‘See you in a moment or two.’ She closed the door behind us. ‘Oh, some of my team should be along in a few minutes.’ She looked at me meaningfully.
I nearly screamed in frustration, because I could have won gold for Team GB in the Nosiness Olympics, but I followed Geoffrey obediently as he snuffled his way round the garden. I also tried to make conversation with Izzie, but it was clear she was in what I would have called in one of my pupils a silly strop. Yes, I had gone too far, too fast. I’d barged in and taken over a situation that was absolutely nothing to do with me. I ought to apologise, but equally I knew I’d done the right thing. The speed with which Elaine, a woman as busy as me, had appeared, seemed to confirm that.
The silence between us deepened.
It was Geoffrey who broke it. Having left several messages, he turned his attention to the end of the garden separated from the lawn and flower beds by a sagging trellis. There was a collection of empty flowerpots, a greenish plastic compost bin and an incinerator surely far too small to deal with the amount of rubbish even a small garden like this would generate. Yes – someone had actually had a bonfire on what was surely a rhubarb patch.
Not everything had burnt, and it was the residue that attracted Geoffrey’s attention.
Izzie grabbed my arm. ‘Why should anyone burn new shoes?’
‘Can you think of any good reason?’ I asked grimly.
‘I think we should tell Elaine,’ she said in a barely audible whisper. ‘Or those policemen just arriving.’
Their arrival coincided with Elaine’s reappearance – she was beckoning Izzie to check over the house. So it fell to me to show her colleagues what Geoffrey had found. For some reason one of them had dog treats to hand. She made a friend for life.
‘So all this suspicious activity in your estate has been logged, Jane?’ Elaine confirmed, as, leaving a couple of officers on guard, we returned to my office in the school, much to Geoffrey’s confusion, though he welcomed the water I poured into a redundant flowerpot saucer. We had to drink our coffee black, but none of us complained.
‘Except for one incident, which may or not have been significant.’ I told her about the woman at number 39 sending me emphatically about my business. ‘Apart from that, everything should be. But I gather you’ve had as much fun with the flu and norovirus as we have, so maybe not everything’s where it should be.’
‘You don’t need to apologise for our failures, even assuming there are any. I admit nothing’s come to my ears, not yet anyway, but that might mean that the reports seem random, with no sign of a pattern. And if you show me the house where you saw the ultra-bright lights and the one with the irate woman then I’ll think about our next move. And as for young Zunaid, I’d like a trained officer to talk to him about what he heard. God knows how long it’ll take to find one and fix an appointment, though. God, these cuts! The usual woman’s just started maternity leave. I assume we’ll get a replacement but don’t hold your breath.’ She seemed to notice Izzie for the first time. ‘After all you’ve been through, I’m not surprised you look knackered. But going round your new place with me was a really brave thing to do, and helpful too. If someone did move stuff while you were over here, then it gives us a time frame for our enquiries.’
‘Items were moved?’ I squeaked.
‘I think so,’ Izzie said, ‘but I can’t be sure. I thought there were a couple more black sacks … But the place is in such a mess I can’t swear …’
Not one for overt emotion, Elaine continued briskly, ‘Obviously you need to upgrade your security immediately – what’s that, Jane?’ She took the printout I gave her with the locksmith’s details. ‘Yes, use the firm the school uses and bill your PCC. Oh, and tell them I want a copy of the key the moment they’ve finished. Jonah – that’s the guy you deal with, isn’t it, Jane? It’s a good job you haven’t moved out of your existing property. I’d advise you to stay put and hang the consequences.’
‘We can’t. It’s needed for my husband’s replacement. And we’re here in an arrangement called house-for-duty: my husband and I live for free in the vicarage in exchange for him working in the benefice.’
‘Christ, that sounds medieval! Sorry, God.’
It was hard to read Izzie’s expression: maybe she was simply trying not to look offended or perhaps she had more serious concerns than a bit of casual blasphemy. She replied firmly, ‘It is in a way, but it suits us because Graham has a good pension from his previous employer and we can let out our property in London. And he doesn’t work quite full-time.’
