The Work of a Narrow Mind

by Faith Martin

  Outside, Jake took an ostentatious lungful of cold November air and pulled his coat closer around him. Hillary walked down the lane towards his E-Type, her mind feeling far more lively than it had when she’d left the Drews’ place.

  ‘She’s a character, isn’t she?’ Jake said cautiously, once they were seated inside the Jag, and out of the cold wind.

  ‘Oh yes. She’s that all right,’ Hillary agreed amiably.

  ‘I thought … once or twice, guv,’ he began tentatively, ‘that you had your gimlet little eye cast her way?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Jake grinned. ‘I think the lady noticed.’

  ‘Of course she did. She doesn’t miss much, our Ms de la Mare.’

  Jake waited. He knew there was more to come, and he was right. ‘You notice she didn’t offer us tea or coffee?’ Hillary offered as an opening gambit.

  Jake nodded solemnly. ‘Very suspicious behaviour, guv.’

  Hillary’s lips twitched. ‘In a way it was. It meant that she had a lot more on her mind than merely observing the rules of hospitality. And when you come across a witness with a lot on their mind, you pay attention.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘And did you notice her hands?’ Hillary asked.

  ‘Nicotine stained? Of course – they were practically glowing yellow, the amount of fags that she goes through.… You’re not interested in that. What else?’

  ‘They were paint stained. With recent paint,’ Hillary said.

  ‘Yeah? So what, guv? She told us she’d just been painting upstairs.’

  ‘What did you think of her pictures?’ she asked him, turning a little in the bucket seat to better look at him.

  Jake, a little surprised by the seeming change of topic, suddenly frowned warily, as if scenting a trap. ‘Well, I’m no art expert guv but you don’t have to be, to be able to tell quality when you see it, do you? Although they’re not my thing, and I wouldn’t hang ’em in my house, I could tell they had merit. You liked them, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. And you’re right – they’re the real deal. I think, when you start researching our Ms de la Mare you’re going to find she’s an artist of some renown.’

  Jake nodded, already resigned to hours of research. ‘So what’s the significance of the paint on her fingers, guv?’ he asked patiently.

  ‘She was painting, saw us, and left her work to come down and waylay us,’ Hillary said. ‘Why? Most artists are so wrapped up in their work that they wouldn’t hear a fire alarm going off. And I suspect that Freddie de la Mare, if she did hear a fire alarm go off, would rescue her artwork long before she’d even give her own safety a passing thought. But for some reason, she had to talk to us instead. Why?’

  Jake nodded slowly. ‘OK. I can see that might be a little out of character, but perhaps she just wanted to get it over and done with.’ He tested the theory carefully. ‘She did seem genuinely fond of Sylvia Perkins, after all. Maybe the thought of having it all raked up again gave a her a fit of the blues, and she just wanted it finished. Psychologically, that hangs together, right?’

  Hillary smiled. ‘Perhaps. So she leaves her work, beckons us in, doesn’t offer us refreshments, and proceeds to tell us … what exactly? What was it that she was so keen to tell us, do you think?’

  Jake, catching something in Hillary’s voice, suddenly had the frustrating feeling that he was missing something obvious. That he was, in fact, being exceedingly dim about it. But what was it that Hillary had deduced that he hadn’t?

  ‘I dunno, guv,’ he was finally forced to admit.

  Hillary sighed gently. ‘No need to beat yourself up about it, Jake. I wouldn’t have spotted it either if I hadn’t been interviewing witnesses for over twenty years. Tell me, when I suggested that it was robbers who killed Sylvie, what was her response?’

  ‘She thought it was a daft idea, and, as it turns out, she was right, wasn’t she? That gang that hit the other village around the same time were nowhere near here the day the old lady was murdered.’

  ‘Not the point, Jake,’ Hillary said helpfully. ‘When I moved on to Randy Gibson, another prime contender, what did she do?’

  ‘She didn’t think he had it in him,’ Jake said, still clearly puzzled. ‘And she sort of struck me as someone who’d be a good judge of character,’ he added, a shade defiantly, but willing to back his own judgement.

