‘I know you don’t approve of Aunt Rachel’s attitude towards the baby, Harry, but, well, I quite like the attention … if I’m being honest …’ her voice dissolved away, ‘… you know, a bit of fuss?’
‘Of course you do, and nobody deserves being made a fuss of more than you. Take no notice of me. I understand you needing company right now, really. But there’s always me, you know.’
‘I know, darling, but it’s hardly the same and I don’t want Jeffrey to feel he’s … well … sharing me.’
‘He’s not.’
And he wouldn’t; the ‘keep off the grass’ sign was clearly in place.
Both of us knew Annabel’s pregnancy had irretrievably placed her in the ‘do not touch’ category.
‘But if you’re only a handful of miles away, why not do a detour and call in? I’m sure Leo would be delighted. And, talking of the pampered puss, thanks for feeding him while I was stuck in hospital.’ She laughed; her spirits were never down for long.
‘No thanks needed. I suppose I could drop in for a coffee, just a quick one. I don’t want to be too late getting back home. I don’t think it’s going to snow but it’s certainly very icy on the roads.’
‘I’ll leave it up to you. But we’d love your company.’
‘Bless you, Harry. I really don’t know what I’d do without you being around. See you in a few minutes.’ She rang off.
I stared down at the mobile. Did she really feel like that? She’d never said so before. To know I meant a lot to her warmed me inside. I lay back with a pillow cushioning my head and closed my eyes, savouring the feeling. Leo, disturbed by my movements, stirred, stretched and then resumed his purring. He didn’t know it yet but he was in for a treat.
So was I.
Drowsy from the ‘feel-good factor’ Annabel’s words had engendered, coupled with the seductive warmth, I’d slipped gently, without realizing it, into a non-drug induced, natural healing sleep. The fragmented stuff you got in hospital couldn’t be compared in any way with sleep at home.
A spitting hiss from Leo, as he dug sharp claws into my belly, brought life back into focus fast. I wished it hadn’t. A rough hand encircled my throat and Jake Smith thrust his face within an inch of my own.
‘Told you before, Harry boy,’ he rasped, ‘you can starve if you want, I’m fucking well not.’
I struggled to loosen his grip and couldn’t, tried to get a word out and couldn’t. I couldn’t even breathe.
His fingers tightened like a vice. I struggled ineffectually against the strength of the man. His fingers were buried in the flesh of my neck and it was as useless as trying to prise open the clamped jaws of a bull terrier. Mike’s words about guard dogs came into my mind as I kicked out wildly, trying to loosen his grip. God, if only Leo had been a German shepherd.
My head started to swim. I began to thrash about. Whatever damage it was doing to my already battered brain was incidental now in trying to get breath into my lungs. If Jake Smith, believing I’d left him to starve, really was intent on finishing me off, this was looking like a one-way only game – and he was winning.
My lungs were filled with liquid fire, fighting for oxygen, my heart pounding madly, struggling to keep me alive. But the agonizing iron bands holding me tight, squeezing my chest, were merciless. My sight was just an in-and-out red haze now. With sharp fear, I knew I was losing it.
Jake had dragged me up from the settee, was tossing me around the lounge. We lurched from wall to wall but already my legs were going. Once I was down on the floor, that would be it.
Then I felt Jake stumble. There was a hideous screeching caterwaul and Leo leapt up between us; all four paws, with grappling irons, dug into Jake’s chest. The cat’s lacerating claws flashed up at the man’s face. The vicious strikes were a blur as he ripped again and again into the skin and flesh, leaving tattered red ribbons hanging.
Jake, screaming with pain, let go of me and grabbed for the cat. But Leo was too quick for him and jumped to safety on the top of the bookcase.
Vaguely, I was aware of someone rushing into the lounge from the hall, but I was rolling around on the floor, coughing and retching, desperately trying to force oxygen back into my tortured lungs. Gasping some precious air, I managed to get to my knees and heard Annabel screaming at Jake.
‘You bloody, stupid sod! If you’ve caused more damage to Harry’s head I’ll have you charged with attempted murder.’
