The Windermere Witness (23 page)

‘It seems to matter an awful lot to you that she should,’ Simmy observed.

‘Of course it does. Why should her young life be wrecked by something that’s in no way her fault?’ He gave his head and shoulders a little shake, as if to throw off any such idea.

‘But what about Peter?’ Bridget asked. ‘He’s the one it all depends on. He’s the one I married. I
married
him, Glenn. I should never have run away from him. It was a cowardly thing to do. Pablo fetched me back once, and I did it again. What must he think of me? If he did those terrible things out of love for me, that puts me in his debt, somehow. Do you see? It makes it all my fault. He must have thought I agreed with the things Markie said – or that I would, if I listened to him. He didn’t trust me enough. But why kill my father as well? What did he have to fear from him?’

‘You were very close to him,’ Glenn said neutrally. ‘Perhaps he thought you’d play them off against each other,
if you lost faith in Peter. I’m just guessing. I don’t really know.’

‘I would never have done that.’

‘Glenn,’ Pablo’s voice contained a sudden urgency. ‘There’s a cop car outside. I think they’re coming to the door.’

Glenn moved liked lightning, pushing the Lee-Enfield back into its bag and dropping it behind the sofa. ‘Let them in,’ he ordered Simmy. ‘And then let me do the talking.’

She had half a minute, at most, to decide what to do.

It was Pablo who clinched it. He gently caught her arm before she left the room to go to the door, met her eyes with a smile, and whispered, ‘Trust us.’

She opened the door in a confused haze and stared speechlessly at the two uniformed officers in front of her. ‘Mrs Brown?’ one of them said.

‘That’s right.’

‘We’re just checking that everything’s all right. You asked for a police presence, I believe?’

‘That was yesterday,’ she said, feeling daft. ‘Yes, it’s all fine now. Thank you very much.’

‘Are you here alone?’

‘What? Oh … no. I’ve got visitors, actually.’

He cocked his head speculatively, while his colleague looked back across the street as if wanting to go. Simmy felt passive and useless. Women in films found clever ways of conveying a message in this sort of situation that would
be undetected by the criminals inside the house. But Pablo and Glenn were not criminals – they were simply trying to shield a wretched man who was. What message did she have to convey? What would they do to her if she simply told the truth?
Peter Harrison
-
West is the murderer
.
His gun is here in my house.
She could say that – and then what would happen? Glenn would hear her and be out of the back door with the weapon before the policemen could gather themselves for action. If they thought there was a gun on the premises, they would probably retreat to their car and call for backup. There’d be a siege, with megaphones and an armed response team, or whatever they called it. Everything would escalate, confusion would reign supreme and nothing good could possibly come of it.

‘All right, then,’ said the man. He was plainly the more conscientious of the two, and probably more intelligent. He was uneasy about something.

‘Thank you very much,’ she repeated. ‘I really am all right.’

‘So it seems. We’ll come by again later on, all the same. Nobody’s been caught yet. Can’t be too careful.’

‘You’re very kind,’ she said, with a smile, and they went back to their car.

‘Thank you,’ said Pablo, when she rejoined the threesome. ‘You did absolutely the right thing.’

‘I’m sure I didn’t,’ she said wearily. ‘It was just that I couldn’t see there was much choice. The police have a tendency to over-react, don’t they? Not that I know much about it. They get very excited about guns, though. I’m fairly sure I’ve got that much right. Is it loaded?’

Glenn laughed scornfully. ‘Of course it isn’t. Do you think I’m such a fool as that?’

‘You might be,’ she snapped. ‘For all I know, you’re a bunch of lunatics, the whole damned lot of you. Including you,’ she snarled at Bridget. ‘Dragging me into your ludicrous lives, where nothing makes sense and you’ve got no respect for decency and law and people’s basic rights.’

‘Phew!’ whistled Glenn. ‘Listen to you!’

‘You can’t really blame her,’ Bridget defended. ‘We have rather descended on her, haven’t we? Don’t worry, Simmy. We’ll go soon. One more night, okay?’

‘All of you?’

Glenn’s scornful laugh was starting to grate on her. ‘We’ve got homes to go to, you know.’

‘Have you?’ She looked at Pablo. ‘I thought you lived in London.’

He lengthened his neck, almost preening, and she remembered that these were solid, respectable businessmen, with money and property and a barely imaginable lifestyle. ‘I do, but I’ve got a little place up here as well,’ he said.

She grimaced. ‘I might have known.’

‘He’s got a wife as well,’ said Bridget, with a shrewd look. ‘Not that he ever sees her, but she does exist.’

‘Shut up, Brid,’ he snapped. ‘Doozy and I have been separated for years now. It would take five minutes to get a divorce.’

