Warned Off (19 page)

Charmain
stared at me, her eyes going blank again. I wondered if she was in shock.
Taking two steps back, she sat on the bed. Pushing her hands under her thighs
she swung her legs to and fro as a child might, the chain clinking lightly.

After a long silence she glanced
sideways at me and the patch of carpet I stood on.

‘Is that blood?’ Her voice still carried
the flat tones of disinterest.

‘I’m afraid so.’

She got up and came toward me, the chain
swishing through the carpet like a pet snake. ‘Let me see,’ she said.

I turned and leaned against the door
resting my leg on the toe of my boot to expose the injured thigh. She squatted
down and I felt her gently holding apart the torn material. ‘Did the dog do
that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is it?’

‘The dog?’

‘Mmm.’

‘In one of your stable boxes at the
back.’

‘Did you lock it in?’

I hesitated. ‘It isn’t your dog, is it?’

‘It’s Mr Skinner’s.’

‘Well, it’s dead.’

‘Did you shoot it?’ Still her voice
showed no emotion.

‘I stabbed it with a pitchfork.’ I said.

She stood up and I turned to face her.
She was smiling. ‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘I’m glad it’s dead.’

She wandered over to the window and
stood perfectly still, staring out. The sunbeams pierced her gown and I could
see the outline of her body. I spoke quietly.

‘Was it Howard who chained you up?’

She nodded. ‘And Howard brought the
dog,’ she said, still staring out.

‘When?’ I asked.

‘Yesterday.’

I limped over and stood by her side.
‘Does he always do this when he goes away?’

She looked through the window at the
high gates and the dark trees; the prison grounds. The sun highlighted the very
fine down on her profile, more noticeable as her top lip quivered faintly. Her
eyes glistened wet. ‘It’s been worse for a few weeks.’ It came out thickly past
the obvious lump in her throat.

‘I’ll help you if you want to get out of
here,’ I offered. She didn’t reply, didn’t turn to look at me, but the water
built up in her eyes till finally she blinked, pushing out a big tear which
rolled into the ridge between her lips. The tip of her tongue came out and
licked it away.

Quietly, I asked again. ‘Charmain, do
you want me to help you get away?’

She nodded slowly and on the third nod
her head stayed down and she sobbed softly. Six inches beyond Charmain’s reach
with the chain fully extended, Stoke, with his sense of fun, had hung the
manacle key on a small hook. I gave her the key and putting her foot up on the
bed she freed herself.

She was suddenly brighter, more
positive. ‘Can we go now?’

‘You’d better get dressed. I can wait
outside.’

‘I haven’t any clothes.’

I looked at the thin pink gown.

‘It’s all I have left. Howard burned all
my clothes two days ago.’

‘Okay, we’ll have to find you something
when we get out.’

She nodded briskly, waiting like a puppy
for me to lead the way, and I got a glimpse of the happy schoolgirl of not that
many years ago. Maybe Stoke hadn’t killed her spirit completely.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’ And I
turned, all the weight on my good leg, and took a step forward on the bad one
which immediately balled up into twisted thigh muscles as an agonising cramp
bit deep. Stumbling, I reached toward the wall for support. I felt Charmain
grab me from behind, trying to keep me upright.

‘Can I sit down?’ I gasped. ‘I’ll have
to get the leg straight.’

She pulled my left arm over her shoulder
and I consciously held my hand away from her breast where it would have rested.
She got me to the bed and I bumped down heavily, trying to keep the leg up.

‘Can you hold my foot and press the toe
down? And very carefully straighten my leg ...’

She started pushing. The pain got worse.

‘Charmain! Slowly!’

The pain from the wound quickly overtook
that from the cramp. ‘Leave it!’ I shouted.

‘Sorry, am I going too fast?’

‘No, no ... you’re doing all right but
the pain’s too much.’

She looked at me. I closed my eyes and
clenched my teeth.

‘Will I put your foot down now?’

I nodded. Sweat broke on my forehead. I
opened my eyes and looked up at Charmain, at the concern on her face. I didn’t
delude myself that the worry was more for her escape than my survival.

