The men gave up speculating and settled down to their thorough and painstaking task.
Hugh said, I think the dinner party should go ahead.'
Gillian looked at him in dismay. 'Sonia! I haven't rung to tell her what's happened.'
'So much the better; you've done most of the preparations, haven't you?'
'Yes, but what about Alex? She'll be as tired as we are; we didn't leave the hospital till gone two, and Roy would have waited up for her.'
Once Frederick had been taken off the critical list, Edwina had insisted that her daughters went home.
'Really, darling,' Hugh persisted, 'it's best to carry on as planned. You're going in to see your father this morning; there's no more you can do, and it will be therapeutic for you and Alex to have something else to think about. Ring her and see what she says.'
Quite apart from her tiredness, Alex would have been only too glad to cancel the evening, now she knew about Sonia's suspicions. On the other hand, Gilly had gone to a lot of trouble, and it would take their minds off their father. And after all, the baby-sitter was booked.
All right,' she said finally. 'If you can face up to having us, the least we can do is come. We'll be there at eight, as arranged.'
A tent had been erected over the scene of the attack and a uniformed constable left on guard overnight. Now, a group of SOCOs was engaged in the laborious business of photographing the area and taking samples from the pavement.
The to-ing and fro-ing the previous evening – by the family and the ambulance staff, not to mention the dog – had done much to obliterate any clues there might have been. The dried blood was almost certainly Mace's, which later tests verified, and the only other find was a few minute particles of soil matching the samples from inside the Mace house and originating from their garden.
The soles of Mace's own shoes had been clean, but the particles could as easily have been carried on the paws of the dog or the shoes of the family – still to be examined – as those of the attacker.
All in all, it was a disappointing result.
Hugh and Gillian had not allowed for the extent of Frederick's new-found celebrity. Reports of his attack were given on the news bulletins, and Sonia phoned just as Gillian was leaving for the hospital.
'Gilly, is it true? I couldn't believe it! How is he? How perfectly awful!'
Gillian gave her a concise account of what had happened, adding, 'We're still expecting you this evening.'
'Oh, but we couldn't put you to that trouble – not now!'
'Son, it's for Alex's and my sake as much as yours. Please come.'
'But I'd feel dreadful – you arranged it for me in the first place, and now that this has happened, I –'
'Please, Sonia. Look, I must go – I said I'd be at the hospital by eleven.'
'Well, as long as you're quite sure. And do give your father my love. As soon as he's fit for non-family visitors, I'll be in to see him.'
There were some non-family visitors, however, who had already called on Frederick. DCI Good and his sergeant had arrived at the hospital soon after ten.
'Mr Mace, I've been limited to five minutes and I'll try not to tire you, but there are some questions I must ask.'
'Fire away,' Frederick said resignedly. He had one hell of a headache, his eyes were bloodshot, the skin surrounding them a luscious purple, and all he wanted to do was sleep. But it was only reasonable that he should grant the police their interview.
'Most importantly, did you get a look at your attacker?'
‘Not a glimpse. It was dark under the trees, the dog suddenly stopped and growled, and as I bent to soothe him I was aware of a moving shadow. That's all.'
'Have you any idea what might have occasioned the attack?'
He shrugged. 'Unfortunately I've a fairly high profile at the moment. It's easy to make a remark which antagonizes someone, though luckily not many carry their objections this far.'
'You've not received any threats?'
'No.'
Good shifted on the less than comfortable chair. 'I don't know if your wife told you there was a break-in at your home last night?'
'Yes, she mentioned it. I gather nothing was taken.'
'As far as we know. Could you tell me, sir, what you keep in the bottom drawer of your desk?'
'Why?' The question shot out with all Frederick's usual vigour. 'Did he get into it?'
'No; he tried, but without success.'
'Thank God for that. It contains the work on my latest book. As my family will tell you, I'm paranoid about whatever I'm working on, and always keep it under lock and key.'
'Who's likely to know that, sir?'
'Well, the family, of course, and possibly my research assistant, but I can't think of anyone else.'
