I must have stayed looking down at Belinda’s headstone for longer than I realised. I became aware that Sophie was no longer behind me, and when I looked over my shoulder, she was standing on the old wooden Packhorse Bridge that spanned the stream – known as the Medbourne Brook – running through the middle of the village. She was looking down at the ford below the level of the bridge that allowed vehicular access to the villages of Hallaton and Slawston. The water in the brook was quite high and there were a few inches of water flowing over the road.
After joining her on the bridge, I rested my forearms next to hers on the railings.
“Were you very much in love?” she asked quietly.
“She meant everything to me,” I replied, remembering how time and time again Belinda and I had stood on exactly the same spot, throwing sticks into the water and then running past the cottages by the side of the stream to the bridge by the pub to see who had won. The twins joined in … sometimes, when allowed. Playing Pooh sticks had become a family tradition whenever I was at home. For us all, the bridge, only a few feet from Belinda’s grave, had been the only Pooh Bridge in the country.
“Have I intruded?”
I turned my head, the impulse to kiss Sophie was strong, and this time I didn’t stop to think of the consequences. Her lips weren’t Belinda’s lips and Sophie’s taste was different, but her lips were soft and cool, and the feeling they generated in me was exquisite. I hadn’t kissed a woman other than Belinda on the lips for over twenty years. We parted momentarily but only to put our arms round each other. I felt like a teenager again, a teenager who was experiencing his first intimate kiss. She pushed her body against mind and …
I sensed rather than saw that we were not alone.
Opening my eyes I saw a couple of women walking their dogs. They had reached the Hallaton side of the ford below us. The dogs, three of them, were eager to get wet but their owners, bedecked in jodhpurs, Wellington boots and short-sleeved shirts, had stopped and were eyeing Sophie and me with derision.
I pulled away slightly but kept my hands on Sophie’s waist. “We have an audience,” I told her, indicating the two women with my eyes.
Sophie turned her head and looked down at them. “It’s such a lovely spot,” she told them, “so romantic and personal.”
The women, covered in confusion, looked away. The younger of the two, probably in her mid-thirties, allowed an embarrassed grin to creep onto her face. The older woman – who could have been her mother because facially they were similar – jerked forward as the two Golden Retrievers, having become impatient with the water so close, decided to go for a paddle.
“Lovely afternoon,” Sophie added, lifting her hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
The women scurried through the water, pulling the dogs behind them once they reached the other side. Sophie and I watched them until they disappeared behind the large oak trees that bordered the churchyard. I was surprised I hadn’t recognised either of them because, if their dress was anything to go by, I could guess which end of the village they lived in.
“Your reputation has been blown sky high if the expressions on their faces were for real,” Sophie told me as we carried on over the bridge.
I shrugged. “What reputation?” We moved down the slope to the road. “But I am sorry …”
Sophie moved round in front of me and stopped.
She put her hands either side of my face before saying, “Don’t you dare say you are sorry ever again. The only thing you have to be sorry about is that you didn’t kiss me earlier. If I hadn’t wanted you to kiss me, it would not have happened.” She reached up and those strange lips were on mine again.
“Come on,” she added still on tiptoe and after what seemed like an eternity, “I’ve got lots more to tell you and there will be enough time for other things later when perhaps we’ll be able to have a little privacy without bumping into your in-laws or upper-class voyeurs.”
We walked the four-mile circuit from Medbourne to Slawston and then back to Medbourne. Sophie did most of the talking and I only interrupted when I wanted her to elaborate on, or clarify something she had said. She went over again what she had already told me and then resumed telling me about what were probably routine occurrences for her but, for me, she had slipped back into the world of fantasy I had first been told about in Cochem, a world that I had promised I would leave behind.
Soon after we left the village, Sophie’s hand slid into mine and we walked the rest of the way hand in hand, our fingers entwined, the ensuing but short-lived silence necessary only for us to accept the intimacy of such a simple act.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Before you start telling me what you think I ought to know,” I said, “can you explain to me why you are able to be this open? I would have thought what you do and what you did would be terribly hush-hush.”
I felt Sophie’s fingers tighten on mine. “I will but would you mind if we left my explanation for a little longer, it is the second reason why I’m here.”
I shook my head. “If you want it that way and as long as telling me won’t get you into trouble.”
“I’m a big girl now, Richard, and no, if my … my masters discovered that I had given you some of the detail they wouldn’t be surprised. With one exception, nothing I’m going to tell you will be a surprise to you, because you know most of it already, but it does need putting into context.”
“You’ve surprised me already,” I said, smiling.
“That’s as maybe … where shall I start?”
“What about at the beginning,” I said.
“Dove Dale?”
I stopped and looked at her. “You know about Dove Dale?”
“Richard, I know more about you than … well, let’s say there’s not a lot I don’t know about you.”
“All right,” I said. “I’m listening.”
“The police in Ashbourne didn’t believe your story about what happened to Ingrid Mesterom. They –”
“I gathered that,” I said, interrupting.
