Rat Poison (24 page)

‘Just badly bruised, thank you,' I replied.

‘That's a relief.' He turned to Carrick. ‘Where's the place being watched from?'

‘By the greatest good fortune a house almost opposite is undergoing complete renovation,' Carrick said. ‘The entire building, including the roof, is swathed in that plastic stuff they fix to scaffolding to keep everything dry and protect the workers from the weather. With the permission of the owners and cooperation of the security company keeping an eye on it we have gained entry through the rear. There's a back lane that gives access to garages or parking areas at the ends of the gardens.'

‘Are you sure the plastic is completely non-see-through?'

‘It isn't quite but we fixed it so the workmen left some stuff, crates of tiles and boxes on the planking in front of the window of the room that's being used to conduct the surveillance from, just leaving a suitably-sized aperture. Luckily the guys are working on the roof right now so our people are in nobody's way.'

‘I just hope everyone keeps their mouth shut.'

‘I spoke to the builders personally,' the Scot responded darkly.

It was late afternoon as we approached the rear of the three-storeyed terraced Regency house, having come through a padlocked opening in the security fencing using a key provided by the builders. They had finished work early, as they usually did on Fridays, our timing deliberate in order to reduce the risk of anything we said being overheard. The only people within the building would be the two on-duty members of Carrick's team.

‘Quite a project,' Greenway commented as we made our way down the neglected garden between sorted piles of rubble, old timbers and rubbish.

‘There were dead rats under all the floors, I understand,' Carrick said. ‘They had to call in a pest controller to put down poison to take care of the live ones.'

‘Plus a load more across the street,' Greenway muttered.

Who were poisoning Bath.

The rear door into an old-fashioned scullery was no longer in situ so presumably had been removed because it was rotten. This was the general state of affairs within, floorboards removed in some of the rooms we passed, the whole place stripped of paint and wallcoverings and we had to tread carefully on the wide staircase, the boards creaking alarmingly under the men's weight. I did not envy the people who changed shifts during the hours of darkness as they would be unable to use much in the way of illumination for fear of it being seen from across the road.

The watchers were in a room on the first floor and they were expecting us. Without a word being said they stepped aside from the window where there were powerful binoculars on a tripod and a camera on another. Greenway, Carrick and Patrick each had a prolonged look but I signalled that I would not. This was purely police work.

We were told that there had been the kind of activity that suggested those opposite were indeed expecting to entertain a significant number of people, someone's guess being in the region of twenty to thirty calculated on the large amount of alcohol they had seen being taken indoors. Northwood's fair hair had disappeared and he was now back to being shaven-headed with one gold stud earring and had taken to wearing gold-rimmed glasses. The thinking of the surveillance people was that, probably unwittingly, he now
exactly
resembled most people's idea of a city mobster. A woman with long red hair who sported large sunglasses whatever the weather and strutted about in tight jeans and leather boots ‘almost like a goose-stepping Panzer commander' was probably Murphy in yet another wig. There were other people who came and went, fetched and carried: minders and minions.

The law stood there by the window and you could almost see them licking their lips.

I waited for them to finish their examination, about as useful right then as a stuffed toy mascot. I did not share their mood; everything seemed too easy and listening to their whispered conversation it was apparent that not one of them was factoring in the things that might, and could, go wrong.

Over by the doorway I could hear the weather shielding plastic flapping, the sound coming through where a window on the nearby landing had been taken out. A breeze had sprung up and then, downstairs, a door suddenly slammed.

Greenway swore, quietly, and spun round. Then, distinctly, I heard hurried footsteps somewhere below. Making no sound, I went outside on to the landing. There was nothing but silence punctuated by the quiet creaks of the old house and the now strong draught causing some hanging electric cables to tap against the wall. I became aware of Patrick standing by me.

‘What is it?' he breathed.

‘I heard footsteps.'

‘Perhaps someone came back for something and banged the door.'

‘No, I heard footsteps after the door banged.'

‘And of course there's no door in place at the back and the front one's bolted. Which means they were inside.'

We stood, listening, but could hear nothing.

‘I'd better take a look,' Patrick murmured.

I motioned to Greenway and Carrick that we were going down and followed Patrick as he descended the stairs, inwardly cursing at every creak we made. The light was poor as the sky must have clouded over, the interior already gloomy due to the plastic sheeting in front of the windows.

The thought sort of rammed itself into my brain: one ought to expect a woman like Murphy to investigate a property directly across the road that was a perfect venue for anyone watching
her.

The doors of the rooms at the front of the house that led off the large tiled floor hallway were all closed bar one which had been taken off its hinges and leaned against the wall. Patrick motioned to me to stay where I was on the stairs, keeping low, drew his gun, had a quick look round in the room and came out again. He then went from sight towards the way we had entered, re-emerging around thirty of my heart-thumps later to bend down and, using his tiny torch, gaze searchingly at the very dirty and dusty floor of the hall. The area by one door held his attention. He went over to it, opened it and, standing well to one side, pushed it hard, causing it to swing wide.

Silence but for the very faint sounds of passing traffic.

He went in at speed, ready to fire but reappeared almost immediately. This was repeated with all the other rooms and he came out of the final one to say, ‘There's no one here now. But the first one I went in is where the door banged and you can see where the dust and wood shavings were blown away by the sudden blast of air. The window's open in there and I reckon the door slammed as it was opened so whoever it was could leave. Perhaps they'd seen it moving, ran to try to catch it before it banged and then when it did, bolted back to the window to escape. Those were the footsteps Ingrid heard.'

‘This is serious,' Greenway said from the top of the stairs.

‘It could have been someone who spotted that the gate in the fence was open,' I pointed out. ‘Or a prospective squatter.'

