The Ten Commandments

by Anthea Fraser

  'The suspect’s DNA’s on file,' Webb remarked.

  'Then there should be enough to nail him.'

  'Once we can catch him,' Webb qualified to Jackson, as they left the garage and walked down the road to the police station. They were shown to DCI Good's office.

  'The blood they found is sure to match Judd's,' Good greeted them jubilantly, 'and with the other samples up our sleeve, I reckon we can clobber Baring as soon as we lay hands on him.'

  'Just as well,' Webb observed, 'since he seems to be the only suspect. I've had the feedback on those names I mentioned, and they're all in the clear. Any sightings yet?'

  'No, damn it, though every available man's out searching. Ten to one someone's hiding him.'

  'Has his wife shown up?'

  'No, nor likely to. She ran off with another bloke while he was inside – someone at Crossley's, where he works, told us. We've apprised them of the position now.'

  'Has he contacted them?'

  'Not since he scarpered.'

  Webb frowned, drumming his fingers on the desk. 'Had they any idea where he might go?'

  Good shook his head. 'He's not particularly pally with anyone there.'

  'Well, in this weather he could hole up outdoors without any problem.'

  'Surrounding woods and barns are being scoured, and people asked to check their garden sheds, though we're warning them not to approach him. Railway and bus stations are on the lookout, also car-hire and taxi firms. Though if he nipped on a bus within minutes of legging it, he could be anywhere now.'

  'It's only a question of time, Harry; we're bound to get him sooner rather than later.'

  'I hope you're right. But he must know the media coverage the case is getting; stands to reason he'll be doing his damnedest to get away.' Good sighed. 'In the meantime, the Super's none too happy about the slip-up.'

  'I can imagine. Well' – Webb rose to his feet – 'tomorrow's another day, but I've had enough of this one. I'm off home for a shower and a cold drink.'

  'Good idea.' Good collected his papers together and slipped them into a drawer of his desk. 'As you say, we'll have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.'

  'All right, old boy,' Frederick said, looking down at the dog sitting in front of him. 'I know what time it is. Go and get your lead.'

  The retriever bounded out of the room and returned a minute later with it in his mouth. Frederick bent and fastened it to his collar.

  Edwina said, 'Will you want coffee this evening, when it's so hot, or would you prefer a cold drink?'

  'Coffee'll be fine, dear.' He bent to kiss her cheek. 'I'll be back in about twenty minutes.'

  He said the same thing every evening, she thought fondly as he went out, the dog excitedly wagging its tail beside him.

  Frederick stood for a moment on the doorstep, breathing in the rich perfume of nicotiana and night-scented stock which lined the front path. Across the green, the patrons of the Jester were standing outside on the pavement with glasses in their hands, laughing and talking. The floodlit church clock pointed to nine-thirty. Old Goldie must have a timing device – he knew exactly when his walk was due.

  Just, Frederick thought, as he knew where to go, and would accept no deviation. He had set off, nose to the ground, pulling Frederick along behind him until they reached the corner, where he started down the road leading to the canal.

  To be fair, the dog's conservatism was his own doing; he had been taking this same walk, with a succession of animals, every evening he'd been home for the last forty-odd years, and at much the same time. During its course he had thrashed out many a theory on the criminal mind, reworked many a chapter ready for editing the next day. Occasionally, he would meet Jack Sharpe with his Airedale or John Smollett and Spot, but he seemed to remember both were on holiday at the moment.

  It was a pleasant, residential avenue down which they were walking. Undrawn curtains offered a glimpse, should he want to take it, of his neighbours' sitting-rooms, most of them with the blue square of a television set glowing in one corner. Through open windows came the sound of radios, televisions, arguments, laughter. Life was lived much more publicly in the summer, he reflected.

  They had reached the end of the road and open grass lay ahead of them, and the water, glinting in the moonlight. Just round the corner to their right was Hugh and Gillian's house. Occasionally, if he hadn't seen them for a while, Frederick would call in for a brief chat. Not this evening, though. He allowed himself to be dragged across the road to the canal bank, where Goldie waited to be released from his lead. Five minutes' free romp, then, at his whistle, the dog would return, docilely submit to being restrained again, and they'd begin the return journey.

