Legacy of Lies (10 page)

‘There's always the phone.'

‘And I would ask him what?'

‘You don't have to snap.'

‘Sorry.'

‘It's OK. Look, let's have a recap. Rupert was found in a place where he most likely didn't die. He appears to have died of natural causes, which begs the question why move the body. And why there. It sounds like someone who knows the area.'

‘True and Rupe could not have died far from that spot either. No sign of earlier haemostasis so the body must have been moved very soon after death and moved no great distance. Pity he was cremated. A second PM would very likely reveal any inconsistency.'

‘Right. We can probably plot some kind of search parameters. The chances are too that he wasn't transported in his car. There'd be some fairly obvious indication if he'd been propped up in a car seat, no matter how quickly they'd moved him. No, he was laid out, maybe in a van or something similar, then carried and placed on his back.'

‘Which suggests whoever did it had either thought through the process or they'd just got lucky.'

‘My bet is on lucky. But why move the body.'

‘Because they didn't want Rupert linked to the place he died.'

‘Right. What else. The car. Still no sign. But the key is missing which suggests they either moved it or are anticipating the need.'

‘OK, so, as Fine said, it's either under cover somewhere or it's under water. Both equally possible round here.'

‘What else do we have?'

‘Rupe's treasure hunt,' Alec said. ‘No, I can't see this being about buried treasure, satisfying as that would be somehow.'

‘Satisfying?'

‘You'd have to have known Rupert, I think.'

‘OK, but it's still worth following up on the list. He may have said something, hinted at something, even behaved oddly. And there's the boy that came to the antique shop. We've still not figured out if he belongs to “buried treasure” or “men at house”.'

‘True,' Alec agreed. ‘And there's the mobile phone and the shop computer to examine and the laptop still to search for.'

‘I don't think that's at Fallowfields. My guess is it's wherever the car is. But you've not looked at the disks yet or the USB drive.'

‘Damn, I forgot to ask Marcus about using his computer. Though there might be a shop in town where I can get an external disk drive for my laptop.'

‘You'd rather not ask Marcus?'

Alec hesitated. ‘I'd rather do what we can on our own,' he said.

‘Any reason?'

‘Just a feeling.'

‘I'm not sure I like your feelings. They usually mean trouble.'

Alec pulled up a chair and sat down beside her at the dressing table. She heard him help himself to a biscuit. ‘Tea's cold,' he complained. ‘I have a feeling,' he continued, ‘that this time it's big trouble.'

Following directions given at the hotel reception they found a tiny computer shop crammed in-between a bookstore and a small café. For such a miniscule emporium, it was surprisingly well stocked and Alec was able to purchase the drive and cable he required. The book shop proved irresistible and Naomi chatted to the owner while Alec browsed, eventually returning to the counter with a stack that fell over as he set them down.

‘What on earth? Sounds like you've bought half the shop.'

‘No, just some local history guides, including two of Rupert's and a few old paperbacks.'

‘Like?'

‘Oh, the usual, you know.'

Naomi laughed. Alec loved forties and fifties pulp detective stories from both sides of the Atlantic. They were getting harder to find, though, and he had taken to haunting car boot sales and rummaging in the furthest corners of second-hand book shops to fulfil his desires.

‘These sell very well,' the shop owner said. ‘The local history guides, I mean. So sad that he isn't with us any longer.'

‘It is,' Alec confirmed.

‘We were so looking forward to his new one. Guy, in the computer shop next door, he reckoned we should stock up with metal detectors. Free book with your treasure detector, that kind of thing.'

Naomi laughed. ‘So everyone knew about the new book then?'

‘Oh yes. Rupert, Mr Friedman, was a regular in here. And then there was that piece in the local rag, with a picture and so on. I'd already got my order in. Like I said, he always sold well.'

She totalled Alec's purchases on a calculator. ‘These old things don't scan, of course. Rupert was a real character. Did you know him?'

‘Yes,' Alec told her. ‘He was my uncle.'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry. He was a lovely man. I'm surprised you don't already have copies of his books, then?'

‘I do,' Alec assured her. ‘But at home, not here. I didn't think we'd be staying long enough for sightseeing.'