‘I can probably find something to bathe
it.’ she offered.

‘Okay.’

‘Shall I help you off with your
trousers?’

I shook my head. ‘Never get them on
again.’

She went through a door and came out
with a white towel and a porcelain bowl of hot water laced with disinfectant.
Between her teeth a pair of scissors gleamed. She helped me roll over to lie on
my stomach, then carefully cut away the bloody material around the wound. ‘This
might sting a bit,’ she said. I braced myself, but not well enough. When the
sting bit, my heel came up in shock and she gasped as it caught her in the
stomach.

‘I’m sorry! You all right?’

She coughed. ‘It’s okay. I’ll try
again.’ She leaned from the side this time, avoiding my feet.

I spent the next two minutes trying not
to scream.

Charmain
supported me as I hobbled down the stairs. I pictured her trying to climb the
big gate in her nightgown. I pictured me trying to climb it in a bandage and a
lot of pain.

‘Is there a key for the main gate?’ I
asked.

‘I think there’s one on the back ledge
of the mailbox’.

There was.

We walked round the bend under the dark
trees and I felt a sudden apprehension that the car might not be there but it
was exactly as I’d left it.

‘Should I drive?’ Charmain asked.

I gave her the key. She adjusted the
seat and the mirror and rearranged her gown as I lowered myself into the
passenger seat.

Mechanically, she checked face and hair in
the mirror. Some level of confidence was coming through, replacing the quiet
resignation she’d shown when chained up in her room. She turned to me. ‘Ready?’

For the first time in months my sense of
the ridiculous took over and I laughed, albeit quietly, and rolled my head from
side to side on the headrest. Charmain didn’t speak, she just looked at me,
waiting for an explanation. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I can’t make up my mind whether
this is a murder mystery or a farce.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Me bleeding through a hole in the seat
of my pants, you wearing nothing but a silk nightgown ready to drive us to God
only knows where and you don’t even remember my name.’

‘I do. You’re Eddie Malloy, you used to
fancy me at school.’

‘How did you know I fancied you? I never
told you.’

‘You didn’t have to, I ...’

‘You what?’

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. But I do
remember you from school.’

‘But that was years ago, I could have
turned into a madman for all you know, I could be taking you anywhere for any
purpose.’

She glanced down. ‘I doubt you’ll be
doing much in your condition,’ she said. ‘I think I can cope.’

She started the engine, and released the
handbrake. Then she pulled it on again. Reaching to the floor below her seat
she brought out a small pink nylon case, something between a purse and a
cosmetics bag.

I hadn’t noticed her carrying it from
the house. She looked inside, closed it again, stuffed it under the seat then
picked slowly away into a neat turn.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, let’s just get away from
here.’

She didn’t look back. I did, at the big
white prison with the green curtains and I suddenly remembered where I’d seen
that colour before – on the jockey who rode the Champion Hurdle winner, Alan
Harle. The colours belonged to the phantom owner who retained him to ride all
his horses, Mr Louis Perlman.

The sun, though sinking, was still
bright and the road was clear and straight. We decided to visit the nearest
hospital so I could get some treatment and Charmain, wearing an old raincoat I
carried in the back, could call a friend whom she reckoned would take her in
‘till the heat died down’. God knows when that will be, I thought. Once Stoke
discovered she’d gone, the temperature could only go up.

‘Doesn’t Howard know this friend?’ I
asked. ‘Won’t he go there looking for you?’

She shook her head confidently. ‘Doesn’t
know her. I haven’t seen her myself for ages.’

The Greenlands Hospital Casualty
Department was empty when we arrived and the doctor saw me within five minutes.
Half an hour later I got back in the car and sat tenderly on eleven stitches
and an anti-tetanus injection.

Two paracetamol were supposed to have
made things easier, as yet they hadn’t.

Charmain, looking a good deal more
anxious than when I’d left her, stared straight ahead through the windscreen,
biting ferociously at her lip.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘Kate’s gone to Italy.’

