A Question of Guilt

by Janet Tanner

  ‘You found me in the end, then.’ Josh was opening my driver’s door, helping me out. And then I was in his arms, and as he kissed me, white-hot desire pulsed through me; I was thinking of nothing but him.

  We were rather late making it to the pub for our meal; we’d had better things to do. Josh was a wonderful lover, generous and tender as well as passionate, and he aroused in me emotions and responses I’d almost forgotten I could experience. The touch of his hands and his lips stirred my soul as well as my body, the feel of the long hard muscles in his shoulders and back beneath my hands thrilled and delighted me, his heart beating next to mine and our breath rising and falling in unison made me feel as if we were somehow one, not two separate people at all.

  ‘I hope the pub is still serving food,’ Josh said after we’d showered and dressed again.

  ‘I don’t care much if they’re not,’ I laughed.

  ‘Speak for yourself! I’m starving! Josh retorted. ‘If we’re too late we’ll just have to find a fish and chip shop.’

  ‘As long as that doesn’t mean driving around for miles. I haven’t got that much fuel. I should have filled up, but it’s such a hassle and I thought I had enough for what I needed tonight.’

  ‘No problem.’ He picked up his car keys. ‘I’m driving anyway.’

  ‘But we agreed . . .’

  ‘I know, but I’ve changed my mind. When I take a lady out I don’t like being in the passenger seat. And if you’re low on fuel, that settles it. Come on, don’t argue. Just do as you’re told.’

  I shook my head in mock exasperation, but there was a warmth inside me that would not be denied. I felt cherished, protected. It was a good feeling.

  We were in luck – the pub was still serving food, albeit a limited menu. I chose lasagne, and Josh had steak pie with a huge bowl of chips on the side, and a pint of locally brewed beer.

  ‘I should be all right if I stick to just the one,’ he said, licking foam from his lips. ‘So, you were going to tell me how you got on in Dorset yesterday.’

  Between mouthfuls of lasagne I filled him in, though I avoided mentioning the motorcycle that had appeared to be following us on the way home. I still wasn’t sure if I was being paranoid, and in any case I didn’t want to get into another argument about the risks of what I was doing.

  ‘Something is definitely going on at the warehouse, I’m sure of it,’ I said. ‘I don’t know yet what it is, but I’m guessing it’s something like drugs – that’s how Lewis is making his money. And I don’t know where the mystery ‘partner’ fits in, or who he is. But I’ve asked Jeremy, and he’s going to try to find out.’

  ‘You think he’ll be able to?’ Josh asked.

  ‘There’s a pretty good chance, I’d say. He’s well in with the business community. And once I know that, I’m going to go to the police with my suspicions.’

  ‘I thought you were dead set on getting to the bottom of it by yourself.’ Josh took a judicious pull of his beer – making it last, I guessed.

  ‘To be honest, I don’t think there’s much more I can do,’ I said. ‘And besides, I’m thinking about Alice. I don’t know whether she’s still missing, or ever was, but if she is, then I owe it to her to go to the police with as much as I know. No, I’m afraid I’m out of my depth here, Josh.’

  ‘Which is what I’ve been saying all along.’

  I ignored that.

  ‘At least I’ll have an insider’s take on the story,’ I said.

  When we’d finished our meals we lingered for a little longer, enjoying cups of frothy cappuccino, then headed back to Josh’s cottage and went to bed, where once again we made wonderful, exhilarating love.

  Afterwards I felt replete and happy. Whether anything came of my story or not, at least investigating it had been the cause of my meeting Josh. If I hadn’t gone to the Gazette office to research the fire, I’d never have met him, and I’d have missed out on something wonderful.

  The word ‘serendipity’ floated into my mind; it was still there, warming me, as I fell asleep in his arms.

  It must have been an hour or so later when I woke with a raging thirst – the result of drinking too much wine, I thought. Josh was fast asleep and snoring gently; I slid out from beneath the duvet and crept downstairs in search of a glass so that I could get a drink of water.

