Fox Evil (30 page)

She shook her head. "Not me… 'n' I wouldn't be pointing the finger at someone else if had." She jabbed her cigarette at him. "I ain't scared of Fox. He's no different from any other two-bit con artist… throws his weight around, hoping to get his own way… and when it all goes pear-shaped looks for someone else to blame… usually a woman. Remind you of anyone, you little fucker?"

"You've got a big mouth, Bella. Someone should have slapped you down a long time ago."

"Yeah… right. You wanna try?" She shook her head disdainfully. "Nah. Didn't think so. Maybe it's a good thing this project's dead in the water. I'd go mad with a pathetic little weasel like you for a neighbor."

Fox's trail went cold at the end of the terrace. Barker and Wyatt cast around for footprints on the lawn but, even after James had switched on the outside lights, few of which were working, there was nothing to indicate which direction he'd taken. Spots of blood showed here and there on the flagstones but if they continued on the grass they were black on black in the dark. Reluctant to confuse the trail with their own footprints, they abandoned the search and returned to the French windows.

There was a heated debate going on inside the drawing room between Monroe and Mark Ankerton, with Mark Ankerton backed up against the door to the hall and both men wielding their forefingers like clubs. "No, I'm sorry, Sergeant. Captain Smith has made it abundantly clear that she does not wish to go to hospital, nor is she ready at the moment to answer questions about the incident on Colonel Lockyer-Fox's terrace. As her lawyer, I insist that her views are respected."

"For Christ's sake, man," Monroe protested, "she's got blood all over her face, and her arm's obviously broken. It's more than my job's worth to have Dorset police sued because I refused to call an ambulance."

Mark ignored him. "In addition, as Wolfie's lawyer, I am advising him that he should, under no circumstances, answer questions until the legal guidelines regarding the interrogation of children are implemented-principally, a full understanding of what he's being questioned about, absence of pressure, unalarming surroundings, and the presence of an adult he knows and trusts."

"I object to the language you're using, sir. There's no question of interrogation. I merely want to satisfy myself that he's all right."

Martin stepped through the window. "What's going on?" he demanded.

Monroe gave an angry sigh. "The girl and the boy have disappeared with the Colonel, and Mr. Ankerton's refusing to let me call an ambulance or give me access to them."

"It'll be the kid," said Barker, reaching for the telephone on the bureau. "He's terrified of the police. That's why he took off earlier when we were searching the campsite. I'd leave them to it, if I were you. We don't want him vanishing again with his father roaming around outside." He nodded to Ankerton. "May I use the phone?"

"It's disconnected. I'll plug it in if Mr. Monroe agrees to stay away from my clients."

Barker yanked at the lead. "Do it," he ordered Monroe, "or it'll be you carrying the can if this bastard goes to ground in someone's house and takes hostages." He tossed his mobile to him. "If that rings, answer it. It'll be a woman called Bella Preston. As for you, sir," he told Mark, as the younger man went down on all fours to push in the jack plug, "I suggest you lock the Colonel and your clients into a bedroom until I give you the all-clear. I don't trust this man not to come back."

In view of the darkness, the fact that the valley was unlit, and there were too many natural hiding places to justify calling out the police helicopter, a decision was taken to abandon the search for Fox until daybreak. Instead, roadblocks were erected on either side of Shenstead Valley and the occupants of the village and the three outlying farms were given the choice of whether they wished to remain inside their homes or be escorted to temporary accommodation elsewhere.

The tenant farmers and their families chose to remain on site with shotguns leveled at their front doors. The Woodgates and their children went to Stephen's mother in Dorchester, while the banker's twin sons and their girlfriends, bored with household chores, happily accepted hotel rooms for the night. The two commercial rents returned hotfoot to London with demands for compensation ringing in police ears. It was a disgrace. They hadn't come to Dorset on holiday to be terrorized by maniacs.

Prue Weldon threw a fit and refused to leave or be left alone, clinging to Martin Barker's hand like a limpet and begging him to make her husband come home. This he succeeded in doing by impressing on Dick that the police did not have the manpower to protect unoccupied buildings. Drunk as a skunk, he was driven back to Shenstead by Jack and Belinda who decided to stay after he loaded his shotgun and fired it at Prue's chicken casserole.

Surprisingly, the Bartletts were unanimous in their decision to stay, both insisting that there was too much of value in their house to leave it undefended. Eleanor was convinced her rooms would be vandalized-"people like that defecate on the carpets and urinate on the walls"-and Julian feared for his cellar-"there's a fortune in wine down there." They were advised to go upstairs and stay in one room with the door barricaded, but from the way Julian started prowling the hall it seemed doubtful they would take the advice.

