Death in July (8 page)

Sam heard the sound of somebody rummaging about, moving items, dropping them on the floor. He opened his eyes, yawned and looked around him, realising he had slept all night at his desk. Cramp suddenly struck his upper body, forcing him to stand up and stretch out his limbs. Thankfully, the pain in his leg had subsided to a dull ache. Sam had a feeling he would need it in good condition today.

A loud crash sounded below him. His first instinct was somebody was trespassing downstairs in the shop. Then he heard Moira curse loudly. Sam looked at his watch and grimaced. It was nine o'clock. He had intended making an earlier start today. He made his way down to the shop and knocked on the locked door. Through the glass, he saw Moira jump and look up in alarm. Sam could see anxiety on her face. She was on edge.

'Sam, you scared the life out of me!' she said, opening the door to him, forcing a smile. She looked tired and distracted. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail, her face was totally free of make-up, and she was dressed in an old jumper and jogging bottoms. Sam had never seen her so unconcerned about her appearance.

'What are you doing here, Moira?'

She ignored his question and went back to the counter, where she continued arranging a bunch of flowers. Sam looked around the shop. He was no expert on floristry, but he reckoned the place looked a mess this morning. Boxes and flowers were strewn everywhere. He turned his attention back to Moira. Her hands were trembling. He watched her snip at some stems, miss them entirely and curse again. Sam raised his eyebrows. Twice in one morning. Moira rarely swore.

'Moira, do you know what you're-'

'Yes, I know, Sam,' she cut in. 'Archie's already given me the benefit of his worldly advice this morning.'

'And you've clearly not taken it.'

'I've still got a business to run.'

Her words were defiant and emphatic.

'But-'

Moira dropped the flowers on the counter and gave Sam a searing look. Her eyes were ablaze with indignation.

'Look, Sam, people have paid for this stuff. They're expecting their orders today. I've rung every one of them and arranged to deliver to them. That means as soon as I get everything loaded on the van, I'll be out for the morning, and I won't be back here until Monday. Alice is safely tucked up in the pub, and I'll be joining her soon, so it's all sorted. Satisfied?'

Suddenly, all the energy seemed to drain out of Moira. She sighed and leaned on the counter. Sam grabbed two stools and guided her onto one of them.

'You're feeling guilty, aren't you?' he said, sitting down opposite her.

She sighed again.

'Too right I'm feeling guilty. This mess is all my fault. If only I hadn't...'

Sam shook his head.

'Look, if this Richard was determined enough to find Alice, he'd have tracked her down one way or another.'

Moira's features softened, the final remnants of frustration leaving her.

'You're probably right. I'm not concerned for myself, Sam. I'm just worried for that poor girl.'

Sam gazed out the shop front. Images of his own past flashed by in his mind. The mistakes he had made. The price he had paid. Yet, somehow, against all the odds, he had moved on.

'Moira, there's no point looking back. You can't change what's happened. You're doing your best to help Alice now, and I'm sure the police will catch this bloke before long.'

Moira broke into a smile and patted him on the leg.

'You're a good man, Sam Carlisle. It's no wonder my niece has got a soft spot for-'

She halted and bit her lip. Sam shook his head, trying not to smile.

'Come on, lady,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I'll help you load up. The sooner we get you out of here...'

***

Sam picked up his keys and checked the time. Almost ten. Time to go. The service was due to start soon.

Turning to leave his office, he noticed the camera still on his desk. There hadn't been time to look at the photos from last night. It had taken him a full hour just to help Moira on her way, get himself showered and shaved, then don his smartest black suit.

He would have a look later.

Ten minutes later, Sam parked up on a road overlooking the cemetery. St Monicas was a grand old church, with impressive stained glass windows and a huge cross above the door, situated in the very heart of the cemetery grounds. The graves that surrounded it on all sides were tidy and well-maintained, the grass short and straw-like after weeks of non-stop sunshine. Sam could see a smattering of people already gathered on the steps. He locked his car and walked towards the entrance gates, relishing the fresh breeze caressing his face, bringing relief after all the hot weather. Sam checked his tie in the window of a parked car.

A small black hatchback.

The car was empty.

Sam walked by slowly and glanced around.

The number plate. It was the same.

He was here.

Sam recalled the newspaper clerk describing how the man was only interested in Geoffrey's death.

Something clicked with Sam. The intruder hadn't wanted any valuables from Geoffrey's cottage. It had been simpler than that.

He had wanted Geoffrey dead.

After failing in his attempt last year, he had returned to finish the job off. Only Geoffrey had already passed away. The mystery man had needed to confirm the death in the obituary column of the newspaper. Now he was here to witness Geoffrey's body being committed to the ground. To ensure he had finally gone.

But how had he found out about Geoffrey’s death in the first place? Who had told him? Sam was taken back to Benjamin's phone call once again.

Realisation dawned on Sam. That's why Benjamin had pulled out of the investigation. It was nothing to do with Arnold. Somebody had got at Benjamin, pressured him into changing his mind. Not only had that person been desperate to end Geoffrey's life, he was now trying to ensure Benjamin kept his nose out.

Sam looked at the hatchback's rear window. He noticed a small sticker, peeling off at the corners. He peered closer. Lexbury Car Rental. Lexbury? That wasn't local.

