‘Shouldn’t have said that, should I?’ he said. ‘I just get so sick of her going on, Will this, Will that. Sooner he goes back to Canada the better.’
‘Mmm,’ Jen agreed. ‘Oh look, my glass is empty. I’m just going to get a refill.’
She moved off, then paused, looking round. Randall had Skye to himself, her back right against the wall of the house now; she was looking trapped, making restless, fluttering movements like a butterfly pinned alive to a board. Logie had bumbled off after Kendra, who ignored him as he joined in the conversation.
And Philippa and Will – Kendra might not have known what had gone on there, but Jen certainly had and she believed that the whole ghastly chain of events had been put in motion by Philippa’s determination to entice Will back.
They were certainly engrossed in their conversation. Men weren’t very good at disguising boredom, eyes always roving to find an excuse to move on, but Will’s eyes were fixed on Philippa’s face.
Did Charles Lindsay know about this? It was no wonder that he wasn’t here. Lucky man, Jen thought bitterly. She’d give a lot not to be here herself.
No one, no one at all, had mentioned poor Eleanor Margrave, or Connell either. She could almost smell the sweet, sickly odour of death: the flowers of evil were blooming in this garden tonight.
And who, Jen wondered uneasily, was that woman she had noticed earlier taking a keen interest in their conversation when they were standing in front of the house, who was now positioned a little back from a knot of cheerful partygoers, obviously eavesdropping on what Philippa and Will were saying to each other?
Apart from the initial problem of having to invent Sam’s CV on the spot in answer to friendly questioning, Louise felt she had landed on her feet. Mike and his pals, old school chums, were easy-going and chatty and with her declared shyness she was able to stand on the edge of the group nodding, laughing and not saying much.
In fact, it had been interesting to hear local opinion on the subject of Eleanor Margrave’s murder. It had naturally caused a considerable sensation but the consensus was that she’d disturbed a burglar, up from the south likely and planning to do over the prosperous-looking houses round the edge of the bay.
‘Just unlucky she disturbed him, if you ask me. And he’s probably away back there by now,’ Mike said comfortably.
‘One of these unsolved crimes, likely,’ another man said. ‘The police nowadays are useless unless someone walks in and confesses.’
It was hard not to rise in her own defence, but Louise managed to nod wisely and sip at her lager. She had positioned herself so that she had a clear view towards the house and across the front garden, and though she couldn’t hear anything that was being said she could observe the silent dramas: Will walking off; Randall downing glasses of wine much too quickly; Skye retreating from him until there was no space to retreat further; some sort of spat taking place between Logie and Kendra.
Then she heard someone calling, ‘Will! Will!’ A tall, blonde woman was coming out of the house, a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Randall Lindsay. Philippa, she guessed, and a moment later heard Will say her name as he came to meet her and kiss her on both cheeks. Then, with a stroke of luck, they stopped and stood together only a few feet away from Louise.
Her only problem was that Mike and his friends were getting, if not drunk, certainly very cheerful indeed. Their voices were rising, their laughter was getting louder, and anyway the conversation Philippa and Will were having clearly wasn’t intended for a wider audience.
There seemed to be a lot about places and times – trying to arrange some sort of meeting, Louise guessed. It seemed to her that Will was causing the difficulty – even stalling, she thought.
She missed the next bit as Mike asked her if she wanted another lager and when she said no, tried to persuade her until she agreed just to shut him up. When she was able to tune in again the conversation had moved on. She heard the word ‘police’ and risked taking a sideways step towards them.
‘You know how they can …’ Philippa was saying ‘… don’t want …’
She had turned her head and Louise couldn’t hear the rest. Then Will said, ‘Yes, absolutely … not at all … leave it at that.’
‘Of course … mustn’t let …’
The gaps were infuriating. Will was agreeing with whatever it was. ‘No – absolutely right … I can’t have … questions. I know … that’s important.’