  Hillary smiled. ‘No need to be so defensive. As it happens, I agree with you. I think she’s probably got her neighbours well sussed out too – which was why I was so keen to hear what she thought about Gibson. But again, that’s not the point. What happened when I suggesed it might be one of Sylvie’s daughters? As we know, statistically your nearest and dearest are the most likely ones to do you in. Freddie’s intelligent enough to know that.’

  ‘But she didn’t think so in this case,’ Jake pointed out quickly. ‘And she watched all three of Sylvia’s daughters grow up, so would be in a good position to know. Why do you think one of Sylvia’s own daughters did it?’

  Hillary sighed. ‘I don’t as it happens. Not that I’d let that keep me from having an open mind on the subject. Once again, you’ve missed the point.’ Her lips twisted into an amused smile at Jake’s obvious and growing anger.

  ‘What did she say when I put the best suspect of all in the frame, Robbie Grant?’ she persisted.

  ‘Oh, she really didn’t like him, guv,’ Jake said at once. And then blinked. ‘But she was very clear that he hadn’t been around that day, wasn’t she? That thing about his exhaust? Being so positive that she would have seen him?’

  Hillary nodded. ‘Now you’re getting it.’

  ‘But, guv, if the vicious little bastard really hadn’t been there, then that’s that, isn’t it? I don’t think Freddie de la Mare is the type to lie. Even if she was, why would she lie to save the neck of someone like Robbie Grant? If she’d seen him at Sylvie’s that day, why not just say so?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she would have.’

  Jake looked at her helplessly. ‘I still don’t get it, guv.’

  ‘No. There’s only one reason why Freddie de la Mare abandoned her painting and waylaid us the way she did. What was the first thing she wanted to know? What were more or less the first words out of her mouth, once we’d settled down?’ Jake frowned, she carried on. ‘She wanted to know why we’d opened the case again. She wanted to know if we had any new evidence,’ she reminded him.

  ‘That’s right, she did. And you told her you couldn’t comment on it,’ Jake nodded. ‘Guv, do you think she did it?’ he asked, a shade wide-eyed now.

  ‘I’ve told you before,’ Hillary said in exasperation. ‘I don’t have a crystal ball. But what I do have is the ability to listen. And what I just listened to was a woman who, in direct contrast to Vanessa Gibson who tried to tell me that anyone and everyone could have done it, went to great pains to tell me the exact opposite. That nobody I cared to suggest could have done it.’

  Jake took in a long, slow breath. ‘You’re right! I see it now. She did.’ Then he let out his breath in a slow whistle and slowly frowned. ‘But I still don’t get it, guv,’ he moaned. He hunched over the steering wheel and frowned out at the glowering November sky. ‘Because, unlike Vanessa Gibson, she hasn’t got a husband who might be in the frame for it, or, like Mary Rose, a son who’s a prime suspect. So why would she do that?’

  Hillary grinned and gently punched him on the top of his arm. ‘Congratulations, Jake. Now you’ve got the point.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  At HQ, Hillary told Jake to type up the de la Mare interview for the murder book, then set about learning all he could about the artist as his next priority. Then she caught up on some of her own paperwork, and touched base with Jimmy, who promptly told her about Jake Barnes’s curious and inexplicable short stop at a certain pub.

  ‘The thing is, guv, I can’t figure out what he was doing there,’ Jimmy said in conclusion. ‘It’s hardly his local, and I can’t see why an up-and-com
er like our Boy Wonder would bother with a place so close to the Leys. It’s not as if there was anything special on that night – no live music or anything to attract him there.’

  ‘He might just have arranged to meet an old friend,’ Hillary pointed out thoughtfully. ‘It might have been a convenient halfway place to meet. You couldn’t see if he met up with any-one, I suppose?’

  ‘No, guv, I didn’t dare go inside. And it’s the sort of place that would probably have lookouts for anyone peering in through the windows. But if he was meeting someone, it was a very short meeting, like I said. He didn’t stay long.’

  ‘Not likely to be social thing then.’

  ‘No. And he didn’t take that flash Jag of his with him either, but a nearly-as-flash Porsche instead.’

  Hillary frowned. She was not sure she liked the sound of that. ‘Is the Porsche registered to him?’ she asked, sharply, and it was a measure of her respect for the man, that it didn’t even occur to her to ask if the old ex-sergeant had thought of checking.

