Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (28 page)

Looking at the pad and alphabet, she tried to remember what Dimi had told her, but it was hopeless, she would need days to go through it all and that mad bitch, Martha would soon be banging on the door outside.

Sitting down quickly at the desk, she took the diary from her purse and flipped through the pages till she came to the long message, and looking back to the pad, saw it was laying open at about a third of the way through, so which page did she need?

She sighed. This was no good, she didn’t need five minutes, she needed five weeks.

There was only one possible answer, she would have to photocopy the alphabet and every used page in the pad, and later, go carefully through every single one.

Leaning over to the copier, she checked the paper tray and flicked on the switch, but nothing happened, and then she saw it was switched off at the wall socket, and stabbing her finger at the switch, sighed as the red neon lit up in the socket and the machine began to hum into life.

Working as fast as she could, she copied the alphabet and all the used pages in the pad whilst hoping all the while that Martha would be late.

Martha nervously watched the clock, her thoughts far away as the ten inch knife sliced through the vegetables, and jumped when the kitchen door suddenly burst open.

‘Go away, Arthur, can’t you see I’m busy.’

And looking round, nearly died when she saw Lucinda storm into the kitchen, her face tight with anger, and marching to the table, flung her bag down so hard it sent the crockery scattering and smashing to the floor.

‘So why are men the most useless fucking drivers on the planet? Tell me that.’

Martha dropped the knife, and as the blade danced and clattered on the flagstones, wanted to scream when she thought of Miss Chrissy sat up there in the priest-hole.

‘I really don’t know, ma’am.’

‘You don’t? And why not, you useless old cow. Don’t I pay you enough?’

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘So having taken my money, do you still refuse to know?’

‘Yes ma’am, and I’m very sorry, ma’am.’

‘Well that’s it then, because if the high and mighty,
Martha
, insists on not knowing, then so shall I, the Pope, and the man in the frigging moon.’

Martha stood wide eyed in misery.

All the signs were there and ma’am could slip headlong into another mindless rampage.

‘But I would add, if there were any fucking justice in this lousy fucking world, every male driver would be fucking disembowelled with a garden fucking fork, do I make myself perfectly understood, you hideous old reptile.’

Tears began to stream down Martha’s face, ‘Yes ma’am.’

Storming across to the hall door, Lucinda threw up her hands in absolute fury.

‘And now, thanks to you and your shitty disobedience, I need a hot bath.’

But she stopped, and swinging round, her bright eyes began to glint wickedly.

‘I see Chrissy has returned, so send her up to me, at least she has a brain.’

Martha shuddered as Lucinda stormed away, because now, and thanks to her publisher, the days of darkness had returned.

Panting, she made her way through the house, and tiptoeing through the gloom, began to climb the ghostly stairs to the priest hole, her heart thumping as the carving scratched and moaned on its spindle, but at last came the faint click of the lock and the panelled door swung open, and as the spiders scuttled away into the shadows, the door at the top of the steps flew open and Christiana stood in a halo of light.

‘Martha. What the hell happened? I’ve been waiting for ages.’

‘Sorry Miss, but my lady came back, and she’s in a terrible fury.’

Christiana stood bolt upright, ‘Oh Jesus, that’s all we need.’

‘Yes Miss, so come out quickly.’

Her mind racing, she took her purse and the photocopies, and flicking off the light, pulled the door shut behind her and flew down the steps and out of the priest hole. Watching as Martha hurriedly locked the door, she gave not a thought to the red neon light shining brightly on the power socket of the copier.

Taking Christiana by the arm, Martha guided her silently out through the gloom, and when they were safely back in the kitchen, stepped close and whispered to her.

‘Miss Chrissy, my lady’s hurt her mind again. I knew it would happen and she’s in a fearful state, and now she wants to see you.’

Christiana’s thoughts were just a vague blur as she ran down the winding path to the courtyard, and reaching the Ferrari, began searching in her purse for the keys, and opening the trunk, pushed the photocopies under a rug.