As for Vera Dawson, she agreed to be taken up to the Manor House to wait with the Colonel and Mr. Ankerton. Bob was away fishing, she told the two young policemen, as she sucked and mumbled her way into an overcoat before locking the front door. They assured her he'd be stopped at one of the roadblocks when he came back and brought to the Manor to join her. She tapped their hands flirtatiously. Bob would like that, she told them with a happy little smile. He worried about his old lady. She still had her marbles, of course, but her memory wasn't as good as it used to be.

The problem of what to do with the travelers was a difficult one. Police activity around Fox's bus was intense, and the travelers weren't inclined to stand idly by while the vehicle was searched. The Alsatians barked nonstop, and the children kept escaping their parents' clutches. There were also persistent demands to be allowed to leave on the basis that Bella was the only one who knew anything about Fox. Unimpressed, the police decided to escort them in convoy to a site outside Dorchester where they could be questioned the following day.

This rapidly became impossible after one of their number refused to wait his turn or follow instructions, and jammed the exit when his coach bogged down in the softening ground. Furious, Barker ordered him and his family back to Bella's bus while he worked out another strategy for ensuring the safety of nine adults and fourteen children without a vehicle large enough to take them out of the valley.

Bella, magnificent in purple, shepherded her three daughters through the front door and stuck out a hand toward James. "Ta, mister," she said. "I've told 'em all to keep their fingers to themselves so you won't get no trouble." She flicked a sideways glance at Ivo. "That's right, ain't it, Ivo?"

"Shut your mouth, Bella."

She ignored him. "Mr. Barker tells me you've got Wolfie," she went on, squeezing James's fingers like sausages. "How's he doing?"

Overwhelmed, James patted her hand. "He's fine, my dear. At the moment we can't prize him away from my granddaughter. They're upstairs in one of the bedrooms. I believe she's reading him Aesop's Fables."

"Poor little bleeder. He's got this thing about cops… took off like a fucking rocket when Mr. Barker asked him questions. I kept telling him not to be worried, but it didn't do no good. Can I see him? Him and me are friends. Might make him feel better if he knows I ain't abandoned him."

James looked to his solicitor for rescue. "What do you think, Mark? Will Wolfie swap Nancy for Bella? It might persuade Nancy to go to hospital."

But Mark was under assault from the threadbare Alsatians that were sniffing around his trouser legs. "Perhaps we could put them in the scullery," he suggested.

"They'll bark nonstop," Zadie warned. "They don't like being away from the kids. Here," she said giving the leads to one of her sons. "Watch they don't lift their legs anywhere, and keep 'em off the sofas. And
you
," she said, cuffing another son around the back of his head, "don't go breaking things."

Martin Barker, coming in behind her, suppressed a smile. "This is very good of you, sir," he told James. "I'm leaving Sean Wyatt in charge. If everyone stays in the same room, it'll be easier to keep track."

"Where do you suggest?"

"The kitchen?"

James looked at the sea of faces. "But the children look so tired. Wouldn't it be better to put them to bed? We have enough rooms in all conscience."

Martin Barker looked at Mark, tilted his chin toward the pieces of silver on a Chippendale table by the door, and gave a small shake of his head. "The
kitchen
, James," Mark said firmly. "There's food in the freezer. Let's eat first and see how things go, eh? I don't know about anyone else, but I'm starving. How's Vera on the cooking front?"

"Terrible."

"I'll do it," said Bella, pushing her girls between Ivo and the Chippendale table as his fingers strayed toward a cigarette case. "My friend here can peel the potatoes." She gripped James firmly by the arm and drew him along with her. "What's wrong with Nancy then? Did that fucker Fox hurt her?"

Wolfie pinched Nancy frantically as Vera Dawson peered through the gap in the door. "She's back… she's back," he whispered into her ear.

Nancy broke off from "Androcles and the Lion" with a whistle of pain. "Hoo-oosh!" She was sitting in an armchair in Mark's bedroom with Wolfie on her lap and, every time the child moved her rib moved with him, setting off sympathetic tremors in her right arm. She'd had a vain hope that if she read to him, he'd fall asleep, but the old woman wouldn't leave them alone, and Wolfie wriggled in panic every time he saw her.

Nancy assumed it was Mrs. Dawson's mumbling and muttering that frightened him, otherwise it was a bizarre reaction to someone he didn't know. His alarm was so powerful that she could feel him trembling. She eased him on her lap, and frowned at the old woman. What on earth was the silly old thing's problem? Nancy had asked her several times to go downstairs, but she seemed drawn to stare at them as if they were freaks in the circus, and Nancy was beginning to feel the same aversion toward her as the child did.

"She won't hurt you," she whispered in Wolfie's ear. "She's old, that's all."

But he shook his head and clung to her in desperation.