'Might the intruder have been looking specifically for notes on your book?'
'It depends who he was, doesn't it, Chief Inspector?'
There was a brief pause, then Frederick said, 'Well, if that's all, may I ask you a question?'
'Of course, sir.'
'I presume the Feathers investigation is still open?'
The question took Good by surprise. 'Yes, it is, but as you'll appreciate –'
'Then I have an urgent message for the officer in charge. Will you make sure he gets it?' He caught Good's instinctive movement, betraying the impatience of the professional towards the meddling amateur, and went on drily, 'Oh, I'm sure you think I'm a blundering old fool who talks more than is good for him' – Good shot him a startled glance – 'but this could be of vital importance, so please humour me.'
'Of course, sir,' the chief inspector said hastily. 'What's the message?'
'That it seems Trevor Philpott was consistently unfaithful to his wife. I believe that likelihood has not emerged before.'
'Well, no. Quite the contrary, in fact. May I ask –?'
'I went to see his widow. She didn't intentionally keep it from you – she herself found out only last summer, when she met some former friends. I did ask her to contact you, but I wanted to make doubly sure it got through, because if I'm not mistaken, it could provide the motive you've been searching for. There's another thing, too, though this mightn't have any significance: it seems he was homophobic. There was an unpleasant scene one evening, when he insulted a couple of homosexuals.'
Good nodded. 'I'll make sure the message is passed on, sir.'
'Thank you.' Frederick lay back against his pillows, drained of what little energy he had. A nurse appeared at the foot of the bed, gave the policemen a severe look, and imperiously beckoned them out of the room. Meekly, they rose and followed her.
'Do you think that was on the level. Guv?' Sergeant Deakin inquired as they went down the broad, linoleumed stairs. 'About Philpott carrying on? First we've ever heard of it.'
'Search me, Stan, but the old boy seems to think it's important. I'll give DCI Ferris a bell when we get back to the station.'
However, within minutes of their return to Albion Street, all thought of Frederick Mace had been pushed from their minds. Lee Baring had been sighted and had taken cover in a wood to the east of the town. The area was surrounded and it seemed the net had closed at last.
'Why the hell didn't you get me on my mobile?' Good exploded.
'It's only this minute come through. Guv. I was about to call you when I heard you'd arrived downstairs.'
'Get on to DCI Webb – pronto. He's the Investigating Officer.'
The message reached Webb as he and Jackson were on their way to Ashmartin, and Jackson diverted the car to make directly for the targeted area.
'Is he armed?' Webb asked Good.
'I'd say it's unlikely, since he wasn't planning to leg it. He simply scarpered when we flagged his car down.'
'Right. See you at the rendezvous in ten minutes.'
The senior detectives arrived on the scene simultaneously, in time to see Baring being led, handcuffed, out of the wood by two uniformed constables. The small crowd that had gathered gave an
ironic cheer, and someone called, 'What's he done, then?'
He did not receive a reply.
Baring was a pathetic figure, white-faced and in need of a shave. So much for the ruthless, scheming double-murderer they'd been searching. As so often at this stage of an inquiry, Webb felt a sense of anticlimax. He watched while the man was bundled unceremoniously into a police car. Good, who had been speaking to one of the constables, came back to join him.
'He didn't say a dicky-bird when he was cautioned. We'll see what happens back at the station.'
Webb grunted and Good glanced at him reprovingly. 'You don't seem exactly elated, Dave. What's up?'
'I was looking at his feet,' Webb said.
'His feet?'
If those shoes are size nine, I'm a Dutchman.'
Baring denied all knowledge of Simon Judd, which, Webb supposed glumly, was only to be expected. Seated next to the duty solicitor, he also refused to give any explanation of his flight from the police officers, other than expressing a conviction that they were 'out to get' him.
When asked for what, Baring retorted darkly,' Don't need a reason, do they? They collar you first, then think up something.' Which didn't exactly conform with PACE.
As agreed. Good was conducting the first part of the interview, but it was fast reaching an impasse by the time a DS tapped at the door and asked for a word with him. The DCI went outside, returning a minute later with a triumphant look on his face.
