Breaking Point (23 page)

‘Will I have to go as well?' Hawkins asked querulously.

‘You may,' Paget told him, ‘but I wouldn't worry about it if I were you; considering the state of your health they will probably come out here and take your statement.'

Hawkins made a face. ‘Rather go to the inquest,' he said. ‘I've never been to one of them. Be a bit of a change, wouldn't it?'

‘Then don't even mention your health if they send you a notice,' Tregalles advised. ‘But how will you get there? The inquest will be in Broadminster.'

‘I'll take him,' Nichols volunteered. ‘I'll have to go right past here anyway, so it won't be any trouble. All right, Mr Hawkins?'

The old man beamed. ‘That it is, lad,' he said. ‘That it is!'

Grace stared blankly at the paperwork in front of her. Knowing that Neil would not be home until later in the evening, she had decided to stay on at work and get a head start on her month-end report. But she might as well have gone home for all she'd accomplished, because she was still smouldering over Charlie's decision to pull her from the team.

His words had been going round and round inside her head ever since he and the others had left.

‘I'm sorry, Grace, but it's for your own good. I really don't think you're ready for something like this, not so soon after . . .' He'd left the sentence unfinished, but they both knew what he meant.

She'd argued, but to no avail. Charlie had stopped short of making it an order, and she'd had the good sense not to push it to the limit, but the argument had left her feeling frustrated and annoyed, not just with Charlie, but with herself – and guilty, because she felt she'd let Charlie down.

But what was worse, she felt she'd let herself down. She'd been a fool to think that she could carry on as if everything was fine; dodging questions, saying she was ‘just tired', when Neil had shown concern. Even before Neil had told Charlie that he was worried about the overtime Grace was working, Charlie had known there was something wrong. He'd told her that the other day. And if Charlie knew, then Neil probably knew as well.

Grace leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Probably? Of
course
Neil must know. She'd thought she was being so clever in keeping her secret to herself, but she had seen the questions in his eyes; heard them in his voice . . .

He was waiting for her to tell him what was wrong. He trusted her. She couldn't let him down.

Grace felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She'd thought she was doing things for the best; thought she could work things out without anyone knowing, but she'd been wrong, and time was running out. There was only one thing she could think of left to try, and the very thought of what might happen if that didn't work was enough to . . .

She thrust the thought away. She had no choice. It simply
had
to work.

They found Starkie sitting at the kitchen table writing up his notes.

‘How the hell you expected me to do an examination while this one was still in that monster of a bathtub, I don't know,' he greeted them. ‘I may have lost weight, but I'm not a bloody contortionist, and I wasn't going to climb in there with her. So I had one of your constables pull her out. The one with the smirk and smart-arsed questions about my sense of direction. He wasn't smirking quite so much by the time he got her out of the bath, I can tell you. Serve the cheeky young sod right.'

‘You would have complained just as much if we'd moved her,' Paget told him. ‘So, apart from that, what can you tell us, Reg? How and when did she die?'

‘Initial observation, subject to change when I get her on the slab, I'd say she drowned. But the bruising on her knees and elbows, around the shoulders, upper body, throat, nose and mouth, and on her scalp suggests to me that she struggled very hard when someone held her under. All of which, as I said, will have to be confirmed, of course.'

‘Any other signs of abuse?' asked Paget.

‘Can't tell as yet. As for time of death, it's hard to say. I'm told the electric heater was on and the room was like an oven when they found her, so we may never know exactly. The best I can give you now is two to five days. That high temperature in the room does make it difficult.'

‘Which could mean,' Tregalles said softly, ‘that what the old man next door said he heard around nine o'clock on Friday night, was Rose Ryan being killed.'

Everyone else was either out in the country with Charlie or had gone to their homes long ago when Grace left the office and went to her car. The sky was clear and the temperature was dropping, which was odd, because they had been forecasting rain. But there was a decided nip in the air, and she wondered if there would be a frost before morning.

