Reaching the nursing home, I parked near the front door. I’d wasted enough valuable time getting here and I found myself urgently wanting to see Silvie, to reassure myself that this latest respiratory infection wasn’t going to gain the upper hand.
A young nurse, who I’d seen before, let me in.
She smiled briefly. ‘Mr Radcliffe, to see Silvie?’
I nodded.
‘If you’d like to go on, you know where her rooms are, don’t you?’
I nodded again.
‘Good, and if you’ll excuse me whilst I drop this note off in Matron’s office, I’ll follow you.’
‘Busy this morning?’
‘Frantic.’ She flashed me a smile and was gone.
I made my way down the long corridor. At Silvie’s door I tapped, walked in and stopped abruptly. The French doors were wide open, golden curtains billowing in the breeze – not conducive to a sick patient. As I made to go across and close them, two things happened. The emergency alarm beeped stridently and the inner door to Silvie’s bedroom was flung open. Once again, despite my resolve, I was taken off-guard, wrong-footed.
A figure clad in dark clothes and wearing a balaclava erupted from the bedroom and plunged out through the open French doors. I hesitated fractionally, torn between wanting to see if Silvie was all right and my instinctive reaction to chase after the man.
There was a rush of movement behind me as two nurses burst into the room, their eyes wary, accusing. ‘What’s happened, Mr Radcliffe? Have you touched any equipment?’
I shook my head forcibly. ‘Check on Silvie. There’s been an intruder.’ Leaving them momentarily open-mouthed before professionalism quickly kicked in and sent them dashing through to the bedroom, I went after the man.
Cursing my indecision that had given him a two- or three-second head start, I sprinted across the lawns, headed for the only possible cover – the tall shrubbery. Pushing my way through to the fencing behind, I checked almost the whole of the boundary, drawing a total blank. With heaving lungs, I skidded to a halt. Beyond the fence I heard the unmistakable double click of a car door being opened and closed again. No mistake – the noise was followed by an engine being turned over and a gear grated.
I flung myself at the fence and scrabbled desperately up the wood panelling, rubbing patches of skin from my knees and knuckles, and finally clawed myself up to the top. A dark blue Peugeot was just driving off down the lane. It was too far away to get any indication of the registration number but I’d have bet Harlequin Cottage on it being the same car that had tried to finish me off.
As that thought struck me I let go of the fence and kicked myself off and away from it, landing on all fours. Silvie! What had the bastard done to Silvie?
Inside the nursing home, as I gasped my way in, the bleeper was now mercifully silent and two nurses were attending to Silvie.
‘How is she? Has she been hurt?’
‘Fortunately, there was little time lapse. She’s OK.’
‘Thank God.’
‘So,’ the senior nurse eyed me, ‘what happened, Mr Radcliffe?’
‘I don’t know. I came into the sitting room and the French doors were wide open, curtains blowing. Before I could close them, Silvie’s bleeper went mad and her bedroom door crashed open. A man in a balaclava ran off through the open doors.
‘So you didn’t touch Silvie?’
‘Me? No, I still haven’t seen her. I left you two nurses to look after her and I legged it after this man.’
‘Did you catch him?’
I slumped against the doorframe. ‘No, no, the bastard got away. He had a car waiting the other side of the fence. I just managed to see it as he drove off.’
I moved across the room into Silvie’s bedroom. I needed to see her, make sure she wasn’t harmed in any way. Her eyes, wide – afraid – searched for me and she gave a cry of distress. I was beside her instantly, holding her close. ‘Everything’s fine, Silvie, you’re safe, darling.’ I smoothed the damp hair back from her forehead and looked across at the nurse. ‘Why did the bleeper go off?’
‘The oxygen-feed tube had been dislodged.’
‘If it hadn’t been put right straight away could it have proved fatal?’
‘Because she has an RTI, very possibly, yes.’
We stared at each other above the top of Silvie’s head.
‘Could she have dislodged it herself?’
