by MARY HOCKING
He stopped at the window and looked out. There was a park opposite, neatly laid out with lawns and flower beds brilliant with red, yellow and purple flowers, old people sat on seats in the shade and younger people stretched out on the grass. Higher up the canvas, there was a fuzz of trees and above them a ridge of the Downs, green against a deep blue sky. He thought it was dreadful, so bright and clear, yet totally unreal and quite unrelated to anything which really mattered. He could not think why it had ever convinced him, why he had allowed himself to be taken in by it all these years.
Todd thought Lomax had become formidable, physically he was more frail than ever, but the will had been sharpened to a fine point on which he bore down with all his nerve and spirit. When he demanded, ‘Clothes, Braithwaite,’ the constable offered no resistance.
Out in the park, two of the old ladies were talking.
‘The flower beds are a picture now.’
‘My husband says he prefers Kew Gardens.’
‘I used to live in Richmond. You can walk from Kew to Richmond along the towpath. I never did it, but you can go all the way.’ The sun was eating into the shade. Little beads of sweat pricked through the powder on her face; she patted her cheeks with a handkerchief, and, memory performing one of its somersaults, said, ‘My father gave my grandmother one of the dog’s cooling powders once, by mistake. She didn’t know, of course. But we did laugh.’
A police car went down the road at the side of the park, its siren wailing.
‘They do that all the time now, whether they’re going anywhere or not. The little boy next door rides round and round on his tricycle imitating them, “ee-aw, ee-aw”, it’s all he ever does.’
The sun was within an inch of their feet.
‘They’re all the same. My nephew has been at university for two years and he doesn’t know what he’s going to be.’
A fire engine went down the road, followed by an ambulance. There was a fire on the heath and fire brigades from all neighbouring areas had been alerted. Traffic jams had built up and Braithwaite had been delayed on his way to Picton’s Quay.
It was a bad morning for Braithwaite; he was finding the vicar of St Mary’s, Picton’s Quay, a tiresome man.
‘I don’t spend all my time out bird-watching.’ The vicar was so obsessed with this grievance that it was difficult to get through to him. ‘No matter what my parishioners may say to the contrary. And, in any case, there isn’t a great deal of work here. That was why I came, part-retirement. If I had wanted to work full-time, I shouldn’t have come here. . . .’
Braithwaite cut in on his self-justification. ‘You never saw Mrs. Ormerod with this man. . . . ?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ The vicar did not like being interrupted. ‘I’ve already told your sergeant. He showed me one of those identikit photographs of this tramp you’re after. I had never seen the man. As I said, I don’t spend all my time out bird-watching. . . .’
‘And Mrs. Ormerod? You did know her by sight?’
‘Of course I knew her,’ the vicar said testily. ‘She opened the flower show for us last year, and I saw her several times after that with Mr. Cope.’
There was a pause while the vicar scratched with a fingernail at something encrusted on the lapel of his jacket. Beyond the window, sunlight flashed from a greenhouse. Braithwaite said, Where did you see Mrs. Ormerod and Cope, sir?’
‘At the cottage, of course.’ Exasperation was tinged with misgiving. ‘Should I have mentioned that? It wasn’t what your man asked me before. . . .’
‘We have been asking people if they saw anyone with Mrs. Ormerod ever since. . . .’
‘Well, then, I’m sorry!’ The vicar decided to be magnanimous. ‘Apologies, inspector, unreserved apologies. Only I didn’t think it could be important because I saw them so often.’
‘What do you call often, sir?’
‘Once a week, twice perhaps.’
‘Out by the cottage?’
‘Yes, yes, where else would I see them at that time in the morning?’
‘Did you ever speak to them?’
‘Well, of course I didn’t! It was bad enough that they made a noise; I certainly wasn’t going to reveal myself.’
‘I shall want a statement from you,’ Braithwaite told him.
‘I shall be delighted,’ the vicar assured him.
It was only when he returned to the police station just after one o’clock that Braithwaite received the message from the Eastbourne police station. ‘I’m not going to waste my time with Lomax now,’ he said.
