Midnight Fugue (35 page)

Then in a sudden fit of revulsion he told himself savagely that all that interested those bastards were bloody facts to grab their readers, saccharined with ‘human interest’ to make the readers feel less guilty about enjoying the gore.

‘This way, sir,’ urged DC Bowler, with an encouraging smile.

He was a nice-looking boy, with a fresh, open face, not at all the kind of messenger you’d expect to bring you bitter words to hear and bitter tears to shed.

Perhaps I’ve got it wrong, thought Jones as he walked towards the caravan. Perhaps this sense of ill-bodement clutching my heart is just some atavistic throw-back, as meaningless as those claims to foreknowledge always made by Great Aunt Blodwen twenty-four hours
after
any disaster.

Then at the top of the steps leading up into the caravan a very different kind of man appeared, this one with a face as ill-omened as Scrooge’s door-knocker.

And as if in confirmation of this sudden downward lurch of his spirits, a voice cried, ‘Gwyn, oh Gwyn boy! This is terrible, truly terrible!’

He turned his head in the direction of what he presumed was Loudwater Villas and saw a man running towards him, his face contorted unrecognizably. But Gwyn Jones recognized him.

So did Edgar Wield, standing on the caravan steps. Where the hell did he come from? This is getting to be a habit!

‘Bowler, grab him!’ he yelled.

But it was too late for any useful grabbing.

As Bowler intercepted and folded Alun Watkins in his arms, he was already close enough for his haggard, tear-stained face to be clearly visible. And now Gwyn Jones came at last to understand that though words could not create another’s physical presence, they could certainly take it away forever.

‘Gwyn,
bach
, he’s dead!’ cried Watkins in a voice powerful enough to carry all the way down to the straining ears at the barrier. ‘He’s dead. I’m so so sorry. Dear Gareth’s dead!’

18.33–18.35

In the gathering dusk it seemed further back to her car than Gina remembered and it was with some relief that she finally reached it. As she opened the door, she saw a car speeding down the hill towards her. For a second she thought perhaps Alex had decided there were still things to say. Then she saw it was a blue VW Golf, not the dirty grey Astra.

It slowed to a halt as it reached her. A woman was driving. The man in the passenger seat spoke through the open window.

‘Having trouble, darling?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You sure?’ said the woman, leaning across.

‘No. I just fancied a bit of air so I had a little stroll,’ said Gina.

It was kind of these people to be concerned, but she was not in the mood for kindness. She wanted to be left to herself in the private space of her car, to sit there till the darkness cloaked her completely, and to let flow all the still-unshed tears.

She turned to her open car door.

The man and woman exchanged glances, the woman nodded as if confirming a decision, and they both got out.

Even when the man grasped her arm Gina couldn’t believe that this was anything more than a really irritating excess of good Samaritanism. But when the woman opened the back door of the Golf and the man began to push her towards it, her mind did a somersault that brought all of Alex’s warnings about the expendability of staked goats to the surface.

She tried to wrench herself free. All that happened was she felt her arm forced up between her shoulder blades and her head cracked against the frame of the door as she was forced into the VW. She screamed. The man slid in beside her, the door slammed shut, the car set off. She screamed again.

The man slapped her face.

She stopped screaming.

The man said, ‘That’s better, darling. Any more noise from you and I’ll break your jaw.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Vince,’ said the woman. ‘How’s she going to talk then? Let’s find somewhere quiet, then she can scream all she likes.’

18.35–18.50

When Maggie Pinchbeck turned off the narrow country road to come to a halt before the high gates of Windrush House, the grey Jaguar that had been following her for the last half-mile turned too.

Maggie wound down her window so that the camera could get a better view of her face in the gathering dusk.

A voice she recognized as Milton Slingsby’s said, ‘Hi, Miss Pinchbeck.’

Then the camera adjusted, presumably to look at the car behind hers. Its driver decided to make life easier and got out and advanced till he was peering right up into the lens.

He was a tall imposing figure, in his forties, with a heavy jaw that looked as if it hadn’t seen a razor for a couple of days and a shock of vigorous brown hair, beginning to be tipped with silver.

He glared aggressively at the camera, but didn’t need to give his name as Slingsby said, ‘Mick, hi! It’s Sling. Long time no see!’

A short pause, then the gates swung open.

