Rat Poison

by Margaret Duffy

  ‘I’d better take a look,’ Patrick murmured.

  I motioned to Greenway and Carrick that we were going down and followed Patrick as he descended the stairs, inwardly cursing at every creak we made. The light was poor as the sky must have clouded over, the interior already gloomy due to the plastic sheeting in front of the windows.

  The thought sort of rammed itself into my brain: one ought to expect a woman like Murphy to investigate a property directly across the road that was a perfect venue for anyone watching her.

  The doors of the rooms at the front of the house that led off the large tiled floor hallway were all closed bar one which had been taken off its hinges and leaned against the wall. Patrick motioned to me to stay where I was on the stairs, keeping low, drew his gun, had a quick look round in the room and came out again. He then went from sight towards the way we had entered, re-emerging around thirty of my heart-thumps later to bend down and, using his tiny torch, gaze searchingly at the very dirty and dusty floor of the hall. The area by one door held his attention. He went over to it, opened it and, standing well to one side, pushed it hard, causing it to swing wide.

  Silence but for the very faint sounds of passing traffic.

  He went in at speed, ready to fire but reappeared almost immediately. This was repeated with all the other rooms and he came out of the final one to say, ‘There’s no one here now. But the first one I went in is where the door banged and you can see where the dust and wood shavings were blown away by the sudden blast of air. The window’s open in there and I reckon the door slammed as it was opened so whoever it was could leave. Perhaps they’d seen it moving, ran to try to catch it before it banged and then when it did, bolted back to the window to escape. Those were the footsteps Ingrid heard.’

  ‘This is serious,’ Greenway said from the top of the stairs.

  ‘It could have been someone who spotted that the gate in the fence was open,’ I pointed out. ‘Or a prospective squatter.’

  ‘Do we remove the surveillance?’ Greenway asked the DCI as they descended.

  ‘Yes, I’m not happy about unarmed personnel being within a stone’s throw of people like that who might know they’re here. And while it was useful to have them here I have to think of their safety. And we do only have around twenty-four hours left.’

  ‘I’ll watch tonight,’ Patrick offered. ‘I’m not unarmed and can be a hell of a lot less conspicuous than ordinary coppers.’

  Carrick was not the kind of man to be offended when presented with bald facts. He accepted and went back to give those upstairs the relevant orders. Then we quietly left.

  We had all arrived in the Range Rover, which had been parked three streets away. Once inside it would be possible to have a proper conversation but before anyone could say anything my phone rang as soon as I switched it on again. I apologized and answered it.

  ‘Mark still not right?’ Patrick asked when the call was over.

  ‘No, he’s much better,’ I told him. ‘It was Elspeth. They had a visit from someone at the diocesan office this afternoon. Carol Trelonic – only names weren’t mentioned – has put in a complaint about your father. That he sexually assaulted her when he went to the house after her husband was killed. Despite the fact that we warned them he’s very shocked and upset. Elspeth’s wondering if you’re free to give him some moral support.’

  ‘This is deliberate timing on Uncle’s part, wondering if I’m involved in the case,’ Patrick said quietly.

  ‘I’ll go home and be supportive,’ I said.

  ‘And I’ll talk to him now and try to explain.’

  ‘We’ll go for a little walk,’ Greenway announced, nodding to Carrick and they got out of the vehicle.

  Patrick spoke to John for around ten minutes, telling him as much as possible about the situation as he could and, although John said he understood, I was sure Patrick was aware his own actions fell short of what was expected.

  ‘It changes everything,’ he said afterwards.

  ‘Please don’t do anything rash,’ I begged, alarmed at the expression on his face.

  ‘We didn’t move to Hinton Littlemoor in order to get my father’s name dragged through the mud by a bunch of murdering shits.’

  I think we both had the underlying fear that we would be forced to leave the village to protect them in the future. Which negated the whole purpose of going there in the first place.

