‘Where am I?’ I struggled to sit up. A stab of pain caught me by surprise. I winced and gritted my teeth. The room swam before me, and Scarlett’s concerned expression deepened. She surged forward to prevent me from doing whatever she thought I intended to do, but I waved her away and held my position with my body propped up against the bedstead. The pain eased.
‘St Mary’s Hospital, Newport.’
I was in a small ward of just four beds and daylight was streaming in through the windows.
Then it came back to me. I sat bolt upright with a scream, which I somehow managed to stifle before it disturbed the whole of the ward. This time the pain wasn’t only physical but emotional.
My boys. I had to stop Rowde from hurting them, killing them even, because I had no doubt that he would. He would probably have me watch it too. I must have turned a peculiar colour because Scarlett leapt up and said, ‘I’m going to call the nurse.’
‘No. Please,’ I managed to whisper with enough conviction and determination to make her hover. Why was she bothering with me? Why was she even here? ‘I’m all right, just give me a moment.’ A moment was all I had. I had already lost a night lying here. God, it was only one night, wasn’t it?
‘How long have I been here?’ I asked anxiously.
‘About ten hours. I found you on the floor of your houseboat. I’d lost Mother again.’ She glared at me. Now I saw that where other women blushed and got upset, Scarlett simply scowled or glared.
She added, ‘I saw those men leave your houseboat so I knew you were still awake. When you didn’t answer I thought you might be avoiding me, but the door sort of swung open and I found you on the floor. I called the ambulance.’
‘You didn’t call the police?’ I asked, watching her carefully. She returned my gaze.
‘No.’
She could see I had been beaten up. From what Vanessa had told me though, I guessed that she had probably been raised with a deep mistrust of the police because of her father. I was warming towards Scarlett.
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘It’s none of my business,’ she shrugged.
‘Then what are you doing here?’ It sounded ungrateful but I didn’t mean it that way. I wondered if she’d take umbrage like she usually did. This time she didn’t.
‘I had to bring Mother into the day centre. It’s all right – I found her last night. As I was here, I thought I’d call in and see how you were at the same time. Besides,’ she added, ‘I owe you for finding Mum the other evening and bringing her home.’
‘You’re welcome.’ I winced and held my side as I tried to propel myself up. ‘You’ve got a car?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, you can give me a lift into Newport.’
‘But you can’t possibly…OK, but don’t blame me if you have a relapse,’ she hotly declared.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Where are my clothes?’
Seven days, Rowde had given me. This was day one. By next Tuesday I had to find Andover and that money. Time was a luxury I no longer had.
‘In the cabinet.’
She left me to get dressed which I did as swiftly and as silently as I could. It wasn’t easy. My body screamed out in pain, which I had to ignore. I couldn’t feel anything, not yet. And I couldn’t rest up until I had found Andover. A nurse showed up with a stern expression on her face.
‘And just where do you think you’re going?’
‘Home,’ I told her curtly. ‘I’m discharging myself. I’ll sign any papers you give me to relieve you of any guilt, or comeback if I have a relapse, but I must get out of here.’
She stared at me for a moment, then with a lift of her eyebrows turned swiftly on her heel and left me to finish dressing. Putting on my socks and shoes involved such a supreme effort that I almost fainted. I gritted my teeth, remembered the broken photograph of my sons on the floor of the houseboat and foresaw their broken bodies dumped in a dank ditch somewhere, and it was amazing what I could achieve. I was like Superman after recovering from a dose of Kryptonite.
Amid many censorious looks I signed the forms and found Scarlett waiting for me by the lifts. We didn’t speak until we had reached her car, a rather rusty old Renault, but as long as it went it could have been a Mark One Ford for all I cared.
With much grunting and groaning I eased myself into the passenger seat. I scanned the road behind us looking for marble man. I couldn’t see him. Of course there was no need for him to follow me now; Rowde knew where I lived and how to get to my sons. He had wound me up like a clockwork toy and had let me go. I just hoped it wouldn’t be round and round in circles until I ran out of time, energy and clues.
