This Way Out

by Sheila Radley

  ‘Did he? And does anyone of that name live at that address?’

  ‘No, it’s a false one. There’s no one by the name of Carter in Fodderstone, and what’s more there isn’t even a place called Flint Cottage.’

  ‘But was the dog a beagle?’

  ‘Mrs Dean can’t recall. For some reason she refused to take it. But I’m sure the man must have been Cartwright, and that he dumped the beagle as an alternative way of geting rid of it while the murder was taking place. If Mrs Dean can identify him, we’ll really have him in a corner.’

  Barn Farm Boarding Kennels was not easy to find in the dark, but Hilary was a good navigator. Quantrill eased his Rover up the pot-holed track and stopped at the farm gate, leaving his headlights on to enable them to read the assorted notices. Hilary got out, approached the hut labelled Reception, and rang the bell.

  A light came on in the porch of the farmhouse on the other side of the yard, and from somewhere among the dark outbuildings a couple of dogs began to bark. Presently a small muffled figure came towards them, flashing a torch. ‘We’re from the county police,’ called out Hilary reassuringly. ‘Is that you, Mrs Dean?’

  The detectives followed her into the hut, blinking in the sudden light, and apologized for disturbing her. ‘Thad’s all ri’’, she gasped heroically, through a cold and a chesty cough. It was obvious that she had a temperature; she was radiating heat like a mobile gas stove. When Hilary commiserated with her she explained that she’d had her cold since before the weekend, and that her husband was even worse, but they were taking it in turns to keep going because of the animals.

  Quantrill began to question her about the man who had brought in the dog on Saturday, but it soon became clear that she was in no fit state to identify him. She peered with bleary-eyed willingness at the photograph Hilary showed her, but couldn’t recall having seen the man before. ‘I didn’t take in his appearance,’ she explained. ‘Except that he was wearing a suit. I remember thinking that it was ridiculous for him to have come out to a place like this on a wet afternoon in a light grey suit.’

  ‘Did he say what breed his dog was?’ asked Hilary.

  ‘No – I started to fill in the register, as you see, but we didn’t get as far as the breed. When he said he hadn’t brought the vaccination certificate, I had to refuse to take the dog in.’

  Rachel Dean turned aside to smother a cough. The detectives glanced at each other, reluctant to go on bothering her but tantalized by her reference to the man’s clothes. One of Cartwright’s family had mentioned, when they were grilling their father at the pub, that he had gone to the forest in his business suit.

  ‘Did he say why he hadn’t brought the vaccination certificate?’ asked Quantrill

  ‘Only that they’d never boarded the dog before. He was so persistent – aggressive, even. I nearly gave in when he explained why, because I felt sorry for him. But then he tried to bribe me, offering a week’s money if I’d keep the dog for just one night, and what with my cold and everything I felt I’d had enough.’

  ‘Why did you feel sorry for him?’ said Hilary.

  ‘Because he told me it was a family emergency. He was desperate to get somewhere-or-other as quickly as possible, because of his wife’s mother. He said that she wasn’t expected to live through the night.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Belinda Packer was mortified.

  The afternoon and evening of Wednesday, when Derek had come to Winter Paddocks for the specific purpose of rescuing her from Hugh and then had swept her into his arms, had been the happiest hours of her whole life. Derek was everything she admired in a man – tall (taller even than she was), good-looking, ardent, but also gentle and considerate; romantic, but at the same time thoughtful and honourable. The nicest possible kind of man, the potential husband she had always longed for.

  Their first embrace had been so passionate that if Derek had wanted to take her there and then, in the garden just below the terrace, Belinda would have yielded to him. But, considerate of her reputation, he had asked if any domestic staff were about. There weren’t, because she had help only in the mornings, but that had reminded her that her father might need her. Mutely, they had agreed to contain themselves, and she had drifted through the rest of the day’s duties in a haze of happiness, knowing that the night was going to be theirs.