  SIXTEEN

  I drove us back, leaving Patrick free to discuss with the others final plans for the following night, dropping the three of them off at Manvers Street before heading home. He had taken from the car a bag that is kept there permanently containing, among other things, dark clothing and trainers to use for his overnight surveillance. Then he went from my sight, blowing me a kiss.

  I called in to see my in-laws to find them in their living room in the middle of a large silence. They both looked up when I entered and Elspeth smiled and waved a little greeting.

  ‘I could have done with some advice from Patrick,’ John said.

  ‘He’ll be here in the morning,’ I replied, actually not quite sure about that.

  ‘He has to put his job first,’ Elspeth remarked.

  ‘Yes, I suppose he does.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’ I enquired, thinking the man so out of sorts he was not himself. This wasn’t John at all.

  ‘John says he’s not hungry.’ Elspeth sighed.

  ‘You expect me to behave as though nothing’s happened?’ her husband said crossly.

  ‘Would you like me to cook something for you?’ I asked.

  ‘No, but thank you,’ John said.

  I sat myself down on their sofa. ‘As he said, Patrick can’t come home because he’s watching a house, an undertaking that has a direct bearing on what’s happened here today. Pretend I’m him.’

  ‘But you’re not, my dear,’ John said gently.

  ‘But what would he do right now? Be strong and here for you? I’m strong and here for you. Put the right perspective on what’s occurred? I can do that too, first by saying that right now I know he’s thinking of putting his job on the line to sort this out and when I left him he was still furious. But he can’t be expected to be here bloody well holding your hand as well.’

  There was a slightly shocked silence.

  To John, Elspeth hissed, ‘It would have been far better if we’d left the news until he got home – as I wanted to.’

  I said, ‘You’re not the first priest to have allegations made against him by malicious parishioners – and no one knows that more than the bishop.’

  ‘You do sound like Patrick actually,’ John said with a rueful smile.

  ‘Thank you, Ingrid,’ Elspeth said. She got to her feet. ‘Oh, for goodness sake! I’m starving and I’m going to cook the dinner. Do join us if you want to when the children have had their tea – there’s plenty for three.’

  For obvious reasons there would be an overnight communications silence. In some ways I wanted to be with Patrick but knew I would be a distraction. Early training means that he can virtually sleep on his feet, like a cat that naps with its ears pricked to detect the slightest sound. So I spent a couple of hours with his parents, taking Katie with me, played with Vicky and Justin before they went to bed, peeped at Mark fast asleep in his cot, gave the kittens their last meal of the day and then turned in.

  I could not sleep, tossing for hours. Who had been in that house? The footsteps had not sounded like those of a child. And it had not been the soft pad of trainers either but proper shoes, or boots. I had an idea that Patrick would have had a proper look around before it got dark to make sure that no unpleasant surprises had been planted and tried to convince myself that someone with his military background would be more than a match for anyone in Northwood’s circle of thugs and hangers-on. I failed; Patrick was no longer a young man.

  In the end I slept and was haunted by the kind of nightmares that fill you with terror but you cannot really remember in the morning, just leav
ing a vague feeling of dread.

  Before leaving the house the men had been discussing the possibility of making arrangements for two officers from the firearms unit to relieve Patrick at eight a.m., who would be replaced in the late afternoon by personnel yet to be decided on. I had a very good idea who those personnel might be. So, night-time horrors banished the next morning after a large mug of tea I answered the phone at seven fifty-five expecting it to be Patrick.

  ‘Something’s happened,’ said James Carrick tersely. ‘I’m afraid he’s not there.’

  ‘Not there?’ I echoed stupidly.

  ‘Not a sign of him. No evidence of a struggle either. Nothing. The equipment’s all exactly as it was too.’

  I tried to remain practical. ‘What about the padlocked gateway at the rear?’

  ‘All locked up.’

  ‘Did Patrick have a key?’

  ‘Yes, he did. The plan was that he’d let in his replacements at the arranged time.’

  ‘So how did they gain access?’

  ‘Climbed over the fence. Not a problem for fit blokes.’

  I could think of nothing intelligent to say.