Maggie drove carefully up the gravelled drive, recalling Dave’s warning about his father’s pride in his lawns. She got the impression that if the man behind hadn’t been constrained by her pace, he wouldn’t have given a damn.

Outside the house she parked alongside Dave’s Audi with the Jag on the other side.

I’m in the wrong business, she thought as she got out of her dusty Corsa.

The Jag driver nodded at her but made no attempt at introduction or conversation as they went up the steps together. Milton Slingsby opened the door. He gave Maggie a bright smile. But the other arrival he greeted with a cry of, ‘Hi, Mick, how’re you doing?’ and a high-five.

‘Sling,’ said the man without any respondent enthusiasm.

Dave the Third came down the stairs as they entered the reception hall. He looked preoccupied.

‘Hi, Maggie,’ he said. Then he turned his attention to the Jag driver and said unenthusiastically, ‘Who’s this?’

Sling said, ‘It’s OK, Dave. This is Mick Purdy, come to see your pappy.’

Dave the Third frowned for a moment then managed a small official smile.

‘Of course! It’s
Commander
Purdy, isn’t it?’

‘Uh-huh,’ grunted Purdy ungraciously.

‘You gave evidence to a Select Committee I was on. Sorry I didn’t recognize you straight off. You were in uniform then, I think.’

‘Well, we know you lot like a bit of pantomime,’ said Purdy.

Mick Purdy, thought Maggie.
Commander
Mick Purdy. Who had interviewed a woman called Delay about an assault allegation against Goldie Gidman. Who had been a friend and colleague of the missing DI Wolfe. Who was now in a relationship with Gina Wolfe. Who was here to see Goldie Gidman. And who didn’t feel the need or wasn’t in the mood to be polite to Dave the Third MP.

She waited for her employer to express some curiosity about the purpose of Purdy’s visit, but he just said, ‘My father’s busy with my mother just now, but he’ll be free in a moment. Sling, show the commander into the lounge.’

The policeman nodded brusquely and followed Slingsby into a room off the hall.

Now Dave the Third turned to her and said, ‘Maggie, I’ve got you here on a wild-goose chase, I’m afraid. My mother got a phone call about twenty minutes ago. Her sister, Belle, the one in Broadstairs, has had a stroke. It sounds serious and Mammy wants to get there straight away. She’s just packing a few things, then I’m going to drive her down.’

‘No problem,’ said Maggie. ‘Keep me posted, and I’ll take care of things if you feel you ought to stay down there.’

‘Yes,’ said Gidman. ‘I know I can rely on you for that. But can I ask you a really big favour, Maggie? Mammy’s really upset at the thought of leaving Goldie on his own. It’s Dean’s night off, and when Dean has a night off, it really is a night, he won’t show till breakfast. I know Sling will be here, but he’s not all that reliable these days, so I wondered…’

He looks really uncomfortable to be asking me a favour, she thought. Have I made our relationship
that
impersonal?

She said, ‘You’d like me to spend the night here, make sure Goldie gets properly fed and watered?’

‘Yes, please. To tell the truth, he’s not all that domesticated and, between the two of them, I think they’re quite capable of setting the house on fire! Ma would be really chuffed if you’ll stay. You know how high she rates you.’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘No problem.’

‘Maggie, you’re a star,’ he said with a warmth that faintly embarrassed her, mainly because it seemed so genuine.

Flo Gidman came bustling down the stairs, an old leather grip in her hand.

She registered Maggie, said, ‘Hello, dearie,’ then to her son, ‘David, I’m ready, we ought to be on our way. I’ve said cheerio to your father, he says he’ll manage, but I do wish Dean was here. Doesn’t everything happen at the worst possible time, Maggie?’

She was saved from answering by Dave, who said, ‘Mammy, I’ve got some good news, Maggie here says she’ll stay the night and make sure Pappy’s properly taken care of.’

‘Oh, Maggie, will you?’ cried Flo. ‘That would be such a relief, you’ve no idea. It’s not that Goldie’s helpless, it’s just that he doesn’t bother. Unless there’s someone here to keep him right, he’ll sit up half the night in front of that telly, eating nothing but crisps and drinking rum. Like I say, he’s not helpless, just hopeless.’

‘Don’t worry, Flo, I’ll take care of him.’

