This Way Out (26 page)

‘Yes. He's planning to give Sidney a massive overdose of insulin. Not to administer it himself, he's too clever for that, but to get someone else to do the job for him.'

‘Oh, God –' Belinda sat down abruptly on the low wall of the terrace. Derek, sitting close beside her, took her hand; she seemed hardly to notice, let alone respond. ‘I might have known,' she said dully. ‘But, Derek – how do you know?'

‘Because he asked me to do it for him.'

‘What?'

‘Don't worry, I'm not going to! Apparently he tried me because no one knows we're acquainted, so he thought I could get away with it. And he seems to be convinced that anyone will do anything for money.'

His carefully thought-out explanation failed to interest her; she was high-coloured, breathing quickly, near to panic. ‘Have you told the police?'

‘Not yet.' He tried to calm her gasp of protest: ‘How can I go to the police? I've got no proof, it would only be my word against your husband's. He'd probably tell them that he meant it as a joke.'

‘But you
must
go to them. If Hugh means it – and I'm quite sure he does – then he'll find someone else to do it for him. If you won't tell the police, Derek, I will!'

He hadn't bargained for that response, or for such a display of anger. ‘Of course I'm going to tell them,' he said quickly. ‘But not while you and your father are still living here, it's too dangerous for you. That's why I came today, while your husband's away, to warn you. He's in Scotland until the end of the week, isn't he?'

‘He said he'd be back on Saturday.'

‘Right, we'll get you and your father away to safety before then. Where can you go? Relatives?'

‘I've some cousins in Ely who sometimes look after Dad so that I can have a break … Yes, I suppose we could go there. But that'll probably be the first place Hugh will look – he knows they're expecting the two of us to lunch this coming Sunday.'

‘So he told me. That's the day he wanted me to dispose of your father. Oh, don't worry, Belinda, everything will be all right. If you'll arrange to go to your cousins'tomorrow, I'll put the police on to your husband just as soon as he returns.'

Derek held her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring grip. In reality, though, he was filled with misgivings. For all her lack of sophistication and self-esteem, Belinda was an intelligent woman. She would expect him to go to the police, and she would know that if he did so they would want to interview her. Derek had no doubt that, when nothing happened, she would go straight to the police herself.

And fool that he was, he had told her his real name and the company he worked for!

It would mean nothing to the Cambridgeshire police. But they would find out that he lived in Suffolk, and as soon as the Suffolk police were told Packer's name, that would be it. Oh God, what a mess … Wherever he tried to turn, there was no way out.

Belinda had begun to shiver with delayed shock. Derek put his good arm round her shoulders and gave her a hug. Emotionally, he felt nothing but compassion for her. But the splendid firmness of her body, its youth and warmth, had the immediate effect of reviving his long-suppressed sexual drive.

It also blocked his ability to think. Hounded as he was by guilt and worry and fear, he sought urgently for refuge, a place where he could forget.

‘Belinda, dearest – don't cry. Everything will be all right. I'll look after you, I promise.'

‘Don't say that,' she objected, pulling away from his encircling arm. ‘Don't
say
that.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because you can't look after me. You're married.'

‘I don't see how you can tell.'

She gave a sad, wobbly laugh. ‘The nice men always are,' she said, standing up and walking away from him down the garden steps.

Desperate not to lose her, Derek strode after her. ‘I'm not lying to you,' he protested. He caught her by the upper arm, forcing her to stop and turn towards him, and as she did so felt her breast brush against his hand. Desire rose, making him reckless. ‘Yes, legally I'm married, but not in any other sense. We haven't had sex for a year or more, and now my wife has left me.'

‘For someone else?'

‘No – she just says she doesn't want to live with me any more. What I told you earlier is the absolute truth. I'm living on my own in a wretched little Cambridge hotel, and I'm every bit as lonely as you are.'

Her eyes were misting over with sympathy, and he took advantage of it.

‘I hate living in that hotel. I hate being alone, I'm lost. Can I stay here with you tonight, Belinda? Tonight, and tomorrow night?'

‘You said I'm to take Dad to Ely tomorrow.'

