Walk a Narrow Mile (9 page)

Hillary was just about to call it a day, and was actually bending down to retrieve her handbag from the bottom drawer of her desk, when something tugged so hard in the back of her mind, that it had the physical result of shooting her upright on her chair again.

What was it?

WPC Dern. And something Deirdre Tinkerton had said. Hillary sat very still and ran her mind back over her time at the Tinkerton household. What? What had she said…? Something about Sam Pickles being handsome. No, that didn’t make sense.

Yes. Yes it did.

Instantly she was back in the kitchen with Deirdre Tinkerton making her rhubarb pies. And Deirdre saying something about that nice young man who had come the first time to ask about Gilly.

Quickly, Hillary snatched the Tinkerton file and rifled through it. No, she was right – WPC Mandy Dern had been the only officer assigned to do the rounds of people who knew Gillian Tinkerton. Which made sense: WPC Dern had worked MisPer for nearly eight years now. So even back then, she’d have been an experienced hand for her sergeant to employ and on low-priority cases like missing adults, they wouldn’t have assigned more than one person anyway.

So who was the ‘nice young man’ who’d gone calling on Mrs Tinkerton?

Her heart pounding, Hillary got through to MisPer, and spoke to the case officer. He had to call up the details on his computer of course, but he quickly confirmed what she already knew. No male PC had been sent out to interview Mrs Tinkerton. Hillary thanked him and hung up.

Her eyes shining brightly for the first time in weeks, she grabbed the case files and hot-footed to Steven’s office.

Was it possible that they’d caught a break? Had Lol finally made the mistake of coming out of the woodwork far enough for them to catch a real glimpse of him at last?

S
teven looked up as Hillary knocked and came into his office. His spirits did that little ‘lifting’ thing that they did
whenever
he saw her. And he had to admit, it was slightly alarming. Since he and Maureen had divorced, there’d been other women of course, and, like all men, who’d once been married and then found himself unexpectedly free, he’d enjoyed a few years when it seemed that his youth had been returned to him.

But the novelty had long since worn off. With a 19-year-old son at university, and a 17-year-old daughter still living with her mother, he now considered himself to be both experienced and battle-hardened when it came to managing his love life. In recent years, his encounters with women had been few and far between, and not particularly successful.

And then Hillary Greene had been forced upon him
professionally
, and the next thing he knew he found himself feeling just a little bit giddy whenever she was near.

Just what the
hell
was all that about?

He tensed, and all personal worries were subsumed as he noticed the tight, expressionless look on her face. It was a look that he had learned from sometimes bitter experience that she used as a mask to cover some strong emotion. One quick look at her
glittering
eyes told him that this time it was either fury or excitement.

‘I think the bastard might have shown his hand,’ she said, in response to his questioning look.

Instantly he sat up straighter. ‘How?’

She placed two files down in front of him, pointing out the reports from WPC Dern. Quickly, she went through the salient points with him.

‘So if WPC Dern was the only one from MisPer to talk to both Judy Yelland and Gillian Tinkerton’s family, who is this “
handsome
nice young man” Deirdre Tinkerton was talking about?’

‘You think it might be her stalker?’ Steven said. ‘Taking a bit of a risk, isn’t he?’ he asked, knowing that one of his key roles in their professional life was playing devil’s advocate.

‘We know he likes to take a certain amount of those,’ she pointed out bitterly. ‘Maybe he’s the kind who just can’t help but play games,’ she concluded. ‘I need to get back to Deirdre Tinkerton and get more details.’

‘Whoa!’ Steven said, knowing that she was not going to like what he said next but determined to say it nevertheless. ‘You mean we need to fill Geoff Rhumer in on this, and
he
needs to get over there and see if Mrs Tinkerton can come up with a photo-fit. Better yet, he can gather together photos of his top twenty list of suspects and see if she can pick him out. Tracking down the stalker is his priority, remember. Getting leads on his victims is your job.’

Hillary opened her mouth to argue, caught his eye, and quickly snapped her mouth shut again. She hated it when he pulled rank on her, but, at the same time, she found it as sexy as hell.

‘Yes, sir,’ she snapped.

Steven’s dark-brown eyes flared. Damn it, he hated it when she ‘sirred’ him, but it made him go hot all over.

‘Glad we got that sorted then,’ he said, with a sweet smile.