'You still maintain you've never met Simon Judd, Mr Baring?'
'I keep telling you, don't I?'
'You do indeed. But you'll be interested to hear some 119 samples removed from your car prove beyond doubt that he's been in it.'
Baring frowned, glancing at his solicitor for elucidation – which, however, was not forthcoming. 'Samples?' he repeated aggressively. 'What samples? Think I'm a bleeding commercial traveller?'
'Traces of his blood and several hairs, together with fibres from the jacket he was wearing.'
Finally realizing the implications. Baring half rose to his feet, before being restrained by the solicitor's hand on his arm.
'That's a bloody lie! There's nothing in that car – I scrubbed it out myself. You're –'
'Mr Baring!' interrupted the solicitor. 'I strongly advise you to say nothing further.'
'But listen to 'em – they're trying to fit me up!'
Webb, watching the man closely, sensed his uncertainty, his fear.
'Blood, hairs and fibres,' Good repeated deliberately, 'which definitely link Mr Judd to your car.'
'Hold on a minute' – Baring licked his lips nervously – 'I've just thought – that'd be the night it went missing. Slipped my mind for a moment, like, but it must have been then, 'cause I was leaving next day on the trip and in a right state, I can tell you.'
Good treated him to a long disbelieving look, and the man blundered on. 'Parked outside as usual after work, and when I went out to the pub later, it'd gone.'
'You reported it, of course?'
'Nah. When have the police ever done me any favours? Ten to one I'd have ended up the villain, like you're making out now.'
'And it reappeared just as suddenly?'
'Eh?'
'Your car; it came back of its own accord?'
'Oh – yeah. Next morning when I looked out, there it was, large as life, a bit further down the road. Gawd, was I glad to see it!' He flicked a quick look at Good, and added, 'Kids, I expect.'
Good sighed. 'I'm sure you don't expect me to believe that.'
'Believe what the hell you like,' Baring said defiantly, 'it's the truth. And if you're on the level about them hairs, it would explain how they got there without me knowing.'
Webb leant forward, entering into the questioning as previously arranged. 'Where were you last evening, Mr Baring?'
The man looked at him uncertainly, unsure of this second approach. 'Last evening?'
'Between eight-thirty and ten pm.'
Baring glanced from him to Good and back again, sensing a trap. 'What's that got to do with this Judd bloke?'
'Just answer the question, please.'
'Well, I was keeping out of the way of you lot, wasn't I?'
'But where exactly? You were seen leaving the M4 motorway at ten-thirty yesterday morning, where you failed to comply with a request to stop. When you eventually did so, you evaded the officers and ran off into the Hazeldene housing estate. That was at approximately ten-forty-five. We would like to know how you spent the next twenty-four hours.'
'Lying low, like I said. I bought bread and cheese and cans of beer and made for the woods till things died down a bit.'
'If you're as innocent as you claim, why were you so anxious not to be caught?'
Baring snorted. 'I was innocent last time, and a fat lot of good it did me. Went down for three years, didn't I?'
Keeping his eyes steadily on the man in front of him, Webb said slowly and deliberately, 'I put it to you that sometime during yesterday evening you broke into a house belonging to Mr Frederick Mace, and ransacked his study.'
Baring was staring at him wide-eyed.
'And later,' Webb continued, with more assurance than he felt, 'you lay in wait for him when he walked his dog, jumped him and submitted him to a vicious attack.'
Baring found his voice at last, and shrilly. 'There you go again!' he cried. 'I don't know what the bleedin' hell you're on about – I never went near no house and I didn't attack no one, neither.'
'Just a minute. Chief Inspector,' the solicitor broke in. 'I wasn't given notice of this line of questioning. Are you now accusing my client of another crime, and if so, how does it tie in with the current inquiry?'
Webb said heavily, 'We believe it does tie in; how is what we're trying to establish.' He turned back to Baring. 'What size shoes do you wear, Mr Baring?'
Emboldened by his solicitor's intervention, Baring mimed incredulity. 'What is this, twenty bleeding questions?'
