Dead Reckoning

by Glenis Wilson

  ‘And so am I,’ said a voice behind us.

  ‘Samuel’ – Mike swung round – ‘good to see you. Have a seat. What are you drinking?’

  ‘Not a lot since I’m driving today. But a pint would sit well.’ Samuel turned to me as Mike motioned to the barman, tapped his glass and held up an index finger. ‘Glad to hear you’re on the mend, Harry. Best news I’ve heard since a couple of days ago.’

  I cast a glance at Mike to see if he had caught Samuel’s drift. He obviously hadn’t – bewilderment was spread across his face.

  ‘It’s the reason Chloe didn’t come with me today,’ Samuel went on. ‘Had the police round to see us, asking if we knew anything. It upset her quite a bit. ’Course, we didn’t know anything – nothing to help them at all. Reading between the lines, I don’t think they’ve got a clue.’

  ‘What are we talking about?’ Mike’s eyebrows had raised themselves to his hairline at the mention of police calling at the house.

  ‘You must have seen it, I mean to say it was in all the papers, on television …’

  ‘Samuel means the deaths of the two prisoners.’

  ‘Oh, yes, the Leicester races murder. But I wouldn’t say it was good news. I know the authorities are floundering, or seem to be; can’t exactly make a case for murder but they can’t seem to get to the bottom of it either. In any case, it’s still basically two unexplained deaths.’

  ‘Well, that’s your personal opinion, Mike, and I respect that, I do, but from my perspective, and I’m sure Chloe’s, it’s a swift end to the whole dreadful matter.’

  I’d not mentioned the deaths to Mike so his opinion was new to me. I suppose my own feelings fell somewhere in the middle. Yes, there was relief that, as Samuel had said, it had put a quick end to the horrible affair. And if anyone was going to be dancing on their graves because of what they’d done, I was the most likely candidate. However, I wasn’t a vindictive man. Certainly didn’t wish to be one. Hatred was a self-destructive emotion. But I could appreciate Samuel’s strong feelings. He was Chloe’s father and suffering the fallout along with her. Just what Chloe thought about this latest shocking development was her own business.

  What I had no intention of disclosing was Jake Smith’s involvement. No way did I condone his behaviour. Frankly, he scared the hell out of me. The sooner I could free myself the sooner I’d sleep easy at night.

  ‘Anyway,’ Samuel continued, ‘the police didn’t stay long. Seemed satisfied we didn’t know anything.’

  And that, I decided, would be my own answer if they turned up at the cottage.

  ‘Thinking of having a bit of a get-together at my place,’ Mike said. ‘Haven’t decided what night – soon, though. When are you and your wife and Chloe free?’

  ‘Nothing on at all this week, old man. Although next week’s a bit trickier.’

  ‘Not to worry, make it Wednesday, eh?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll clear it with them but I don’t think there’s anything booked in the diary.’

  ‘Great. Oh, and feel free to bring a friend if you like.’

  Samuel chuckled. ‘Go on, say it. And a few bottles.’

  ‘Right.’ Mike laughed.

  ‘Talking of friends, Victor Maudsley was asking if we’d like to make up a four at golf on Saturday. ’Course, if you’re busy racing it would prove a bit difficult. What do you say?’

  Mike looked at me. ‘You’re not booked to ride yet, are you, Harry?’

  ‘No. I’m waiting on the doc’s say so. Can’t be long now, surely.’

  ‘In that case, make the most of your enforced freedom. I’m sure eighteen holes at North Shore golf course would be just what he’d advise.’

  ‘Go on, Harry,’ Mike joined in. ‘All rest without play’s boring.’

  I raised a placating palm. ‘I’m outnumbered. Count me in.’

  ‘Good, good. So, Mike, how did the new horse perform this morning?’

  I sat back and let them discuss the merits of Samuel’s horses. The mention of Victor’s name had flashed up a reminder that I’d meant to ask him if he was the person responsible for leaving the white roses on my mother’s grave. If we were spending the day in each other’s company on Saturday, I could no doubt find a suitable opening to slip my question in.

