Dead Reckoning

by Glenis Wilson

  Pulling in beside the kerb at a deserted bus stop, I let the stream of back traffic overtake me. I was banking on tiredness and hunger motivating the drivers to hurry on home. A gap presented and, taking advantage, I drove the last fifty yards unobserved and thankfully swung off the main road and parked between the comforting, discreetly obscuring holly hedges.

  Jake was his usual charming self. He flung open the door and barely let me get through before snatching the aromatic parcel from my hand.

  ‘Christ! I’m starving.’ He dropped down on to the old couch and began stuffing vinegary chips into his mouth. ‘Pass us the knife an’ fork, Harry boy.’ He pointed a greasy finger at the drawer containing the cutlery.

  No word of thanks for the food; just an assumption I’d do as he commanded had raised my hackles but there was no sense in antagonizing him. I’d already, on the way here, decided I’d have to tell him about Fred’s condition. And that bit of news was enough on its own to antagonize the hell out of him.

  I didn’t have a choice really. My scheme of calling in a district nurse to help Fred hadn’t even made the first furlong marker. And since I was no doctor, the only thing left was to do as Annabel had stated: take him to A&E.

  Letting the beast feed first, I braced myself for the nuclear explosion to come.

  While Jake munched, I made a couple of builders’ mugs using the milk from a big plastic bottle I’d also brought. Holding one out, he took it gracelessly.

  I bit back my resentment and thought of the very few days left now, hopefully, until I discovered the name of Alice’s killer and could be rid of the man. I leaned against the wall and looked out over the dark garden. It was amazing we had avoided the police getting even a sniff of what we were up to. But that luck couldn’t last. And now, because of Fred, the odds were stacked against us. The chance of the police’s continuing innocence was becoming more and more slender as each day passed.

  The sound of a well-aimed ball of paper hitting the waste bin alerted me to Jake’s hunger being appeased. I turned to face him, saw he was watching me.

  ‘So?’

  I shrugged. ‘What?’

  ‘The old man. How’s he doing? You did bloody go, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I went.’

  ‘Aaand?’ He had risen slowly to his feet, eyes narrowed.

  ‘I’m not pulling wool. He’s bad. Isn’t eating by the look of it. He’s smoking which makes him cough. But when he does, he’s coughing up some blood—’

  ‘Fucking hell! And you just left him like that? You shitbag …’

  His fist smashed into my face, knocking me backwards. I went sprawling, cannoning into the wall.

  ‘Get up, you arsehole!’ he screamed. ‘What y’waitin’ for? Start the fucking car.’

  I levered myself upright, rubbing blood away from where it was trickling from a cut under my eye. ‘Where’re we going?’

  ‘Where do y’bloody think? We’re going to Newark.’

  ‘And if the police are staking out your dad’s house, what then?’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck. I’ll take the bastards out before I let them get me.’

  He seized hold of my right wrist, wrenched my arm up agonizingly behind my back and frogmarched me out of the door into the black night.

  Putting his lips near my ear, he hissed, ‘And the first one to die will be you, Radcliffe.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Not a word was spoken on the entire journey. The cut on my face had stopped bleeding and was merely a sore reminder of Jake’s temper. I’d got away lightly and I knew it. His lashing out was because he felt impotent to help his father and I just happened to be the nearest person on which to vent his frustration. But that was before he actually saw Fred. Depending on how the old man was, things could get very ugly.

  I drove slowly up the street and past Fred’s house, pulling in and parking beside the kerb at the midway point between two street lamps. The second one along had a dodgy bulb and wasn’t lit. It left my car in a smudge of darkness. From any distance, it would be very difficult to read the number plate. The inhabitants of the houses on both sides were totally invisible behind drawn curtains. The street itself was empty.

  Jake and I exchanged a mutually conspiratorial glance and each of us reached for a door handle. In seconds, we’d legged it back to Fred’s house and slid inside unobstructed by any lock.

  ‘Fucking hell! What a stink.’ Jake pulled a face.