‘Your friend?’

She nodded.

‘When’s she due back?’

‘Next month.’

I cursed silently, selfishly, knowing what
the outcome of this was going to be. ‘Is there anyone else?’ I asked. Still not
looking at me, she shook her head in short sharp jabs.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, with more
confidence than I felt. ‘We’ll find somewhere.’

She turned to me, the hunted look already
etched deep in her face. ‘Where?’

I shrugged. ‘With me, if needs be.’

It didn’t ease things for her. ‘But
doesn’t Howard know you?’

‘He knows me all right but he’d have no
reason to suppose you were with me.’

Eyes vacant, she nodded slowly, not really
taking it in. ‘Okay,’ she said, starting the car. ‘Which way?’

‘That way.’ I pointed west and we
lowered the visors against the gradually setting sun.

It was the best I could come up with.
Going back to the cottage for any length of time was out of the question.
Stoke’s men would eventually come looking.

During
the next hour Charmain grew increasingly nervy, biting her nails and rubbing
her mouth hard with the back of her hand like she was wiping saliva away.

When she strayed over the central white
lines on the road for the second time, I spoke to her. ‘You okay?’

She looked round suddenly at me as
though I’d only just appeared beside her. ‘Yes ... yes. I’m okay.’

Her skin was pale. She didn’t look okay.
‘Is your husband going to be at York till Friday?’

‘I think so.’

‘What were you supposed to do for food
while he was away?’

‘He leaves a supply of fruit in a
cupboard.’

‘Fruit! For three days?’

She was right back in the seat, neck
rigid, arms dead straight on the wheel as though trying to hold a runaway
horse. ‘Howard said it helped me keep my figure.’

‘Why didn’t you leave him?’

‘I had my reasons.’

I waited.

‘He’s not an easy man to leave,’ she
said.

‘Has he always used Skinner’s dog as
well as the chain?’

‘Today was the first time. He told me it
was there but I only half believed him.’

‘What has he got on Skinner?’

‘Skinner owes him a lot of money. Howard
lets him run up big debts then calls in his favours.’

‘What kind of favours?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know specifics but
Howard’s seen a lot of Skinner these past six months or so.’

These past six months. Felt more like
years.

The talking seemed to be relaxing
Charmain a little and she leaned forward into a more natural driving position.
Her next question surprised me.

‘Is it Skinner you’re after or Howard?’

‘Who do you think?’

She kept staring at the road. Since we
started the conversation she hadn’t looked at me. She shrugged and frowned.
‘Well, I don’t know.’

‘But I should be after somebody?’

‘You must be. People don’t go around
killing dogs and breaking into houses for nothing ... And asking questions.’

‘I’m trying to find out who killed Alan
Harle.’

Our speed dropped suddenly as her foot
eased right off the gas pedal then surged as she realised what had happened and
pressed down again. Her knuckles were white on the wheel and she bit hard at
her bottom lip.

‘You knew Alan.’ I made it a statement.
Still she wouldn’t look at me.

‘I’m very tired,’ she said. ‘I feel a
bit faint. Can we stop a while?’

‘Okay, pull in at the next lay-by.’ That
suggestion seemed to stress her even more. ‘No, not a lay-by, somewhere with a
toilet, somewhere I can eat. Maybe a cup of sweet tea, something like that.’

‘Okay, the next place you think is
suitable.’

She nodded, but the tension didn’t ease
and by the time we stopped at a small transport café her concentration had
deteriorated so much she couldn’t have driven any further.

The place looked okay for truck-drivers
but not for pretty women in pink nightgowns. Charmain didn’t seem to mind. If
anything, her stress diminished as she reached for my old coat in the back.

‘Can I use this again?’ she asked
brightly.

‘Why don’t you stay in the car and I’ll
go and get some food?’

‘No!’ She almost shouted. ‘I can’t stay
in the car ... I have to go to the toilet.’

I looked at her. She avoided my eyes.
‘Okay, you go to the toilet, I’ll get some food and drinks and meet you back
here.’