‘Oh, no,’ the nurse said emphatically. ‘The whole apparatus had been moved.’
So it was attempted murder, then. Not able to finish me, the bastard had tried to finish Silvie.
‘I see,’ I said.
And we stared at each other some more.
NINETEEN
An hour later, my statement taken by the police, I slid into the driving seat of the Mazda and drove away.
Silvie had drifted off into a drug-assisted sleep in my arms. The comfort and reassurance she seemed to draw simply from my presence was humbling in the extreme. But there was so very little I could do. The nurses were angels. They took such good care of her that all her physical needs were met and they kept her spirits high with their cheerful, smiling faces.
For my part, I knew from years of experience that Silvie got enough stimulation from an hour’s visit and then usually succumbed to a restoring nap. And today, the fact that she was more fragile than normal, the infection raging through her delicate frame, weakening and lowering her defences, was bad enough. Now, on top of that, the attempted murder had naturally terrified her. I could only guess at her state of mind and emotions when the balaclava-clad man had entered her bedroom and snatched away her breathing aid. The stress was going to knock her back, take what little feeble strength she had, strength that should be going towards fighting the virus in her lungs.
Just thinking of her ordeal made my hands clench white on the steering wheel. If I had managed to catch up with the man I would have inflicted a lot of damage.
Deliberately taking deep breaths and telling myself to calm down, I forced myself to concentrate on my driving. Having a smash and possibly injuring some other innocent motorist would certainly not help the situation.
The police had been very efficient, turning up only minutes after the matron’s summoning call. They had questioned each of the nurses – even, extremely gently, assessed Silvie’s recollections – and, of course, questioned me.
The only thing that annoyed me was their calm but firm reaction to my description of the dark blue Peugeot. ‘But did you actually see the intruder climb the fence and drive off in the car, sir?’ And, of course, I couldn’t swear I had. So, no go. ‘Sorry, sir, that’s an assumption, not a fact.’ As far as I was concerned it was a very fair assumption but they remained unimpressed.
And so I’d watched as the French doors had been secured and with nothing more I could contribute, I’d left Silvie in the capable hands of the nurses and made myself scarce. What I needed right now was a person I could talk to, bounce my theories off, someone less emotionally involved, to see if there was some fact I’d overlooked by being too close. That someone had to be Mike. His handling of crises was legendary. He’d had plenty of practice.
I drove into his stable yard forty minutes later. It was gone eleven; third lot was still out but a few of the horses that had been exercised in the first and second lots swung heads out over half-doors and followed my progress with large, liquid eyes. They say cats are curious but racehorses certainly are too.
I tried the back door of the main house but it was obvious Mike wasn’t indoors. His truck was missing, which meant he was probably out on the gallops tracking the progress of his horses.
I walked back to the line of stables. Joe, Mike’s head lad, was in the tack room. Hearing my footsteps approaching, he came out. The title ‘lad’ was incongruous. He was a stringy man the wrong side of fifty, grey at the temples and with a kindness in his blue eyes. I knew Mike thought a lot of him and left a good deal of the daily routine in his capable hands.
‘Hi there, Harry. How’re y’doin?’
‘Getting there, thanks, Joe. His nibs out with the string?’
‘Yeah, be about another ten minutes I should think.’
I nodded. ‘Any racing today?’
‘No, later in the week.’
‘I’d like to collar him for a while. Would that cause any problems?’
‘No, everything’s running sweetly. No probs.’
‘Right.’ I nodded. I’d no wish to disrupt Mike’s routine but I really needed to unburden myself to him. Get his take on the hateful business. My judgement was skewed by being emotionally involved. I needed his clear, analytical mind to look at it objectively and give me advice on what action, if any, I should take next. Joe and I chatted for a few minutes until the familiar clip-clop of many hooves sounded on the hard surface of the approach to the stables.
Joe straightened up and tugged his baseball cap firmly into place. ‘OK, then?’
‘Yes, you carry on, I’m fine.’
