Cause of Death

by Jane A. Adams

  Happy that he had a plan, Andy found his notebook, opened a file on the computer and called his first witnesses to order.

  FIVE

  Haines did not like Vashinsky, but that didn’t stop them talking business, even operating together when the situation demanded it. The phone call had come as something of a surprise though; Haines had not expected to hear from his potential business associate for another week or so.

  ‘I hear you had trouble,’ Vashinsky said.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘You lost two men and a couple of million dollars. I think that qualifies as trouble. Tell me, Haines, why do you insist on trading in dollars? What is wrong with pounds sterling?’

  Haines frowned but did not rise to the bait.

  ‘I’ve got some information for you,’ Vashinsky told him. ‘I know who tipped off the French authorities. Turns out it was an old acquaintance of ours.’

  Haines’s frown deepened. ‘Who?’ he demanded.

  Vashinsky laughed. ‘Young Karen Parker,’ he said. ‘Oh, and I believe she is heading your way.’

  Haines lowered the receiver slowly, face like thunder. Jerry, who’d been sitting close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, was wise enough to say nothing.

  Not the police, he thought again. He knew that for certain now. So who?

  Vashinsky. He knew about the deal, he knew what had gone wrong. What if he’d set it up? If it had been his people that night?

  Haines got stiffly to his feet and left the cabin calling for Santos. Next thing Jerry knew they were headed for port and he’d been tasked with booking a suite and two rooms in some posh hotel he’d never heard of.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Santos first chance he got.

  ‘You know as much as I do. But he’s got the bit between his teeth over something or other. Just remember not to get in his way.’

  SIX

  Two things interrupted the afternoon routine at Peverill Lodge. One was welcome: Rina’s antique dealer friend happened to be passing and dropped off the boxes of memorabilia. The other was not so welcome.

  The doorbell rang just as the household was preparing for afternoon tea, a ritual of cakes and tiny sandwiches over which the Peters sisters presided with due ceremony.

  ‘Who on earth could that be?’ Eliza wondered. ‘Rina dear, are you expecting anyone? Should I get an extra cup?’

  Telling her that she was not, Rina went through to the hall just as Matthew and Stephen appeared, carrying trays of cakes and tea through to the dining room. She let them pass before opening the door. The woman standing on her doorstep was not anyone she recognized. Plump, dark and dressed in a navy skirt and pastel shirt, she looked hot and out of sorts. No tights, Rina noted, but what she always classed as office shoes – black patent courts – on rather swollen feet. She was lugging a rather large briefcase.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for Stan Holden,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Tina Marsh, his probation officer?’

  She made a question of that last statement, as though there might be some doubt about it.

  Rina processed that information and drew interesting conclusions. She could hear the conversation in the dining room come to a halt and Matthew and Stephen come back out into the hall.

  ‘Everything alright, Rina?’

  ‘It’s fine, thank you, Matthew. I’m afraid he’s not here, Miss Marsh. He’s gone to see about a job.’

  ‘Oh.’ The woman looked momentarily nonplussed. ‘Do you know how long he’ll be? I really do need to check in with him and –’ she struggled to glance over Rina’s shoulder – ‘I need to make sure the accommodation is suitable . . .’ She trailed off, withering under Rina’s stony glance.

  ‘I can assure you,’ Rina said, ‘Peverill Lodge is eminently suitable.’

  Tina Marsh gathered up her job description and wrapped it around herself. ‘I’m sure you think that, but you must understand, I am Mr Holden’s probation officer and I do need to speak with him.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Rina agreed. ‘But as I said, he isn’t here and I’m not sure what time he may be back. If you’d give me your number then I’ll be sure to get him to ring you. Does it have to be in office hours? Or would you like to give him a mobile number too, seeing as it’s quite late in the afternoon?’

  The woman scowled at her and produced a card from the depths of the overstuffed briefcase. ‘Office hours will do,’ she said, then turned on her heel and left.

  Rina closed the door and set the card down on the telephone table.

  ‘You lied to her,’ Matthew observed curiously.

