Deadfall (26 page)

‘I don't remember a party,' he admitted finally. ‘I don't remember anything. It's scary.'

‘Well, you only stayed for twenty minutes or so, and you certainly weren't drunk when you left. You'd only had a cupful of punch and left half of that. That would have been about eightish.
According to Sandy, it couldn't have been later than quarter-past when he found you.'

Linc shook his head helplessly. ‘I don't remember any of it,' he repeated. ‘Could someone have put something in my drink? Who was there?'

‘Just the conservation group and a few youngsters from the village,' Crispin said. ‘I can't imagine any of them doing something like that. I mean, it wasn't just a case of getting a bit tipsy. You were really bad there for a while.'

Linc looked broodingly at the bright squares of the window and something Crispin had said earlier came back to him with a jolt.

‘Nine o'clock! What day is it?'

‘Sunday.'

‘Oh, God! I should get home. It'll be time to open . . .' His voice faded. ‘Does he know?'

‘Dad?' Crispin shook his head. ‘No. I almost called him, but once you were through the worst I thought it best not. If he asks, just say you had one too many and stopped over here. I'll back that up and so will Nikki.'

‘Thanks.' Linc was sincerely grateful.

‘Anything for a quiet life.'

‘Amen to that.'

The door opened softly and Josie peered round it.

‘Oh. You're awake. How're you feeling?'

‘Much better now, thanks.' He hesitated, half-embarrassed. ‘Josie – I'm
so
sorry about all this. I don't know what happened, I can't remember a thing. From what Crispin says, I've been the house-guest from hell!'

‘It
was
pretty terrifying,' she admitted. ‘The doctor was ages coming. I rang him twice. He just
said to keep an eye on you, and that you'd probably sleep it off. But I wasn't sure about that. It wasn't normal sleep. Your breathing was so shallow and we couldn't begin to wake you. I was on the verge of calling an ambulance when he finally turned up. I was never more thankful to see anyone in my life!'

‘I'm sorry,' Linc repeated. ‘Crispin says Sandy brought me here. How on earth did that happen?'

Josie sat on the end of the bed. ‘He knew Mum and Dad were going to be out and was on his way here with a video and a bottle of wine to keep Ruth company while she was babysitting. He says he found you in your car on the side of the road near the bridge. You know, where we stopped the other day.'

She looked enquiringly at Linc, who shook his head.

‘I still don't remember.'

‘Well, apparently you were pretty lucky. He said if the car had rolled forward another couple of feet you'd have ended up in the stream like old River Joe. Anyway, Sandy said it would have been a struggle to get you into his car, so he drove you here in the Morgan.'

‘I wouldn't have given much for your chances if you
had
gone that extra yard,' Crispin observed mordantly. ‘If your car had tipped over like River Joe's pick-up, that soft top wouldn't have been much protection.'

There was a moment of thoughtful silence and then Josie said, ‘The doctor thought you might have OD'd. When you started to be sick, he said it was probably a good thing. Crispin says you weren't drinking. Was it something you ate?'

‘Linc wonders if someone slipped him a Mickey,' Crispin put in.

‘It was bloody stupid, if they did!' Josie said explosively. ‘Who? And for that matter, why?'

Linc sighed. ‘That's where the theory falls short,' he admitted.

‘Well, if they did, they ought to be brought to book for it. You could have been killed. I hope you're going to report it.'

A vision of DI Rockley armed with his pocketbook flashed into Linc's weary brain and he shrank from the prospect. ‘Oh, not again!' he protested, rubbing his aching forehead.

‘But you must!'

‘I really think she's right,' Crispin added.

Linc gave in. ‘All right. I'll do it on the way home.' He flipped back the duvet, prior to getting out. ‘Er . . . what happened to my clothes?'

Sunday at Farthingscourt had to be got through. In spite of Josie's protestations that he should stay in bed for the day and see the doctor again, Crispin drove Linc home via the police station, to arrive only a short while after the doors opened to the public at ten-thirty.

