Kevin found Omen half an hour later.
Fraser was looking for two things: a car-park, and a building site. There were several of the former but none of the latter… Doesn’t anybody build anything in Weymouth any more?
Then he came across a tall building which was being cleaned. He could see two men working above him on the scaffolding. Loose pieces of tubing lay on the pavement… To ask or to take? Too late, he’d been seen.
‘’Elp you, mate?’
‘Yeah, I’m doing some plumbing round the corner and I need a lever. Can I use one of these a minute?’
The man looked at his mate, who shrugged.
‘Awrigh’. ‘Ow do we find you?’
‘You’ll see my van – Johnson, plumbers.’
‘Awrigh’.’
‘Thanks.’
Fraser picked up a five foot pole and carried it round the corner, then walked quickly to the most promising of the car-parks. The toolbox was dragging at his arm and shoulder now that he couldn’t change hands easily; sweat dribbled into his eyes, and when he saw a public loo, he suddenly realised how thirsty he was, but didn’t stop because it might look odd…
The car-park. Biggish, around two hundred cars. Long stay, Pay and Display… He worked his way through, then spotted the kind of thing he was looking for, a beige Montego around ten years old (before all the clever anti-theft stuff) surrounded by other cars. He made his way over and glanced at the ticket… two hours to go. Need longer really, but…
No one around, so he put down the toolbox and took out the flat plastic rod with the hook in the end that Petru had made for him. No reason why plastic shouldn’t work as well as metal, he told himself, no reason at all… He slipped it down through the space between the window and the rubber seal and started feeling around…
God’s sake don’t drop it, abort if you can’t – Ah! The hook went round the mechanism and he gently pulled… and with a dull click, the button on the inside of the door came up. He withdrew the bar and opened the door.
A quick look round inside, then he pulled the bonnet release, went out and opened the bonnet to give him some cover.
Back inside – God, it was hot – he put his hand under the steering column, pulled out a sheaf of wires and cut the plastic tie holding them together.
Oh, shit… Had they changed the colours?
No, here was the ignition… battery… starter… Should he start her up now?
Yes… He used the pliers to strip the leads, reconnected, touched, and the engine fired, sweet as a little lamb.
Now the awkward bit…
He put the toolbox on the passenger seat and looked round. Someone was coming straight towards him – a copper? Jacket and tie, well dressed, not a screw…
‘Problems?’
‘Yeah. Think I’ve got it sorted now, though,’ Fraser said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the scaffolding pole.
‘Good.’ The man unlocked the next car, got in and, with a wave, drove off.
Fraser swallowed, raised a hand in reply… Anyone else around?
No. He turned the steering wheel until it was against the lock, threaded the pole through the spokes and heaved – and with a crack, the lock gave. He threw the pole in the back, put down the bonnet and drove slowly away.
About five minutes later, trapped in the one-way system, he wound down the window and put on the fan – and that’s when he noticed the fuel gauge, just hovering above the red section…
But the warning light wasn’t on yet… so what did that give him? A couple of gallons, maybe sixty miles…
The lights changed and the traffic moved again. He turned into another road, a larger one that went along the sea-front. A sign… Dorchester, Bournemouth. He saw a space and pulled in.
A uniformed flunkey scurried out from a hotel entrance. ‘Can’t park here, sir.’
He drove on… nothing but hotels, so he turned into a side street. Opened the glove compartment – Ah! An AA handbook. He opened it and found the maps…
The main roads would be blocked by now, but what about the B roads? Have to risk it, the minor ones weren’t marked here and he didn’t have the petrol to spare… Head for Dorchester, then go off at–
No. One place they’d certainly have a block would be between here and Dorchester. He studied the map again… A B road went along the coast to Bridport, then Broadwindsor, Crewkerne, Somerton – could he get that far?
Gotta try…
A few minutes later, as he went over the bridge that divided the harbour, he couldn’t help glancing at the Omen.
Crawling with uniforms…
The shock stole his senses away and for a moment he lost all track of what he was doing or where he was going… daren’t stop – then he saw a sign for Abbotsbury.
The suburbs seemed to go on for ever and his head began to ache. Another mile, then he saw a phone box and pulled in beside it. Dialled 100 and asked to make a reverse charge call to Mary Templeton.
‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Er – her son-in-law, John Fraser.’
After an interminable time (Bugged…? Can’t be, not yet – can it…?) Mary’s voice said, ‘Fraser?’
‘Have the police told you yet?’
‘Told me what?’
‘I’ve escaped, I need help—’
‘Oh, Fraser!’ she wailed. ‘You idiot, you’ll make things worse, you must give yourself up—’
‘Mary, listen – it’s the only way I’ll get to see Frances, the only chance I’ll have to prove I didn’t kill Connie. I need clothes and money. And some paracetamol,’ he added, touching his aching head. ‘Please, Mary, you’re the only chance I’ve got.’
‘What kind of clothes?’ she said at last. ‘D’you want me to go to your house?’
‘No – whatever you do, don’t go there. I need everything – socks, pants, shirt, the lot. I’m sorry, you’ll have to buy them… Marks and Spencer – anything.’
