A Question of Guilt (25 page)

We headed off to Bristol, Mum driving, and spent a few hours with Dad, who was still making slow but steady progress.

When we got home again, I thought I'd have a session on my computer. I left Mum watching television and went up to my room.

I'd tucked my laptop in its case under the small upright chair behind the door, and I bent to pull it out. But the moment I went to lift it I knew something was wrong. Though the case was still zipped, as I'd left it, there was practically no weight to it at all. I put the case on to the bed and opened it.

It was empty. My laptop had gone.

For a moment I stared at the empty case scarcely able to believe the evidence of my own eyes.

So the burglar had been upstairs after all – had stolen my laptop as well as Dad's computer. I hadn't realized it was missing before because the case had been zipped up again and replaced where I'd left it. Naturally I'd assumed it hadn't been touched.

Naturally! The mess downstairs, the emptied drawers, the overturned photograph, even the TV removed from its stand and stacked by the fireplace, was typical burglar behaviour, especially if, as I suspected, the culprit was some young thug looking for something to sell for drug money. But a leather case zipped up and replaced in its original position after the laptop had been removed? I'd never have suspected that in a million years. And why hadn't he taken case and all? It made no sense whatever.

But there was no getting away from the fact: it
had been
stolen. Unless I was going quietly mad and had left it in Dad's office after I last used it. That must surely be the explanation. The burglar hadn't come upstairs at all, but had taken it at the same time as taking Dad's computer.

‘My laptop's gone as well,' I said to Mum, going back downstairs.

‘Oh no! Oh Sally, all your work!'

‘Well, I've still got it on a memory stick, thank goodness,' I said, ‘but much good will that do me with no computer to run it on.'

‘You'll just have to get another,' Mum said. ‘And we'll have to replace Dad's, too. There's no way we can manage without it. We'll get on to the insurance company first thing in the morning, and they'll tell us what to do.'

I nodded.

‘They'll say we can go ahead, I'm sure,' I said.

But the bad feeling I'd had ever since Alice failed to keep her appointment with me this morning had intensified. Since I'd begun this investigation everything seemed to be going pear-shaped. Could it be that Josh was right to warn me I was playing with fire? Was there something going on that was more than sheer bad luck?

I shivered. Perhaps it would be wise to give up on my enquiries. Perhaps if I did all the bad things that were happening would stop. But that was nothing but foolish conjecture, surely. No way could there be any connection.

Could there?

It didn't take me long, of course, to put all such thoughts out of my head. I'd never have had them at all if my nerves hadn't been so on edge, I felt sure.

The afternoon flew past. By the time I'd spent what seemed like hours on the telephone talking to the insurance company, it was time to get ready to meet Josh, and I'd barely had a moment to so much as think about my investigation, let alone do anything to further it.

Whilst I was waiting for Josh, however, Rachel rang to ask after Dad, and when we'd covered that, she mentioned our proposed trip to see Dawn's mother.

‘I don't suppose you'll want to go to Dorset this week with your dad in hospital.'

Instantly all my enthusiasm for my project returned with a vengeance. Dad was out of danger now, and if I didn't take Grace Burridge up on her offer to talk soon, she might change her mind.

‘Actually, I don't think Dad would mind if I missed visiting just one day,' I said. ‘In fact, it would give some of his friends a chance to go and see him – loads of them have been asking, but the hospital aren't keen on him having more than two or three at his bedside at any one time, and so far that's been me and Mum.'

‘OK,' Rachel said. ‘In that case, I could make Thursday, if that suits you and Mrs Burridge. Steve's working from home that day, so he'd be on hand to pick up the children if we should get delayed.'

‘It would be fine by me. I'll ring Mrs Burridge tomorrow and let you know what she says . . .' I could hear a car outside; Josh had arrived and there would be no time for me to make the call now.

And I wasn't going to tell him about it either, I decided. I didn't want another argument about what I was planning to do.