‘In theory, anyway,’ I muttered. My experience of part-time workers in a variety of roles told me that employers usually got far more than value for money from them. ‘I’d agree, Izzie, that this is a problem for the PCC and ultimately the diocese, since having a house is fundamental to your deal. They want Graham – they house Graham: that’d be my take on it.’
‘Dealings with the Church of England aren’t always as clear cut as that,’ Izzie said darkly, getting to her feet.
Under my breath I repeated an urgent mantra: ‘Not my problem. Not my problem. Absolutely not my problem.’
Elaine seemed to share my view. ‘You have a roof over your head for a few days at least. I shall need your address. Meanwhile, we need to get you over to Ashford so you can make a short statement about what you saw and what you did. Do you know the area? Could you make your own way there? – it’ll save an awful lot of to-ing and fro-ing if you could. Let me just make sure someone’s there to meet you.’ She turned away to speak into her phone.
‘I’m so sorry, Izzie,’ I began, standing too.
She tightened her lips. ‘I suppose in a way I should be grateful. Imagine if you’re right and it is a crime scene. My God, what if I really did wash away evidence?’ She sat down hard.
‘I think they’ll have electronic equipment to detect any you left behind.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Elaine chipped in. ‘And actually, Izzie, though you did quite a good job, you missed some. So our clever people will be able to test it. Menstrual blood’s quite different in composition from the everyday stuff, by the way, so we should be able to eliminate it, in the old cliché, from our enquiries.’ She fished a card from her bag and wrote on it in a lovely clear script. ‘If you’re sure you can make it to Ashford, show this to whoever is on Reception. They’ll sort out both a parking space and someone to take your statement immediately. Thank you so much for being so understanding.’ With a technique I used myself, she swept us from the room.
We walked with her back to her car – I noticed Elaine didn’t return the soon-to-be-redundant house key – and waved her off. ‘I ought to have offered to go with her, oughtn’t I?’ I said.
‘She’s a grown woman. She could have asked if she wanted you to. I wonder what she does when she’s not being Mrs Vicar.’
‘Funny – I never thought to ask. I know I told her my job, but she never responded in kind.’
We exchanged a mildly puzzled shrug.
‘And now to Little Orchard Close. Mind if we go in my car? Will the dog be OK? I know he should be anchored, but …’
‘He won’t tell if you don’t,’ I assured her.
Kicking her boots off in my kitchen, Elaine made calls while I made tea. The conversations obviously weren’t private – in fact, she was probably ensuring I didn’t have to ask for information she’d given to someone else. The gist was that she wanted the records of all the calls logged in connection with the immediate area so her team could start work. She also wanted access to number 33. A bit of attention to number 39 wouldn’t come amiss.
There was a mutter from the far end.
She snarled, ‘There can’t be all that many letting agencies, for God’s sake. At this stage I don’t want the bother of a warrant – a friendly estate agent or whatever will understand that.’ She ended the call. ‘You must know all the letting agencies in Kent after your peregrinations!’
‘Lovely word, Elaine – I’ve alw
ays got space for an extra literacy assistant, you know. Actually, I do know one agent reasonably well. He does a lot round here. James Ford. He’s a decent guy and has been really kind to me. He’d also want to know if there’s a problem like the one at the vicarage. Shall I call him now?’
‘That might save a lot of bother. What nectar this green tea is – I’ve never come across anything like it before. Smells of roses! Hey, can I snitch that apple? All these kilos later, I still can’t persuade my stomach not to rumble at tea-and-biscuit time.’
‘The tenants,’ James told us, as he unlocked the front door of number 33, ‘were due to leave this coming weekend. I’d no idea they’d already departed and left the property empty. Not part of their agreement at all.’ He stopped on the threshold. ‘Wow!’