‘But I don’t even know your size,’ she said faintly.
‘Shoes nine, thirty-three leg and waist—’
‘Wait a minute, let me write it down…’
He repeated it while she did so.
‘Anything else?’ she asked.
He thought a moment. ‘Yes, a cassette recorder…’ He described exactly what he wanted. ‘And some cord.’
‘Where shall I bring them?’
‘D’you know Glastonbury?’
‘Not really.’
‘Wells?’
‘Only the cathedral.’
‘That’ll do. Meet me there as soon as you can… Leave now before the police get on to you.’
‘But Fraser—’
‘Please, Mary, just go.’
As he put the phone down, he realised he was shaking. Could he trust her, would she tell the police? Got no choice… He went back to the car. His head was throbbing wickedly now. Dehydration?
He drove on. In Abbotsbury, he found a public loo and drank from a tap, his body soaking up the water like sand. He set off again, feeling slightly better – then the fuel light winked on.
Make it to Wells? Gotta try…
*
Officers, police and prison, had searched the Omen and found nothing.
‘Engine’s still too hot to touch,’ the police sergeant said to Kevin, ‘He’s not long gone. What d’you think he’ll do?’ he asked.
‘He’ll try and get to Avon.’
‘Has he got any money?’
‘I… we don’t know.’
After a pause, the sergeant said, ‘Well, we’ve got the trains and buses covered, but if he can do this’ – he indicated Fraser’s rewiring – ‘he can do a car.’
‘Have you got road blocks up?’
‘Major roads, yes. The minor ones we’re doing now. He won’t get far,’ he said, confidently.
The Montego was reported stolen an hour later.
*
Bridport, Broadwindsor, Crewkerne… Fraser tried to go as easy as he could on
the petrol, but the roads he’d chosen were all hills and bends…
Somerton, then Glastonbury. He glanced at his watch, six thirty, a bit over an hour since he’d phoned Mary, then he saw a sign: Wells three miles. I’m going to make it, he thought exultantly. I’m going to make it…
Ah, hubris… The engine coughed, picked up, coughed again and died. He pulled in and stopped.
Three miles… She’d probably be there by now. Would she wait? Could he walk it? Take at least forty minutes, probably more.
He got out, pulled the bonnet up again and waited. A car approached, he thumbed vigorously, pointing at the open bonnet. The car swerved to avoid him, drove on. As did the next, and the next…
The fourth stopped. ‘Broken down?’
‘Yeah.’ He didn’t want to explain why he couldn’t buy petrol. ‘Can you give me a lift into Wells?’
‘Like me to take a look at it?’
And see my wiring? He forced a short laugh. ‘I’m a mechanic, an’ if I can’t fix it, no offence, but I doubt you can. Just a lift, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Sure,’ He leaned over, opened the passenger door.
Fraser paused. ‘Have you got any plastic for your seat? My overalls…’
The man laughed. ‘Don’t worry about that.’
Fraser climbed in, aware of his gleaming, sockless ankles…
‘Got far to go?’ The driver didn’t seem to have noticed them.
‘Gloucester.’ May as well embroider… ‘I’ve got AA Relay, so they should get me there all right.’
‘Want a lift back when you’ve phoned them?’
‘Oh, that’s all right…’ Why d’you only meet nice people when you don’t want them? ‘I– er – need to get one or two things in Wells.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘Thanks anyway.’
They continued in silence. On the outskirts of Wells, a police car was parked, watching the traffic. Fraser swallowed his heart, tried to stay calm… Probably nothing to do with me. Probably…
‘Anywhere particular?’
‘Eh? Oh, anywhere near the centre.’
A couple of minutes later, he was dropped in the market square beside a phone booth. He lifted the receiver, waited till the man had gone, then ran across the road to the entrance to the close… Mary was sitting on a bench under the west front, smoking a cigarette beneath the disapproving gaze of at least fifty saints.
22
She shrank away as he approached her and he suddenly realised she hadn’t recognised him.
‘Mary, it’s me,’
‘Fraser?’
He dropped on to the seat beside her, kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for coming, Mary. Did you get the clothes?’
‘Yes. They’re in my car.’ Still she stared at him.
‘Thanks…’ He hesitated. ‘I think we’d better go. I had to ditch the car outside Wells and the police might find it any minute.’
‘What car?’
‘I– er – borrowed one.’
Her bemusement turned to resignation as she stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. ‘I don’t know what you think you can achieve by this, Fraser.’
They started walking. He said, ‘You told me yourself that Frances needs me.’
She shook her head. ‘Not this way, Fraser…’
‘And I have an idea of how to prove I didn’t kill Connie – did you get the cassette recorder and the other stuff I asked for?’
She nodded. ‘It’s in the car, through here.’ She led him into the square where he’d been dropped a few minutes earlier. ‘Over here…’ She unlocked the Golf and brought out some bags.
Fraser looked round and saw a Gents. ‘I’ll change in there.’
‘Shirt and tie, jacket, trousers… underwear and shoes.’
He took them from her. ‘I hope you got a receipt.’
For the first time, she smiled at him – a wan smile, but a smile nevertheless. ‘And I’ve brought you a comb – goodness knows, you need one.’