  And it was: best described as an overused urinal at a stag do, but worse – much worse. The odour rolled over us like an unwelcome wave, filling nostrils, curdling stomachs.

  Was this the smell inside Alice’s house? Matthews had emphasized how bad it was. But no, I’d asked if it could have been caused by loss of bodily control and he’d said definitely not. Something else entirely, something, possibly, like rotting or burning straw? That made no sense. But he’d been unable to account for what was causing the offending smell. It might not be the same as the one in Fred’s house but this was certainly offending.

  ‘Dad! Dad, where are you?’ Jake projected the words in a loud, hoarse whisper. There had been no signs of any police around but both of us were extremely twitchy.

  ‘Dad!’ he rasped urgently.

  ‘Last time I was here, Fred was in his chair in the lounge.’

  Jake cast a swift glance at me and led the way.

  Fred was still in the same position as when I’d left him. The glass of milk was untouched beside him as well as the rest of the brandy. The two further painkillers I’d given him were on the side table, still in their wrapper.

  ‘Dad, o’my God, Dad …’

  Jake flung himself across the room and slid to his knees on the floor beside Fred. He seized his father’s hand, shook him a little.

  ‘Dad, come on, Dad, it’s me, Jake. Wake up.’

  There was no reaction whatsoever. I noted the slight rise and fall of the skeletal-thin chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive.

  Then I noticed the trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, tracking its way between the growth of stubble and staining his shirt collar.

  Jake shook him again, more roughly now.

  ‘Wake up, Dad. Come on, try. I’ve come to see you. It’s Jake.’

  I was about to intervene, knowing I’d get blasted but was concerned for the old man, when Fred’s eyes opened.

  ‘Aaargh … Jake … y’ve come.’

  ‘’Course I have, Dad, ’course I have. Wouldn’t leave you now, would I, not when you need me?’

  A faint, beatific smile came across Fred’s face. He sighed. ‘You’re … a good son … knew y’d come …’ His voice tailed away and his eyes closed again.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Jake looked wildly across at me. ‘He’s croaked!’

  I leaned forward and placed my forefinger under the old man’s jawbone.

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘He’s still with us.’

  ‘We’ve got to do something.’ Jake heaved himself to his feet. ‘Get a doctor or something.’

  I shook my head. ‘He refuses to see one.’

  ‘Well, what the fucking hell are we going to do then? We can’t just leave him.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed. And whatever the outcome might be, I knew I’d have to drive Fred to hospital. It was more than odds-on Jake and I would both be arrested but, as he’d said, we couldn’t leave Fred to die. And right now it was a toss-up if he’d pull through.

  ‘Get your dad into the car. I’ll drive to A&E, take it from there. Grab a blanket to wrap around him while I drive the car up as close as I can to the front door, OK?’

  Jake nodded, eyes dilated with fear for his father.

  With the car in place, back door standing wide open, we carried Fred, wrapped up in a blanket like a rolled-up rug, and laid him down safely on the back seat. He was no heavier than a young child. Jake met my eyes as we closed the car door. We didn’t need to say anything.

  I pulled the house door closed behind me and p
ut the keys in my pocket. If the police came sniffing around and tried the door it might reassure them to find it locked.

  It wasn’t far to the nearest hospital. I reversed the car and parked so that the boot was square on to the kerb outside the A&E admission doors. Not knowing what reception would make of my unorthodox entry, I decided to play it dumb and distraught.

  Walking up to the desk, I ran an anguished hand through my hair. ‘I say,’ I cleared my throat loudly, ‘I say …’ I let my voice rise a few octaves higher. ‘I’ve an emergency outside in my car. This old man, his name’s Fred Smith from Newark. He’s dying … and he’s bleeding from his mouth.’

  Heads turned in my direction. The magic word – bleeding – had activated the swift response button.

  ‘You’d better show me where he is.’ A burly male nurse took charge. ‘Are you a member of his family?’

