by Alex Clare
At the entrance to the lane leading to Janice’s house, a horse and two ponies trotted across the road. Robyn had to jam on her brakes, Josh’s bags thumping into their seats. One of the ponies skittered backwards, a chubby girl flapping the reins. A woman on the chestnut horse yelled commands until the girl got her pony to the verge. A bigger girl on a white pony gave Robyn the finger as she eased the car forward. Outside Janice’s house the gates were still closed, a couple of cars parked hard against them. One of the drivers raised his head.
‘Bugger.’ Robyn accelerated. ‘Journalists. Josh, is there a back way into your place?’ Around the next bend she slowed, checking the mirror for anyone following them. ‘Josh?’ For a second, Robyn wondered whether the lad had fallen asleep again because he was curled into a tight ball but the sun glinted on tears on his cheeks. ‘Is there a way we can get into your garden without going through the front gate?’
She stopped out of sight of the house. For want of something to do, Robyn reached into the back seat for her handbag, hoping her mobile had a signal.
The phone rang, then went to an answering machine. ‘Hello, Martin. It’s Robyn Bailley. I’m outside in the lane with Josh …’
‘Yes.’ The phone had been picked up.
‘Hello, Martin. I understand your caution.’ In the passenger seat, Josh lifted his head. ‘Has your house got a back gate? There are journalists at the front and I don’t want Josh to have to face them.’
There was a grunt. ‘He used to get over the side wall by climbing the pear tree. First track on the left.’
‘But how will I get over?’
Martin grunted again. ‘You won’t. Thank you for picking him up, just throw his bags over.’
‘Martin, I’m trying to help you.’ Robyn realised she was talking to herself. She took time putting her phone away and fastening the bag, before speaking.
‘Your father’s suggestion is you avoid the journalists by climbing a tree to get over the wall.’
Josh’s mouth opened, then he laughed. ‘The pear tree? I haven’t climbed it for, like, years.’ He paused, the smile fading. ‘Mum isn’t there, is she? When’s she coming home?’
Robyn gazed up at the roof of the car. ‘Not for a while, I’m afraid. Now, where’s this lane?’
They drove on, then Josh pointed out a rough track, a high wall on the left. Around a tight bend, a pear tree laden with fruit grew on the verge. Josh opened the door before the car had stopped. Robyn reached into her bag. ‘I need to give you the house keys back. Are you going to be OK getting over there?’
Josh reached for a branch. ‘I’m not sure this’ll bear my weight anymore.’ He pointed to the wall. ‘Dad’s put the ladder up on the other side. If you give me a hand-up, I can climb down.’
A car passed the end of the lane. Robyn got out of the car, thinking if a journalist were to spot them here, it would be worse than if they’d gone in the front way. She opened the door, pulling out Josh’s bags. ‘OK, if you get up there, I’ll pass you the bags.’ She stood against the wall and cupped her hands for Josh to step on. He pushed upwards, his weight transferring to her. When he stretched to grab a branch, his t-shirt rode up and the bare skin of his stomach was an inch from her face, giving hints of a night’s sweat and salt. Now his bare leg was brushing her cheek as he lifted one knee to her shoulder and she could feel each soft hair tickling her ear. A sudden fear he was over-balancing was her excuse for grasping his calf. There was a final push as he shifted his weight to his arms, then Josh was on the wall, swinging his leg over and onto the ladder. Robyn leant back onto the wall while the tingling in her skin subsided.
‘Are you going to pass the bags up then?’
Robyn pushed herself off the wall and grabbed the first bag, hoisting it up to Josh. Their fingers brushed as he took the handle from her. It was just an accident. The second, heavier bag needed to be hoisted from underneath so there was no repetition.
‘Well, thanks.’
Robyn’s mouth was dry. She hoped he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice. ‘Call me before you do anything, OK? And don’t talk to the press. You saw them in the lane, they’ll try anything to get to you. If you need advice, call me.’
There was a hint of a smile then a voice sounded in the garden and Josh dropped out of sight.