She could have walked to where she was going, but now that she'd made up her mind she wanted to be there as quickly as possible; no delays, no second thoughts. If she didn't do it now . . .

She got in the car and fastened her seatbelt. Funny how comforting it felt. It was like someone holding you, keeping you safe.

She thought of Neil, and the temptation was strong to go straight home, to draw strength from his arms and from his love. But that would solve nothing; this was something she had to do on her own.

She drew a deep breath and started the car.

‘She'd undressed in the bedroom, her clothes were folded on the chair at the bottom of the bed, and the bathrobe was on the floor beside the tub,' Charlie said. ‘So I'd say she was probably in the tub when her attacker arrived, but how he got in, I don't know. There's no apparent tampering with the locks on either door, so either a door was unlocked, or he or she had a key. The back door key is missing, so whoever did this must have locked up when they left and taken the key with them

‘She fought hard. There is skin under her nails, so her killer has a few scratches on him – I'm assuming it was a male until I see something that makes me think otherwise – but it would be almost impossible for her to fight back with any degree of success from her position in the tub. Any idea who did this?'

Paget shook his head. ‘I wish to God I did,' he said, ‘but it looks to me as if once we connected Fletcher to the disappearance of Mark Newman, and he was forced to run, both he and his girlfriend had to be silenced.'

‘You didn't have anyone watching the house?'

‘Don't have the resources,' Paget told him. ‘Best we can do these days is have the local people keep an eye on the place if or when they happen to go by, and then only if it doesn't interfere with their regular duties.'

‘So it's wide open?'

‘Afraid so, Charlie.' Paget turned to Tregalles. ‘But if someone thought it necessary to kill Rose Ryan for fear she might talk, they might do the same to the Greens, so regulations or not, I think we had better make an exception in this case. Fletcher was with them for several days, and these people don't take any chances. So I want someone with them in their house tonight.'

He looked at the time. ‘And since there seems to be nothing more to be done here, I suggest we wrap this up and go home and get some sleep.'

C
harlie Dobbs realized later that he'd seen the car as he drove back to the office, but it didn't register at the time, so preoccupied was he with the night's activities. His men were still out there at the cottage, and they would probably be there for a few more hours, but he would be surprised if they came up with anything worthwhile. He just wished they could find something –
anything
– for Paget to work with, but as things stood now, the chief inspector might as well be treading water for all the progress he was likely to make.

But there was one thing he did know, and that was that they were dealing with an organization of some kind; an organization that didn't like loose ends. First, Mark Newman had disappeared, then Doyle, then Fletcher, and now Fletcher's girlfriend had been killed.

So who was next? Was Paget right? Would they go after Bernie Green and his wife? They should be safe enough tonight with police protection, but that wasn't going to last long by the sound of it.

He pulled up in front of the office. He didn't intend to stay very long, so he parked the car beneath a street light in front of the office rather than going to the bother of operating the coded gate to the underground parking. The car was alarmed, and the engine wouldn't start without the code, so he wasn't too worried about having it nicked. Besides, it was four years old, and not one of the top ten being targeted by thieves this month.

He could manage an hour, he decided as he sat down at the desk and took several papers from his in tray. Reports, and more reports. Whatever happened, he wondered idly, to the paperless society everyone had been talking about when computers came on the scene? If anything, there was even more paper now than ever, and since everyone wanted a copy of everything, there must be millions upon millions of filing cabinets throughout the world just stuffed with useless information.

The thought intrigued him, and he began to wonder if it would be possible to get a government grant to do, say, a five-year study of the filing habits of corporations and businesses. Revenue and Customs, now there would be a good place to start.

Charlie dragged his mind back to the work in front of him, but he'd no more than read the first line when his phone rang. He groaned when he saw the calling number.

‘Neil,' he answered wearily. ‘I hope you're not calling to say you've got another one.'