  I raced on in front and mumbled a reply I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear. We reached my car and I opened the back door. Fred was totally out of it but with his head now laid flat on the back seat, the blood had found an easier passage down his chin and his shirt front was now a scarlet splash. The nurse took one look and set the machinery in motion. In a few seconds it seemed, Fred had been transferred from the back of my car to a trolley and been hastily wheeled into the hospital.

  I waited until the outer doors had swung to behind the nurses then dived into my car and drove away smartly. There would be flak flying tomorrow when I called to see how he was, but right now I had to collect Jake from where he was lying low, in a deserted bus shelter on the edge of town.

  I cruised along and, with no other vehicle in sight, slowed to a crawl as I drew level with the shelter. He was watching for me and shot out like a greyhound after the hare. Still running, he grabbed the door handle, wrenched open the door and threw himself inside the car without me stopping. I floored it.

  ‘Did they take him in?’ he asked urgently. His hand gripped my left elbow like a vice. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Let’s just get away from here.’ I shook his hand off. ‘Yes, he’s safe inside now. I didn’t stop to find out anything else. I’ll call tomorrow, make sure he’s being attended to.’

  Jake flopped back against his seat. ‘A bloody nightmare, that’s what it is.’

  ‘And I’m damn sure I’m not arguing with you.’

  Our return was a replay of our outward journey. Neither of us spoke until I swung in between Nathanial’s holly hedges and cut the engine. Now it was my turn to slump in my seat and exhale a long, exhausted sigh. Jake, his face bleak, grabbed the studio keys off me and opened up. He flung himself down on to the couch and covered his face with his hands.

  ‘Got any hard stuff in your car?’

  ‘Stuff?’ I was feeling punch-drunk from the nerve-stretching stress of avoiding the police for the last couple of hours.

  He dropped his hands briefly. ‘Fucking hell, I mean liquor, o’course. Any booze, whisky …?’

  ‘No.’

  I left him growling away to himself and made two strong coffees.

  ‘I’ll phone in the morning, see how your dad is. Get the number of the ward he’s on.’

  ‘Huh, you’ll be bloody lucky.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’ll be family only. The bastards won’t tell you.’

  ‘Well, I’ll just have to lie then.’

  He glowered at me. ‘And say bloody what?’

  ‘That I’m his son.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he sneered. ‘That’s sure to alert the fuzz, ain’t it?’

  ‘You’ve any better ideas?’ I was losing patience fast. ‘Look, you want to know how he is, don’t you?’

  Grudgingly, he gave a single nod.

  ‘Right. It’s me in the firing line, don’t forget. I’m the one who took him into the hospital. Several nurses saw my face. If they inform the police about me …’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, we’ll both share a cell.’

  And suddenly I saw only too clearly that it was not only a possibility but rapidly becoming likely that I’d get sent down. Despite the scalding black coffee, a shiver of acute apprehension ran through me. The only way out of this damn mess was to find the killer, present him – and even more essential, the necessary proof – to the police and bow out. Whether even that would be enough to save my skin, I didn’t know.

  As I saw it, my main chance, maybe my only chance to find out who it was, was to pray for a breakthrough at Mike’s party. I had to find out the name of the second man. He was a man involved in horseracing, probably late middle age, possibly older. And he’d used Alice’s services for years. Anything else about him was an unknown. I groaned aloud. It looked like an impossibility.

  Annabel had told me I needed luck and I’d agreed with her. But right now, any luck I might have had seemed to have packed a bag and flown off. Even as I thought about it, I remembered what Edward had told me when I’d been round to his house. It was a phrase Alice had used. One of her clients, she’d said, and she was referring to a horseracing contact, ‘… was a dab hand at strokes even if his horses never ran.’ I’d known even as Edward repeated the words that Alice had been referring to Nathaniel and his horseracing paintings.

  Could he be the second mouse? It was a preposterous thought, but by now I was more than desperate for a result and ready to accuse any man in racing.

