Guilty Pleasures (16 page)

‘They're called phone boxes down here. But I take your point. Thanks for the warning. Will you tell Harvey or will I?'

‘What is there to tell him? Unless you're outside his place now?'

‘About a mile away as it happens. I'll do a nice big circle and fetch up in Exeter. God bless, luvvy!'

I phoned Harvey anyway, just to put him in the picture, and then started the engine again. ‘Bugger Bridger's,' I said.

‘Couldn't have put it better myself. OK. But we'll talk later – right?' He squeezed my hand.

I returned the pressure. ‘The honest truth is I don't know. I really don't. It's more than just leaving a family home would be. He's my best friend and my business partner. And without him, I'd be less than nothing – some skeletal drug addict tart sleeping with strangers to bum enough for my next fix. He's given me everything – even my birth father, my pa, in a way. Hell's bells!' I'd been nosing out into the single track lane, but nearly lost my bonnet to a 4x4. I fell in behind it, at a pace that would have made Griff squeak in protest.

Unlike the 4x4, I dropped down to thirty to drive through the handful of houses that made up Bossingham and didn't speed up much to cross the Minnis.

‘This used to be open land,' I said, gesturing. ‘A common. But then it seemed that the wrong sort of undergrowth was taking over, so they got the best means of keeping it in check. Animals.'

‘Hence the fences? Seems a shame.'

‘Apparently, once they've done their job, they round up the animals, pull down and re-erect the fences, and put the animals in their new fields. All very scientific.'

‘And all completely irrelevant to your present – well, crisis doesn't seem too strong a word for it. You're doing what I've seen people in bad accidents do – rabbit on about things with their mouths to stop their brains having to deal with more important issues.'

‘Gee, thanks, Dr Morris.' I drove in silence for a while, but had an idea he was watching me. At last I said, ‘The colonel's place is over there. There's a lay-by about fifty metres further on: I'll pull in there so he doesn't think I'm hassling him again.'

‘He won't see you at all, Lina. He'll see me, and if he challenges me, I've got my ID to protect me. Why don't you phone Griff and tell him what's been happening?'

‘And spoil his holiday? He's off to Covent Garden with Aidan – a boys' night out with bells on.'

With a squeeze of the hand, he was gone. I poked the sound system and came up with Classic FM. Not sure I wanted to be soothed, I hunted round for some other stations. Nope. Nothing I fancied. Once I was deep into pop culture; somehow Griff had weaned me off it, though I drew the line at his idea of pop, the Bee Gees. News? Another outrage in Afghanistan, with kids my age blown to bits. Even the weather forecast was bad, especially in the south-west, where Griff and I were heading at the weekend.

‘You're right,' Morris declared as he let himself in and fastened his seat belt. ‘Anyone could get into the colonel's outbuildings, and not just from the farmyard the other side either. There's only one window on the side of the house you'd have to pass if you came from the road. I made it there and back without having baying hounds set on me.'

‘And you saw?'

‘Boxes of what looked liked books and tat, in equal measure. I should arrange to be away for next year's church fête, if I were you – you don't want to have to push crap like that to unsuspecting punters.'

‘Poor St Jude's needs more than the odd fête, poor thing. It's a lovely place – feels right inside, though the churchyard's dominated by a pretty nasty Victorian family tomb, all marble angels and terracotta curlicues.'

‘Is it far? It'd be nice to see the source of all this business.'

‘Five minutes down the road.'

Someone had left the wrought iron gates open, despite the little notice suggesting they close it. Another asked people to clear up after their dogs.

‘Why exercise animals here when there's a perfectly good wood next door?' Morris demanded. ‘I see what you mean about that tomb: wouldn't be out of place in Highgate cemetery, maybe, but in a backwater like this!' He stopped, frowning.

Naturally, I did too, trying to work out why he looked so troubled. There was a sweet smell I'd not noticed before, but then, the countryside was full of weird smells, most of them a bit off. And flies. They'd not bothered us during the fête. As one, we headed where they seemed to be gathering, the porch, but Morris beat me to it.

