Deadfall (51 page)

‘Well, this time you got it wrong. You put two and two together and came up with five, and because of that she nearly died! You're a sick woman, Nikki.'

‘I didn't want to hurt Josie,' Nikki said regretfully. ‘I liked her, but she had what I wanted . . .'

‘You don't give a damn about anyone, you heartless bitch!' Fagan broke in. ‘You and your sodding mother! A couple of scheming bitches! No wonder your father's got ulcers!'

‘She only wants what's best for me,' Nikki said defensively. ‘She married beneath herself, and didn't want me to do the same.'

‘Don't worry, my dear,' Fagan said with heavy emphasis. ‘You couldn't!'

‘I think we've heard enough,' a new voice remarked, and DS Manston climbed the last few steps to the stone floor, still wearing elements of his rustic Georgian costume.

Twisting round in Linc's grasp, Tiger lunged towards the policeman and said something very rude.

‘Hey, no, Tiger! He's one of the good guys,' Linc told him severely, bringing him back to heel.

‘He's been too long with Sandy,' Manston
observed, eyeing the dog with disfavour. ‘Old habits die hard.'

Somewhere outside, sirens could be heard approaching.

‘Ah, back-up,' the sergeant said. ‘Not that there'd be much point in either of these two making a run for it after that little performance. A pretty comprehensive confession, I'd say, from what I heard.'

‘Yeah, though I wouldn't call it pretty. God knows what my father will say,' Linc commented, with a sigh. ‘But thank heaven you're here. Have you seen Josie? Is she okay?'

‘She's fine. She's down below with her father,' Manston said. ‘She found Mrs Tremayne's radio in her car and put out a Mayday call. She was worried sick about you, but she's a sensible girl and knew she couldn't do anything herself. As it happens, we would have been on our way here shortly anyway. Your collective disappearance had been noted, and the general consensus was that someone should look into it. Luckily the Hathaways had spotted me at the fair and were just enlisting my help when Josie's message came through. I made a call to the station for back-up, and then her father and I came on over, but it looks like you'd already got it all sorted.'

Linc shook his head. ‘Only just. We had something of a stand-off and if it hadn't been for Sandy's anti-social hound, we probably still would have. The little bugger saved my bacon at least twice today, if not more!'

Manston laughed. ‘Guardian angels come in some odd disguises.'

He glanced with interest at Fagan, who was still
having trouble with his eyes. ‘So, who have we here, I wonder?'

‘Terry Fagan. Sometime club bouncer and fitness instructor,' Linc supplied.

‘His real name is Terry Fairfax,' Nikki amended, relishing the chance to get even. ‘He's wanted in London for assault and possession of drugs but he's a dealer, too. I can give you names and details.'

‘You fucking bitch!' Fagan spat the words. ‘Don't forget, you're going down too, and I know enough people to make sure your life is hell on the inside! You'll wish you'd kept your poisonous little trap shut!'

‘All right, that's enough,' Manston said evenly. ‘Let's take this down to the station, shall we?'

A uniformed officer appeared at the top of the stairs, breathing hard.

‘Sir?' He looked enquiringly at the DS.

‘Ah, good,' Manston said. ‘You can read Mr Fairfax his rights and take him in. You'll need to get the doc to look at those eyes, they look nasty.' He sniffed the air and glanced at Linc. ‘What was it, paint stripper?'

Linc nodded.

‘And the charge?' the newcomer asked.

Manston pursed his lips, thoughtfully. ‘Take your pick, really. But attempted murder will do to be going on with, I should think. Josie Hathaway and Lincoln Tremayne.'

The PC took hold of Fagan's arm and led him towards the stairs.

‘I'm arresting you for the attempted murder of Josie—'

‘Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,' Fagan cut in, but the officer was not to be put off and could be heard informing him of his rights as they descended to the ground floor.

Those remaining transferred their attention to Nikki, whose face had turned ashen, and Linc thought that probably the bleakness of her foreseeable future was only just hitting home. Her next words confirmed it.

She turned to Crispin and clung to his arm, her eyes pleading. ‘I can't go to jail! Cris, tell them! I'm a Tremayne! What would your father say?'