He had a cool shower, which did little to improve the fog that hung over his brain, and trudged through the first part of the day feeling as though he had a massive hangover. His father, who he saw briefly early on, appeared to notice nothing amiss but, coming into the office a little later, Mary looked hard at him and asked if he'd had a bad night.

‘Yeah, a bit rough,' he told her.

‘Too much to drink?' she asked, with what
seemed to be genuine sympathy, even though Linc couldn't imagine her ever having been the worse for wear.

‘Something like that,' he said, wishing it were as simple as that. With his brain only capable of operating at maintenance level, he had not attempted to sort out the implications of the previous night's events.

‘Mmm. I saw you sneak back in this morning, but I don't think your father noticed. He's still preoccupied with what happened yesterday.'

‘Yesterday?'

‘The Range-Rover . . . Don't tell me you've forgotten! Gosh, it must have been a heavy night!'

‘Of course. Sorry.'

He was sitting at his desk staring at paperwork that kept blurring on the page, and when Mary had finished what she was doing, she moved the papers and put a cup of coffee in front of him, suggesting that he recline his chair, shut his eyes and take it easy until he felt better.

‘The paperwork can wait and Geoff can manage perfectly well. He always does when you're riding at the weekend. I'll call you if there's a problem.'

‘Thanks. I might just do that.'

As the door closed behind her he took a sip of his coffee, adjusted his chair slightly and leaned back against the headrest. He had no intention of sleeping; he just wanted to close his eyes for a moment to try and ease the heavy pounding in his skull. The showers had cleared away overnight and day had dawned bright and sunny, the light intensifying his discomfort. Scarcely aware that he was doing it, his hand located the edge of the curtain
and twitched it half-across. The resulting shade was blessed . . .

‘. . . and when you
are
here you're half-asleep!'

Somebody had come into the office. Linc fought his way up through the layers of sleep.

‘Lincoln!' Sharply.

It was his father.
Damn
. Of all people it had to be him. Apart from the cut on his forehead, which had been closed with adhesive strips, he looked none the worse for the previous day's experience.

‘Are you listening to a word I'm saying?'

Linc was never at his best when suddenly woken up. It was as if the part of his brain that controlled tolerance and tact was the last to start functioning.

‘Oh, for God's sake!' he groaned. ‘What do you want?'

It could have been worse; he could have said the first thing that came into his head, which was,
Oh
, s
od off and leave me alone!

‘A little respect would be a start!' Viscount Tremayne obviously didn't appreciate his narrow escape. He drew back the curtain, flooding the office with sunlight, and Linc winced and turned his head away.

His father frowned. ‘Are you hung over?'

‘In a manner of speaking . . .'

‘Don't be flippant! Either you are or you aren't.'

‘I think someone spiked my drink last night,' he said, rubbing one hand wearily across his eyes. He had hoped to avoid the subject but it was plain he couldn't. He knew from experience that if his father were in interrogative mode, he would keep probing until he had the whole story, and any attempt to
foil him would be regarded as proof of a guilty conscience.

Linc found he was drifting again and concentrated with an effort. His father was regarding him searchingly.

‘When? Last night? Where?'

‘At the conservation do.'

‘At the party? Well, have you any idea by whom? Or why?'

Linc shook his head. It had been occupying his mind all morning – or at least, that part of it in which he'd been able to marshal any sensible thought processes at all.

At the police station, Manston had been on duty once again. He'd taken the incident very seriously and asked Crispin to furnish him with a full list of the partygoers by the end of the day. He also wanted to know the name of the doctor who had attended Linc at the Vicarage, and was interested to hear of Sandy's part in the drama.

Crispin told Manston that Linc had left his cup of punch on the drinks table while he went off to talk to the volunteer group leader, and Manston immediately wanted details of everyone who had approached the table at that time. Crispin did his best, but as he couldn't fit names to the faces of those who'd been at the party, he wasn't much help.

‘Would your wife be able to help us?' Manston wanted to know.

‘Well, she might,' Crispin said doubtfully. ‘She organised the whole thing, so she had more to do with them than I did, but she was here, there and everywhere, all evening.'

