by Faith Martin
But she wasn’t pretty enough for him to respond, and she left with a bland wish that they enjoyed their coffee and that cakes were available if they should feel peckish.
When she was gone, Larry drained his coffee cup. ‘I always get good prices for my merchandise,’ he said equally flatly. He hadn’t quite liked the way Teddy Bear had just spoken to him. He had expected a little more deference from a pigeon like this; that he would show a little more gratifying fear.
Perhaps it was time to make the stranger aware just who was the boss in this relationship. Nothing too much — not enough to frighten him away before Larry could get a handle on him — just enough to put him in his place. ‘People tend to want to please me,’ he said blandly.
The stranger nodded but didn’t look at all impressed, and to Larry’s surprise, abruptly changed the subject. ‘I take it the police are still involved with Newley’s death? I can’t have them finding out about my arrangement with him — and now with you.’
At this, Larry laughed caustically. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about them. Inspector Farrell is in charge, and he can’t tell his arse from his elbow.’
At first Larry had been amused by Farrell’s pathetic efforts to pin Newley’s — and Lionel Kirklees’s — murders on him. Now he was beginning to get weary of it. The man was like a terrier with a rat. Still, eventually even Farrell would have to run out of steam and stop harassing him. Sometimes he dreamt of dealing with the DI as he would with some drug pusher who tried to scam some profit for himself. But much as he might like to, even Larry knew better than to kill a copper. It just wasn’t worth the hassle that inevitably followed.
‘Really?’ Teddy Bear said, looking interested. ‘Are they not making any progress then?’
Larry laughed. ‘No, and they won’t, not now,’ he assured him. ‘Everyone knows if they can’t solve a murder in the first week or two, then they hardly ever do.’
Teddy Bear digested this thoughtfully and nodded.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Larry said softly. ‘It’s not them you need to keep in mind, but me.’
Teddy Bear looked at him without expression.
Larry felt a little shaft of annoyance at the punter’s obtuseness. ‘I’m not like Newley, Mr Teddy Bear. I’m not an old has-been. And while I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t have a long and profitable relationship,’ he lied blithely, ‘if you don’t play straight with me, you’ll find yourself regretting it.’ Larry spread his hands and said genially, ‘I can be a very dangerous man when crossed.’
When it was clear that Teddy Bear was going to make no response to this (the rabbit was probably too shit-scared to speak), he got up, nodded, and left.
Teddy Bear waited for a short while, until the other man’s tread couldn’t be heard, then reached slowly for his cooling cup of coffee. And said quietly, to the empty room, ‘And so can I, Mr Spence. So can I.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mia de Salle loved driving her classic E-type Jaguar. Although she used a more environmentally friendly and economical car for work and general use, every now and then she liked to indulge herself and take her pride and joy out for a spin. It had been expensive, but so worth it.
Mia, like most people would, enjoyed having and spending money, but she was very particular in what she chose to splurge on. Not for her anything so mundane as holidays abroad or flashy modern jewellery or fancy gizmos and pricey gadgets. For her, it had to be all about romance, or maintaining her own sense of style and — most of all — not letting the blandness of modern-day life win. She was determined to rise above the mundane and flout the dreariness of this ugly time she’d been born into.
And to her, the E-type was the equivalent of her fiery steed, her dragon!
That morning, she was driving through the greening countryside, her heartbeat skipping, as it always did, when she knew she was going to see him. And her racing-car green steed, with its cream leather interior and powerful, growling engine, all added to the thrill and the sense of adventure.
The admiring glances the car got as it ate up the miles to her destination only added to her satisfaction. She let the window down, even though the spring air was still rather too cool for comfort, and thought about her day ahead.
She had to go to work later on, of course, but she was more or less her own boss, and could dictate the flexi-hours she worked. But she did not want to contemplate all the tame and uninteresting daily chores that waited in the wings for her right now. Now all she wanted to think about was seeing him again.
