Out Late with Friends and Regrets (38 page)

“Don’t forget, we don’t know for sure it
is
the stalker,” said Rachel.
 
You don’t want to get hauled away for assault if it’s a poor old guy looking for his dog.”

Archer growled.

“’Spose,” she conceded.
 
“I’ll go in from the City Road end then.”

Archer drove con brio to City Road.
 
It was clear she modelled her technique on manoeuvres seen on certain vintage American cop shows, and Fin could imagine her practising handbrake turns on waste ground between fares.

“Slowly, but don’t make it a crawl,” instructed Ellie as Archer pinkied the indicator, “there’s nothing suspicious about a taxi looking for an address.”

Archer complied, and the women scanned the pavements as the Skoda approached The Laurels.

“There’s someone in a hood!” exclaimed Ellie.
 
“At least, I think so, there was a tree branch in the way of his head.”

“Keep going, Archer, don’t stop,” said Fin.

“That corner house has a really thick hedge,” said Rachel, pointing to the end of the road, “we can park just round to the left without being seen.”

They cruised past The Laurels, where several front windows were lit, including Petra’s.

Once parked they got out, and Fin winced at the sound of the four doors being slammed shut.
 
She reminded herself that this would be a normal sound at this time of night, with a taxi dropping off a multiple fare, but she just hoped it wouldn’t scare the stalker off – if, indeed it was the stalker.
 
She half-hoped it wasn’t.
 
But no, the sooner the situation was resolved the better, and this time she had the backing of her small but feisty army.

They crossed over Hamilton Avenue, and yes, there was a figure in a hooded jacket, walking away from them, three trees and one lamp post away.
 
It had started to rain, and the figure hunched against it.

“Can’t let the bastard just walk away,” hissed Archer.

“No, you’re right,” said Fin.
 
“We’ll have to follow.”

“How about we just walk past him?” said Ellie, “We can stop when we get to City Road and walk back, and get a really good look at his face.
 
At least then we can give the law a good description, and if it’s not him, there’s no harm done – how about it?”

“Sounds like a good course of action to me,” said Rachel. “We’d better hurry, before he disappears up the other end.”

They began to follow the figure.
 
Rachel’s footfalls were slightly audible, but the other three were wearing trainers, so their progress was quiet. They seemed to be catching up with their quarry, but then, in the gloom beneath a large tree, the figure glanced round.
 
Immediately its pace quickened.
 
The team responded.

“C’mon!” urged Archer.
 

They were still gaining, but the figure again stepped up the pace.
 
Archer was rather shorter than the others, and her gait took on that of the competitive walker, the exaggerated wiggle causing Fin to snort with suppressed laughter.
 
Ellie was determinedly striding forward, but Rachel had also noted Archer’s odd progress, and her attempts to remain quiet resulted in a curious series of tight-lipped bleats, interrupted by panting.
 
They were a pace or two behind the figure, and could hear rasping breath as it attempted to speed up still further.

As they overtook, two on either side, the figure let out a scream which almost stopped them in their tracks.
 
Then the arms began to flail, catching Ellie in the eye and Fin on the bridge of the nose.
 
It wasn’t a hard blow, but painful enough to disorientate her for a moment.
 
The scream was followed by a series of others.
 
The screamer was evidently female, judging by the timbre of the vocals, and Fin wondered at her remaining lung capacity, after the chase.
 
The arms were still windmilling dangerously, and Fin’s instinct was to still them before someone got seriously hurt.
 
She flung herself forward, ending up in an awkward embrace with the woman, whose shouts became hysterical.
 

“Shoosh! Shoosh!” Fin shouted.

“Calm down!” yelled Ellie.

Fin reached up for a thrashing arm which was threatening to come down on Rachel’s head, when her own arm was seized and efficiently pulled up behind her back.
 
For a moment she thought it was Ellie restraining her for her own protection, and she was about to say, “Don’t, Ellie, I’m OK, I’ve got her,” when she noticed that Ellie and Rachel appeared to have a large policeman between them, a meaty paw round the upper arm of each.

“Stop it, now
stop
, OK?”

The voice was shockingly loud in Fin’s ear, and the expert hold on her arm had indeed stopped her from making any further attempt to move.

“It’s a fuckin’ stalker, yer wankers,” said Archer, which Fin thought might not be particularly helpful.

“May I explain, please, officers?” said Ellie, in her most Roedean accent.

“And excuse me, but could you please let my arm go? I’m not going anywhere,” added Fin.

To her relief she was released.
 
It was a WPC who had restrained her, and she experienced a momentary flash of vicarious pride that a woman had done such an efficient job.

“Here – I know you, don’t I?” said the WPC “You were the lady who came in about the stalker, Mrs., no, Miss Hay, wasn’t it?”

Fin remembered her then, from the first time she’d reported the notes through her door at Clutton Street.
 
Pity it hadn’t been Karen Boland; at least she had felt some sort of rapport with her.

“That’s right,” she replied, baring her teeth in the nearest she could manage to a disarming smile.
 