By the time Lomax reached Scotney, Braithwaite had already done the thing which Lomax had wished to prevent.
Chapter Twenty One
Hannah did some shopping before going into the office. The rain of the night before had broken the vicious spiral of heat. The day was bright, but clear, and streets, houses and distant hills were in sharp focus. She walked up a narrow street; it was very steep and ahead, outside one of the terraced cottages, fuchsias in a hanging basket seemed to decorate the branches of a plane tree at the top of the hill. She allowed the scene its beauty without trying to project herself into it. On a stone wall to her left, a young cat arched its back and made a swaying movement of its limbs as though about to pounce on her, but was distracted at the last moment by the wind in its tail. She laughed and left it to its distractions. Although she was reluctant to go to the office, and the reasons for her reluctance were not pleasant, she nevertheless felt that life was good; its goodness flowed through her from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, and she was released from the need to take possession of the things around her, to look at streets and houses, trying to find in them a sense of being.
She turned into Station Hill and crossed the road to a delicatessen where she knew she could buy curd cheese. The station clock said five to one. The street was bright and starkly shadowless. In his shop near the station, the greengrocer was taking a moment’s rest on an up-ended wooden crate. He was elderly and told Hannah that the heat was bad for his heart. The blinds had been drawn in the rooms above the shop.
Outside the station, a ragged group of youngsters gathered round their leader; they were shouting some slogan or other – Heath out, Wilson in? – whatever it was, they seemed vigorously happy. As she came nearer, she heard the leader, a bearded youth with a pleasantly impudent face shout:
‘Give me an “S”.’
‘S!’ they shouted.
‘Give me a “U”.’
‘U!’ they shouted.
‘Give me an “S”.’
‘S!’ they shouted.
‘And what does it say?’
‘Jesus!’ they roared.
A man waiting at a bus stop said to Hannah, ‘Summer season. All the clowns are about.’
Hannah hurried by. Will would probably have stayed to talk to them, she could imagine him evincing that bird-like interest, bright, sharp and quite detached. Perhaps he would have got something out of them, found out why they behaved in this embarrassing way. She wondered whether she should turn back and try to be more like him and immediately began to feel anxious. The world was fine until one came across people, people fractured one’s feeling of wholeness. She looked at her watch and saw that she was late.
When Rodney Cope arrived at the office, Moray said to him, ‘Hannah will be here soon.’
Cope was carrying a rifle. He propped it in a corner by the window. ‘I may be doing some shooting,’ he said.
Moray knew nothing about weaponry, but to him it looked an efficient piece of equipment and well-maintained. He accepted it as he accepted everything else about Cope now. If asked to explain his attitude to the rifle, he would probably have said that it was too obviously lethal to be intended for any lethal purpose.
He said, ‘Hannah said she would only come if I was here all the afternoon.’
‘You will be here all the afternoon.’
‘I think she meant she wouldn’t stay here with you. She is carrying this rather far,
isn’t she?’ Moray laughed, but he nevertheless sounded as though he expected an answer. Cope made no answer.
Hannah, who thought people only carried a rifle if they meant to use it, did not see the rifle when she came into the room because it was masked by the filing cabinet.
‘Is my car all right?’ Cope asked. ‘The back wheels are on double yellow lines.’ He was standing by the window, looking down.
‘I didn’t notice. But there’s a police car down there, so if you’re not happy, perhaps you had better move it.’ She said to Moray, ‘I’m going to make that Austrian cheese cake we had at the Brophys’, the one with curd cheese. Do you remember?’
‘It was too rich for me.’
‘Do you think this window has been cleaned since we came here?’ Cope asked. ‘It makes me feel as though I am suffering from a visual defect.’
‘You could always open the window,’ Hannah said.
‘Only one half,’ he pointed out, sliding it back. He leant out.
Moray said, ‘Does it matter about the window?’
‘Just that I’d like to have the whole thing out, that’s all. Get a bit of light and air in here.’ He began to explore the window frame as if he seriously considered taking it apart.