They had to be discreet, of course; she knew that, and accepted it. Nobody must ever see them together, although it was all so very tiresome. Sneaking around, never letting on that they were a couple, always having to be careful because of what had happened to Michael, which might set people to begin asking awkward questions . . . Although she understood it, she still longed for the time when they could be properly together.
Oh, he was not everybody’s idea of a great man, a handsome, romantic hero in the Jane Austen or Emily Brontë sense, but that didn’t matter to her. What did physical beauty, either male or female, really have to do with true, timeless love anyway? What did age matter, or impressive muscle or young, toned flesh? She herself was no vision of the romanticized feminine ideal — no blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty — as a single glance in the mirror told her only too well.
But what did any of that matter to them? They were classic, star-crossed lovers, victims of fate and death and tragic separation.
But while her suffering was satisfying, it sometimes wore thin, and she was desperate to feed herself on him. To remind herself of the reward that awaited her for all her long-suffering patience and loyalty.
Nearing her destination, Mia began to slow her beautiful car and began the tedious task of leaving the glorious open countryside behind and instead navigating the increasingly frustrating, suffocating banality that was the twenty-first century urban environment.
Finally, she pulled into one of her favourite waiting spots, not far from where he lived, and turned off the purring engine.
Her heart was now beating so fast that she could hear it pounding in her ears. How soon before he came by and she could watch him approach?
As she waited with the patience of a spider in the car, with the people passing by still casting admiring and envious glances at the Jaguar as they did so, she thought how funny life could be sometimes.
When she’d been younger and far more foolish than today, she’d been so in love with Michael that she thought it might kill her. But in the end, he’d let her down, leaving her broken-hearted and bewildered. Why had he abandoned her? Why hadn’t her love been enough? How many weeks after he’d broken up with her did she torment herself with such questions? How long had she watched him, trailing after him in her less-conspicuous car, wanting and willing him to relent and take her back?
Looking back on herself at that point in time, she could feel only pity and perhaps a little scorn for her old self. But she could forgive herself too. She’d been desperately, crazily, whole-heartedly in love with him, and love made fools of everyone, didn’t it?
Odd to think, now, that if she hadn’t met Michael, she’d never have met the man who was destined to be her real love, her one true soulmate. Even more astonishing to realize that, when she’d first met him, she hadn’t been able to stand him!
Mia shook her head now in remembrance of her own folly. To think, in the beginning, she’d been so blind that she had endured him only for Michael’s sake! Resenting their closeness and never understanding what Michael had seen in him and wishing only that he’d just disappear from their lives for ever. So utterly unaware of what should have been staring her in the face.
That he was so much greater than Michael had ever been. So much stronger, braver, so much more than Michael had ever been. Even given the fact that he could seem so unassuming, so everyday, his greatness perfectly camouflaged in an ordinary exterior, it was still almost beyond her under
standing that she could have made such a mistake.
All the while she’d been thinking that Michael had been the one with the old soul, Michael who had the extraordinary character and strength of will to become her ideal and worthy mate. When all the time it had been the other one.
And it wasn’t until that day when everything had changed for ever, and she’d finally seen him in his true colours, that the scales finally fell from her eyes. Leaving her hopelessly dazzled, stunned, and bewildered.
It had taken her a little time to realize just what had happened, of course. To piece it all together and realize the true extent of her new love’s cleverness and bravery, his extraordinary abilities to present one face to the world, while hiding the almost unimaginable glory of his real face. To take charge, to be unafraid of taking action, to risk everything! To be a real man! A real man in this world of wimps and dullards.
Michael, and the memory of Michael, had faded into nothing beside him. What had Michael been but a young, callow man whose passion for history had been his one redeeming feature?
She shifted restlessly in the bucket seat of her car and glanced at her watch. Surely he would come by soon? Her outlaw, her unlikely Heathcliff, her secret and guilty love. Surely he would come into sight anytime now?
She needed to see him. She’d die if she didn’t see him . . .
