Tony watched ever fatter flakes of snow fluff the windscreen and slide to join the thickening heap on the Land Rover’s bonnet. Inside, the temperature had dropped.
‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ Alex said. ‘Where’s the rest of the handkerchief?’
Mary leaned forward and lowered her voice as if afraid of being overheard. ‘According to Violet, the whole thing was put in Maria’s coffin.’
TWENTY-FIVE
She would probably get hell from Tony. Alex whistled and leaned forward to peer through the windscreen, trying to keep a steady speed on the hill leading to her house. If she slowed down she could slip to a halt.
When they had walked Harriet and Mary safely into their cottage, Tony got a call to come to his clinic and set a sheepdog’s leg. He left Alex at Lily’s and she told him she’d wait for him to come and take her up the hill to get fresh clothes and supplies.
He had been gone a long time, called and said he’d be even longer, and she became afraid they wouldn’t get up the hill and back again if they didn’t go now. She stopped over at the Black Dog to tell her mother where she was going, collected Bogie and took off.
No one would be fooling around the lodge in this weather. It would be safe. With luck, she could do what she had to in record time, not that she owed Tony any explanations for her actions. Even if she had come to like being with him more than without him …
The Land Rover scrunched to a stop. Alex could already make out the turn to the right that came before the driveway at Lime Tree Lodge. Not that she felt like trying to go the rest of the way on foot. Letting the pedal up slowly, she slid back a little and made another attempt.
It didn’t work, but the next try did.
Bogie sat close, leaned against her and swayed with every jolt. And managed to get in a lick to her jaw from time to time.
In this manner, creeping forward and sliding back inches, she reached the lodge, where inches of virgin snow covered everything. Winters were getting more extreme. Last year there had been sub-freezing temperatures in late April.
Rather than risk getting on an unplanned downward roll in the driveway, Alex stopped a little distance away from the front door. The outdoor lights came on and she got out of the Land Rover with Bogie trying to push past. It was funny how quickly a place looked deserted. This time she would leave more lights on inside the lodge.
She let herself into the house and shivered, even in her parka. The rush of air that met her felt more chilling than it was outside. It shouldn’t be so cold in here. She hadn’t turned off the heat, but a hand on one of the space heaters installed deliberately because they looked like antique radiators confirmed it was cold, and felt as if it had been for a long time.
The pipes will freeze. Several descriptive words came to mind but she swallowed them all. These were the joys of owning a home and having no one to share thinking about the upkeep – not that she needed anyone, she reminded herself.
Bogie bustled around familiarly. She was glad to have him. That thought warmed her up and brought a grin to her face. It was amazing how quickly she’d become accustomed to her little sidekick.
Suitcases were kept in a cupboard under the main stairs. The space was finished and very dry so made a good storage area. Her mother said that in the Second World War that’s where the occupants would have hidden during bombing attacks, not that Lily had actually been around for that. This area was just far enough from London not to have experienced much wartime activity, but Alex always got a funny feeling when she opened the door and thought about those who might have run under there to take cover. There were still several well-made cupboards that must have been used for supplies, and the area was reinforced.
Deciding on two small bags rather than a big one, she took the wheeled duffels into the hall but stopped before going upstairs. She needed to find out why the heat had gone off. In the morning she must call Simpson Brothers, who were actually father and son these days, and get them up here if possible. The Simpsons were the kind of family do-all firm that also did everything well without overcharging.
The heat ran on electricity and since the lights were working, there could not be a general failure. She looked at the circuit box and threw the breakers. She really didn’t know enough to work out what might be wrong.
The lights were on. Nothing else looked unusual. The problem had to be peculiar to the heating.
Another check of the heaters showed they were still cold.
The only thing she could do was turn the heaters all the way up and hope at least some warmth came through.
Alex rubbed her hands together. A breeze, strong and icy, was coming from somewhere. She turned the nearest control and kept turning and turning. Frowning, she looked closer, then moved to the next heater. It was turned all the way off, as the first one must have been.
