Running Scared (38 page)

I wasn’t feeling kindly about policemen anyway. The showdown with Harford might’ve been the main reason, but I had others. I’d had time to review my recent co-operation and to decide that whatever might happen to me in the future, nothing would persuade me to stick out my neck like that again. I’d had little choice because Ponytail had been coming for me anyway, but you know what I mean. On reflection, I should’ve told Ponytail the police had taken the negatives and let him get on with it. That walk over Hungerford Bridge was burned into my memory. As for Jason Harford, I’d nearly made the worst mistake of my life there. It just goes to show you should trust your instincts. I hadn’t taken a shine to him when I’d first met him and I should’ve stayed that way. Still, everyone can be a fool sometimes and I’m no exception. There’s no shame in doing something daft provided you don’t repeat it and I certainly meant never to repeat it.

‘Whaddya want?’ I asked sourly.

‘Come to see you’re all right,’ he told me with oily insincerity.

I spelled it out. ‘I don’t want to see or talk to any coppers. I’ve had it up to here –’ I indicated my throat – ‘with rozzers and their dodgy ways. If Foxley wants me to do anything else, you go tell him from me to take a running jump.’

‘Oy,’ said Parry, looking hurt. ‘I’ve always been straight with you.’

If he had, it was only because subtlety wasn’t his strong point. Over his shoulder, I could see the old fellow from the house opposite standing on the pavement, doing a bit of neighbourhood watching. The number of times Parry had been round here lately, he must know it was an officer of the law on the doorstep. For this reason only, I decided to let Parry in.

‘Ah, Sergeant!’ called Daphne, passing through the hall. ‘Season’s greetings to you!’

‘And to you, ma’am,’ he said. He made what was probably meant to be a bow, leaning forward without bending, and inclining slightly to one side like the Tower of Pisa.

‘You are always sickeningly polite to her,’ I told him. ‘Not that I’m objecting, but you never give me that sort of treatment. Aren’t I a citizen? A member of the public?’

‘Miss Knowles is a lady,’ he said, affronted.

‘Oh, thanks. What do you want?’ I asked again more firmly.

Parry’s blotchy skin turned even more unattractive with a dull flush. ‘As it happens, I brought you a Christmas present.’ He put his hand in one of the bulging pockets and brought out a small package. It was wrapped in red paper with green reindeer on it, all stuck down with Sellotape.

‘What is it?’ I asked suspiciously. Parry pretending to be Santa was just not on.

‘Go on, then, open it,’ he said, looking all pleased with himself.

I did and found a rather squashed box of Maltesers. He hadn’t broken open his piggy bank, that was for sure. Even though I like chocs, I was anything but delighted because the last thing I wanted to do was accept presents from Parry. I had a horrible feeling it might be leading up to a request for a date. It gave ‘not if he was the last man on earth’ a whole new meaning. On the other hand, it was Christmas and I didn’t want to seem churlish. Goodwill to all men, and all that.

‘Thanks,’ I said hollowly. ‘It’s a nice thought. I appreciate it. But if I accept it, it’s only because I’m taking it as thanks for risking my neck recently to help you nab Grice. And remember to tell Foxley,’ I added, ‘what I said just now. He needn’t bother to ask me to save police bacon again. Not a chance. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure I was bonkers even to consider it.’

‘Oh, we can do a bit better than chocs for that,’ said Parry. He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘I do believe, no letting on I’ve told you, now! I do believe Mr Foxley is going to ask if you can be given a reward from public funds. Probably about fifty quid. How about that, eh?’

‘Fifty quid?’ I squeaked. ‘Fifty—If Jo Jo hadn’t turned up when he did, I’d have got my hands on a grand from Grice!’

‘But you’d have had to give that back,’ he pointed out.

I knew it. I put the chocolates down on the hall table. ‘Well, I hope you have a very nice Christmas and I’ll wish you a Happy New Year as well, while I’m about it – because I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing you for quite a while.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ he said. ‘But I get the message. Still, while I’m here, I’d better give you the news. Which do you want first? The good or the bad?’

