Almost Love

by Christina James

  Later that afternoon they set off together in Tim’s car, aiming to arrive at around 4.30 p.m., a time at which Guy had previously indicated he would have finished work. It was some time since Juliet had found herself completely alone with Tim. Once the BMW had left the outskirts of Spalding behind and Tim had turned it on to the windy and rainswept Cowbit High Bank, Juliet decided to make the most of their privacy by bravely raising the topic of Tim’s wife.

  “How is Katrin?” she asked, cursing the tremor that she could not keep out of her voice. “I haven’t seen her lately.”

  Tim kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen much of her either,” he said. “This case is getting in the way of my personal life a bit, as no doubt it is getting in the way of yours.”

  His tone was not welcoming, but Juliet decided that now she had raised the subject of Katrin she would pursue the conversation until he cut it off.

  “Forgive me for mentioning it, but by chance I took a call from her a few days ago and I thought that she sounded . . . unhappy. It may have been my imagination, of course, but if not I wondered if there was anything I could do to help.” She finished her final sentence lamely, noting that even to herself it sounded as if she were prying.

  “She is unhappy, bloody unhappy,” said Tim fiercely, gripping the wheel with intensity and still staring at the road. “But since I don’t have the slightest idea why and she doesn’t see fit to confide in me, I think it unlikely that you would get very far with her, even if I were to encourage you – which I won’t,” he added tersely.

  “OK. Sorry,” said Juliet in a strangled voice. They drove along in silence, Juliet unhappily embarrassed by her blunder, until they reached the turn-off to Guy Maichment’s house. Tim drew the car into the verge and halted.

  “I’m sorry that I snapped at you,” he said. “You’re quite right about Katrin – there is something seriously wrong with her and it was perceptive of you to pick it up from a single phone call. But whatever it is, she’s buried it deep. She doesn’t want me or anyone else to find out about it. So thank you for your offer of help – it was kind of you, and I know you well enough to believe that you had the best of intentions, but it’s highly unlikely that you would be able to get anywhere with her.”

  Juliet nodded. “Sorry,” she said again.

  “Don’t keep on apologising: there’s no need. Let’s go and tackle Mr Maichment, shall we?”

  Juliet nodded again, still embarrassed. She guessed that Tim had embarked on this further conversation in order to put her at her ease before they saw Guy, rather than because he was genuinely not offended. She cursed her own impetuosity. It was not the first time that her benevolent instincts had got her into trouble with Tim.

  Guy Maichment’s house had a deserted, almost derelict, air about it, although both of his vehicles were parked on the square of hard standing alongside it. Tim rapped on the door, first with the knocker, then with his knuckles, but no-one came to answer it. He was about to try the back door when Guy himself suddenly rounded the corner carrying a large cardboard box. When he saw Tim, he placed the box carefully on the bonnet of the Land Rover and removed from his mouth the leather tab that bore his car keys, which he had been carrying between his teeth.

  “DI Yates, what a surprise!” he said without enthusiasm. “And your lady colleague, as well. Do you have news of my aunt?” He asked the question in the same sardonic manner that he had put it on the occasion of their last meeting.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Tim mildly, “but we were hoping that perhaps you could spare the time to answer a few more questions. This is DC Armstrong, by the way. I think you have already met.”

  “I believe so,” said Guy, scrutinising Juliet so intently that she felt her colour rising. “What sort of questions and how long will they take? As you can see, I’m somewhat busy at the moment.”

  “I do see,” said Tim. “I hope you’re not thinking of going away, sir? As I mentioned when your aunt first went missing, as her next of kin we need you to stay close by while this enquiry is progressing. You and Miss Halliwell, too, as her other close contact.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not planning to go anywhere with Jane,” Guy Maichment said. His attempt at a joke hung uneasily in the air. “And I’d have told you about the change in my whereabouts if you had not called today. I’m not going far. I’m just going to live on the Herrick Estate for a few weeks, that’s all. I believe that I told you that I had a big contract in the offing? It’s been signed now. It’s to restore all the gardens on Lord Herrick’s estate to how they were in the eighteenth century.”

  “I see. Congratulations. But is it entirely necessary for you to stay there? It can’t be more than half an hour’s drive, surely?”

  “It isn’t absolutely necessary, but I expect to have to get up very early in order to make the most of the daylight. Besides, I understand that his lordship is an early riser and will often want to visit the works before breakfast. Naturally I should prefer to be there myself on such occasions. He has therefore very kindly offered me the loan of one of the estate cottages that is standing empty. I doubt that my temporary change of address will inconvenience you in any way. The Herrick Estate is nearer to Spalding than this house is, should you need to talk to me.”

  “Indeed. You said that you had intended to inform us of this change in your plans and we’re grateful for that. When do you think you might have told us?”

  Guy Maichment looked annoyed.

  “It isn’t a change in my plans – I have known that it was going to happen for several months and I’m certain that I mentioned it to you before. Once the arrangement had been firmed up, I confess that it slipped my mind that I needed to tell you about it, but I should certainly have got round to it. There is a list of people whom I have to inform and you would have featured on it.”