‘I wasn’t trying to kill the fucker, you stupid cow, just give him a frightener,’ Jake yelled, his face dripping blood. ‘If I wanted to finish him he’d be dead now, believe it!’
And I certainly did. I’d really thought he’d been intent on killing me.
Meanwhile, Leo, seeing the door was open, jumped down from the bookcase and fled. I didn’t blame him. He’d saved me, and the cottage, once before; tonight was the second time. By God, I owed that cat.
Annabel whirled away from Jake to where I was on my knees, legs like jelly, hanging on to the furniture.
‘Let’s get you on to the settee.’ Thrusting an arm under my shoulders, she helped me up. ‘Come on, darling, lay your head back … on to the cushion … that’s right.’
Now the real threat of dying was over, I shared her concern for what damage might have been done to my head.
‘Sit quietly, Harry. I’ll pour a glass of water.’ She peered closely at my throat. ‘You’ve bright red wheals all over – it must be really sore.’ She disappeared briefly and returned with a drink.
Gingerly, I massaged my throat. She was quite right – bloody sore was an understatement. Drinking was absolute purgatory.
Unnoticed, Jake Smith had taken himself off to the kitchen and now returned with a blood-soaked wad of kitchen paper. The lacerations to his face were deep and still bleeding.
‘I wasn’t fucking well going to kill him …’
‘No?’ Her voice was high with shock and anxiety. ‘You very nearly did, you maniac.’
‘Lost my rag a bit. I’d have let go of him in a minute or two. But that bastard cat … tripped me up.’ He glared round at the bookcase but Leo was long gone.
Annabel squared up to him, eyes blazing with anger. ‘If that cat comes to any harm,’ she spat the words at him and emphasized them by jabbing a stiff forefinger into his chest, ‘believe me, you will regret it.’
Just what she thought she could do against a convicted GBH criminal, I’d no idea, but both Jake and I could feel the blistering fury behind her words.
He backed away, raised a palm. ‘OK, OK, keep your britches on.’
Her hands went instinctively, protectively, to her swelled belly.
‘Come here, Annabel, it’s over,’ I croaked. ‘Don’t distress yourself; we don’t want any harm coming to the baby.’
‘No.’ She sat down suddenly beside me, ‘No, we don’t.’
‘Yours is it then, Harry?’ Jake said slyly.
‘Just bugger off,’ Annabel flared.
‘Oh, oh, touchy …’
‘You know damn well the baby’s not mine,’ I said.
‘Well, seems like you’re concerned for its future. Bit odd that, another man’s kid.’
‘My baby, my baby, is not an “it”.’
‘But he,’ Jake nodded in my direction and his voice now held a cold, threatening edge as he added, ‘seems keen to see it born.’
There was a long pause. Annabel was unaware of his threat to her and the unborn child but he was reminding me nothing had changed. If I didn’t come up with the killer’s name and get him off the hook, they were both still targets.
‘The baby will certainly be born – and safely.’ I challenged Jake to deny it.
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘I’ve had enough of this conversation.’ Annabel stood up. She pointed her finger at Jake. ‘Have you seen where Leo puts his claws? If I were you, I’d get some antiseptic on those scratches.’
‘Huh, not fucking likely. That stuff hurts too bloody much.’
‘I see.’ She smiled nastily at him. ‘You can hand it out but you can’t take it.’
I lurched to my feet and came between them. ‘I think you should head home, Annabel. Jeffrey will be sending out a search party if you don’t.’
She looked directly into my eyes and I read the puzzlement. Jeffrey, far from being at home, was down in London. She knew that, so did I – she also knew I knew.
‘Last thing we want right now,’ I continued, ‘is anyone turning up on the doorstep who might report Jake’s whereabouts to the police when they’re out looking for him as we speak.’
She cottoned on. ‘Yes, better get off. Now, you’re sure you’re all right, Harry?’
‘Dead sure. Off you go. And take it slowly with the icy roads.’
I showed her out to the car and kissed her goodbye. Under cover of the kiss I whispered in her ear, ‘Not a word to anybody that he’s here, OK?’