Mystified, Nancy abandoned courtesy and issued an order. "Shut the door and go away, Mrs. Dawson," she said sharply. "If you don't, I'll phone Mr. Ankerton and tell him you're annoying us."

The old woman came into the room. "There's no telephone in here, miss."

Oh, for God's sake!
"Let go for a moment," she told Wolfie. "I need to get at my mobile." She felt in her fleece pocket, breathing shallowly as Wolfie pressed against her. "Okay, back as we were. Do you know how to work one of these? Good man. The code to unlock it is 5378. Now scroll through the numbers till you come to Mark Ankerton then press call and hold it to my mouth."

She raised a booted foot as Vera came within striking range. "I'm perfectly serious about wanting you to leave, Mrs. Dawson. You're frightening the child. Please do not come any closer."

"You won't hit an old woman. It's only Bob hits old women."

"I don't need to hit you, Mrs. Dawson, I only need to push you over. I don't particularly want to, but I will if you force me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Vera kept her distance. "I'm not stupid," she muttered. "I've still got my marbles."

"It's ringing," said Wolfie, pressing the mobile to Nancy's mouth.

She heard it click through to voicemail.
Jesus wept!
Did the bastard
ever
answer his sodding phone?
Ah, well!
"Mark!" she said peremptorily. "Get your arse up here, mate. Mrs. Dawson's frightening Wolfie, and I can't get her to go away." She bared her teeth at the old woman. "Yes, by force if necessary. She seems to be caught in a mental loop that makes her forget she's supposed to be downstairs with you and James. I'll tell her now." She switched off. "Colonel Lockyer-Fox wants you in the drawing room immediately, Mrs. Dawson. Mr. Ankerton says he's angry that you're not there already."

The old woman tittered. "He's always angry… got a bad temper has the Colonel. Just like my Bob. But don't you worry, they all get their comeuppance in the end." She moved to the bedside table and picked up a book that Mark was reading. "Do you like Mr. Ankerton, miss?"

Nancy lowered her foot, but didn't answer.

"You shouldn't. He's stolen your mother's money… your uncle's, too. And all because your grandma was so taken with him… fawned all over him every time he came to the house… called him Mandrake and flirted with him like a silly little girl. She'd have left it all to him if she hadn't died."

It was a fluent piece of speech and Nancy wondered how demented she really was. "That's nonsense, Mrs. Dawson. Mrs. Lockyer-Fox changed her will months before she died, and the main beneficiary was her husband. It was in the newspapers."

Contradiction seemed to upset her. She looked lost for a moment, as if something she relied on had been knocked away. "I know what I know."

"Then you don't know very much. Now, will you please leave this room?"

"You can't tell me what to do. This isn't your house." She dropped the book onto the bed. "You're like the Colonel and the missus… Do this… do that. You're a servant, Vera. Don't go poking your nose in where it isn't wanted. I've been a drudge and a slave all my life-" she stamped her foot-"not for much longer, though, not if my boy has his way. Is that why you've come? To take the house from your ma and your uncle Leo?"

Nancy wondered who "her boy" was and how she'd guessed who Nancy was when James had made a point of introducing her only as a friend of Mark's. "You're confusing me with someone else, Mrs. Dawson. My mother lives in Herefordshire and I don't have an uncle. The only reason I'm here is because I'm a friend of Mr. Ankerton's."

The woman wagged a gnarled finger. "I know who you are. I was here when you were born. You're Lizzie's little bastard."

It was an echo of what Fox had called her, and Nancy felt the flesh creep on the back of her neck. "We're going downstairs," she told Wolfie abruptly. "Hop off, and give me a tug out of the chair. Okay?"

He shifted slightly as if he were going to do it, but Vera scuttled toward the door, slamming it closed, and he shrank back against Nancy again. "He's not yours to take," she hissed. "Be a good girl, now, and give him to his gran. His daddy's waiting for him."

Oh Christ!
She felt Wolfie's arms slide around her neck in a strangulation hold. "It's okay, sweetheart," she told him urgently. "
Trust
me, Wolfie. I said I'd look after you and I will… but you must give me room to breathe." She took a lungful of air as his arms relaxed and raised her boot again. "Don't tempt me, Mrs. Dawson. I'll kick the shit out of you the minute you come within range. Do you have enough marbles left to understand
that
, you senile old bitch?"

"You're like the missus. Think you can say what you like to poor old Vera."

Nancy lowered her foot again and exerted all her strength to move forward in the chair. "Poor old Vera, my arse," she snapped. "What did you do to Wolfie? Why is he so frightened of you?"

'Taught him some manners when he was a little'un." A strange little smile hovered on her lips. "He had pretty little brown curls then, just like his daddy."