33
Robyn got back into the car. After several long minutes while her pulse returned to normal, she faced herself in the rear view mirror, assessing herself as she would a suspect. There was definite guilt written in the flush high on the cheeks but a hint of something else. Her body had responded the way a woman’s would. She told herself it was shocking she could act in that way towards a boy young enough to be her own child and the son of a fellow officer as well, though the only regret she could find was that the moment hadn’t lasted longer. The corners of her mouth were turning up, emphasised by the brighter lipstick she’d picked for the weekend.
It seemed important to do a good job on her make-up but it took longer because her hands weren’t steady, making the thought of reversing down the lane too nerve-wracking. While inching the car around between the wall on one side and a ditch, she saw two men, walking up the track towards her. They could have been hikers, if one of them hadn’t had a professional-looking camera. Robyn saw them speed up as they got closer.
‘DI Bailley? DI Bailley, can you give us a comment on the case?’
Accelerating, Robyn swung the car around them, skirted the edge of the ditch and got away. On the lane, more cars were now loitering around the gates, the journalists peering at their screens. She kept going to the junction and turned out before someone decided to follow her. At the bottom of Markham Hill, her phone rang and she pulled into car park of The Airfield pub.
She’d been expecting to see Lorraine’s name, given they were meeting in fifteen minutes, but the number was unfamiliar. ‘DI Bailley.’
‘It’s DI Farnham. I’ve decided we can release DC Warrener tomorrow. She remains suspended from duty and a condition of bail is neither of them can approach Ben Chivers.’
‘Thank you.’ Robyn gritted her teeth, then relaxed. ‘I appreciate what you’ve done.’
‘I’ll send Fell my report on Monday. Goodbye.’
The line went dead. Maybe it was a combination of her previous behaviour now combined with relief but Robyn found herself laughing. A tattooed guy getting out of a pimped pick-up truck gave her a look that reminded her of Martin’s hostility. It was easier to send a text to Josh to let him know the good news. The thought that journalists now had another reason to besiege the house sobered her. She turned back onto the road. At the next junction, ignoring the fluorescent ‘Grand Antiques Fayre’ signs pointing towards the grey façade of Markham Hall at the top of the hill, she turned towards the centre of Lower Markham and took the first parking space available.
Tinny music drifted across from her left, where the tops of fairground rides could be seen over the rooftops. She was walking towards the sound of light jazz, when someone made an unintelligible tannoy announcement. In the High Street, craft stalls had been set up along both sides, browsers crowding around them. The only clear space was in front of the war memorial where two couples in 1940s clothes were waltzing, the music coming from speakers on a small stage. Robyn spotted Lorraine talking to a man unpacking a van. Avoiding the dancers, she crossed towards Lorraine, then stopped, conscious she might be interrupting something. Extracting herself from the flow of people, she moved to a shop doorway in the shade to send Lorraine a text. A minute later, Lorraine glanced down and said something to the man before kissing him on the cheek. He waved, then stepped up onto the stage and began moving instruments. Lorraine made her way through the crowd.
‘Morning, Guv. Don’t think I’ve ever seen this place so busy.’
‘These crowds might be a problem if anything kicks off. Have you got the stolen property list?’
Lorraine’s look was sceptical. ‘Here’s a copy for you, Guv. We’ve only got pic
tures of two items as most were trinkets.’ She held out two images: a woman sitting at a tea table wearing a cameo brooch and a man in a stiff, hired suit wearing a jade tie pin. ‘By the way, what do you expect to kick off?’
‘This burglar’s getting more violent. If we get close to him, he may attack. We just have to keep our eyes open for any cyclists in black Lycra.’ Robyn went to mop her brow and remembered the make-up. ‘Right, let’s go. By the way, for today, best if you call me Robyn.’
Lorraine giggled. ‘OK, I’ll try. But I’ve just got used to calling you “Guv”. If I do, we’ll have to pretend it’s short for Guinevere or something.’
They stepped forward onto the pavement and began shuffling along with the crowd. Robyn recognised several stalls from the Gaddesford festival: she turned to point them out to Lorraine. There was no answer. Lorraine had stopped beside an antiques stall and was fingering a set of fire-irons. There had been no antiques on the stolen property list so she’d either spotted something else or was doing a bit of personal shopping. Rather than fight her way back, Robyn shaded her eyes to study the crowd. All around were men and women wearing vintage costumes, their hair teased into a range of styles. A woman with a peroxide beehive chatted to a couple as they admired mini-dresses that hung from a stall like bunting. Beside them, a man dressed like Eddie Cochrane looked hot in a leather jacket with the sleeves pushed up. The couple moved on and Robyn edged closer to the stall, drawn by the displays of costume jewellery.