  However, it might be wiser to make the trip over to Grantham while I had spare time and ask at the flower shop first. It seemed the wisest course and could save me making a complete prat of myself.

  And while I was over in that neck of the woods, maybe I could have words with Edward Frame. He lived near Grantham. I’d first met him while attending a golfing spree combined with attending his niece, Lucinda’s wedding at North Shore Hotel. Edward had freely and happily informed me he’d been one of Alice’s clients.

  That was before the happiness of the occasion was completely obliterated by the horror of what happened later that evening. As I knew only too well. It had been sod’s law operating beautifully. I’d been the person who found the body.

  I sipped some mineral water and thought about the quotes on the piece of paper that Jake had given me. There was the slimmest chance that Edward might be the second mouse, although I doubted it. But he had been one of Alice’s clients. I’d completely forgotten about his revelations regarding the website, ‘daddydating’, which was where he’d met Alice. So, even if he wasn’t the second mouse, it was possible he might know the man’s identity.

  I was shaken from my thoughts by The Great Escape theme playing tunefully in my jacket pocket. Excusing myself to Mike and Samuel, I answered the mobile on my way outside.

  ‘Hi, Uncle George. You and Aunt Rachel OK?’

  ‘Never better, son. And how’s the head?’

  ‘Good as ever.’

  ‘Not back racing, though, eh?’

  ‘No, unfortunately.’

  ‘On the contrary. You’ve no excuse to avoid coming out for a meal with us.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of thinking up an excuse, Uncle George.’

  ‘Take that as a yes, then. Rachel will be pleased.’

  ‘Where and when?’

  ‘We were thinking of the Dirty Duck at Woolsthorpe. The when, we’ll leave to you. We’re free any time.’

  ‘Be good to have a catch up. How about on Sunday?’

  ‘Sounds fine. Meet you there, say, at one o’clock?’

  ‘I’ll be there … regards to Aunt Rachel. Bye.’

  It didn’t occur to me until I’d put the mobile back into my pocket to ask if it was just the three of us eating. With a sinking feeling, I wondered if Aunt Rachel had it in mind to ask Annabel. Now, with the baby coming, my aunt seemed determined to bring me into situations where I couldn’t avoid meeting my wife. I just hoped if Annabel received an invitation to join us, she would refuse.

  Her pregnancy had killed any fragile hope that, maybe, our future might still be linked. It was a pity Aunt Rachel was taking the opposite view. She seemed to have blocked out Sir Jeffrey’s part in the baby’s conception. I felt my shoulders draw up at the thought, and it told me a lot. It wasn’t fair criticizing Aunt Rachel for not letting go when I was still hopelessly enmeshed.

  Mentally, I gave myself a shake. What I needed was work. But since my usual work was off limits right now, I decided to cut short my lunch with Mike and head off for Grantham. The personal approach was likely to produce more results than telephoning. I slipped back inside the pub.

  ‘Something I have to do, Mike. I’ll give you a bell tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine.’ He raised a hand.

  ‘See you again, Harry.’ Samuel smiled absently before continuing his conversation.

  I nosed the Mazda cross-country through Harlaxton and found a spare parking space in Grantham. Since Margaret Thatcher’s death, with the attendant reflected glory and publicity, the town seemed to have experienced a resurgence of local pride and projected an almost tangible optimism. I hoped it would continue. The whole country needed a positive boost. People were sick to death of scraping by –
they needed hope. Maybe it was the way forward for everyone in each individual town and village to be proud of where they lived. It certainly seemed to be working in Grantham. Frontages had been painted, shop-window displays were vibrant and eye-catching. As I walked along the High Street I felt my own spirits lift. I was glad I’d taken the decision to come in person, not simply phone.

  The Trug Basket flower shop was awash with colour. Sturdy stemmed bronze Chrysanthemums in tall vases flanked the entrance, their perfume mingling with the other flowers ranked in multi-coloured tier upon tier, created a heady, intoxicating perfume.

  ‘Can I be of help, sir?’ A poised young woman, probably in her late twenties, appeared from a rear doorway.

  ‘I certainly hope so.’

  She smiled and waited.