  And when the night came, and they shared her bed, she was so entranced that she didn’t mind that Derek’s initial ardour had abated. (After all, she’d had more than enough of that kind of thing from Hugh.) It didn’t matter a bit, she assured Derek truthfully; really, she would much rather just relax in his arms, and touch and smile and talk.

  What demolished her romantic dreams was the discovery that the only person Derek wanted to talk about was his wife.

  On Friday morning Christine decided to return to the Brickyard for a complete change of clothes. What gave her the courage to go back to the house, for the first time since her mother’s murder, was the fact that Sam was with her.

  Val, the policewoman, had come to the thatched house the night before, saying that a collarless beagle had been found in the forest. Could she identify it, Val had asked? But Sam himself had provided instant identification, hurling himself at his mistress with flailing rudder and barks of joy. Christine had hardly known whether to laugh or to weep, so she had done both, and now she felt revived.

  She was still extremely worried by her husband’s disappearance, but at least that gave her something to think about other than her mother’s murder. She was thankful that the police were trying to find Derek, and reassured by Val’s promise to let her know as soon as there was any news.

  As she entered the house, uneasily alert to its alien atmosphere but heartened by Sam’s company, she concentrated her mind on her husband. Which alternative did she prefer: that Derek was so distressed by her apparent rejection of him that this time he had made a much more serious cry for help? Or that he was perfectly well, and staying with another woman?

  Either way, it seemed to her, the once-secure foundation of her marriage had been badly shaken. Derek had always been so strong, such a rock in times of trouble – and heaven knew there’d been more than enough of those. If he’d finally cracked, she couldn’t be surprised. If he was so frustrated that he’d found another lover, she couldn’t entirely blame him. But whichever it was, she knew that she could never rely on him again.

  She was still fond of him, of course; but things would never be the same. How could they be, after all that had happened? As she went through the house collecting soiled linen, staying upstairs for as little time as possible and averting her eyes from the door of her mother’s room, she found that she was already mentally sorting and packing her possessions, preparing to move out.

  She was in the kitchen, having fed Sam and now feeding the washing machine, when the front-door bell rang. A large young woman stood outside in the gravelled yard, not on the doorstep but several feet away, as though she did not expect to be welcomed.

  ‘Mrs Cartwright?’ the caller said nervously.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My name’s Belinda Packer. I – er –’

  She seemed incapable of continuing; but Christine knew instantly who she was, and why Derek had gone missing.

  The girl was young enough to be their daughter, but that was only to be expected. Her thin skin and wispy hair and pale, beseechingly blue eyes detracted from what might have been a stunning beauty, but Christine knew that it wasn’t only the girl‘s face that would have attracted Derek. She had never before had cause to be jealous, but now she found herself bitterly resenting this full-bosomed stranger for being in possession of what she had lost.

  ‘I suppose you’re Derek’s girlfriend?’ she said harshly.

  Belinda Packer seemed taken aback. ‘Oh, well – I wouldn’t exactly put it like that,’ she said apprehensively. ‘I mean, we only met – met properly, that is, apart from in a traffic jam – on Wednesday. And we’re not – we haven’t
– I mean, he loves you far too much to be unfaithful to you.’

  ‘Where is he?’ said Christine, still annoyed but rather less so with the girl than with Derek.

  ‘I’m not quite sure, at the moment. He’s been staying with my father and me, near Newmarket, but we parted this morning. He thinks I’m going straight to Ely, where we took Dad yesterday, but I felt I had to come to you first.’

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Yes, apart from his hand. Well, physically all right. But he’s in a dreadfully mixed-up state, not just about really loving you, but about other problems. He’s been having terrible nightmares, and I don’t know how to help him – except to beg you to let him come back home.’

  Christine sighed. Then she gave the girl a wry smile. ‘I think you’d better come in and tell me about it.’

  Chapter Thirty One

  Derek could find no way out of his problems. Every stratagem he tried resulted in different worries, fresh complications.