  Josh’s kitchen was at the back of the cottage. I padded across the open-plan living room, where moonlight made silvery pools and shadows on the woodblock floor, and pushed open the door. I hadn’t been in the kitchen before – had had no cause to. Now I took in the shaker-style cupboards and worktops, the free-standing cooker and fridge, the microwave propped on a shelf, and imagined myself cooking for Josh here. At the moment it was typically a man’s domain – basic and a bit untidy – but nothing that wouldn’t be improved by a few pots of herbs on the window sill and perhaps a string of garlic bulbs and bunches of dried flowers hanging from the beams between the copper pans. I smiled to myself – how presumptuous was that?

  I found a glass in one of the wall cabinets, filled it at the big stone sink, and sat down at the small, rickety table to drink it. My elbow brushed a pile of what looked to be motorcycling magazines stacked on the corner, and as I moved them aside so as not to drip water on them they slipped a bit, revealing . . .

  I froze, unable to believe what I was seeing.

  In the middle of the stack were two exercise books covered in silver paper and decorated with stickers bearing the dates, and a sprinkling of gold stars.

  There was no mistaking what they were: Dawn’s missing diaries! But what on earth were they doing in Josh’s kitchen?

  Eighteen

  For a moment my mind was a total blank. I think I even stopped breathing! I flipped open the first of the exercise books, and recognized the rounded, childlike writing. It certainly was one of Dawn’s missing diaries. But that made no sense at all. If she’d taken it to Dorset before the fire, as her mother had said, then that explained how it had survived when most of her possessions had been destroyed. But how had it come to be in Josh’s possession? He hadn’t known Dawn; he’d only taken the job at the Gazette in the last year – after Dawn had left Stoke Compton.

  Or at least, that was what he’d told me.

  Now I came to think about it, though, I realized it was one of the very few things I knew about Josh – or thought I knew. He’d given me the impression that he’d come here from another provincial newspaper, but he hadn’t provided any details. He’d always been vague, and whenever the subject had come up he’d sidestepped it. Now, suddenly, I was wondering why. Mum and Rachel had both mentioned the fact that I knew next to nothing about him, and I’d pooh-poohed their doubts. But had I been so blown away by him that I simply hadn’t wanted to allow myself to think it was a little odd? Perhaps, after all, they had been right to be cautious.

  Who was Josh? In reality, I didn’t have a clue. I’d taken him totally on trust, and now that trust had been well and truly shaken. If he had known Dawn – and with her diary staring up at me, I thought he must – but had led me to believe he had never met her, what else was he keeping from me?

  My thoughts whirling in a muddy maelstrom, I glanced down at the pages.

  I’d become familiar by now with Dawn’s style of writing. I read a couple of entries, but registered nothing beyond the fact that this volume was clearly a continuation of the one that Grace had allowed me to borrow. The abbreviated names were the same, the secret meetings with Lewis were still continuing, and there was the occasional mention of some unusual activity at the warehouse – the dates underlined in red – and the mysterious ‘associate’ as Dawn was now referring to him.

  Then one entry leaped out at me.

  More action at the warehouse – it’s all happening again. Now know Lewis’s associate is JW – the last person I’d have thought was a crook! He’s so charming! JW of all people!

  JW. I went cold all over. JW – Josh Williams. Oh surely – surely not! Even when I’d
found Dawn’s diary here in his kitchen it hadn’t for one moment occurred to me. Josh wasn’t a criminal, or even a crooked businessman. He was a newspaper photographer! Or was that just a cover? An excuse to be here in Stoke Compton, close to the hub of whatever it was he was involved in?

  Suddenly I was remembering the day I’d driven round the industrial estate and seen what I’d thought was his car parked outside the warehouse. I’d told myself it couldn’t be, that he was off walking the Cotswold Way. But was that another lie? Another part of the smoke and mirrors? How did I know for sure that that was where he’d been? When he’d phoned me each evening, he could have been calling from anywhere. Just because he’d told me he was in a B & B somewhere in Gloucestershire didn’t mean he was.

  My thoughts were racing now, keeping pace with the thudding of my heart. I thought of all the times Josh had warned me off pursuing my investigation. He’d led me to believe it was because he was concerned for my safety, but could it have been that he’d been worried I might learn the truth about what was going on? The very first time we’d met had been in the Gazette office when I was researching all I could about the fire. He’d been really helpful then, but was that because he’d wanted to worm his way into my confidence so that he would be aware of what progress I was making? Had he cultivated me for the same reason?

