Stealth (20 page)

‘She kept saying that she was going to have a big turnout,' said Jane Grant. ‘But never did. I think the knowledge of what was involved made the job just too much for her to contemplate. A lot of her parent's things are up there and if the truth were known she couldn't bear to get rid of, or even disturb them.'

‘A little under a week ago the Trents were in this house, looking for something. Have you any idea what that might be?'

‘The Trents! No, of course not. But what—'

Greenway interrupted with: ‘They said you'd given them a set of keys, which included the new ones for the back door, so they could check that all was well here. Something about a possible leak in the loft?'

‘But I didn't . . . haven't.'

‘They said you had – while talking to my assistant here.' He indicated me.

‘That's not true. I wouldn't expect the Trents to keep an eye on the place, I hardly know them. Besides, there aren't any leaks in the loft that I know of.'

‘So you gave the keys to someone else?'

‘Just . . . a friend.'

‘Was that the same friend who visited you a little later the same morning Mr Gillard interviewed you the first time?'

‘Why am I being
grilled
like this?' she suddenly demanded to know. ‘And why the
hell
were you watching me?'

‘Please answer the question.'

He chin came up. ‘Yes, it was.'

‘Why did you give them to him?'

She shot to her feet. ‘This is intolerable. I refuse to answer any more of these stupid questions.'

‘Are you frightened of him?' Patrick asked.

He had spoken very softly but nevertheless she jumped out of her skin on hearing the different voice. ‘No!'

‘I think you are. Please sit down.'

Slowly, she reseated herself.

‘Answer the question,' Patrick said. ‘Why did you give him the keys?'

‘There's nothing wrong about it. He's a writer and in the middle of a novel set here in Richmond. He wondered if he could have a look round in here to get the atmosphere of a local Victorian house. There was no reason for me to refuse. It's not often one gets the chance to talk to a famous author.'

‘He just knocked on your door out of the blue and asked?'

‘No, of course not. He'd previously called round to give me the Trents' and his condolences. His name's Clement Hamlyn and he's a friend of theirs.'

‘We know his name. Did you ask yourself how he knew where you lived?'

‘I did wonder at the time but thought that Auntie could have told the Trents before everything became so difficult.'

‘He had probably followed you home one day. Mrs Grant, it's important to tell you at this stage that your aunt was right about these people. They're dangerous criminals – Clement Hamlyn has a criminal record.'

She just stared at him. Then, probably the last thing anyone was expecting, her eyes filled with tears and overflowed down her cheeks.

‘I'm really sorry,' Patrick whispered.

She fumbled in her bag for a tissue and wept silently for a few moments. Then, with a supreme effort, she pulled herself together and said in a choked voice, ‘I feel such a fool. I suppose he turned my head a bit. Perhaps he wouldn't have taken me out to dinner at a West End restaurant after all.'

‘No, I don't think he would.'

‘Sorry, I'm finding this very hard to believe.'

‘An arrest warrant is out for him in connection with attempted murder.'

‘Who,
Auntie
?'

‘He is a suspect but in this case no, me. And my associate over there.'

Gazing at one and then the other of us, she shuddered.

‘Did he say anything that, now, in hindsight, would lead you to wonder if he was trying to find out how much your aunt had told you about her suspicions?'

‘He knew the tree house had fallen down. Hereward had told him, he said. Did I know what had caused it? I told him what I thought, that it must have been rotten.'

‘It had been sabotaged by someone sawing almost right through the timbers.'

‘Oh, no,' Jane Grant gasped. ‘Oh, poor Auntie.'

‘Did he question you further? Surely he must have commented on the fact that your aunt had got into trouble with the police for snooping around in the garden next door on occasions when the gates had been left open.'

‘He said it had all been very unfortunate and how sad it was that she'd been getting confused in her old age. I didn't disagree with him. Yes, I've just remembered, he then jokingly said he hoped I hadn't believed any of “the nonsense”, as he put it, and I told him I hadn't.'