Sometime before the seven days were up I knew Rowde would return to remind me that my time, or rather my sons’ time, was running out.
I looked at my reflection in the small mirror. I was not a pretty sight. My face was bruised and swollen and my mouth cut. Miraculously my teeth were still all present, though I thought a couple in the top right hand corner felt a bit loose.
Time for the dentist later, I hoped. God alone knew what Scarlett thought of me. I glanced at her as she headed towards the centre of Newport.
She’d not asked me any questions and I wondered why. She was remarkably uncurious for a woman.
She must have sensed my gaze because her eyes flittered to me and then back on the road.
‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’ I said.
‘I can see what happened. You got beaten up by those men I saw leaving the boat.’ She said it so matter of factly that it annoyed me.
‘So this is such a regular occurrence for you that you take it in your stride?’ I quipped.
‘What am I supposed to do? Wail and wring my hands, ask you to tell me why you got beaten up? Firstly I don’t wail and wring my hands, and secondly if I did ask, you wouldn’t tell me, so there’s no point, is there?’
I couldn’t fault her reasoning and rather admired it. I guess her father had trained her well.
‘What did you tell them at the hospital?’
‘That you got beaten up defending my honour.’
‘And they believed that?’
‘I doubt it, but I think they’re too busy to play social worker these days.’
The traffic lights turned red. Even that seemed an unnecessary delay to me. I wanted to scream at them. I wanted Scarlett to ignore them and race through. Every second counted.
I urged myself to calm down. Getting angry wasn’t going to achieve anything. Perhaps I should tell Gus. Perhaps he could take the boys away to safety. Yes, maybe that was what I should do. I didn’t want to worry Vanessa but I couldn’t see her letting Gus take David and Philip out of school without an explanation. And I didn’t quite trust him. That pilot’s licence still niggled away at me. I needed to know more about Gus Newberry.
Even if I could get my boys to safety I had a terrible feeling that Rowde would find them. I didn’t fool myself that marble man was Rowde’s only accomplice. Men like Rowde had a whole network of them. I knew that from my days spent with him in prison.
I couldn’t tell Scarlett about Rowde or my boys, but I could use this time to ask about my mother.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you used to clean for my mother?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Did my mother ever tell you that she thought someone was in the house? Or that she suspected an intruder?’
Scarlett flashed me a wary look. ‘No.’
‘And you never saw anyone suspicious loitering around or heard anyone?’
‘No. And I’m not a thief.’
‘I never said you were. Did you tell the police what Ruby said?’
‘About someone pushing Olivia down the stairs? Of course not. Mum doesn’t know what she’s saying. Your mother fell. It was a tragic accident and I’m sorry. I liked her. ’
‘So did I,’ I muttered.
‘Despite your ex wife giving me the push I’m still working at Bembridge House. I clea
n for Mrs Aslett three times a week.’
The new owner. I’d never met her.
‘The rest of the week I work as a chambermaid at the Windmill Hotel, OK?’
‘What you do for a living, Scarlett, is nothing to do with me.’
‘No, it’s not.’
She dropped me off, then chugged away, her exhaust rattling.
An hour later, after a few wary looks and some persuading that I wasn’t a reckless driver or a car thief, I had hired a car. It was an automatic, which would save me the physical pain of moving my leg to change gear. I returned to the houseboat and hastily packed a bag and collected the press cutting file, Joe’s reports and my notebook. Then I knocked at Scarlett’s door. Whilst I waited for her to answer I looked around. There were no cars loitering in the car parks further along the road towards the Toll Gate café, or in the other direction towards the marina, but a few passed me on the Embankment Road. Any one of them could have contained one of Rowde’s cronies or the police, which reminded me…had Miles found out what unit DCI Crowder was attached to? Time to call him later. I was just beginning to think that Scarlett was out when the door opened. She looked as though she’d been asleep.