“Will you let me tell you this in my own way, please, Richard?”
“Yes, of course, sorry.”
“You came close to being arrested and charged with Ingrid Mesterom’s murder. If it hadn’t been for an inquisitive detective constable you probably would have been charged.”
We moved into the side of the road to let a couple of cars pass us.
“But I’ll come back to that,” Sophie said resuming her account. “Finding Ingrid knocked out in a ditch was one thing, pitching your tent, administering first aid, and then leaving her while you tried to find her rucksack, was, for the police in Ashbourne, so unbelievably contrived it had to be a cover story.”
“But it was the truth,” I said.
“I know, but when I put it in context, you’ll understand why they were suspicious. Thinking back, Richard, would you have done the same things again?”
Shaking my head, I felt a little stupid. “No, I wouldn’t. When I got back to the tent with her rucksack and discovered Ingrid had disappeared, I spent all night punishing myself and wishing I could relive the last few hours all over again.”
“Then, as I said, you’ll understand why the police were suspicious of you. You see even spending the night in the tent added to their suspicions. Knowing Ingrid was hurt, why didn’t you go to the police that evening?”
I shrugged. “In retrospect, I should have done, I know, but …”
“The police had every reason to arrest you, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “and believe me, I understood at the time why it was pretty obvious they were leading up to my arrest,” I said. “Nobody was more surprised than me when they suddenly let me go.”
“That was because we had got involved,” Sophie said. “The detective constable I mentioned earlier, did a computer search and Ingrid Mesterom’s name cropped up on our confidential list of names that were of interest to us. We were contacted and that’s when we a
sked for you to be released without charge.”
“You can do that?” She nodded. “Why?” I asked.
“We had been tracking Ingrid’s movements for nearly a year. Based in Germany, our European counterparts and we believed she was a courier for an international drugs cartel. She had been in an out of Heathrow, Gatwick and Stansted numerous times, and although subjected to a full body search on occasions, she escaped arrest. She remained high profile but when you found her, we had no idea she was in the country. She had slipped in somehow undetected.”
I stopped again and faced Sophie, her hand still in mine. “But what was she doing in Dove Dale and why was she murdered?”
“I can’t answer either of those questions truthfully,” Sophie said. “The police passed on their suspicions about you. We found the man you spoke to in the car park when you found Ingrid’s rucksack, and he corroborated that part of your story. However, that didn’t reduce their or our belief that you were involved in her murder. We decided that maybe she had done something that riled your organisation, tried to go it alone, sell drugs rather than passing them on … a little contrived I know but when clutching at straws it’s amazing what will be believed. Anyway, her untrustworthiness became her death warrant. ”
“But she was raped and I wasn’t the rapist,” I said, perhaps a little too indignantly.
“She wasn’t raped,” Sophie said.
“What?”
“It was fabrication, Richard. When the police released you without charge, something needed saying that would make you think they suddenly believed your story of what happened, hence the rape, and the invented proof that you couldn’t have been the rapist due the lack of DNA evidence.”
“This is incredible and a little unbelievable.” I said.
“It gets worse,” Sophie said. “Come on let’s resume our walk. It is rather lovely, regardless of what we are talking about and who knows what might happen when we get back to Medbourne.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophie went on to tell me that when they started investigating me more thoroughly, my background generated even greater interest. Evidently, a number of the countries I had worked in were on their radar in connection with smuggling routes and in some cases, actual drug production.
“But something always nagged at me from the outset,” Sophie said. “Why if you, or you and someone else, were responsible for Ingrid’s murder, did you stay behind to involve yourself in any investigation. If you had upped and disappeared then no-one would have been any the wiser.”
I nodded. “Good point, why didn’t I think of that?” I said sarcastically. “And the answer is?”
Sophie took a deep breath. “Over confidence,” she said.
“What? I’m sorry if I’m saying ‘what’ too often, but this is becoming increasingly ridiculous, not just incredible. After I found Ingrid’s body, I sat with her and held her hand until the police arrived and then I did everything I could to help them with their investigation. My background, the reason I was in Dove Dale, surely all that was checked out.”
“Yes it was, and for some it weighted the evidence against you even further, but I felt the opposite and that’s when I decided you weren’t what we thought you were. I was about to persuade my boss that everything was circumstantial and to some extent coincidental, then recommend that I should call off the hounds when you went to Cochem and met with Marie Schmidt.”
“I was followed, I know that – Schwartz and Henke told me,” I said.
“Do you want their real names?” Sophie asked.
“If you think it’ll help me understand,” I said.
“Angela Branson and Peter Donaldson,” she said. “They were part of my team of investigators; hence their presence in Cochem and Angela Branson’s in Brunei.”
“Are you really sure you ought to be telling me this?”
“Richard, you have every right to bring charges of harassment against my own department and the foreign office. You were treated abominably, you deserve –”
I smiled. “I’ve already decided nothing like that is going to happen, deserved or not. The only reason I’m listening to you now is because you kissed me.”
