The Evil that Men Do (29 page)

‘Nobody there to see you,' he said slowly. ‘Far as I know.'

‘You're probably right, but just in case someone is there, I don't want them to see me. It might be someone who  . . . who has no business being there.'

‘Same as you,' he said. I looked at him in some alarm, but his shoulders were shaking again in that disconcerting silent laughter.

‘Same as me,' I agreed. ‘Are there any trees or anything near the house?'

He scratched his head. ‘Don't recall. Remember the general layout, not the details. Haven't been down this way in years. Will the dog go with me?'

It was such a non sequitur, I couldn't think what he meant.

‘If I was to be going along,' he said slowly, patiently, ‘walking my dog as you might say, would he go with me?'

‘Oh. Well  . . . I have no idea, actually. He's very friendly, but in the last few days I think he's decided Alan and I are his masters. Here's his lead. Try it for a little way and see.'

Watson bounded out of the car. He was definitely tired of sitting and riding, and would have preferred a nice run over the hills, but he accepted his lead quietly enough. I handed the end to Fred, who squatted down and gave him a hand to sniff.

‘Who's a good boy, then? Who's a lovely boy?' He used that same foolish, doting tone that Alan adopted towards the dog. Were all Englishmen potty when it came to dogs, I wondered?

Watson's tail was wagging furiously, and he licked the proffered hand so eagerly that I felt a small pang of jealousy, instantly suppressed.

‘Who wants to go for a nice walkies, eh, old chap?' Watson indicated that he was the one, oh yes, indeed. His whole body was quivering with joy.

‘Everybody around here knows me, you see. Even if I'm seen, it won't matter. Old Fred's got a new dog. I can spy out the land for you. What am I looking for?'

‘Any sign of occupation. Smoke from the chimney, maybe, though there'd scarcely be a fire on such a warm day. Lights or an open window or  . . . well, just anything to show anyone was inside, or had been. But I shouldn't let you do this.'

‘Safer for me than for you. I'd not let you go alone.'

That male chivalry again. ‘Yes  . . . well, all right, but be careful. This is  . . . there could be  . . . just be careful!'

‘Right. Yes, old boy, we're off, then.' And he set off, not down the road, but across the field where the horses were placidly grazing. Watson stopped and gave me a backward look.

‘It's all right, sweetheart. Go with the nice man.' And how silly to think that the dog understood a word I said, but he turned around as if satisfied and trotted along beside Fred as perfectly as if they'd been at some elite dog show.

Whoever Watson's master had been, he had trained his dog very well indeed. It was odd that he hadn't put up advertisements for him all over England. I certainly would have. I'd never have guessed I could become so fond of a dog in such a short time, I who had kept cats for well over fifty years. I shouldn't let myself think of how the cats were going to react to Watson. It might never come to that.

What would Fred find at the house? I shouldn't have let him go. I knew what he might be getting into. He thought I was just being melodramatic. If Ben really was there, with Jo, he'd do anything to keep from being seen. Oh, dear heaven, he might even  . . . no, I wouldn't think about that. He didn't want Jo dead. She was no use to him dead. I had to cling to that idea.

But Fred was of no use to Ben whatever. He would have no compunction about disposing of Fred. And, oh, Watson! What if Watson barked and made a fuss and Ben  . . .

My cell phone rang. I didn't know what the sound was at first. I hadn't taken the time to figure out how to reset the ringtone, and I thought someone was approaching with a radio tuned to some dreadful rock station.

I managed to click ‘send' just before the thing went to voicemail, thinking as I did so that the coding was very odd. ‘Send' ought to be for transmitting a call, not receiving one. However  . . . ‘Hello?' I croaked.

Of course it was Alan. Who else had the number? ‘I have a little news, love. Where are you?'

That put me in an immediate dilemma. If I told him what was happening, he would be extremely upset. I should have called him the minute I saw the horses, he would say. I shouldn't have sent Fred into danger. I should get away from there right now. And so on.

And he was right. I should have done all that. The trouble was, I'd had the blasted phone about five minutes and hadn't got used to the idea that I
could
call Alan in a dicey situation.