‘Not exactly, Charlie,' said Paget more lightly than he felt. ‘But I do have a missing Grace, and since time is getting on, I wondered if she's still in the office. I tried her mobile phone, but she must have it switched off.'

‘I've only just got in myself,' Charlie said cautiously. ‘She's not here, but I know she said she was going to stay on here for a while this evening. She's probably on her way . . .'

He stopped. He remembered seeing Grace's car on his way in. Seeing it and yet not registering what he saw, because it was where it had always been in the past, and he'd thought nothing of it. If only he'd been a little more alert he would have stopped, but . . .

‘Charlie? Charlie!' Paget's voice rose in alarm. ‘What is it? What's the matter?'

Charlie slammed his fist down on the desk beside the phone. ‘Damn!' he said. ‘Missed the cheeky little sod! Sorry Neil, but would you believe it? A mouse just ran across the desk, bold as brass. I'm going to have to set traps. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. I was going to say Grace won't have had any supper, so she may have stopped at that late-night deli she likes on Bridge Street for a bite before coming home. She probably thought that you wouldn't be home until later, so she won't be in any hurry.'

‘Yes, that could be it,' Paget agreed. ‘Still, I wish she'd leave her mobile on.'

The phone was barely back on its rest before Charlie grabbed his coat and made for the door. Down the stairs and into the car; he was doing fifty by the time he hit the end of the street.

Grace's car was there in front of the flat, and there was a light shining dimly behind the curtains in an upstairs window. Charlie pulled in to the kerb, switched off and left the car. The front door opened to his touch, and suddenly his head was filled with vivid images of the things that had taken place there just three short months ago, and he was filled with apprehension as he looked up the narrow stairs to the light at the top.

It wasn't the landing light – too dim, but he knew exactly where it was coming from. He called out, ‘Grace? You up there? It's Charlie.'

No answer.

He took the stairs two at a time, pausing on the landing, facing the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar.

‘Grace?' he called softly. No answer. He pushed the door open. It swung back silently. He stepped inside, caught his breath.

‘Oh, God!' he whispered. ‘Oh, my God!'

Paget couldn't settle. He knew he was being foolish to worry about Grace; she was a very capable woman who could take good care of herself. On the other hand there were a lot of nutters out there on the roads, drunks, dopers, drivers with problems, and you never knew who was coming toward you.

He looked at the clock again. The hands had barely moved since the last time he'd looked. Ten more minutes, he decided. He'd give her ten more minutes . . .

It was as if his whole body had turned to ice. Charlie stood there in the doorway, unable to move, unable to speak as he stared at the old, high-sided bathtub so reminiscent of the one he'd seen earlier that evening. But this one was filled with water, just as it had been on that fateful night three months ago, and Grace lay there, head on one side, one arm hanging over the side, limp and lifeless.

‘Grace!' The word choked in his throat as he forced himself to move. ‘For God's sake, Grace.' He touched her arm and suddenly a great surge of water slopped over the side of the tub and soaked his sleeve.

Graces eyes flew open. ‘Charlie! Where did – what –? Oh, God, Charlie, you scared the life out of me. I must have fallen asleep.'

‘Scared the life out of
you?
For God's sake, Grace, just what the hell do you think you're doing? I thought you were dead!'

Grace struggled to sit up, and only then did she seem to realize she was naked. ‘Hand me that towel, please, Charlie,' she said, ‘and turn around while I get out.'

He handed her the towel. ‘Now,' he said, ‘would you like to tell me just what the hell is going on here, Grace?'

‘Just give me a minute to get my clothes on and I'll tell you,' she said as she climbed out of the tub, ‘but one thing I can tell you is that I feel as if a great weight has been lifted, and I feel wonderful. It worked, Charlie. It really worked!'

‘I don't know what worked,' Charlie said, ‘but I do know that Neil is worried about you. He phoned me a few minutes ago, and I think the sooner you give him a call and tell him you're all right, the better.'