In one strange move he stopped, turned and, scooping me to him for a moment, turned me round and pushed me towards the car. ‘Go and call Robin, but make him stay with you. I'll do the rest. When I can get sodding network coverage, that is!' he added, almost shaking his mobile.

He paced with me, still making sure I didn't turn back. Did he think I'd turn in to a pillar of salt or something? At last he got through, hunching so I didn't hear everything he said. But I didn't need to, did I? For all his professionalism, even a policeman couldn't disguise his shock at finding a body. IC1 male.

Who? Not Robin, obviously, or I wouldn't be calling his number now. The colonel? No. Suddenly I felt very sick, and not the nausea that came with the smell of death. More closed down inside. Like a divvying attack, only worse. I knew who the flies were after. Just like that. Morris didn't need to come over to break the news gently, though he did. And I think the fact I told him before he could speak that it was X scared him as much as it scared me.

Robin arrived a very few minutes after a whole fleet of police vehicles. ‘Any idea who—?'

I nodded, unable to stop tears from dripping off my nose. I don't think I was actually crying for X, to be honest. Not as such. Griff had always dinned into me that one extra drink could kill him, that the stuff he usually consumed would have rotted the liver of most other men years back. But I could hardly embark on a detailed account of my own personal events, even though I felt deeply dishonest when Robin assumed I was grief-stricken for someone I knew well.

With Morris, later, much later, in the safety of our kitchen, I was more honest. ‘I only met him once. Met, as in had a conversation, as opposed to seeing him sliding away from the cottage. Same as you, really. Just the once. But I'd fed him, which makes everything seem more personal.'

He nodded as if he'd understood. ‘It would have been a hard enough day for you even without this,' he said.

‘You're sure it was natural causes?'

‘That's the third time you've asked that. And my answer's the same. We'll have to wait for the post-mortem. To be honest, I'd be surprised if it was anything else: hell, Lina, when I saw – met – him he looked dreadfully ill.' He stared somewhere I couldn't see. ‘It might not have been only the lack of personal hygiene that made him smell like that, you know.' He stopped, looking pretty choked himself. ‘Now, about phoning Griff. He'd want to be here, you know. Looking after you.'

‘And mourning X himself. Shit, Morris, I don't even know the poor guy's name!'

‘Which is another reason for calling Griff.'

As if agreeing, I checked my watch. Nearly eight. Griff would be in the opera house by now, mobile firmly off. ‘Too late. I'll have to wait till – what time will the opera finish? Eleven? And he needs his sleep, Morris – he's not been well,' I pleaded.

He held my face so I couldn't turn away from him. ‘You've got this all wrong, Lina. He'd want to look after you, not be nannied himself. He's a grown man – can make his own decisions about coming back overnight. OK, we'll have to leave phoning till after the opera's over, though believe me I have been known to have a call put out at the Festival Hall when I needed to. And by the way, don't think I don't know you weren't buying him time.' The warmth of his eyes belied his stern voice. ‘And maybe buying us time too? Maybe you didn't want me scooting off to a Travelodge or something and leaving you with only Tim the Bear and his smart but uncuddled friends for company?'

I didn't argue. I poured us both another glass of wine, but found I didn't want mine.

‘Did I see an Indian takeaway down in the village?' he asked. ‘Nothing like too much cholesterol, excess salt and meat from a dubious supplier when you feel a bit down. Shall we walk down together and set all the neighbours gossiping?'

In the event, I didn't reach Griff till the following morning. He'd forgotten to switch his mobile back on again, and in the end I had to call the more efficient Aidan's. Aidan didn't see any reason why Griff should abandon the timed tickets for the latest National Gallery exhibition, not to come and mourn someone who merely dredged car-boot sales and came up with the occasional find. However, Griff did, immediately. But only to come and comfort me.

Morris took over. There was something very intimate about having him take the handset from my hand and continue my conversation.

‘She's all right, Griff, I promise you. No, of course I didn't let her – I ID'd him myself, of course. So there's no reason why you should come down before you've looked your look – the Kent police will want to know everything you know about him, but since it looks as if his liver finally gave up the ghost, I can't imagine it'll be anything more than that. Nothing urgent till after the PM anyway . . . No, I don't like the word
autopsy
either. Of course I will. And I'm sure young Robin will be round to offer a spot of spiritual consolation.'