  Anxiously, Carrick asked, ‘You would tell me if Patrick had contacted you, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m at home right now but meeting the commander at my office in around half an hour. Do you want to come in?’

  I told him I would.

  ‘God, why didn’t I expect something like this?’ Greenway exclaimed. He turned to me and I could see how exasperated he was. ‘What did the man say to you after he rang his father? Sorry, but I really do need to know.’

  ‘That it changed everything. That’s all.’

  ‘Which, knowing him, could be a pretty monumental comment. Everything from unleashing open warfare to bubonic plague slipped into their water supply. Ingrid, do you really think he’s planning to do something like gun down the lot and to hell with the aftermath?’

  ‘Not now,’ I replied. ‘Some years ago before he became a family man my answer would have been that he might do literally anything. But you do seem to be assuming that Uncle hasn’t somehow got hold of him – or that he allowed them to.’

  ‘With regard to the latter, to what end?’

  ‘He’s at his best when in a tight corner, good at subversion. If anyone can cause trouble with Uncle’s mobsters, he can.’

  ‘But look, this woman Murphy . . . sorry to distress you but she’s the sort who would want to roast him slowly over an open fire.’

  ‘She’s powerful,’ I said. ‘He might flirt with her and cause even more trouble.’

  ‘I still don’t understand. We’re going to arrest the lot of them tomorrow. What’s the point of it all?’

  ‘I can’t make guesses. But if he thinks he can prevent a shoot-out where police personnel might get killed or injured . . .’ I broke off with a shrug.

  With a tilt to his chin Carrick said, ‘He might not think the plan we have is that good then.’

  I shook my head. ‘He’s still a soldier at heart. Civvy things never are.’

  Putting a brave face on everything while wanting to scream with despair was proving almost impossible. While it was obvious that Patrick did not want me to become involved I felt I would go mad if I just had to stand around doing nothing.

  ‘Do we carry on with what we’re going to do then, sir?’ Carrick wanted to know.

  ‘At present,’ Greenway decided. ‘There are quite a few hours to go yet. We can always make last-minute decisions.’

  ‘Mind if have a look at the case notes?’ I asked.

  Carrick passed them over.

  My cubbyhole just outside the main office had miraculously not been used as a dumping ground for anything – there was always a chronic shortage of space – so I sat down with the file and found the phone number I wanted. How long was the tenancy on the house in Avonhill?

  I soon had my answer: six months, the minimum.

  Unless the plan was to keep moving around this did not fit with the picture we had built up of a criminal shifting his scene of operations out of London to somewhere a little quieter where he could start afresh under yet another assumed identity. There was every possibility too that the Avoncliff residence had been the only one available at the time of the required standard. But if it was neither of these things?

  I had already tried ringing Patrick’s mobile but it was switched off so, still floundering around for ideas, I went back to Carrick’s office. ‘May I have another look around the surveillance house?’

  He and Greenway had been in deep discussion.

  ‘Sure. I’ll let them know you’re on your way.’

  They went on talking.

  I had to wait a few minutes for one of the members of the firearms unit to unlock the gate but it was not raining that hard. Butch, bog-brush hair and with a deep scar on his cheek he led the way indoors mumbling something about the need to keep quiet.

  ‘I understand everything was absolutely undisturbed when you arrived, with no sign of a struggle,’ I said as we carefully made our way up the stairs.

  He turned to say in a fierce whisper, ‘It’s best not to talk at all.’

  ‘Look, this place is a building site for most of the time,’ I retorted. ‘There’s a van at the front with a contractor bashing away working on the exterior stonework. How the hell can those over the road hear a quiet conversation indoors with that going on?’

  He did not say any more until we were in the surveillance room where his oppo – butch, floor-mop hair scragged back into a rubber band, no scar – gave me a dismissive look.

  ‘Yes, it was empty,’ he said. ‘No one here.’

  ‘You went right over the entire place?’

  He was really resenting my questioning. Perhaps they felt demeaned by being ordered to do ordinary surveillance work. ‘Yes, we did. Every room, upstairs and down. Very carefully.’