Glancing to the steering wheel, she knew she would give anything to just jump in and drive away, but instead held herself still.

Not yet, Christiana. Maybe soon. But not yet.

27

Frank wandered around the balcony, his thoughts now preoccupied with Monty.

He’d taken Tara out shopping so he’d obviously taken her under his wing, but what bothered him, was on returning to Thornley he’d taken the official car straight back to the clinic, and when Monty went off on his own it usually meant he was planning something, so he’d better stay sharp from now on.

Lifting the broom he checked the tension of the nylon and it seemed about right, and walking back to the apartment, eased the curtains until he could see the twine running through, and calling house reception, asked to speak to one of the officers who’d brought Anderton up to the apartment.

‘Hello? Owen Davies, speaking. So did you want me, sir?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I’ve got another job for you.’

Owen thought of the builder’s sheet lying stained and ugly in the maintenance yard.

‘And what would that be, sir?’

‘CI Hillsdown. He’ll be arriving at reception soon, and when he does, I want you and your colleague to bring him up to Miss Goodwin’s apartment, the same as before.’

A silence came on the line, and when he spoke again, Owen’s voice seemed unsure.

‘When you say, bring him up, do you mean, escort him up, because he is the chief, sir, and I wouldn’t want to get it wrong.’

‘No, Mr Davies, you’re not wrong. Just bring him up the same as that other pervert, and when you’re talking with your colleague, be sure to mention that when you brought Anderton up earlier, it looked like he’d been hit by a train, if you see what I mean.’

Owen frowned at the word, pervert, but remembered that some months ago, a child porno magazine had been found in the glove box of Hillsdown’s Jaguar, and though he’d denied all knowledge of it, the guards had hated his guts ever since.

‘I think I know what you mean, sir, and according to my Gwen, I’ve told more stories than I’ve had hot dinners, so I reckon you can rely on me to pass on the message.’

Christiana walked through to the bedroom, and gazing around, stopped in her tracks.

It looked as if it had been hit by a Tornado and she wondered why Martha put up with this madness, and looking at the destruction, let her breath out softly and closed the door.

So why on earth did Lucinda do it?

Listening to the sounds of splashing coming from the bathroom, she wondered if this mess could be the result of seeing her publisher, and now being totally wound up, obviously wanted to relax with her favourite game. Water Babies.

Oh well, there was nothing she could do about it, except, if she could get Lucinda rolling drunk again it might give her some time to check out the pad and alphabet.

Feeling happier, she took a moment to collect her thoughts, for although the water baby game might be Lucinda’s special fantasy, for her it simply meant that once again she would be the feast at Lucinda’s banquet.

Looking around, she took a bottle of wine from the scattered mess, and opening her silver tobacco tin, rolled a cannabis cigarette, and if she could make this work, she might be able to start unravelling the coded messages.

Christiana picked her way through the debris and tiptoed over to the chest of drawers, and with a long sigh, stripped off her T shirt, leggings and pants.

Selecting the items, she dressed in the erotic clothes, and listening at the bathroom door, gently pushed it open and stepped into the hot steamy mist.

‘Hi honey. Look who’s come to play.’

Lucinda, woozy from the heat, looked up through the steamy mist, her breath suddenly catching in her throat.

There in front of her was her fantasy, and all the way from her bouncy blonde hair to the tip of her yellow stiletto heeled shoes.

She sat up in the bath, chest panting, her burning gaze travelling over every inch of Christiana, from her beautiful face, full breasts, tiny waist and long legs in yellow stockings, the frilly suspender belt framing her tummy, and those knickers.

Frank heard the rap on the door, and snatching it open saw a gaunt figure in uniform standing pathetically between two officers, the fear in his eyes telling him that Owen Davies had been true to his word, and he was shaking like a leaf.

Looking him over, he was surprised, he’d expected a much bigger man, but he was only slightly built for his height and the only weight about him was his large beer belly.