  Persuading Belinda to remove her father from Winter Paddocks had seemed to free him from carrying out Packer’s plan to murder the old man. But then he’d realized that Belinda would insist on telling the police of her husband’s intentions, innocently informing them that Hugh had tried to involve Derek Cartwright of Anchor Life.

  He had done his best to get out of that one by helping her take her father, on Thursday, to stay with their Ely relatives. While Belinda settled her father in, Derek pretended that he was going to the police station to tell them what he knew about Hugh.

  Afterwards, when they met at the Lamb for a drink before returning to Newmarket, Belinda had wanted to know exactly what he had said to the police, and what they had said to him. Fortunately he was getting better at constructive lying. He told her that he had given the police a full statement, and convinced her that everything was now under control and there was nothing she needed to do.

  At least he hoped he’d convinced her. But how could he be sure? He knew that he’d been over-elaborating, and that Belinda had looked at him several times with concern. Did she guess that he was lying? And if so, would she get in touch with the police herself as soon as he’d left her?

  It was this fear that had made him suggest that they should still spend Thursday night together at Winter Paddocks. It would give Belinda a break from her father, he said, and it would be very much nicer for him than going back to his Cambridge hotel. No complications this time, he promised; just friendship.

  And that had worked, on one level, staving off at least some of his worries for a few hours. Belinda had been very sweet to him. But when she announced that she would of course tell her solicitor about Hugh, Derek knew that his chances of going unmentioned were lessening.

  He’d begged her not to involve him – for fear, he said, of disrupting his chances of a reconciliation with his wife. But although Belinda sympathized and agreed, he felt that it was unrealistic to expect her to be more concerned about him than about her husband’s threats. It could only be a matter of time before the police were alerted, and began to connect his name with Hugh Packer’s.

  Even if Belinda did her best to shield him, there was still Packer himself to be feared. What would the man do when he returned to Winter Paddocks and found his father-in-law gone? He couldn’t blame Derek for it, or for the fact that the original plan for murdering the old man on Sunday was now off. But Hugh Packer wouldn’t just give up. He wouldn’t abandon his plan because his father-in-law wasn’t at home on one particular day, he’d simply switch it to a later date.

  Packer wouldn’t consider using any other accomplice, either. Why should he, when he’d already got Derek Cartwright stitched up? No, it would be a repeat of the same old situation, with the evil bastard following him wherever he went and hounding him until he did the job. There would be no release from Packer, Derek knew that now, until he had committed the murder.

  On Friday morning, after the inevitably dream-tormented night – spent this time in Belinda’s spare room – Derek parted from her with some relief. She was a splendid, generous girl, and he knew he’d done the honourable thing by warning her against her husband; but he wished to God he hadn’t jeopardized his own security in the process.

  Now, though, all the thoughts and emotions he could detach from his private problems centred on Christine. He loved her. He needed her. He wanted to go home.

  But did she love and need him? And anyway, where was home? For him, it would always be with her, wherever she was. But supposing she wouldn’t allow that? Suppposing she still rejected him – what was he to do?

  All that he knew for sure was that he had to go to Christine, as soon as possible, and attempt a reconciliation.

  He gave Belinda a hasty, absent-minded farewell hug. Then he opened the double gates, watched her drive Sidney’s Rolls through (with a moment’s regret that yesterday, when he’d driven the powerful car for her and her father, he’d been too fraught to enjoy the experience) and waved her away to Ely. He had already moved his Sierra out of the garage block, locked the doors and given Belinda the keys. Now, returning to his car, he discovered that he had a flat tyre.

  Cursing, and hampered by his still-aching hand, he pulled off his jacket and got down to the job of changing the tyre. It would have been just his luck to have had to do it in the rain, but in fact it was a very warm morning for mid-April. The sun on his back as he worked, jacking up the car and prizing off the hub cap, gave promise of as much heat as there had been on the day when he’d met Hugh Packer in the traffic jam, and by an idle comment started the process that was inexorably ruining his life.