On the other hand, if I didn't tell him, I'd lose the chance of valuable help, and only defer his wrath until he found out later.

‘Dorothy? Dorothy, are you there?'

‘Yes. Alan, I've done something awfully stupid, and I think you'd better come right away. I'm
all right
!' I could tell from the quality of his silence that he was about to go into a tailspin. ‘But let me tell you where I am, because I do think you'd best be here as soon as you can get here.' I looked at my map. ‘It's off the B3462. There's  . . . well, there's nothing really distinctive in the way of landmarks, but Fred says there's an abandoned farm just over the hill, a place that's been for sale for a couple of years. A local might be able to locate it for you. But no, look. Are you close to any place where you could buy a copy of this OS map? Because the quickest way is if I give you coordinates.'

‘Right. I'll go buy the map and call you as soon as I'm on my way. Don't explain now, it'll just waste time.'

Amazing how much better I felt, just hearing his voice. Never mind if he scolded me later. I deserved it. The main thing was that he was coming, and everything would be all right.

‘Are you lost? Is there something I can do to help?'

I nearly had a heart attack then and there. I hadn't heard the man approach. A large friendly man was leaning in the window on the driver's side, smiling at me in a concerned sort of way.

‘Goodness, you startled me! Yes, I'm fine. I'm just waiting here for my driver to return.'

‘Out of petrol? I'm afraid he'll have an awfully long walk. There's no village for miles, not even a farmhouse where he might borrow some. You chose a bad spot to be marooned.'

‘Oh, no, we've plenty of gas  . . . er, petrol. He just  . . .' What on earth
was
he doing? My usual gift of a ready lie seemed to have deserted me.

The man was giving me a peculiar look. I had to say something. I said a quick prayer for inspiration, but my mind was concentrated elsewhere. In fact, I was badly in need of a loo. Nerves, probably.

Aha! I tried hard to blush. ‘Oh, dear, this is embarrassing! He  . . . I think he went in search of  . . . that is, we had some very hot curry for lunch, and  . . . well, there's no farmhouse in sight, but he hoped there might be at least an outhouse somewhere. I'm sorry, I don't know if that's the right word in England. In America we call them outhouses—'

‘I'm familiar with the term. I don't know that there are any nearby, though I'm a stranger to this part of the world. There are plenty of bushes, however.'

‘Yes, well  . . . that isn't quite his problem.'

‘Needs must when the devil drives, however, eh? Well, it's a lonely spot. I'll just wait with you until he returns, shall I?'

‘Thank you, but there's no need. I'm sure he'll be back soon.' I wasn't sure why, but something about this man was making me nervous. He also looked vaguely familiar.

He was apparently determined to discourage me about Fred's fictitious search for a WC. ‘Not if he's determined to find a proper toilet. The nearest farmhouse is boarded up and deserted.'

‘Oh, dear!' Oh, dear, indeed. If this man knew that, what about his claim to be a stranger? And where had he come from? I glanced up and down the road. There was no car anywhere in sight. ‘Are you on a walking tour, then?' He carried no stick or pack.

‘Not precisely a tour, but I have been walking. Actually, I'm a trifle tired, and I wouldn't mind a bit of a sit-down.'

Uninvited, he opened the driver's door and got in the car. I was liking this less and less. Oh, how I wished Watson hadn't gone off with Fred!

I cleared my throat. ‘I hope you won't think I'm rude, sir, but I'd rather wait alone. I get a little nervous around men I don't know.' Actually, I did know him, I realized, finally placing him. He was the man who wanted the horse and then changed his mind. I'd thought him rather pleasant at the Swan. I didn't think so any more.

‘Of course. That's exactly why I'm waiting with you. A bit of protection, eh? Not that there's anyone else around.'

My phone rang. I jumped and reached in my pocket.

‘I wouldn't answer that if I were you.' There was a sharp click as the intruder locked all the doors from the driver's console. ‘Can't risk you telling someone too much, can we?'

THIRTY-ONE

M
y mouth was suddenly dry, every sense quivering like the whiskers on a cat, and my instincts kicked in. ‘I'd better answer. It's my cousin. I gave her this number to call when she needed a ride, and she'll wonder why I don't answer.'

