Her escort gave her a sidelong glance, wondering whether to break into her thoughts. After a pause he said, “Guess who I saw on my drive over here.”
His words jerked her away from introspection. “I don’t know. Who was it?” Perhaps it was Paulson, she thought angrily. Wouldn’t that be just typical when she’d been looking for him all afternoon?
“Susannah Blake,” said Julian. “I recognized her white BMW. And,” he leaned towards her in conspiratorial fashion, “she had a man with her.”
“A man? What did he look like?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see him that clearly. But he was certainly occupying a lot of her attention. She came right across the centre of the carriage-way as she turned out onto the Babbacombe Road and I had to take avoiding action. That’s what made me notice the car.”
“That is interesting,” she agreed. “I was absolutely sure that she had someone with her by the swimming pool this afternoon. Perhaps our Susannah is enjoying an assignation while her husband’s away in Munich for the weekend.”
“Who do you think that might be?”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte snorted. “If the woman wants to go out with strange men and doesn’t want to tell me about it, there’s not much I can do, is there? As far as we know she’s not committing any offence. It’s not a police state yet.”
“Of course,” said Julian conversationally, “she may be having a summer holiday fling with a certain chap called Richard Harris who also might just happen to be the same one who did this sort of thing last year with Cynthia Adams - an affair which ended up with that lady getting murdered.”
“Don’t torture me.” Charlotte shuddered and spread her hands wide. “But what can I do? I tried to warn her, but she just clammed up completely. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she knows something about this Richard Harris fellow or his wife. However she obviously didn’t want to talk to me about it. And then I couldn’t get hold of Paulson to try to arrange some sort of surveillance. Unfortunately my word alone means nothing around here at the weekend. Now you tell me Susannah Blake is driving round in the middle of the night with some unknown man - who may be quite safe.” She took a breath. “On the other hand he may be intending to do her a lot of harm.”
“Well,” said her escort, “as you say, there’s nothing you can do about it. Let’s try and forget it and enjoy our meal. I thought you might like a nice little Italian restaurant I know in Totnes. Would that be that all right?”
She turned and smiled at him. “That’ll be lovely. I’m sorry to be such a wet blanket. I’ll try and be better company for the rest of the evening.”
But she didn’t succeed very well. During the meal her conversation was stilted and she was often distracted. At last Julian said to her, “Come on. For goodness sake let’s talk about it. Haven’t you heard the old saying about a trouble shared being a trouble halved.”
“I’ve just got this feeling that I should be doing something,” she said. “How would I feel if Susannah’s dead body was found tomorrow, when I should have done something tonight which might have prevented the tragedy occurring.”
“But what could you do?”
Charlotte shook her head and gazed at him. “I don’t know. That’s why I feel so useless.”
“Well,” he said logically, “let’s try and work out what we should do, just in case you’re right. However before we can do anything to help, we need to know where she is. Will your brilliant computer have any ideas?”
She looked at him and shrugged. “We can but try, I suppose.”
So he paid for the meal and they left for the short drive back to Torquay. It was now dark, with sharp squalls of wind from time to time, and the occasional flurry of rain. “Not a nice night for sailors,” he murmured.
Back at the station, Charlotte signed Julian in as a visitor, and they went straight up to the deserted CID section. He watched with interest as she started the computer going. She showed him briefly how the programme worked and led him through the commands into obtaining a series of questions from the machine.
“Of course, the secret is to make sure you ask the right questions. We need to say, ‘What if so-and-so happens? What are the possible consequences?’” She turned to him. “Do you understand?”
“OK,” said Julian, “let’s ask it ‘What if Richard Harris murdered Cynthia Adams and is now taking out Susannah Blake for the evening?’ What is likely to happen in that situation?”
“Right. Let’s see what the programme makes of that set of coincidences.” Charlotte called up a blank data sheet and started entering information in the appropriate boxes. She went on to a second sheet and finished. She looked up at him. “Can you think of anything else?”
“No,” he agreed. “I think you’ve got it all there.”
“OK.” She pressed the enter key and the machine swallowed the data and started digesting it.
Within a few seconds it had completed its deliberations. A message flashed up on the screen saying, “There are seven possible scenarios listed in numerical order of probability. Enter 1 to 7 to see scenarios.”
Charlotte entered number 1.
The computer screen read:
“Suspect: Richard Harris
Possible victim: Susannah Blake
Motive: Revenge for suicidal death of wife who was a sacked former employee of husband.
Likely method of killing: Induced natural causes - e.g. inducing drowning by holding under water, smothering when asleep (especially after sexual gratification), causing fall from high building or other location, strangulation and hanging to appear as suicide, other similar apparent accident or suicide.”
“Blimey,” interrupted Julian, “who writes this stuff?”
Charlotte turned to him coldly. “I did most of it, if you must know.” She went back to the computer. “Let’s go on to the next screen.”