There was a fluttering feeling racing around her body, an almost unbearable excitement washing over her, making her tremble. Maybe this time, this day, this hour, would be the one when he finally told her they could be together forever?
She couldn’t bear this much longer otherwise . . .
* * *
Hillary drove Puff carefully through the narrow and hilly village of Islip, then up over the humped bridge over the river, towards the now familiar route towards Woodeaton.
Beside her, Gareth Proctor sat silent and thoughtful. He was still brooding about Jason, and what, if anything, he should do. He felt instinctively that his friend was nearing some sort of crisis or other, and that giving him the mysterious package to look after was a cry for help of some kind.
Was he supposed to open it and see what it contained? Or was not opening it the test that he needed to pass?
He unknowingly sighed, earning him a quick, sharp-eyed look from his boss. Perhaps he should have a word with Jase’s mum and dad? But they already knew he was suffering from depression. His GP had given him pills. Jase’s sister looked in on him regularly. So what more could he or they do?
Apart from helping put his own mind at rest that he’d ‘done something’ — at the expense of disturbing their peace of mind — what would that realistically achieve? What did he expect them to do? Commit their son to a mental ward?
No. He could only try and find out what was bothering Jase and promise to help and be there. After work, he’d go over and . . .
‘Here we are.’ Hillary Greene’s crisp voice startled him out of his contemplation, and he saw they’d arrived at a smart-looking, large country cottage without any real memory of getting there.
He caught his boss watching him knowingly, and hoped he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said smartly. ‘Do you want me to take notes?’
‘I think you’d better,’ Hillary said. ‘I was going to ask you if you wanted to start the interview and get in some practice, but I have a feeling your mind isn’t on the job.’
Hillary saw him flinch a little. Having made her point, she relented and sighed. ‘Come on then,’ she said briskly. ‘Clear your head and pay attention. You’re no use to anyone unless your mind is on the job at hand.’
‘Yes, ma’am!’ he said and firmly put all thoughts of friends in need onto the mental backburner.
* * *
It was Martina Beck who let Hillary into the house. She seemed surprised to see her arrive with a different officer, and looked even more disconcerted when Gareth limped past her once they were in the hall. Hillary saw her eyes fall to his misshapen left hand and look quickly away again.
She wondered if Gareth Proctor ever got fed up of people being too scrupulously polite to notice his injuries.
Martina showed them into a large and pleasant light-filled study-cum-library, decorated in tones of green and cream, where her husband was seated in a green leather armchair reading a PG Wodehouse novel.
Hillary introduced Gareth to them, and they all took a seat. William instantly put down the book and leaned forward attentively in his chair. He too noticed Gareth’s somewhat awkward handling of his notebook and pen, but like his wife, looked quickly away again. Hillary wondered, vaguely, why it irritated her so much.
Perhaps she was just getting cantankerous in her old age!
‘Have you made any progress?’ William asked, looking at her hopefully.
Hillary smiled slightly, expecting the question, but knowing it wasn’t one she could ever answer, even if they had made a significant breakthrough. The sad fact was, not even the families of the bereaved could be made privy to meaningful evidence in case it might taint or prejudice any subsequent court case.
So she stated the usual platitudes. ‘It’s early days yet, Mr Beck. We’re still in the collating stage, but now we’ve had a chance to interview all those closest to your son, I just have a few more questions. I think I mentioned before that we might need to come back to you — perhaps several times — in order to clarify some points.’
‘You’ve seen Mia de Salle? And Dr Durning?’ Martina said eagerly. ‘What do you think of them? She’s weird, right? And he’s a creep.’
Hillary understood her bitterness, but right now she didn’t need their anger. She needed them calm and quiet and thinking rationally.
So she said softly, ‘They were only preliminary interviews, Mrs Beck. I’m still trying to get a clearer picture of your son, his personality, his life, and more details about the last time you saw him.’
