Deadfall (42 page)

He disconnected and found Rockley regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

‘A couple of meetings? I suppose that's one way of putting it. But it makes me wonder what you're not telling
me
 . . .'

Linc shrugged and pursed his lips. ‘Nothing important.'

‘But . . .? Come on, Linc. I can see you've got something on your mind.'

He looked down at his hands, frowning; not sure whether he wanted to talk about it. It seemed incomprehensible, looking back on it.

‘I almost gave myself up, back there in the unit,' he said finally. ‘Marty was so close I was breathing his cigarette smoke, but I was well hidden, he couldn't have found me without climbing up. I knew what they'd do if they caught me – Judge made that perfectly clear – but suddenly I just wanted it all to be over, as if anything was better than waiting for it to happen. I can't explain it . . .'

He looked up at Rockley, not knowing what to expect, but the policeman was nodding, apparently unsurprised. ‘It's actually not that unusual. It's a known phenomenon – probably got some high-faluting name, if we did but know it. It happens even under war conditions when people know they'll be shot on sight. The tension becomes too much to bear and they just stand up in front of the guns. It seems daft but it happens. Try not to worry about it.' He paused, looking thoughtful. ‘I hate to do this, but I need to ask you a favour . . .'

‘Just as long as it doesn't involve vigorous physical activity,' Linc stipulated. ‘I haven't done that much running since I hung up my rugby boots, and that was longer ago than I care to admit.'

‘No running,' Rockley assured him. ‘And no
stunt driving either. No, I'm afraid this has to do with your friend Sandy Wilkes.'

‘Ah,' Linc said heavily.

‘I know he's your mate, Linc, but it's too much to suppose that being in the business he is
and
being associated with Alan Judge, he had nothing to do with the tack theft ring. That would be one hell of a coincidence, and in my line of work those kind of coincidences almost always turn out to be something else altogether.'

‘He saved my life . . .'

‘Yes, I know. And I wouldn't mind betting he got a rocketing from his boss because of it, if Judge ever found out.'

‘But . . .' Linc paused, remembering the day he'd gone to Sandy's premises, bottle of Scotch in hand, to thank the saddler. Judge had been there then and he'd been patently unhappy about something. He forced his mind back. ‘
If you'd used your head there wouldn't still be a problem
,' Judge had said. ‘.
. . you had a chance to put things right and you didn't . 
. .' Had he been talking about the night Sandy had found Linc unconscious in his car? Was he suggesting that Sandy could have finished what someone else had started?

‘He needn't have done it at all,' Linc persisted, but even to his own ears he sounded less sure. ‘He could have just left me there in my car but he took me to the Vicarage . . .'

‘I'm not saying he's a murderer, or even that he had anything to do with the attack on Abby Hathaway, but I
am
saying that I'm pretty sure he's guilty by association, if nothing else. I'd stake my reputation on it.'

‘Who do you think did attack Abby? Have you any idea?'

‘An idea, yes; the proof may take a little longer. I think it lies in the concept that people, to a large extent, see what they expect to see. I think Abby was convinced it was you because she went down to the yard expecting it to be you, saw someone – perhaps from behind – who was enough like you not to raise any suspicions, and was struck down before she was fully aware that it wasn't you.' Rockley paused. ‘And who do we know – not a million miles from here – about your height, dark-haired and wearing a leather jacket very much like one I've seen you wear?'

‘Marty Lucas!' Linc said on a note of discovery. ‘Of course. So what now? Do you think he'll confess?'

The detective shrugged. ‘I'm afraid it's not very likely. It's not the first time we've had occasion to question Mr Lucas, and he's notoriously silent under interrogation. No, this is where we need a favour from you—'

He broke off, looking up enquiringly as the officer in the black waterproof stuck his head round the door.

‘We've got the lad, Guv.'

‘Good. You'd better get them all back to the station, then. Any injuries to speak of?'

‘Nothing much. I'll be off then,' the policeman said, suiting his actions to the words.

‘What'll happen to Scott?' Linc asked. ‘A slap on the wrist and a caution?'