So he hadn’t just come to bring me his box of chocs. ‘Tell me the bad,’ I invited. ‘Why not? It’s Christmas Eve. Finish it off for me completely.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ he said. ‘It’s just I thought you ought to know your pal Inspector Harford has asked for a transfer. If you don’t know it already, that is.’

‘He’s not my friend,’ I told him. ‘And I didn’t know it. It makes no difference to me.’ I tried not to sound too relieved.

Parry twitched his ginger eyebrows but also looked, I fancied, relieved. It occurred to me the chocs had been intended to soften the blow of what he’d feared would be devastating news for me. Was there a sensitive streak well hidden in the man, after all? On the other hand, he might just be fishing for information.

‘There’s me,’ he said, confirming this last suspicion, ‘thinking you were getting along pretty well with Wonderboy. You couldn’t hazard a guess as to why he’s suddenly decided to love us and leave us, could you?’

‘Not a clue.’ But I wasn’t surprised. Harford had decided not to stay around here where there was a chance he might walk into me again. He was going to cut and run. He was going to find out, eventually, that he couldn’t keep running. No one can, whatever the reason. Even his victim, Tig, had found that out. I’d been a bit hard on her, but it’d been for her own good because she deserved a helping hand. As for Harford, I felt nothing but scorn for him.

‘I thought he might’ve confided in you.’ Parry gave his rictus grin. ‘Must have been something
I
said, then. Tell you the truth, Fran, I’m glad you’re not upset or anything. It’s a bit sudden, his deciding to move on. I fancy Mr Foxley’s not too pleased. Caused a bit of gossip in the canteen.’

‘What doesn’t? seems to me,’ I retorted. ‘What’s the good news?’

Parry’s manner changed and became more official. ‘It’s good in the sense it clears up a problem for us – for you, too, maybe. It’s not so good for the bloke concerned. I’m talking about Coverdale’s killer.’

‘You’ve got him?’ I couldn’t believe it.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Parry replied cautiously. ‘We’ve got him down the morgue, so I suppose you could say we have him. He’s a stiff.’

I sat down on a nearby chair. Parry grinned down at me evilly. ‘Got his name, too. Miguel Herrera, Spanish national, wanted by the French police. Description answering the one you gave us of the herbert who tried to break in here. Half-healed bites on the fingers of his right hand, probably made by a small dog of the terrier type. You haven’t got to worry about him any more, Fran.’

‘What happened to him?’ I asked.

Parry shrugged. ‘He got into an argument in a pub night before last. When he left at the end of the evening, the other bloke in the spat was waiting outside for him with a crowd of his mates. Kicked his head in and ran off.’

‘So, how’d you tie him in with Coverdale?’

‘When we tried to ID him, his fingerprints matched some we lifted at the scene of the murder and sent to Interpol. Knife found lying near Herrera’s body showed the same fingerprints on the hilt and the blade’s the same size and shape as the fatal wound in Coverdale. This Herrera johnny must’ve pulled it to defend himself outside the pub, but didn’t get the chance to use it.’ He beamed at me until he remembered that a serious crime had occurred. ‘Course,’ he added quickly, ‘we’re looking for his attackers.’

‘You won’t find them,’ I said.

‘Nah – no witnesses, never is, a barney like that. Still, saved us a job, didn’t they? We mightn’t have picked him up otherwise and the taxpayer won’t have to keep him as a guest of Her Majesty. French can cross him off their list, too. You won’t have to look out for him again. We can close a murder file. Suits everyone, really. It’d have been nice to be able to link it to Grice, but you can’t have everything, can you? Not in this line of business, anyway. Thankful for small mercies, that’s what, if you’re a police officer. We can’t prove Herrera was on Grice’s payroll. It might’ve been a revenge attack. Still, don’t,’ finished Parry a trifle obscurely, ‘look a gift horse in the mouth.’

