Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (17 page)

Glancing down, saw she was holding a ten inch butcher’s knife and was swinging it to the panting of her chest.

‘Now then, my pretty miss, you haven’t been upsetting my lady, have you?’

‘No, I haven’t upset her, but I think the phone call may have.’

‘Oh? So what did she say?’

‘Not much. Just that her publisher wants her to start work on another article.’

Martha stared, her expression turning to stone, and when her shoulders slumped, the knife came loose in her fingers and fell clattering and bouncing to the floor.

Walking quickly along the path, Christiana slid behind the wheel of the Ferrari and quietly closed the door. Turning the ignition key, she sighed with relief when the engine fired immediately, and stabbing the accelerator, sent the Ferrari roaring off down the lane, and checking the rear view mirror, half expected to see the maniacal figure of Lucinda pounding along behind.

Oh god, it was just so good to be out of there, and free, if only for a while.

Coming up to the main road, the car twitched under the 'heel and toe' action of her racing accelerator and brake technique, and seeing the road was clear, turned right and gunned the motor crazily up through the gears, her emotions exploding as the speedometer needle flew wildly round to a hundred and twenty, her mind in a daze as the trees and meadows flashed by, the car accelerating even more to the fantastic roar of the exhausts and it was just so wonderful.

Then she saw the tractor.

It was chugging out through a farm gate as it laboriously pulled a high sided trailer.

Braking hard, she went down through the gears, the tractor right across the road and swinging round in an arc, the Ferrari’s engine now screaming, smoke billowing from the screeching tyres as the huge trailer completely blocked the road, the Ferrari sliding sideways, the rear tyres dancing as they mounted the verge, dirt and grass coming up in a cloud as she steered into opposite lock, the trailer so enormous and just so incredibly slow, the nose of the Ferrari passing under.

Straightening up, the car roared past the huge wheels, and changing down another gear, the rev counter went into the red as she hit the throttle to level up the car, the sign for Sherston flashing by in the hedgerow as the Ferrari shot through into the clear, still air.

'Holy mother of God. Jesus Christ Almighty.'

Parking in the village, her hands felt hot and sweaty on the wheel, and killing the motor, picked her purse off the floor and shakily lit a cigarette.

‘This is no good, Chrissy. This is no damned good at all.’

Tossing the stub out of the window, she saw the huge tractor coming into view as it chugged its way slowly through the village, the driver looking over and shaking his head.

With a sigh, she looked back to him,
‘Yeah, yeah. I know …’

Staring vacantly at the broad, wide open expanse of the village, her mind still felt numb from the near death experience, but when a bright red phone box caught her eye, it reminded her that Dimi might be able to solve the problem of the diary, and if he could, she could escape from Sheverill’s Farm for ever.

So what the hell, if she was going to take the chance, why not do it now.

Checking her purse for money, she smiled as she dialled that old familiar number, but when the call was answered, it was not Dmitri.

Listening to the foreign accent, it seemed Dimi had moved away a year ago, and a huge wave of sadness washed over her because she’d spent so many happy hours in his little bookshop and now it was all over, but the new owner remembered a line of his forwarding address in Glastonbury, but no phone number.

Calling enquires, she gave his name and the single line of the address, but the operator said no-one of that name was listed in Glastonbury, and she wondered what was going on.

But never mind, Glastonbury wasn’t that far away, so she could drive down tomorrow and look for him, and it might be better that way, meeting him face to face would be so much better than just hearing his voice, and who knows, if it worked out, they might even start over again.

Oh well. It was a nice thought.

Walking back to the car she began to feel a little better, and calling into a general store, bought cigarettes, wine and an expensive box of chocolates, because whether she liked it or not, she now had to go back to Sheverill’s Farm.

Parking in the courtyard, she thought how gaunt and sombre the old farmhouse looked in twilight, its morbid appearance eerie and forbidding as it nestled within the dark old trees.

