Scar Tissue (22 page)

There’s nothing like finding yourself at the end of a long, low, narrow corridor with people in pursuit to make you discover whether it’s a dead end or not. The wall I was staring at certainly looked pretty permanent, still with the original pointing. The bricks underfoot were beautifully even: they’d not been disturbed since they were laid. Which left, in my book, the roof. Yes. A trapdoor. And someone had oiled the huge bolt securing it so that it opened without as sound as I pulled it back. But it didn’t drop down. You had to push it up, which was another matter altogether. I reckon that an escaping priest would have had to be doing regular weight-training to shift it. It was a good job I’d been lugging about ladders and dealing with windows that didn’t want to open. But it was tough even for me. And once one last heave had got the trapdoor open, it was damned hard to pull myself up, especially as I had the extra weight of the tool belt to fight against. I thought my arms would come out of their sockets. However much I told myself it was no worse than pulling myself out of the hotel swimming pool if someone had taken away the steps, I knew I was lying. It was far worse than that. Then I realised if I turned towards the end face of the tunnel I could walk myself up. And did.

Better shut the trapdoor.

I’d scarcely enough breath or energy. But I managed. And then, for good measure, I collapsed on top of it to catch my breath. I’d be invisible should anyone be looking – surrounded by gorse or something, whatever it was was really thick
and prickly, ready to tear me apart when I crawled through it. Not to mention my jeans and top. And while I could grow new skin…

I wasn’t far from the Royal Military Canal where I’d seen – how long ago was it? – that human cargo being loaded into the vans. The canal meant the wide footpath this side and the road other. Should I risk running along the road – OK, struggling along it – or should I stick to the canal bank, using the reeds as cover? Against that, I must balance the risk of slipping and falling in. And it was one thing to manage a few lengths in that shallow little hotel pool, quite another to take a dip in water that might be deep or weed-choked. There was always the canal path, of course, but that was far more exposed and I’d be very vulnerable, not knowing where I should cross the canal if I had to.

OK, decision time.

I chose the road. Despite all the obvious things against it, it was safer underfoot for a tired walker. Dog-tired, and very hungry. I thought fleetingly of those posh afternoon teas. Which brought me to Todd: how was he, dear, innocent, naïve Todd, getting on in the hands of the police? I mustn’t think about him, or about anything bad happening to him. No: even though not everyone recognised him, he was still too much of a public figure for anyone to take risks with him. If he kept a cool head he’d be all right. Please God he’d be all right. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to him. It didn’t help to think that he was probably worrying himself sick about Jan and me.

Back to the situation I didn’t have to speculate about. My own. So far, so good. At least being in the country meant
that there were no nasty kerb-crawlers so far. But what about other cars, police cars in particular? Surely, even if a stray police car picked me up, Jan would have bent someone’s ear by now. Chewed it off, more likely. Todd and me – we’d both be safe soon.

For some reason I chose to head north-east, towards Appledore and ultimately Hythe and Folkestone. I don’t know why. Rye would have been just as good. Good for what? I’d no idea. I just kept plugging along. Cars passed in both directions. I pretended I was invisible.

Soldiers must have patrolled along here for years, fearing a sight of Napoleon and his Froggie army. Or in my grandparents’ lifetime, keeping an eye out in case Mr Hitler wasn’t kidding. At least they were protected by cannons or by hand weapons.

I had nothing. No ID. Nothing except my toolbelt, which didn’t seem to be doing anyone any good. But it was well made, and I hated waste, so I kept it on, telling myself that joggers bought weights to make them fitter faster. Good for them.

So why weren’t there police cars looking out for me? After all that fuss and palaver, I’d have expected a helicopter with a searchlight, the sort that had disturbed my sleep with terrifying regularity back in Brum, or, come to think of it, what I feared most – dogs. A fugitive can outface most things, but not dogs. And here I was, walking unhindered along the road.

Things were beginning to make no sense at all.

At last I could see the lights of Appledore. There were pubs there, two of them. The first with a payphone would get my custom. I knew several phone numbers off by heart,
Taz’s and Jan’s for starters. One of them would reply. Or there was even Paula’s – harsh-tongued, safe Paula, who might already be heading this way anyway, in response to Todd’s original phonecall. I needed to warn her fast.