And he strode off to meet the incoming string of horses. Following on behind, Mike’s truck was turning into the stable yard.
I went over and opened the door. ‘Hi, Mike.’
‘Can’t keep away, y’see.’
Despite my shocking morning, I managed a brief grin. ‘You’re better than a whole bottle of tranquilizers.’
His eyes slid over me, assessing, forming opinions. ‘Now, why would you be wanting those things?’
‘I don’t. But I do want your judgement, your take on what happened earlier today.’
He pursed his lips and jumped from the vehicle. ‘Right. Come over to the house. We’ll get some coffee and you can tell me what’s up.’
His down-to-earth approach was just what I needed. I felt myself calm down. ‘And after coffee, how about I treat us to a bite at The Horseshoes?’
‘I’m not going to turn down an offer like that.’ He chuckled. ‘You’re on.’
We repaired to his comfortable den, a cross between an office and a snug sitting room. I subsided into a leather recliner as Mike thrust a mug of coffee into my hand. He sprawled back in his own chair, took a long, appreciative slurp of his drink and fixed me with an intense stare. ‘Come on, then, faze me out. What’s happened?’
‘Try attempted murder.’
He drew in a sharp breath, his brow wrinkling. ‘You serious?’
‘Yep.’
‘Who tried to murder you?’
‘Not me, Mike – Silvie.’
‘My God!’ He jerked forward, slopping coffee. ‘Is she still with us?’
‘Yes, thanks to the fast reaction of the nurses.’
He eased himself back in the chair. ‘Give me the full S.P.’
So I filled him in on the whole sordid story, starting with the moment the night before when I’d realized a dark blue Peugeot was following me back home after leaving the pub at Gunthorpe. ‘What I need from you, Mike, is an objective view on where I go from here. I’ll be quite honest, I’m still reeling from what’s happened.’
‘It beggars belief,’ Mike said. He shook his head. ‘I can hardly take it in. I mean, poor, dear Silvie … the most innocent, vulnerable and inoffensive person. It’s sickening. I’m not surprised you’re in a mess. I’m not related to her and it’s thrown me completely.’
We sat in silence for several minutes. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, brought down by the negative darkness of our depressing thoughts. I sighed, and added to it. ‘My overriding concern now, of course, is when will the next attempt be made?’
‘That thought,’ Mike said, ‘had already occurred to me.’
‘You think it likely as well, then?’
‘Unfortunately, Harry, I’m sure a further attack will be made, or attempted. But preventing it, well, that’s something else. I mean, you can’t stand guard over Silvie night and day waiting for it to happen.’
‘So what do you reckon I should do?’
He rolled the coffee mug back and forth between his palms and shook his head. ‘It’s been said the best form of defence is …’
‘Attack.’ I finished his sentence.
‘Hmmm.’
‘That’s feasible if you can see the enemy, but when you don’t know who the enemy is …’
‘Quite.’
‘The start of all this was when I came off Gold Sovereign. All the aggro has happened since. And, let’s be correct, since the results of the fall forced me to take on the job of writing Elspeth’s biography.’
‘So it has to be someone connected to her, or with her, however loosely. The answer must lie in the information you already have or what you will turn up during the writing.’
‘My summing up exactly, but I might be looking right at it and not realize I am.’
‘Very true. And I suppose there’s any amount of contacts and casual acquaintances she’s come across during a lifetime’s work. Pretty hopeless to pinpoint any one person, I should think.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed despondently.
‘But you do know Elspeth’s son is violently opposed to you writing this book.’
‘Are you saying I should pack it up?’
‘No-ooo,’ he said slowly. ‘Although, if you think it would take the heat away from Silvie I wouldn’t try and dissuade you.’
‘What are you saying, Mike?’
‘I think I’m saying it’s too late, mate. The cat’s probably out of the bag already.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Whoever’s behind this has probably already decided you have unearthed the hidden facts and what has been learned cannot be unlearned.’