Wondering how things were inside, she walked quietly along the winding path, and looking through the kitchen window, saw Lucinda was alone, but she was smoking joints and gulping wine straight from the bottle.

She was talking to herself and looked half drunk. Taking a deep breath, Christiana calmed herself and walked in, holding the shopping high, ‘Presents!’

Lucinda jerked round as if electrified, and staring open mouthed, the bottle slipped from her fingers and exploded in bursting fragments of coloured glass, and with tears streaming, she flew in a dash across the kitchen, her arms stretched out wide.

‘Oh Chrissy, I thought you’d left me. Oh, I’m so sorry.’

16

It was past midnight when Frank walked up the starlit path to the kitchen door, but the silence was suddenly broken as his foot clattered into hard slippery fragments, and looking down, saw a plate smashed on the path and food all around, and stepping over the mess, pushed the door open and stepped into the dim light.

‘And what fucking time do you call this?’

He closed the door, and looking across to the kitchen table, saw a red candle burning in a rose bowl lantern, and Angela sitting there with the shadows flickering across her face as she clutched a half empty bottle of brandy.

‘Well?’

He shrugged his shoulders, ‘So what’s the problem?’

Nails scratched on the kitchen table, her face contorting in the dim candlelight.

‘What’s the problem? You leave me all alone for hours, and you have the nerve to say, what’s the problem? What’s the bloody problem when I’ve spent hours cooking for you and all the time you were out with her, and don’t deny it, I checked with the gatehouse.’

Standing up, the chair scraped back and clattered over as she stalked around the table.

Frank watched as she came towards him in the shadowy light, her alcohol breath drifting up to him, and he saw just the faintest blur of movement as her hand suddenly flew out of the darkness to smack his face across his shoulder.

‘You bastard. Was the little whore so good you didn’t want to come back?’

He felt the stinging marks of her fingers burning deep into his flesh.

‘How could you do this to me? I know I told you to screw her, but you didn’t have to, I thought we had an understanding … You made me feel special, I put out your things, made you breakfast, we ate by the stream, and for the first time in years I didn’t feel alone, and I was so happy … But you met that whore, and when she’d snared you with her filth, you chose that disgusting little bitch instead of me, and I hate her!’

As Frank listened, he realised the perverse contradiction of this beautiful woman had a much deeper and darker side, and because of him, it was now focused on Tara.

‘Angela, listen. Nothing happened. Do you hear me? Nothing happened.’

‘Don’t lie. Don’t lie to me. You were with her all day, wasn’t that enough? You didn’t have to take the bitch out … Take her out in your smart car, for god’s sake, with the filthy little whore all dressed up like a frigging tart on a Christmas tree.’

It soon became obvious that Sergeant Jenkins had only one master.

‘So why did you leave Thornley? I told you I must always be in control, but I wasn’t tonight, was I? And if you couldn’t resist the frigging bitch, why didn’t you fuck her in her apartment like all the others? Tell me that.’

‘Look, I told you before, nothing happened, but if you don’t believe me, hard luck.’

She stared at him, her eyes glassy while her breath came heavy through flared nostrils.

‘Then what the god-damned, frigging hell have you been doing with her all this time, you’ve been with the little cow all day, and all bloody evening.’

‘So what do you think I’ve been doing? Rewriting the Karma Sutra with an MI5 agent? Oh for god’s sake! And do you think it was easy, with old Monty half dying on me, and having to listen to that girl’s endless stories when all I wanted was to get back here?’

Angela stood shaking with anger, but then blinked, and as she stood there quivering, doubt and confusion formed in her eyes, ‘Did you? Did you really?’

He looked away, ‘Well I wasn’t going to say it, but course I did. Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Oh. I didn’t know.’

‘Well maybe you didn’t, but you didn’t bother asking either, did you?’

Angela’s eyes suddenly became moist, and without warning, she moved into his arms.