The film was excellent – very different – and I thoroughly enjoyed it, though I couldn't help feeling it wasn't Josh's usual fare and that he'd suggested it because he thought I'd like it. Afterwards, we went to the TGIF next door to the cinema and ordered fajitas and drinks – wine for me, a beer for Josh.

‘I'll cook that meal for you on Saturday,' he said as we licked our sticky fingers.

‘Promises, promises!' I joked.

‘No – a definite plan. I'm afraid I won't be able to see you again until then, though. I've got a few days off, and a pal and I are planning to walk part of the Cotswold Way.'

My heart sank. Five whole days when I wouldn't see Josh seemed like an eternity.

‘I know – sorry,' he said, as if reading my thoughts. ‘But this was arranged weeks ago. And let's be fair, you've got enough going on at the moment not to miss me.'

‘What makes you think I'd miss you anyway?' I teased, and his hand closed over mine on the table top.

‘You'd better!' he said, mock threateningly. ‘And I don't want to come back and discover you've been getting off with someone else in my absence, either.'

I laughed. ‘Chance would be a fine thing!'

‘That's all right, then.'

The warmth was beginning inside me again, and with it the desire. I could feel it, electric in the air between us, and when Josh made a detour on the way home I wasn't in the least surprised. He didn't say where he was going and I didn't ask, but as we bypassed Stoke Compton and pulled in through the gateway of a small, isolated cottage, I could hazard a pretty accurate guess.

‘My place,' Josh said nonchalantly. ‘Are you coming in?'

I didn't need asking twice.

I have to admit I noticed very little about Josh's cottage at first beyond the fact that the tiny lobby opened directly into a long low room with rough wood beams and an open fireplace. I was rather too focused on the staircase, leading up from the corner opposite the door, and the magnetism sparking between Josh and me as he helped me climb it. Later, though, I thought what a charming little place it was, all sloping floors and uneven walls and funny little nooks and crannies. The fact that he had chosen to live here rather than a modern house or flat showed another side to Josh, one that I liked a lot. But then, to be honest, what was there I
didn't
like about Josh?

When he took me home – I had to go home, of course, much as I would have liked to stay – I thought again how I would miss him in the next few days. I could hardly believe that just two short weeks ago I hadn't even met him. Perhaps Mum and Rachel had been right, and I should have taken more time before falling head over heels in love like this. But then again, maybe this was the way a once-in-a-lifetime love struck – like a bolt of lightning. If so, the way I was feeling made perfect sense.

Next morning, after I'd fed the hens and collected the eggs, I phoned Grace Burridge and asked if it would be convenient if I came to see her on Thursday, and she said it would. Once again I felt dreadfully guilty at the way I was deceiving her, but I told myself that if I could find out who had been responsible for her daughter's death, then maybe that would help. At present the hit-and-run driver was still unidentified; even if the circumstances that had led up to the accident proved to be upsetting, at least it would mean that Grace had some sort of closure.

When I returned to the kitchen, it was to find Mum washing the eggs I'd just collected and putting a dozen into a cardboard tray.

‘For Jeremy,' she explained. ‘He said he'd pop by later, go through your dad's accounts files, and try to set up some sort of system on his own computer so we can keep things up to date. We're so lucky he was back home when all this happened. He's been a brick, and I thought he might appreciate a nice fresh egg as a thank you. He won't take any payment, that I do know.'

‘I'm sure he'll be really pleased,' I said. Jeremy didn't keep hens – it wasn't that kind of farm. It was much more highly mechanized than ours, and without the homely touches, though there did used to be a flock of geese strutting about in the days when his mother had been alive – I remembered being terrified of them.

‘Will you be here this morning?' Mum asked.

‘Actually I'm popping over to Dad's computer man to pick up a new laptop,' I said. ‘I gave him a ring yesterday after I'd spoken to the insurance company, and he's got one in stock that's pretty much the same model as the one I had stolen. So if Jeremy can build some sort of database I can install it, and we won't have to keep bothering him.'

‘I haven't got a clue what you're talking about, Sally,' Mum said blithely, ‘but I'll tell Jeremy. I'm sure he'll know what you mean.'