She ran a hand through her hair.
‘I’m going over to the mainland. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I thought you ought to know in case your mother tries to get on the boat and gets upset.’
‘Oh.’ She looked surprised. I suppose my thoughtfulness disarmed her.
‘Do you have a telephone?’ Now I really had surprised her.
‘A mobile, why?’
‘Give me the number.’
She did without question and again I marvelled at her complete lack of curiosity. It was only when I was on the car ferry heading across the Solent that I rumbled. She had been with someone, a boyfriend perhaps, judging by the dishevelled appearance, the reluctance to invite me in, and the hastily dragged on clothes. I hadn’t seen or heard anyone but I was convinced she hadn’t been alone. I was surprised to find it peeved me a little.
I grabbed a sandwich and coffee on the ferry.
Eating it was a bit uncomfortable and I drew some peculiar looks from the other passengers who studiously avoided me. That suited me fine.
They probably had me down for a thug. Still that was their problem not mine. I called Miles, who confirmed that Crowder was from the Specialist Investigations Unit of the Hampshire Constabulary. There had been no call from Jennifer Clipton. I didn’t tell him about Rowde, or Westnam, or that I was on my way to see Brookes’ widow. I was taking a bit of a gamble but it was time I talked to her. I just hoped she was still at the address Joe had given me.
She was. As she opened the door to me two hours later, her shocked expression at my bruised face turned to wariness and she closed the door slightly. I could see that she didn’t recognise me.
‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for Roger Brookes,’ I began pleasantly.
‘He’s not here.’ She frowned, puzzlement accompanying wariness. She hadn’t changed much from her appearances in court alongside her husband. Still very slim, narrow-hipped and long-legged, bottle blonde straight shoulder-length hair, lines around her blue eyes and tight, slightly hard mouth.
‘When will he be back?’ I asked in all innocence of his recent demise.
‘He won’t, he’s… he passed away two years ago.’
I feigned horror and shock. It must have worked because her expression softened. I said,
‘I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know. Are you his wife?’
She nodded.
‘Please forgive me. I do hope I haven’t upset you. I had no idea that Roger had died,’ I lied, hoping that I looked distraught. Maybe if I came through this I could turn to acting, I thought wryly, as she certainly seemed convinced.
‘Were you a friend of his? I don’t think I recall you although you do look vaguely familiar.’
‘I expect it’s hard to recognise me through all the bruises. I had a car accident a couple of days ago. Nothing too serious but enough to make me look like this. I’ve just come from the States and I forgot I was driving on the wrong side of the road. My name’s Bob Morley. I used to work with Roger.’
‘Would you like to come in, Mr Morley?’
‘I’m not disturbing you?’ I stepped inside a wide hall with a highly polished floor and an oak staircase leading up to a galleried landing.
‘No, it’s nice to have the company. Come through to the kitchen. Would you like a drink?’
‘Thanks – and it’s Bob. This really is very kind of you. What a lovely house, Roger always was very ambitious.’
She tossed me a smile over her shoulder as she filled the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee or perhaps –’
‘Tea thanks.’
‘How did you know Roger?’
‘We worked together years ago at Seatons, the travel company. Then I went to the States and Roger started his own company. I believe he was very successful.’ I knew Brookes’ background and that of the other three victims by heart. ‘How did he die?’
She turned away to make the tea but also to avoid looking at me. ‘Suicide.’
When she turned back I could see the anguish on her face. I felt a little sorry for her. But I hardened my heart. I had a job to do and whatever it took I would do it.
I said. ‘Maybe I had better go if this is too painful for you.’ Of course it worked.
‘No, please. It helps to talk, or so they tell me.’
‘What happened? Was the business in trouble?’
‘On the contrary, we were doing extremely well, better than ever. Roger got depressed and couldn’t get out of it, midlife crisis, I suppose.