A rapid survey of the living room as she walked round revealed the same situation. Someone had turned off every bit of heat and it hadn’t been her.
What she had been too preoccupied to notice were open drawers. The room wasn’t turned upside down but there was no doubt someone had been in there searching for something. Cushions remained on couches and chairs but they were pulled out and untidy.
Alex stood still in the middle of the room and listened. What she heard was the beating of her heart.
The house sounded and felt silent, still.
Alex had a problem squishing a fly but these were serious circumstances. She picked up one of a group of antique walking sticks she’d collected in a polished brass umbrella stand.
The beat of her heart in her throat hurt, but she followed the perishing current of air back into the hall and through to the kitchen. Running out the way she’d come in wouldn’t help. If someone was around, they’d get to her no matter where she went.
The door from the kitchen stood wide open. She could see the stone wall at the side of the grounds and how snow heaped on every surface.
Again, someone had made a perfunctory search. Unlike the room at the Black Dog, nothing was broken here or scattered about. A single dart with a yellow flight stabbed a small square of printed paper, pinned it to the table.
She didn’t want to cry but tears squeezed from the corners of her eyelids and burned. A few steps took her to the table and she read a copy of a simple announcement outlined with a single black line. Alex had never seen it before.
In Loving Memory
Of
Michelle
Infant daughter of Michael and Alexandra Bailey-Jones.
Taken before she drew breath.
We will never forget.
Bogie leaped up and barked wildly. An instant later the front doorbell rang.
Shaking, Alex stopped breathing. She called her baby Lily – but only to herself. She pulled out her mobile phone.
The bell rang again before loud hammering sounded. And the outdoor lights blacked out.
Alex screamed. The sound erupted before she could contain it. She punched in 999 and held the phone to her ear with both hands.
A disembodied voice at the other end asked the questions she had hoped she would never have to answer again. ‘Lime Tree Lodge,’ she started. She heard meaningless questions but she talked over them, trying to keep breathing deeply. ‘I need the police. I think someone’s been in my house. And now they’re outside trying to get in.’
While she spoke a tall shape materialized from the darkness and faint white glow outside, approached the door and rushed toward her, arms outstretched. His head and lower face were wrapped in a black scarf.
Alex dropped the phone, raised the ivory head of the walking stick and braced her feet apart.
TWENTY-SIX
Bogie stopped barking.
‘Dammit, Alex, why didn’t you wait for me?’ Tony caught her arms as she raised them, a stick held in both hands. He couldn’t remember this sensation of frustration and protectiveness hitting him at the same time before.
She struggled against him until he to
ok away the stick. ‘Tony?’ Taking in short, shallow gulps of air, she pushed him away and sat down hard in a kitchen chair.
‘Alex? I talked to Lily and she said you’d only left a short time before. You said you’d wait. Look what you’ve done. You’ve scared yourself half to death – and me.’ Bogie panted and jumped up to get his attention, ignoring Katie who had followed him in.
‘The snow was getting heavier all the time.’ Her pallor, and the sheen on her face – and her obvious fight to breathe – could be the start of another panic attack. ‘Who would be up here in this kind of weather if they didn’t have to be? I just thought … I could get a few things and be back in the village without any problems. I was afraid that if I waited another hour or so it wouldn’t be so easy to get up here.’
Katie gave a thorough, whole body, almost levitating shake, showering Alex, who flinched.
‘Down,’ Tony told his dog. He propped the cane against a counter. ‘Alex, why did you leave the back door open?’
‘I didn’t.’ She bent over the table. ‘Thought you were … I don’t know.’
Tony rubbed her back. ‘Take a deep breath and hold it. Let it out slowly. Everything’s OK now.’ He saw a piece of copied newsprint on the table and reached for it before pulling his hand away. One of those darts pinned the paper to the table. The police wouldn’t want it touched. ‘Breathe,’ he told Alex, reading the announcement.
