Bricks and Mortality: Campbell & Carter 3 (25 page)

Outside the swirl of wheels on gravel was audible. The muted growl of a car’s engine was cut off abruptly, followed by the slam of a car door.

‘It might be Muriel,’ Petra said doubtfully. ‘But it didn’t sound like her old banger. The engine of her car sounds as if it’s got a nasty cough.’

‘He wouldn’t—’ Kit gasped, dropped the sketch of Hamlet in her hand and ran to the open barn doors. She erupted in a wail of fury. ‘Would you believe it? The blighter has come back!’

From within, Petra heard the following short burst of conversation.

‘What are you doing here? I told you to stay away! I thought that was understood. Just get back in that car and get out!’

‘Glad to see you, Kit. I wanted to see you both. I thought there was a chance I’d find you here, guarding Petra.’ The male voice caused Petra’s heart to hop again in that ridiculous way.
Stop it!
she ordered herself.

‘I have to guard her! I can’t trust you, obviously. What’s the matter with you, Gervase? Are you completely thick?’

Kit must be almost dancing in rage, Petra thought. I’d better do something before she biffs him. ‘Gervase!’ she called loudly. ‘Come in! It’s OK, Kit. Let him come in.’

Kit erupted back into the barn ahead of the visitor. ‘No, it’s not bally OK. Let me get rid of him.’

Gervase emerged from behind her and said, ‘Too late, Kit. I’m here.’

Kit whirled round and glared at him, red faced and rendered speechless for the moment.

Petra took the opportunity to say, ‘If you want to see us both, Gervase, let’s go over to the cottage. We can have a cup of tea or something. It’s all right, Kit, honestly.’

Kit stalked ahead of them to the cottage, Petra following in her chair and Gervase bringing up the rear. Once through the cottage door, Petra hauled herself out of the chair and grabbed the crutches propped against the wall. She knew Gervase was watching every move and avoided his gaze.

But she couldn’t avoid it for ever and, once all three of them were established on the banquette by the window, she met his eye at last. He looked wretched.

Kit marched over to them with a tray and slammed it down on the little table. Tea slopped about in the cat mugs. Petra saw with amusement that Kit had given Gervase the mug with a black cat painted on it, back arched aggressively, big yellow eyes gleaming. The witch’s cat, Petra had called that design.

‘What do you want?’ Kit asked sharply. ‘If you’re here, you’re here. But at least don’t hang around. Get on with it!’

This ungracious speech had the effect of wiping the wretchedness from Gervase’s face. Now he looked at Kit and grinned briefly. Petra was pleased to see the misery fade but it struck her that Gervase’s grin lacked its customary boldness.

‘What’s the matter, Gervase?’ she asked quietly.

He turned to her. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Petra. I really had not meant to come and bother you again. But I felt I should come and tell you – both – something.’

‘You’re going back to Portugal?’ asked Kit hopefully.

‘All in good time. That’s not what I came to say, Kit. Sorry to disappoint you. The fact is, I’ve had a threatening letter.’

The sisters burst into speech together.

‘What did it say?’ asked Petra.

‘Have you got it with you?’ from suspicious-sounding Kit.

He chose to answer Kit’s question first. ‘Honestly, Kit, I have had a letter. The police have it now.’

‘Yes, yes, so you say,’ returned Kit with impatience. ‘For all we know this is one of your spoof yarns, like the one you told me about the Key House ghost.’

‘You’re not going to nag me about that, are you?’

‘Wasn’t the ghost legend true?’ asked Petra with interest. ‘Kit told Inspector Campbell about it when she called.’

‘No, it was an example of his misplaced sense of humour,’ snapped Kit. ‘As I know too late, now he’s let me make a fool of myself to the police.’

‘I didn’t know you’d even remembered it!’ Gervase protested. ‘What did you tell the cops about it for, anyway?’

‘I don’t
know
. It’s like that when you talk to the police, I suppose. You end up telling them things.’ Once again, Gervase had wrong-footed her and she had to explain herself. Her frustration almost shimmered in the air around her.

‘If you say so,’ said Gervase politely.

Kit squawked.

Petra intervened again. ‘Just tell us about the letter, Gervase. What on earth did it say?’

‘Calling it a “letter” is, I admit, making it sound more elaborate than it was,’ Gervase explained. ‘It was more in the way of a note, pushed under my door at The Royal Oak. It’s made of bits cut out of newspapers and glued on to a sheet of paper. Quite Agatha Christie stuff and, now that I think about it, a bit of an insult. The message is brief and what you might expect.’ Gervase repeated the words. ‘All in upper-case letters clipped from papers, as I said, and without any punctuation. Honestly, my first reaction on seeing it was to laugh. It was sort of childish.’

