Known how vile she was. Samantha gave him a searching look. Had he seen the images on the phones? ‘I understand you were more than fond of her, Lionel. What made your feelings towards her change?’
He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. There was a wariness in his eyes now. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed, then he said, ‘A while before we split up she started going out by herself; said she was meeting girlfriends, colleagues from the office. I believed her at the time, but now I’m sure she was lying. She was seeing other men.’ He scowled. ‘I can’t think why I’m talking to you like this. I want you to leave. Get out; get out, the pair of you.’ He pushed himself away from the cooker and lurched towards her. There was a crash. He turned. The casserole dish had toppled off the gas burner, its heavy iron lid had slipped and stew was oozing over the white enamel. He tried to lift the dish, burned his fingers and muttered curses as he groped for the towel. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Go!’ he yelled. ‘You and your friend. I don’t want to talk about Rebecca Fenton. I don’t even want to hear her name. She uses people, makes them think she’s something she’s not: so refined, so pleasant when she wants something, but deep down she’s not what I’d call a decent person.’
They watched him struggling with the casserole dish, spilling more of the stew, burning his fingers. Samantha pressed on. ‘You more than liked her once, Lionel, you loved her. What’s made you hate her so?’
He spun round, tossed the towel down, yelled, ‘Get out of my house, get out now!’, then advanced towards her. She backed out of the room, bumped into Annushka who was already heading for the front door. When they were halfway down the hall, he lunged at her. Samantha side-stepped, tripped him, sent him tumbling into the brightness beyond the partly open door to the garage. He fell, sprawling, and his head thudded against the leg of a workbench. Samantha slid her gun from her bag and followed him.
Chimes ding-donged, then ding-donged again. She glanced at Annushka, whispered, ‘Answer it. Whoever it is, get rid of them,’ then knelt beside Lionel Blessed and pressed the gun against the side of his head. She heard the front door opening and the wavering voice of an alarmed old man asking, ‘Is everything all right? We heard things falling, Lionel shouting. I thought I’d better come round.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Annushka said. ‘He’s arguing with my sister; she’s his wife. They’re always like this.’
‘Sister, wife?’ He frowned. The girl looked familiar, but there was something different about her. ‘Haven’t I seen you before?’ His voice suddenly became accusing: ‘You’re one of those recruitment people who called earlier in the week. I saw you sitting in the car.’
‘We had to tell you that. If Lionel had found out we were coming he’d have kept away. He’s left her and the children, you see. She has to talk to him about things, but he won’t meet her, won’t answer solicitors’ letters. She’s desperate.’
‘Children? I didn’t know he had children. I didn’t even know he was—’
‘Three,’ she said. ‘They have three. All small. He’s just walked out and left them and he’s not sending her a penny piece.’
Samantha smiled to herself. Annushka was a mistress of mendacity. Lionel touched a gash on his forehead and groaned. She jabbed him with the gun and hissed, ‘Don’t make a sound.’
‘Always thought there was something a bit funny about him. Wife was taken in, but he didn’t fool me.’ The old man’s voice was bolder now, more assertive. He was responding to a pretty girl in distress. ‘Is there anything I. . . ?’ He let the question hang in the air.
‘We’re fine. My sister’s used to it. I’m just so sorry you’ve been disturbed.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’
‘You’re very sweet,’ Annushka said. ‘I’d better get back now. Bye.’ Seconds later the door closed, heels pattered on the fake wood-strip and she stepped down into the garage. ‘Man next door, bothered about the noise. He’s gone.’ She glanced around the brightly lit space. A partition had been erected close behind the up-and-over door, turning the garage into a cosy workshop. Small hand tools were clipped to a rack above the bench, an Anglepoise lamp was casting a circle of even brighter light around a slim metal box clamped in a vice. Suddenly realizing what it was, Annushka said, ‘Have you seen this?’
