Blood Substitute (24 page)

There was absolutely nothing to see. I deviated from the path a few times to look under hedges and in a large hole in the ground where an ages-old rabbit warren had collapsed under the weight of a tractor the previous year, my heart in my mouth with the thought that I would find a body at any moment.

Nothing.

I reached the stile and saw that it had been repaired recently with a new top bar and steps. The job was badly done, the wood left rough with quite large splinters sticking out. On one of these was caught a tuft of wool. Not that from a sheep but dark blue in colour, from someone's sweater. I knew that Patrick had such a sweater because I had bought it for him but he had not been wearing it beneath the overalls. I forced myself to dismiss the cosy thought that he had somehow had time to change and then come looking for me. This was, after all, a sort of a right of way for those who lived on this side of the village: the wool could have come from any one of a number of people's garments.

Mounting the stile I walked up the lane, emerging half a minute later in the car park. The mobile library van was parked in it, the usual group of village ladies chatting at the bottom of the steps. One waved, the others gave me sideways looks. Of course, the police had been at the cottage the previous night. People had heard shots and here was the mad author who must have criminal connections in order to give authenticity to her stories.

I suddenly felt very bored with the lot of them and, worse, had learned nothing by coming back. Once more I got into the Range Rover and left. This time it seemed that I was leaving my life behind. I could never remember feeling more miserable.

M
iss Philippa Dean was being watched over in a one-time police section house a stone's throw from Olympia. Her sister was staying with her for a few days but was out when I called, having taken a bus into the West End to do some shopping. Miss Dean seemed pleased to see me.

‘I'll be in the next room,' said the woman police constable on duty.

‘You don't have to go,' I told her. ‘This isn't a private matter.'

But she went, saying she would make tea in a short while.

‘Is that young woman armed?' asked Miss Dean wonderingly.

‘No, but there's someone who is in the front room,' I answered.
And someone who is right here
, I did not add.

I had had no choice but to ask Greenway if he would arrange the meeting, aware that the man did not actually know what to do with me. He could hardly order me home again and was probably praying, after what I had said to him, that Patrick would turn up and we would then work together. It did not need me to tell him that this situation was highly unsatisfactory to all concerned.

I had gone on to ask him about the CD ROMs that Miss Dean had brought to London with her and he had only said that he did not want to go into details over the phone.

I said, ‘I just have a couple of questions and won't keep you long. I was wondering if there was
anything
you can remember about Steven Ballinger that will help me to find him.'

She seated herself in one of the dreadful green armchairs in the rather dreadful room and thought about it. ‘No, I'm sorry, I don't think there is,' she said after a few moments.

‘The store's head office was listed in Walthamsden but apparently that's all it is, an empty office. Do you know why that was?'

‘No. The address was on the notice board, wasn't it? I'm afraid that not knowing much about retail business I never gave it a thought. I heard Walthamsden Cinema talked about though.'

‘Cinema?' I echoed.

‘Oh, it's not one of those modern multi-screen places. This is a little old cinema in a back street somewhere that's art-deco and Grade 2 listed that Ballinger's been trying to buy. Needless to say he wants to knock it down and build flats on the site. No, that's wrong: he's hoping to redevelop the entire area.' She finished by adding disparagingly, ‘They've probably burned it to the ground as well by now.'

‘Do you know any more details?'

‘Well, I have no idea where it is, other than it's in a rundown area that's due for improvement. There's a Save Walthamsden Picture House Society been formed to fight the proposal. Ballinger cursed them daily.'

‘Was the name Ernie O'Malley ever mentioned?

‘I don't
think
so.'

‘He's supposed to be Ballinger's brother-in-law.'

Miss Dean smiled. ‘They were all brothers-in-law.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘It was the only time I ever saw anyone there laugh. It seemed to be an in-joke. I assumed it meant they were crooks-in-law, or lawless brothers – a bit like the Mafia.'

I thanked her, telling her that it was useful.