He shook his head grimly, peeling her fingers off his arm and pushing her away. ‘You've made your bed, now you've got to lie on it. You're nothing to me any more. I think I have pretty good grounds for divorce.'

‘Come on, Mrs Tremayne, time to go,' Manston said. ‘I have to read you your rights.'

‘No, wait! What about our baby?' she asked Crispin in a voice growing shrill with panic. ‘You can't let your child be born in jail! Think of the scandal!'

‘If there
is
a baby . . .' Linc didn't quite know why he said it, but as soon as he saw Nikki's expression he knew he'd guessed right, even though the denial came instantly.

Linc shook his head in disgust and turned away as Manston put a hand on her back in order to shepherd her towards the stairs. ‘Nikki Tremayne, I'm arresting you for attempted murder . . .'

‘There was a baby,' she shouted over her shoulder. ‘I didn't lie about that . . . but I lost it.'

Shattered, Crispin stood and watched his wife
being led away, probably too numb for tears, Linc thought.

‘Cris?' he ventured tentatively.

Crispin didn't answer. He moved past Linc to close the window and then just stood looking out. Linc went to stand close behind him and after a moment or two Manston and Nikki appeared down below, heading for the car park. Crispin gave no sign that he'd seen them; he appeared to be staring into space.

‘I might have a jumper in the car,' Linc said, feeling helpless in the face of his brother's grief. After the harsh words and emotional turmoil that had gone before, he wasn't entirely sure how their relationship stood. Suddenly, the words pushed past his guard and spilled out. ‘Oh, Cris, I'm so bloody sorry it had to come to this! Bloody, sodding Nikki! I wish I'd never met her! Forgive me?'

Crispin turned his head, his expression desolate and his eyes shining with tears. ‘I loved her,' he said simply. ‘I thought she loved me.'

Aching with sympathy, Linc instinctively stepped up to his brother's side and, because there really wasn't anything else to say, enfolded him in a huge, silent hug.

For a moment Crispin held back, then he accepted the offered comfort, buried his face in Linc's shoulder and gave way to his wretchedness.

It was some five minutes later when Josie came up to find Linc and by that time Crispin had his emotions well under control. With typical tact she affected not to see the obvious signs of his distress and addressed Linc in a very matter-of-fact tone.

‘Manston's gone. He says he'll need a detailed run down of what happened, but thankfully it can wait until tomorrow. I called Mary on the radio and gave her the gist of things so she can fill your father in and let Nikki's mum know. Nikki was asking for her,' she explained.

‘Thanks.' Linc was grateful to have that task taken off him. ‘And you? How's your arm?' Somebody had replaced the makeshift sling that Crispin had fashioned for her with a more professional-looking one.

‘It throbs a bit. Dad did this, he's got an incredible first-aid kit in the boot of his car. I should imagine he could cope with just about anything short of open-heart surgery,' she joked. ‘He's a fierce exponent of the theory that God helps those who help themselves. Anyway, he reckons I
might
have cracked something, but most likely it's just badly sprained. All that cold water therapy probably did it the world of good!'

‘All the same, we should get you checked out. And you must be exhausted.'

‘Mmm, quite tired, but Dad'll take me to A and E. I thought you could probably do with this back,' she said, holding out Crispin's shirt.

‘Thanks.' He took it and stood looking down at it. ‘I'm sorry for . . . Well, for everything. I never dreamed . . .'

Josie put her good hand on one of his.

‘No, Cris. Don't apologise. You've got nothing to apologise for – you've done nothing wrong. And listen, I know it's what everybody says but I really mean it. If there's anything I can do – ever – just let me know.'

‘Thanks.' Crispin looked genuinely moved. ‘But, hey, just keep this accident-prone brother of mine in one piece, and you'll be doing us all a favour,' he said, summoning a smile.

Josie looked heavenwards. ‘Well, I know I said
anything
, but I'm not a miracle-worker!'

When they made their way downstairs, her father was waiting, grave-faced. He held out his hand.

‘Crispin. This is a bad business. I'm sorry, lad.'

He nodded mutely, and shook the hand.

‘Come on,' David Hathaway suggested, putting his arm round his daughter's shoulders. ‘Come away. There's nothing more to do here. I'm going to take Josie to the doctor's, and I should imagine you two could do with a stiff drink and a chance to put your feet up. You must be exhausted.'