‘Do we remove the surveillance?' Greenway asked the DCI as they descended.

‘Yes, I'm not happy about unarmed personnel being within a stone's throw of people like that who might know they're here. And while it was useful to have them here I have to think of their safety. And we do only have around twenty-four hours left.'

‘I'll watch tonight,' Patrick offered. ‘I'm not unarmed and can be a hell of a lot less conspicuous than ordinary coppers.'

Carrick was not the kind of man to be offended when presented with bald facts. He accepted and went back to give those upstairs the relevant orders. Then we quietly left.

We had all arrived in the Range Rover, which had been parked three streets away. Once inside it would be possible to have a proper conversation but before anyone could say anything my phone rang as soon as I switched it on again. I apologized and answered it.

‘Mark still not right?' Patrick asked when the call was over.

‘No, he's much better,' I told him. ‘It was Elspeth. They had a visit from someone at the diocesan office this afternoon. Carol Trelonic – only names weren't mentioned – has put in a complaint about your father. That he sexually assaulted her when he went to the house after her husband was killed. Despite the fact that we warned them he's very shocked and upset. Elspeth's wondering if you're free to give him some moral support.'

‘This is deliberate timing on Uncle's part, wondering if I'm involved in the case,' Patrick said quietly.

‘I'll go home and be supportive,' I said.

‘And I'll talk to him now and try to explain.'

‘We'll go for a little walk,' Greenway announced, nodding to Carrick and they got out of the vehicle.

Patrick spoke to John for around ten minutes, telling him as much as possible about the situation as he could and, although John said he understood, I was sure Patrick was aware his own actions fell short of what was expected.

‘It changes everything,' he said afterwards.

‘Please don't do anything rash,' I begged, alarmed at the expression on his face.

‘We didn't move to Hinton Littlemoor in order to get my father's name dragged through the mud by a bunch of murdering shits.'

I think we both had the underlying fear that we would be forced to leave the village to protect them in the future. Which negated the whole purpose of going there in the first place.

SIXTEEN

I
drove us back, leaving Patrick free to discuss with the others final plans for the following night, dropping the three of them off at Manvers Street before heading home. He had taken from the car a bag that is kept there permanently containing, among other things, dark clothing and trainers to use for his overnight surveillance. Then he went from my sight, blowing me a kiss.

I called in to see my in-laws to find them in their living room in the middle of a large silence. They both looked up when I entered and Elspeth smiled and waved a little greeting.

‘I could have done with some advice from Patrick,' John said.

‘He'll be here in the morning,' I replied, actually not quite sure about that.

‘He has to put his job first,' Elspeth remarked.

‘Yes, I suppose he does.'

‘Have you eaten?' I enquired, thinking the man so out of sorts he was not himself. This wasn't John at all.

‘John says he's not hungry.' Elspeth sighed.

‘You expect me to behave as though nothing's happened?' her husband said crossly.

‘Would you like me to cook something for you?' I asked.

‘No, but thank you,' John said.

I sat myself down on their sofa. ‘As he said, Patrick can't come home because he's watching a house, an undertaking that has a direct bearing on what's happened here today. Pretend I'm him.'

‘But you're not, my dear,' John said gently.

‘But what would he do right now? Be strong and here for you? I'm strong and here for you. Put the right perspective on what's occurred? I can do that too, first by saying that right now I know he's thinking of putting his job on the line to sort this out and when I left him he was still furious. But he can't be expected to be here bloody well holding your hand
as well
.'

There was a slightly shocked silence.

To John, Elspeth hissed, ‘It would have been far better if we'd left the news until he got home – as I wanted to.'

I said, ‘You're not the first priest to have allegations made against him by malicious parishioners – and no one knows that more than the bishop.'

‘You do sound like Patrick actually,' John said with a rueful smile.

‘Thank you, Ingrid,' Elspeth said. She got to her feet. ‘Oh, for goodness sake! I'm starving and I'm going to cook the dinner. Do join us if you want to when the children have had their tea – there's plenty for three.'

For obvious reasons there would be an overnight communications silence. In some ways I wanted to be with Patrick but knew I would be a distraction. Early training means that he can virtually sleep on his feet, like a cat that naps with its ears pricked to detect the slightest sound. So I spent a couple of hours with his parents, taking Katie with me, played with Vicky and Justin before they went to bed, peeped at Mark fast asleep in his cot, gave the kittens their last meal of the day and then turned in.

I could not sleep, tossing for hours.
Who
had been in that house? The footsteps had not sounded like those of a child. And it had not been the soft pad of trainers either but proper shoes, or boots. I had an idea that Patrick would have had a proper look around before it got dark to make sure that no unpleasant surprises had been planted and tried to convince myself that someone with his military background would be more than a match for anyone in Northwood's circle of thugs and hangers-on. I failed; Patrick was no longer a young man.

In the end I slept and was haunted by the kind of nightmares that fill you with terror but you cannot really remember in the morning, just leaving a vague feeling of dread.

Before leaving the house the men had been discussing the possibility of making arrangements for two officers from the firearms unit to relieve Patrick at eight a.m., who would be replaced in the late afternoon by personnel yet to be decided on. I had a very good idea who those personnel might be. So, night-time horrors banished the next morning after a large mug of tea I answered the phone at seven fifty-five expecting it to be Patrick.

‘Something's happened,' said James Carrick tersely. ‘I'm afraid he's not there.'

‘Not there?' I echoed stupidly.

‘Not a sign of him. No evidence of a struggle either. Nothing. The equipment's all exactly as it was too.'

I tried to remain practical. ‘What about the padlocked gateway at the rear?'

‘All locked up.'

‘Did Patrick have a key?'

‘Yes, he did. The plan was that he'd let in his replacements at the arranged time.'