Guilt Edged (29 page)

What should I do? Finish locking up for a start, before nipping back inside to consult Griff.

‘Ignore him,' he said, switching on the radio again.

‘But what if he's …?' I made a throat-cutting gesture. What if he was after us?

For once Griff misunderstood me. ‘At this time of day? Not the usual time to top oneself, my child.'

I hadn't even thought about that possibility, but it seemed more likely. Horribly likely. Nibbling a nail, I said, ‘All he wanted was a real, paying job … Griff, what if he's had too much to drink, or has taken drugs? Or what if he's got a hose from his exhaust into the car and—?'

‘With Brian's BMW parked right opposite? And our neighbours coming home from work? Really, Lina, I have to tell you that for once your imagination or your kind heart is working overtime.' He put his feet up again and reached for the radio. ‘Very well, do you want me to go and ask him if he's trying to top himself?' Sighing, he made as if to get up. Half-heartedly.

‘It'd better be me, hadn't it?'

It all started well enough, with me asking Tris through the driver's window if he was all right.

And when he got out, he insisted all he wanted to do was talk about his future. ‘Lina, it's all such a mess. I need to talk to someone—' Then he grabbed me. Really, his line in snogging was pretty poor. And I didn't even have any ice cubes handy.

As I tried to fend him off, the street was flooded with lights, a car skidded to a halt and suddenly I was staggering backwards and watching someone thump Tris so hard several times that he fell backwards, hitting his head on the car and slithering to the ground apparently unconscious. More than apparently. For real. Certainly there was a lot of real blood coming from his nose. But the other man was gathering me to him and demanding to know if I was all right.

Morris? Even, and possibly better still, Carwyn? But I knew that viciously expensive aftershave, and, come to think of it, I knew that viciously expensive car. Bloody Aidan and his bloody Merc. Not to mention his knuckles, which were also – but this time literally – bloody.

‘What I can't understand, Aidan,' I said, not very graciously as an ambulance removed Tris, just in case the bang on the head had done anything serious, ‘is how you came to be here. Before you explain, though, you'd better have some ice for that hand of yours.'

It wasn't just me eyeing at it: an embarrassed police community support officer, no doubt wondering if he should call in for his proper colleagues, was trying to make sense of the scene.

Naturally, Aidan ignored him. And my suggestion. ‘It's a good job I was here. What would it have done to Griff to see you being raped in front of his very eyes?'

‘What good will it do Griff seeing you here after what you were doing with Charles?' I countered.

He had the grace to look hangdog. ‘That's why I'm here.'

But it wasn't. Not entirely. Or even not exactly. To do him justice, though, even as I unlocked the front door, he was calling to Griff in the most penitent of tones. I let them sort things out between them while I spoke to the PCSO, a man in his early forties with a very whiny Kent accent, in the warmth of the kitchen.

‘I'm quite sure that Tris won't press charges if I don't press charges against him. I think he just wanted to … Something had upset him and he just turned to me …'

‘For a bit of a hug, like?'

‘Possibly. On the other hand, since I don't particularly want to hug him, I'd be really grateful if I could have a word with him and find out what was really going on inside his head. You know, since we used to be … Just in case Aidan was right and he meant to hurt me.' Maybe the sight of me might shock him into saying something.

The CSO looked embarrassed. ‘I suppose if you want to … They're very big on reconciliation and arbitration and stuff these days. Cheaper than going to court and ASBOs and that. So if I could fix a meeting …'

It was almost as if Griff and Aidan had been waiting for the officer to leave, because Aidan erupted from the living room as soon as I closed the front door, only to hang back as if waiting for my permission to speak.

I gestured. It would be the living room for all of us. It would never do for Griff to have to eavesdrop in his own home. ‘Let me get you that ice first.'

Wrapping the tea towel I produced, full of crushed ice cubes, round his hitting hand, he said, ‘Lina, I owe you the most profound, my most sincere apology.' He really looked sorry too – which made me wonder why all those syllables weren't nearly as effective as the simple words,
I'm sorry
. Griff would be able to explain later. ‘You were right; I was wrong.'

