A Place Of Safety (7 page)

But all was well. Not realising she had been holding her breath, Ann now let it out: a slow, steady exhalation. She relaxed, leaning back against the door. This peaceful moment was interrupted by an angry shout coming from the direction of the kitchen. There was a strange smell, too, which she recognised as burning bacon. An apology already on her lips, Ann hurried away.

 

‘I seem to be putting you to an awful lot of trouble.’

‘Not at all. I wasn’t doing anything special this morning.’

To tell the truth, Valentine was quite enjoying himself. Few things, he thought, were more satisfying than vicarious involvement in other people’s misfortunes. No cost of any kind to oneself, lots of interesting running about and the sort of emotionally vibrant conversation that he would, in normal crcumstances, run a mile from.

He only wished he’d had a camera at the moment his remark to Mrs Leathers about her husband had sunk in. In spite of a gift for mimicry, Val knew he would never be able to capture exactly that priceless expression of guilty remembrance. She actually said, ‘I knew there was something else.’ How he kept a straight face he would never know.

It was generally agreed then that as they were in Causton it would be sensible to go to the police station and report Charlie missing. They took the precaution of ringing home first to check he had not turned up while they’d been out.

Val thought they would be taken to a special room but a constable in reception simply put a yellow form down on the counter for Mrs Leathers to complete after indicating that he was available if she needed any assistance.

‘There’s a lot of weird questions here,’ remarked Mrs Leathers, dutifully filling it in. ‘Scars, stammering and suchlike. Ethnic appearance code. Charlie wouldn’t like that.’

Val studied the posters, none of them very cheery. A young girl’s stitched up, cut and battered face: Have None For The Road. A golden labrador panting behind a closed car window: By The Time You Get Back She Could Be Dead. And a broken syringe over a Crackdown Hotline number. He had just begun to discover more than he actually needed to know about the Colorado beetle when he realised Mrs Leathers was asking a question.

‘What do they mean, peculiarities?’

‘Oh, you know. Wearing a tutu or a mink G-string at evensong. That sort of thing.’

A mistake. Mrs Leathers moved just a little distance away and never quite met his eye again. She wrote for almost another ten minutes then handed the form over.

‘Section four, madam,’ said the constable, easing it back. ‘Informant?’

‘Oh, yes. Sorry.’ Mrs Leathers included her own name, address and telephone number. ‘Do I let you know if he turns up?’

‘If you would, please.’

‘He only went out for a walk.’

The constable smiled, wishing he had a fiver for every time he’d heard that one. He’d be snorkelling in the Caribbean before you could say Piña Colada. He felt sorry for the old duck, though. She’d obviously been having a good old cry before she’d been able to bring herself to come in.

He retrieved the four two eight, passed it to a civilian clerk who was answering a non-stop telephone and was just going about his business when the bloke with the old lady spoke up.

‘Excuse me.’

‘Sir?’

But it was not the policeman Valentine was speaking to. He had taken Mrs Leathers’ arm and was gently drawing her back towards the counter. He said, ‘Tell them about the dog.’

 

This made all the difference, as Mrs Leathers explained to Evadne shortly after she had been brought back home. Evadne, unaware that Candy had been found, had called round to check on Mrs Leathers’ telephone number to add to her poster.

As it was nearly lunchtime Mrs Leathers had offered a bowl of soup and some toast. Evadne, who wanted to hear exactly what had happened, accepted. She felt rather apprehensive when a tin was produced but thought one bowl wouldn’t hurt. The soup was vivid orange-red, velvety in texture and rather sweet. It resembled no vegetable she had ever tasted in her life.

But Evadne’s curiosity as to the origins of her lunch vanished as soon as Mrs Leathers began to tell the story of Candy’s misfortune. She listened in empathetic horror, imagining it happening to one of her beloved Pekes and wondering how on earth she would bear it.

‘She will recover, Hetty. She’s a brave dog with great heart.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Leathers and burst into tears.

Evadne abandoned her exotic lunch, came round the table and took Mrs Leathers in her arms. She rocked her backwards and forwards murmuring, ‘There, there,’ just as she did for Piers when he became melancholy, overwhelmed by all the troubles of the world.

