rest of the mourners. Inside the church, he stood discreetly at the back, taking in the decadent architecture and heavy atmosphere. Sam had always hated churches. They gave him the creeps.
Five minutes into the service, he sneaked out again. The sky had darkened, and the temperature had dropped, adding a heightened sense of eeriness to the cemetery. He strolled around the church, casually scouring the grounds for any sign of the mystery man. A path ran around the entire perimeter of the cemetery. Huge oak trees dotted it at regular intervals, their wide trunks and overhanging branches full of summer bloom offering ample protection for anyone watching proceedings from a distance. Sam couldn't see anyone lurking, but he wasn't fooled.
He was out there somewhere.
Watching.
Waiting.
***
Heavy drops of rain began to fall, thudding off the wooden coffin, providing a dramatic accompaniment to the vicar's solemn words. Sam studied Benjamin and Arnold as the two brothers stood over the grave.
Benjamin had his head bowed, staring morosely down at his father's coffin. In contrast, Arnold looked away, gazing around the cemetery, seemingly indifferent to proceedings. Sam had expected as such. Two men dealing with the same loss in their own, very different ways.
Suddenly, the sky went black and a strong wind picked up, drowning out the final words of the sermon. The rain began to lash down, causing people to scramble for their umbrellas. Sam watched Benjamin linger at the graveside, oblivious to the rain streaming down his face, murmuring one final farewell to his father. Turning to go, Arnold placed a consoling hand on his brother's shoulder. It was a touching moment, the pair of them stood together, briefly sharing their personal emotion. Several mourners offered them both quiet words of condolence, then everyone began to move away.
A sudden movement in the distance caught Sam's attention. Through the downpour, he could make out a shadowy outline on the perimeter of the cemetery, moving stealthily between the trees. Sam stayed where he was, allowing the funeral party to hurry off ahead of him to the shelter of their vehicles. Instead of following them, he veered off to the left and cut through the mass of graves, constantly keeping his target in sight. Reaching the perimeter path, he saw the man ahead of him, strolling along casually, staring across at the mourners exiting the cemetery. Sam was struck by the man's continued interest in these people. Wasn't he satisfied now? He had witnessed Geoffrey being laid to rest. What more was there to gain by watching the bereaved?
Sam quickened his walking pace as the path started on an uphill gradient. All around him the storm raged, whipping everything up in its path, sending leaves and twigs swirling high into the air. He was catching the man up, despite the throbbing pain returning in his leg. He ignored the discomfort and pushed even harder. The path was getting steeper, but he was right behind the man now, the huge figure ahead completely unaware of Sam's presence.
Sam had no doubt. It was definitely him. The man he had followed out of Geoffrey's cottage. Sam couldn't mistake that loping stride. The sheer physical presence. He was even wearing the same dark clothes and hat.
The man was at the top of the incline, almost at a small gate leading out onto the road. Sam started running, forced to drag his sore leg along to maintain his pace. He couldn't afford to let the man escape again. This could be his one and only chance. Sam thought of the car headlights racing towards him. He wanted payback.
'Hey!'
The man stopped just feet from the gate and turned around, halted by Sam's cry. In that split second, in this darkened corner of the cemetery, with the wind blowing wildly through the trees, Sam appeared to be facing some monster out of a horror film. A good several inches taller than Sam's six feet, with bulging muscles visible beneath his jacket, the man grinned at Sam. An insane, lopsided grin, chilling enough to unnerve the bravest of men.
Sam threw himself at him.
Chapter 16
Sam knew he was in trouble the moment he connected. Instead of sending the man flying through the air, the rugby tackle only rocked him on the spot. Sam ricocheted off him harmlessly and ended up unceremoniously on his backside. The man cocked his head and stared down at him in mild amusement. This enraged Sam further. He struggled to his feet and grabbed hold of the man's jacket. Suddenly, he was slipping on the wet turf, stumbling backwards, still holding a fistful of the man's clothing. Both of them went over, rolling back down the slope, rapidly picking up speed along the sodden floor. Suddenly, Sam crashed face first into a tree trunk. A moment later, the man also came to an abrupt halt, landing heavily on Sam's leg.
Sam screamed in agony. His world swam in and out of vision. Nausea welled up inside him. He heard his opponent grunt and get to his knees. With the little energy he had remaining, Sam blindly swung a punch. The man caught it easily in one giant fist and laughed. Breathing hard, he leaned close to Sam and whispered in his ear.
'Not you.'
Sam awaited the worst. Barely clinging on to consciousness, he was at the mercy of this man. A madman who had already tried to kill him once. Suddenly, Sam's clenched fist was released. The man was getting to his feet. Sam heard him walk away. As the footsteps grew distant, Sam shut his eyes and took some deep breaths. His leg felt as though it was on fire. His face felt as though it had been cut to ribbons.
Then the world went totally quiet.
He came to a few minutes later. Blinking several times to clear his vision, he raised his head up off the wet grass and looked around.
There was no-one in sight.
***
Sam drove home like a man possessed, gripping the steering wheel tightly, grinding his teeth until his jaw ached. Parking outside his flat, he
practically fell out the Capri before dragging himself up the stairs. Once inside, he washed down some painkillers and threw on a clean set of clothes. Then he went into his office and located the key taped to the underside of his desk. He used it to unlock the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Kneeling down, Sam pulled out a neatly folded rag, stained with patches of oil.
He took the rag over to the desk and unfolded it slowly. The silver handle of a handgun appeared, gleaming in the dull room. Sam checked the gun was loaded and in working order. Satisfied, he sat down at his desk and contemplated the weapon.
Then he was up and out again.
He had a wake to go to.
***
The Ex-Servicemen's Club was packed to the rafters. Benjamin had stumped up for a generous buffet and free bar, leaving Sam to wonder just how many people would have turned up otherwise.
He was in a cynical mood.
He got strange looks as he headed for the bar. Perhaps it was the matted hair and battered face, or maybe it was the wild look in his eyes. Sam cared little following the incident at the cemetery. After downing a double whisky, he cared even less.
He spotted John Carr in the room's snug, sat down at a table, a plate of food in front of him and a glass of ale in his hand. Sam had the feeling John had purposely avoided him at the cemetery, keeping his distance, avoiding eye contact. Sam watched him bite heartily into his sandwich. It was time he cleared things up with Geoffrey's next door neighbour.
'John!'
The slap on the back sent John's sandwich flying back out onto the plate. He coughed and put his hand to his mouth.
'H-Hello, Sam.'
Sam sat down alongside him.
'Hello, John. Are you having a good day?'
John nodded, trying to gather himself.
'Well, I'm not,' said Sam bitterly. 'In fact, I'm having the day from hell, if you'll pardon the slightly inappropriate expression.'
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