  ‘Not a lie, Matthew,’ Stephen contradicted, ‘merely a pre-emptive statement. If Stan told his probation officer that this was his address, then he obviously intends to come here. He’s just not arrived yet. When he does, it will no longer be an untruth, will it?’

  Matthew nodded. ‘It’s as well we baked,’ he said.

  They retreated to the dining room and Rina reflected that she could not recall a time when cake had not been available at Peverill Lodge. She was concerned, though. Stan had spoken to her just before his release and at that point had not been sure what he wanted to do. He’d called her the day he’d been released too and she’d reiterated her offer of somewhere to stay. He’d promised to get in touch but she’d not really been surprised when the promise had not been kept. Stan was not exactly socialized.

  It seemed, though, that he’d made up his mind to accept her offer. So where was he?

  A little anxious now, she called Mac. He listened as she told him about the call from the probation service and then relayed what Kendall had told him that morning.

  ‘No doubt he’ll turn up,’ Rina said. ‘The question is—’

  ‘What’s he been up to in the meantime?’ Mac agreed.

  It was late when the front doorbell rang. Rina, in pink dressing gown and comfy slippers, had sat up watching a late film. Matthew and Stephen sat with her. Matthew was reading and Stephen lay back on the sofa with a pair of very large headphones clamped to his ears, listening to Bruch.

  Rina opened the door, Matthew hovering protectively behind her.

  Stan stood sheepishly on the doorstep. ‘I know it’s late—’ he began.

  Rina stood aside. ‘You’d best come in then,’ she said. ‘Your bed’s made up and Matthew has saved some dinner for you.’

  ‘How did you know I’d be here tonight?’

  ‘Because your probation officer called round this afternoon. We didn’t think you’d risk going missing for long.’

  Stan stepped into the hall. Last time he had been here, Rina thought – the first time he had been inside Peverill Lodge – he and Joy had been on the run from some very dangerous men. They’d been wet and cold and desperate for friendly faces.

  He wasn’t cold this time and he wasn’t wet, but one look at his face told Rina that the rest remained the same. He clutched a shopping bag in his hand and wore the same clothes he had been arrested in, but he looked older and more tired.

  ‘Come through to the kitchen,’ she said. ‘I’ll make some tea and you can get some hot food inside you. You need to call this Marsh woman in the morning, get her off your back. I told her you’d been following up a lead on a job, so we’d best get our stories straight on what that might be before you do.’

  She saw his shoulders sag slightly, a mix of relief and exhaustion, she thought. He followed her through to the kitchen and settled down in one of the wooden chairs set beside the scrubbed deal table.

  ‘I don’t want to bring trouble to your door,’ he said.

  ‘Do you think you will?’

  ‘If I stay I might.’

  ‘So might anyone.’

  ‘Rina, I—’

  She held up a hand for silence. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Tonight you eat and get some sleep, in the morning we’ll have a family conference and you can tell us what your worries are. We’ll tell you what we plan to do about them.’
r />   Matthew set a plate and cutlery down in front of him. ‘I hope it isn’t spoiled,’ he said. ‘I’ve kept some pudding for you too. What Rina is saying, Stan, is that we don’t turn friends away just because they may have brought their problems with them. That isn’t what we are. Now eat before it goes cold and I’ll see to that tea.’

  Stan wolfed the food set before him and they waited until he’d devoured pudding before saying much more. Stephen joined them and they drank tea and chatted about the box of memorabilia they had been sorting through. Easy, contented conversation between friends. Rina could see that Stan was greedily absorbing that too. She wondered what exactly was on his mind and was surprised when he blurted it out.

  ‘I saw Karen,’ Stan said.

  ‘Karen?’ Stephen recoiled in horror.

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry, she’s got no intention of coming here or of trying to speak to George. She said she wants to check up on him, but she knows she’s got no place in his life now.’

  ‘And you believe her?’ Rina asked.

  Stan nodded, slowly. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I think Karen has unfinished business here, but she knows George has to make his own way now. She still loves him though, so she wants to know what he’s up to and such.’