She nodded, stepped out, pulling the
coat round her shoulders, picked up her little pink bag and hurried off toward
the white pebble-dash buildings.

Suspicion had been growing but I knew
then almost for certain that she’d return calm, smiling and self-assured.

I was right.

Charmain sipped the tea but wouldn’t eat.
The colour was back in her cheeks and she was bright and chatty. Her eyes
shone.

‘Pretty uplifting toilets, those,’ I
said.

‘Mmm.’ She smiled.

‘Take away hunger and tension and
tiredness. Think a visit would do my leg any good?’

She just kept smiling, reached for the
recliner handle and wound the seat back. She looked perfectly relaxed.

‘I know where I can stay,’ she said.

I waited.

‘A friend of mine has a boat. It’s on
the Oxford canal near a little village.’

I wondered for a moment if she meant
Skinner but I didn’t think so. ‘What’s your friend’s name?’

‘Phil Greene, he’s a jockey.’

I waited for it to dawn on her but it
didn’t. ‘You’ve got a short memory, Charmain, Phil Greene’s hardly cold in his
grave. You were at his funeral.’

Eyes still closed she frowned for a few
seconds then smiled again. ‘It’s okay. I’ve got a key.’

‘For what?’

She looked at me. ‘The boat.’

‘So it doesn’t matter that Phil Greene’s
dead as long as you have a key to his boat?’

‘I’m not saying it doesn’t matter. He
was a sweet kid and I know he would have wanted me to stay at the boat if I was
in a spot.’

‘So why didn’t you think of that first
before your rang your friend back there?’

She shrugged. ‘I forgot.’

‘You forgot or you didn’t realise how
short of heroin you were?’

It didn’t faze her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that until you went it to that
toilet and shot some of the stuff into your arm you didn’t realise how little
you had left.’

 She looked at me. The smile had
gone, replaced by a hardness.

‘So?’ she said.

‘So, you obviously think Phil had some
on the boat somewhere. What was he, your official supplier, by appointment,
after Harle disappeared?’

She lay back again, closed her eyes and
smiled. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘Nothing to me. It’s your life. Why should
I care if you screw it up like Harle and Greene and end up the same way?’

‘Don’t worry, Mr….I’ve forgotten your
name?’

‘That’s all right, you won’t be seeing
me again anyway once I’ve dropped you at the boat.’

She opened her eyes and sat up. ‘You said
you’d help me.’

‘Don’t give me the Little Miss Helpless
act. I’ll help you hide, help you stay away from your husband for as long as I
can but I won’t help you kill yourself.’

‘You’re over-reacting.’

‘Maybe, but that’s the way I feel. I’m
sick of all this crap. Of being scalded and bitten and shit on by idiots like
Harle and Greene and you. You’re not worth it.’ I opened the door, struggled
out and went to the driver’s side.

‘Move over,’ I told her. ‘I’ll drop you
at the boat.’

‘But your leg!’

‘Move!’

‘It’s a long drive! It’ll be dark soon!’

‘Move or get out!’

She moved.

Someone
was on the boat. A thin wedge of pale yellow light was visible through a gap in
the curtains as we drove down the hill. I cut the engine and the lights and
coasted silently, steering by moonlight, till we stopped by the white cottage.

Eyes wide, Charmain tensed and stiffened
in her seat.

‘Who do you suppose it is?’ she asked,
whispering.

‘I don’t know.’ Sliding the key from the
ignition I clicked the door open. ‘Wait here,’ I said.

She grabbed my arm ‘Hold on!’ A harsh
whisper now. ‘Leave me the car key!’

I tried to shrug her hand off. ‘No.’

‘Yes!’ She gripped harder. I turned to
face her. She was corpse-pale. ‘No,’ I said.

‘You must!’

‘Why?’

‘They might get you ... I’d be stuck ...
they’d get me too.’

‘Too bad. I’m taking the key. I don’t
trust you.’

‘I’ll wait for you. Honest, I will!’