  The moon was full, sailing in a cloudless sky. Frederick lit a cigar, glancing across the silvered water at the harsher lights of cars streaming down the busy Broadminster road. Thank God his days of hurrying were over.

  Contentedly he paced over the springy turf, keeping an eye on the antics of the dog gambolling ahead of him. The smoke from his cigar was pungent in the still air and the sound of the distant traffic, reaching him merely as a hum, only accentuated the silence. How lucky he was, to live in this lovely, peaceful spot.

  The five minutes were up and Edwina would have the coffee on. He whistled for Goldie, refastened his lead and they crossed the road again to complete their circular tour up the next avenue along. Here, several large chestnuts lined the pavement, blotting out the moonlight.

  Suddenly the dog halted, and to his surprise Frederick saw the fur rise along its back. What had startled him? As Frederick bent to reassure him, the dog growled low in its throat and in the same moment a shadow detached itself from the tree and Frederick was aware of a crashing, annihilating blow on his head before total blackness overwhelmed him.

  The evening had brought little relief from the heat. Hugh and Gillian had taken their after-dinner coffee on to the terrace and were now sitting reading in the light from the room behind them, brushing away the occasional blundering moth.

  Hugh checked the time. 'Do you want to watch News at Ten?'

  'No, I saw it at six, and I've heard enough about that murder and Pop's theories on it to last me a lifetime.' She put her book down and stretched. 'Actually, I'm ready for bed. For the last ten minutes I've been trying to summon up the energy to go for a bath.'

  She'd had a busy day, cleaning the house for tomorrow's visitors, shopping, and then preparing one or two of the courses for the dinner party. She wished uselessly that it was this time tomorrow, when it would be nearly over. Chiefly, she was worried that she might not be able to act naturally, knowing what she did. If only she'd not promised Roy to see Alex! Then she wouldn't know any more than anyone else – a much more comfortable state of affairs.

  The phone cut into her musings and Hugh looked up in surprise. 'Who could be ringing at this time?' He got up and went through the patio doors.

  'Hugh?' Edwina's voice sounded in his ear, taut with anxiety. 'Has Frederick called in to see you?'

  'Frederick? No, why?'

  At the sound of her father's name, Gillian came hurrying to Hugh's side and he held out the phone so they both could hear.

  'He went out at nine-thirty as usual and he hasn't come back. You know how punctual he is – you could set your watch by him. He's always home by ten to ten.'

  'Well, it's only five past,' Hugh pointed out reasonably.

  'By his standards, that’s late. I wonder – could you possibly go out and see if you can see him?'

  'Well, yes, of course, if you know the way he went.'

  'He always takes the same route. Down Sandford Road, five minutes on the canal bank, and home up Lismore Drive. I know it's silly, but I've had this nasty feeling all day. I wish now I hadn't let him go, but what excuse could I have given?'

  'Don't worry, Edwina. I'll go and look straight away and phone you back, but by then I'm sure he'll be home.'

  'Thank you,' she said distractedly, and hung up.

 
; Hugh turned to his wife, meeting her wide eyes. 'Surely you're not worried as well?'

  'Of course I'm worried! Mother's right. Pop's as punctual as Big Ben. If he's not back, something must have happened to him.'

  'Gilly, he's a grown man, with a dog for protection, at that.'

  'Goldie? He's just a big softie.'

  'Well, I'll go and see what I can see.'

  'I'm coming with you.'

  'There's no –'

  'I'm coming with you!' Her voice had started to rise, and he quickly touched her arm.

  'All right, darling, all right.' He closed the patio doors, leaving their coffee cups outside on the table, and they hurried through the house and out of the front door. The garden was flooded with moonlight, a cold white clarity with sharply etched shadows beneath the hedge. At the gate they paused, looking left and right along the deserted canal bank opposite.

  'Well, he's not there now,' Hugh said unnecessarily. Gillian ran to the corner of Sandford Road and looked anxiously up it. She could see only halfway, where the road curved to the left, but that stretch, too, was deserted.