‘No, Friday. Friday will be soon enough.'

‘But what will happen after that?'

‘We'll work something out.' He drew her to him and began to stroke her hair and kiss her. ‘Oh my dearest, it'll be all right. Everything will be all right, I'll look after you, I promise –'

He tightened his arms as though to crush her, and she went rigid with fear. Loosening his hold, he silently cursed that animal Packer for what he had done to her.

But then her fears seemed to dissolve. ‘Oh, Derek,' she said, putting her arms round his neck, melting. He could feel all the length and amplitude of her body, magnificent and richly whole, and he knew then that the months of frustration were over, he had found his refuge.

In Cambridge, Detective Chief Inspector Quantrill and Detective Sergeant Lloyd were still waiting for their major witness to return to his hotel. During the evening they had made use of Cambridgeshire police facilities to fax the relevant pages of the health club register to the CRO, in the hope of discovering that Derek Cartwright had been using the club as a rendezvous with a known criminal, but the reply had taken them no further forward. None of the names entered during the same period as Derek Cartwright's related to anyone with a criminal record.

At five p.m. the detectives had accepted the hotel proprietor's offer of another pot of tea. At seven p.m. they had gratefully accepted her offer of an extremely late late breakfast. At nine p.m. they recognized that they had outstayed their welcome, and went outside to wait in the chief inspector's Rover.

A number of guests, most of them reps, stiff from a long day's driving, entered the hotel during the course of the evening. Derek Cartwright was not among them.

At ten p.m. Sergeant Lloyd telephoned the Brickyard, on the off-chance that he might have returned to Wyveling, but there was no reply. She then rang Christine's friend, Mrs Collins, putting her enquiry casually so as not to cause alarm, and learned that Derek wasn't there either. He was staying in Cambridge, said Mrs Collins helpfully; Christine knew the name of his hotel, should she ask her?

At eleven p.m. the lights in the hall of the hotel went out. The doors had been locked for the night.

‘Blast!' said Quantrill, starting his engine and heading out of the city. ‘After all that, the man's done a bunk.'

‘His things are still there,' said Hilary.

‘Yes, but what do they amount to? A pair of casual trousers, spare shirts and socks, a razor, a toothbrush. Enough to make us waste five hours waiting for him, but nothing to bring him back for if he's scared.'

‘We can't be sure that he's scared. Perhaps he's simply staying with his girlfriend.'

‘What girlfriend?'

‘The one you first thought of. The one you said he might have gone to visit on Saturday afternoon, while his wife and her mother were out.'

‘Oh, her. I thought we'd abandoned that theory. Aren't we assuming now that Cartwright went to the forest to get rid of the dog?'

‘Yes, and we're also assuming that he did it in preparation for the break-in. But the only evidence of collusion we can find is circumstantial, and I'm beginning to wonder whether there isn't another explanation for that. We know he had a row with his wife when he came home on Saturday evening without the dog. If he was also feeling guilty about a secret girlfriend, then he must have had a lot on his mind. Perhaps it's not surprising that he forgot to lock the pantry window, and was clumsy enough to cut his hand.'

‘But that doesn't account for his peculiar behaviour on Friday – forgetting an important business appointment, half-killing himself on the power equipment at the health club …'

‘Oh, but it does account for it,' said Sergeant Lloyd. ‘If you were right about his girlfriend, and his secretary is right about his being a good family man, then he must be going through a terrible emotional conflict.'

She sighed impatiently. ‘It's probably the usual story: the girlfriend's putting pressure on him to leave his wife, but he won't; and on the other hand, he can't bring himself to give up the girl. I haven't any time for men who try to have it both ways – it's so juvenile. Though I will say this for Derek Cartwright,' she added more fairly, ‘at least he seems to have the decency to know he's behaving badly, and to be putting himself through hell on account of it.'

Quantrill thought it prudent, on behalf of the misunderstood male sex, to concentrate on his night driving and maintain a dignified silence. At home, his mother-in-law – between bouts of dietary instruction – was driving him mad with men-are-so-selfish earfuls, and he could do without any contributions from Hilary; even if she happened to be right, as well as relevant.

