‘Have you told him to go?’
‘We quarrelled, and when I asked him to leave, he refused.’ Her voice trembled. ‘He flew into a temper and said some … cruel things. After a few minutes he calmed down and apologised, said he’d made a big mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. But last night we had another row and he slapped me across the face.’
‘My God,’ Kingsley breathed. ‘How dare he! So dreadful for you.’
For her to confide in him like this was thrilling, a breakthrough. Incontrovertible evidence of how much he meant to her. Tender loving care, that was what Tory needed. He could never lay a finger on a woman; someone who hit a member of the fair sex was a despicable coward.
‘I was frightened,’ she admitted. ‘The slap stung, though he barely left a mark. Afterwards, he started sobbing and said he hadn’t been able to control himself.’
‘Crocodile tears.’
‘I said we couldn’t go on like this, and he swore he’d mend his ways. I don’t believe him.’
‘You’re right,’ Kingsley assured her. ‘Leopards never change their spots.’
‘You never said a truer word. What scares me is the violence. He doesn’t look it, but he’s a disturbed young man. I’m afraid of what he might do if he’s provoked.’
‘You could dial 999.’
‘I don’t trust them to help. Chances are, they’d chalk it off as a domestic, give Logan a talking-to, and then leave us to sort out our differences. It would make the situation a hundred times worse.’
‘Yes,’ he said bitterly. ‘The police are useless.’
‘Logan would be furious with me. I don’t know how he’d react. He’s so passionate and there is that streak of violence. You can’t imagine what he’s capable of.’
‘Believe me,’ Kingsley said grimly, ‘I’ve got a very good idea. Prentice is a menace. You must remember what I said …’
‘Oh, yes,’ she interrupted. ‘You warned me. Don’t rub it in, I simply can’t bear it. What an idiot I’ve been! I don’t know which way to turn.’
‘Thank God you called me,’ he said. ‘I need to come over to the manor.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I’m at home now. It won’t take me long to get there.’
She breathed hard into the phone. ‘What … what are you going to do?’
‘Get him to understand the facts of life.’ This was a magnificent line; he was rising to the occasion. Cometh the hour, cometh the man. ‘He needs to realise that he’s made a terrible mistake. Interfering between you and me.’
For a few moments, she was silent.
‘That’s all very well, Kingsley, but how can you possibly make him see reason?’
‘Don’t forget,’ he said quickly. ‘I have a gun.’
Another pause.
‘God, yes. The Smith & Wesson.’
He hadn’t meant to mention the gun. The words had spilt out of him before he could stop himself, but her response made him feel a warm glow. Not only had she believed him that time he’d boasted about the gun, she’d been sufficiently impressed to remember the maker’s name.
‘Exactly.’
‘Not that I want you to harm him, obviously,’ she said. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea, Kingsley. For heaven’s sake, we ought to be grown up about this. Anyway, it’s only an antique firearm. I don’t suppose it works any more.’
‘It’s in very good order,’ he said. ‘I tested it not long ago.’
‘What?’
‘Just to check that it was working. I oiled it and gave it a good clean. While you were out shopping, and nobody else was around, I fired a couple of shots into those trees behind the lake.’
‘Here? You brought the gun to the manor? You’re joking!’
Her voice throbbed with astonishment. Her reaction thrilled him. People often wrote him off as a fuddy-duddy, a dull dog. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t true, either.
‘Believe me, I couldn’t be more serious. I keep it in my office. Locked safely away in a drawer, you can’t be too careful. I don’t want it going off by accident.’
‘So … are you saying the gun is loaded?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘I had no idea.’
He was tempted to say I don’t tell you everything in a masterful tone, but the conversation was going so well that he bit his tongue. She was so mercurial, so quick to jump down your throat. It was easy to infuriate her without meaning to.
‘The manor is lonely, out of the way.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting the security cameras?’ she said.