‘Lovely. He likes a glass of warm milk with a shot of rum by his bed, and when I’m not there he usually takes one sleeping pill to help him get off. Just the one. They’re in the tea caddy in the kitchen. He hates tea so he never looks in there. But don’t let him talk you into giving him more than one. And don’t let him take the rum bottle to bed with him. And make certain he don’t smuggle a cigar in. I had a smoke alarm fixed right over the bed, but he’s quite capable of switching it off when he’s left to himself.’

‘Mammy, you can’t expect Maggie to be able to boss Pappy around like you do!’ protested Dave.

‘Why not? She gets the practice keeping you in line, don’t she?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Maggie. ‘And I hope your sister’s OK.’

‘That’s in God’s hands. I’m more grateful than I can say, dearie.’

She folded Maggie in her arms and gave her a succulent kiss on the cheek.

Then she said, ‘Come on, Dave, I’ll just tell your pa that Maggie’s going to take care of him, then we’re off. I don’t want to get there and find poor Belle’s gone because of your dawdling.’

She went out. Dave the Third gave Maggie a wry grin then said, ‘Oh, one thing more, you’d better know how to work the gate controls. Not that anyone’s likely to come calling tonight, but sometimes Sling goes walkabout and it could be embarrassing if there’s no one around.’

She followed him into a control room located to the left of the main entrance. She’d only glimpsed it through the open door on previous visits and now she was surprised to see how roomy it was. Perhaps the stark décor made it seem bigger. It certainly clashed with the rather self-consciously retro ambience of the rest of the house. The only furniture was a single office chair in front of a control panel. There was no window and the illumination came from a bank of TV screens filling most of one wall. Only two of them were active. One showed the area outside the front door, the other the main gate.

‘You can talk to anyone at the gate by pressing this switch,’ said Dave. ‘And these two buttons open and shut the gates. OK?’

‘Yes. All these other screens…?’

‘No need to bother with those unless an alarm sounds. Then you can bring up the perimeter walls and if necessary the house interior, though I shouldn’t think they’ll ever be needed. The alarm system links directly to the police and there’s enough razor wire on the perimeter wall to shave a woolly mammoth.’

‘David! Are you going to take all night? Get a move on or I’ll drive this thing myself!’

The yell came from outside.

He grinned at her again. Sometimes she could see why he was such a successful womanizer.

He said, ‘Open the gate, will you, then shut it behind me? I’ll ring you later.’

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, not as warmly moist as his mother’s, but more than a simple peck. That was a first too.

He left. She waited till she heard the Audi start up then pressed the button that opened the gate. A few moments later the car appeared on the TV screen. As it went through the gateway, Dave’s arm came out of the driver’s window and waved a clenched fist farewell.

She pressed the
close
button. It was easy to categorize people, she thought. This was a side of her employer she hadn’t seen enough of. With the right guidance, maybe he could make it all the way. The UK’s first mixed-race prime minister. And he had the qualities to make a good if not a great one. With the right guidance.

Her shift of feeling about Dave made her feel suddenly guilty at the dark suspicions about Goldie that today’s events had sent fuguing around her mind once more. If the combined efforts of Scotland Yard, the left-wing media, and Tory Central Office hadn’t been able to lay anything on Gidman, then he really did have to be clean, didn’t he?

Her phone rang. The display said
Number withheld
but she recognized instantly the voice that said, ‘That you, Maggie?’

‘Yes, Beanie,’ she said.

She listened as the Bitch talked. After a few seconds she sat down on the chair in front of the control panel.

‘Listen, hon, don’t know why I’m doing this, except maybe you ought to know and also ’cos I gotta talk to someone about it. I’ve just had a call from Gwyn. I was ready to chew his balls off over lying to me, and banging that Huntley child and all, but I could tell something was wrong soon as I heard him. My ma used to tell me, never tell lies ’cos you never know when they’ll come true. Gwyn said he had to deal with a family crisis. Well, he’s really got one now. That kid brother of his, the one he was going to see up in Yorkshire, he’s been murdered.’

‘Murdered?’ echoed Maggie incredulously. ‘How? Why?’

‘Shot in the face. And some cop woman who was there got put into hospital too. I don’t know what’s going on, but if it’s anything to do with that stuff we were talking about, I thought you ought to know.’