  'Shall I go up while you look in Lismore?' she asked Hugh, but he took hold of her arm.

  'No way. I'm not going to lose you too – we'll stick together. Let’s look at Lismore first, since he goes back that way.'

  They heard the dog whining before they reached the next corner, and broke into a run, finding Frederick at once, a huddled heap on the pavement, with the dog distractedly licking his face and giving out that sharp, keening note. Hugh pushed it away as he knelt beside the prone figure. He saw with dread that the steel-grey hair was sticky with blood.

  Gillian had given a cry and taken her father's limp hand. 'Is he –? He's not –?'

  'There's a faint pulse,' Hugh said, 'very faint. Go and phone for an ambulance, then ring your mother and tell her what's happened. And take the dog with you – leave him with Loveday. I'll stay here. Hurry, darling,' he added urgently.

  She seemed paralysed with shock, but at his prompting stumbled to her feet, picked up the dog's lead and started to run home.

  Gillian returned with Edwina before the ambulance arrived, having gone halfway to meet her mother. Hugh, meanwhile, without so much as a sweater to cover the still figure, had been massaging the flaccid hands between his, dreading the cessation of that fluttering pulse.

  Edwina was icily calm. She knelt beside her husband and stroked his forehead, murmuring endearments, while the other two stood helplessly watching.

  'Mother says they've had a break-in,' Gillian said through chattering teeth. 'She's only just discovered it; Pop's study has been ransacked, but nothing else seems to have been touched.'

  The siren of the ambulance drowned Hugh's reply and they both turned thankfully, only too ready to release their charge to more experienced care. Once Frederick had been carefully lifted inside and Edwina'd climbed in beside him, they hurried home to collect their car. It was going to be a long night.

  Gillian felt she would never forget any detail of that hospital waiting-room, from the patterns on the curtains to the starshaped burn in the carpet. Perhaps out of sympathy for anxious relatives, the nonsmoking rule seemed to have been waived, because there were ashtrays full of cigarette stubs, and stale smoke hung in the air.

  Hugh had gone to phone Alex and Roy. Dully, Gillian wondered if this sudden crisis might bring them together. She turned to her mother, intending to say something rallying, but Edwina's set white face deterred her. She was clinging to her self-control, and any overt sympathy could threaten it. Frederick was undergoing tests and X-rays; they would be told the results as soon as possible, but when they last heard, he had not regained consciousness.

  'I've been expecting something like this,' Edwina announced suddenly. 'Now that it's happened, in some ways I feel easier.'

  Since there seemed no appropriate reply, Gillian said instead, 'We'll have to report the burglary.'

  'I don't think anything valuable's been taken.'

  'That's not the point, the –'

  Edwina lifted a hand. 'I know, I know, but I have more important things on my mind at the moment. Tomorrow will be soon enough.'

  'Do you think it's linked with the attack?'

  'Wouldn't you say two assaults on your father in one evening is more than coincidence? It must have happened earlier, when we were watching TV. It was so hot I'd left all the windows open. No doubt that's how he got in.'

  Gillian shuddered. 'He could have murdered you both.'

  'I suppose he could, but he decided to settle for your father.'

  Hugh returned with some coffee out of a machine.

  'Alex is on her way; Roy's staying with the kids.' He handed them each a plastic mug. 'Not exactly the Ritz, but better than nothing.' He eyed Edwina cautiously. 'The police are outside, waiting to speak to Frederick.'

  Gillian said on a half-sob, 'Then they are expecting – they do think he'll be – all right?'

  Hugh put an arm round her. 'Of course he will. I told you he's a tough old bird.'

  'I wonder if he got a look at his attacker,' Edwina mused, holding the mug between both hands as though she needed its warmth. 'If so, he'll still be in danger. Maybe that's why the police are here.'

  Gillian said desperately, 'It could still be a coincidence. Perhaps he was just mugged, a random attack that could have happened to anyone.'

  'But he wasn't robbed,' her mother reminded her. 'Not during the attack, nor even, apparently, the break-in.'