Hillary smiled back just as sweetly. ‘I’ll get on with
interviewing
Gillian’s sister then, sir,’ she said smartly, and before he could issue her with any more smart-arse orders, she turned on her heel and left. Her back was ramrod stiff.

Steven, robbed of the last word, watched her go. Then he had to smile. Tonight was certainly going to be interesting.

Tom Warrington drove his car down a deserted and
ever-decreasing
farm track until it ended in the traditional wooden five-barred gate. There he parked and walked across the field to his copse. He’d known the landowner since he was a small boy, when he’d first discovered the small area of slightly boggy land in the dip of a field where some scrubby bushes had helped to make a wonderful den.

Since then, he’d made the place his own in a far more
interesting
way. The farmer, fed up with having his farming equipment stolen, and even some of his sheep rustled, had no objection to a uniformed copper being seen every so often walking across his land, and he had no objection to Tom planting some silver birches in the copse. The land was too boggy to plough, and he’d taken Tom at his word when he said he liked to go there to bird-watch and chill out.

Now, as Tom walked across the field, a portable
battery-powered
laptop in one hand, he felt his mood change.

It always did when he came to visit his girls.

He pushed his way into the green, cool space, listening to the birds twitter in agitation in the elder bushes. He ignored them and sat on the driest part of the small copse, on a mossy bank.

He patted the ground under one of the weeping willows. ‘Hello, ladies. I’m back. You know I never forget to come and visit.’

He imagined them all as if they were lying around him, sleeping. Or maybe sunbathing. All smiling at him.

He sighed, and opened up his laptop.

He stared at the blank screen and took several deep breaths. He knew Hillary was under constant observation now. Both that old-timer she went around with, Jimmy Jessop, and that lanky sandy-haired boy Sam Pickles were taking it in turns watching her boat, as were a handful of other old men and some of DI Geoff Rhumer’s team.

It was frustrating, but understandable, and he tried not to let it get to him.

Tom had taken special note of Rhumer, he had done so ever since Vivienne had told him about the new mysterious DI who had so many conferences with Hillary and that waste of space Crayle, and he had to admit to feeling rather insulted at the quality of the man they’d put on his trail.

He’d done some careful digging into his background. Once again, volunteering to work Records and Admin had paid off, and he’d been able to research quite a bit about Rhumer on the QT. The man was strictly a second-rater. He’d made no big mistakes in his career, but then again, he’d busted no big cases either. He was a plodder. A reliable pair of hands.

Tom had, at first, been inclined to take it personally.

Then, after thinking about it for a while, he’d understood what had happened, and he began to feel much more cheerful about it. It was Hillary’s doing, of course – what else could it be? Since she was so tight with Marcus Donleavy, the commander was bound to have let her pick whoever she wanted to be on her team, which meant she’d chosen Rhumer on purpose. After only a few seconds Tom could see her reasoning.

Rhumer was a nothing and a nobody, which is just what she wanted – someone who’d never be able to keep up or give them any bother. A high-flier might spoil their fun and get in their way. But the likes of Geoff Rhumer she could handle with one hand tied behind her back.

It was just like her to be one step ahead of everybody else. But he mustn’t let her think she could do the same with him. As
delicious
as it was to play the game with her, he had to make sure she never gained the upper hand.

Now he smiled as he began to type.

He smiled and saved the missive. Later he would print it out then take it to the centre of Oxford and post it. It wouldn’t do to send it electronically – she worked for the CRT, where modern technology ruled. They’d be on to him like a shot, no matter how clever he was. Besides, he rather liked courting her the
old-fashioned
way and he was sure she’d appreciate it.

He sighed and stretched, then got up and looked around at the young silver birches he’d planted. ‘Don’t worry ladies, I’ll be back to see you soon,’ he promised them.

He left the copse and drove back towards HQ reluctantly. The dragon in the office would notice if he was late, and she was an annoyance who was beginning to irritate him almost as much as that silly little twit, Vivienne Tyrell.

Perhaps, one day, he’d remove the officious clerk from the world as well, just so that he could have the relief of not having to see her pinched, middle-aged face looking disapprovingly at her watch whenever he came into the office. Or maybe not. Perhaps that would just be petty, and spoil it all. He had, after all, his standards to maintain. And he didn’t think Hillary would approve of him indulging himself by simply knocking off annoying, pointless people.

She had more class than that.

And she would be right: it was a little tacky, after all.

Hillary made an appointment to call on Gillian Tinkerton’s sister later that day. Sitting in her office, feeling restless and mentally calling Steven Crayle all the nasty names she could think of, she couldn’t help but wonder how Geoff Rhumer was getting on.