‘The press'll love this, won't they? The church gets featured because of its fête. Twenty-four hours later a wino breathes his last in the porch the fête was raising money for.' Robin paused to reflect on what he'd said. He didn't appear to think it was inappropriate, which shocked me. ‘The worst of it is, it's an unexplained death, so St Jude's being treated as a possible crime scene – which means I can't even get in to pray for him.'

He was sitting in the garden again; actually, puffing away like Thomas the Tank Engine, he was pacing round, glaring from time to time as if to rebuke the garden for being so tiny. Comforter he was not, although the only reason Morris had headed back to London was because he thought Robin could do a better professional job. He'd promised to be back as soon as he humanly could, but like me, he had work to do, and X's death was naturally being investigated by Kent police.

Eventually, I asked, ‘How has Fi taken the news? I mean, right on her patch – even more hers than yours because you've got all those other churches to worry about and that one's very much her baby.'

He flushed. ‘I couldn't get through to her last night or this morning. She must be away. You can't just leave a message with someone's answering service saying someone's died, can you? So I thought I'd write a proper note and drop it round, which I did. And I'll make a follow-up visit when I head back.'

‘She'll have heard if she was anywhere near the local news,' I pointed out. ‘Funny she hasn't phoned you.' Funny, and though I didn't say it, a bit worrying, for one reason or another. Perhaps, on the other hand, she was on the razzle with Colonel Bridger and not worrying about mundane things like unexplained deaths.

As soon as I could, I shooed him off, saying I must work despite everything. Which I tried. Nothing as complicated as Harvey's Edwardian vase. Another wretched Victorian Toby jug from our collector client. Even when new and perfect, this would never have been attractive, let alone beautiful.

I'd just finished the first bit of gluing, when the phone went. Lovely Morris, saying he'd arrived safely and one or two other things of no interest to anyone but me, to which I responded with equally private things. Suddenly, however, I heard myself saying, ‘Did I ever tell you I have a doppelgänger?' and pouring out the whole story of Cashmere Roll-Neck and Josie.

He didn't laugh. He didn't say anything for a bit. At last he said, ‘I think we should make every effort to find her.' And it didn't sound as if he wanted us to invite her to tea.

I made him promise not to go knocking on Josie's door – or, indeed, let anyone else disturb her. As for Cashmere Roll-Neck, Morris would have no compunction in asking the people in charge of the Cathedral party for a guest list.

‘But why the interest?' I pressed him.

‘I don't know, really. Just policeman's nose. Like your divvy instinct. But I've got word someone's trying to nick a Monet from someone with more money than security, and I'm afraid your double will have to go on the back-burner.'

‘Sounds pretty uncomfortable for her. Anyway, I owe Josie a phone call, and I'll raise it with her then.'

‘Will you tell Robin I'm on to Cashmere Roll-Neck? Is he all right, by the way? He seems really edgy.'

‘Edgy doesn't begin to describe it. I'm really worried about him, but he's so offhand, it's hard to ask all the sympathetic questions a friend should put. I know he's overworked, and domestic things seem to be getting on top of him. He's really worried about the future of St Jude's – and now X's death, of course.'

‘Sounds to me as if he's not been the shoulder to cry on I hoped he'd be.'

‘His poor shoulders are so hunched, it'd be hard to find anywhere to lean. Ah!' I added with a grin, ‘Griff's back – I just heard him call.'

‘And what will you tell him about us?'

‘The way he is, he'll probably tell me.'

SEVENTEEN

G
riff, however, barely had time to do more than drop a bunch of exciting-looking bags in the kitchen and sink into his favourite chair with a cup of green tea before the Kent police arrived, in the form of a tough-looking officer I'd met before, Steve – never Chalky – White. Then he'd been in uniform. Now he was in CID, he said with a grin that removed most of the Neanderthal from his features. He was here to talk about X. You could see him put quotation marks round the letter.