The constant fiddling with and thumping on the window made Moray uneasy. He felt that he could not concentrate on dictating to Hannah. He was also disturbed by Cope’s irritation, which was large for so small a room.
‘I’m going to the loo,’ Cope said, suddenly turning away in disgust.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Hannah asked.
‘I expect the heat is getting him down,’ Moray answered.
When Cope came back, he showed no further interest in the window, but sat on the edge of the table, flicking over the correspondence and laughing about it. He had scattered a lot of grit and dust about as a result of his efforts and Hannah was rubbing a duster over chairs and table.
Moray said, ‘Mind those plans for the development, Rodney. I’ve got to do some notes about them.’
Cope said, ‘You can roll up the map of Scotney Supra, it will not be needed in my lifetime – or, all things considered, it might be better to say, in your lifetime.’
Hannah said, ‘Let me shake the dust off the plans before you roll them up.’
Moray went to the window, the room wasn’t big enough for three of them milling round the table, not in this heat. Cope had scraped some of the paintwork off the frame, Moray ran his finger along the roughened edge. There were two police cars outside now; he could see Inspector Braithwaite getting out of one of them.
Hannah was saying, ‘There was a group of people from the Jesus Movement by the station. At least, I suppose that’s what it was, they were chanting. . . .’
‘What absolute rubbish!’ Cope’s temper was tinder dry, anything could spark it off. ‘Don’t tell me you believe in all that nonsense.’
‘It’s not my way,’ she admitted.
‘Not your way,’ he mimicked. ‘Not the way they do things in your chapel? It’s all nonsense however it’s done. Jesus people. Children of God! We are descended from the ape, didn’t you know that, Hannah?’
‘Really? I thought you were descended from Henry II.’
Moray could not bear their bickering any more. A feeling of panic surged up in him; he had cramp in his chest, he could not breathe in this room. ‘I’m going to the bank,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
He was back sooner than that.
‘The front door is locked.’ He looked incredulously at Cope.
Cope raised his eyebrows and smiled, a rueful, almost apologetic smile. ‘ ’Fraid so.’ As though motivated by a delicacy which prevented him observing their attempts to come to terms with the situation, he turned away and strolled over to the window.
‘Locked?’ Hannah repeated.
Moray said, ‘Come on, Rodney. Let’s have the key.’
‘Do you think I should make an announcement or something, just to start the thing off?’ Cope sounded like an anxious host. He picked up the rifle and leant out of the window.
Hannah put her fists to her cheeks and said, ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear’ very fast and low.
‘Good afternoon,’ Cope called. ‘Just in case you are thinking of breaking down the door, I have two people in here with me.’ He turned to Hannah and Moray. ‘Would you both mind coming and looking down? You know the kind of thing. It’s been done rather a lot lately, I’m afraid, but there it is. Nothing is new under the sun. A little to one side, Neil, so that they can see Hannah. That’s it. Lovely! “Hold it” – as the photographer says, or “deep breath” if you prefer to think of it as an X-ray.’
Neil and Hannah looked gravely down and then withdrew. Cope was leaning against the window frame, with the rifle pointed over the sill where it could be clearly seen, the sun glinting on its well- polished metal. He said, ‘My landlady warned me they were looking for me. She thought I had been speeding again. How long did the siege of Sidney Street last, can you remember?’
Moray said, ‘Give me the key, Rodney. I’ll go and cash my cheque now.’
‘All your immediate needs are catered for,’ Cope said. ‘There is coffee, milk and sugar in the cupboard, and Hannah has thoughtfully provided us with curd cheese and apples. Any loaves and fishes tucked away in your basket, Hannah?’
‘Only soap.’ She was very subdued.
‘Oh well, I suppose we may be glad of that. Wait a minute! This is getting quite exciting. There’s a man with a loud hailer. I can hear perfectly well without it, but no doubt it adds to the spirit of the thing and the English policeman is nothing if not spirited. Do you suppose we shall have the army and the fire brigade, or would that be too much to hope for?’ He wasn’t talking blandly, the words were beginning to race.