  But none of it was his fault, it was Packer’s. No decent man would take a stranger up on a casual remark and twist it into a conspiracy to murder. Hugh Packer was evil. For a moment, imagining that he saw the man’s wolfish face reflected in the hub cap, Derek remembered the satisfaction he had once gained from lashing out at him and knocking him down.

  He picked up the wrench, and rested for a moment on his haunches before tackling the wheel nuts. How much more satisfactory it would be, it occurred to him, as he hefted the wrench in his good hand, to clobber Packer with a weapon like that! To kill him, even –

  Well, yes. And perhaps he could do it, as long as he struck the man in hot blood. But he couldn’t do it with premeditation. As he applied the wrench to its proper purpose, grunting with the effort of loosening the wheel nuts, Derek knew that he could never bring himself to use premeditated violence against anyone. He simply wasn’t that kind of man. Besides, his dreams were terrible enough already.

  Finishing the job, he packed away his tools and wiped the dirt from his good hand with the rag he kept for the purpose. There was nothing he could do about his soiled bandages – but come to think of it, if today was Friday, and he thought it was, then he was due to go to the health centre to have the stitches out.

  He would have to go through Breckham Market on the way to Wyveling, so he might as well have his hand done before seeing Christine. No – on second thoughts, he couldn’t bear to waste time. He wanted to talk to her as soon as possible. And anyway, if she saw how neglected he looked, she might be more favourably disposed towards him.

  He drove out through the gates, stopped the car, and went back to close them. He was just driving off when he saw that another car was approaching down the narrow tree-lined road, and so he pulled back in front of the gates to give it room to pass. But as the car neared, it slowed.

  He didn’t recognize the vehicle, and when it rolled to a stop beside him he knew why. The man behind the wheel was Hugh Packer, his darkly handsome face distorted by a scowl. As Packer got out of the car and slammed the door, Derek felt his stomach dip.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Packer demanded.

  Derek wound down his window. With anxious inspiration rather than presence of mind, he heard himself reply, ‘I came to look the place over, so that I’d know my way round on Sunday.’

  ‘You bloody fool! Now you’ve ruined m
y plan – Belinda’s probably seen you.’

  ‘No, she hasn’t. And the plan’s off. I saw her take her father away in the Rolls about twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘How do you know the plan’s off? They may be back by lunch-time.’

  ‘I don’t think so. When I first drove past, I saw her loading suitcases into the car.’

  Packer swore, and strutted rapidly up and down in thought. Derek had forgotten – he always forgot, because in his mind the man assumed the proportions of a monster – how small he was in reality.

  ‘Belinda will have left a note for me in the house,’ decided Packer, returning to the window. ‘I expect she’s taken Sidney to Ely – I was supposed to be going there with her on Sunday, so she’ll want me to join them. All right, then: this Sunday’s off. But I know she won’t stay away for more than a few days, because the old man’s difficult to cope with away from home.’

  He took a pocket diary from his blazer and riffled it through. ‘The following Sunday will suit me almost as well. I’ll book a table for lunch somewhere for Belinda and myself, and arrange for the untrained help to sit with the old man.’ He bent towards Derek, displaying his canine tooth in a narrow smile. ‘Right, so we’ll make it Sunday week.’

  Derek swallowed. Here they were, arranging the date of an old man’s death, and Packer was treating it with no more emotion than he would a game of golf. ‘I’m not sure –’ he began, trying to invent a previous engagement; but Packer shot out his hand and grabbed him by the knot of his tie, threatening to choke him.

  ‘Then you’d bloody better make sure, Derek,’ he said. A bead of spittle gleamed on his tooh. ‘I want this over and done with, understand?’

  Derek nodded, with difficulty. Packer released his hold. ‘The only snag’, he said as if to himself, ‘is that there’ll be no Pony Club event that Sunday, and no car-park. I’ll have to find somewhere for you to pull in off the road.’ He stabbed a finger at Derek: ‘Wait there!’