‘But you didn't leave the table at all?'

‘No. Yes – wait a minute – I did! Someone came to tell me my car alarm was going off, so I nipped out to the car park to switch it off,' he said. ‘But I was gone less than two minutes.'

‘Plenty of time for someone to slip something in your brother's drink, though, if they'd been watching for an opportunity,' Manston pointed out.

‘Well, yes – I suppose so, but Nikki was around somewhere and Beverley had come over by then, too. My mother-in-law, Beverley Pike,' he added, seeing Manston's questioning look.

As Linc could still not recall anything about the party or what followed, Manston had sent them on their way.

But even if opportunity had been found, the question of motive remained. Who, at the party, could possibly have wanted to render Linc helpless? And to what end?

‘Linc! Good God, it's like trying to talk to a zombie! I asked you if you'd reported it.' The Viscount's patience, never his strongest point, was wearing dangerously thin.

‘I'm sorry. Yes, I did,
and
I've seen a doctor,' Linc told him. ‘So now you know as much as I do. All in all, it was probably just a misguided prank.'

‘Is that what Rockley thinks?'

‘It was Manston, and he didn't precisely say,' Linc hedged. ‘He said they'd look into it, but there were several gatecrashers there last night – mostly kids from the village – but it makes it very difficult to account for everyone.'

‘So you've had no more warning notes?'

‘Not since the last one.' Linc was troubled by a
twinge of guilt but ruthlessly smothered it. After all, it was technically true.

His father was regarding him steadily, as if unsure whether to believe him, and Linc returned the look, trying not to imagine, as he had done in his childhood, that his father could see inside his head and would know he was lying.

After what seemed an age, the Viscount shrugged and turned towards the door, saying, ‘Well, you'd better take the afternoon off and sort yourself out. Get some sleep, you look as though you need it.'

‘I'll be okay . . .' Linc began, but his father turned and fixed him with a quelling eye.

‘I'm your employer and you'll do as you're told,' he said with finality.

More or less banished to his room for the afternoon, like a school-aged kid, Linc nevertheless found the lure of a couple of hours of rest in a darkened room too much to resist and stretched out on his bed. His body had other ideas, however, and he slept for a full eight hours, only waking when his mobile phone trilled on the bedside table. It was Josie, concerned that she hadn't heard from him but relieved that he'd been resting.

Monday found Linc still a little fragile but generally much improved, so he got up at his usual early hour and drove over to the Vicarage to ride Noddy. He arrived to find Ruth tidying away the mucking out tools, accompanied unusually by Hannah. He looked at his watch in surprise.

‘Am I late or are you early?' he asked, getting out of the car. He hadn't seen Ruth the previous morning and had dreaded the awkwardness of their
meeting after the gruesome business of Saturday night, but it seemed she had other things on her mind.

‘No, I'm early. I fed them all at six, so you can ride if you want. We're all going to the hospital. Mum called – something's going on with Abby. They think she might be waking up!'

‘Really? That's brilliant! Go on then, you go. I'll finish up here.'

‘You don't mind?'

‘Don't be daft!'

‘Oh, thanks.' Already halfway across the yard, Ruth paused. ‘Are you all right now? After the other night, I mean. That was horrible!'

‘We thought you were dead at first!' Hannah put in, with ghoulish relish. ‘You looked like a corpse.'

‘Hannah!' Ruth exclaimed, crossly.

‘I felt like one,' Linc responded. ‘But I'm much better today, thanks. Now go!'

‘We'll ring you if there's any news,' Ruth said, backing away and dragging her sister by the hand. ‘Are you sure you don't mind?'

Linc waved her on and went to get Noddy ready, trying to keep the leaping hope under control. Dreadful if it was yet another false alarm.

By the time he'd ridden and rubbed Noddy down, there had still been no word and the first thrill of excitement had settled into a wary anticipation. What if the change in her condition signalled not a return to consciousness but a deterioration? The effect it would have on the rest of the family didn't bear thinking about.