  I decided to dive in. ‘Your shop supplies roses, I believe?’

  ‘Oh, yes, people love roses, they’re one of our bestselling flowers.’

  ‘Do you sell white roses?’

  ‘Of course, if it’s what someone asks for. We try to give our customers a fully personalized service.’ She began to blush. ‘Forgive me, but are you … are you Harry Radcliffe, the jockey?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  She smiled prettily, the blush staining her cheeks. ‘It’s a pleasure to have your custom.’

  ‘I saw your card on a spray of white roses just a short while ago. Well, the fourth of November, to be exact. Can I ask, do you keep records of sales?’

  Her smile wavered. ‘Are you checking up on me?’

  ‘No, please, don’t worry. It’s simply a personal thing. I need to contact the gentleman who placed the order. Can you tell me who it was?’

  She shook her head regretfully. ‘Even if I’d like to help, I can’t. You know, of course, about data protection?’

  I nodded. ‘But could you give me any idea … you know, roughly where the man lived? Not the full address. I understand I can’t ask you to do that, but some indication … anything?’

  As I was speaking, she’d taken an order book from beneath the counter and was flipping through. Coming to the right page, she ran a pink-tipped nail down the list, then halted.

  ‘Have you found the person that placed the order?’

  She nodded slowly, biting on her lower lip. ‘Don’t tell anyone, will you? I could get into a lot of trouble …’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Well, the person didn’t live locally – not in Grantham.’ She lifted her gaze from the page and stared at me. ‘But it wasn’t a man, it was a woman.’

  FIFTEEN

  I was mulling over what the flower-shop girl had said all the way to Wilsford. It was totally unexpected, a woman being responsible for writing those enigmatic words on the card. How on earth did that fit in? I should have had the courage to ask you long ago. Too late for us now …? I’d thought the obvious as I’d knelt beside my mother’s grave. A former lover must have sent the flowers. But a woman … and even more unbelievable, a woman and my mother? OK, in today’s anything goes world it wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, but back then it was hidden, shocking and totally unmentioned.

  Just the fact a woman had sent Mother’s favourite flowers had left me shell-shocked. If the woman proved to have been a lover. What if the truth turned out to be something else? Could it possibly have been a secretary, sent by her boss? I felt myself clutching tight hold to this possible straw as a viable theory. It was possible. A damn sight more feasible than my mother having a female lover.

  One thing was clear – the address hadn’t been in Grantham. At least the florist had fed me that little crumb. Well, if it was a secretary, that seemed to discount Victor as prime suspect – face it, Radcliffe, the only suspect. Victor didn’t have a secretary. He was retired. I groaned aloud. I was really floundering now. Just who the hell could it be?

  One way of finding out occurred to me. I knew where the order book was kept that had the name written down in it. One quick glance would tell me all I needed to know. I even knew the page number. As the florist had run her finger down the column of names and addresses, I’d casually lent over the counter and just managed to read the number upside down. Mother’s admirer was listed on page twenty-three. But to access the order book meant a spot of breaking and entering. Giving myself a mental shake, I quashed the thought. I’d been around Jake Smith too much. The criminal mentality was beginning to rub off. I was in enough trouble with the police now, albeit they hadn’t sussed it yet. Any further illegal activities were a no-no. However, if a break-in was not on the cards a walk-in was legitimate. So, just how did I manage that?

  How about I rang The Trug Basket, asked the florist out for a drink, say, straight after work? I remembered that blush spreading over her pretty face. She had fancied me. Sometimes being ‘famous’ had its plusses. Fame spelled power and the effect that had on females was well known. It was a fair bet she’d say yes. Really, Radcliffe, the depths you are sinking to, I chided myself. But it seemed like the only way to stand a chance of learning the unknown woman’s name. And it wouldn’t be any hardship, taking her out for a drink … she was a lovely-looking filly.

  I wrestled with my conscience right up to the moment I saw the signpost reading Wilsford. Then I pulled in off the A52 and cut the Mazda’s engine. Fishing in my wallet, I took out the innocent business card and tapped the number of the flower shop into my mobile. It rang several times before a female voice answered. I recognized it instantly.