Philippa had her hand on his arm. ‘Definitely, Will. But Randall, you see … again …’
Straining to hear, Louise took another step sideways in their direction. Wrongly: it had opened up a gap between her and the rest of Mike’s group and suddenly Will and Philippa stopped talking and looked directly at her, a frown gathering between Philippa’s brows.
Louise gave a feeble smile then stepped back to Mike’s side, joining in the conversation with an enthusiasm he clearly found surprising.
‘There you are, you see, pet! All you needed was another drink to loosen your inhibitions. You’ll be the life and soul of the party before you know it.’
Philippa and Will separated almost immediately after that. Jen, having got herself another glass of wine and spoken for a few minutes to the parents of a child in her class, saw that Will was going back to where Randall was still holding Skye prisoner.
With a surge of guilt, Jen made an excuse and followed him across. She should really have mounted a rescue mission herself but after the ruthless way Skye had forced her to lie to the police this morning she was much less inclined to be protective than once she would have been. This was going to be trouble, though; she’d seen Randall in a drunken temper before and chairs had got smashed that time.
Skye gave a little cry of, ‘Will!’ as he approached.
‘Skye!’ he said, gently mocking, then went to put a hand on Randall’s arm. ‘Not sure about your tactics, dude! Let the lady breathe, why don’t you!’
Randall turned on him, his face suffused with rage. He picked up Will’s arm between two fingers, held it out then dropped it, snarling, ‘Keep your filthy hands off me, Stewart!’
Will stepped back. ‘OK, OK, calm down. It’s just that I don’t think Skye was too happy with the situation.’
Jen had just reached them and Skye, seizing her opportunity, moved away from Randall. ‘Hey, Jen!’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Where have you been? Randall and I were just catching up …’
Neither of the men was paying any attention to her. Randall said, ‘And you have a right to speak for her – how? You’re nothing but a lousy, stinking bent copper, you bastard!’ He launched into a stream of obscenities.
For a moment Will let him rave. Then he said, his voice dangerously quiet, ‘Shut up. If you don’t shut up of your own accord, I’ll make you.’
‘That’s a joke!’ Without warning, Randall took a swing at him.
Will dodged, but took a heavy blow on the shoulder. ‘That’s it!’ he yelled. His punch caught Randall on the side of the face.
‘Will!’ Skye wailed. ‘Randall – don’t!’
They were wrestling now. The raised voices attracted attention; conversations died as people turned to stare. Kendra and Logie came hurrying over and then Philippa arrived, looking furious herself.
‘Will you both stop that at once! Someone’s going to call the police if this goes on.’
Neither man paid any attention. Randall was taller and heavier but Will was strong enough to push Randall off, letting him land a telling hit that split his lip.
‘Logie – take Will,’ Philippa said tersely, moving round behind her son to imprison his arms.
Randall struggled for a moment, but Will submitted readily enough as Philippa called briskly to the ring of onlookers that had collected, ‘Right. Show’s over. Sorry about that, folks.’ She wagged her finger at the two men. ‘And it’s Diet Coke for you two for the rest of the evening.’ She got her laugh and the little knot of people dispersed.
Randall took out a
handkerchief to dab at his swelling lip and without another word swung round to stalk away, then stopped, his eyes widening.
She hadn’t moved quickly enough. Louise had gone towards the fight in case she would have to blow her cover and break it up before real harm was done and his sudden pivot had taken her by surprise.
He had spotted her immediately. He crossed the garden towards her in three strides and there was no mistaking his threatening attitude.
‘Get out of here!’ he yelled. ‘I warned you!’
As she shrank away from him, Mike moved in front of her. ‘Now now, laddie,’ he said. ‘Calm down. There’s been enough nonsense tonight. Maybe you should just go and sleep it off.’
Another three men moved forward, forming a barrier. Louise stepped behind them and Randall had no alternative but to stop.
Ignoring them, he called, ‘You’ll suffer for this! Dirty little spy!’ But then he strode off back to the group and with distinct unease, Louise saw that they were all staring at her.