“How amazing of you to remember.”
 
When in doubt, try flattery.

Meanwhile, the distressed woman in the rain jacket with the hood was giving her side of things to the large policeman.

“- and I could hear these footsteps behind me, getting closer and closer, and these funny noises, and I was so frightened, I thought when they came up beside me I
really
thought I’d had it, they were going to mug me, and I’d come out without my dog, I was just going up to the garage for a pint of milk for our Horlicks, I’d forgotten I’d given the last of it to the cat -”

“Whingeing bitch,” was just audible from Archer, obviously disappointed at the lost opportunities of an affray, and Fin saw Ellie give her a sharp dig in the ribs.

The rain had become more purposeful, and Fin was glad she hadn’t put her best jacket on.

“Hello, can I be of any help here, officer?”

A man stood under a golf umbrella, behind the nearest garden gate.
 
He wore a dressing gown, which even in the dim light Fin could see was silky, with a small pattern.
 
The word “Tootal” popped into her mind, and she was almost disappointed to see that he wasn’t wearing a cravat in the neck of his pyjamas, which would have completed the TV sitcom image.
 
He did, however, have a moustache, which was some consolation.

“I did manage to see most of what happened, from the drawing-room window,” he said, “I heard this poor lady screaming, and saw these -
people,
attacking her...”

There were lights visible and curtains parted in the nearest three or four houses.

“I’m afraid I just lashed out, I thought I was in danger, and I panicked, I’m afraid,” said the poor lady.

“That’s all right, sir, things are under control, thank you very much,” said the WPC.
 
The man in the dressing gown ignored her, continuing to address her male colleague.

“I won’t wait out in the rain, officer, but I’ll give my card to, er, to your assistant, since you seem to have your hands a little full, hah hah!”

He took out a card from his dressing gown pocket, and extended it towards the WPC without turning to face her.
 
Fin wished her captor would slap it from his hand and stamp on it as it fell on the wet pavement, which of course she didn’t.
 
But she did leave it there in mid-air until he looked to see why she hadn’t accepted it.

“Thank you.
 
Sir.
 
We’ll let you know.”
 
She sounded like the most bored producer in the world, dismissing the ninetieth auditionee.
 
Class.
 
Well done, girl
.
 
Both Ellie and Rachel were smirking, whilst Archer muttered something ripe and contemptuous.
 
Even the policeman had a wry smile on his face, letting go of Ellie and Rachel as the helpful citizen returned to his front door.

“Oh, hello, Dan,” said Rachel, I didn’t recognise you for a minute there!”

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Brand from the Social Work Department – small world! But what on earth is this all about Mrs. Brand, perhaps you could help us get to the bottom of this?”

“Can I go home please?” said the woman, evidently willing to forego her Horlicks for once.
 
The rain trickled down her face like tears where her hood had fallen back.
 
She was a tall and sprightly-looking woman of sixty-odd, with a pleasantly horsey face and several inches of striped sock visible between her trouser hems and squelchy plimsoles.

“Perhaps we could go to The Laurels?” asked Fin. “It was our friend Petra Howard who called you.”

“Might as well,” said the WPC, “since we can’t get you all in the car to back to the station.”

“We have to go and see Mrs. Howard anyway,” said Dan, adding, “Would you mind coming along, Madam, so we can take a statement?”

“Yes, all right,” said hoodie woman.

They trooped across the road and along to The Laurels, where Petra was quite taken aback to open the door to seven extremely wet visitors.

“Mrs. Howard? I’m WPC Greta Fox, and this is my colleague PC Daniel James.
 
We can take statements in the hall if you like,” said the policewoman.

“No, no, just come in,” said Petra.

“Darlings!” cried Hamish, coming forward with open arms, but modifying the gesture quickly on seeing just how wet his friends were.

“And you are, sir?” asked PC Dan.

“Hamish Howard, officer, I’m -”

“Mrs. Howard, I thought you said you lived alone,” said WPC Greta.
  

“We are, I do, Hamish is my ex-husband, I rang him and he came over-”

“And I’m Roland Curtis,” said Doc, appearing with a sparkling smile, “I was just in the little boys’ room, there, officers, sorry.”

PC Dan’s pencil hovered above his notebook, as he took in Doc’s tight leather trousers and Jacobean shirt.

“I’m Mr. Howard’s friend,” said Doc, with a hint of archness and one blink of his long eyelashes too many.
 
The PC cleared his throat.

“Why don’t I get us all a drink?” said Hamish, “I know you officers can’t take alcohol, but I’m sure Petra’s got some Aquadolce somewhere, eh, Pete? Ice, a shot of soda and a twist of lemon, hold the umbrellas -”

“Nothing for us, thanks, Mr. Howard, and it’s not a good idea for
anyone
to take any alcohol while we’re sorting this out,” interrupted WPC Greta.

“If we could just start with
your
name and address first, please, madam,” said the PC, turning to the victim of the attack, who stood dripping quietly in one corner.

She gave him a bright, toothy smile.