He’d be with Mrs Tinkerton by now surely? What was she
saying? Did she remember her caller clearly? It had been years ago now and she knew from experience just how unobservant most people were unless they were the sort who were good with faces. Just how visual was her memory? The thought that she might soon have a face to put to her enemy was making her itch.

She had Rhumer’s mobile phone number so she could easily call him. She had the phone almost in her hand when she
realized
what she was doing and stopped herself. She knew how annoyed she’d be if some other officer kept looking over her shoulder all the time she was trying to do her job, and demanding to be kept up to date. Rhumer would quite likely tell her to sod off and let him get on with it. And who could blame him?

She put the phone away and sighed, rubbing her hand over her neck. The scars were healing, weren’t they? Catching herself obsessing about those marks on her neck yet again, she snatched her hands away and gave herself a firm mental head-slap and grabbed the first folder on her desk.

It happened to be Meg Vickary’s.

Right. Time to talk to Meg’s boss, the much married Marcus Kane. It would be interesting to see what his take on their affair was, and if it matched the account Georgia Biggs had given them. Somehow she rather doubted it. Cheating husbands, in her experience, tended to be good at justifying their actions and sugar-coating even the most unpalatable pill.

She grabbed her bag and decided for once to leave Jimmy behind. If Marcus was a woman’s sort of man – and he sounded as if he might be – he might respond better to talking to a woman on her own.

She quickly checked her appearance in the ladies loo. She was wearing a white skirt and a white and orange floaty-type blouse. Her rich chestnut-coloured bob had been recently trimmed and highlighted at the hairdresser and she looked good. She’d kept off the weight, and her figure looked as trim as
it had done in years. Although she kept her make-up to a minimum she knew she wasn’t being particularly vain in thinking that nobody would put her age at fifty.

She also knew that a lot of her new found ‘glow’ could be laid at the door of a certain sexy, elegant superintendent. Damn, he could be so infuriating at times. Being her boss and having a certain amount of power over her was an added aphrodisiac that she could do without. The man got under her skin easily enough as it was, without having that added advantage.

She wondered if he’d be coming over to stay, and hoped that he was. She was beginning to need his arms around her at night.

Then she gave herself another, even harder, mental head slap for mooning about like a silly little girl. She was fifty, for pete’s sake, not fifteen.

Grumbling, furious with herself, she stalked across the car park towards Puff.

She didn’t notice the well-built young man with cat-green eyes watch her go past, a man who was instantly intrigued by her tense, angry energy. Nor did she notice the yearning in his body language as he fought the urge to follow her.

He was standing too far away to draw her attention, but Tom Warrington knew that he could cover the distance between them within a matter of seconds. For once she was on her own, without either Jimmy or Steven Crayle by her side. But it was too risky here.

His fists clenched with the effort it took him to force himself to keep on moving towards the entrance to the HQ.

What a tease she was. She didn’t even give him so much as a glance! But she must feel his presence. She must know what she was doing to him.

Then he smiled. Bloody hell, she was good at this game. She had him tied up in delicious knots without so much as lifting a finger.

He went on into admin, breathing heavily and carefully avoiding the civilian clerk. At the first opportunity he would
print off his letter to her. She would read it soon. He hoped the words would keep her awake at night.

As Hillary drove away to talk to a cheating husband, Tom Warrington began to hum softly to himself.

He wondered what he could do next to impress her.

Hillary walked alone along the Summertown pavements, doing her best to avoid the usual tourists and students who always seemed to be clogging Oxford’s streets, but, as she made her way towards the offices of the upmarket solicitor’s office, she felt unusually lethargic which couldn’t entirely be put down to the spell of hot weather.

She was not sleeping properly for a start. Even worse, she was beginning to feel as if this case was getting the upper hand. She just couldn’t seem to get the proper grip on it that it needed. It had never happened to her before and she didn’t like it.

Had she lost her nerve?

When she’d been attacked, it had scared her, left her bleeding and in a state of shock. But that hadn’t worried her – she was human, not some magazine super-hero creation. If you were cut with a blade, you went into shock and had nightmares about it. That she could deal with.

She’d returned to work as soon as she could, and she had more or less twisted Marcus Donleavy’s arm into letting her work at least on the periphery of the stalker case. She had, in fact, got back on the horse after being thrown, like a good little girl.