  ‘Yes, guv, all legal and above board,’ Jimmy concurred. ‘He’s got five cars registered to him as a matter of fact.’

  ‘OK. So whatever it was he was up to, he didn’t actually care if anybody else took notice of his number plate and tracked him down that way then. In many ways, that’s something of a relief. Perhaps he just didn’t want to risk the Jag in that neighbourhood. I know I wouldn’t,’ she added, a shade enviously. ‘If I owned a baby like that, I’d keep it wrapped up in cotton wool.’

  Jimmy grinned. ‘The Porsche wasn’t exactly a junk heap, guv. If it had been lifted by some light-fingered tea-leaf it would have to have hurt.’

  ‘The rich live in a different world from you and me Jimmy,’ Hillary said drily. ‘And I dare say it’s insured up to the wazoo. Still, it is odd. Anything happened that tweaked your radar?’

  ‘No. Nobody followed him out or showed any undue interest in him. I’d have taken a snapshot of them if they had. I’ve got one of those camera gizmo’s on my mobile. And I didn’t see anybody in particular that put the wind up me.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘OK. He drove straight home you say?’

  ‘Yes, guv.’

  Hillary shrugged. ‘Well, keep at it. He’s got to do something to tip his hand sooner or later. And it’s beginning to look as if he’s definitely got something specific in mind, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I reckon, guv,’ Jimmy said shortly. Then his old eyes looked at her curiously. ‘We gonna tell the new boss about this? What do you make of our Rollo then?’

  Hillary sighed. ‘Early days yet, but he seems OK. And no, I don’t think we share our doubts about the Boy Wonder with him just yet. Jake is still the top brass’s golden boy and we aren’t exactly swimming in proof that there’s anything to worry about yet, are we?’

  Jimmy thought that the fact that Jake Barnes was helping himself to Hillary’s computer and her access codes without her permission was more than enough, but wisely kept silent. Besides, like her, he was curious as to what the boy was up to. He didn’t think it was anything seriously criminal, but he wasn’t willing to bet anything on it either. And if it did turn out that he was doing something very naughty indeed, then, like Hillary, he’d much rather that they were the ones to catch him at it. At least that way the CRT would get some of the kudos, and maybe avoid the worst of any political fall out.

  Yeah. Right.

  Contemplating such unwarranted and rare optimism made the old man smile.

  That night, Hillary sat in front of the small wood-burning stove in the front, V-shaped living room of her narrowboat listening to the sounds of Steven busily cooking in the small galley. Every now and then, the delicious smell of poaching salmon wafted her way.

  She sipped a glass of white wine as, outside, the darkness that was often so complete on the canal, pressed against the Mollern’s porthole windows.

  When Steven came in with a tray of beautifully prepared fish, salad and new potatoes, she pulled out the small table that was affixed to the wall and helped him lay the cutlery.

  He’d taken off his jacket and tie and was dressed in just his white shirt over dark blue trousers. His hair was slightly mussed, and there was just the faintest of shadows on his chin. He looked incredibly sexy.

  ‘You are staying the night, aren’t you?’ she said softly, and, as he sat opposite her and shook out his napkin, he met her gleaming sherry-coloured eyes with a soft smile.

  ‘I thought I might.’

  Hillary nodded in satisfaction. He kept a spare suit and all the usual accessories in her tiny wardrobe, but she didn’t begrudge his belongings the space, which on a narrowboat, was always paramount.

  ‘Hmm, this is good.’ Although she could cook well enough to ensure that she didn’t starve, she was not into food in the same way that he was. ‘Can I taste dill?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Herbs are beyond me. Too much hassle,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘I find cooking relaxing,’ he said, tasting his freshly made mayonnaise. ‘There’s something about measuring and mixing and creating the dishes that allows me to relax, detox, and relieve some of the stress. And if this new job is going to pan out how I think it probably will, then I’m going to be of Masterchef standard before the year is out.’

  ‘Oh?’ She was, naturally, dying to know what his new job really entailed, and was secretly very glad that he was willing to share the load with her.

  It saved her having to find out behind his back.

