“Even so, it makes me sick to think he was harassing you just a few metres away from me.” Alan’s fingers found the table’s edge and gripped it tight. “If only I’d known, I’d have come to help.”
“You know what? I believe you. You’re a decent bloke, Alan. There’s not many like you.”
“I don’t know about that.” Alan took a long drink of tea, draining the cup, then he refilled it from the pot. “Do you think Dominic tried it on with Roz? If he did, it could look bad for her.”
“I honestly don’t know, but even if he did, Roz wouldn’t lash out. She hasn’t got it in her. She’s such a gentle person and so kind.”
“You sound as though you’re friends,” Alan said.
“We’ve only met a few times,” Lucille said. “But we get on really well. She’s been teaching me tai chi, or trying to, and I know she could never hurt anyone.”
“I totally agree, but…”
“What?”
“I’m probably being stupid,” Alan replied. “But I can’t help wondering. What if she was pushed into it, tormented until she lost her temper? When I saw her last night, she was like a different person.”
“I heard about it,” Lucille said. “And what I said to the police… I hope it’ll help her. They’ll see what Rudge was really like.”
Alan froze, his cup halfway to his lips. Roz had said something very similar about Dominic before she was taken away. DS Firth had taken her outburst as an admission of guilt, but what if her words could be interpreted another way?
Alan took a mouthful of tea and swallowed it down without tasting it. He needed to talk to Dan. But when the subject was as sensitive as this, he’d have to wait until he could explain in person. And that could wait until he’d finished breakfast with Lucille.
CHAPTER 19
After a fitful night, Dan was glad when the alarm on his phone sounded at seven. He silenced it, then promptly fell asleep, dreaming of the tide racing toward him. His legs heavy, he clambered onto an outcrop of rock, but the sea still surged over his shoes. Searching for an escape, he looked up to the cliffs towering above him. There was no path, no escape route. But there, standing on the very brink of the cliff, stood a dark figure. A man. Dan called up to the man, asking for help, but his voice was drowned out by the waves. And a moment later, the man stepped forward and fell, tumbling through the void, his piercing cry of despair carried by the wind.
Dan woke, gasping for air, his mouth dry and his head throbbing. He rubbed his eyes, but he could still hear the keening wail from his dream. “Bloody seagulls,” he mumbled. “Don’t they ever stop?”
He checked the time on his phone and saw that he’d missed a message from Alan: he wanted to talk as soon as possible. Dan sent a quick reply, arranging to meet Alan in the lobby in half an hour. Make that an hour, he thought, changing the text. Then he pressed send and flopped back against his pillows. He needed a moment to regain his equilibrium, then he needed a hot shower and some breakfast before he met with Alan.
Dan replaced his phone on the bedside table. Roz’s book still lay beside his watch, and thinking of Roz, he plucked the book from the table and flicked through the pages.
The pictures were beautifully drawn, and the story was simple but engaging. Led by Freddie the fox, the cast of forest animals planned a picnic. On the way, they encountered a stream that they could only cross with the help of Olly the otter. After that, they became lost in the woods, but Pippa, a pied wagtail, flew ahead and found the right path. Freddie managed to get his feet stuck in a patch of deep mud, but Timothy the toad used his strong legs to pull him free. Nelly the newt showed them how to wriggle under a gate that barred their way, and finally they found the picnic spot they wanted.
Of course, Freddie had forgotten the picnic rug, but they all decided that they preferred to sit on the soft grass in the sunshine, and they had a wonderful time. Until, that is, a weasel appeared, emerging from his secluded castle on the hilltop. Named King Hurlnot, the cruel weasel owned the land they’d wandered onto, and he chased them off, wielding a fearsome stick that looked more like a club. Working together, Freddie and his friends escaped unhurt, and they decided to have their picnic closer to home. At this point, Freddie remembered where he’d put the picnic rug, and they had a great time after all. The next time they went on an adventure, they decided, they’d be more careful where they chose.
Dan put the book down. It was odd. There was something about the names of the characters that nagged at his mind. He flicked back through the pages. Freddie, Olly, Pippa, Nelly, Timothy. They all had friendly, sing-song names, and each was alliterative. But not King Hurlnot. The weasel’s name ought to have begun with a W. But then, he was the villain of the piece, so perhaps it was deliberate that he didn’t fit the rule.
But what about the others? Were they random, plucked from Roz’s imagination? Dan didn’t think so, though he wasn’t sure why.
Nelly, he thought. Why pick a name that’s so strongly associated with an elephant? There had to be a reason, but the only other reference that came to him was little Nell from The Old Curiosity Shop.
“That’s it,” Dan whispered. Olly was Oliver Twist, Pippa was Pip from Great Expectations, Timothy was tiny Tim from A Christmas Carol. But what about Freddie?
Grabbing his phone, he opened a browser and ran a quick search. Fred was Scrooge’s nephew. That left only the weasel, but although Dan tried every variation of King Hurlnot that he could think of, he drew a blank.
There has to be some kind of logic to it, Dan told himself. And I know who to ask.
He made a call, and it only took a few seconds for Alan to answer.
“Change of plan?” Alan asked.