‘It's nice round here,' the woman said. ‘Plenty to see. You take care now.'

‘Of course,' Naomi said as they stepped out on to the pavement and the shop door rattled shut behind them. ‘Everyone knew Rupert and what he was up to.'

‘Or thought they did.'

Slowly, they wandered back towards the hotel. It was market day and the square had been crowded and humming with noise when they'd walked through earlier. Traders were now packing up; Naomi listened to the crack of a trestle being broken down, voices shouting instructions, a van with a reversing alert beeping across to her right. The pungent smell of bruised cabbage and overripe fruit wrinkled her nose and suddenly …

‘Alec!'

‘What?'

She let go of his arm and spun around. ‘I just heard him. The man from Fallowfields. I just heard him.'

‘You certain?'

‘Of course I am.' She turned her head trying to get her bearings, trying to catch the voice again.

She heard it shout, ‘You bloody well watch where you're going!'

‘Over there. He just shouted.'

‘I heard. Stay here.'

‘Alec!'

Damn. He was gone. Clutching Napoleon's harness Naomi cast about, trying to pinpoint the direction Alec had taken, straining to hear the man again. Someone pushed past her and then apologized.

‘Mind your back love.' Someone else eased by, brushing Naomi with the boxes he was carrying.

Reaching behind her she groped for the wall, then fumbled in her bag for her folded cane. Not there. Furious with herself, she realized she had left it in the hotel room, assuming that, with both Napoleon and Alec present, it would be superfluous.

‘Alec, where the hell are you?'

Naomi was both angry and afraid. She wanted him to get the man, but she didn't want to risk him being hurt and, though she was flattered – or knew she would be later – that he'd made no concession to her needs and just taken off after the man as he would have done had she been a sighted colleague, she was also furious with him for having left her.

Sounds surged and broke around her; noises seemed suddenly too loud as though the space in which she stood condensed and concentrated them. Naomi took a deep breath and pulled Napoleon closer to her side. He nuzzled at her hand.

She could do this, she told herself. Just stand still until Alec came back. She could do that. But what if he didn't come back? The insistent thought nagged at her. What if he got hurt? What if he actually caught the man? He'd have to hold on to him while he called for back-up and … Impatient both with herself and with Alec, she reminded herself unnecessarily that they were not on their home turf and that back-up would neither be automatically on tap nor swift to arrive.

Where the hell had he got to? Naomi concentrated on the sounds flowing and flooding all around her, listening hard for signs that he would return. Voices shouted instructions as the remaining stallholders packed up for the day. A man laughed loudly; a burst of sound quite close by, which jolted her even though it was a pleasant sound. A woman spoke to a child and another chatted to a friend; the sort of ‘I said she said' conversation to be heard the world over.

She did not hear the man again and she caught nothing that sounded remotely like Alec coming back.

Alec had lost sight of the man as he struggled to cross the market square. Crowds still jostled the remaining stalls, looking for late bargains, and the cries of the traders drowned out anything further that the man he pursued may have shouted.

Alec dodged around a half dismantled trestle. His feet skidded on something that smelt like rotten fruit. Cursing, he regained his footing and ran on, searching over the heads of the crowd for the individual he had glimpsed only for a second or two. A big man, heavy set and balding. Not young, but from what Alec had seen and Naomi's description of his actions at Fallowfields, very capable of taking care of himself.

Alec was not a fighter. He had boxed in his teens and kept himself fit, but he resorted to using his fists only in the direst emergency and it occurred to him, even as he skated and dashed across the crowded space, that he didn't have a clue what he'd do should he actually catch up with the man who'd tried to break down the front door at Fallowfields. Driven by anger at what might have happened to Naomi, he had thought no further than catching up with him.

And right now he could not even see him.

Alec had reached the opposite pavement. Able now to see ahead he scanned for a sight of his quarry. There! The dark jacket and bald head. The man was tall and Alec could see him now through a gap in the crowd. He pushed his way forward, making better speed now that he was moving largely with the flow and not across it.

He reached the corner of the market square in time to see the object of his pursuit disappear down a tiny side road. Glancing across he could see Naomi and the dog pressed nervously against the wall.