Samantha rose to her feet. Keeping the gun trained on Lionel Blessed, she risked a glance along the workbench. ‘It’s a lock. He was probably working on it when we arrived.’ She noticed an information sheet in a binder that lay open on the bench and stepped closer. Large red print spelled out Pickcraft. Wrapped around it, forming a kind of logo, were the words Stay Within the Law. The sheet was headed The Orion Five-lever Curtained Mortise Lock, and there was a crude drawing of the mechanism, followed by guidance on picking it.
Samantha slid open a drawer beneath the bench top, found a set of two-piece picks in clear plastic cases, some smaller picks in a wallet. She turned to Annushka. ‘The door across the hall; I think it’s a toilet. See if there’s a towel in there. If there is, wet it and bring it back.’ Annushka swirled off. Samantha grabbed Lionel’s arm and snapped, ‘Stand up.’
He tried, but his heels wouldn’t grip on the painted concrete floor and he slid back down the wall.
She heaved on his arm. ‘Come on, get up.’
Heels slithering, struggling harder, he managed to rise to his feet. She waved the gun towards a chair beside the bench. He limped over to it and flopped down. Annushka returned with the towel and began to dab his wound and wipe the blood from his face. He glowered at her.
Samantha said, ‘The phones, Lionel. We know you have them. You picked the locks on Rebecca’s front door, went inside, had a pervy look through her underwear, found the phones in the cellar, viewed images of her with other men. That’s when you began to hate her.’
He laid his head in his hands and his shoulders began to heave. ‘I loved her,’ he sobbed. ‘I didn’t realize how much until she told me to go. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I thought that if I could just get inside her house, touch her things, see the place where she lived, I’d somehow share in her life again.’ He glanced up, his tear-streaked face ugly with anguish. ‘I didn’t join the Pickcraft club to learn how to get inside her house. I needed a new hobby, a distraction, something to stop me going mad thinking about her. It was only after I’d found I could do it that I had the idea to go in and take a look around.’ His head sagged again; lank hair fell over his face. The sobbing was making him incoherent.
Samantha prodded him with the gun. ‘The phones, Lionel, you looked at the images on the phones. You decided to take them away.’
‘I wish to God I’d never seen the things. I loved her so much and now I can’t get those pictures of her out of my mind. I opened the box, took one out, switched it on. I didn’t think it would work. I thought they’d been thrown away. And then I saw her, with a man, doing things, intimate things. I couldn’t bear it. I was going out of my mind, but somehow I felt I had to see what else was recorded on the phone. I’d been in the house a long time by then, so I just grabbed the box and came away.’ He raised his head again and looked towards a shelf. ‘It’s up there. Red and gold; Marks and Spencer’s Christmas biscuits.’
Annushka threw the bloodstained towel on the bench, lifted down the box and tugged off the lid. She stared down at the phones.
‘Is yours there?’ Samantha asked. ‘The one that matters.’
Annushka moved the phones around, then selected one and examined it more closely. ‘This one’s mine.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely. It’s the only one with a red case, and there’s nail varnish on some of the keys.’ She counted the phones. ‘. . . eight, nine, ten. One’s missing. There should be eleven.’
Samantha prodded Blessed with the gun. ‘Where is it, Lionel?’
‘My bedroom. The door faces the top of the stairs; phone’s in a drawer under the bedside table.’
‘I’ll
get it.’ Annushka returned to the hall and the sound of thudding feet faded as she climbed the two flights of stairs to the rooms in the roof.
‘That the one with pictures of Rebecca?’
Lionel nodded. ‘That’s why I kept it out of the box. I suppose pictures of her could be on some of the others, but there was plenty of stuff on that one; the batteries went dead before I could see it all.’
Samantha reached into the box, took out the phone Annushka had said was hers, and slid it into her bag. Seconds later, Annushka thudded back down and bustled into the workshop. ‘It’s here.’ She dropped it in the box.
‘Look at me, Lionel.’ Samantha touched his ear with the muzzle of the gun. He slowly raised his face. Tears of loss and humiliation were running down his cheeks. ‘You’ve waded into some very deep shit, Lionel. Powerful people are searching for those phones. You must tell me the truth, or you could end up dead. Have you looked at any images other than the ones on the phone that was in your room?’