The second screen read:
“Possible location of murder: Site related to event for which revenge required. Most likely sites - cliffs near Brixham where suspect’s wife committed suicide, beach near Brixham where drowning could be induced, bed at home of victim or at location where suspect has taken victim.
Likely time of murder: If outside - night-time or bad weather when witnesses are unlikely to be around to see murder take place.
If inside - daytime or early evening
Necessary pre-conditions: A degree of trust would have to be established between the suspect and the victim to allow the murder to take place without creating outside suspicion.
Please press ‘Next’ button to go to scenario 2.”
Obediently Charlotte went through each of the other scenarios.
When that had been completed, Julian stood back from the machine. “The first one looks the most obvious scenario to me,” he said. “I can just see that happening tonight. The weather’s pretty foul and there’s a high tide. There won’t be anyone around to watch the dirty deed. All the fellow has to do, is persuade her to go with him to look at the waves breaking against the rocks at the foot of Berry Head. One push and it’s a two hundred-foot drop into the sea. Who knows when the body will be washed up.”
“Well, you know what the place is like.” Charlotte was watching him. “Do you think it could work out like the computer suggests?”
“I certainly do.” He turned to face her and there was sense of urgency in his voice. “Look Charlotte, I think we’ve got to go up there. You said you wanted to do something to prevent this murder taking place. This is the only thing we can do.” He grinned. “After all - I thought you said this bloody machine was brilliant.”
“Well, I believe in it of course. But we’re having to rush into the next stage without constructing a proper back-up to the data.” She shook her head. “Suddenly, I don’t feel confident about using it for something so important.”
He took her arm. “Come on, we’re going to try. It’s no good having the equipment if you don’t use it. If
we’re wrong,” he shrugged, “well, nobody but us will know, so we won’t look such a pair of fools.”
“OK,” she nodded. “I guess you’re right. Just let me close down the computer and I’ll be with you”
* * * * * * * *
It was dark and stormy when Richard and Susannah came out of the hotel into the car park. There was no rain yet but the great trees on the hillside above the buildings were writhing and thrashing about in the wind. Whenever a new gust of wind burst upon them, it sounded like an express train roaring down the little valley towards the bay.
“It’s a good thing we put your long mack in the car,” he said. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it when we’re up on Berry Head.”
“Are you sure this is such a good idea, Richard?” she asked doubtfully, worried about going up onto the lonely headland at night in such wild weather. “Won’t it be awfully rough up there?”
He put an arm round her. “That’s the whole point. That’s why I want you to come up there with me and experience something wild and primeval. You have been living such a comfortable life. I want to shake you out of your cosy, upper-middle-class world. I want you to find out what the real world is like.” He gave her a little squeeze. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll make sure that I hang on to you so tightly that you won’t come to any harm.”
“Please promise not to make me go anywhere near the cliff-edge, even if you are hanging on to me. I’m terrified of heights.” She snuggled up to him. “I haven’t known you long enough to find any attraction in the idea of us perishing together on the rocks in each other’s arms with the seas breaking over us.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.” He let go of her and fished around in his pocket for the key to the BMW. “I wouldn’t take you up on the headland if there was any risk. But I want you to see a little bit of life in the raw.” He pressed the remote button on the key and the locks sprang open. “I think you’re in serious danger of living so protected a life that you’ve forgotten how to experience nature in the raw.”
She looked up at him as he held the door open for her and her eyes were dancing. “The last week has shown me a whole new range of experiences,” she said. “I suppose one more won’t do me any harm even if I don’t enjoy it much.” She allowed him to settle her in the car and pull the safety belt round her. She thought it was delightful, the caring way in which he looked after her in all these little things. She had been so used to being ignored for most of the last ten years.
He started the car and pulled away gently from the parking space. He turned into the narrow lane leading up towards the headland. As they went they were deep in conversation about their plans for tomorrow after another wonderful night together. And there were going to be several more of those nights, now that she had told Mrs Harding she could have the week off.
They didn’t even notice the car which started up just after they left. They didn’t see that it followed them at a discreet distance or that the driver was driving without any lights, leaving the window open so that the tail-lights of the BMW could be easily trailed in the darkness.
* * * * * * * *
Paulson watched the Mercedes pull away. He had been following it most carefully all evening. He was confident that the driver had no idea that he was under observation. But now he couldn’t pursue him any longer by road. He would almost certainly be seen, and that would destroy the small chance he had of getting the driver into the open. With a sigh he climbed out of his car and put on his thin, light mackintosh, which was the only top-coat he was carrying at the moment. After a second’s thought he took the stick which he carried in the boot, bearing in mind that it might be useful on the rough ground he had to climb. He locked the car and made for the footpath which would short-cut the winding roadway to the car park, fumbling in his pocket for the little torch which he hoped would show him the tortuous way.