I’d better take back what I wrote above. Parry isn’t sensitive. I’d no sympathy for Herrera, but the passing of a human being ought to be met without hand-rubbing glee. I suppose to Parry it was just another statistic. As for me, I have to say it was a relief to know Herrera wasn’t out there, nursing his bitten hand and plotting a nasty revenge attack of his own.

But Parry had missed my meaning when I’d said they wouldn’t catch Herrera’s killers. I didn’t bother to explain it. The police might choose to believe that Herrera had died as a result of a random violent attack – and his attackers had thoughtfully left his knife by his side on the pavement. It just confirmed my previous notion that Grice was a very well-organised man. Herrera had been a weak link. Picked up by the police, he’d have told them everything he knew about Grice and whether or not he’d been told to eliminate Gray Coverdale. Now he wouldn’t have the opportunity. I shivered.

‘I hope,’ said Parry, ‘that after all this, you’re going to make a New Year resolution, Fran, to keep out of trouble.’

‘With a little help from my friends,’ I told him.

‘Well, I’ll be off then,’ he said. ‘Give us a kiss for Christmas.’

He should be so lucky. I pushed him out of the door and slammed it behind him.

I went round to the shop to tell Ganesh Parry’s news about Herrera. He was just closing up. We finished off and went up the back stairs to the flat.

‘Don’t know what Hari wants done about the unsold Christmas cards,’ he said. ‘Whether I’m supposed to flog them off half-price or put them away till next year. We’ll leave the decorations up until after New Year.’

‘You’re supposed to leave them until Twelfth Night,’ I told him. We counted up on our fingers to work out exactly what calendar date they would bring us to.

‘Nice to think we’ve got a couple of days off,’ said Ganesh. ‘I’ll have to pop down to High Wycombe and see Mum and Dad at some point, but we could go somewhere.’

‘Like where? Everywhere’s closed.’ I had an idea. ‘We could go and see a pantomime.’

A bell rang loudly, making us jump. ‘Street door,’ said Ganesh. ‘Hang on.’ He went to lean out of the window to see who it was. ‘Usha,’ he told me over his shoulder. ‘I’ll just chuck her down the key.’

He dropped it down to his sister and went to open the door on to the staircase which led up from the street. We heard the outer door slam and footsteps running up the stair. Usha burst in.

She was dressed in a new-looking scarlet wool coat, black ski-pants and nifty little boots. Obviously, being married to an accountant pays off. She was also clearly in a bit of a state and hadn’t just come round to wish us a happy holiday.

Hands on hips and long black hair flying, she demanded, ‘What’s been going on here?’ As an afterthought, she added, ‘Hi, Fran. Happy Christmas.’

It was such an open question that we both stayed silent, wondering quite what or how much to tell her.

‘How do you mean?’ Ganesh asked cautiously.

She advanced on him, jabbing a finger at each word. ‘Don’t try wriggling out of it. We know! What’s more, Dad’s writing to Uncle Hari tonight!’

‘If you mean the washroom—’ Ganesh began, drawing himself up to begin his defence.

‘Of course I mean the washroom! What have you been doing to it? How much has it cost? Hari didn’t say anything about getting decorators in before he left. Did you get more than one estimate?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Ganesh, rallying before the onslaught. ‘Because I got a very good deal from Hitch. And before you go on, tell me how you all know about it.’

‘Dilip saw them working here. He told his mum. She told—’ Usha gave a hiss of exasperation. ‘It got passed down the line. You know how it does. Dad says you must have gone barmy.’

Trying to help, though it wasn’t my spat, I offered, ‘It looks really good, Usha. Have you seen it?’

‘No, I haven’t, but I’m going to. I’ve got to go back and tell Dad exactly what you’ve done so’s he can put it in his letter.’

We trailed downstairs to the new washroom. ‘You wait till you see it,’ said Ganesh belligerently. ‘The old one was a health hazard. See!’ He threw open the door.