‘And your working partner?' she enquired. ‘Or shouldn't I ask?'

‘He's my husband actually.'

‘I thought you had a long-standing relationship by the way you communicated.'

‘I don't know where he is right now,' I admitted.

She gazed at me sympathetically. ‘You must be worried.'

‘I am.'

‘He doesn't look the kind of man to get too unstuck. Who is the person he loves most in the world, other than you?'

‘His mother.'

‘Ask her. She might know.'

Why hadn't I thought of it before?

‘Please be careful, my dear. These people are monsters.'

Still fearful of eavesdroppers, even on mobiles, and not in possession of one with more firewalls than Nero's Rome, I determined not to ask Elspeth outright if she had heard from Patrick. It soon became apparent though, after she had assured me that the children were well and happy, that she was choosing her words very carefully.

‘Any – er – other family news?' I stammered.

‘No, not really. It's not family but you might like to know that the Fieldings have a new baby boy. And Donna Warrington's engaged to that boy who fell in the river last year and almost drowned.'

I hadn't the first clue who these people were. Then it occurred to me that they might not even exist and there were other forces at work here.

‘Oh! And we have a new gardener. He's just arrived,' she went on as though being prompted. ‘He's really good at his job. I didn't know people from Delhi liked gardening, did you?'

‘No,' I gasped.

‘Would you like to speak to him? I've asked him in for a cup of tea.' She actually giggled. ‘Indian, of course.'

Ye gods.

Before I had had time to think, let alone reply, a quiet sing-song voice said, ‘Hello, Mrs Gillard. Would you be having a nice day?'

‘Yes, thank you,' I managed to say. ‘Are you staying with the rector long or would you like to come and work for me?'

‘I am very pleased to stay here until the usual gardener comes back from his broken leg. Then I shall be free.'

My heart sank. ‘How long will that be?'

‘Tomorrow.'

‘But you just said he'd broken his leg!'

‘Not broken at all badly. No, not badly at all. Just a very small tinge broken.'

I bit my lip hard to stop myself exploding with laughter.

‘You know where I live,' I said.

‘Yes, the big house with the trees. Goodbye, Mrs Gillard.'

‘Goodbye until tomorrow,' I whispered.

The ‘big house with the trees' like ‘Claridges' was a code name and more correctly the Elms Hotel just off Piccadilly. It had been one of our occasional haunts when we worked for D12 and I personally had not stayed there for years. Tending to be the kind of place frequented, and often lived in, by ladies who looked like Barbara Cartland it was, for the purpose of keeping our heads down, perfect.

By a complete coincidence Patrick and I arrived in the foyer together. He was, I noted, as brown as ever and must have had his head freshly shaved because it possessed the polish of a freshly harvested conker.

‘Sorry about the complete balls-up,' he said in my ear as we were checking in.

‘I waited for longer than you said,' I whispered back.

‘I know, I saw what must have been your tail lights disappearing down the road.'

I turned to him in real anguish. ‘Why didn't you ring me?'

‘That's why I'm apologizing. I'd left the phone indoors and didn't have a key on me. By the time I'd returned home and remembered where a spare was hidden then checked that the mobsters really had gone it was too late to call you back. I'd just left, in the van, when I saw half the Devon and Cornwall Force arriving. But I didn't go back, which saved a lot of awkward questions.'

‘I bawled out Greenway,' I said.

‘Good. I hope you didn't bring the car.'

‘Yes, I did. Terry removed the bug.'

‘I can't understand how these people were so close to us that they knew I'd left it at that garage in London.'

I did not want to think about it and to lighten things I said, ‘What on earth did the children make of you?'

‘Vicky was a bit worried but the others thought it was great fun. Justin wants the ear-ring afterwards.'

‘And your parents?'

‘Dad saw me first as I was hanging around outside the rectory waiting for someone to turn up – you have our key – and asked me if I was an illegal immigrant. Several had been recently found hidden in a lorry in Bath. Needless to say, he's now annoyed with me for making him look foolish.'