  ‘And this business is?’

  Stan hesitated and took another massive gulp of tea. ‘Haines,’ he said at last. ‘Rumour said he was back this way, now I know he is. Karen wants him, and so do I.’

  Matthew picked up Stan’s plate and took it over to the sink. For a minute or so there was silence, broken only by the sound of running water and the overviolent scrubbing of a china plate.

  ‘He’s a dangerous man,’ Stephen observed at last.

  ‘Like I said, I don’t want to bring trouble.’

  Matthew turned from the sink. ‘He’ll know you’re out, I suppose.’

  ‘He will, yes.’

  ‘So you think he’s a threat. To yourself, I mean?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Stan said. ‘I think he’s just been waiting until I came back into focus. He’s known where I am, known I couldn’t do anything to hurt him where I was, and I think he viewed it as a waste of energy and resources to have me hit inside. Now I’m not sure. If I went away, kept clear, then maybe he’d, well, not forget about me, but put me at the bottom of the list.’

  ‘And are you a threat to him?’ Rina asked. ‘Stan, what do you plan to do?’

  Stan shook his head. ‘Rina, I’m not sure I know yet. I got out planning revenge. I wanted . . . wanted Haines and his people taken down, not just for my own protection or those they’ll hurt next, but just because . . . Karen has a more personal agenda, I suppose, she knows there are people out there who want her dead and gone and Haines could well be on that list if it suits his agenda or there is some profit in it. Her dad was one of his men; he may have had a low opinion of Parker, but his reputation relies on others knowing that a threat to his people is a threat to him. My guess is that Haines wants her dead and gone and I think she figures she should get in first. Me, I don’t know. I could live with the threat, I could go away. I could do a lot of things—’

  ‘But Karen could go away. Keep out of reach,’ Matthew argued. ‘She’s good at that sort of thing. Why come back and stir things up?’

  Stan shrugged. He’d given that same question a lot of thought and come up with no definitive answers. ‘I’ve not worked that out yet,’ he admitted. ‘And she didn’t say.’

  ‘And meanwhile you are trying to work out what your options are?’ Rina nodded. ‘It’s not in your nature to run, is it?’

  ‘I never have,’ he agreed. ‘I think I’m too old to start now. But I didn’t expect to have Karen in the mix.’

  ‘So perhaps you should stand back and let her get on with it,’ Stephen offered. ‘That would seem to be a practical solution.’

  Amused, Rina observed Stan’s look of surprise. ‘Stan,’ she said, ‘I’ll show you your room and where everything is. Feel free to make yourself more tea and there’s cake and biscuits in the tins over there. I think it’s time we got some sleep and in the morning we’ll all talk this through. I think Mac should be involved, don’t you?’

  Stan shook his head vehemently. ‘He’s a police officer. You think he’ll just stand back while I—’

  ‘He’s a police officer and a friend and he needs to know, if he doesn’t already, that a dangerous man is back on his patch,’ Rina told him sternly. A dangerous young woman too, she added silently. ‘This Haines caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people last time he was here. I don’t imagine he’ll have quieted down. Mac needs to be kept informed.’

  Stan nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Right, so we all get some rest. The morning will bring some clarity. I’d best leave a note for Tim, let him know you’ve arrived. He’ll be about another hour, I expect. If he could shoot the bolts on the front door, I think that might be wise. I’ll leave him a note.’

  She saw Matthew and Stephen exchange a glance. The bolts at Peverill Lodge had almost never been used. There was rarely any need for maximum security in Frantham.

  Stan nodded and followed Rina up to what was to be his room, and the Montmorencys took themselves up to bed.

  ‘It’s small,’ Rina said. ‘I hope it will be alright for you. You can see the bay from the window.’

  ‘It’s great,’ Stan said. ‘I’m grateful, Rina.’

  ‘No need to be,’ she said.