  “Well, we’ve saved you the trouble, now, sir, haven’t we? And we’ll try not to delay you for too long as you’re obviously so busy. We can ask our questions out here. No need to invite us in.”

  Guy Maichment swallowed. Suddenly he seemed nervous.

  “We may as well stay out here. The place is virtually shut up now and there are no nosy neighbours to ‘accidentally’ overhear.”

  “Quite. As you know, we still have no proof that your aunt’s disappearance was the result of foul play, though I would now suggest – and my superior officer agrees with me – that, on balance, she was probably taken away by someone, either with her consent or forcibly. Otherwise I think we should have found her by now.”

  “Are you quite sure of that, Detective Inspector?” Guy was in goading mode again, his tone once more heavy with sarcasm. Tim succeeded in keeping his temper.

  “Not entirely sure, of course not. But I’m reasonably confident that we should have found her if she’d just wandered off, perhaps confused, or if she had met with an accident.”

  Guy’s expression was difficult to read; it was as if he did not know how to react. Eventually he gave one of his shrugs and tried to resume his habitual air of superiority.

  “I’m glad that we appear to have drawn the same conclusion, even though it’s taken a while,” he said, “but I fail to see how this might enable me to help you to pursue your case. Of course, if there is anything more I can do to help you to find my aunt, I shall be only too happy.”

  “I’m quite confident of that,” said Tim. “You may remember that, last time we met, I mentioned that we – I say ‘we’, but it was actually DC Armstrong who carried out the research – had discovered that your aunt had links with some right-wing political groups when she was younger and you told us that you knew nothing of this because it was before your time?”

  “So? That was the truth.”

  “I’m sure that it was the truth, in the sense that you were not born when the political activity of which I speak
was at its height. As I didn’t press the point, I suppose it would have been too much for me to expect that you would volunteer that Jane Halliwell – who, as I’m sure you know, is actually Dr Jane Halliwell – was a lecturer in Politics at Lincoln University when you were a student there.”

  “I did know that; of course I did.”

  “Did you also know that Dr Halliwell has made a particular study of the same right-wing group that your aunt became involved with during the Second World War?”

  “Detective Inspector, as you know I studied landscape gardening at university. I . . .”

  “Before you say any more, I should tell you that DC Armstrong has also unearthed the fact that you made a radical change to your plan of studies when you were at Lincoln. You may have graduated in landscape gardening, but I believe that the course that you originally enrolled in was Twentieth Century Politics? And that Dr Halliwell was your tutor?”

  Guy looked uncomfortable, but his reply was sharp and openly defiant.

  “What if it was? Jane herself tells people that she met Claudia through me. She’s probably said it to you. As for my studies in Politics, I should have thought that it was blatantly obvious that they came to an end long ago. I changed courses. This wasn’t to put up some kind of smokescreen, but because I had become profoundly disillusioned with the subject. I also decided that I wanted to become an expert in something that could be of practical use in making a career. After that initial false start, I haven’t wavered from my chosen course of action, as I think you must agree.”

  Tim ignored this curious half-request for his approval.

  “Tell me, Mr Maichment, are you party to the subject-matter of the book that Dr Halliwell is helping your aunt to write?”

  “Not precisely. I have a vague idea of what it’s about.”

  “Would you say that it could be described as an extension of Dr Halliwell’s own published work?”

  “No. It is not concerned with Jane’s work at all. It is true that it was conceived of by Jane, but as a tribute to Claudia. Jane’s intention has always been to create a maximum opus that will both reflect and commemorate Claudia’s career. Jane will supply the formal academic skills that Claudia lacks in order to give the work the greatest possible credibility.”

  “So you are saying that what Dr Halliwell is providing is no more than general academic guidance and the benefits of her evidently formidable skills as a researcher?”

  “More or less, yes.”

  “And the discipline which she served for the entirety of her academic career was totally irrelevant to Dame Claudia’s decision to engage her?”

  “I really have no opinion on that. I’m not closely enough involved. You would have to ask . . .”

  “Your aunt?”

  “I was going to say that, Inspector. A temporary lapse of concentration, coupled with some wishful thinking, perhaps. And if I may say so, it is a little more than wishful thinking on your part if you think that this line of enquiry can take us any closer to finding her. The way in which you keep prodding away at me and Jane seems to me to be not only vindictive but negligent. I’m going to have to ask Superintendent Little if more can’t be done to speed up this investigation.”

  “You would be quite within your rights to do that, Mr Maichment; as he would be within his either to refuse your request or to endorse it.”

  Guy Maichment gave a slight bow.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get on. I’m starting work at the Herrick Estate tomorrow, so I need to make sure that I have everything there that I need, as well as ensuring that this place is shut up securely.”

  Guy Maichment moved the box that he had deposited from the bonnet to the back of the Land Rover. He placed it carefully alongside several other boxes that had already been lined up there, together with a sports bag and a large oilskin roll, from which the heads of several gardening tools protruded. A collapsible theodolite had been strapped to the side of the sports bag.