She deliberately brought out her own notebook, where earlier this morning she’d made a short list of questions she wanted to ask, and made a show of consulting them. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but she knew that helping to focus their minds would reduce the emotion and tension in the room.
Sure enough, Martina nodded and sat back a little more in her chair. ‘Ask us anything you like,’ she said, rubbing her hands nervously together in her lap. ‘We want to do all we can to help.’
Hillary smiled again. ‘Thank you. Now, let’s start with his friend Kevin Philpott. Something he said when we talked to him about Michael made me think,’ she began, but then instantly paused as she caught Martina rolling her eyes at her husband.
She saw William notice that she’d caught the by-play, and he smiled a little wryly and leaned even further forward in his chair. ‘Oh, don’t mind us, Inspector Greene. It’s just that we always rather wished that Michael had chosen his friends more wisely, that’s all. Especially his best friend.’
‘Oh? You don’t like Kevin?’ Hillary asked, intrigued, her radar instantly twitching.
‘Oh, we liked him well enough in a way, I suppose,’ Martina said with a brief shrug. ‘He was a friendly enough lad, I’ll give him that. And he always seemed to be able to make Michael laugh. But Michael always saw the best in people. He wasn’t always . . . He didn’t always have much discernment.’
Hillary nodded slowly. ‘You saw faults where he didn’t?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ William said. ‘Of course, we’re older and wiser, and aren’t so easily taken in. And like my wife said, Kevin was a nice enough lad, but he was a bit of a cadger, if you know what I mean?’ He looked at her hopefully, one grey eyebrow raised.
‘Can you give me an example?’ Hillary asked gently.
‘Oh, you know . . . just general stuff. If Michael got a Christmas or a birthday present that he didn’t really like or want, it would inevitably find its way to Kevin. Oh, he’d never outright ask for it, but even so . . .’ William gave another wry smile and spread his hands.
Martina Beck
helped him out. ‘Whenever they went somewhere that required money — an entrance fee to the zoo or something, or going to see a film at the cinema — it was always our son who paid for the both of them out of his pocket money. You know, that sort of thing.’
Hillary nodded but said nothing.
William frowned slightly. ‘Don’t get us wrong, Inspector Greene, we’re not snobs. We know Kevin’s family isn’t well off. And although we never over-indulged Michael with really expensive things, we were well aware that he never had to worry about money on a daily basis. And that not all kids were so lucky — like Kevin. It was just that we didn’t like to see him being taken advantage of.’
‘And you think his best friend did that?’
‘Oh not intentionally, perhaps. Not knowingly,’ William said hastily. ‘And you know what kids are like — they don’t see things the way adults do. To Kevin and Michael, they probably just grew up taking it for granted, you know, what was Michael’s was also Kevin’s. And Michael never minded sharing.’
Hillary thought she had it now. ‘But Kevin took Michael’s largesse a bit too much for granted?’
‘Yes. Like I said,’ William said dryly, ‘He was a nice enough lad, but he wasn’t really . . . I don’t know how to say this without sounding awful, and I don’t mean to, but . . .’ He broke off, clearly lacking the courage to actually say what he wanted to say.
Luckily for Hillary, his wife was made of sterner stuff. ‘He was never as bright as Michael, for one thing. And no, I’m not blaming him for that either,’ she added hastily, flushing slightly. ‘We’re all born with our own strengths and weaknesses, aren’t we? But whereas Michael was industrious and curious, Kevin was lackadaisical and idle. Even Kevin’s dad thought him a bit of a dreamer who’d never amount to much in life. Of course, I don’t know what happened to him since Michael died . . .’ she trailed off and sighed. ‘I just wish our son had made friends with boys more like himself. Do you see?’
Hillary thought she did. For people like the Becks, academic achievement meant getting into a good university and getting a good degree, which in turn led to the setting up of a good career. And from there, a good marriage to a suitable partner and grandchildren, who must be encouraged to do well at school, and so the cycle continued.