His record said he was forty eight but looked much older, the grey moustache adding ten years to his face and the bags under his eyes another five.

Leaving him to sweat in the cells had done its work, his uniform now looking shabby, his greasy hair uncombed and an odour of stale sweat hung around him.

Frank looked at the guards in turn, ‘Did the prisoner give you any trouble?’

Hillsdown’s eyes widened at the word, prisoner, and opened his mouth to protest, but Frank ignored him and looked enquiringly to Owen.

‘No sir. He was as quiet as a mouse.’

‘Okay, you can get back to work now. I’ll take care of him.’

As the guards walked quietly away, Frank jerked his head at Hillsdown, ‘Get in.’

Hillsdown walked inside, and for the first time in his life he was absolutely terrified.

He’d been promised total protection all down the line, but where was it now?

These Cardinal assassins were here and Anderton was already dead.

As the big man walked towards him, a nauseating fear began to churn in his stomach and he thought he was going to throw up, ‘Please don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Please don’t hit me.’

Frank scowled, ‘Relax, I’m not going to hit you, I’ve only got orders to kill you.’

‘Kill me? But why …?’

‘It’s a word called Treason, and don’t bother with the protests, we know all about it.’

He started to shake, ‘But this is a terrible mistake.’

‘Yeah, and you made it. So congratulations, you’re an idiot.’

‘But I didn’t want to get involved, he made me.’

‘Who did?’

‘Oh, just someone I met at a party, but he’s dead now.’

‘And the name?’

‘Oh, alright. I suppose it doesn’t matter now.’

‘Correct. So what is it?’

‘Bromsgrove. Sir Freddie Bromsgrove.’

Frank was taken by surprise, he’d been expecting him to say Sheverill, but Bromsgrove?

Thinking it through, he realised that name kept cropping up like a revolving door.

First, and according to Angela’s file, he’d been a special advisor to the Chiefs of Staff and had official sanction to visit Thornley Manor, but he’d also been Tara’s uncle and had a housekeeper called Stacey who’d kept a diary of perverts, and each of them, Bromsgrove, Glenndenning, Sheverill, Anderton and Hillsdown were all on her list, and right in the middle of the whole sickening mess was poor little Tara Goodwin.

But Bromsgrove had committed suicide on the day of the twin towers, so had he realised the file corruption would soon come out into the open?

‘Come on then. So how was Bromsgrove able to make you get involved?’

Hillsdown twitched, ‘He knew something about me.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, nothing much. I was a member of his recreation club, that’s all.’

Frank pictured him having recreation with Tara and wanted to punch his lights out.

Hillsdown started to whimper, ‘It’s not fair. I was promised immunity.’

Frank controlled his anger, ‘Promised immunity? And by whom?’

Looking up quickly, Hillsdown gagged, ‘I can’t tell you that. He’ll kill me.’

Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, Frank marched him out onto the balcony, and thrusting him over the balustrade, pointed down to the sheet laying far below.

‘Say hello to Anderton, he didn’t want to co-operate either.’

Hillsdown became rigid, his eyes bulging as he looked down to the disgusting sheet.

‘Well, Hillsdown, it looks like you’ve ended up with the proverbial Cardinal choice. You can talk and he’ll kill you, or you don’t talk and I’ll kill you.’

Hillsdown pushed back from the balustrade, ‘But if I do, will you protect me.’

Frank lit a cigarette, ‘I suppose anything’s possible, it just depends what you’ve got.’

‘Well I can give you the name. The one who organised it.’

‘Go on then. Try me.’

‘His name’s Sheverill, Robin Sheverill. He works for the secret branch of the NSA, he worked it all out and organised the whole thing, he’s the one you want.’

‘Hillsdown, this is the wrong time to play games.’

‘Play games? What do you mean?’

‘I mean, Sheverill’s dead.’

‘Dead? But it was nothing to do with me, I’m innocent.’