‘You must let me know when she’s coming home. I’ll take you to Causton myself.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And are you . . .? Forgive me but these things can be . . . I mean, aftercare, medicines. I hope . . . any problem . . . um . . .’

‘You’re very kind, Evadne, but I am insured for her.’ And what a fight there had been with Charlie over that.

‘Excellent.’

Mrs Leathers took a deep breath, mopped the moisture from her cheeks and said, ‘Oh dear, your soup’s got cold.’

‘Not to worry. What was it, by the way?’

‘Tomato.’

‘Good heavens,’ said Evadne. ‘Now, are you going to be all right? Would you like me to stay for a while? Or I can come back after I’ve walked the boys.’

‘Actually, my daughter should be here soon. From Great Missenden.’ Mrs Leathers was quite used now to Evadne’s dogs being called the boys when one of them was a girl. Evadne had explained that Mazeppa was very sensitive and would hate to be singled out. ‘Pauline’s just sorting out someone to look after the children.’

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Leathers said, ‘That’ll be either her or the police.’

‘My dear.’ Evadne was entranced and intrigued. ‘Why on earth are they coming?’

‘They want me to show them exactly where I found Candy.’

‘Well, I must say,’ said Evadne, ‘that is encouraging. To show such concern over a little dog.’

‘Charlie’s missing too,’ explained Mrs Leathers, checking her tear-stained face in a small mirror before opening the door.

‘Oh, yes?’ Evadne had seen Mr Leathers dragging Candy furiously back and forth across the Green and sincerely hoped he stayed missing.

A uniformed sergeant and a young policewoman were on the step. Mrs Leathers asked them in to wait while she got her coat on. Evadne engaged them in conversation, putting them at their ease. When Mrs Leathers returned, the police woman seemed to be having some sort of coughing fit.

‘I will come with you,’ said Evadne firmly. Then, when Mrs Leathers hesitated, ‘Pauline would if she were here.’

Mrs Leathers had to admit this was true and that she would be glad of the company. The police car was parked at the top of the lane and a couple of women with pushchairs were already standing nearby staring curiously.

Mrs Leathers stumbled over a tussock of grass as the four of them emerged and the sergeant took her arm. Convinced everyone would think she was being arrested, she blushed scarlet. Evadne, on the other hand, stepped out with great panache, striding along and waving at any passerby. It was she who led the way to Carter’s Wood.

Once inside Mrs Leathers took over. But the closer she got to the spot where she found Candy the more reluctant her steps became. During the final moments she had to hold Evadne’s hand. To her surprise, once she had pointed the place out, the policewoman said she could go home.

Evadne was rather disappointed that the adventure seemed to be over almost before it had begun. A small crowd had gathered at the building site next to the pub, gazing around with the happy nosiness of the completely uninvolved. As Mrs Leathers pushed through, several people asked her questions.

Seeing her daughter’s car parked beside the Green, Mrs Leathers hurried home. Evadne did the same, making a pot of Lapsang Souchong as soon as she got in to wash away the extraordinary taste of her lunchtime snack. After this she took the Pekes out for a long run. Every few yards, remembering Candy, she would stop, pick one of them up and squeeze it to her relieved bosom. Though surprised, the dogs, courteous as always, did not protest.

On the way back she noticed several more police cars and one or two plain ones. The crowd was much larger now but was being compelled to keep its distance behind a barrier of fluttering blue-and-white tape.

 

Charlie Leathers lay in a leafy hollow about fifty yards from where Candy had been found. The video team and photographer had already left. And George Bullard, the Force Medical Examiner, had also almost finished doing what he had to do. Two mortuary attendants sat on a nearby log smoking, cracking jokes and guessing at the best way to pick a lottery winner.

Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby, having taken one quick look at the corpse, did not feel inclined to take a second.

‘Sometimes, George, I don’t know how you keep your food down.’

‘It’s a knack.’

‘What happened to his face?’ asked Sergeant Troy, bag carrier and persistent gadfly to the DCI. ‘What’s left of it.’

‘Midnight feast in the dorm,’ said Dr Bullard. ‘Some sort of animal, I’d say.’

‘Christ, I hope it is a bloody animal.’ Barnaby sounded ready to explode. ‘Cannibalism we can well do without.’

‘OK, boys.’ Dr Bullard peeled off his gloves and stuffed them into a disposable bag. ‘You can cart him off.’