It hadn’t been Frank’s intention to sleep with the boss, but with the way things were, it now seemed the most sensible way forward, and especially if it bought Tara some time.

Laying together in bed, Angela snuggled up to him and ran her fingers over his hard stomach, and kissing him, cuddled down on his chest.

‘Well that was interesting, and you’re a very inventive lover, so did you enjoy it?’

He let his myriad thoughts of Tara drift away as he began to fondle her soft breasts.

‘Yes, but I suppose I always knew I would. With you, I mean.’

Angela smiled, ‘So that’s something else we have in common.’

Playing with him, her intricate thoughts began to drift on to other things.

‘But leaving that aside, did you manage to discover anything today?’

‘Not much, except why it was possible to compromise the file undetected.’

Staring into the darkness, she suddenly snatched herself up and looked down to him.

‘Really ..? So soon … Good lord … So how was it done?’

‘Oh, it was quite easy really, if you choose the right time of day, and the right month.’

He told her of Monty’s explanation of the light refraction, the ceiling rose and the maintenance crew’s sighting of the camera to cabinet, all coupled together with the dark monitors and the bored security guards.

‘That’s amazing, but what I don’t understand, is why it hasn’t been noticed before, let’s face it, it’s been there long enough.’

‘Yeah, but that’s half the trouble, things tend to get accepted for what they are, and over a long period of time, the status quo ends up being the accepted standard.’

She kissed him, ‘Very true, and then some clever bastards like Sheverill and Goodwin come along and exploit the situation. Well one of them has paid the price so far.’

He frowned, and really should have thought things through before he spoke, but didn’t.

‘Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about Tara, I’m sure she’s in the clear.’

Angela stiffened, ‘I see. So it’s
Tara
now, is it?’

Frank cursed his stupidity when he heard that edge of jealousy come into her voice.

‘Yeah, but that’s just her name and I’ve been with her all day, that’s all.’

Angela leant down and bit his cheek, ‘So you have, my darling boy. So you have.’

Gazing at him, her piercing brown eyes began to search his for a lie.

‘So why didn’t you screw her? You could have done ... and from what I’ve heard, our little miss from MI5 will spread her legs for anyone in power. So why didn’t you?’

‘I’ve already told you. I wanted to be with you, not with some silly young girl.’

She bit his cheek again, but gently this time, her smile becoming satisfied.

‘Right answer, you clever boy, but you won’t be bothered with her for much longer.’

‘Oh? And why’s that?’

‘Because, my darling boy, she’s the first on mother’s Tarantula list. Snip, snip, snip.’

His chest tighten. So there was even less time than he’d hoped for.

Angela smiled in the darkness, ‘And so, do you fancy anyone yet, for the file?’

Frank was thinking of Tara in the hands of those scumbags, Daniels and Coogan.

‘What? Oh ... the file. Well I guess there are two or three possibilities.’

‘Two or three? My goodness, you have been busy.’

‘Well I thought I’d better do something, I didn’t want to come back and find my dinner spread all over the garden path.’

‘Oh god, I’d forgotten about that. Are you hungry?

‘No, but next time, try trusting me before you jump to all the wrong conclusions.’

‘Alright, that’s fair, I’ll try to remember.’

She fell into thought.

‘Frank, I know it’s late, but time is very important now and I need to know the names of those three people, and of course, why you’re so interested in them.’

‘Fair enough. Well to start with, there’s Anderton, and as he’s the clerk of works he obviously has some explaining to do, and then I fancy Hillsdown, the chief of police.’

‘Hillsdown? So what’s wrong with him?’

‘Oh, just his social habits.’

‘I see. Well if you say so - but you said, three possibilities.’

‘Yeah, I’m getting a gut feeling about Dudley.’

‘Ambrose Dudley ..? But how on earth can you possibly suspect him?’

‘Well. When I signed out at Thornley reception, I noticed that Dudley had signed in twice, Thursday evening and again on Friday, so the milkman syndrome is bothering me.’