As soon as he reached the path he knew he was in trouble. His lightweight, leather-soled shoes slipped and slid on the wet stones. The stick was only of limited assistance. The violent wind was blowing the brambles across the narrow track. Long, clawed tendrils reached out and tore at his clothes. He could feel them penetrating the fabric of his trousers and ripping the skin of his legs. His current adventure was going to ruin this pair of light slacks. His wife would be furious.
However he knew that his progress was probably more important than the damage he did to his clothes. Sliding and stumbling he forced himself to climb the steep path. Twice his feet slipped from under him and he went down on his hands, scratching them and covering them with mud. Yet still he forced himself on up the steep hillside.
At last he came out on top of the cliff and the path levelled out and became tarmac. He had wasted a good five minutes climbing that narrow, steep section in the dark. Now he must get a move on. It would be a disaster if he got there too late. He broke into a trot. He used the feeble light of his torch to search for the path to the fort.
* * * * * * * *
Richard turned the BMW into the deserted car park at the top of the little road which led to Berry Head. He drove right to the far end and switched off the engine. He smiled at Susannah. “All right?” he asked. “Of course you can cry off if you want to.”
“Not likely. I know a challenge when I see one.” She smiled back at him. “You’ll never let me forget it, if I back out now.” She was busily knotting a scarf over her hair and tying it round her beautiful slim throat.
“OK. Here goes.” He pushed the door open and stepped out into the roaring wind. A cold gust burst into the car, scouring round its deep corners, blowing up inside her skirt. Richard reached into the back and got out their coats. He closed the door and pulled on his own anorak. Then he came round to her side with her big, heavy mackintosh. He wrapped its heavy folds around her as she got out and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
He locked the car and took her hand. There was a well-paved path leading towards the fort and they took this. As they came out of the hollow where the car park had been built they were struck by the full force of the southerly gale and a small flurry of rain enveloped them briefly.
“Oh, my god,” said Susannah, “I’m going to get my hair wet for the third time today.” But the words were whipped away by the wind. She didn’t mind that he couldn’t hear. Suddenly she felt deliriously happy. She grasped his hand tightly and leaned against him. He was right. She felt as though they were experiencing something almost primeval together.
Ahead of them the wall of the fort loomed wetly in the darkness - a massive, but not very high, stone wall above a steep grassy bank. This had been built from the earth and rocks which had been dug out of a deep ditch excavated across the root of the peninsula. In the centre it was pierced by a narrow opening through the ramparts.
The path crossed the ditch by a small bridge and they were temporarily sheltered from the worst of the wind by the flank walls of the fortifications and by a modern building inside the fort.
“This place was built at the time of Napolean,” said Richard. “They were apparently worried to death about the French invading.” He shook his head. “Although you’d have thought they were safe here, protected by two hundred-foot cliffs on three sides.” He indicated the flat grass area that ran along the top of the headland. “They say that this area was covered with barrack buildings and that up to two thousand men used to live here.”
Susannah shuddered. “What a dreadful place to be stuck - especially in the winter.”
“Later on it was used as a prison.” He grinned. “I bet they didn’t have many escape from here. Come on - do you see the lighthouse building at the far end?”
She nodded.
“Near there is where we’ll get the best views of the waves crashing against the cliffs.”
He put a protective arm round her and they moved out along the path towards the light. As they came out of the lee of the building, it seemed as though the wind fell upon them with a renewed, shrieking fury. It se
emed to come howling in from the wide Atlantic with nothing to break its assault. Some of the strongest gusts were enough to make them pause in order to avoid being blown off their feet. At this moment the wind carried no rain, although the wetness underfoot testified to the fact that squalls were likely to come again later.
“I must be mad,” thought Susannah and laughed at herself. She realised that what she felt for Richard was a kind of madness. She was sure her comfortable, staid friends would have thought she was completely insane to even contemplate abandoning her luxurious life with Stephen for this poorer, younger man. “You know nothing about it,” she argued silently with them, as she fought her way through the storm. “What you don’t understand is that I’ve found out at long last what it’s like to really live and to have real feelings instead of just acting a part. That’s what this man has taught me.”
At last they reached a clump of bushes where they paused and gained some relief from the buffeting wind. Beyond them she noticed now the flashing of the automatic light below the unmanned lighthouse, as it performed its warning gyrations for any unfortunate ships which might be out at sea. The light was reflected back off the low, streaming clouds and the squalls of rain in the distance. It gave a strange, stuttering, ghostly light to the lonely wind-swept headland. Susannah doubted that there would be anyone else foolish enough to be out on the cliffs on a night like this.
“Are you OK?” Richard checked that her heavy coat was still wrapped tightly round her, and that her scarf was still knotted about her throat. “It’s not very far now - just down to the end of the path by those rocks. Then we’ll have a magnificent view. Are you ready?”
She nodded and together they moved forward again into the storm. Now she felt as though she was a small weak creature, buffeted by the mighty forces of nature.
Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective Page 23