‘’Elp you?’ The man looked her up and down, folding his thick arms across his chest, the shapes of his tattoos distorting as they were squeezed together.
She’d seen him before somewhere. He must have been in the Gaddesford pictures. ‘Ooh, aren’t these beautiful? May I?’
The hard set of his jaw showed what he thought about the camp inflection in her voice. ‘Go ahead.’
Robyn fastened a bracelet on the third attempt. It was too tight, the rough underside scratching at the soft skin of her inner wrist. Now she had to get it off.
The beehive woman peered under the stall. ‘Damn, I thought it was here. Dean, when you’re done there, can you get the blue box out of the van?’ The man grunted.
Her nails kept slipping on the tiny clasp because her eyes were drawn to the man’s arms. His name was Dean and she’d seen the tattoos before in the file of the builder who’d threatened Ms Chivers. He was still watching her. At some point, she was going to have to admit she couldn’t unfasten the bracelet. There was no sign of Lorraine.
‘Could you help me?’ Robyn held out her arm, thinking hard. If this man wanted to hide his identity, he’d have to hide his arms too.
‘Are you takin’ the piss?’ Dean was shifting from foot to foot like a boxer until she smiled at him, which seemed to make him stand stiffer.
‘No. I can’t get it off – the clasp has jammed.’ She remembered the burglar knew exactly who lived in each property and where items were, as if he’d been there before and had seen where money was kept.
‘I’ll get Cindy.’
‘Thanks. By the way, it’s Dean Harper, isn’t it? Didn’t you do some building work recently for a neighbour of mine in Gaddesford? Mrs Jarvis, in Hollyhock Cottage? I need some work done myself.’
Dean folded his arms again. ‘Yeah. Fixed some guttering for her. What do you need done? Oy, Cindy, give us a hand here.’
Cindy laid a hand on his arm. ‘Calm down. What’s the problem?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t get this off.’ Robyn held out her arm.
Tutting, the woman unfastened the clasp in a second. Robyn rubbed her wrist.
‘Thanks. Have you got a card?’
‘Nah.’ He looked to Cindy. ‘We got any paper?’
Cindy gave Robyn a quick smile. ‘If you can hang on just a second, I’ve got some other things which might be in bigger sizes.’ She turned to Dean. ‘In the van, the blue box has my notepad and the new jewellery I was pricing yesterday.’
Dean squeezed sideways between the stalls. Robyn inspected the other items, fingering a pendant.
‘Where do you get all these lovely things from?’ Robyn upped the camp. It seemed to work better with the woman as her smile was warmer.
‘My boyfriend.’ Cindy jerked her head to where Dean had been. ‘He works in house clearance and saw all this stuff going to waste so he kept it for me. Amazing the things people get rid of, isn’t it?’
‘You’re lucky. He’s got a good eye.’
Robyn sensed him behind her as a cloud of his cigarette smoke dispersed around her face. She turned. ‘I understand it’s you who finds all of this jewellery. I’m looking for something in particular, a cameo brooch. Have you got anything like that?’
The woman smiled again. ‘Ooh, now we’ve got just the thing – it’s in this box somewhere.’ She took the box from Dean and began hunting through it.
Behind her, Dean’s fists clenched. ‘Cindy, leave it.’
‘Here it is.’ She ignored Dean and held out a gold-edged terracotta disc with a Roman lady’s head picked out in white. ‘It isn’t it darling? We can let you have that for seventy-five pounds.’
Robyn took the brooch, turning it in her hand. ‘It’s lovely but I’ll leave it.’
‘Well, we could drop by five pounds but no more. There’s real gold around the rim.’
Dean moved forward, shoulders pushing back.