‘You can say that again,' Linc agreed.

They left the mill, waiting while Linc locked the doors, and then turned towards the car park; Josie and her father leading the way, and the others trailing after.

Linc was so caught up in his own thoughts that it was a moment or two before he realised his brother wasn't following, and paused to wait.

‘Cris?'

Crispin was standing gazing across the tailrace of the millstream to the trees beyond. He looked completely lost.

‘I loved her, Linc,' he said forlornly. ‘At least, I thought I did. But now I'm not sure I ever knew her at all. Where does that leave me?'

Linc shook his head. There was nothing he could say.

The stadium was a blaze of light, most of it concentrated on the oval dirt track at its centre where six slender greyhounds were being loaded into the traps for the start of the next race. In one of the boxes with a prime view, Linc Tremayne, his brother Crispin, and the entire Hathaway clan sat, the remains of a meal on a table behind them, enjoying the sport.

‘This is amazing!' Abby declared. ‘I feel like a movie star or something, sitting up here in a private box, being wined and dined. I mean, an hour and a half ago I was slogging round the field in the rain, taking hay to Syrup and Treacle, and now I'm here.'

‘Like Cinderella,' Hannah put in, with uncharacteristic imagination. ‘You
shall
go to the ball!'

Linc laughed. ‘I'm glad you're enjoying it.'

‘I'd never have thought of coming to a dog track,' Ruth said. ‘But it's really good fun.'

The runners were all loaded now, the hare started its hopeless run and the traps snapped open,
releasing their eager occupants to streak in pursuit.

Instantly bedlam broke loose in the box as six voices were raised in noisy support of their chosen favourites. Only David Hathaway and Linc remained silent; the clergyman watching the others with obvious pleasure, while Linc was absorbed in thoughts of his own.

It was fully three months since the terrifying events at the mill, and life had moved on. The case against Nikki and her personal trainer had not yet come to court, and probably wouldn't for some little while yet, the wheels of justice grinding exceedingly slow.

Sylvester Tremayne had responded to the news of his daughter-in-law's treachery by remembering several things he had never liked about her and then writing her out of his life with a finality that was typical of him.

Crispin had, understandably, found it far more difficult to adjust to the upheaval, losing his trusting, happy-go-lucky nature overnight and becoming quiet and introverted. Josie's father had offered contacts within the legal world and, in the absence of any great degree of ongoing sympathy from his own father, it was to David Hathaway that Crispin had turned, accepting help of both a practical and, to Linc's surprise, spiritual nature.

Linc had had to use a fair amount of persuasion to get him to come to the stadium tonight and, once there, he'd been a little withdrawn until a spirited dispute with Hannah had brought him out of himself. Now, sitting next to Ruth with whom he'd struck up a particular friendship during his visits to the Vicarage, Crispin looked more animated than
Linc had seen him since the exposure of Nikki's betrayal.

The race sped to an exciting conclusion and was followed by a heated discussion of the real or imagined bad luck suffered by various of the participants during which Josie looked round and smiled at Linc, before detaching herself from the group by the window and coming to sit beside him.

‘A penny for 'em,' she said lightly.

He shrugged. ‘I was just thinking about Crispin, actually. I'm glad I persuaded him to come. I think he's enjoying himself. Ruth's good for him. Although, to be fair, I think it was your other brat of a sister who shook him out of his mood.'

Josie laughed, unoffended. ‘She's enough to get anyone going. Perhaps we should patent her as a therapy. “The Hannah Method”, guaranteed to needle you out of depression!'

‘Mmm. It might catch on, but I doubt it.'

Linc sighed, and Josie put her arm through his and leaned close.

‘What's up?'

‘Oh, I still can't shake off the feeling that I'm partly responsible for what happened with Nikki. After all, I raised her hopes in the first place, and I was never really serious about her. If I hadn't brought her home that time . . .'

‘Oh, and of course you'd expect her to go off the deep end and turn psycho, wouldn't you?' Josie pointed out. ‘Spare me another guilt trip! Is there anything you don't feel responsible for? What about Third World debt or global warming, are you sure you aren't to blame for those too?'