"I didn't! I didn't!" cried Wolfie hysterically, clinging to Nancy. "I ain't never had brown hair. My mum said I'se always like this."

Vera's mouth started working furiously. "Don't you disobey your gran. You do as you're told. Vera knows what's what. Vera's still got her marbles."

"She ain't my gran," Wolfie whispered urgently to Nancy. "I ain't never seen her before… I'se only scared of nasty people… 'n' she's nasty 'coz her smiley lines are upside down."

Nancy examined the old woman's face. Wolfie was right, she thought in surprise. Every line turned downward, as if resentment had dragged trenches in the skin. "It's okay," she soothed, "I'm not going to let her take you." She raised her voice. "You're very confused, Mrs. Dawson. This isn't your grandson."

The old woman smacked her lips. "I know what's what."

No, you don't, you stupid bitch… you're round the fucking twist…
"Then tell me your grandson's name. Tell me your son's name."

It was computer overload. "You're just like
her
… but
I
have rights… though you wouldn't think it the way I'm treated. Do this… do that… Who cares about poor old Vera except her darling boy? You put your feet up, Ma, he says.
I'll
see you right." She pointed an angry finger at Nancy. "But look what precious Lizzie did. She was a whore and a thief… and everything forgiven and forgotten because she was a Lockyer-Fox. What about Vera's baby? Was he forgiven? No." She turned her hands into fists and smacked them impotently against each other. "What about Vera? Was she forgiven? Oh, no! Bob had to know
Vera
was a thief. Is that right?"

Even if Nancy had known what she was talking about, she recognized that there was nothing to be gained by agreeing. Far better to keep her off balance by taunting her than show an ounce of sympathy for her problems, whatever they were. At least while she talked, she was keeping her distance. "You really
are
senile," she said contemptuously. "Why should a thief be forgiven? You should be in prison along with your murderous son-assuming Fox is your son, which I doubt, as you can't even give me his name."

"
He
didn't murder her," she hissed, "never touched her. Didn't need to when she brought it on herself with her vicious tongue… accusing
me
of ruining her daughter. More like her daughter ruined my boy…
that's
nearer the truth… taking him to bed and making him think she cared.
Lizzie
was the whore, everyone knew that… but it was Vera was treated like one."

Nancy ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth.
"I am the complex product of my circumstances… not the predictable, linear result of an accidental coupling twenty-eight years ago."
Dear God! How absurdly arrogant that statement seemed now. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said flatly, steeling herself to make another move forward.

"Oh, yes, you do." A sly intelligence gleamed in the old eyes. "It frightens you, doesn't it? It frightened the missus. It's one thing to go looking for Lizzie's little bastard… not so much fun to find Fox's. That wouldn't do at all. She tried to push past me to tell the Colonel… but my boy wouldn't have it. You go inside, Ma, he said, and leave her to me." She patted her pocket and set some keys jangling. "
That's
what stopped her heart. I saw it in her face. She didn't think
Vera
would lock her out. Oh, no! Not when she'd shown Vera so much
kindness
.

Bella was unimpressed by the level of cleanliness in James's house. "What's wrong with his cleaner, then?" she asked as Mark took her into the scullery to show her the chest freezer. She stared with disgust at the filth in the sink and the cobwebs all over the windows. "Gawd, will you look at this? It's a miracle the poor old bloke isn't in hospital with tetanus and food poisoning. If I was him, I'd give her the sack."

"Me, too," Mark agreed, "but it's not that easy. There's no one else to do it, unfortunately. Shenstead's effectively a ghost village with most of the properties let out as holiday homes."

"Yeah, Fox told us." She lifted the lid of the freezer and snorted at the layers of frost on the food. "When was this last opened?"

"Apart from when I checked it on Christmas Eve, not since the Colonel's wife died in March, I wouldn't think. Vera wouldn't go near it. She was lazy enough when Ailsa was alive, but she doesn't do a blind bloody thing these days… just takes her wages and runs."

Bella pulled a face. "You mean she gets
paid
to leave things in this state?" she asked incredulously. "
Shit!
Talk about money for old rope."

"And gets a rent-free cottage."

Bella was astonished. "You gotta be joking. I'd give my right arm for a deal like that… and I wouldn't take advantage of it, neither."

Mark smiled at her expression. "In fairness, she probably oughtn't to be working at all. She's virtually senile, poor old thing. But you're right, she does take advantage. The trouble is James has been very-" he sought for a suitable word-"
depressed
these last few weeks so he hasn't been keeping an eye on her… or anything else for that matter." His mobile started to ring. "Excuse me," he said, retrieving it from his pocket and frowning at the number displayed. He raised the handset to his mouth. "What do you want, Leo?" he asked coolly.