  ‘Would that be the young lady who sells white roses?’

  Her gasp of surprise, quickly smothered, was clearly audible. There was no doubt she knew who it was. I could already imagine that pretty, betraying blush pinking her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, that’s Mr Harry Radcliffe, isn’t it?’

  ‘It surely is.’

  ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

  ‘First, tell me your name.’

  She hesitated. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, you have the advantage, haven’t you? It’s a little unfair if I don’t know who I’m speaking to.’

  ‘Oh, I see … yes … my name’s Georgia.’

  ‘As in the song?’

  She laughed, ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a lovely name.’

  ‘You said first … what comes second?’ She was recovering fast.

  I got in quickly. ‘I think you’re an attractive lady. Could I take you out for a drink when you finish work tonight?’

  Another partially smothered gasp. ‘I’m very flattered, Mr Radcliffe—’

  ‘Harry, not sir or Radcliffe – just Harry.’

  ‘I finish at about a quarter to six. Well, the shop actually closes at five thirty but I have to bring in all the display flowers and top up the water.’

  ‘I’ll be there at five thirty, give you a hand to carry in the heavy mob.’

  She giggled. ‘Wouldn’t you rather pick me up later, when I’ve had chance to shower and change?’

  I sighed. ‘Can’t do, sorry. I’m only free for the early part of the evening. And since I’m already in Grantham …’ I let the sentence run out.

  ‘Of course, I understand; you must be very busy.’

  ‘Hmmm … .’ I hoped excitement, curiosity, or whatever was taking her fancy wouldn’t let her off the hook. She knew it was now or probably never.

  ‘I’ll see you at the shop, then,’ she said.

  ‘Great,’ I said. And I meant to keep my side of the bargain by giving her an enjoyable hour or two. ‘Have a think where you’d like to go – doesn’t have to be in Grantham itself.’

  ‘There’s a very nice place in Woolsthorpe. Would that be too far out of your way? You did say you’re only free for a short time.’

  ‘Woolsthorpe would suit me just fine.’

  ‘OK … and … thank you, Harry.’

  ‘Nonsense. Look forward to it.’

  I slid the card and mobile back into my pocket. Caution would be needed not to lead her on, give her any ongoing ideas. It wouldn’t be fair.
I already felt a bit of a heel for using her in this way. Still, as long as she enjoyed herself over the drinks, it was the best I could do. I started the car engine. It could prove tricky getting a look at page twenty-three. She would need to be distracted but I was determined to find out the name.

  I drove straight on through Wilsford. There was only one main road, past The Crown pub, down a winding country lane and out into the countryside.

  Edward Frame lived and operated from a converted barn, part of what used to be a working arable farm but which had now been sold off into several lots, the buildings all extensively renovated to top level and, no doubt, top price.

  I parked the Mazda close to the stable door-type entrance, except your common or garden one usually wasn’t made from solid English oak with a preponderance of iron studs and incredibly ornate locks and hinges. There was even a thick, black oxide-painted chain to tug upon if you wanted to gain access. I tugged. The distant peal of a bell would have done service for Westminster Abbey. The oak drawbridge opened and Edward appeared.

  ‘Ha … yes … Harry.’ I’d rung earlier to check he’d be at home and available. ‘Come in.’

  Obviously he didn’t think I’d called on a business matter. Instead of leading me to an office, he opened a door that revealed a stupendous lounge. It seemed to spread forever and could have accommodated half of London’s fleet of buses. ‘You’d never guess it was used to store grain, would you?’ His expression was one of happy, smug ownership.

  ‘No,’ I agreed, ‘it’s magnificent.’

  ‘Alice loved to visit for the weekend. She called it Buckingham Palace …’ His smile died away. ‘I told you about Alice … you remember, Harry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ghastly business.’ He shook his head. ‘Who in God’s name would wish her dead, eh? Do you think it was a maniac?’

  ‘I don’t know, Edward.’

  ‘You found her, didn’t you? It was on the news.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Any ideas? I mean, you were the man who found the golf course killer. I don’t think the police would have done.’