My next words weren't very long or very gracious. ‘What about?' After all, I had a lot of grudges against him stored up, whatever Griff had said about forgiveness.

‘About my miniature. Lina, I implore you, get it back for me!'

My little mental wheels worked overtime. ‘You mean,' I said slowly, to give them the chance to catch up, ‘that someone really has stolen a prize miniature?'

‘Of course. I thought it was safe and sound with all the others, that no one would picked it out from the others hanging there. But Lina, someone's taken it and replaced it with a copy. The frame's still there, but not …' He was almost in tears. Was in tears.

No wonder he hated me. Because all I could think of were brutal questions. ‘It's been removed? Like Toby's? What do the police say?'

‘Police? What do they know about such things?'

I thought of Carwyn. ‘A very great deal, actually. And you know what, your insurance company won't think much of your talking to me before dialling nine-nine-nine.'

He wrung his hands. ‘But – so awkward … Admitting …'

‘If you're alleging that Charles replaced it while you were tied up,' Griff said, ‘admit it you must. The police have heard and seen worse. Lina's right, Aidan. It's a job for people who can fully examine the scene of the crime, take DNA samples … That sort of thing,' he said, with an airy wave of the hand.

‘Besides which,' I added, ‘it's almost certainly part of a pretty big scam.' I repeated what I'd said to Helen and Brian. ‘Whoever's involved must be stopped. From the people operating out of the Midlands, providing the selection of miniatures and their provenance, to the people taking the money via an authenticated bank account. And I can't do any of that.'

‘But the gossip … my reputation …'

‘Which always was that you were an old bugger who liked an occasional bit of bondage,' Griff said, softening the words with a ruefully affectionate smile. ‘And spanking. Not that Charles is anything but a young gentleman, of course. But I bet you couldn't sit down for a bit. Do as Lina says: call the police. I bet you have the number of that darling young Welshman, don't you, dear one?'

‘Would you phone?' Aidan whispered. He opened his mouth, looking first from me then to Griff. It was obvious he had something else to say but not while I was in the room.

Sure I'd slip out and make the call. But this time I couldn't help keeping my ears open.

‘It isn't necessarily young Charles,' I heard him confess before he shut the door very firmly. I'd have given a great deal to hear more, but it wasn't my relationship, and in any case I really wanted to phone Carwyn, as at least one sane person in an otherwise crazy world and the one best suited to dealing with Aidan's antics. In any case, he owed me news about the emporium and Hastings. Didn't he?

Carwyn showed no irritation at being summoned to talk to Aidan, greeting me with a quick apology for not getting back to me earlier.

‘Not much to report,' he said. ‘Shall I fill you in when I've dealt with your friend?'

Aidan, never one to be kept waiting, recounted his goings on, though at this point he coyly told Carwyn he preferred not to name names. Names! I know it's just a cliché usually, but might he in fact mean there was more than one? Eventually, the admission inched its way out. I couldn't look at Griff, for whom this must be painfully embarrassing. As for Carwyn, I had a feeling that, though he was serious and still quite deferential, he'd have a wonderful time regaling his mate with the tale in the pub later.

‘You've been very helpful, sir,' he said, when he'd put the last full-stop to his notes. ‘You realize, of course, that you're making a very serious allegation against one at least of these … escorts. Did you ever give me the full names, sir? Or that of the agency?'

Nice, neat question. Of course he hadn't. Aidan blushed, and to my chagrin I found myself joining him, though I'd bet it was for a different reason. I'd never even asked Charles' full name. He'd always been just Charles, Richard's minion. Not a person in his own right.

‘I'm afraid you'll just have to ask Charles' employer, Sir Richard Walker, of Warebank Court,' Aidan declared airily, trying to regain control of the situation. ‘It's not far from Cirencester.'

Carwyn nodded, jotting. ‘And for the other man?'

This time his face was crimson, and he looked furtively at me. ‘His name's Collingwood.'