He locked himself into a cubicle while he changed, then splashed water from the basin over his face and combed his hair – she was right, it needed it, and his face still felt rough…
‘Well, that’s certainly an improvement,’ she said as he got into the car and stowed the bags and overalls in the back. ‘It’s amazing what a tie can do… Your face looks sore, though.’
‘I’ll do something about it later.’
‘I’ve got a first-aid kit with some Germolene.’ She opened the glove box and handed it to him. There are paracetamols in there too – and I’ve brought you some food.’
‘Thanks, but let’s get out of here first.’
‘Which way?’
‘Avon.’
Once they were out of the tiny city, he swallowed some paracetamol, then rubbed Germolene into his face, wincing as it stung. Then he found the food she’d bought – a pasty, some sandwiches and a drink.
‘When did you last eat?’ she asked, watching him devour them from the corner of her eye.
‘Breakfast, and then not much. Too nervous.’
‘You had this planned, then?’
He nodded, his mouth full.
‘However did you manage it?’
He swallowed. ‘That is a hell of a long story…’ He told her briefly and she shook her head again.
‘They’ll put you in one of those maximum security places when they catch you.’
‘I’ve a few things to do first,’ he said. ‘Starting with seeing Frances.’
‘But won’t they be expecting you to do that?’ she asked.
‘They might, but I’m hoping they’re still looking for me in Weymouth at the moment.’
‘But they might have posted someone there, it’s a terrible risk…’
‘I’ve got to try, Mary – you can go ahead and check for me.’
She let out a groan.
‘How is she?’ he said quickly, trying to change the subject. ‘I’m sorry, I should’ve asked earlier.’
‘Well, she seems a little better. She’s had a lot of transfusions and Dr Saunders says he thinks he can induce another remission.’
‘D’you know what I’d really like to do?’
She shot him a glance but didn’t reply.
‘Marry her. Just find some official somewhere and make him marry us,’ He sighed. ‘Silly, isn’t it?’
She sighed. ‘It’s not silly at all, Fraser.’
They reached Avon and drove to the hospital. He waited impatiently while she went ahead to check. She was back after ten minutes and her face told him the worst.
‘There’s someone sitting outside her door, I’m sure it’s a plainclothes policeman.’
He leaned his head on the steering wheel, hit the rim several times with the palm of his hand… then he looked up.
‘Outside her room?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the door’s shut?’
‘Of course it is, she’s still under barrier nursing – why?’
‘The garden, I can get in through the garden. Does she know I’m here?’
‘Yes, I had to tell her – Fraser, you can’t—’
‘I have to… You go back inside and unlock the French window… please, Mary.’
He gave her five minutes, then walked to the entrance, looking out for any other police… down the corridor until he reached the door leading to the little garden… a quick look round, then through… He could see Mary’s face on the other side of the glass.
She opened the window and let him in.
For an instant, he thought they’d come to the wrong place – although he knew what the disease could do, he wasn’t prepared for the change in her. Then he realised Frances hadn’t recognised him, either.
‘Fraser?’
He went over and took her hand, unable to speak. He kissed it, pressed it into his face… kissed her mouth, cheeks, eyes…
‘Oh, you silly man,’ she said, ‘they’ll catch you.’
‘I had
to come—’
‘Quiet!’ hissed Mary. She went over to the door and listened.
Frances said, ‘They’ll catch you and I’ll never see you again…’ Her cheeks were wet.
‘You will, I promise you…’
She clung to him, eyes closed… then at last, she held him at arm’s length, looking at him.
‘You know,’ she said, her voice still shaky, ‘I think I preferred you with the beard.’
‘Aye, I know,’ he said. ‘When I looked in the mirror, I remembered why I’d grown it in the first place.’
She smiled, sad-happily. ‘It’ll grow back.’
And as she smiled, he saw the same unchanging person look out of her eyes.
‘Yeah. I couldn’t wait that long, though. How’re you feeling?’
‘Better than last week.’
‘I wish I could stay.’
‘So do I.’
He left five minutes later.
Frances hadn’t known Leo’s address, so he tried Directory Enquiries on a phone in the corridor, only to be told that Leo was ex-directory.
So while Mary went to wait in the car, Fraser called the lab to make sure it was empty, then walked quickly up to the door and punched the numbers into the security lock… Please God they haven’t changed it…
They hadn’t: it clicked and the door swung open. He went through to Ian’s office, turned on the light and started looking for an address book…
Not on the desk, try the drawers – Ah! He checked Leo’s address was in it, then slipped the book into his pocket.
Anything else he could do? No, not enough time…
He left as quietly as he’d come, walked out of the main entrance and towards Mary’s car – there were people with her, Agnes and Jones…
He switched direction, aware that Jones had turned round. Mary must have glanced over at him… He rounded a corner, started running… through a door, into a corridor, and back into the flower shop, from where he could see them…
It was all right, they were heading for the main entrance. He watched them go in, then went cautiously back to Mary.
‘You saw them?’ she gabbled as she drove off. ‘God, I thought they’d never go and then you came…’
Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral Page 18