‘The technology is unreliable. Two of the cameras don’t work. The main entrance is covered, and the car park and drive. Not the rest of the manor, or the gardens.’
‘That’s a disgrace,’ she murmured. ‘When I think of the service charge …’
‘Yes, I’d kick up a fuss with Greengables, if I were you,’ he said. ‘Penny-pinching idiots. Anyway, I thought that if ever an intruder broke into the grounds, it might be handy to wave the Smith & Wesson at him.’
‘To scare him off?’
‘Purely as a deterrent, yes.’ Another good line sprang to his lips. ‘I’m not exactly the Sundance Kid.’
He chortled at his own wit.
‘Maybe not, Kingsley,’ she said slowly. ‘All the same, you have hidden depths.’
The phone rang.
‘Chief Inspector Scarlett?’
Hannah gave Les the thumbs-up. ‘Speaking. Thanks so much for calling back, Mrs Reece-Taylor.’
‘All right, I’m willing to meet you. Against my better judgement, mind.’
‘That’s helpful, I appreciate it. I can arrange …’
‘Not here at the manor,’ Tory interrupted. ‘Too awkward.’
‘I understand.’
‘You said it’s important, so I’m willing to drive over to Kendal. No time like the present. If I set off now, I can be with you in three quarters of an hour.’
Kingsley didn’t repeat his previous surreptitious approach to the manor. No need. What a difference a day makes, he thought, as he leant out of his car window to enter the code for opening the gates. No more creeping around the place for him. He’d explain to Tory that he’d had his fill of Greengables, a company that lacked decent values. Judging by her comment about the service charge, she’d be entirely sympathetic. After this week, he’d come here by her invitation, not as Annabel’s minion. He’d find that empowering, he couldn’t wait.
First things first. He had to clear Logan Prentice out of the way, and nothing would give him greater pleasure. As he drove into the car park, he felt a stab of disappointment. Prentice’s battered old van was parked right next to Tory’s BMW. Frankly, it was an impertinence. He was tempted to shunt the wretched rust-heap into the wall.
He’d hoped against hope that Tory had already given Prentice his marching orders. Realistically, he supposed, that was asking too much of her. She was bound to be frightened.
Prentice had no scruples, no moral compass. No sense of shame. He’d killed one elderly woman for gain and got away scot-free. Now he was contemplating an even more heinous murder, of a woman in her prime.
A man like that must be dealt with. Someone needed to stand up for what was right. To take responsibility. It was a public duty. You couldn’t sit on the fence, you couldn’t shilly-shally.
Kingsley manoeuvred his Corsa into the space on the other side of Tory’s car, so close that the wing mirrors were almost touching. It seemed symbolic. He strode towards the manor, his feet crunching the gravel. More than ever before, he felt as though he owned the place.
The sky was overcast, the humidity oppressive. By the time he reached his office door, he was drenched in sweat. Nobody was in sight. He let himself in and unlocked the drawer. For fully thirty seconds he contemplated the Smith & Wesson in silence before picking it up and letting it nestle in his palm. He found its quiet solidity reassuring. One look at this and Logan Prentice would know who was the ma
ster now.
‘She’s late.’ Bunny Cohen mopped her brow. ‘God, it’s so close. We could do with that thunderstorm we’ve been promised. Clear the air.’
Hannah checked her watch. ‘Let’s give her another ten minutes or so before we write her off. You know Kendal traffic.’
Bunny peered at her. ‘What are you up to?’
Hannah raised her eyebrows.
‘You’ve got that look on your face.’
‘What look?’
‘Your I’ve-had-a-bright-idea look. Come on, I’m too long in the tooth to take no for an answer. There’s nobody else around. You can’t fool me.’ She added as an afterthought, ‘Ma’am.’
‘Glad to have a decent detective on the team,’ Hannah said coolly. ‘Even if she is disgracefully insubordinate.’
‘We’ve known each other a long time,’ Bunny said in a wheedling tone.
‘The bright idea may be wrong.’