She looked puzzled, ‘The milkman syndrome? And just what the hell is that?’

Frank smiled, ‘Well some years ago in Ireland, I was in a pub.’

‘You amaze me.’

He gave her a sideways look, ‘Do you want to hear this or not?’

‘It sounds absolutely riveting, but do go on.’

‘Yeah. Well I overheard a conversation about a milkman who never took a day off and everyone naturally thought he was crazy, until the day he broke his leg and someone else had to do his round.’

‘So?’

‘Well from that day on, the dairy had twenty or so people, who were not on the books, phoning up and asking why their milk, eggs, potatoes and cream, hadn’t been delivered.’

Angela gave him a blank look, but suddenly smiled when she realised.

‘He had a scam going.’

‘Exactly, and very nice it was for a milkman. So when everyone was charging around loading the delivery trucks, he just took extra of this and that for his private customers and collected a nice little tax-free wage packet every week, but of course, there lies the rub.’

She sat up straight, ‘It only worked, if he was always at work.’

And Ambrose Dudley had a strict routine of staying in his apartment Thursday night for the busy day on Friday, so why did he sign in to his apartment again on Friday evening?

Jumping out of bed she slipped into her nightdress.

‘If you’re right about this, we could have him, the man inside.’

‘What man inside?’

Leaning over, she gave him a quick kiss and hurried around the bed to the door.

‘It’s a long story, but don’t worry about that, I’ll explain later.’

‘Explain what?’

‘About the Sanderson file, it could hold a clue to the people behind this mess, and if we’re lucky, we might just get it back.’

‘Back from where?’

‘Oh for goodness sake. Now look, someone has blocked the file with a password, and obviously because it’s bloody dangerous to them, but now, and thanks to you, we might find the name of the wretched person who placed it there.’

Frank watched the eerie moonlit shadows drift silently across the ceiling as Angela scampered barefoot down the ancient staircase, and somehow he just knew another death was on its way, and it was all because of him, and the milkman.

Flicking on the light, she hurried over to the desk, and picking up the red phone, put in a direct call to the manor house.

A man’s sleepy voice came on the line, ‘Hello. Thornley reception.’

‘Security? This is Angela. Now listen carefully, I want you to check the book and see if Mr Ambrose Dudley was on station during Friday night.’

There was a moment’s silence, ‘Yes ma’am, he was. Mr Dudley signed in at six pm and stayed overnight in his apartment.’

Her heart jumped, ‘Excellent. Now put me through to the computer room.’

Angela drummed her fingertips impatiently on the desk until a voice came on the line.

‘Hello? Computer section, who’s calling please?’

‘This is Angela. Who am I speaking to?’

‘Simon, ma’am, Simon Harris. So how can I help you?’

‘Simon Harris? Oh yes, I remember, we met last summer in Blackwell’s book shop.

Now Simon, listen, there’s something very important I want you to do for me.’

‘Yes ma’am, of course. So what is it?’

‘Simon, I want you to enter Merlin.’

He caught his breath, and sitting back, looked up to the clock.

It was the middle of the night, so why was she phoning now and asking him to commit the eighth most deadly sin, and then he remembered the investigation.

Oh shit. This must be a security check.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t, not without authority.’

‘But Simon, I’m giving you authority.’

There was a long pause, ‘Well I’m sorry, but I can’t enter without written authority.’

‘I see. Then tell me, when is your contract due for renewal?’

‘It’s this month, ma’am, September.’

‘Is it really, and do you remember who signs your security profile?’

‘Yes ma’am. You do, ma’am.’

‘And I will if you’re a good boy, and you don’t have to worry, it’s not as if I’m asking you to download the Queen’s file, all I need is something basic, so there’s no harm done, is there, Simon.’

‘No ma’am, not if you say so.’

‘Good boy. Well go on then, enter Merlin.’

‘But ma’am, I’ll have to log on with my personal ID, my access will be recorded.’