‘Has he contacted you recently?'

‘Yes, yesterday.'

I think the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

‘D'you mind telling me what he wanted?' Patrick went on to say in casual fashion.

‘He said there had been a small fire at his house and he had nowhere to live until some work had been done. He asked if he could stay with me for a few days.' Bravely, just a tremor to her voice she added: ‘He said we . . . we could go out for dinner and to a show.'

‘What was your reply?'

‘I said I was sorry but my cousin was coming for a week and there were only two bedrooms. I suggested he could book into a hotel and we could still go out. He said he'd think about it but I haven't heard back yet.'

Patrick looked at Greenway and some kind of telepathy must have passed between them because the commander imperceptibly nodded.

‘I'd like you to phone him, now, and tell him you've changed your mind as your cousin can't come after all.'

She began to protest.

‘Listen,' Patrick interposed with a smile. From his manner I knew he was certain she was innocent – or as certain as anyone could be at this stage. ‘You won't be at home. When you leave here someone'll accompany you and you can pack a bag and be taken to a safe house until Hamlyn's been arrested. Your cousin can go with you.'

‘Oh, it wasn't true. I didn't want him staying in my house. Dinner's one thing but . . .'

‘You
are
frightened of him.'

‘He's always all smiles but for some reason I felt uneasy the last time we met. And – I know this sounds horrible of me – his breath smells terrible.'

‘Will you do it?'

‘Now you've told me this I shall be all jittery and not know what to say,' Jane Grant said desperately.

‘I'll tell you what to say.'

‘Very well,' she agreed after a long pause, during which she had stared unseeing into space.

They went into a smaller room which would provide the same kind of snug-sounding resonance as her own home and where there was no danger of anyone else present sneezing or knocking anything over. Greenway called for silence upstairs. Patrick told me later that she had carried off the call very well but she had obviously had another little weep afterwards as she was drying her eyes when she back into the sitting room and he had his arm around her. Why should I mind? A little comfort was due to her from somewhere in this whole black world in which she now felt she was living.

Hamlyn had said he would arrive at her cottage at around nine that evening and she had told him that she would leave the front door unlocked.

‘Well?' Greenway said a little later after restarting the muted thumps and sounds of furniture being shifted upstairs. Jane Grant had departed in an area car with a woman PC and her reassuringly beefy male colleague. ‘Is she OK or just a good actress?'

‘Real tears,' I commented.

‘Because all the plans are coming apart, or am I being a nasty old cynic?'

‘One of the oracles of murder,' I continued, ‘is, who stands to gain? She already gains by being the main beneficiary in her aunt's will. Why involve others?'

‘She might have been forced to.'

‘In which case, surely she would have bared her soul to us when she knew the truth. My only reservation is that I can't understand why she was remotely charmed by Hamlyn in the first place. Unless she's so desperately lonely that anyone will do.'

‘Patrick?' Greenway invited.

Patrick rose stiffly and went for a little walk around the room to loosen up. ‘Does it matter? She's only a small player even if she is involved. I'm actually more interested in why Hamlyn seems to want to lie low at her place. My gut feeling is that he doesn't.'

‘What does he want then?'

‘To kill her.'

‘Living in his plot again perhaps,' I murmured. ‘Our hero is on the run from the cops and outwitting them all, planning to finish off the last person who stands between him and some kind of insane, ghastly, self-righteous, blood-boltered glory.'

‘God, how I wish you could write the end of his damned book and make sure he's banged up for just about ever!' Greenway burst out with.

‘It wouldn't stick to the rules,' I said, having to smile at his fervour. ‘Fiction hardly ever does.'

‘What rules?'

‘Real-life police rules.'

The man in charge thought deeply for a full half minute. Then he said, ‘How far would you want to bend them?'

He was not talking about fiction this time.

‘Up to national security standard – perhaps a fraction more.'