‘OK,’ she murmured, ‘but I want the full story later.’ Then, raising her voice, said, ‘Bye, Harry. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow – see how you’re going on.’
And she drove out of the gate and away down the freezing lane.
NINE
I watched her car’s red tail lights disappear, then I went back into the cottage.
‘You can’t stay here, Jake.’ I was expecting a flat refusal but his reply totally threw me.
‘Wasn’t going to. Expect the police will be here in the next day or two – when it happens.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll hear about it soon enough.’
‘Look, I’m not getting done for harbouring you.’
‘Calm down, Harry boy. They’re not coming about that. Anyway, you’re driving me – and a load of grub – back to that studio place tonight.’
I gaped at him. ‘No way, I wouldn’t trust myself driving.’
‘Why the bloody hell not?’ Jake scowled at me.
‘Because I only got out of hospital a few hours ago. That’s the reason I couldn’t bring you any food. Came off, didn’t I, at Wetherby. I’ve been stuck in hospital ever since.’
‘What with?’
‘Severe concussion. I’ve been completely out, like a blown light bulb.’
‘That’s why you never showed up with any dinner?’
‘Yes.’
He gave a low chuckle. ‘Don’t knock it. Even if you don’t need it, you’ve got yourself a great alibi.’
‘An alibi for what?’
‘I’m not telling you, but you’ll find out.’
I stared at him. ‘You said the police aren’t coming because of you. So, what are they coming for then?’
‘And I told you.’ He thrust his face close to mine. ‘I’m not saying. You’ll find out.’ He drew back, chuckling unpleasantly. ‘But you won’t like it, I guarantee that.’
I shook my head slowly. ‘Aren’t you in enough trouble?’
‘Yeah, and who was it that dropped me in the shit, eh?’
‘Did I have a choice?’
‘Well, right now you don’t have a choice. Knock me up some food.’ He held up a hand. ‘Don’t say there isn’t any. You’ve got eggs, OK?’
We both had double scrambled eggs.
We both then hit the sack.
And the next morning, I drove Jake back to Burton Lazars. Mike, the good mate that he was, had had the broken window repaired. When you needed someone to rely on, if you couldn’t operate yourself, he was the best.
Predictably, when I got back to the cottage, Leo was sitting beside his empty food bowl. He knew the danger was past and he was hungry. I filled his dish then made a mug of scalding tea.
Taking it upstairs, I detoured to the bathroom for the painkillers. My head was drumming hard enough to summon the entire Apache tribes. Dragging off my clothes, I sat in bed, knocked back two tablets and gulped down the tea. Then I let the rest of the day take care of itself while I caught up on quality sleep. I didn’t bother getting up for dinner – there was no point. There wasn’t any food in the cottage – it was all over at Nathaniel’s studio.
At one point I was aware of Leo joining me under the duvet.
‘I owe you, mate,’ I murmured drowsily, smoothing his silky fur. ‘When I get some food tomorrow, the first thing I’ll buy will be the biggest tin of pilchards I can get my hands on.’
He purred contentedly and tucked himself in deeper.
The next morning was a vast improvement. The Indians had claimed their drums and hightailed out.
I padded downstairs, grabbed the morning papers – one broadsheet plus the Racing Post – made tea and toast and took everything through to the lounge. I slobbed on the settee and enjoyed the peace. Chewing the last slice of toast, I opened the newspaper.
The headline stood out. Jake was quite right. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Two men, on remand, awaiting trial, had been found dead. They were the men involved in Carl Smith’s murder at Leicester racecourse. And I was the man who had solved the murder, the man responsible for putting them away. Now they were dead. I felt very cold; my emotions went into overdrive. The ongoing ripples from their deaths were going to affect a lot of people: Samuel and Chloe; the horse-box driver, John Dunston, one of the deceased had been a member of his family. Victor and his family, Darren Goode, maybe … I was convinced these were link-ups to Alice’s murder. And of course Annabel, Mike, myself, the list ran on … I found myself wondering what Matron at Silvie’s nursing home was thinking. Jake’s dad, Fred Smith – did he suspect Jake’s involvement? The puzzle was like an octopus, tentacles spreading everywhere. Man was certainly not an island – these were connecting pieces of a jigsaw that all joined together.