  Thus encouraged, he told her everything that had been happening, and when he’d finished, listened quietly to her thoughts on it. ‘And you’re right. You might well have to run a few undercover operations. You ever done much of that type of thing before?’ she finished.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then ask for help,’ she advised flatly. ‘You’re setting up your own team, they’ve given you a wide scope. Make sure you pick someone with experience in that area. It’s not the sort of thing you can pick up as you go, not when other lives are at stake. Don’t be afraid to delegate power, and don’t be afraid of learning stuff from people with less rank. Do you want me to put out a few feelers for you, see who might be interested in joining your team? Sort out those who are actually good from those who just think they are?’

  Steven leaned back in his chair, his stomach full, his mind feeling more and more at ease with every passing moment. ‘Would you?’ He knew that Hillary had a vast network of old pals who owed her favours. ‘That’d be a great relief. And speaking of which … I really think we should tell Rollo Sale about Jake Barnes.’

  Hillary sighed. ‘I know you do. And I understand why it sticks in your craw to keep him in the dark. But just give it a bit longer, yeah?’ Thinking of what Jimmy had told her, she added softly, ‘I think Jake might be about to show his hand.’

  Steven looked down into his half-empty wineglass. ‘It’s just that I know, if I was coming into a new job, I wouldn’t appreciate being kept out of the loop.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘Fair enough. But we’ve got a few weeks yet before you leave, you can always tell him then. And who knows, by then we might have something solid to go on. And don’t forget, Rollo Sale knows as well as we do that the top brass were crowing all over the media when Jake Barnes joined the CRT. It was the biggest PR scoop for them for years, and he won’t want to be the harbinger of bad news on his first day on the job so to speak. So we’d be doing him a favour if we can clear it up and keep it in house. Not to mention, getting it all sorted out while it’s still officially your watch, and not his.’

  ‘And if we can’t?’ he asked, a shade moodily.

  ‘Then you can tell Donleavy his golden boy has feet of clay,’ Hillary grinned at him.

  ‘Gee, thanks a lot.’

  ‘One of the privileges of rank,’ Hillary pointed out sweetly. ‘At which point, you smile sweetly and swan off to your swanky new office in St Aldates, and leave the rest of us to clean up the you-know-what.’

  S
teven forced a smile. ‘Now that sounds good to me.’ He finished the last of his wine and looked at her gently. ‘So….’

  Hillary quickly reached across and took the now empty glass from his hand. ‘So,’ she echoed, guessing what it was he wanted to talk about, and determined to steer him well clear of the subject. ‘Since you’re staying the night … what say we make it an early one?’

  Steven’s dark brown eyes softened. ‘It’s barely eight o’clock,’ he said, then blinked in surprise as, outside, there was a loud bang and a prolonged whistle, and through the dark windows, a fountain of green and red lit up the sky. ‘I forgot, it’s Bonfire Night.’

  Hillary looked at the fading firework and laughed. ‘How appropriate,’ she said, getting up and reaching for his hands. Not that he needed much encouragement in getting to his feet and being led to her narrow little bedroom. ‘Whenever a couple got together in the old films, didn’t the camera always cut to fireworks, or waves crashing to shore, or some other old chestnut like that?’ she asked archly.

  ‘Hoorah for Hollywood,’ Steven Crayle said wryly, his heart rate, as it always did whenever Hillary looked at him as she was now, sky-rocketing far above those of the fireworks outside.

  The firework displays were also in full swing when Jake Barnes drove to a piece of waste ground in the Leys, where one local display set for that night had been advertised on the surrounding telephone poles for quite some time. He did not, however, get out of his Porsche right away, but drove slowly along the streets until he spotted Darren Chivnor’s car pull up, the driver parking blatantly on a double yellow line.

  He knew from his PI’s report that this was Chivnor’s local ‘park’ and that he could usually be counted on to take his younger siblings to such events. Jake wondered, cynically, if Chivnor was just grooming his little brothers to go into the family ‘business’ and if treats like this were all part of the bribery and buttering up process.

  He made sure that Darren, and two younger lads who bore a striking family resemblance to him, were just climbing out of the car, before driving past, very slowly, and revving the engine ostentatiously.