Rockley shook his head. ‘Not this time. He's got an ASBO on him. Anti-social behaviour order. He
must have breached that a dozen times this afternoon. It'll be a custodial sentence this time. He's run out of chances.'

‘Well, that's something at least. So, what is it you want me to do?' Linc said, reverting to their previous conversation, and afraid he already knew the answer.

‘Well, as I was saying, I don't anticipate getting much joy from Marty Lucas. Naturally we can charge him in connection with what's gone on here today, but unless Judge is forthcoming we don't have any evidence against him or anyone else for the attack on Abby, and that's what I'd really like to pin on them.'

‘But Judge more or less admitted responsibility to me, I told you.'

‘Yes, but I'm afraid “more or less” via a third party – however respectable – would be torn to shreds in court by a good lawyer,' Rockley told him. ‘I want the case against them to be absolutely concrete. Sorry – bad choice of word, considering what you've been through!'

‘I don't know whether Judge really meant that, about the concrete. I mean, the stuff he showed me – the base for his new garage – wasn't deep enough. When I pushed him and he sat down in it, it only came up to his waist.'

‘Plenty of other places on a building site. With the site foreman on side, they could have put a body under the rubble in one of the foundation trenches and the lads would have topped it off with cement the following day, none the wiser.'

‘I guess so.' It was a deeply sobering thought. ‘So what are you saying? That you want me to get
Sandy to talk, is that it? What if he doesn't know anything? He could just be the . . . what do you call it . . .?'

‘The fence?' Rockley supplied. ‘No, I don't think so. If this was a small-scale operation then maybe. But we're almost certain that the saddles were shipped out to Ireland – which is of course where Judge Haulage would come in very useful. And besides, it was obvious that they had inside information. Where the stables were; whether they had security; even knowledge as to when the owners were going to be away. I think Sandy Wilkes was well aware what was going on, and who was involved. All we need is for him to agree to testify, and that's where you come in.'

Linc looked long and hard at Rockley, then sighed.

‘Okay, I'll give it a go. When?'

‘ASAP. Now, preferably. Before he finds out what's happened from someone else.'

Linc ran a hand through his wet hair.

‘Oh, God! What a day!'

‘I know. I'm sorry to have to ask you . . .'

He didn't look particularly sorry, Linc thought. What he did look was grey and exhausted. All at once he remembered what Farquharson had told him, earlier that afternoon.

‘It's all right. I guess you've had a pig of a day, too. I gather there was a bit of bother in Bournemouth. Someone with a bomb?'

‘Said he had one in a shoebox. Waved it at us through the window. We cordoned the whole area off, evacuated the buildings, the works.'

‘But it wasn't a bomb?'

‘No. It was a pair of shoes.' Rockley rubbed his eyes. ‘And, yes, I have had a pig of a day. I haven't been home for thirty-six hours and I'm running on caffeine. So what do you say? Will you do it?'

Linc nodded, shedding the blanket and getting to his feet. ‘Lead on, MacDuff.'

It was generally agreed that Linc should drive the Morgan to Shaftesbury, to present an appearance of normality, but in spite of a vigorous mopping up and towelling down, the leather seats still felt decidedly damp, as, consequently, did Linc's trousers by the time he arrived at Sandy's unit.

Parking next to the saddler's lorry, Linc could see a light through the high, narrow window of the office, and was forced to relinquish the faint hope that Sandy might be out. Outside the building, a man in overalls was halfway up a ladder, apparently doing something to the telephone wires. Linc greeted him briefly and went on in.

It wasn't possible to be sure whether Judge had kept Sandy advised of his plans regarding Linc, but the saddler's reaction, when Linc knocked and entered the office, seemed to suggest that he hadn't.

‘Linc. You look a bit soggy! D'you fancy a cuppa?' he asked, showing no particular surprise at seeing him. Tiger bustled forward, his stumpy tail wagging ecstatically.

‘Thanks. Yes, I got caught in a cloudburst with the soft-top down. The Morgan's going to take ages to dry out.'

‘Oh, bad luck! Pull up a pew.' Sandy busied himself with the kettle and mugs.

‘Got trouble with your telephone?' Linc asked, waving a hand towards the window.

