Strictly Murder (39 page)

Holly sneered and took another, menacing step towards me. I scanned the room frantically for anything I could use as a weapon before remembering the gun in my pocket. Pulling it out I waved it in front of her.

"Stop right there, Holly, I don't want to have to use this," I said, sounding like a character from some awful 'B' movie. Holly laughed.

"You won't use it, and if I die I shall be re-united with Greg."

Maybe that explained the calmness, her coolness and indifference. Still brandishing the knife she moved closer to Candida, putting herself between us. How long have I been here, I thought? Five minutes? Ten? Surely Jerry must get here soon. Just keep her talking.

"Let's face it, Holly," I said, attempting to distract her from the terrified producer, "you were hardly unique, were you? Greg Ferrari would sleep with anything in a skirt."

As a distraction strategy it did have its drawbacks—my own imminent demise being one of them. Shrieking like a hell-cat, Holly ran towards me, knocking the gun out of my hand.

"You bitch. You interfering old hag."

I bolted behind the settee and round the other side snatching a shoe from Candida's foot as I did so. The producer raised her tied legs in time to catch Holly and trip her as we played cat and mouse around the furniture. Without thinking, I launched myself on Holly's back, trying to stay clear of her right hand, and hammered the stiletto heel into her naked shoulder. On the settee Candida writhed and wriggled, her despairing eyes watching our every move, less concerned for my welfare, no doubt, than that of her £300 shoe. I jabbed the heel into my opponent's neck.

"You hypocrite!" somebody yelled. It might have been me. "You lying, scheming little bitch."

I grabbed for the wrist holding the knife while still trying to grind the stiletto through the flesh of her neck. Droplets of blood ran down onto the carpet. I tried to stay calm. I could win this battle if I could just keep on delaying her until the police showed up. I needed to stay one step ahead and out-think my opponent, not match her insult for insult. Perhaps it was the memory of how Holly had fooled me that had turned me into a screaming virago now. She squirmed underneath me. I lifted and repeatedly banged her wrist and hand on the floor but she held tight to the weapon. Then she bucked, throwing me sideways.

"Arrgh."

I rolled across the floor, desperate to stay out of her reach, and bumped into the occasional table bringing down a large pottery vase which landed within inches of my head. I twisted to the left, taking my eyes off the frenzied girl. When I looked back Holly was already getting to her feet, ready to attack me again. Banging my head on the table legs had caused my vision to blur and from somewhere I heard a pounding, my blood probably, sounding loud in my ears. Holly made a step backwards, the better to come at me again, as I lay, groggy and confused, at her feet.

"Mmfmph"

Candida moved on the sofa, at the periphery of my line of sight. I daren't turn to look at her, Holly was too close. Suddenly, she grabbed at my hair lifting my head from the ground. I curled round, trying to kick at her legs. I couldn't see the knife. Where was the knife? I screamed as a particularly vicious tug left my hair in her hands instead of my scalp. My head fell back with a thud. A black wave swept over me. I felt myself weakening, Holly had nearly twenty years advantage in the youth and fitness stakes. I still couldn't locate the knife, the girl's hands were a blur as she pulled at my hair again. I scrabbled to lever myself up as she let go and my head hit the side of the table with a crash.

"Verity! Are you all right? Don't try to get up."

Was it Jerry? Had I passed out? Died, perhaps, and gone to heaven?

"Mmm. S'OK."

If that was my voice it sounded like the bleat of a new born lamb.

I opened my eyes. Through the blur, a uniformed female was untying the ropes from around Candy Clark's legs while the producer rubbed at her bruised, but free, arms. I didn't envy her removing the duct tape. It does so play havoc with one's super-gloss lipstick. I giggled.

I tilted my head to the right, grimacing as a wave of nausea hit me. Holly Danvers, hands cuffed behind her back, a sullen, defeated slump to her shoulders, stood subdued now in the firm grasp of Sergeant Stott while Jerry intoned the words of the formal arrest over her bowed head. Two more police officers stood by the wrecked front door.

Oh good, I thought, as darkness swept over me. The cavalry has arrived.

I can't have been out for more than a couple of minutes. When I came to I was on the sofa, a paramedic dabbing something that stung on to my forehead, Holly Danvers was being led off to a waiting police car and Candida Clark was nowhere to be seen.

"Candy …?"

"Hush, hush. She's already in the ambulance. Do you think you can stand?"