I was beginning to catch a tantalizing glimpse of the picture but there was a long way to go before it became clear. Darren Goode, Alice’s husband, when I’d visited him in Nottingham prison, had told me Jake Smith had a long reach and, whether in prison or out, it didn’t make any difference. If Jake wanted you dead, it was a given. And although Jake Smith hadn’t personally killed them, he had certainly given the orders. Carl had been his younger brother.
At that moment, I realized how lucky I was that he didn’t want me dead. Understood why he thought the police might call. It was an odds-on certainty they would. What questions they might ask me was the unknown. And if they also asked if I’d seen Jake or knew where he was … well, since I couldn’t shop him, it was also a certainty that I’d be digging myself in deeper by denying all knowledge.
Two choices: go to ground for a second day running or take off and stay away.
I was feeling much better and lying around in bed wasn’t appealing; if I wasn’t careful it could get to be a habit. But I couldn’t go to the stables – work was out. So, where did I take myself off to?
I supposed I could go and check out the flower shop in Grantham that had supplied the white roses. But there must be something more important I could do. Time off from racing was precious. I needed to make the best use of it.
If I could progress forward in trying to find out the name of Alice’s killer, it would placate Jake. I was well aware the only reason why he didn’t finish the job the other night was because he needed me. But he was expecting a result. And the name wasn’t going to come to me, I needed to get out and ask questions, try and link up any suspects. Jake was right. I had done it before, ergo, I could do it again – perhaps.
I leaned across the desk and retrieved the piece of paper Jake Smith had left me. I’d read it before downing the painkillers; it hadn’t made any sense then. I reread it. It still didn’t make sense. Basically, it was what he remembered from the pillow talk between Alice and himself. He felt it was important that she’d let slip a confidence imparted to her from a previous punter. Jake’s theory was that it was blackmail material.
The cryptic message said: I hope you’re not going to reveal the follies of callow youth. Not after playing cat and mouse all these years.
This was followed by what Alice had repl
ied. Cat and two mice – with a piece of cheese.
Jake had no idea who she’d been speaking to. But he wasn’t making it up, I was sure of that. The phrasing of the first quote immediately ruled him out. Flowery, definitely flowery, it singled out the man who had said it as being an educated man. Someone Alice had known for a very long time by the sound of it. From as far back as schooldays, maybe. No, that didn’t ring true; Alice would doubtless have been educated in a state school, secondary modern maybe, depending on how old she was. I thought back to the first time I met her. It had struck me then that she was a good deal older than she both dressed and acted. It was difficult with women to actually make a halfway decent guess. And in her ‘profession’, it was crucial to appear as young as possible for as long as possible; any hint of being beyond her ‘sell-by date’ and she’d be out of business.
The man, however, may have attended a grammar school or even gone to a private one. But their paths had met up, with a dodgy outcome by the sound of it.
I wondered if Alice had any children. She was married to Darren; they could have had offspring. It spawned the thought: had she any children apart from Darren’s? It was the first and most obvious explanation of youthful follies. But it was a bit late to drop a paternity claim on the man’s head. The child would be grown up by now.
I suppose it might have blackmail mileage if the man was happily married and didn’t want it imploding. But if he was happily married, why should he go elsewhere looking for pleasure, and particularly with a prostitute?
I shook my head. It simply didn’t gel. And the words Alice had replied lent themselves to almost any interpretation.
Leo jumped up on to the settee beside me. Absently, I stroked his head while I brooded on the problem. Leo was a tom but generally, when you thought of a cat, it was of a female, a queen. The word cat in the quotation, I felt, was meant to be female, a woman. In fact, Alice, herself.
That presupposed the mouse, or as she’d put it, two mice, must be men. And it wasn’t a long jump from there to assume they were probably both clients of hers. Which meant both men were long-standing acquaintances. Which could also mean they might know each other.
Dead Reckoning Page 6