There was a silence.

‘Just that?’ asked Kit sceptically.

‘Just that. I told you it was stark – and unoriginal.’

Petra’s face had paled. ‘It’s horrible, and it’s not funny. Whoever sent it means every word and the mind behind it is sick.’

‘I do realise that. I only laughed once, probably more in surprise than amusement.’ Gervase set down his mug. ‘Now then, this is the really interesting part of it, the writer didn’t deliver the original. It was a photocopy that came under the door.’

‘Why?’ asked Petra, bewildered.

‘Were you in the room at the time?’ from Kit, still suspicious. ‘When this letter suddenly appeared from nowhere?’

‘Of course I wasn’t in the room, don’t be daft, Kit. I’d have opened the door and grabbed whoever it was. I’d gone down to breakfast. There was nothing to be seen when I left the room. I went out for a walk after breakfast and came back mid-morning to my room, and there it was.’

‘Chambermaid?’ asked Kit tersely. ‘Had she been in your room?’

‘She had and she denies all knowledge. Likewise the manager. Hear, see and speak no evil, that’s the motto of The Royal Oak.’ Gervase turned to Petra. ‘As to why I received a photocopied example, I assume it was because the original would have had the creator’s dabs all over it, plus DNA. The photocopy would have been handled with kid gloves – or regular rubber washing-up mitts, as you please. Untouched by human hand, anyway. Except mine, of course. I picked it up to read it and carried it around with me in my pocket. My dabs and DNA all over it, as the cops will have discovered by now and be drawing the obvious conclusion.’

‘And did you send it to yourself, Gervase?’ asked Kit coolly.

‘Don’t be silly, Kit! Of course he didn’t,’ cried Petra.

‘Thank you, Petra, for the vote of confidence. No, Kit, I didn’t send it to myself. Did
you
send it?’ He put the question in a casual tone, but his face was serious and his blue eyes fixed on Kit’s face.

‘Me?’ howled Kit, bouncing up from the seat. ‘Why would I muck about doing a stupid childish thing like that?’

‘I did tell that lady cop with the red hair, Campbell, that you would never have done it. I said, you would come and tell me to my face. All the same, I’d be glad of your reassurance.’

‘No, she didn’t do it!’ Petra burst out, losing her own temper. ‘Honestly, Gervase, as if either of us—’

He interrupted her. ‘I know
you
wouldn’t, Petra. But Kit was cross with me about the ghost joke I told her donkey’s years ago … you
do
bear a grudge, don’t you, Kit, old thing?’

‘I didn’t know, years ago, it was a joke.’ Kit appeared to have difficulty talking. Perhaps it was the effort to sound calm. The words were squeezed out of her throat. ‘And I don’t bear grudges. I – all my family has good reason to be “cross”, as I suppose you’d call it, with you. That has nothing to do with jokes about ghosts.’

‘Just stop it, the pair of you!’ ordered Petra. ‘And if you are going to talk about me, please don’t.’

Kit, looking thoughtful, rubbed a hand through her mop of short hair so that it was left tousled as if she’d been out in a high wind. Something like a smile touched Gervase’s face but it was so fleeting that even Petra, watching him closely, wasn’t sure she’d seen it.

‘How could someone come along and just push it under the door of your room, and none of the hotel staff notice?’ Kit was still prepared to play devil’s advocate. ‘It’s very fishy, Gervase, you’ve got to admit. I’m not accusing you, just pointing out the obvious.’

‘You obviously aren’t in the habit of dropping into The Royal Oak, other than to bite my head off,’ Gervase told her. ‘It’s by way of being a local meeting spot. Non-residents are in and out of the place all the time and the staff have the knack of total concentration on what they are doing, oblivious of all else. A small army could tramp through there; and the only reaction might be from the lounge waiter, who would want them to order coffee.’

‘I remember him,’ said Kit and scowled. ‘In this day and age you’d think security would be a priority.’

‘It’s not a top-notch London hotel with VIPs going in and out,’ Petra said in The Royal Oak’s defence. ‘I can understand how someone might slip in and out. So, what happens now?’

‘Yes, are the police taking it seriously?’ asked Kit.

‘I assume so. Once they decide I didn’t send it to myself. I think the red-haired lady cop believed my account. Not that you can ever tell what the police are thinking.’