Putting the key in my pocket I prised
open her grip. ‘If you weren’t a junkie, Charmain, I might believe you. Stay
here and stay quiet. I’ll be back soon.’

I hobbled down the path to the side of
the boat. The night was cool and cloudless and the boat moved gently from side
to side, the water lapping rhythmically with the sway.

The window at the end was open. I heard
the rising and falling tones of conversation. Crouched below the window I could
hear the voices clearly. Two men. Recognisable accents: one West Midlands, the
other a West Country burr.

‘I thought Stoke said there was a
watercock?’

‘He said he thought there was. Try the
kitchen.’

‘The galley, you mean.’

‘Bollocks.’

The boat rolled as he walked along.

‘Don’t see anything.’

‘Have to be the acid then, won’t it?’

The steps came back to the middle of the
boat.

‘How we gonna work it?’

‘I told you, when he’s out for the count
we uncork the bottle and tip it over. It’ll burn a big enough hole within a
couple of hours to let the water in.’

‘The cops won’t wear the acid once
they’ve dragged this thing back up. What would Malloy be doing with acid?’

‘Could be anything, how would they know?
It’s not as if Malloy’s gonna be here to answer questions. Obvious accident,
innit? Four hundred milligrammes of alcohol in his blood, pissed out of his
brain, what else can they call it?’

‘I dunno.’

Glass clinked on glass.

‘Careful!’

‘No sweat.’

‘What do we do if Malloy ain’t home?’

‘We wait. Stoke said do it before he
gets back. That gives us three days.’

‘He could have been out of the way ages
ago when we had him over that radiator.’

‘That was just a fright job. That was
all we got paid for. One of my better ideas too, I’d say.’

‘Yeah, really effective, Bill, the guy’s
caused nothing but trouble since.’

‘Can I help it if Malloy ain’t got the
brains to keep his nose out of other people’s business? I’ll still bet he won’t
forget the night I nearly roasted it off his face.’

Bill, you never spoke a truer word.

The pain in my leg didn’t matter any
more. Heading home I drove at speeds of up to a hundred, headlights picking out
the bends just in time. I was excited. Scared, but excited.

The relief Charmain had shown when I
returned to the car had disappeared. The tension was back ... and the fear.

I told her what I wanted her to do when
we reached the cottage, repeating it over and over to make sure she understood.
‘I’ll park deep in the trees but facing the road they’ll have to come down to
reach the cottage, either by car or on foot. If they walk, you should be able
to see them by the light of the moon but they’ll probably drive. Especially
when they see that the cottage is in darkness.

‘Driving or walking, you’ll have to be
alert. If you miss them and my plans don’t work out they’ll probably kill me.
If they pass on foot, give me thirty minutes. If you don’t see the lights come
on in the cottage by then, drive to the village and ring DS Cranley at this
number. Tell him the men who killed Alan Harle have got Eddie Malloy and tell
him where we are. Okay?’

She nodded.

‘If they pass you in a car cut the time
to twenty minutes maximum. Got it?’

‘Yes, but what if they see me in the car
as they pass?’

‘They won’t. If they do, then slip out
into the woods and try to get back to the village.’

She started shivering.

Five hundred yards from the cottage an
old cart path led off into the wood. In winter you couldn’t drive along it but
in summer it was just about manageable.

I drove well down, turned off into a
clearing and parked facing the road. We got out and dragged broken branches and
ferns across the windscreen and side body. ‘You’ll have to roll down the side
windows in case the moon glints on the glass.’

‘Okay.’

I looked toward the road. A moving car
would be easily visible through the thin pines. I just hoped the same didn’t
apply to this stationary one in the woods.

I opened the passenger door for Charmain.
She got in and sat clenching her left fist inside her right hand. I thought she
was going to cry and I squatted beside her and took her hands in mine. The
moonlight filtering through the trees showed the goose bumps on her arms spiked
with tiny hairs. Cold or fear, I couldn’t help with either.

‘We’ll make it,’ I said.

She nodded, holding back the tears.