‘Trust me, he will. Computers for accounting purposes are definitely Jeremy's territory.' I fetched my coat and the car keys. ‘It is all right if I take Dad's car, is it?'

‘You know it is,' Mum replied.

I drove first to Dad's friendly computer supplier and picked up my replacement laptop, which he had ready and waiting for me. Then, on the way home, I decided to make a little detour and see if I could locate the warehouse where the auction would be held the following evening. I was determined to go along, partly because I was hoping Alice might be there, and partly because I wanted the opportunity to see Lewis Crighton again, but I wasn't entirely sure exactly where the warehouse was situated, and I thought it would be a good idea to check it out in the daylight, rather than looking for it in the dark.

In the event, I found the industrial estate more easily than I'd expected. It was on the outskirts of Stoke Compton, in a lane that followed a river valley which had once been quite a beauty spot, but was now marred by sprawling industrial development. Vast, ugly, prefabricated buildings sat behind yards where plant and machinery sprouted like ungainly carbuncles, and the revoltingly sweet smell of animal foodstuff from one of the units mingled with the odour from the nearby sewerage works and was drawn into my car through the air conditioning system. I drove on along the rutted lane, past an engineering works and what appeared to be the parking area and garage of a local coach firm, wondering if I'd got the right industrial estate. Then I saw a board at the roadside bearing the legend ‘Compton Auctions – Antiques and Collectibles' and a large white arrow pointing straight ahead.

The lane curved over a river bridge and as I rounded the bend I saw it – just another big, faceless edifice fronted by a large parking area. Like the other buildings I'd passed, the plot was surrounded by a high wire fence, but there were overgrown hedges too behind the wire, masking the warehouse from the road. A sign, identical to the one I'd spotted further up the lane, was mounted on a post at the entrance.

OK, I could definitely find this again tomorrow. The lane was too narrow at this point for me to be able to turn, and the sensible thing seemed to be to reverse into the yard. I positioned myself close to the offside bank and swung carefully round until my bonnet was facing back the way I had come. Then, just before moving off, I glanced around – and did a double take as I saw the car drawn up in a corner of the yard, close to the building.

It was hardly surprising, I supposed, that someone would be here today, the day before the auction. It wasn't that that had made my eyes widen, but the fact that for a moment I thought it was Josh's car – it looked exactly the same. Then common sense kicked in. Why on earth would it be Josh? There must be dozens of blue Peugeot estate cars in and around Stoke Compton. Besides which, Josh would be on his way now to start his Cotswold Way walk.

I stuck the gear lever into ‘drive' and headed for home.

Monday night, of course, was one of the nights the Compton Players met, and I had wondered if I would go along. But I rather thought I'd gleaned all the information I could from them, and after spending the afternoon visiting Dad, I was actually feeling very tired. In any case, I didn't want to leave Mum alone too much and I'd be out tomorrow night at the auction. So I spent a quiet evening transferring my notes from my memory stick to my new laptop, and then sitting down with Mum to watch some television. But I didn't know the characters or the storylines in the soap Mum followed, and soon my mind was wandering, running over all the details I'd just scanned through again, and wondering if I was ever going to get to the truth.

Was I chasing the impossible? Maybe I'd been wrong all along. Brian Jennings had started the fire, and Dawn's death was just an unhappy coincidence. And if it wasn't, did Josh have a point when he said I could end up like her? For the first time, the doubts crowded in around me.

With a huge effort I pushed them aside. I wasn't a quitter. I was going to keep on going with this until I was sure whether or not Brian Jennings had been wrongly convicted. Whether Dawn's death had been an accident, or whether there was a murderer walking free. This was more than just a diversion for me now, more than simply another story. I was on a mission.

Next morning I was in the bathroom washing my hair when I heard voices downstairs – Mum and a man. Anxious that it might be Sam with some problem on the farm, I wound a towel round my head and went to investigate. Halfway down the stairs, though, I recognized the voice – Jeremy – and was turning to go back up when Mum called to me.