  She left and Stan sat down on the single bed and dumped his bag at his feet. It was, as she had said, a small room, but it was bright and comfortable and he had slept in far less salubrious conditions; she had also told him that the little shower room on this upper floor was for his exclusive use. Stan got up and went over to the window through which she had told him there would be a view of the sea. Glimpsed at what distance and over how many rooftops? he wondered. Tugging the curtains aside, he looked out. It was late, but as so often happened on this southern coast, the night sky was deepest blue and the moon was just a few nights from full. Stan leaned against the window recess and stared out at the sight of ocean and sky, the view clear and unobstructed and dizzyingly close, some odd aberration of landscape lifting this end of Newell Street and Peverill Lodge higher above Frantham town than he would have guessed.

  Stan sighed and closed his eyes, weary beyond measure and grateful of a place to hide, even while he knew that such security was just a pleasant illusion. Haines was out there somewhere, and it was only a matter of time before he turned his attention to killing Stan Holden.

  SEVEN

  Stan was unable to sleep much after dawn. The curtains blocked out the light very efficiently, but a body clock that had been trained over years – Stan rarely bothered with an alarm – told him that the sun was up and it was time to get the day going.

  It was a Wednesday. What time was it acceptable to be up and doing in Peverill Lodge? Stan wondered. He scrabbled on the bedside cabinet for his watch and discovered it was only half past five. Late for him, early for the rest of the world. He had slept solidly for almost six hours, he reckoned, and he felt better for it.

  He lay still, listening to the sounds of the house. It was all very quiet. The usual creaks and groans of an old building warming up in the morning sun and not much else. It occurred to Stan that he had not even heard Tim come home at whatever time that might have been. That he had slept so deeply puzzled him and was oddly disturbing.

  He padded to the little shower room and hoped he wouldn’t disturb anyone as he showered and shaved and got himself sorted for the day. Rina had left a bathrobe hanging behind the door and some soaps and shampoos in the cabinet, and he was grateful for these little indicators of welcome. Feeling better now he was clean and rested, he padded down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen and made himself some tea.

  Six fifteen the kitchen clock told him and still no sound of anyone rising. Now what? Stan thought. He prowled the friendly, tidy space, di
scovering a utility room through one green door, a pantry through another, playbills on the walls advertising the previous occupations of the house’s tenants: the Montmorencys during their time as a comedy double act; the Peters sisters perched decoratively on a grand piano; Rina Martin in The Importance of Being Earnest and then in her famous role as Lydia Marchant, investigating on the television. A more recent poster for the Palisades hotel featured a picture of Tim Brandon looking dark and mysterious and glamorous against a backdrop of art deco splendour.

  Tea in hand he wandered through to the hall, noting that Tim had obeyed Rina’s note and bolted the front door. The room nearest the entrance was closed and Stan did not try the door. In contrast, the living room and dining rooms stood open and he wandered through both, admiring the patina of the much-loved old dining table with its oddly mismatched chairs. He tried to guess which belonged to which occupant. The two lighter, balloon backs he decided must belong to the Peters sisters. The upright and very formal Victorian jobs were Matthew’s and Stephen’s. Rina’s carver had been set at the head of the table, and an elaborate dark oak number – with a cushion on the seat – he guessed was Tim’s. He paused, noting abruptly that another chair had now been set opposite Tim Brandon’s seat. The high, bobbin-turned back spoke of solidity, and the warm glow of the timber evinced a long life and much polishing. He knew at once that this was now his place at the table and it moved him tremendously that they had already both literally and figuratively made a space for him.

  The sound of light footsteps on the stairs brought him back into the hall.

  Rina smiled. ‘I thought you’d already be up.’ She nodded at his mug. ‘Any more of that?’

  Stan grinned. ‘I think there might be,’ he said.

  Karen stood in the shadows and watched as the residents of Hill House boarded the minibus and set off for school.

  She was used to not being seen, and she knew the layout of the house and gardens well, had made a point of knowing ever since her little brother had come to live there after the death of their parents. Karen had always looked after George. Karen had always looked after their mother too, keeping them safe, keeping them moving. Hiding from the abusive husband and father who had died not so far from where she now stood.