‘So why haven’t you?’

‘Can’t be bothered,’ he shrugged. Simmy, watching his face, suspected there was more to it than that. He was probably Roman Catholic, which would make divorce a much messier business than he claimed.

‘Same here,’ she said, in a vague attempt to keep her end up.

‘Oh?’

‘Well, we’ve done the nisi bit. It’s going through rather slowly.’ She flushed, unhappy at revealing anything so personal. However hard she tried, the word ‘divorce’ still stabbed painfully.

‘Bummer,’ said Pablo, with a warm smile. Was he simply keeping her compliant with his melting looks and careful understanding? These were men who could bribe and bully their way out of almost any tight hole. They were skilled manipulators, self-satisfied and sleek with affluence. She would barely register with them as an autonomous individual with the ability to argue or even betray. She was a humble florist, a faceless servant. At best, a useful witness.

‘Well, can you go now, please?’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve had enough of this. Take your bloody gun and go.’

‘We will, in a minute,’ said Glenn. ‘But not the gun. The gun stays here. It’s the safest place we can think of. There’s no possible reason why this house would be searched, after all.’

‘You’re that sure I won’t just hand it to the police?’ Simmy was thunderstruck at the casual insolence behind his words.

Glenn sighed theatrically. ‘I thought we’d been through all that. We’ll come back for it when things have settled down. It won’t be for long.’

‘I know exactly where to put it,’ said Bridget. ‘Don’t forget I know this house from top to bottom. Especially top.’

Simmy knew immediately that Bridget meant the roof
space, with the rattling trapdoor that she had taped shut.
Oh well
, she said to herself.
It can’t do any harm up there, I suppose
. She watched as Glenn retrieved the rifle from behind the sofa, and realised that she was far less afraid of it than she would have anticipated. It looked almost benign, cradled in the man’s arms like a heavy metal baby. A chainsaw or even a long sharp knife would be much more frightening. Guns made holes in people’s heads, but knives sliced and severed and made a lot of blood. And chainsaws could cut your head right off.

‘I must be mad,’ she groaned. ‘You’ve made me mad, between you.’

‘You’ll get used to it,’ soothed Bridget. ‘It’s just a different way of seeing things.’

‘I hope not. I hope …’ but she couldn’t tell them she had every intention of rejoining the ordinary normal human race, first thing in the morning. She might well phone DI Moxon and tell him everything, after an uneventful night in which good sense was resumed. If indeed such a night were granted to her.

‘That police car’s going to be back again before long,’ Pablo said. ‘We should be gone before then. Don’t forget the neighbours saw me here this afternoon. I did make a bit of noise. If there’s any ructions now, they might make the connection.’

‘Noise?’ Glenn frowned at him.

‘I was calling Bridget. I knew she must be here. The naughty girl hid from me.’

It was too sinister to ignore. The terror, which had faded into abeyance, flared again. This was no game, despite the relaxed manner of the two men. Their friend had committed
two cold-blooded murders. There were no protocols for dealing with such extreme acts, which must be why she felt so completely at sea. Was Bridget being enormously clever by behaving as if nothing too serious was going on? Was she in fact every bit as terrified as Simmy, but knew, far better than Simmy did, that the only hope was to cooperate and remain calm? How could anybody do that after what she had just been told? Years of practice, perhaps. She had been trained in manipulation and concealment, probably, during her long association with these men. Could it be that she knew, in her heart, what Peter was capable of – and had married him anyway?

‘Sorry,’ said Bridget easily.

‘No, you’re not. But all is forgiven now.’ Glenn patted her head. ‘It’s all going to work out. Things always do, don’t they?’

Bridget said nothing, but Simmy detected an involuntary flinch at Glenn’s touch. She hoped he hadn’t seen it, and spoke quickly in an attempt to distract him. ‘You’re going, then?’

‘All right, don’t be in such a rush. It’s a big risk, obviously, leaving the two of you like this. But we need to keep everything normal, for the cops. They know she’s here, which is good. They won’t be worrying about anything except their forensics and computer databases. And about a thousand witness statements, by this time. That rifle’s got a range of five hundred yards or more. They’ll have to ask everyone in Bowness whether they saw anything.’

‘Where was he, then?’ asked Simmy, genuinely wanting to know. ‘When he shot Mr Baxter?’

Glenn opened his mouth, and quickly closed it again. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he snapped. ‘How should
I
know?’

‘Poor old Daddy,’ sighed Bridget. ‘I still can’t believe it. Not that I saw him much, I suppose. I can pretend he’s in Turkey or somewhere, and not really dead at all.’