She said, ‘Thank you,’ a little shakily to Mike and his cohort, uncertain how they would react to what Randall had said.
But Mike was amused. ‘Got another girlfriend then, has he, and didn’t want you turning up? Oh dear, who would be young, eh? Never you mind, Sam, there’s better fish in the sea than him.’
‘Toffee-nosed git!’ another man said, and there was more laughter. ‘Have another drink, lassie.’
Louise said she was driving but allowed them to cheer her up. She didn’t want to leave while Randall had his eye on her; she was afraid he might follow her out and, drunk and belligerent as he was, anything could happen.
Some of the guests were starting to drift away, though there were others who looked prepared to party till dawn. Her present friends seemed to be among them, unfortunately; it would have been reassuring to go out in their company but she was desperate now to get away.
At last she saw Randall go back into the house. She said goodbye as quickly as she could, given that she had seven men to kiss and in Mike’s case give a grateful hug to as well, and went out into the darkness of the narrow lane.
Here, right on the edge of the village, there were no street lamps. It was a fine starlit night but she’d have welcomed a moon to light the uneven footing of the verge as she stumbled along, and headlight beams as the occasional car drove past were very welcome.
Louise didn’t have the confidence to go down the road side of the cars that were still parked; she’d be too easily visible if Randall, bent on vengeance, had come back out of the house and noticed her leaving.
She would certainly be grateful to get back to the safety of her car. She had been forced to park some way from the gate and her progress along the verge was slow – and unpleasant, too. She swore as she stepped into a little ditch running across it that was full of water, then squelched on.
She would have plenty to think about on her way home. The party had been a fascinating exposé of the relationships within the one-time Cyrenaics. A lot of the tension seemed centred on Will; he looked to be having some sort of relationship with Kendra and with Skye as well – a very intense one, at least on her part – though what sort of relationship he had with Philippa was less clear. She needed to get back and write down everything she could remember of their conversation while it was fresh in her memory. It would provide plenty of material for Big Marge’s morning meeting.
And then there was Randall – she was inclined to discount him. He was plainly besotted with Skye and she, equally plainly, found him as unappealing as Louise did herself. He was just a pompous oaf and he was never going to have any romantic success until he stopped thinking of himself as God’s gift. Though the insult he’d hurled at Will Stewart, ‘bent copper’, was interesting – what did that mean? Maybe it was just a random insult because he’d been sacked.
There was the car now, thank goodness. Home, and bed. Louise tried not to think about a nice, peaceful cigarette while she wrote up her notes; she was proud of herself for managing to get right through the evening without trying to bum one from one of the smokers. She’d decided, at last, to give it up – even if Andy Mac would crow – and she was doing it cold turkey. This would be a demonstration of her amazing willpower, not relying on chemical help, and so far she was doing pretty well.
Louise was definitely feeling smug, both personally and professionally, as she went to get out her car keys. They’d slipped to the bottom of her bag; she bent over to rummage through it.
Was that a sound, from the rough ground at her back? She straightened up, alarmed, but couldn’t pin down the direction. There were scrubby bushes and a little clump of low trees nearby; just an animal, she told herself, but she scrabbled for the key with renewed urgency.
She had no warning, no sense of anyone nearby. But as she found the key at last something came over her head and around her neck, pulling her backwards, then a gloved hand came across her nose and mouth with a strong, merciless grip, stifling her. She collapsed on to her knees, struggling helplessly, her hands scrabbling at her throat. Then the glove was removed from her face but the loop tightened and tightened so that though she screamed, all that emerged was a strangled groan. Then she had no more breath to scream, no more breath for anything except the urgency of getting air to her tortured lungs. And she was failing there too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dear God! He’d got it wrong! He’d been so anxious that Louise wouldn’t see him doing his self-imposed surveillance that he’d let her get herself killed.
From the field gate near the entrance to Ballinbreck House where he’d parked – in his mother’s little Honda, not his own recognisable car – Andy Macdonald had monitored her progress back to the car, sunk down in his seat.