‘Ah bollocks, you’re full of shit, just like the others, and I don’t know why I’m bothering. You see, according to Anderton, the game only worked because you called off the guards, then abseiled down from the roof, took the photos and smuggled them out, but you double crossed Sheverill and sold the film privately, that’s why everyone wants you dead.’

His jaw dropped, ‘But that’s all lies. It wasn’t like that at all.’

‘Oh really. So go on then, how was it?’

He flustered, ‘Well Sheverill went into Leonardo and held the papers up to the window while Anderton sat in the cradle and took the photos, then he passed the film down to me, and I took it out through the main gate and gave the film to Robin Sheverill, then he took it to Bromsgrove and he went on to meet the buyer as arranged.’

Frank came alive, ‘The buyer? What buyer?’

‘Mister G. Sheverill always said we had to keep Mister G happy.’

Frank felt like dancing a jig, and it was a fair bet that Mr G was Glenndenning.

The government advisor who was not only mentioned in Stacey’s list, as evil personified, but also the one who’d used Dudley to block the Sanderson File and then had him killed.

So he must be mentioned in it, the brains behind the whole damned thing, and if he was, Angela could have her victim, and if he acted quickly, he could get Tara out to safety.

Looking back to Hillsdown, he saw his eyes were pleading, ‘So will you help me?’

‘I might, after I’ve checked.’

‘Checked?’

‘Well of course, the others didn’t mention a cradle.’

‘But it’s true, honest to god, I swear it.’

Frank rubbed his jaw, ‘Okay. So where is it, this cradle?’

Hillsdown looked up under the eaves but the cradle was no-where to be seen.

‘It must be chained up in its docking bay, round at the side of the house.’

Frank laughed, ‘Oh yeah, and next you’ll be telling me the tooth fairy stole it.’

Hillsdown backed away as Frank moved closer towards him.

‘No, wait, please. You can see the guide rails, just up there.’

Frank looked up, ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Well it isn’t a good angle from here, but they are there, please look.’

Frank sighed, ‘Okay, if you say so, but this is your last chance.’

Climbing up, Frank stood on the balustrade, ‘Well, come on then. Show me.’

Hillsdown wobbled as he climbed up, ‘The rails are just up there.’

‘Well I’m damned, you could be right. Wait here and I’ll fetch some binoculars.’

Hillsdown, swaying in the breeze, watched Frank jump down, but his expression fell apart when he turned round holding a broom.

Hillsdown stared, ‘What’s that?’

‘What does it look like, it’s a broom for cleaning up a disgusting mess, like Stacey.’

Hillsdown froze at the mention of Stacey’s name, and standing there, realised everything was blown wide open. ‘But I can explain the Stacey woman.’

‘Well no doubt you’ll try, but if you tell me she came down to earth on a moonbeam, I might drag you off there and kick all that crap right out of you, and another thing, why did you tell Anderton to kill poor old Dudley?’

He flustered, ‘I had to; I got a call from Mr G.’

Frank sighed, and reaching into Hillsdown’s pocket, pulled out a filthy handkerchief.

‘Bend down.’

Hillsdown whimpered as he crouched forward, ‘What are you going to do?’

‘This.’

Frank stuffed the sweaty, snotty handkerchief hard into Hillsdown’s mouth.

‘No more crap, Hillsdown, I’ve heard enough for one day, and to be honest, I can’t believe you ever thought there’d be a happy ending to this game of yours, because there’s no way the authorities would ever let all this come out, which is why Anderton had to commit suicide and you had a most tragic accident just trying to figure out why he did it. You see, it’s the only possible ending to this mess.’

Gagging, Hillsdown reached to his mouth, but Frank pushed the broom head into his chest and made him fall backwards, his arms flaying the air as he grabbed hold, his stifled scream strangled by the handkerchief as he looked at the broom laying out in mid-air while the nylon twine disappeared away through the curtains.