I expected a repeat of the vicarage chaos, and I’m sure Elaine did too. What James revealed, however, was a completely pristine interior, smelling strongly of fresh paint. I’d swear the carpets were new, too.
‘I must have a fairy godmother!’ he breathed.
‘Or,’ said Elaine, more prosaically, ‘tenants who made such a mess they had to have a radical clean up.’
James’s eyes rounded. ‘You mean—’
She pulled the door shut, put out her hand for the key and said almost smugly, ‘Let’s just say that you can put a coat of paint over a mess, but you can’t pull wool over our experts’ eyes.’
Geoffrey was still asleep in his basket when we got back, but immediately marked down James as a soft-hearted man who would probably know where I’d stowed the dog treats.
Elaine, however, was more concerned with eliciting facts. ‘Is your firm responsible for letting out number 39, too?’
One hand on Geoffrey’s head, he fished out his phone and scrolled down. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I’ve a dim idea that it’s a private let. It isn’t one of Brian’s, is it, Jane?’
I shrugged – not a huge, outraged, ‘how should I know?’ shrug, but one that suggested perhaps Elaine’s team should contact him. ‘This is his number,’ I said, jotting it down for her.
‘That’s the pompous git who chairs your governors and fancies you? OK, rhetorical question.’
‘I told you – I could use literacy experts like you.’
Much to Geoffrey’s dismay, James left almost immediately.
‘Time I was off too,’ Elaine declared. ‘But before I go, there’s just one question. Of all the officers in Kent, why should you contact me? I’m not your average general crime investigator, as you know. I specialise—’
‘In migration and people trafficking. And I’ve got yet another set of people you might be interested in too: some guys at a pop-up car wash. All middle-aged. All dressed in rags. All emaciated. And not one of them speaking English.’
‘My car’s due a clean – point me to them.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Technically I’d not wasted a whole day, but it did feel as if I had. The bagful of work I should have completed now sat in my study, regarding me balefully. Why not delay supper even longer and make a start now? Geoffrey had had enough excitement for one day and could wait till later for his walk. Or I could open one of the bottles of wine Joy had left behind, put my feet up and indulge? There were even some of her meals in the freezer.
The phone.
‘Brian, here, Jane. I wonder if I might trouble you for some more of your invaluable advice. Perhaps we might meet for supper at the Cricketers?’
Advice? Especially invaluable advice. I was intrigued: I associated Brian more with dishing it out than accepting it. The Cricketers was always a good choice. On the other hand Diane strongly discouraged dogs in the bar, a practice of which I’d hitherto approved whole-heartedly, and I wasn’t sure I should leave him in a strange house, his battery of toys notwithstanding.
We would meet at eight-thirty. Geoffrey would have to take his chance tethered in the deep porch outside the bar, or maybe his pretty face and tiptoe walk would soften Diane’s heart enough for her to make an exception. I pocketed a supply of treats and a couple of poo-bags. Yes, I’d need my torch. Geoffrey peered at me through his extraordinarily long eyelashes: clearly, he couldn’t understand the logic of turning out in a dark and now rainy night. And he really did not like being left outside the bar, even though there was a kennel of sorts and a supply of water. Tough. He was a dog.
Again Brian looked old and tired, responding to my question about his health with a worried shake of the head. ‘It seems I’m not quite as fine as I thought I was. Angina. I’ve got a spray and some more pills and been referred for a battery of tests. Quickly. I should avoid stress,’ he added, sitting heavily. ‘And stress seems to be following me around. God, Jane, I could use a drink.’
‘It’s OK with your medication?’
‘In moderation and preferably red wine.’
At least moderation meant he’d be able to drive himself home. So we ordered Shiraz and a bowl of olives. Catching my eye, Diane raised an appreciative but amused eyebrow: were we really becoming an item? My answer would have been an emphatic negative: having seen more of his worse side than his good, I still didn’t really trust Brian, and though I respected him in some situations, I hadn’t found myself liking him in many.
‘Have you heard from your guest since she left?’ he asked unexpectedly. Or perhaps not. He seemed to have been interested in Joy’s presence as soon as she arrived.