He shook his head. ‘The one I switched on was more than enough.’
‘We’re going to leave you now, Lionel. We’re going to forget you broke into Rebecca’s house, had a pervy look through her underwear and stole the phones.’ She moved her face closer to his and lowered her voice. ‘And you’re going to forget you ever saw them. You’re going to forget us. We never came here. You’re not going to remember a thing, are you, Lionel?’
He shook his head, buried his face in his hands and began to sob again.
Annushka replaced the lid on the box and picked it up. Samantha said, ‘Try to find a bag or something to cover it in the kitchen. We don’t want the neighbours to see what we’re taking away.’
When she’d gone, Samantha leaned over him again. ‘Rebecca was doing you a favour when she told you to leave. If you’d listened, if you’d called it a day, you’d have spared yourself all this heartbreak.’ She heard heels tapping down the hall and backed out of the workshop. Lionel Blessed was still slumped in the chair, head in hands, sobbing. She closed the workshop door, slid the gun into her bag and followed Annushka out.
They circled Gloucester, then headed east along a dual carriageway. The sky had clouded over, bringing a welcome relief from the brightness and the stifling heat.
‘I felt sorry for him,’ Annushka said presently.
‘Lionel Blessed?’
Annushka nodded. ‘So eaten up by jealousy. He’d fallen in love with the wrong sort of girl. Where are we heading?’
‘Back to the mews flat in Chelsea. We’ll stay there for a couple of days; lie low and catch our breath while things are sorted out.’
‘I can’t go on running like this,’ Annushka muttered. ‘I want to get my life back. And you’re heading for Swindon; you should be heading for Oxford.’
‘I think we’re being followed.’ Samantha checked the mirrors.
‘God, not again.’
‘I could be wrong. It’s not much more than a feeling at the moment. After Swindon I’m going to head for Chertsey. We’ll pull in at the Connaught Hotel, see if anyone follows us into the car park, perhaps have some tea.’
Warm summer rain was falling when they arrived at the hotel. They parked near the entrance doors and dashed inside. Samantha approached the man behind the reception desk. ‘Would it be possible to have tea and cakes –’ she glanced at Annushka ‘– and some scones, perhaps?’ Annushka nodded.
‘Of course, madam.’
‘And could we have it served in a room that overlooks the car park at the front? We’re expecting a friend and we don’t want to miss her.’
‘First door on your left along the corridor. I’ll have it brought through.’ He reached for the telephone.
The room was empty. Having settled Annushka in a seat by the window, Samantha said, ‘I need the powder room. I won’t be long.’
Annushka gave her a frightened look. ‘I’d rather you didn’t leave me.’
‘Someone must stay and watch. Keep a note of the cars that come in and where they park. I won’t be long.’
Samantha returned to the corridor and followed the signs, climbed a broad flight of stairs that led to a small vestibule lit by wall lights and decorated with Tamara de Lempicka prints in chrome frames. She pushed through a door, into a room lined with mirrors, where porcelain gleamed, starkly white, against black imitation marble.
After making sure the cubicles were empty, she began to search for a hiding place. There were no exposed cisterns, no pipe ducts, no niches or cupboards. Glancing up, she saw the strip lighting was hidden in a recess beneath a reflecting cornice. She went into the cubicle furthest from the door, lowered the lid over the WC and stood on it. When she reached up she could put her hand in the lighting trough, feel the warm fluorescent tube. She searched in her bag, found the mobile phone Annushka had used to video events at Darnel Hall, wrapped it in toilet paper, then hid it in the narrow, dusty space. She stepped down, took out her encrypted mobile and dialled.
After a brief wait, the cold commanding voice asked the usual opening question: ‘Where are you?’
‘The hotel just outside Chertsey, where you briefed me. I’m in the women’s toilets, the ones up a short flight of stairs off the foyer.’
‘Do you have the phones?’
‘I’ve just hidden the one that holds the video of the killing in a ceiling-level lighting trough where it passes above the last WC cubicle. You can reach into it if you stand on the seat. It’s wrapped in toilet paper.’
‘Are you afraid of something?’