‘Don’t be such a tease.’
‘All right,’ Hannah said. ‘I’m curious about something Kingsley Melton said to us. Without meaning to, he gave the game away.’
‘About what?’
‘About what really happened to Ramona Smith.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kingsley opened the cupboard in the empty room and listened intently. Not a sound from the other side of the thin wall. Were Tory and Prentice outside? He edged towards the window that looked out over the grounds and glimpsed Logan Prentice, sitting at the end of the jetty. He was in his swimming trunks and his hair was wet, as if he’d taken a dip in the lake. To look at him, you’d think he hadn’t a care in the world. His arrogance took Kingsley’s breath away.
No sign of Tory. She didn’t seem to be in the summer house. Perhaps she was in her flat, keeping out of harm’s way. That would make sense. He’d risk calling her mobile. Keeping his eyes on Prentice, he dialled her number but it went through to voicemail.
Hi, this is Tory. Thanks for your call. Leave your number after the beep and I’ll get back to you.
Calm and in control as always, but did the recorded message disguise the reality? Had she refused to pick up because she was afraid that Prentice would come in and interrupt their conversation?
He ended the call. Another glance out of the window confirmed that Prentice was still lazing beside the lake. He’d put on his dark glasses and was lying on his towel. Shameless, defiant. Well, he’d better make the most of it. His days in the sun were about to come to an abrupt end.
Kingsley picked up a small canvas bag from his office and dropped the Smith & Wesson into it before walking round to the front of the manor. He rang Tory’s doorbell. When no reply came, he knocked loudly.
Nothing.
He lifted the flap of the letterbox and hissed, ‘Tory! Are you there?’
Still no answer. His spine felt a chill.
What had Prentice done to her?
Walking out through the main door felt like walking into a wall of heat. He inched around the building. When he turned a corner and Prentice came into view, he was ready to duck back out of sight, but the young man was taking no notice. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Kingsley moved along the wall of the manor until he came to the terrace outside Tory’s flat. The glass doors to the flat were ajar.
His imagination went into overdrive. Would he find her crumpled body on the floor? Had Prentice scared her into suffering a second cardiac arrest and then left her to rot while he sunned himself? Such a callous beast, Kingsley would put nothing past him.
He sneaked through into the main living area and hissed Tory’s name.
There was no sign of life.
Where could she be? Given that her car was outside, she couldn’t have gone far. There were no shops within walking distance, and she never socialised with neighbours.
He prowled around the flat. Prentice had already made himself at home, he thought grimly. His belongings were strewn all over the place. Trainers, T-shirts, a laptop and assorted computer gizmos, even a guitar.
In Tory’s bedroom, he lingered. The bed wasn’t made. Kingsley bit his lip. He clutched the solid shape inside the canvas bag. If that vile bastard Prentice had harmed a hair on her head …
Satisfied that she wasn’t in the flat, alive or dead, he retraced his steps and looked out from the terrace. Prentice hadn’t moved an inch.
What to do next? One option was to wait, but for what, and for how long? Or he might slink away to fight another day, as he’d done so often before; but that meant he never fought at all. During every life, a time came to stand up and be counted.
Tory had been crystal clear. She’d discovered Prentice’s true nature and nailed her colours to the mast. She needed help; she needed him. He could not let her down.
Lines from Shakespeare, recalled from schooldays, sprang into his head.
There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
Kingsley drew a breath, squared his shoulders. Nothing for it but to confront Prentice. Force the truth out of him. At gunpoint if need be.
‘All right,’ Bunny said. ‘Understood. Good to have a plan.’
Hannah checked the time. ‘Tory Reece-Taylor is running very late. Looks like she’s had a change of heart. If she does show up, I’ll give you a call. In the meantime I’ll carry on ploughing through the old files. See if I can spot any promising leads.’
‘Good luck with that.’