‘She says she’s fallen on her feet. She loves their friend’s apartment. Ken is getting better every day and is capable of dealing with the insurance. I gather he’s tried to tell Paula—’
‘That’s your builder extraordinaire—’
‘That sums her up nicely. He’s tried to tell her how to do her job, which since her prompt actions stabilised the house long enough for the insurance company to decide whether to rebuild or repair – and opt for the latter, as it happens – is pretty foolish. He doesn’t want her walking away now.’
‘But that means your own project will be delayed even longer.’
‘Apparently not. Paula and Caffy have recruited some more workers, and of course Paula can supervise both sites simply by standing outside one and yelling across the flattened fence at the workers on the other – as I have no doubt she would if she ever had to raise her voice. I shan’t have to trouble you more than six weeks longer than we agreed,’ I added.
‘“Trouble” isn’t a word I associate with your tenancy. But – and this is why I wanted to talk to you – I seem to be having problems with one of your temporary neighbours. Their next-door neighbour has complained and they’re being very awkward about giving me access.’
Why on earth should he want to consult me? I wasn’t a property millionaire. ‘Not number 39, by any chance?’
‘Number 4, as it happens. Why do you ask about 39?’ His voice was decidedly sharp.
‘Because the woman there’s had a couple of importunate visitors – loud, violent-voiced men.’
To my amazement, he covered my hand with his. ‘Poor Jane – it must have awakened very unpleasant memories. But that life’s behind you now. You’re part of a community that likes and respects you – cares for you.’ He spoke as if the last verb was hard to frame.
‘Thank you. I appreciate your saying that,’ I said, rather formally, and then withdrew my hand, not so abruptly that he could take offence, but not too slowly either.
From outside came a banshee wail. It reduced everyone in the bar to silence. Another wail. It had to be – dear God, it had to be Geoffrey, didn’t it? ‘My responsibility,’ I groaned as I made for the door.
He trotted in with a smile on his face. Diane didn’t return it. ‘Sorry, Jane. If you want I can put you and it in the function room while you eat, or I’ll put whatever you order in foil as a takeaway if you care to wait outside. Up to you.’
Scarlet with embarrassment, I nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ I turned to Brian, but he was taking a phone call, which didn’t seem to be going well. He was oblivious to Geoffrey�
��s presence and its effects.
‘I’m so sorry, Jane – I have to go. Something very inconvenient has popped up. Oh, who’s this?’
‘A dog I’m looking after. So, your going’s not a problem. We’ve got to go too. Sorry, everyone.’
I should have spoken fiercely to Geoffrey. Indeed, I did talk pretty firmly. But perhaps I wasn’t as emphatic as I should have been. He might have led me into one embarrassing situation, but he’d probably saved me from one even worse. However, despite all his blandishments, he wasn’t going to sleep on my bed. He wasn’t even going to come upstairs. Ok, so I ended up sitting with him in the kitchen till he fell asleep, but in the end I won.
Wednesday dawned dark and dull, with rain slashing audibly on the windows. Just the weather for dog walking. And, actually, for getting through a great deal of work. The question was, here or at school? If I walked to school, that would constitute a good walk for us both. In my rucksack I packed enough for Geoffrey’s needs, including a thick towel, a supply of food for us both and a change of clothes, despite the waterproof everything that covered me from hair to toes. His complete disbelief at having to set out made me wonder how Maggie Davies had dealt with vile weather, though from what little I’d seen of her I’d have thought she’d be feisty enough to stride through blizzards.
I had just towelled Geoffrey down and stripped off my rainwear when someone rang the doorbell. The screen showed Brian waving rather self-consciously at the little camera. He had both the key and the security code at his disposal, but I liked his courtesy in letting me know I had a visitor. Geoffrey retired to his blanket with a couple of treats and his favourite toy, a distressingly realistic rubber hen, oven-ready but for the very vivid head.
Head Wound Page 9