‘I see what you mean,’ I said slowly. ‘As in the only way now to shut me up is to blackmail me with Silvie’s life or to finish me off altogether.’
He spread his hands. ‘Basically, yes.’
‘The irony of that is I haven’t discovered any damning evidence.’
‘You may not think so, but I’d lay good money that you have. OK, you’ve not yet recognized what its damaging potential is, but that’s only a matter of time.’
I drained the now cold coffee. ‘Well, as you say, what’s learned cannot be unlearned. So it may be the way to minimize future risks is to plough on. Find out what it is that’s hidden below the surface, then I should find out who’s responsible and put a stop to the attacks.’
He jumped up, clapped me on the shoulder and relieved me of the empty mug. ‘Lunch, yes?’
I nodded and stood up. ‘My shout, though.’
‘Whatever. We can work out a better campaign easier on a full stomach.’
I drove us over to The Horseshoes. It was packed, as usual, because the food was good and not overpriced. Surrounded by racing stables, it was a magnet to ravenous stable staff. Finding a table with difficulty, we waited to be served and deferred conversation until we had polished off jacket potatoes filled with tuna and sweetcorn.
‘It’s Leicester races on Thursday,’ I said as, replete with food, we progressed to the washing it down stage.
‘Oh, yes, you were going to grill that jockey, Carl Smith.’
‘I still am. He’s the one firm lead I’ve got.’
‘If you need any more funds for greasing …’
I held up a hand. ‘Stop right there, Mike. I’m not here to take handouts. I appreciate the offer but no, OK?’
’Fair enough. So, what are you going to ask this Carl Smith?’
‘Dunno,’ I said wryly, ‘except find out if he’s working on his own for the big cheese or just how many others there are.’
‘He may not know.’
‘True, but it’s a question that needs asking. If he can point the finger at anyone else it gives me another lead to follow. And I want to know why he’s involved. Is it just for the money? Or is it more personal?’
‘You mean, does he have a grudge against you?’
‘Yes, because if it’s something I’ve inadvertently done maybe I can sort it, take away the need for getting even.’
‘Good thinking. Get him on your side and you’ve got a mole, haven’t you?’
I glanced around the crowded pub. ‘Anyone here could be involved, you know. They’re all in racing. Not a nice thought. I’m not going to be able to rest easy until I’ve found out who’s pulling the strings.’
‘Have you told Annabel … about Silvie?’
‘No. And come to think about it, I haven’t told Uncle George either.’
‘Don’t you think you should? They’re family. If things hadn’t turned out as they did today …’
‘Yes, you’re right again. See why I need your take?’
‘I’m being logical.’
‘Exactly. And I will let them know. As soon as I get back. I’ll try to catch Annabel on her lunch break, then ring Uncle George.’
An hour later I was back at the cottage, having dropped Mike off at the yard on the way. I picked up the phone in the office, dialled and waited. Annabel picked up.
‘Not disturbing you, am I? No clients waiting – or Jeffrey?’ I felt the usual kick of jealousy in my guts at his name, even though it was me who had voiced it.
‘Hello, Harry, darling. Yes, of course, there’s a client in the waiting room. And thank God for it. But no, Jeffrey’s not here and I still have a few minutes left of my lunch break.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve some disquieting news. No way of softening this, either …’
‘Harry,’ she cut in, ‘just tell me.’
‘Yes, right.’ So I told her.
Her gasp of outrage and shock came loudly down the phone.
‘Steady on, girl. Silvie’s all right.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Harry. How can she be all right? The fright alone would be enough to see her off. You know that. How could anyone do that?’ Her voice had raised in pitch, which was unusual for Annabel. I knew she was finding it a shock herself, trying to cope with the reality that some bastard could actually take an oxygen tube away from someone with a lung infection.
‘I’m truly sorry, Annabel. I hate upsetting you. But Mike said I should let you know what’s happened. Uncle George, too.’
Dead Certainty Page 13