  I pulled myself up short. I needed to get out of here, away from Jake’s malignant presence and back to the cottage, release the load of tension I’d built up tonight and start thinking straight. I downed the last of the coffee, went to the sink and rinsed my mug out.

  ‘I’m off.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You stay put. I’ll contact you as soon as I get any further information. If they won’t tell me how Fred is tomorrow I’ll have to call in at the hospital and find out. OK?’

  He grunted. ‘No fucking choice, have I?’

  I looked squarely at him. ‘No.’

  He glared venomously. ‘Don’t forget, Radcliffe, I trusted you to see my old man was all right.’

  ‘I’ve taken him to hospital. What more do you want?’

  He stood up, tense with aggression. ‘If anything happens to him, you’ll pay.’ He jabbed a rigid finger hard into the side of my neck. ‘Your precious lady friend’s first for the chop – then it’s your turn. And I’ll make fucking sure both of you die slow – real slow.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Back at home, I tossed off a double slug of whisky and felt no guilt. At the moment Jake had asked for a stiff drink, he’d warranted one, needed one – but he hadn’t received one. OK, seeing Fred in that dreadful state was bound to have been a hell of a shock. But following his last words, he wasn’t the only one in shock. Nor was he a man who delivered idle threats. His track record bore that out. I poured another drink.

  The entire journey back to my cottage hadn’t registered – I’d driven on automatic. There was small chance of Fred coming out of hospital alive. Jake knew that, I knew that. So where did that leave me? Ordering a coffin, if Jake was to be believed – and I believed him.

  I put the glass down on my side table. It rattled alarmingly, was a fair assessment of how rattled my nerves were. The threat wasn’t simply against me; despite the fact he was fully aware she was pregnant, Jake had said it would be Annabel he’d murder first. Dear God! She was right, the man was inhuman.

  I reached for the glass and swallowed the rest of the whisky. I wasn’t going anywhere tonight except bed so I could get as drunk as I wanted. It would certainly lower the level in the bottle and no doubt give me a sore head, but I knew it wouldn’t give me the solution nor make the slightest bit of difference to the situation.

  I picked up my mobile and switched it on. While we were on manoeuvres dealing with operation Fred I’d made sure it was switched off. Now, I tapped in Annabel’s number. She needed to know.

  A sleepy voice answered. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Me. Did I wake you?’
/>   ‘No, not really, Harry. Just one of those days when I’m feeling a bit worn and weary.’

  ‘But you’re feeling all right otherwise?’

  ‘Oh, yes, it’s been a really busy day so I thought I’d get an early bed.’

  ‘Sorry to intrude, Annabel, but are you on your own or is Sir Jeffery home?’

  ‘He’s right here, beside me.’

  I felt the familiar and unwelcome jealousy rise. ‘Good!’ I said the word with a very strange mixture of strong feeling. I was relieved and pleased that for once he was at home taking care of her instead of down in London, yet at the same time I was sour at the thought of all the favours he was entitled to as Annabel’s partner.

  ‘Harry? Why, good?’

  ‘I’m glad you’re not on your own.’

  ‘What you’re actually saying is I might need a bodyguard.’

  Before I had time to reply, I could hear a muffled interruption followed by Annabel’s soothing assurance that everything was all right.

  ‘Look, Annabel, if Jeffrey’s home that’s fine, you’re safe. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Hmmm, yes, that’s what I’ve just told him.’

  ‘I’ll give you a ring tomorrow, fill you in. OK?’

  ‘Yes, sure,’ she said brightly. ‘Good night.’

  I reciprocated, wished her good night and switched off the mobile. I knew she’d deliberately played it down for his benefit. Sir Jeffery was a mild soul – extreme physical violence never touched his world. And Annabel now lived in that same world. I hope to God it remained untouched. Levelling with her would have to wait until I could speak to her privately.

  I looked at the whisky bottle. It wasn’t going to solve anything. I left it sitting on the sideboard, followed Annabel’s example and went to bed.

  Early the next morning, I telephoned the hospital. With luck the nurses who had been on duty yesterday would have gone off shift.