‘Let her wonder. You're not giving anyone a ride any time soon, anyway, are you?'

‘My driver  . . .'

‘You surely don't think your driver's coming back! You've a very inventive mind; I must give you that. Hot curry, indeed.' His laugh conveyed no amusement whatever.

My phone stopped, and then started ringing again.

‘Turn the damn thing off!' my captor barked.

I complied, with a shaking hand. When I dropped it on the floor of the car and tried to pick it up, he nudged it away with his foot.

‘What  . . .' I licked my lips and tried again. ‘What do you mean, my driver's not coming back?'

‘Come now, you can do better than that. “What do you think you're doing? Let me go at once! You can't do this to me, I'm an American citizen!” Any of those spring to mind?'

‘I just want to know what you've done with my driver.'

‘And suppose I don't want to tell you?'

Think, Dorothy! Alan knows where you are, sort of. He'll know something's wrong when you don't answer your phone. All you have to do is stall. I licked my lips again. ‘Oh, for heaven's sake! You sound exactly like a character in a bad melodrama. I don't know what you're trying to do, but if it's money you want, you're out of luck. I don't have more than pocket change on me. And I can't imagine you're after my virtue. There are lots of younger, prettier women around if that's what you had in mind. So what
do
you want of me? I'm sure I'm quite ready to cooperate if you'd only tell me—'

‘Shut up!' He backhanded me, or would have if I hadn't seen it coming and turned aside just in time. As it was, he knocked my glasses off, and his heavy ring caught my ear, which began to bleed copiously. I started to feel on the floor of the car for my glasses and my handbag, which held my tissues, but he hit me again, this time with his fist, on my upper arm. It hurt so much I cried out, and looking up, saw the satisfaction on his face.

If I had cherished any lingering hopes that this wasn't the man I was seeking, that look on his face settled the matter once and for all. This man, who derived such pleasure from the meaningless battery of a helpless woman, was undoubtedly Ben. Wife-beater and murderer. And I was alone in a car with him, miles from anywhere.

I could do nothing but try not to provoke another attack, and wait, and pray. But I was not, I was
not
going to be a doormat. I could still hold on to my dignity.

I sat and bled in silence.

‘Sulking, are we?'

‘You told me to be quiet.' I made my tone as neutral as I could.

Not neutral enough. He slapped me, with the palm of his hand this time. No ring. That was marginally better, but my lip was crushed against my teeth. More bleeding.

I held my breath to keep from crying out.

‘Had enough?'

‘Yes.'

‘Going to do what I tell you?'

‘Yes.' I would not plead, I would not bargain. I would say and do as little as possible, and trust in God and Alan.

‘Then tell me what the hell you're doing here.'

‘Looking for a horse.'

He didn't expect that. ‘A horse? What do you mean, a horse?'

‘Four-legged animal, used for riding and for farm labour  . . .'

‘Dammit, woman, you said that! Don't try to be smart. Why were you looking for a horse?'

It was, I thought, perhaps time for the unvarnished truth. ‘I wanted to see if its mane matched a hair I found.'

Another slap. ‘Stop playing games with me, bitch! Why did you want that fucking horse?'

‘If you don't stop hitting me, I'm going to pass out, and then I can't tell you anything.' It came out as a mumble, through bloody and swollen lips, but it seemed to penetrate through his rage. He turned away from me and slammed his fist on the dashboard instead.

‘You wanted to know why I was looking for the horse. I thought it would lead me to you.'

That was the last card I held. I was in too much pain to think clearly, and I've never been a poker player. Maybe I should have held it back, but it was too late now.

He leaned over me, digging both hands painfully into my shoulders. Somewhere in what was left of my brain I knew that if his thumbs moved a bit higher, to my carotid arteries, it would be all over. ‘
Do you know who I am?
'

‘I don't know your name. I do know who you are. I hope your wife is feeling better. Going to Spain, weren't you?'

He gave me a wolfish smile. ‘So you finally recognized me. Sam Smith isn't my name, and I never had a wife, you know. Just playing a little game.' Then his mood changed and he released me with a suddenness that made my head swim. Unlocking the doors, he swore fluently and said, ‘Out, bitch! Get out!'