Hannah put her hand over her mouth and doubled up as though she was going to be sick.
‘There’s one of your friends over there, too, Hannah. He has a placard; it says, “Repent, the day of the Lord is at hand!” There now!’
Moray said, ‘Rodney, I must cash my cheque.’
‘You aren’t very good at accepting the truth of a situation, are you? But then, you never were. Hannah is much better at it. Don’t look so glum, Hannah. I bear no malice to any man. There’s not a lot I can say for myself that would commend itself to you, but that at least is true.’
‘You killed Pauline Ormerod,’ she said.
‘Yes. But I don’t think she minded. Not that I recall it very clearly.’
Moray said, ‘Let Hannah go. I’ll stay.’ It was a ritual offer that had no real significance.
‘A woman has a higher value in this particular game than a man, even a member of parliament. Sorry, Hannah.’
Moray put an arm round Hannah’s shoulders. It seemed to her an invitation to weakness which she could not afford to accept and she said snappishly, ‘I’m all right, Neil.’ He remained beside her for a moment, but she was too concerned with the effort of holding herself together to spare any attention for him. She watched Rodney Cope as though he was an actor whose gift might bear her away into another world; every time she relaxed her concentration she experienced a sensation akin to vertigo.
Unable to play the comforter, Moray looked round the room seeking another role and, failing to find it, eventually sat on one of the packing cases. He did not look at Cope.
Cope was talking. He had not stopped talking for the last five minutes. Now, he was saying, ‘Of course, I suppose there are times when one should look ahead. In this kind of situation, one must be prepared to bargain. What do you think it would be reasonable for me to ask for? Do you think Braithwaite would give me an aeroplane? I suppose that would be beyond Braithwaite, wouldn’t it? It would involve a high-level decision. A walk on the Downs would be a much more local affair. The trouble is, I’ve done that.
‘I ran away from my prep, school. Did I ever tell you about it? Come on, Neil, damn you! We’ve got to keep one another entertained. Now,
DID I EVER TELL YOU ABOUT THE TIME I RAN AWAY FROM MY PREP. SCHOOL?’
Moray, slouched on the packing case, made no reply. Hannah said hoarsely. Tell us about the time when you ran away from your prep. school.’
‘Thank you, Hannah, thank you!
‘I wasn’t unhappy. Not in the way that people like you think of children at prep, school being unhappy. I wasn’t lonely or homesick, and I certainly wasn’t bullied. I was bored. I was so bored I thought I should die of it if I didn’t do something. There were one or two others who were bored, too, and they suggested setting light to the school. I knew then they weren’t bored in the way I was bored. When you set light to something what does it amount to? Collecting a lot of inflammable stuff together and putting a match to it-then you have to stand back and let other people take over. That wasn’t my idea at all. I wasn’t going to waste my time lighting fires for other people to put out. So, one afternoon – in September, I think it was – I just walked out. I didn’t take anything with me, or make any plans. If you do that kind of thing you are merely ensuring that you carry your world around with you. That was the last thing I wanted. So I took a bus into a country town, and walked up a side street. . . .’
The man with the loud hailer said to Braithwaite, ‘No answer, sir.’
‘I know that. I’m not deaf.’ Braithwaite looked down at a sketch plan which had been made of the office and surrounding buildings. The ‘ground floor’ consisted of an enclosed passageway with a flight of stairs leading up to the office; there was a lavatory on the half-landing, it was built into what was once a cupboard and had no window. ‘It doesn’t look as though anything in this outfit is legal,’ he muttered. ‘Not even the office accommodation.’
‘It was supposed to be temporary,’ one of the plainclothes men recalled. ‘They said they would only be using it for a few weeks.’
‘What’s at the back?’
‘Jake Hacker’s Furniture Emporium in Wick Street.’
‘So it is. Built like a fortress as far as I can remember. No hope of getting through from the back, then.’
‘No, sir.’ The plainclothes man’s face was blank; but he was aware that Braithwaite did not fancy the idea of cutting a way through a wall, or any caper of that kind, and Braithwaite was aware that he was aware of it.