'Your shoe size, please?'
'Sevens, if it's any of your business.'
'Would you remove a shoe and hand it over?'
Baring glanced at the solicitor, who nodded impatiently. Webb took the proffered brogue – not, he noted, rubber-soled. It was indubitably a size seven, which came as no surprise. Therefore, as Webb had suspected when he first saw the man, whatever else Baring had done, he had not broken into the Mace house. So who the hell had, and why?
Patrick said. 'You're not saying the dinner party's still on?'
'Yes; I phoned Gilly as soon as I heard, and she was most insistent. I suppose it will help take her mind off things.'
'But ye gods, with her father at death's door, if not already dead? Surely –'
'He isn't, actually – he seems to be pulling through, thank God. I'm very fond of old Frederick; I've known him so long he's like a second father.'
Patrick rubbed a hand over his eyes. 'Well, I'm glad to hear it, of course, but when I heard the news, the prospect of an evening in was very welcome. I'm totally shattered. God,' he added after a moment, 'I didn't mean that the way it sounded.'
Sonia laid a hand on his arm. 'You do look pale, darling; what's wrong?'
'Mother – what else? I nearly phoned you, but there was little point. She had another attack this afternoon.'
'Oh, Patrick, I'm so sorry. How is she now?'
'Very weak. It's no good, Sonia, she's too much for Zoe to manage any longer.'
Sonia felt a clutch of dread. 'So what will you do?'
'God knows. I suppose I'll have to find a home of some sort. She'll hate it, but there's no option.'
He turned abruptly and went to the drinks cabinet. 'Is there no way we can get out of this dinner?'
'Not really, in the circumstances. We owe it to Gilly and Alex to turn up.'
Patrick's hand stilled briefly. Alex. Sweet mercy, he could do without this. 'Can't you say I'm unwell?'
'Look, you need some light relief as much as they do. There's no more you can do this eve
ning, so relax. You might even enjoy it.'
However, Sonia thought as she changed to go out, the original purpose of the evening was unlikely to be served; Gilly would be in no condition to assess Patrick's attitude, and in any event he was under par himself. The object now would be to offer moral support at a difficult time; any other consideration would have to be postponed.
Roy said anxiously, 'Are you sure you feel up to this?'
'I've told you I'm all right. Stop fussing.'
'You seem very much on edge to me.'
'Of course I'm on edge! How could I be anything else?'
'But he's out of danger, darling. You must try to calm down.'
Alex made a dismissive gesture. She could hardly explain it was the prospect of being with Patrick and Sonia which at the moment was uppermost in her thoughts.
She reached for the scent bottle, then stopped with her hand in midair as she remembered Gillian's warning: For God's sake don't wear your Chanel. Pulling open a drawer, she searched for an alternative, unearthing an old and almost empty bottle of Rive Gauche. That would do. She tipped it over her wrists, shaking out the last drops, then, glancing in the mirror to check her hair, saw Roy's reflected image, still anxiously watching her. She forced a smile and swivelled to face him.
'I'm sorry to be so grumpy; lack of sleep, probably.'
He smiled back, accepting the apology, though he knew, as she did, that her bad temper was of longer duration and had deeper roots.
The front doorbell chimed, heralding the arrival of the baby-sitter. Alex stood up, smoothed down her skirt, and, with the unfamiliar scent of Rive Gauche in her nostrils, went down to let her in.
Her father's attack having pushed everything else from her mind, it was only when Sonia and Patrick arrived that Gillian recalled with a start the reason for the dinner – a reason which, in any case, no longer held. For what need had she to study Patrick's behaviour when she already knew Sonia's suspicions were well founded? She felt a stab of pity for her friend.
Her eyes went from Sonia's determinedly bright face to Patrick's pale one, wondering if they realized that their body language betrayed them. In some indefinable, and no doubt unconscious, way, Patrick was holding himself apart, separate from his wife even as she leaned slightly towards him. Gillian saw his eyes flick quickly to Alex, then away as sharply as if their exchanged glance had burned him.
The Ten Commandments Page 12