I nodded, struggling to my feet, one arm held by the medic, the other by Jerry.

The medic crossed to the door.

"Two minutes, Inspector. The ambulance is waiting."

Jerry surveyed me critically then grabbed me, roughly, by the shoulders.

"You bloody little fool! What on earth did you think you were playing at, putting us both at risk like that?"

Both of us? I was the one who'd just gone ten rounds with a rabid Holly Danvers.

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to have endangered you, Inspector?"

"Just how clear headed and effective, how good at my job, do you think I am when I'm worried sick about you?"

"Oh," was all I could think of to say.

"I told you to leave it to us. When will you ever listen, Verity? I want you to stay out of my affairs."

"And out of your life, I suppose."

I said it bitterly, aware that I'd blown my chances with him, but his reply took me completely by surprise. He pulled me to him, almost crushing me in his grasp.

"Oh, God, no. Anything but that, you little fool. I want you in my life, part of my life. But out of danger." He stroked my hair then pushed it pack, taking my face in his hands. "I want to love you, make love to you and, when I've done that, I want to do it all over again. What do you think to that?"

Actually I thought I quite liked it. His voice had been harsh but the hands that held me were gentle.

"Hmm? What have you got to say to that?"

What indeed? I couldn't do any better than finish the way I'd started. I hazarded another line from
Casablanca
.

"Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

He laughed, liquid amber eyes locked on my own.

"Oh, Verity. You and your movie quotes. Come on."

Gently, a protective arm around my shoulder, he helped me downstairs to the ambulance waiting below.

I was sitting at my desk, idly musing on the outcome of the Jaynee Johnson case and wondering whether I would hear from Chief Inspector Jerry Farish again when the telephone rang.

"Good morning, Kathleen Davenport's office."

"Hello," an unknown woman's voice. "May I speak to Verity Long, please?"

"This is Verity."

"Oh, hello. I'm calling about the advert. The one in the Crofterton Gazette."

"Ye..es?"

For a moment my mind was blank.

"The one where you asked anyone with information about Charlotte Neal to contact you."

I snapped to attention, pulling my pad and pen towards me, thoughts of romance forgotten.

"Oh yes. Who is this?"

"My name is or, rather, was Kimberley Hughes."

I nearly fell off my chair. The friend whose house Charlotte had just left on the night she disappeared.

"I'm now Mrs Atkins and don't get over to Crofterton to visit my mum very often. She saved the advert out of the paper to show me."

Fascinating, no doubt, but I wasn't interested in her long winded explanation. I wanted to know what she could tell me about Charlotte and the night she vanished.

"Yes, Mrs Atkins. Do you have information about your friend?"

"Yes, yes I do." She sounded eager. Maybe she had something to get off her chest after twenty years.

"Look," she went on. "Could we meet? I'd really rather not discuss this over the phone.

"Of course. Where and when would suit you?"

"Could you come over to my mum's place. Say, in about an hour?"

I confirmed that her mum was still living on Conway Drive and assured her I'd be there.

"I'll be waiting outside for you," she said, and put the phone down.

KD was just sliding an omelette out of a pan, folding it over on the plate with an expert flick of the pan's edge. A crisp green salad lay ready on a side plate on the table.

"Cheese omelette?" she asked putting the plate down and picking up a bottle of Montepulciano.

"It's tempting but no thanks. I've got to go out."

"Oh?"

"I've just had Kimberley Hughes on the phone. The friend in the missing schoolgirl case."

"Ah." She sipped her wine. "Will she know anything, do you suppose?"

"Only one way to find out. I'll be a couple of hours."

"That's fine. I'll see you when you get back. Oh, and Verity …?"

I turned in the doorway.

"Be careful. Drive safely." She waved a forkful of egg in my direction.

"Sure thing, boss."

I left her to enjoy her lunch.

A tall, brown haired woman wearing a green, summer dress and a white cardigan waited for me as I parked the car outside 122 Conway Drive. We shook hands but instead of turning towards the house she began to walk in the direction of the shops.

"I hope you don't mind," she began, "but I didn't want to discuss this in front of my mum. She's not well and …"

"That's all right."

She led me across the road and through the waving sea of parched, sun browned grass towards the trees.

"I'm taking you to where the plot was hatched."

She smiled at me. Then, seeing my baffled look, said, "Don't worry, that's not as sinister as it sounds."

"Well, I'll admit to being intrigued," I said.