There was no sign of Randall following her. When Louise was only a few steps away from her car he’d decided enough was enough: he’d spent a long, cold, miserable evening being tormented by the sounds of merriment and the barbecue fragrance on the air, all for nothing. She’d been right; he’d overreacted. Chippie on the way home, he decided.
He’d just started the car when a movement caught his eye. All he could make out was that there was a dark shadow behind Louise – a shadow that shouldn’t be there.
He gunned the engine, put his hand on the horn and blasted the few yards down the road, leaping out without shutting the door almost before it had stopped. As he reached the car something moved rapidly away, an amorphous shape vanishing into the surrounding darkness.
Louise was there, lying on the verge: a limp, sprawled body. He dropped to his knees beside her, feeling desperately for a pulse. Then he heard the rasping sound of her straining breath.
‘Oh, thank God for that! Louise—’
She was struggling to sit up, coughing painfully. He put his arm round her in support and she sagged against his shoulder.
‘Did you see who it was?’
‘No,’ she croaked. ‘Just – something here—’
Louise put a hand up to her throat. In the beam from his headlights he could see a deep-red pressure line but any ligature had gone. He scanned the rough ground over her shoulder but couldn’t see anything. He didn’t want to leave her like this but she said, ‘I’m – I’m fine. Go on.’
Andy sprinted across the scrub, scanning the bushes, looking ahead and all round, but there was no telltale movement, no sign of any dark figure. The assailant seemed to have vanished into thin air – then he realised there was a track that ran at right angles to the lane and as he got nearer he could see that it led to a big double gate in the wall of the house. He could see the roof of a garage beyond.
While he had been so confidently watching the main gate, Randall Lindsay had been able to slip out at the side and attack Louise. He turned back; no point in going in there. He could put out an emergency call from his mobile in the car.
He had left it blocking the road, but it had been driven in to the side and Louise was getting out of it, looking shaky admittedly but wavi
ng an apology to the car that had been waiting to get past.
‘For goodness’ sake, sit down!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re not fit—’
‘I’ll recover.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘I just want to get home.’
‘I’ll phone the guys to come and deal with this and we’ll get you to hospital …’
She was shaking her head. ‘Don’t need hospital. It’s just bruising. And if you bring in the mob it won’t do any good. The ground’s dry so there won’t be footprints, I can’t ID my attacker – couldn’t see him, hear him, smell him even – and he wore gloves, so there won’t be fingerprints or even DNA. With all the people in there you won’t be able to pin down where anyone was for a given five minutes. And taking statements from everyone and checking them will tie up all the manpower we’ve got for a week.’
Andy stared at her. ‘You’re taking this remarkably calmly. We could pick up Randall, bring him in for questioning – he uttered threats about you—’
‘Not convinced it’s Randall. Lot of things happened. And I’m not calm, not inside, but I’m alive.’ She paused. ‘Thanks to you. Andy, what were you doing here, anyway?’
‘Wasn’t happy,’ he said gruffly. ‘I thought I’d just hang about and see you were all right.’
Louise was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘Not sure how you thank someone for saving your life. Isn’t that meant to put you under an obligation to look after me from now on, or something?’ She tried to laugh then began to cough, her face screwed up in pain. ‘Thanks, anyway.’
‘Aw, shucks! All part of the service. Look, you obviously feel strongly about this. Are you really saying – just let it go?’
Louise nodded. ‘I’ll report it, of course. But I know it’s a dead end and it’ll only be a distraction.’
‘You’re quite a woman,’ he said. ‘Insane, of course. Anyone else would be in a state of collapse and whimpering. Home, then?’
She smiled and nodded, but he realised she was sagging against her car and starting to shake. ‘You may think you’re all right,’ he said, ‘but you’re going into shock. You’re certainly not fit to drive. I’ll take you home and we’ll arrange to get your car back tomorrow.’
The Third Sin Page 19