The Black Lion. Perhaps I didn’t look as bad as I expected: no one turned to stare at me. At least, not for long. But the payphone did nothing except swallow my change.

The barmaid looked very concerned, refunding it without question. She was less keen on letting me use the bar’s phone, though.

‘Please. It’s a matter of life and death,’ I gasped. She took another look at me, eyes widening. ‘And I’m happy to pay.’ I pressed the coins she’d given me on the bar. That clinched it.

Paula’s phone rang and rang. There wasn’t much point in leaving a message, was there? Hell. Before I could try Jan’s number, the bar phone rang. I stepped back to let the barmaid answer. Rolling her eyes, she passed it back to me.

‘Where the hell are you? And where’s Todd?’ Paula was not in her sunniest mood.

I told her.

‘You’re joking.’ She was very quiet.

‘No.’

‘Would you like me to come and get you?’

‘Could you?’

‘We’ve come this far; we might as well finish.’

The barman – maybe he was the landlord – looked at me oddly. I ordered a tomato juice and a packet of crisps and gestured to the phone again. OK? No reply from Taz. Heart tight, I tried Jan. Nothing. And no wonderful incoming calls, either.

Leaving my drink and crisps on a table, I withdrew to the loos. Hmm. At least they had paper towels, not just a blower: I dabbed away the worst of the blood and more or less returned to the human race. I was only surprised no one had remarked out loud.

The landlord looked much more approving when I returned. ‘I had a fall,’ I volunteered.

‘Will you be wanting to eat?’

One wall was covered with blackboards listing a huge regular menu and a load of mouth-watering specials. Knowing it was a waste of time, I checked my pockets. No: I’d only brought enough for emergency phones, hadn’t I?

‘I’ll see what my friend says, thanks.’

Other people didn’t have my problem. A waitress ferried plates piled high. I don’t think I’ve ever smelt better chips. I ate my crisps slowly and wondered where Paula was.

I was just re-reading the blackboards for the fifth time, planning an ideal menu, when the door opened. It was hard not to throw myself into her arms. But she wasn’t touchy-feely at the best of times, and now she looked ready to repel all comers.

‘I ditch my date, drive hell for leather to Fullers, and find – nothing! What the hell’s going on?’

Paula, swearing!

‘When you say nothing, do you mean nothing? No one? No cars? Nothing?’

‘Zilch. Zero. Big round nought. Since we’re in spitting distance of France, rien. OK?’ She sat down, helping herself to my crisps.

‘No sign of anything,’ I repeated, but to myself. ‘So where
did everyone go? You see, Todd was anxious about my going priest hole hunting on my own. I said he’d be better keeping obbo. That’s why he called you, to come with me.’

‘Not to sit in the warm and dry with him? Shame. Meg would never have forgiven me, of course. Then I might have had to look for yet another painter.’ She sighed.

‘I’d buy you a drink, but all my money’s back at the hotel.’

‘Well, we could have a drink on the police if we went there. You might have to change first,’ she added. ‘You look as if you’ve been dragged through the proverbial hedge.’

‘Real bush, anyway.’ I started on a resume of my evening.

Halfway through, she raised a hand. ‘Hang on. It sounds as if I’d better have my drink here.’

It took her a few minutes to get served. By the time she’d got back I was ready to agree with her.

‘You mean you don’t think the hotel’s safe for me?’

‘I meant it sounds as if it’s going to be a long story. OK.’ She sipped her iced water and listened. At last she said, ‘I think you might be right. I think the hotel might not be a safe place. But then, where is? If the police can charge your room to someone else’s account, can arrest a pop megastar and chase you down a smuggler’s passage … Hang on – did you say you had to push the trapdoor up?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it was bolted on the inside?’

‘Good job for me it wasn’t bolted on the outside!’

I might not have spoken.

‘Was there a ring or handle or anything on the outside? Caffy, you didn’t notice, did you?’ I might have spilt a whole can of paint on someone’s best carpet, she was so scornful.

I thought, staring at the hands that must have put the trapdoor back. If there hadn’t been a handle, I must have held it by the edge opposite the hinge and pulled my fingers away very sharply to let it close. That, or crush my fingertips, and I hadn’t done that. But short as I kept my nails, three were broken. ‘There was a sort of rebated cut into it,’ I said. ‘Nothing very obvious at all. And no means of locking it from the outside. I thought I might have to sit on it for a very long time.’