  Once his hands were free, Guy placed them on his hips and stood to watch the two police officers start their walk back to Tim’s car. When they had reached the BMW, he jumped into the Land Rover and reversed it off the hard standing, at the same time manoeuvring it so that it faced forward on the track, looking towards the main road. Juliet Armstrong gave one quick backward glance as Tim started up the engine of his car. Guy was still sitting in the driver’s seat of the Land Rover, watching them intently.

  Juliet was silent until they reached the main road. She gripped Tim’s arm.

  “Can you stop at the next lay-by, sir? There’s one in a few hundred yards.”

  “Yes, of course. Is something wrong?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Turning out of the office at the end of her day, Alex decided to visit the flat before she caught the bus back to Holbeach. Suddenly feeling very tired, she was debating whether she should, after all, walk straight to the bus station, when a white van drew up alongside her. The driver opened his window. He was a stocky man with a square, lined face. He was wearing a knitted woollen hat.

  “Excuse me . . .” he said. He had a slight foreign accent.

  Alex turned to face him. At the same instant, an unseen man grabbed both her arms and pinioned them behind her. Her first instinct was to scream, but her invisible assailant, who was very strong, swiftly moved his left hand to cover her mouth. He kneed her in the small of her back.

  “Shut up,” he hissed in her ear. “Don’t make a fuss. I’ve got a knife.”

  The van driver sat and watched. His expression was quizzical, detached.

  Alex was dragged to the back of the van and bundled inside it. She was pushed face down on to a pile of plastic crates. Her wrists were tied behind her back. The smell of fish was offensive. There was a sharp sting in her leg. She collapsed into the darkness.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Tim and Juliet sat and waited in the lay-by until Guy’s Land Rover had rattled past them. If he noticed them, he did not betray it. Juliet saw that his face stared straight ahead. He was frowning slightly, rapt in thought; he was driving too fast for the road.

  They sat motionless for a few minutes longer. Tim started the engine again and turned the car round to head back to Guy’s house. He parked alongside the hard standing. Guy’s Citroen was still there. They both got out of the BMW. Squatting on his haunches, Tim studied the ground underneath the Citroen and saw that Juliet’s sharp-eyed observation had been correct. The earth had been disturbed recently.

  Tim stood up.

  “Well done,” he said. “We need to get digging as soon as possible.”

  “Won’t we need a search warrant?”

  Tim considered for a few seconds.

  “I’d say it was a borderline case for one. The standing is quite a long way from the house, so it would be hard for Maichment to claim that we’re invading the privacy of his home, but we will have to move the vehicle.”

  “What if we don’t find anything and he complains to Superintendent Little?”

  “That’s a risk I’m going to have to take. I don’t want him to come back here until we’ve finished.”

  An hour later, the breakdown truck that Tim had requested arrived. At almost the same time, a police car pulled up alongside it. Two uniformed policemen got out and fetched picks and shovels from the boot. A dog handler’s van turned up a little later.

  Tim was about to give them all instructions when his mobile rang. He saw at once that it was Katrin.

  “Katrin, can I call you back? We’ve just . . .”

  “Tim, listen to me, this is important. I’ve been translating those papers that Juliet sent. My Norwegian isn’t brilliant, but it’s good enough for me to be able to understand that in one of them Dr Berg was writing about genetic experiments.”

  “What do you mean, ‘genetic experiments’? This was well before the discove
ry of DNA, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, but that isn’t what the paper’s about. It’s about some experiments that took place in a children’s home. The children were mostly gypsy or Polish refugees who got separated from their families when they fled from Germany and the Netherlands. She carried out some intelligence tests on them and compared the results with the scores achieved by Norwegian children.”

  “It sounds like another incarnation of the super-race theory that underpins Dame Claudia’s theories about the McRae stone. But you’re not suggesting that Elida Berg was another Mengele? I know that mind games can be as cruel as physical abuse, but normally they don’t endanger life. Is there any suggestion that she also conducted physical experiments on the children?”

  “Not exactly, but . . .”

  “But what?” Tim was conscious that he had raised his voice. “I’m sorry, Katrin. I don’t mean to sound aggressive: it’s just that this is really important.”

  “It’s all right – I know that. No, there’s nothing in the paper – or in any of the papers that she wrote, as far as I can see – to suggest that she was involved in Mengele-like experiments. But I’ve done a little bit of additional research of my own. I’ve dug up some contemporary newspaper articles and I’ve also found an old cinema newsreel. The home for child refugees where she carried out the intelligence tests was burned down shortly after she finished her work there. She was suspected of arson, or at least of plotting with others to set fire to it, but the police were unable to find concrete proof and the case was dropped quite quickly. Nevertheless, that is why she disappeared. No-one has heard from her since then – the year was 1947 – although equally there is no evidence that she died at that time. She could have lived for many decades afterwards under an assumed name. She spoke several languages and could have found less high-profile academic work in another European country – as a teacher, say. At the end of the war and for several years afterwards there were so many homeless people trying to prove their identities that an intelligent woman like her would have had little difficulty in acquiring a new set of papers. She probably had influential friends who could help her, as well. It’s improbable that she’s still alive now, though not impossible. If she is, she would be about ten years older than Claudia McRae, which would make her 102 or 103.”