  ‘No bodies?’

  ‘No bodies,’ he replied heavily.

  ‘What kind of activity has been going on over the road this morning?’

  ‘They all seem to be still in bed with the curtains closed.’

  ‘May I have a quick look?’

  They stood aside with ill-concealed impatience.

  Not particularly interested in close-ups, more the big picture, I gazed at the house without using the binoculars. Unlike the older, terraced, and listed properties on this side of the road those opposite were detached with quite big gardens and were of more recent build. The front gardens had mostly been turned into parking areas. As my new friends had said, not a lot was going on over there. The place looked dead. A single car was outside, a small hatchback of some kind, and there was a bag of what might be rubbish dumped in the short driveway.

  ‘Do you know how many cars have been parked over there lately?’

  ‘No. This isn’t our job really.’

  So that was it. ‘Are you sure anyone’s actually there?’

  The pair gazed at me as though I was raving mad.

  ‘We heard footsteps downstairs yesterday,’ I went on. ‘If they discovered that the police were watching them the whole lot might have gone! Come on, the SOCA man who was on duty overnight has disappeared and you’re standing there like a couple of lumpenkinder!’

  Nothing changed.

  ‘I’ll contact the DCI,’ I told them, with difficulty repressing an urge to box their ears.

  I had to search first, not at all impressed by their assurance of having done so thoroughly and quickly investigated each room on this floor. There were next to no places where someone, dead or alive, might be concealed as any fitted cupboards or wardrobes had been removed, no doubt riddled with woodworm: there was plenty of evidence of it.

  The ground floor was larger, having had extensions built on over the years, one of which must have enlarged the kitchen. There were several built-in cupboards, together with a walk-in larder. I approached these with trepidation as not all that long ago I
had found a decomposed head in one of the former in another house in the city; the stinking remainder had turned up later in a larder just like this one, situated in a mouldering back scullery. Dear God, even the paint on the door of it was the same colour, a horrible shade of dark green reminiscent of old railway stations. His body wouldn’t have started to smell yet though, would it? Shuddering, I opened the door and jumped back, almost screamed, when a dark heavy shape swung towards me. Two old sacks stuffed with what looked like newspapers and magazines thumped on to the floor in a cloud of dust and dead woodlice.

  This reminder of the previous horror really brought it home to me that I might be looking for a corpse. Otherwise he would have made contact. I kept asking myself why he had not and kept coming back to the same answer: he had been unable to. And of course his body was not likely to be here at all but over the road, probably hastily buried in the back garden by now, or in the River Avon, or tossed into one of the many disused quarries or down an old mine shaft. The gang had killed him, as Murphy had planned to do, and then fled.

  Shakily, I made myself carry on searching and then returned to the first floor where I went up a narrower staircase to the second. All the floorboards had been taken up in these rooms and the joists looked rotten in places so I did not venture into any of them; there was no point as there were no places of concealment.

  By the door to a bathroom – the fittings were museum pieces, and the high cast-iron cistern over the toilet was smelly and knitted to the ceiling by thick cobwebs – there was a narrow doorway. Gingerly I opened it to reveal a tiny staircase leading upwards. The loft.

  There was no light switch and I had not brought a torch. It immediately became obvious, though, that there was dim daylight above; this, I saw when I had climbed the dozen or so stairs, coming through a small dirty skylight. Light was also coming through small holes and gaps in tarpaulins that had been placed over part of the roof for the weekend where slates or tiles had been removed.

  The attic was huge and there was a lot of rubbish that had not been removed: suitcases, trunks, wooden and cardboard boxes. All of these seemed to have been opened and any contents taken out before being cast on one side. I then noticed that the brick party walls between this house and those on either side did not go all the way up to the roof, a feature I vaguely remembered reading about and which was the cause of fires spreading so rapidly in historic terraces during the Blitz. The gap was at least a couple of feet wide at the ridge. A hundred bodies could be hidden up here. All one had to do was roll them over the top of the wall into the loft of the houses next door.