  I thought back to the first time he asked me out – he’d been following me down the High Street, seen me heading for Compton Properties. ‘So – you’re still on the trail,’ he’d said. I’d thought nothing of it at the time. Now it struck me as very odd. If he hadn’t known Dawn, how had he known there was a connection? The last thing I wanted to believe was that the reason he’d been dating me was so that he could keep an eye on me and keep himself informed of what I was finding out, but there was no escaping the horrible suspicion. Oh, surely I couldn’t have been so wrong about the electric attraction between us, his tenderness towards me, my own feelings for him? Or had it all been an illusion I’d conjured up because, as Mum and Rachel had said, I was on the rebound from Tim?

  If the JW mentioned in Dawn’s diary was indeed Josh, then I’d been wrong, so wrong about him. The man I’d fallen in love with didn’t exist. I’d never known the real Josh at all. The thought was devastating – and not just because my dream of a very special relationship was falling into ruins. If Josh was the shadowy figure behind what was going on at the warehouse, then he wasn’t just a fraud, he was a highly dangerous man. The man who had been behind the fire, behind Dawn’s death, behind Alice’s disappearance, perhaps. He’d known she had agreed to meet me – I’d told him myself. Who else would have known about it? I couldn’t think of a single person except Mum. Certainly Alice had been anxious not to talk about Dawn in front of Lewis Crighton, and she had been so nervous about the whole thing I couldn’t imagine her telling anyone. But I’d trusted Josh implicitly – and I’d played right into his hands.

  Little as I wanted to believe it, the evidence was stacking up, one awful realization after another rushing at me now in a dizzying stream. Josh had Dawn’s diary. His car had been outside the warehouse. He’d done all he could to stop me investigating, yet followed my progress every step of the way. Then there was my missing laptop. I’d been so sure it hadn’t been stolen in the burglary – I’d mentioned to Josh that it hadn’t been. And then, after he’d spent the night with me, it was gone, and the case zipped up again so I wouldn’t notice the difference. But what about the original burglary? Had he known the house would be empty that night? Had I told him about Dad’s accident? I couldn’t remember for sure . . .

  Oh my God! The terrible thought struck me with all the force that the avalanche had done, whipping my feet from under me, the breath from my lungs. Suppose he’d known we’d all be at the hospital because it was he who had caused the accident? Suppose it had been a deliberate ploy to get us out of the way? Josh owned a motorcycle. A Ducati, he’d told me. Ducatis were big, powerful machines with racing handlebars. Just like the one Sam had described. Just like the one that had followed Rachel and me back from Dorset. And how did I even know it hadn’t been a motorcycle that had hit Dawn and killed her? I’d assumed it had been a car or a van, but no one had ever said so.

  I was shaking now from head to foot. Somehow I had to be sure. I remembered seeing all Josh’s outdoor gear in the little lobby as we’d stumbled through in one another’s arms, but only as a jumble of boots, and jackets hanging on the pegs, one on top of the other. Sick with dread I crept across the living room to the lobby. Moonlight was streaming in through the glass pane in the front door, and moments later I’d seen all I needed to. Black leathers underneath a waxed jacket. And a full-face crash helmet on a shelf above.

  There was no getting away from it. Josh was JW. Josh was the one who was behind everything that had happened.

  I’m not a person given to panic, but for a few horrible moments I was like a fly caught in a trap, the electronic flashes of blue sparking and sizzling all around me. Then the instinct for self-preservation kicked in.

  I had to get away from here, away from Josh. I couldn’t risk going back upstairs for fear of waking him, but luckily we’d shed some of our clothing in our eagerness for one another; it lay scattered about the living room. My bag was in the living room too. I pocketed my car keys, and stuffed the diaries into my bag.