‘How long’s he been lying there, do you think?’ asked Barnaby.

‘Ohh . . . probably since last night. Certainly no longer than twenty-four hours. That’s the joy of the garrotte. Immediate asphyxiation helps pin the time down.’ He got up, brushing leaf mould off his trousers. ‘Well, I’m off. Give my best to Joyce. How’s the sprog?’

‘Thriving, thank you.’

‘Should have something on your desk by morning.’

Barnaby watched the doctor stride away, head back, gazing at the sky, inhaling the peaty autumn scents with every appearance of satisfaction.

‘That would make a good title for the autobiography I’ve no doubt he’s secretly scribbling.’

‘What would?’ Sergeant Troy stood well aside to let the graveyard shift get moving.

‘The Joy of the Garrotte. Come on, let’s get back to the station.’

‘It’s gone lunchtime, chief. What about the pub? I could just get outside some sausage, egg and chips.’

‘Your guts must be made of cast iron.’

 

The news spread through Ferne Basset like lightning. A body had been removed from Carter’s Wood. The Scene of Crime officers arrived and, after removing all sorts of interesting paraphernalia from the back of their van, put on plastic overalls, gloves and bootees and disappeared into the trees.

The sergeant and young policewoman who had called on Mrs Leathers before called again. This time the door was opened by a stout, dark-haired girl who looked about sixteen but turned out to be Mrs Leathers’ 23-year-old daughter.

‘Now what?’ she said, arms akimbo.

‘Could we have a word with your mother?’ asked the policewoman. She was still at the stage where she put on a special voice as the possible bearer of bad news. Kind, gentle, slightly solemn. A dead giveaway, the sergeant thought, but you had to make allowances. She’d grow out of it.

‘I reckon she’s had enough upset for one day, don’t you?’

‘It’s all right, Pauline,’ called Mrs Leathers from the kitchen.

They all went into the front room where the sergeant declined the offer of a cup of tea. Just as well, thought Pauline, ’cause I certainly won’t be making any.

‘You reported your husband missing earlier today, Mrs Leathers. We were wondering if you have a photograph of him.’

‘Not a recent one, I’m afraid.’ She looked nervously at the sergeant then went over to the sideboard and took out an album. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just to help us with our inquiries, Mrs Leathers.’

‘Is this something to do with all those cars over by the Green?’ asked Pauline.

‘That’s the latest.’ Mrs Leathers handed over a picture of a choleric little man glowering at the camera. He was holding a shotgun and there were several dead birds at his feet. ‘Taken about eight years ago.’

‘Thank you.’ The sergeant stowed the photograph in his wallet.

Pauline said, ‘I asked you a question.’

‘Yes, it is.’ No point denying it. Half the village would have seen the stretcher brought out. The sergeant chose his next words carefully. ‘We have actually discovered the body of a man in the woods. Who he is or how he died we can’t say at the moment.’

Mrs Leathers tried to speak but her lips had become suddenly stiff. She couldn’t form the words. She stared at Pauline who reached out, took her hand and squeezed it hard.

‘I’ll show them out, Mum. Be right back.’ On the doorstep she said, ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

‘We don’t know for—’

‘Best not to get excited though, eh? Just fingers crossed.’

‘Pardon?’ said the policewoman.

‘The life that bugger’s led her. Tell you the truth, I’d have done it meself years ago if I’d thought I could get away with it.’

 

Valentine and Louise were having dinner on the top floor of their crystal palace. The house was extremely flexible and sleeping could be accomplished or food consumed almost anywhere.

Beds were in all the rooms: single divans covered with brilliantly coloured silk or fur throws. The kitchen was in the basement on a level with the garage. Sometimes they ate there. More often they would make use of the dumb waiter, an elegant heated cube of stainless steel suspended on black rubber cables. This glided smoothly up and down inside a transparent shaft which thrust, like a powerful obelisk, straight up through the centre of the house.

Most days they shared the cooking but tonight Valentine had spent so much of his time looking after Mrs Leathers that Louise had shopped and prepared the meal. A guinea fowl cooked in white wine with fondant potatoes and a watercress salad. Grilled peaches with Amaretto and homemade Sable biscuits. The wine was Kesselstatt Riesling.