Moving closer to the grass verge, and after checking the road in both directions, Sophie kissed me again. “And will that make you listen some more?” she asked, looking deeply into my eyes.
Still smiling I said, “It might.” I wanted to add that I could listen forever, but something at the back of my mind told me that I needed to resume control of my senses.
“You might change your mind when you hear what else I have to say.”
“We’ll see … I presume having decided I was not what you thought I was, my trip to Cochem put me back on your suspect list as well as your superior’s, correct?”
“In a nutshell, yes, but reluctantly,” Sophie said. “Then when you met with Marie Schmidt the following day, Angela Branson and Peter Donaldson reported back and recommended strongly that we should keep you on the suspect list for at least a month when you returned to the UK. However, they did accept that if you didn’t do anything suspicious in that period, perhaps we could let you off the hook.”
“I can’t think what grounds Branson and Donaldson had for making that recommendation,” I said, “but having my house searched and finding nothing incriminating, I don’t understand why I was still under suspicion. What did I do to …” I shook my head “… let me guess, Brunei?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes,” she said, “Brunei.”
“I went to Brunei because a dear friend asked me to. I didn’t know why before I went and I still don’t know why.”
“I do,” Sophie said. “Or I think I do.”
Sophie was on the same flight as me from Heathrow to Singapore but had travelled in economy rather than business class. The Customs and Excise budget had only run to business class from Singapore to Brunei. Between Heathrow and Changi, Sophie said she had walked the length of the aircraft on numerous occasions to make sure I hadn’t parachuted to safety since her previous check!
When relating this part of the investigation, she stopped once again and turned to face me. I was on the road and she stepped up onto the grass verge.
“Richard, I want you to know that from the moment I located you at Heathrow, I saw something in you that simply didn’t compute with the image I’d already formed of you as a result of other people’s reports and recommendations. Yes, I’d been shown some photographs and read the reports, but pictures and the written word can be rather inadequate.” She took both my hands in hers. “You have to see the person: you have to watch the way they move, the way they react when among other people. I watched you closely and even before we boarded the aircraft I knew that you had nothing to do with what we thought we were investigating.”
I smiled at her. She looked very serious.
“And what pray was there about me that told you I was only Mr Joe Public?”
“You’re mocking me but I’ll tell you anyway,” she said, with only a slight smile on her lips. “It was the way you moved around other people. What you looked at when you were waiting for the aircraft. People who are in the illegal drugs business don’t pick up fluffy toys that have been thrown out of pushchairs.”
“And how far away from me were you when I did that?” I couldn’t remember the incident but Sophie’s logic intrigued me.
She cocked her head to one side, trying to make out whether I was still indulging her. “I was about twenty feet from you actually, peering over the top of a magazine.”
“I see, and by picking up this child’s toy I was suddenly not guilty of being part of an international drug-smuggling ring? Is that right?”
“It helped,” she replied. “And if you mock me much more I won’t tell you what else happened.”
“You haven’t told me yet why my trip to Brunei renewed your interest in me,” I said.
“It wasn’t really me, it was my boss. He thought you were being extraordinarily clever. Be
ing a marine engineer and travelling all over the world, but mainly to third world countries and in particular certain countries, gave you exactly the cover you needed to be the brains behind the organisation. He thought it was all too much of a coincidence. I knew Brunei because I’d been there three, no four times before during ongoing investigations.”
“You realise this should have all stopped after Dove Dale, don’t you? In fact it should never have started.”
“I realised that when I saw you in Heathrow airport,” Sophie said.
“But your boss thought otherwise …” she nodded. “All right, Brunei. That’s not a third world country, why did my going there arouse further suspicion?”
“It wasn’t Brunei on its own, it was Singapore because of the Mesterom and Schmidt connection, and then Brunei’s neighbours, Sabah, Sarawak and Kalimantan. We knew one of the international smuggling routes passed through at least two of those countries …”
“And because I was going to Brunei …?”
“Yes.”
“God, you have to have a vivid imagination to work in your lot, don’t you?” I said.
“Sometimes, vivid imaginations are all we have to go on.”
“That’s quite frightening and now I’m speaking from personal experience. You were telling me that picking up toys wasn’t conducive with drug-smuggling,” I said, as we started walking again. A couple of cars had passed us, and I did keep my eye out for anybody who might recognise me but I didn’t see any cars or occupants I recognised.
“Yes, I was, wasn’t I? Well, other than the times I checked on you and when you went upstairs in the aircraft – I presumed you were going to the bar – I didn’t really see you again until Changi.”
“Wasn’t it a bit dangerous sitting close to me on the flight from Singapore?”
“I didn’t really have any choice and anyway getting closer to you was all part of the investigation process. There were only nine rows in business class, so it was easy.” She interlinked her fingers with mine again. “What was more dangerous was the horrible weather we flew through.”
Pooh Bridge: conscience stricken Page 28