  The key to the front door was still in the lock, a heavy, old-fashioned key. My hands were shaking so much it took long, panicky moments before I could turn it. There was also a Yale; again I fumbled, then it turned and I yanked the door open and stumbled outside, hoping against hope that Josh’s car was not blocking me in. But fortunately the gravelled area looked just about wide enough for me to squeeze through. I banged Dad’s car into reverse, terrified that either the sound of the front door closing or the engine firing would have disturbed Josh, and swung the steering wheel too quickly. My wing connected with Josh’s with a horrible scraping sound, but it was the least of my worries. I cleared the entrance and whacked the gear lever into ‘drive’.

  I’d made it – so far. But if I had woken Josh he might well come after me. My heart in my mouth, I pressed down hard on the accelerator and shot off up the lane. At that moment I wasn’t thinking where I was going, or what I was going to do next beyond putting distance between me and Josh, and it took all my concentration just to keep the 4 x 4 on the road round the bends in the narrow lane.

  I passed the farmhouse the satnav had sent me to; it was all in darkness. I hurtled on. Would the police station in Stoke Compton be open at this time of night? Time was when there was a twenty-four-hour presence, but I had a horrible feeling I remembered Mum complaining that nowadays it was manned only during office hours. Should I drive into Porton, then? Or go home and leave calling the police until the morning. More than anything, I wanted to go home. But I wasn’t sure that was a very good idea. When he realized that both I and the diaries were missing – if he hadn’t already – home was the first place Josh would look for me. I wouldn’t be safe there, and I didn’t want to put Mum in danger either. If Dad and his double-barrelled shotgun had been in the equation it would have been a different matter, but he wasn’t. A dangerous man on a big black motorcycle had made sure of that.

  Porton it was then. I racketed on, checking my mirror every few seconds to make sure Josh wasn’t following me, and expecting to reach a junction with the main road around every bend. But I didn’t come across one, only high hedges on each side of the lane and turnings that didn’t look as if they led anywhere. Panic began to stir inside me once more, reducing me to a quivering wreck.

  I was lost. Hopelessly lost. I’d have to risk stopping somewhere to programme the satnav. But I didn’t dare pull into a gateway; if Josh was following me he could box me in and I’d be trapped. I ground to a halt right in the middle of the lane, took Dawn’s diaries out of my bag and thrust them out of sight under the passenger seat. As a hiding place it wasn’t great, but if Josh did catch up with me, I didn’t want
to hand them to him on a plate. Then I grabbed the satnav to programme in Porton.

  It was then that I noticed the fuel gauge was flashing a warning, and my heart sank. Why, oh why, hadn’t I filled the tank yesterday? Now I wasn’t sure I’d make it all the way to town before it ran out. What the hell was I going to do?

  Jeremy. Out of the maelstrom of my racing thoughts he popped into my mind like the answer to a prayer. Jeremy wouldn’t let Josh do me harm. Jeremy would know what to do.

  Home was already programmed into the satnav; I punched it in. Once I was on familiar roads I could easily find Jeremy’s farm. Then, while I was waiting for the satnav to work out where I was and give me instructions, I fumbled in my bag for my mobile. Thank goodness I’d put Jeremy’s number into the directory when he’d been ferrying Mum and me to the hospital to see Dad. I clicked on it and waited for what seemed interminable moments while it connected, then rang.

  Please, please don’t let it go to voicemail. Please let him have it by his bed and switched on . . .

  ‘Hello?’ Jeremy sounded puzzled and a bit sleepy, but at least he’d answered!

  ‘Jeremy!’ My voice was shaking with relief as well as tension. ‘Oh, I’m really sorry . . . at this time of night . . . but please . . .’

  ‘Sally? Is that you? What on earth . . .?’

  ‘I have Dawn’s diary,’ I gabbled. ‘The last one before she died. And I’m in shock. Look . . . I’m on my way now . . .’

  ‘On your way where?’

  ‘To you.’ I was checking my mirror all the while – no lights yet – but I was afraid to delay here any longer. ‘I can’t talk now, but I really have to see you.’ The satnav had planned a route; it was there on the screen in front of me. Unbelievably I was only a few miles from home. ‘I’ll be there in about ten minutes,’ I added, and disconnected. Then, still shaking from head to foot, I stuck the gear lever into ‘drive’ and sped away.