Crazy bastard.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said quietly, crouching beside her. At her other side, looking doleful, sat Katie, and Bogie muscled in to share the space. ‘Whoever’s doing this is sick. And he really doesn’t want you around here.’ Probably not the best thing to say.
‘I would have called her Lily, not Michelle,’ Alex said quietly, her breathing slower. ‘I never saw that announcement before. I don’t even know what paper it was in, or whatever. Who would put it in?’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Why does someone want me to leave – that is what they want? Tony, is what’s happening to me really something to do with these deaths?’
‘We’ve got to try to figure out answers for all those questions. First we decide whether to start looking for connections from the present and work back, or figure out a starting point in the past and come forward.’ He paused to unwind the scarf from his neck. ‘Let’s call the police. We should have done that right off.’
‘I called them just before you got here – I think.’
‘What do you mean, love?’ He noticed what he’d called her but it was OK, she wouldn’t be aware of it. ‘You think you called?’
‘I think I did. I went into that silly screaming fit. I must have hung up.’
‘They would still have logged the call. And probably traced it.’ He wondered why the police hadn’t called back. He picked up her phone. It appeared to be still connected. ‘Hello,’ he said into the mouthpiece.
‘Just hold the line, sir. A unit is on its way. Stay inside and don’t attempt to confront the intruder. Stay calm and don’t move or touch anything.’ The voice sounded like a recording, or someone accustomed to repeating herself frequently.
‘They’re coming,’ Tony said, starting to take closer notice of the kitchen. Apart from a couple of open and sagging drawers, he didn’t see evidence of more than a cursory look around. ‘I can hear sirens now. Whatever happens, we don’t give them any reason to start getting stroppy.’
A siren arrived and cut out. Seconds later the doorbell rang but, before Alex could move, they both heard footsteps scrunching around the outside of the house, coming toward the kitchen entrance.
‘Attacked on both flanks,’ Tony said with a grin, but Alex didn’t crack a smile.
A uniformed constable arrived cautiously at the open door.
‘It’s OK,’ Tony said. ‘Come in, please. I’ll answer the front door.’
He left Alex staring dully at the policewoman and strode to answer the bell with two barking dogs at his heels.
‘Harrison? You get around.’ O’Reilly sounded mild enough but his dark eyes were sharply appraising. ‘I look for Alex and you’re never far away.’ He stamped snow from his shoes and brushed at his coat.
Before Tony could invite the man in, he stepped past him, searching in every direction. ‘Where’s Alex?’
‘In the kitchen.’
Walking in that direction, O’Reilly said, ‘You were here with her the whole time?’
Tony followed. ‘No … I got here just after she called you people.’
‘Were you expected or do you really make a habit of following her around?’
If this was the charming side of Detective Inspector O’Reilly, Tony hoped he wasn’t around if the man got nasty.
O’Reilly paused before going into the kitchen. He looked back at Tony. ‘Did Alex know you were coming?’
‘We originally planned for—’
‘I asked if you were expected.’
Tony clamped his back teeth together and breathed deeply through his nose. ‘Not exactly,’ he finally said.
‘Right you are,’ O’Reilly said. The dogs beat him into the kitchen. ‘Hello, Alex. Another rough arrival on the home front? What’s your name, Constable?’
‘Bishop, sir.’ With shiny blonde hair pulled back at the nape and her young face scrubbed, Bishop had the glow of an outdoorswoman.
‘Keep your ears open while you make us some tea, would you?’ O’Reilly told her. He closed the door to the outside and stood facing them, his hands in his coat pockets.
Alex made a move toward the constable, filling a kettle, but O’Reilly shook his head. ‘Stay where you are. You look shocked. Don’t worry about noises outside. Your grounds are being searched.’ He frowned. ‘It’s very cold in here.’ Even as he spoke, he fixed on the pinned announcement in the middle of the table and went straight to it, bent over with hands behind his back.