Samantha laughed softly. ‘When I’m in your employ, I’m perpetually afraid of something.’
‘I mean why are you getting rid of the phone?’
‘Someone could be following us. I can’t risk them getting hold of it.’
‘That makes sense. I’ll collect it tonight. Do you have the rest?’
‘I’ve recovered them all. There may be images of intimate stuff on some of the others. I’ll get them to you when I can.’
‘Where are you heading now?’
‘Back to the mews flat in Chelsea. I thought it best to get closer to you. And I’m hoping you’re going to act quickly now you have the phone. The girl’s had enough. She’s constantly terrified. And the threat from Milosovitch and the girl’s stepmother has to be addressed.’
‘Action’s already being taken on that. Keep the girl and the other phones safe. I’ll be in touch within the next forty-eight hours.’
Samantha emerged from the cubicle and glanced around. The powder room was still deserted. After refreshing her lipstick and washing her hands, she headed back to Annushka.
The girl was looking out over the car park, a well-filled cake stand and a tray of tea things on a low table beside her. She turned and glanced up as Samantha approached.
‘Anyone driven in?’
‘No one’s come in; no one’s gone out.’ Annushka’s gaze became accusing. ‘Please don’t leave me alone like that again. I was so scared, and you were gone for ages.’
‘Someone had to watch the car park.’
‘All the same . . .’ Her reproach evaporated and relief allowed her to smile. ‘Let’s have some tea, then we can go back to that little flat and lock ourselves in. I felt safe there.’
Sir Kelvin Makewood strode through the apple orchard, ducking his balding head as he passed beneath low branches laden with ripening fruit. He could see the gables of the house above the trees: white stucco and black timbering, stockbroker’s Tudor. Worth a packet now, a place like this in Surrey. Nigel had been careful in the management of his personal affairs, shrewd and ambitious in the pursuit of his career, wise in his choice of a wife. How on earth had he got himself into this unspeakable mess?
The back door opened. Evelyn Dillon stood on the step and watched him emerge from the orchard and cross the lawn. Her short fair hair was gently waved, and she was shapely in her flowered summer dress. As Sir Kelvin drew near he could see that her expression was troubled; see the fear lurk
ing in her dark eyes.
‘You managed to avoid them?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Parked in the back lane, came through the orchard.’
She held up her face. He kissed her on the cheek; the gesture of greeting one gives the wife of a dear friend. He’d have very much liked to kiss her in an altogether different manner, and the impulse caused him a twinge of shame.
‘Newspaper reporters and television people are almost blocking the road at the front. There’s even a van with a big aerial dish on the roof. The neighbours must be absolutely sick of it. Where is it all going to end?’ Her voice had become tearful.
Sir Kelvin grasped her hand and squeezed it. ‘Try not to worry, Evelyn. It’s all going to be sorted out.’
She tugged her hand free, then turned and led him through a large kitchen into the front hall. ‘I don’t see how it can be, I really don’t.’
Sunlight suddenly burst through the stained-glass upper panel of an impressive front door and the air was pierced by shafts of coloured light. ‘He’s in here,’ Evelyn whispered. ‘He’ll be glad to see you.’ She opened a door, stood aside and the Queen’s Lord Lieutenant strode into the sitting room. She called after him, ‘I’ll bring you both some tea,’ then closed the door.
Sir Kelvin gave his friend a concerned look. ‘How are you, old man?’
‘Awful,’ Nigel Dillon said, in a throaty whisper, then added, ‘Absolutely terrible. I’m finished. I can’t see any way out of it.’
Sir Kelvin lowered himself into an overstuffed sofa, at the end nearest Nigel’s armchair. ‘What happened, exactly?’
Nigel sighed, reflected for a moment, then said: ‘I went with an armed unit to an isolated farmhouse in Wales. Man leading the team was a first-rate fellow, chap called Greenwood – you were with me at the lodge when he was raised to Master Mason. We’d had a reliable tip-off that the women were there, we’d never have got another opportunity like that again, so I thought I’d better go along and watch over the proceedings.
Dark Powers Page 20