  'Since the police are here,' Hugh said gently, 'we might as well take the opportunity of reporting it. Shall I ask them to come in?'

  Edwina hesitated, and Gillian saw with pity how close she was to breaking point. But she merely nodded, and Hugh went out to fetch them.

  Harry Good phoned Webb with the news just after eleven-thirty, as he was preparing for bed.

  'I was worried all along how Chummie would react when he heard about Mace. Silly old buffer just couldn't keep his mouth shut.'

  'How is the old boy?'

  'Hasn't come round yet. Must have a skull like concrete to have survived at all.'

  'What are his chances?'

  There's a slight improvement. I'm told. But once word gets out that he's not dead – provided, that is, he does pull through – he'll need protection till this lot's cleared up. We've got a couple of blokes at the hospital, and one of them has just phoned to say the Mace house was broken into this evening.'

  'Ye gods. What happened?'

  'The old boy's study was ransacked, drawers pulled out, files emptied, etcetera, but as far as his wife could see, nothing's missing and none of the other rooms was touched.'

  'You think it was Baring?'

  'It has to be, hasn't it? God, if only he hadn't slipped through our fingers this morning!'

  'At least it means he's still in the area.'

  'Small consolation, but I suppose you're right.'

  'Thanks for letting me know, Harry. I'll be over in the morning.'

  'See you,' said Good, and hung up.

  Webb replaced the phone and hesitated, wondering whether to ring Hannah. She'd be upset to hear of the attack. Better to let her get a good night's sleep and tell her in the morning. Sighing, he climbed into bed and switched off the light.

  9

  It was dawn before Frederick finally stirred and opened his eyes to find Edwina beside him.

  She bent forward quickly. 'Darling, it's all right. You've had a nasty bang and you're in hospital.'

  His face was as white as the bandages round his head, but she saw memory flicker in his eyes and he said urgently, 'The dog –?'

  'He's fine. He didn't desert you; Hugh and Gilly found him licking your face and whining.'

  'More to the point if he'd taken a mouthful out of the bastard that did this.'

  Edwina's eyes filled with tears of relief. 'Now I know you're going to be all right!' she said.

  By eight o'clock that morning, the police had sealed off Brighto
n Villa while SOCO subjected it to a detailed examination.

  The point of entry was immediately established as the kitchen, where the sash window, left open a few inches, had been pushed up sufficiently to enable someone to climb through. That someone had worn rubber-soled shoes, though not, it appeared, the ubiquitous trainers – in what at first glance looked to be a size nine; and, of course, gloves. Still, shoe-prints could be as damning as finger marks these days.

  Fortunately there was a flowerbed beneath the window, which had been assiduously watered by Edwina as soon as the sun was off it, and small clods of damp earth charted the intruder's progress down the hall, past the room where the couple had presumably been sitting, to the study at the front of the house.

  'Probably glanced through the open door on his way upstairs, and thought there might be a safe in there,' one of the SOCOs remarked.

  'He was taking a risk,' another commented. Anyone passing the house could have looked up and seen him.'

  'We don't know what time he broke in,' pointed out the DI in charge. If it was before about eight-thirty, the evening sun would have been shining on the windows, which would have screened him. And after that, the light would have been too indistinct. Anyway, judging by the fibres the tape's picking up, he knelt down while he searched the desk.'

  He looked about him at the sheaves of papers, open books, and upturned drawers which littered the room. It's not surprising the old girl couldn't tell if anything's missing, and it'll be some time before her husband can check. Still' – he indicated the desk – 'Chummie didn't get it all his own way; the bottom drawer's still locked. From all those chips lying around, he had a good go at it, but he wouldn't have dared make too much noise, with both of them in the house.'

  The mess that the intruder had left was as nothing to that made by the fingerprint men with their pervasive powder, which they sprinkled liberally on surfaces and papers alike. Smudged prints were in abundance, left by leather gloves – unbearably hot, surely, on such an evening. The index finger of the right hand appeared to have a little nick out of the leather – which would be useful, were they ever able to track it down.