John has always become annoyed with his son rather readily. ‘And your mother?' I went on to ask.

‘Took one look at me and asked where the fancy-dress party was. Apparently my eyes are the wrong colour and Indian men don't usually have ear-rings so I took it out.'

He had written, in a flowing hand, something mostly illegible in the hotel register: I was sharing a room with His Eminence Squiggle Dash Three Loops.

‘It would appear that the CD ROMs hold details of just about all that goes on in this particular branch of the criminal outfit west of London, but not in the city itself,' Patrick said later when we were sitting in an almost deserted lounge, the decor as faded as most of the clientèle, for what was ostensibly a briefing. ‘Not that it's easy to work out exactly what's happening because code names have been used for people and places. In its present state the info's not a lot of use to
us.
I reckon we ought to get Miss Dean on to it seeing she used to work at Bletchley Park.'

‘I went to see her,' I told him. ‘The only interesting thing I found out is that she heard Walthamsden mentioned in connection with an old cinema there that Ballinger and Co want to knock down. Oh, and all the men jokingly referred to one another as brothers-in-law so that might explain that anomaly.'

‘That's interesting too as it suggests that whoever gave the Met the information had some connection with the gang.'

‘Are F9 saying anything about Robert Kennedy yet?'

Patrick shook his head. ‘No, still no comment.'

‘That means he is missing. Unless he's at Sheepwash.'

‘No, I was told that a couple of cops are at Sheepwash – to await any visitors.'

‘James is still going thorough hell then.'

Patrick, who seemed subdued, did not give any indication that he had heard the remark. ‘You know, that's not a bad idea – to get Miss Dean to have a look at the info. The computer bods have done all they can and even printed it all out.'

‘And then?' I asked. ‘Has anything really been achieved this past week and a bit?'

There was a little silence before Patrick said, ‘No, only me being turned into a rather poor copy of an Asian.' He gave me a look that I remembered for a long time afterwards. ‘I missed you, your ideas, your flair.' He paused. ‘Another thing is that I don't think this SOCA venture of mine is going at all well. The very reason I left MI5 – threats to the family, the need for police protection at Hinton Littlemoor – is happening all over again. It can't be allowed to go on.'

‘You'd die of boredom if you had a desk job.'

‘I might have to adapt to a quieter occupation, for the sake of everyone. Just be an ordinary copper.'

‘You do seem to have fielded some exceptionally poisonous criminals in the cases you've tackled over the years. Probably because you've been given the difficult jobs due to your reputation for success.'

Although nothing had been said I knew that this was the last night we would stay at an hotel before we headed for Ernie O'Malley country in Walthamsden to try to find our quarry. I had an idea that Patrick did not really know what to do with me either and was not expecting for a moment that I would be asked to adopt a brown skin and a sari.

‘I just want to chuck it all in,' Patrick suddenly said in a whisper. ‘Now.'

Shocked, I decided to say nothing right then.

‘We have a little boy who is now behaving badly and turning into a bully at school,' he continued. ‘A little boy who needs his dad to be around more often to occupy his mind with worthwhile things and take a strong line when he gets stroppy. Matthew and Katie's real dad is dead and the one they've got now keeps going off and having adventures so he doesn't get bored working at a desk all day. Worst of all, Vicky cried when she saw this scary stranger and called for Grandma.' Patrick turned to face me and I was appalled to see that he too was crying. ‘Ingrid, I feel a complete
shit
.'

‘Abandon the case,' I said decisively. ‘Resign from SOCA. Move from Devon to be nearer your parents. Be a family man again.'

Nothing was said for a while, Patrick sobbing silently and privately and, sitting side by side on a large sofa, I put an arm around him. This day had had to come, when other responsibilities demanded priority.

‘There's James,' he said in a choked voice at last. ‘I promised him I'd do everything in my power to find his father.'