‘You mean you'd like to work as you did for MI5?'

‘Yes.'

I feel bound to make it clear at this point that my husband was drinking in my every word.

The commander thought about it again, probably desperately missing his paper clips. ‘In my opinion these people require different measures,' he concluded finally. ‘But I doubt whether—'

‘Sir!' came an urgent call from upstairs.

‘Yes?' Greenway yelled.

‘We've found a sub-machine gun, sir – a Heckler and Koch MP5. It was under a loose floorboard behind an empty chest of drawers.'

The commander swore and then, already halfway to the door, said jubilantly, ‘We've got them!' He came to a sudden halt, turned, and added: ‘Finish his book, Ingrid. You can begin, if you feel well enough, by being present when we arrest him tonight.'

The old long case clock in Jane Grant's hall had quite a loud tick, audible over the radio in the living room which was tuned, quietly, exactly as it had been left by its owner, to Radio Four. The clock struck the half hour, eight thirty, and automatically I checked my watch, having to turn it slightly to the light provided by one of the two small table lamps, this one on a bookcase in an alcove by the fireplace. The other was on a small table at one side of what I assumed was Jane Grant's favourite armchair.

I was seated on the sofa. It was on the same side of the room as the window, the archway into the hall being over to my left. The heavy curtain that could be drawn to keep out draughts had been pulled across. It was a very dull evening, a mist seemingly having drifted up from the river, swirling in almost Dickensian fashion around the trees on the tiny church green nearby when we arrived. I got up to close the curtains, careful not to place myself right in front of the window as I did so.

My worry was not that Hamlyn would arrive early, as he might, hoping to catch the occupant unawares, but that my working partner was simply not yet fit enough to carry out what we had decided to do. I was not sure of my own ability either as the room was warm, the slow tick of the clock hypnotic, the music on the radio soothing and I had just caught myself beginning to doze off.

Half an hour later I was still sitting there, the church clock having just accompanied the grandfather in the hall in striking the hour. I was wide awake now with the jitters because the radio, which we had switched on to make everything sound normal, was making it hard for me to listen for anyone coming in. The only real change we had made in the room was to shift an antique card table out of range of possible damage should there be any violence.

How can thirty minutes seem like an eternity?

Another ten went by: he was not coming.

Patrick appeared through the curtain. ‘Shall we give it a bit longer?'

‘Please switch off the radio. My heart almost stopped when you came in.'

In the end we waited for almost another hour: nothing.

‘I
t was a bit of a long shot and he must have suspected something,' Greenway commented as we walked back to the cars, the crew of an area car that had been brought along as back-up in our wake. Patrick and I had not known that he would decide to be in the vicinity. ‘But I can't see it being too long before Anthony Thomas is picked up and he might know where he is. Thomas is going to be charged with the attempted murder of you two for a start so can be neatly filed on remand awaiting the rest. The Met have two of his yobs already who might be persuaded to drop him in it in exchange for a lesser charge – the ones who were arrested after the pub brawl.'

‘The real brawl took place in an alleyway at the back,' Patrick reminded him.

‘You love starting fights, don't you?' his boss observed with only a hint of disapproval.

‘It mostly happened because the bloke I had won a lot of money off pulled a knife, wanting his cash back, but it was one of the first things I was taught in training for Special Services and can get you out of real trouble.'

‘But you still got yourself arrested.'

‘And your point?'

‘Oh, I see.' Greenway chuckled.

‘Sonya Trent,' I brought them back to earth with. ‘Where is she?'

‘Was she in the van?' the commander wanted to know.

‘No,' Patrick answered. ‘Although I can't say for sure. I heard Thomas's voice and am certain he was shouting from the cab. So if he was driving with Trent in the passenger seat and both yobs were in the back with us there wouldn't have been room for her, unless she was somehow jammed in the driving cab. I find that unlikely. Hamlyn had stayed behind, at the Trents' place.'