‘Sorry, Douglas,' said his sergeant, leaving him to decide whether she was apologizing for what she had said, or for her abandonment of the collusion theory.

‘So what you're suggesting now,' he said, ‘is that Derek Cartwright really does know nothing about the break-in. Well, you may be right – but that still doesn't explain why the Brickyard should have been targeted, does it?'

Hilary gave another sigh, this time perplexed. ‘The only reason I can think of is that it's a substantial house, set well back from the road. The man with the binoculars must have thought that he could slip in by way of the field path, pile up the loot, and then bring in a vehicle and load it up without being noticed.'

‘But
what
loot? Who'd go to all that trouble, just to steal a video recorder and a hi-fi, and some unremarkable bits and pieces?'

‘I know, it simply doesn't make sense … Just what did the man go there hoping to gain? As far as we've been able to discover, nothing in particular.'

Quantrill's headlights picked up the sign for the Breckham Market turn-off. As he left the busy A45, and thought for a moment of the pleasures and turn-offs of home, it occurred to him that there was in fact one person who had made a clear gain out of what had happened at the Brickyard: Derek Cartwright, who had been relieved of the company of his wife's mother.

But Hilary would never forgive him if he made another tasteless gibe about mothers-in-law. And because he too wanted to have it both ways – Hilary's friendship, at least, as well as the better parts of marriage – he kept his thoughts to himself.

On Thursday morning, Christine Cartwright drove her car for the first time since her mother's murder.

She still felt weak-kneed and shaken, but she was determined to do it. Sylvia Collins had been wonderfully kind, and had urged her not to think of leaving the thatched house before she was really fit, but Christine knew that if she didn't make the effort now she would find it even more difficult later. Besides, much as she liked Sylvia, she was anxious to get away to Derbyshire. She needed to be alone.

She hoped to be ready to travel on Sunday, a day she had chosen so as to avoid the worst of the heavy traffic in the industrial Midlands. If she used the car every day between now and then, gradually rebuilding her confidence, she thought she would be able to manage the distance. Her first trip, she decided, would be very short: to Breckham Market, eight miles away, where she had made an appointment to visit her doctor.

She had been so groggy during the past few days that she was beyond knowing whether the cause was physical or emotional. As a recent cancer sufferer, she had inevitably become more aware of her body's signals. Although she tried to be calm and practical about it, she couldn't help fearing that any persistent ache or minor pain, any feeling of nausea or weakness, might herald the onset of the dreaded secondaries. Her present discomforts were, she told herself, almost certainly emotional in origin, but it seemed wise to have a check-up before she went away.

Like most families in Wyveling, the Cartwrights were registered with the nearest group medical practice. This had advantages, in that the practice was housed in a purpose-built health centre with excellent community-care facilities, but a disadvantage was that the patients never knew which of the five doctors they would see. Christine acknowledged the efficiency of the system, but she found it impersonal, and she was disappointed that there was no woman doctor in the practice.

The one permanent figure at the health centre seemed to be the receptionist, who sat at a desk in the busy waiting-room with her name displayed on a badge: Mrs Molly Quantrill. She was a plumply pretty woman in her late forties, carefully coiffured and fussily dressed. She looked up as Christine entered and gave her a big smile of recognition.

‘Good morning, Mrs Cartwright! I do hope you're keeping well. Lovely weather for April, isn't it?' Then her face crumpled in dismay; clearly, she had just remembered that Christine's mother had been murdered only a few days previously.

Pink with embarrassment, she jumped up and patted Christine on the arm. ‘Oh – I am most terribly sorry, my dear! Such a dreadful thing to have happened, and after all you've gone through, too –'

Christine nodded, finding it difficult to speak. But Mrs Quantrill couldn't stop: ‘Of course, I only know what I read in the local paper,' she said hastily, guiding Christine to a chair. ‘I don't hear any of the details – my husband doesn't talk about his work at home, I can assure you of that. You'll have met him, I suppose? Detective Chief Inspector Quantrill.'