‘No, I’ll leave it because I believe it’s stolen …’ She had enough of a reflex to swing away, lessening the impact of Dean’s punch but there was still a horrible crunch against her jaw and a sharp pain as a tooth pierced her tongue. She was sent sprawling backwards into something soft, before half bouncing, half stumbling forward when her shoulder hit metal and she was able to get a grip. She hung on to the lamp post, waiting for the fiery heat on the left side of her face to calm. Somewhere, someone was screaming. Nails scratched at her hands: she tightened her fingers on the brooch. Something jostled her. There were more screams. She opened her right eye as far as it would go and got a sight of Cindy’s spotted dress and a white, bulging mass.
‘Thief! You’ve got my brooch.’
‘You nearly knocked me over.’
The strain of keeping her eye open was too much. Robyn moved her body behind the post for a second’s relief. Time to stop all of this. With difficulty, she got her left hand into her bag for her warrant card. ‘Police. I suggest you all calm down. I have reason to believe some items on this stall are stolen property.’ She blinked to clear her vision. Standing next to Cindy was an obese man in a bulging white t-shirt. There was no sign of Dean.
‘Guv? You OK?’ Lorraine pushed her way through the circle of people.
‘Fine, Lorraine. The suspect’s made a run for it. Can you secure the stall?’
‘You’re doing nothing of the sort, this is my living, get off.’ The woman grabbed Lorraine’s arm.
Lorraine shook herself free and reached for her mobile. ‘Unit requesting backup, officer down, suspect fled, repeat, officer down …’
‘You nearly knocked me over. I don’t believe you’re a real police officer. Real police officers aren’t made up like clowns.’ From somewhere in the chins, the obese man had a wheezy, childlike voice. He prodded Robyn’s chest again.
Robyn pushed herself upright. ‘Would you like me to prove I’m a real policeman by taking you to the station? You’re causing an obstruction in more ways than one. The only problem is, I’m not sure I’ve got a cell big enough for you.’
‘This is police brutality.’ The man wobbled backwards a couple of steps, stopped by the crowd.
‘He’s got my stuff.’ The woman made another grab at Robyn’s wrist.
A handcuff clicked. Lorraine spun the woman around and clipped the other cuff, securing her to one of the stall’s uprights. ‘It isn’t your stuff. It’s ours until we check where it’s come from. Now, unless you want to be on the same assault charge as your boyfriend, you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.’
‘You bitch. You can’t do this.’
Over the woman’s protests, Robyn thought she could hear sirens in the distance. A crowd was still watching them. She found herself slumping against the lamp post and straightened up. Yes, definitely sirens and getting closer.
‘Stop looking through there.’
‘Calm down.’ Lorraine continued rummaging through the box. ‘Now what’s this?’ She held up a tie pin set with a large green stone. ‘This looks familiar.’ She looked over the crowd. ‘Ah, at last.’
Voices were coming closer. The crowd parted, the obese man taking the chance to lumber away. Donna and Clyde stepped into the circle, taking the scene in.
‘Good to see you. We need to get an alert out for a Dean Harper, he’s got a record and everything on this stall needs securing …’ Robyn hoped she sounded more coherent than she felt. A sudden thought crossed her mind, one question that might still be asked.
Donna leant towards her. ‘Are you all right, ma’am? I’ll get an ambulance.’
‘No, no, we need to get this done.’ In the background, the woman was still shrieking. ‘Donna, I hear Janice is picking up your son after nursery. That’s good teamwork.’
Donna opened her mouth, then closed it again.
‘You look really rough, Guv. I can finish up here.’ Lorraine was now standing next to Donna. ‘Guv, let’s get you patched up.’
Donna took Robyn’s arm. ‘Let me help you get sat down, ma’am.’ She dropped her voice. ‘What are you talking about?’
Lorraine looked round. ‘Sorry, Donna, I need you. The St John’s Ambulance can do that.’
A lad in a cap and uniform who looked no older than twelve was waiting. Robyn tried to smile at Donna before she started clearing the stall then refused the offer of the boy’s arm. She made it to a bench in the shade where her eye was bathed. Water went up her nose, making her sneeze. When she wiped her face, the tissue came away streaked with the make-up she’d reapplied so carefully. A nasty, sick, queasy feeling was building and by the time Lorraine came over to tell her the stall and van were secured, Robyn was happy to go along with the suggestion for Clyde to drive her home. He’d been gallant to the point of irritating, even offering to walk her up the path. Robyn had waited by the gate until he’d driven off.