Hannah already read several of the original witness statements, those from Nadine Clarke, Ravi Thakor, and Ramona’s colleagues at Guido’s, the last people other than Gerald Lace who admitted having seen her alive. The additional background information was useful, but she hadn’t picked up anything fresh.
Time to see what the Laces had to say for themselves.
First, Shirley Lace. The wife of Ramona’s lover, the woman who had pursued a crusade for twenty years, maintaining that her husband was innocent of murder.
Hannah had only been reading for a couple of minutes when a sentence snagged her attention.
Surely not?
All at once, her throat felt parched. Her hands were actually shaking. It was as if she’d been studying a neat sample of embroidery the wrong way round, so that it seemed like an aimless tangle of threads. Now she’d got it right. She could see the pattern.
Was this how Nadine Bosman felt when she saw the light? When everything suddenly looks different?
She took a gulp of water to steady her nerves.
A single thought coursed through her mind.
This changes everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kingsley was twenty yards short of the lake when Prentice spotted him. The young man levered himself into a sitting position and cocked his head on one side.
‘Well, well, well. Look what blew in on the breeze.’ Whipping off his dark glasses, he considered Kingsley’s appearance. Marks and Spencer suit, natty silk tie, laced black shoes. ‘Aren’t you hot in your office gear? Not that I’m inviting you to strip off, love. Don’t get the wrong idea. Those days have gone.’
As Kingsley approached him, Prentice noticed the canvas bag.
‘Brought your shopping? Don’t tell me, it’s not a little gift to celebrate the fact I’ve moved into the manor?’
‘Where is she?’ Kingsley demanded.
Prentice sniggered. ‘Who?’
‘Don’t bandy words with me,’ he said, rather magnificently. ‘You know perfectly well who I mean.’
‘Oh, Tory?’ Prentice pretended to scan the grounds. ‘Sorry, can’t see her. Just as well, given that she’d spit feathers if she found you here after being warned off.’
‘You seem to forget, I work here.’
‘Yes
, as our paid servant. In Tory’s absence, I’m in charge. Time to get back into your hutch, little bunny.’
‘I’ll ask you again. Where is she?’
Prentice shrugged his bare shoulders. ‘Inside, I expect. Taking a shower, perhaps. No peeking, love. And no re-enacting Psycho, either. You always had an uncanny resemblance to a geriatric Norman Bates. You and that ugly old mother of yours.’
The heat was sweltering. Kingsley tightened his grip on the handle of the canvas bag. Sticks and stones might break his bones, but words could never hurt him.
‘Tory isn’t in the flat. I’ve made a thorough search.’
‘Naughty. That’s trespassing. Invasion of privacy. We can’t have hired hands getting above their station.’ Prentice sniggered. ‘I’d better get on to Greengables and give them a piece of my mind.’
Kingsley stood firm. ‘Tory wants you out of here. She told me.’
Prentice laughed and gave him a V-sign.
Sweat was running off Kingsley’s skin. ‘I’ll give you sixty seconds to get moving. Pack your things and clear off.’
‘You can’t be serious. Surely even you can’t be so deluded? You know perfectly well that Tory is sick to death of you.’
‘Death?’ Kingsley swallowed hard. ‘What have you done with her? If you’ve harmed a hair on her head, I’ll …’
‘You’ll what?’ Prentice stretched his arms in a luxuriant gesture, taunting Kingsley with the suppleness of his physique. ‘She only let you shag her out of pity. Like giving spare change to charity. She told me you were useless. Couldn’t even get it up, I gather. That rang a bell, I must say. Remember? You poor limp little fellow.’
Kingsley swung his right fist, but Prentice swayed out of reach.
‘Fisticuffs, seriously?’ Prentice stepped up on to the jetty. ‘Forget it, you sad eunuch. You’re boxing out of your league.’
‘Is she dead? Another cardiac arrest? Engineered to look like death by natural causes, so that you can cash in? Just the way you murdered Ivy Podmore?’
The Crooked Shore Page 24