Simmy looked at her in surprise. It hadn’t occurred to her that Bridget might be coping so well because she was in complete denial. But the girl’s expression assured her that it was otherwise. She knew well enough what had really happened. She was still deliberately making light of it as a way of deflecting Glenn.

It evidently worked, because he ruffled her hair with a sympathetic smile. ‘Give it time, old girl,’ he said.

‘I’m hungry,’ Bridget whined, suddenly acting the child. ‘I had hardly anything for lunch.’

‘So am I,’ lied Simmy, thinking she might choke on any food. The effort required to remain passive was consuming her. She was acting a part, almost without knowing it, taking the line of least resistance for her own survival. If Glenn and Pablo believed her to be a genuine threat to their friend, there was no knowing what they might do. They could bundle her into the boot of their car and take her up to Kentmere and throw her in the reservoir, where she wouldn’t be found for months.

‘Okay then,’ said Glenn, briskly decisive. ‘You fry up some sausages –’ looking at Simmy, ‘– and you, Briddy, get an early night. Hide the gun, have some supper and go to bed. We’ll go and make sure Peter’s safely back at home. I bet you anything he is already. We can give him some Valium and knock him out for the night. If you want to talk to him tomorrow, we can organise something. Come on, Pablo. That’s enough for one day.’

They went without a backward glance. At least, Glenn
did. Pablo did pause on the threshold and look over his shoulder at Simmy. His smile was fleeting and she thought she saw confusion in his eyes. Was he wondering whether she and Bridget would really remain silent after the terrible news they’d been given? They were being left perfectly free to go and say whatever they liked. Had Glenn’s assurances been enough for Pablo the henchman? And if not, how could they hope to convince Bridget and Simmy?

A car door slammed and its engine started up. Neither woman spoke until it had driven away. Then Simmy blew out her cheeks, and almost fell into the armchair. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Did any of that really happen?’

‘No, it was all a dream. I hope.’

‘It’s not like in the movies, is it? Or on
Crimewatch
. Men with guns are supposed to shout a lot and bark orders and get terribly stressed out. And their victims are meant to cower in the corner and bleat helplessly. We didn’t follow a single line of the script.’

‘Because
they
weren’t the baddies. Glenn and Pablo are just trying to save Peter. They’ve been friends for most of their lives. They couldn’t ever give each other away.’

‘Bridget – how much do you really love Peter? That’s what it all comes down to.’

‘I told you before. I barely even exist without him. I haven’t thought of another man since I was ten. All this now – it’s not the Peter I know. I think it really must be a dream, everything’s so strange.’

‘But you said he behaved weirdly. You ran away from him – twice. You must have thought there was something horribly wrong.’

Bridget gave this some serious thought. ‘He was all
right the night after the wedding. With me, anyway. He was angry and shocked and sad about Markie, and worried about how I’d take it. But he was sweet and gentle and reassuring. We consummated the marriage,’ she added with a giggle. ‘That bed in the hotel is fabulous. Like being in a cloud. We just locked the door and shut the world out.’

‘He didn’t seem guilty or scared?’

‘Not a bit.’

‘And did he go out on Sunday morning?’

‘We all did. The police were there right after breakfast, still interviewing people. Pablo and Felix said they wanted to go over to Belle Isle in a rowing boat. Felix can row pretty well, even now, and he likes doing it. I went to the station with Jenny and Sally – the bridesmaids. They had to get back. I thought Glenn and Peter were together somewhere, but they can’t have been. They came back in time for lunch at one o’clock, and then the police marched in and told us about Daddy. Everything went crazy after that – like Saturday only worse. They told us to stay in the hotel, and somebody must have told my mother, because she turned up with you. It’s all a complete blur until that evening. We stayed another night in the bridal suite, because of the honeymoon being cancelled, and then just crawled back to the house, not knowing what to think.’

‘And was Peter strange on Sunday night?’

‘A bit,’ she said slowly. ‘Much more panicked. He hardly spoke to me. But it never occurred to me to think he was guilty. I never thought it was anybody I knew who’d done either of the murders. It seemed to me it must have been some business person that Daddy knew – or some stupid hitman who killed Markie by mistake, because he
was called Baxter. I still think that might be it, and Glenn’s got it all wrong. He
does
get things wrong, you know. It’s never very easy to get through to Glenn.’

Simmy considered this for a moment. ‘What’s with his hair?’ she blurted.

Bridget hooted a single note of derision. ‘That was my fault. I told him I wanted the best man to look as if he’d gone to some trouble over how he looked. He’d been fooling about over it all, calling us the odd couple and other names. I yelled at him and told him he had to take it seriously and smarten up. So he had that haircut just to spite me.’

‘He looks like a seal.’