Bugger, Alec thought. He
really
hadn't thought this through but it was too late now. Briefly he thought about breaking off his search and returning to Naomi but he'd almost caught up with the man now. Instead, Alec groped in his pocket for his mobile and called DS Fine, grateful for the foresight and habit that had impelled him to place the officer's number on speed dial. His relief, when Fine picked up, was profound.

‘Reg, it's Alec Friedman … Out of breath? Yes I'm running. Naomi heard the man who came to Fallowfields … Yes, she's sure.'

Fine listened as Alec filled him in and gave his location. Fine was several miles away but he promised to get someone to him.

‘Alec, this man is dangerous. Stay back. Observe but keep out of the bugger's way.'

‘Do my best,' Alec said and rang off, hoping that Fine would be as good as his word. He could see the man he pursued very clearly now. The side street was relatively empty of people and the man walked at a deliberate but unhurried pace.

Alec slowed and caught his breath. Fine was right, he should stay back. Observe. There was little cover here and should his quarry choose to turn around he would see Alec. Would he know who I am? Alec asked himself. He had come to Fallowfields demanding to speak to the new owner, but did he actually know who Alec was or what he looked like? The suspicion Naomi had voiced that day, that the two who had broken in had waited until Alec was out of the way, resurfaced. Oh yes, Alec thought. You know who I am. He slowed down again, aware that he was getting too close now and there were far fewer people around.

Halfway down the street was the back entrance into a pub yard, and to Alec's surprise and discomfort, he saw the man open the gate and slip through.

What did that mean? Was he staying at the pub? Was this where Rupert had died? Impatiently, he reminded himself that he still had no direct connection between Rupert's death and the men who had threatened Naomi, however strong his intuition was that they were involved.

Cautiously, he slowed even more and stood uncertainly a few yards from the gate.

He should wait. He should call Fine again. He glanced back towards the marketplace, hoping to see the cavalry racing to his assistance, but he saw only a middle-aged couple wandering hand in hand towards the square, and a woman with a pushchair, loaded down with shopping, walking slowly towards him.

He tried Fine's mobile again. Engaged. He was on his own.

Alec sighed and knew he was now committed. He took the final steps and, cautiously, standing well back, pushed the gate. It swung open easily on well-oiled hinges and Alec stepped inside.

A
lec scuffled, trying to find some purchase for his feet but they seemed to be too far off the ground. The man had him by the throat and he was struggling just to breathe. Alec grasped the hand with both of his own but the fingers gripped like steel bands.

He felt his assailant's weight subtly shift and wondered what was coming next, but then the rabbit punch delivered to Alec's kidneys drove all coherent thought from his head. He was dropped, unceremoniously, to the floor, sprawling on the concrete as the waves of pain surged through his body. A kick to his exposed abdomen, followed by another to the ribs, and all the air in his body followed through in its abandonment of him.

Alec lay curled in an instinctive, protective ball, just trying to draw breath back into his lungs. A shadow fell across his face and the man knelt down beside him. Alec did not have the breath to move even if he could have thought of some way of escape.

He waited, his body too pained to tense for the anticipated attack, although some corner of his mind still screamed in panic.

His attacker did not touch him again.

‘I know you, Friedman.' The voice was surprisingly soft. ‘Take this as payment on account. Your uncle owed me, big time.'

‘Who … who the hell are you?' Alec gasped.

The face split in a wide and mirthless grin. ‘Someone you really don't want to know,' he said. ‘Pity you don't get a say in the matter, isn't it?'

Then he was gone. Alec heard the gate swing closed behind him and struggled to move but his body had other ideas. Nothing seemed to work. His legs, his arms, even his head, were attached like dead, lead weights to a torso that throbbed and shrieked with pain. For a terrifying moment Alec was convinced that he was paralysed, that he would never be able to move again. Grimly, he forced his hands to close, his feet to push against the concrete, his head to lift. No one knew he was here. He tried to get his hand into a pocket to find his phone, not even sure which pocket it might be in, suspecting anyway that he might be lying on it. He managed to roll from his side on to his hands and knees though they shook and trembled as if he'd run a dozen marathons. He knew he couldn't even attempt to stand. His head swam and his breath burned as he drew air hungrily into lungs that felt blocked as though the man's hand still gripped his throat.