“No. I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“The name King Hurlnot,” Dan said. “Does it mean anything to you?”
A pause. “No. Should it?”
“Yes. It’s a character from one of Roz’s books.”
“Ah. I must confess, I haven’t read them all. There are quite a few. But why do you ask?”
“In the book Edward left in his room, all the characters come from Dickens. All except one. There’s an evil weasel called King Hurlnot, and his name doesn’t fit. I want to know why.”
It sounded as though Alan was suppressing a yawn. “All right, but I don’t see the relevance.”
“Edward made a point of bringing that book with him, and when he asked Roz to sign it, she said they had a heart-to-heart. Remember?”
“Yes. She said Edward understood her.”
“Right. And now we have to understand Roz, figure out what makes her tick. The book could give us an insight.”
“By the work one knows the workman,” Alan said. “One of my favourite quotes. La Fontaine. A French poet.”
Dan smiled. “I knew I’d called the right person. Listen, could you have a think about this name? You’re better at solving crosswords than I am.”
“Flatterer. Go on then. Spell it for me, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Dan spelled out the name, then he thanked Alan and promised not to be late. But before he could hang up, Alan said, “Are the other names really all from Dickens?”
“Yes. Too many to be a coincidence. Roz altered them all slightly. Little Nell becomes Nelly, Oliver Twist becomes Olly, Pip becomes Pippa, and so on.”
“And Scrooge’s nephew was called Fred,” Alan said thoughtfully.
“I had to look that up. But you’re the writer.”
“I try.” Alan sighed. “It’s quite common for an author to play games with names and places. Some people like to plant obscure references in the text, like Easter eggs for eagle-eyed readers. But I wouldn’t have had Roz down as that kind of person. She never struck me as someone who enjoyed playing games with words. And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s funny you should mention Dickens, because there is a connection with Dominic.”
“Did
he see himself as a modern-day Dickens? I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Yes and no,” Alan replied. “He was pompous enough to compare himself to the great man, but that’s not the point. His surname is decidedly Dickensian. I always thought Dominic had chosen it as a pen name, after the novel, Barnaby Rudge. But no. He was born a Rudge. He used to say that was why he became a writer.”
“Interesting. I wonder… Is it possible, do you think, that Roz based her characters on real people, people she knew?”
“It’s more than possible,” Alan said. “It’s likely. All writers steal, and every good character is based on something taken from a real person.”
“And what about the bad characters? The villains?”
“They’re even more interesting. The villains are where a writer can take revenge.”
Dan scratched at the stubble on his chin, a picture of Dominic Rudge as a weasel coming to mind. He blinked the image away. “We’ll talk later, but wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”
“It can wait,” Alan said. “I’d rather not discuss it on the phone. We’ll take a walk, somewhere where we won’t be overheard.”
“No problem. See you in a bit.”
Dan hung up, then he headed for the bathroom. His mind was filled with a tangled web of possibilities, and if he was lucky, a hot shower would help him to tease the threads apart. And if he was very lucky, he might begin to see some connections. Because as things stood, he was completely stumped.
CHAPTER 20
Dan wolfed down a bowl of cereals and fruit for breakfast, washing it down with a cup of strong coffee, then he made for the lobby where, as arranged, Alan was waiting for him, his coat already on.
“Are you ready?” Dan asked.
“Always.”
Dan donned his coat, then they headed outside to talk, pacing along the coastal path, their hands in their coat pockets and their heads together.
“Did you come up with anything on the weasel?” Dan asked.
“Give me a chance,” Alan protested. “I found a list of Dickensian characters online, but there are hundreds, and although Hurlnot sounds like a name Dickens might’ve conjured up, it wasn’t on the list.”
“Okay, let’s put that to one side and go back to the human angle. How long have you known Roz?”
“About five years. We met at the Cheltenham Literary Festival. I was just getting started. I’d had my second book published, but I was still getting to know the ropes. I gave a little talk in a side room, but Roz was putting on a show in one of the main tents. I went along to see how it was done.”
“When you say a show, you mean she was performing a reading?”
“More than that,” Alan said. “She was in full costume, and she had a whole cast of supporting characters. It was amazing. The place was packed with young kids and their parents, and Roz raised the roof. In a different life, she could’ve been an actor. Her show was hilarious. Lots of slapstick and pratfalls.”
“Which character did she play? Pippa?”
“No. Who else would she be but Freddie the forgetful fox? He’s the main character. She put so much effort into her performance, she made her stories come alive. She had those kids in the palm of her hand. And it suited her too. With her red hair, she really looked the part. The transformation in her was magical.”
“I see,” Dan murmured. “That makes me wonder. Maybe I was wrong about Roz. People who can easily step outside of their personality can be dangerous, divorced from reality, unstable.”
“What? You don’t believe that. Being a good actor doesn’t make you a sociopath. You’re clutching at straws.”
“Maybe, but I saw a different side to Roz when Firth grabbed her. I’m supposed to be good at reading people, but I didn’t see that coming. Like you, I thought she was a gentle person.”
“She is.”