‘Well, I didn't think so, but apparently there's a fault on one of the lines and the guy said he needed to check all of them to locate it. I told him I didn't mind what he did as long as he didn't charge me for it. So . . . have you spoken to Al yet?'

Even though it was what Linc had come to talk about, the swift change of direction caught him napping. He ducked his head, making a fuss of the dog.

‘Al?'

Sandy turned, eyebrows raised, with a jar of coffee in one hand and a teaspoon in the other.

‘Yeah, Al Judge. About the sponsorship?'

‘As a matter of fact, yes, I have. I turned his offer down.'

Sandy became very still.

‘Why would you do that? I thought you were desperate for a sponsor.'

‘Not
that
desperate,' Linc replied. ‘Sandy, I know who Barnaby is.'

‘Barnaby? Oh, the Barnaby you were looking for. So, who is it?'

‘Come on, Sandy. Don't pretend you don't know. Barnaby Rudge – Judge. You almost told me yourself.'

‘Ah.' The saddler sighed, looking disappointed but not noticeably shamefaced. ‘I told Al it wouldn't work. He had some stupid idea that once he had you on the payroll, so to speak, he could talk you round even if you found out. I told him he was wrong but he wouldn't listen.' He turned back
to his coffee-making. ‘So what're you going to do about it?'

‘I was hoping
you'd
have the answer to that one,' Linc said. ‘I don't have any proof, only supposition. You, on the other hand, could give the police all the information they need.'

Rockley had agreed that in this situation it might be best to keep Sandy in ignorance of the day's events and encourage him to come forward of his own free will, but at first it didn't look as though the plan was going to work.

‘Me?' he exclaimed, swinging round. ‘Why me? I admit I guessed that Judge was the Barnaby you were looking for, but surely you don't believe I was involved in the rest of it?'

Linc said nothing, merely stared at the saddler, deeply disappointed.

Sandy turned away, pouring boiling water and then milk in a silence that fairly buzzed with tension. Finally, he put a mug of coffee on the desk in front of Linc, sat down opposite him and said in a low, slightly unsteady voice, ‘He'd kill me if I talked!'

‘With your testimony, he'd be put away,' Linc coaxed. ‘He wouldn't be able to get at you.'

Sandy shook his head. ‘I can't.'

‘I don't think you have a choice, Sandy. If you knew what Judge was up to, you're already involved, whether you like it or not. Don't you see that this is your only way out? If you agree to testify, it'll count in your favour. We can't let Judge get away with this. Think of Abby . . .'

Sandy looked directly at him, his good-natured, freckled face intensely troubled. ‘That's just it though, Linc. Abby. I was there. I
am
involved!'

Linc felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach.

‘You were there?' he repeated stupidly.

‘I didn't hit her! That was Marty,' Sandy declared, caution thrown to the winds now in his desperation that Linc should believe him. ‘I wouldn't have hit her. I was putting stuff in the van, I didn't even see her go by. I would never have hurt her, you've got to believe me!'

‘You left her there,' Linc stated flatly. ‘On the floor of the tackroom.'

‘I wanted to ring for an ambulance but Marty said they'd trace the call. Linc, for God's sake, you know me. You know I'd never hurt anyone.'

‘I thought I did. But when I think how you sat in the kitchen at the Vicarage, just three days later, having lunch with her family . . . How could you do that? Little Toby was crying,' Linc remembered, shaking his head in disgust. ‘And how could you lead Ruth on like that? Take her out, make her fall for you, after all you'd done? You're a complete bastard, do you know that?'

Sandy flinched. ‘I'm sorry. What can I say? I never meant for any of this to happen. I owed Al big-time for some stuff way back, and he called in the favour. At first he just wanted a bit of information; you know, who had stables away from the house, who'd got new tack, and what the security was like. I chat to people all the time, and get to know when they're going away or going to be out for an evening. Sometimes I'd get invited to parties or to bring my gear along to riding demos, and I'd see who was there and then give Al a ring and let him know.'

Linc could hardly believe what he was hearing. ‘So, while you were out socialising with these people, Marty was clearing out their tackrooms!'