Gervase stretched out his legs and stared at the toecaps of his suede boots. ‘I met the girlfriend of the poor guy who died at Key House, in the fire,’ he said without warning.

Both sisters gasped.

‘Where, how?’ asked Petra.

‘I was checking out Key House. It was after you came to see me at The Oak, Kit. I got in the car and drove out there. Talking about when we were kids made me unexpectedly nostalgic, not that what you see there now has the slightest resemblance to how the place was all those years ago. It’s like a war zone. The fire brigade is still going back to dampen it down but I don’t think they’ll pay more than one more visit. Underfoot it’s all very wet and mucky. All the same, I saw that someone was there ahead of me, this girl. She’d brought flowers. She left them on the floor in the kitchen area, where the body was found and the fire started. It was a dangerous thing to do because the house is so unstable and, while she was there, one of the old fitted kitchen cupboards fell off a wall and split apart. The wood was charred and fragile but it had some nasty-looking screws poking out of it. She told me the chap who died had been her partner. It was very touching. Yes, even me, Kit. I was moved.’

‘It’s so sad,’ said Petra.

‘I felt pretty useless,’ Gervase went on. ‘I didn’t know what to say. Then, of all people, that old harridan Muriel Pickering turned up with a pop-eyed, bandy-legged dog in tow. The mutt looked rather like Muriel. She came to my rescue, although that wasn’t her intention. She started berating me, which gave the girl a chance to make her excuses and leave. It was quite nice to see old Muriel and know she hasn’t changed. But then, nothing much around here has, as I mentioned to you, Kit. The French have a saying for it, don’t they? They’ve got a saying for most things. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Isn’t that it?’

‘
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose
,’ Petra whispered. ‘It might be true, but it shouldn’t be, should it?’

Very slowly Kit said, ‘I’m not speaking for Petra or myself now, about what we’d like you to do. I’m speaking as someone taking into consideration what’s best for you, Gervase. Perhaps you
should
go back to Portugal. You’d be safe there from whoever means you harm here. Give the police a chance to find out what happened at Key House. Then come back to England and sort out what has to be done regarding the ruins.’

‘Isn’t that what the writer of the note wants me to do?’ Gervase said sharply. ‘I have a basic objection to being told to clear off out of my own property and my own country. You’ll say that’s what I did when I moved abroad. But it’s one thing to do it because I decided to. It’s another to run in panic from some murderous idiot. You agree, the whole business of the note is like a childish prank. Blowed if I’m going to run away from something like that!’

He paused and went on more calmly, ‘Besides, I’ve been thinking. If I stay here, it might flush out the murderer-cum-arsonist. By sending me that note, he’s put himself on the line. He’s gone public threatening another attempt on my life. Now he’s got to do it. So, I wait. He’ll try something that will force him out into the open, but I’ll be on my guard and either I or the police will nab him.’

‘He might try and set fire to The Royal Oak!’ cried Petra in dismay. ‘He burned down Key House, why not the hotel?’

‘No! He won’t. It would be too hit or miss, Petra. I agree the place is old and would burn nicely. But it’s also got smoke detectors in every ceiling and clearly marked fire exits. It wouldn’t be at all like putting a match to an empty place like Key House,’ Gervase assured her.

‘Risky, all the same,’ said Kit in clipped tones. ‘Not to say, pretty damn stupid. You think you’re smarter than he is, Gervase, but are you? After all, he knows you and you don’t know him. He’s knows what he’s looking for – you – and you don’t have a clue.’

‘Thanks, Kit, for your usual gracious assessment of my ideas.’

‘I’m not getting at you, Gervase, honestly.’ Kit drew a deep breath. ‘But he isn’t going to give you a chance to see him first.’

‘Oh, but he has,’ Gervase returned gently. ‘By sending the note in the first place, he’s signalled his intention. That’s tantamount to stepping out into the open.’

‘Rubbish! He’s still lurking in the jungle and you, by offering to play the role of tethered goat, won’t help anyone, least of all the police.’

‘And Kit and I will be worried sick, all the time, knowing someone is prowling round out there looking for you!’ Petra said suddenly.

This unexpected statement was met with a silence in which Petra stared at Gervase and Gervase stared at Kit.

‘We will naturally be very concerned,’ said Kit, stony faced. ‘I suggest you talk this over with Inspector Campbell and take her advice. I can’t imagine she’d be very enthusiastic. We are dealing with a nutcase, Gervase, and neither you nor the cops have the slightest idea what he’ll do next!’