“Not last night,” Dan said. “When she was talking about Rudge, there was a hard rage in her eyes. And after what Lucille told you about the man, we have to ask exactly what Rudge had done to upset Roz. If he’d pestered her, she might’ve snapped.”
“No. Roz hasn’t got a mean bone in her body.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Victims of harassment can carry the scars for years, like fault lines buried deep in solid rock. The ground seems solid, and you’d never know the fault was there. But if the pressure builds and becomes too great, you get an earthquake.”
Dan stopped to lean against the low fence, looking out to sea. Alan stood at his side.
They watched the waves in silence for a minute, then Dan said, “You know what it’s like to be hauled in for questioning. How do you think Roz will stand up to it?”
“Don’t remind me. It may have been six months ago, but I can still smell the stale air in that room.” Alan shuddered. “Roz will find it even harder than I did. She was overwrought when they took her in, so she must be desperate by now. She can’t stand being cooped up. She might say something, anything, to get out of there.”
“At least she’ll be able to give her side of the story,” Dan said. “If Rudge harassed her in some way, she can explain that. Unfortunately, they could easily throw that back at her, claim she was provoked.”
“Agreed. She could be getting herself even deeper into trouble.”
“Then we need to work fast. What evidence do we have that Roz is innocent?”
“None,” Alan said. “As far as we know, she was outside at the right time, she was angry at Rudge, and she could’ve found a way to get into the basement and take the typewriter ribbon. Plus, we have what she said about Rudge. We might think it was about something else, but our shots in the dark won’t help her. We need to prove it.”
“Right. But let’s talk about what Roz actually said. She said that Rudge was going to get what he deserves. She didn’t use the past tense, so unless she thinks he’s going to be punished in the afterlife, she clearly didn’t know he was dead.”
“So what did she mean?” Alan asked. “She must’ve done something she regretted, because she said as much.”
“Let’s pursue that. Roz said that everyone would find out what Rudge was like. Everyone.” Dan thumped his fist against a fencepost. “It’s obvious! She wanted to expose Rudge, and she couldn’t have had it much easier. There was a journalist right outside the hotel, and he was getting desperate for a story. Any story.”
“Yes! And if we can find him, he might be able to back Roz up. He might even be able to give her an alibi. But he wasn’t there today, was he?”
Dan shook his head. “He’s probably scurried off to file his story, but he’ll be back, sniffing around. He wasn’t expecting a murder. He must be straining at the leash.”
“In the meantime, maybe we can track him down online. You said he’s freelance, so his details should be easy to find.”
“You could take charge of that,” Dan said. “I need to be free to look into other lines of enquiry.”
“What does that mean? We haven’t got anything else to go on.”
“I’ll come up with something.” Dan moved away from the fence. “I need to get moving, get the gears turning. Let’s walk into town.”
As they pounded the pavement, Dan quizzed Alan on each of the attendees at the retreat, trying to gather as much background information as possible. The writers were an oddball bunch, that was for sure, but there was nothing to suggest there was a murderer among them.
“Could it have been Edward, do you think?” Alan asked.
“It’s possible,” Dan replied. “He could have staged his own disappearance, even sending himself a note. From what you told me, he made quite a drama out of the note he supposedly received. He could’ve done that deliberately, making sure everyone knew he’d been threatened, planting an image of himself as a victim in our minds. That way, we’d be unlikely to think of him as the perpetrator. Having placed himself in the clear, all he had to do was lie low for a while. We know he has a background in intelligence, so that would have b
een no challenge for him.”
“Yes. And it would’ve been easy for Edward to lure Rudge out of the hotel. After such a dramatic disappearance, all Edward had to do was get in touch somehow, and Rudge would’ve come running.”
“It’s certainly a compelling scenario,” Dan said. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a shred of evidence to support it, and unless we find Edward, we’re unlikely to get it. Having gone to all that trouble, Edward wouldn’t have left any obvious clues lying around.”
“The police will have Rudge’s phone records. If he was called just before his death, that trail could lead somewhere.”
“There’s no way we can get access to that kind of material. We’ll have to come up with our own data.”
“Easier said than done,” Alan said.
“We’ve done it before. And don’t forget, we have an advantage. We’re here, on the ground, and we know everyone involved. People will talk to us more openly than they would to the police.”
“It’s certainly worth a try. Until Roz is released, we’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Good.” Dan rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know about you, but my fingers are freezing. It’s about time I wrapped them around a large mug of coffee.”
“Good idea. And, as usual, I’m sure you already have a place in mind.”
“You know me too well. There’s a nice little cafe not far from here. It’s tucked down a side street. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never find it.”
“And is this wonderful cafe, by any chance, a vegan establishment?”
“It might be. I can’t say I noticed.” Dan grinned. “They have triple chocolate brownies, carrot cake, banana nut muffins…”
“Consider me on board. Let’s go.”
It was a short walk to the Horizon Cafe, and as they approached, Dan was sure he could smell the aroma of freshly roasted coffee drifting along the narrow side street. They rushed to the door, eager to get out of the cold. But as Dan yanked the door open, he almost collided with the young woman hurrying to leave. She stepped back smartly, and the large guitar case she was carrying collided with a nearby table, rattling the crockery.
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