Who knows?’ She handed me my tea. She knew all right. I could tell. ‘Help yourself to sugar.’
I declined. I remained silent hoping that she would fill the void. She did.
‘I suppose it had something to do with the fraud.’
‘Fraud!’
‘Oh, not by Roger. He was conned by a very clever man, who got one million pounds out of us and two other businessmen before the police discovered what he was up to. We were OK
financially, even though we never got the money back, and I thought Roger was over it, but it must have preyed on his mind.’
‘But why did Roger give away one million pounds? Was he being blackmailed?’ I asked as innocently as I could. I got a reaction all right and it told me the truth. Her eyes narrowed and her body language stiffened, she lowered her head and took a sip of her tea, avoiding my glance.
‘Of course not,’ she replied tetchily. ‘It was a charitable donation, only there was no charity.’
‘That was clumsy and rude of me. I didn’t mean to imply there was anything shady or wrong in Roger’s business or private life, I just know how these things work. A deal gets done that is OK
but not strictly legit, some past aggrieved employee gets hold of it and before you know it you’re covering your tracks and someone’s got you by the balls.’
She gave a strained smile.
‘The police caught this man though?’ I asked.
She put down her cup. ‘Yes. James Andover was the name he used. His real name was Alexander Albury. He went to prison but he wouldn’t say where the money was.’ She began fiddling with a gold bracelet, then she looked at her watch. I could tell she was regretting letting me in.
‘And did Albury say why he had picked on Roger?’
‘Because he was wealthy, I suppose.’
‘So are lots of people but they aren’t targeted.
There must be a connection, so did the police find one?’
Now she was looking at me a little suspiciously.
‘ No. Besides what does it matter? It’s over now, Albury is in prison and Roger’s dead.’
I nodded and sipped my tea. ‘I wonder if he’ll do it again when he comes out of prison? Pick on some other unsuspecting victim that is. I hope he doesn’t come back to you,’ I mused.
&
nbsp; She looked alarmed. ‘But surely that won’t happen. He’ll have learnt his lesson.’
‘People rarely learn, and the police can’t be everywhere. If he’s that clever then maybe next time he won’t get caught.’
She rose abruptly and said, ‘I’m really sorry, Bob, but I didn’t realise how late it was. I’ve got to go out.’
‘It’s me who should be apologising for taking up so much of your time and for upsetting you.’
She ushered me out of the door quicker than a kitchen salesman. I had stirred up something and now all I had to do was sit back and see which way she ran.
It was to a house outside Tetbury, about a half hour’s drive away. I was prevented from driving up to the front door because the house was set back from the road, squatting very nicely in its own ground and reached by a sweeping gravel driveway.
I left the car in a country lane that bordered the northern side of the new golden-stone manor house and walked the two hundred yards or so around the corner to the east-facing entrance.
After gazing right and left like some furtive detective in an old black and white movie I slipped up the driveway and ran across the damp grass until I skirted the back of the house, praying that whoever owned it didn’t also own large dogs, or any dogs come to that, which would alert the occupants. But everything remained silent.
I had seen an expensive Range Rover parked at the front of the house by the double garage, beside Emma Brookes’ Saab, and as she was nowhere to be seen and hadn’t come out of the house, I guessed that whoever lived here was at home.
I walked around the house peering in at the windows. I didn’t know what reason I would give for following Emma here, if she challenged me, but I’d find one. I’d tell her the truth if I needed to.
She was in the sitting room, at the back of the house, talking to a younger version of herself.
Neither woman seemed remotely interested in what was happening in the garden. I pressed myself against the wall with my head peering around the edge of the French windows like Philip Marlowe on a job, hoping to pick up some of their conversation. The day was still warm and the French door was slightly ajar. I couldn’t quite catch everything they said but snatches of it were enough to make my heart quicken.
In for the Kill Page 8