‘Sounds as if it was used for getting out, not in,’ she mused. ‘Or only getting in with the co-operation of someone inside.’

‘Where does that get us?’

‘I just like to have these things straight in my mind.’

I couldn’t argue. But I would have liked to strangle her. ‘What do we do now you’ve sorted it out?’

She lifted an eyebrow, and counted the options on her right hand. ‘Go back to the hotel, where we may be met by a police reception committee. Go back to my place, where we may find the same, and which is in any case rather occupied.’ Without giving me time to ask who was occupying it – imagine, our Paula with a fellow (or a fellowess; try how we might, none of us had ever managed to suss out that aspect of her) – she continued, ‘we could try Fullers, and sleep in your eyrie.’

‘That’s out. I took all my stuff and put it in Todd’s car. Which is now –’ I shrugged.

‘Your flat?’

‘Someone’s cut off the power.’

‘Trev?’

‘Cold and think of the secondhand paint fumes.’

‘You’re a proper little ray of sunshine.’

I couldn’t deny it. My feet were sore after my trip round Tourist-land in sandals. My legs ached after the tunnel steps. My arms wished they didn’t belong to my shoulders. I was still dog-tired and still bloody hungry. Another plate of chips, this one also bearing steak and other wonders, went past. ‘What we could do,’ I said at last, ‘is get on your phone and dial all the numbers we know. We must be able to talk to someone.’

‘That could take a long time. And my supper’s waiting for me.’

‘And your supper date? Oh, Paula, do tell.’

Just as I managed to whip up some enthusiasm she turned to me and said, ‘It’s none of your business. Not yet,’ she added, her face softening a little. ‘Early days.’

I nodded. ‘There aren’t all that many numbers. And it’d be quicker for you if someone could pick me up here and let you scoot off.’

‘Instead of the round trip to your hotel – which may or may not be a good idea. OK. Who first?’

‘Todd. I want to know that he’s all right.’

She dialled, pulled a face and held out the handset. ‘You’d better leave a message, then.’

All in one breath, I said, ‘Todd, it’s me. I’m fine. I hope you are. Can you call on Paula’s mobile?’

‘I’ll try Jan.’ Bless her for knowing I’d rather not talk to Taz. She held the handset for another message.

‘Sid?’

‘Sid!’

‘He must have some idea what’s going on.’

‘But he’s on their side, isn’t he?’

‘Not necessarily. He managed to get into work today and was very worried about you – when he’d got over being pissed off at you for leaving him at the William Harvey.’

‘I left his keys. What more did he want?’

‘A spot of TLC. I told him you only did TLC for buildings.’

‘He may have been worried about me because he’d planted that bug.’

‘You know, I never checked this bag. A bit busy.’ Then and there she tipped the entire contents on to the table. Paula – lipstick?

But there was nothing more sinister.

‘I wonder what shifts that Sherree works,’ Paula mused. ‘Because she might be a source of information.’

I looked at my watch. ‘She was off-site much earlier than this last night. Do you think it’s worth a try?’

‘What else have we got? There can’t be all that many Sherree Wagfords in the phone book.’ She cadged one from the landlord, plus more water, tomato juice and crisps. Another, braver man might have suggested she was expecting a lot for very little.

Once more she thrust the phone at me. ‘Go on. Your gig.’

The whole conversation would involve very delicate negotiation, I could see that. And to be honest – and when am I ever anything else? – I didn’t know how to broach the goings on at the police station.

I’d reckoned without Sherree, however. Hardly taking time to register who I was, she burst into a hectic description of the chaos at the police station. Chaos sounded good.

‘What’s up, then?’ I asked.

‘It seems they were after some woman who’d messed up some operation for them, then it seems they shouldn’t have been involved in the operation after all, and there’s talk of suspensions and arrests and the internal investigation people are coming down and goodness knows what. Who did you say you were?’

‘The girl who helped you out with that drunk last night.’

‘That nice … why, you must have left your pen in my bag. And that’s what’s set all this off. Tell you what, there’s ever such a lot of people looking for you.’