‘The door was left open,’ Tony began. ‘Before Alex got here.’
‘Someone turned all the heaters off,’ Alex cut in. She felt the tension between O’Reilly and Tony.
‘And you found this when you got here?’ O’Reilly said, still staring at the copied cutting. He glanced back at Alex.
Her throat jerked when she swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I never saw it before. It’s to frighten me, right?’
O’Reilly’s incline of the head was noncommittal. He pulled surgical gloves from one coat pocket and plastic bags from the other, but he went to the door and outside, returning with an officer carrying a camera. ‘Get that,’ O’Reilly said, pointing to the dart and paper.
After photos from every angle, O’Reilly bagged the dart and the paper separately. He handed them to the photographer, who went back outside.
‘You didn’t touch those?’ O’Reilly said, and when she shook her head, no, added: ‘Good. We’ll see if we get anything from them.’
‘I haven’t been upstairs,’ Alex told him. ‘I almost missed that they searched downstairs. They definitely aren’t thieves or they wouldn’t have left things that are worth a fair amount – things that are in plain sight. What are they looking for? Do you know?’
D.I. O’Reilly’s smile probably appealed to women. ‘I think all three of us know. You want to go first, Harrison?’
‘Call me Tony,’ he said, deliberately cloying. ‘Everyone does. Even my patients. I imagine they must be looking for that ring you’ve already got. What do you think, Alex?’
She didn’t look amused at his sarcasm. ‘Right. But I think I want to hear I’m wrong about everything I’ve started thinking. Biscuits are in that tin, Constable.’
‘Why don’t the three of us sit down and think about this. And while we’re at it, I’ve come up with a few questions for you.’
‘Alex has been through a lot,’ Tony said. ‘Let me bring her in to see you in the morning.’
That earned him a long, steady look from O’Reilly. ‘We should do this while things are fresh,’ he said. ‘Unless you really don’t feel up to it, Alex.’
>
‘I’m fine.’ She waved Tony into a chair and O’Reilly joined them.
‘Do you think anything’s missing?’ he said.
She shook her head, no. ‘There are a couple of good vases and a decent little painting in the living room. They’re still there.’
The kettle boiled and steam hit the cold air in a stream of white vapor. Rivulets ran through haze on the windows.
‘Here we are.’ Bishop slid a floral melamine tray on the table. Three mugs of milky tea, the bags still inside, added more damp to the atmosphere.
‘Please take one of these,’ Alex told Bishop, but she shook her head, pulled a chair to a corner and sat down. She drew out a very new-looking leather notebook and waited with pen at the ready.
While they dispensed with the teabags, more vehicles turned into the driveway and squidged their way through the deepening snow.
‘Isn’t all that a bit of overkill?’ Tony said, inclining his head toward the slam of car doors. ‘Sounds like an army. What are they going to find in weather like this?’
‘The sooner they look, the better the chances they’ll find something,’ O’Reilly said. ‘You remember what was around Brother Percy’s neck when we found him, Alex.’
‘You think I could forget?’
‘Rhetorical question,’ O’Reilly responded mildly. ‘It was the cincture from his habit. You managed to cut it through with a kitchen knife. Was there anything else you noticed when you were doing that?’
Tony waited to see if Alex would speak. When she didn’t he snapped his fingers and said, ‘The shred of lace. What you found stuck in your pocket later, remember?’
The look she gave him was a reminder not to mention the Burke sisters.
Keeping his mouth shut cost Tony a lot of control. He hoped the omission wouldn’t come back to haunt them in some way.
‘Alex,’ O’Reilly prompted, so gently Tony had a crazy impulse to hit him.
‘Yes, in my pocket.’ She looked at Tony and her worry showed. ‘I didn’t find it till afterward. It’s not much. It’s wrapped up so it won’t fray any more.’
Folly Page 15