I don't think I've ev
er sat so hard on a sofa. ‘Not Tris! So why, Aidan, did you hit him so hard?' I narrowed my eyes. ‘I know. It wasn't anything to do with rescuing me, was it? It was because you suspected it was him that had nicked your miniature.'

The silence was crushing. It was filled with all the scathing words I didn't know well enough to use out loud, plus a few more I'd rather Carwyn didn't know I could use. ‘Hit him hard enough to land him in A and E,' I prompted at last, to update Carwyn. Then I produced my brassiest smile, the sort that most irritated Aidan. ‘I should imagine it's all recorded on our CCTV system, which is always attracted by brawls.'

Carwyn, bemused, fumbled for his mobile.

Griff, who seemed remarkably calm, perhaps courtesy of all those pills he had to pop, gestured elegantly. ‘The mobile reception's terrible round here. Please feel free to use our office phone to make any calls.'

As much to escape the highly charged atmosphere in the living room as anything else, I led the way. He closed both the living room door and, once we were both inside, the office door.

His smile was cautious. ‘What's your role in all this, Lina?'

‘Aidan came to ask me for advice. God knows why. And my advice was to talk to you.'

He nodded. As he picked up the phone he asked, ‘Heard from DCI Morris recently?'

I stared, very hard. ‘Where's that coming from?' Bloody Freya, that was where, of course.

‘Just wondered.'

‘Weird thing to wonder about when you're supposed to be chasing criminals. Which is,' I added, as offhand as I could, ‘what I suppose Morris is doing. Haven't heard from him for weeks. I'll leave you to it.' Whatever
it
was – which he clearly had no intention of telling me.

I wandered into the kitchen. Maybe my thinking processes would be helped by a coffee; on the other hand, even if Aidan would like one, Griff wouldn't sleep all night if he indulged. So though I filled the kettle I didn't switch it on.

Tris first. Was he truly gay? In which case why had he bothered to try and snog me? Gay men didn't need what Griff called beards these days, so he didn't need to pretend to be straight. Was he trying to worm his way not into my knickers but into our cottage, with a view to arranging a few thefts from that? Or did he genuinely want a paying job with us? If he'd had one, perhaps he could have given up what I was sure Griff would discreetly call his agency work.

There were two rich collectors and two resentful young men – surely Charles' treatment as no more than Richard's minion must have rankled as much as Tris's unpaid status, assuming that was a major motivation? Were they possibly connected? The collectors were friends, of course: were they conspirators? Or did they even know each other? And what, for goodness' sake, might either of them have to do with white horses, one complete with fingerprint, and
sang de boeuf
Ruskin ware? Somehow I didn't see them as masterminds of criminal gangs, either. They were both too sure of themselves and their place in the order of things to need to change anything – unless, of course, they could get their mitts on a prize item without asking troublesome questions.

There was another question, too. Were the attempts to get through our security system in any way connected with all these goings on? That would have implied a degree of sophistication I really didn't like, but which Sir Richard might conceivably have. He wouldn't have soiled his hands himself, of course – he'd have got one of the workers to do it. And certainly the guy posing as an operative was genuinely working-class by his accent. But connection? I couldn't see one. Not even a hint of one to mention to Carwyn.

‘D
rinking alone?' Carwyn made me jump so much that I slopped a drop or two on the otherwise pristine tablecloth.

‘Griff's got pills to take and I presume you and Aidan are driving,' I said, which didn't seem the answer to his question. I mopped up the wine with a J-cloth. What a good job I wasn't drinking red.

‘All this is really getting to you, isn't it? On top of that nasty assault only a few weeks ago. And I'd guess that with Griff out of the loop you've been working all hours. With no support.' He sounded as kind as I imagined a favourite uncle might – I could imagine Paul saying his words, in exactly the same tone.

‘Wrong there. Mary Walker and Paul Banner, her fiancé, have been saints. Speaking of which, is there any news about the antiques shop where he bought the little white horse?'

He checked his watch. ‘We've got your friend Paul ID-ing a couple of people at this very moment.' He added, his smile hard to read, ‘So we may not need to contact your ex in Devon.'