Suddenly, Sam heard the gentle purr of cars approaching at low speed. He looked up just as Geoffrey's small funeral entourage went by. A hearse containing his coffin, followed by a limo with Benjamin and Arnold in the back seat. Both men nodded solemnly at Sam as they passed. He caught up with the vehicles just as they came to a halt outside the church.

Benjamin and Arnold got out and mingled with the other mourners. Sam watched them talk with Harry and Dave from the Ex-Servicemen's club, then Geoffrey's next door neighbour, John Carr, before greeting the other attendants, including two ladies in wheelchairs. Sam noticed John glance warily in his direction every so often.

'Sam, good of you to come. I wasn't sure you would after...well, you know.'

Benjamin was in front of Sam, hand extended in that stiff, formal manner Sam had become accustomed to. Standing erect, dressed in a tailored suit, without a hair out of place on his head, Benjamin could have been going about his everyday business were it not for the circumstances. Or the troubled look in his eyes.

'Never a doubt, Benjamin,' replied Sam, taking his hand.

'Well, thank-you, anyway.'

Sam could see Benjamin was wrestling with his emotions, trying to keep them under control. It wasn't a surprise he was finding it so difficult. The man was burying his father, aware something untoward was behind his death, yet powerless to do anything about it, forced to back down and accept he may never know the truth.

As Benjamin moved on, Arnold appeared and gave Sam a warm handshake.

'Sam, how's the leg?'

'Better,' replied Sam. 'How's the hotel?'

'Sumptuous.'

'Arnold, I never thought to ask if any of your family have come down with you.'

A frown appeared on Arnold's face.

'They didn't know my father, Sam. Even my wife had never met him. There was little point in bringing them along...'

Sam suspected they would have been rebuffed even if they had asked to come.

A hush descended over the small group of mourners as Geoffrey's coffin was taken out of the hearse and carried into the church. Sam waited back as Benjamin and Arnold followed the coffin in, trailed by the rest of the mourners. Inside the church, he stood discreetly at the back, taking in the decadent architecture and heavy atmosphere. Sam had always hated churches. They gave him the creeps.

Five minutes into the service, he sneaked out again. The sky had darkened, and the temperature had dropped, adding a heightened sense of eeriness to the cemetery. He strolled around the church, casually scouring the grounds for any sign of the mystery man. A path ran around the entire perimeter of the cemetery. Huge oak trees dotted it at regular intervals, their wide trunks and overhanging branches full of summer bloom offering ample protection for anyone watching proceedings from a distance. Sam couldn't see anyone lurking, but he wasn't fooled.

He was out there somewhere.

Watching.

Waiting.

***

Heavy drops of rain began to fall, thudding off the wooden coffin, providing a dramatic accompaniment to the vicar's solemn words. Sam studied Benjamin and Arnold as the two brothers stood over the grave.

Benjamin had his head bowed, staring morosely down at his father's coffin. In contrast, Arnold looked away, gazing around the cemetery, seemingly indifferent to proceedings. Sam had expected as such. Two men dealing with the same loss in their own, very different ways.

Suddenly, the sky went black and a strong wind picked up, drowning out the final words of the sermon. The rain began to lash down, causing people to scramble for their umbrellas. Sam watched Benjamin linger at the graveside, oblivious to the rain streaming down his face, murmuring one final farewell to his father. Turning to go, Arnold placed a consoling hand on his brother's shoulder. It was a touching moment, the pair of them stood together, briefly sharing their personal emotion. Several mourners offered them both quiet words of condolence, then everyone began to move away.

A sudden movement in the distance caught Sam's attention. Through the downpour, he could make out a shadowy outline on the perimeter of the cemetery, moving stealthily between the trees. Sam stayed where he was, allowing the funeral party to hurry off ahead of him to the shelter of their vehicles. Instead of following them, he veered off to the left and cut through the mass of graves, constantly keeping his target in sight. Reaching the perimeter path, he saw the man ahead of him, strolling along casually, staring across at the mourners exiting the cemetery. Sam was struck by the man's continued interest in these people. Wasn't he satisfied now? He had witnessed Geoffrey being laid to rest. What more was there to gain by watching the bereaved?

Sam quickened his walking pace as the path started on an uphill gradient. All around him the storm raged, whipping everything up in its path, sending leaves and twigs swirling high into the air. He was catching the man up, despite the throbbing pain returning in his leg. He ignored the discomfort and pushed even harder. The path was getting steeper, but he was right behind the man now, the huge figure ahead completely unaware of Sam's presence.

Sam had no doubt. It was definitely him. The man he had followed out of Geoffrey's cottage. Sam couldn't mistake that loping stride. The sheer physical presence. He was even wearing the same dark clothes and hat.

The man was at the top of the incline, almost at a small gate leading out onto the road. Sam started running, forced to drag his sore leg along to maintain his pace. He couldn't afford to let the man escape again. This could be his one and only chance. Sam thought of the car headlights racing towards him. He wanted payback.

'Hey!'

The man stopped just feet from the gate and turned around, halted by Sam's cry. In that split second, in this darkened corner of the cemetery, with the wind blowing wildly through the trees, Sam appeared to be facing some monster out of a horror film. A good several inches taller than Sam's six feet, with bulging muscles visible beneath his jacket, the man grinned at Sam. An insane, lopsided grin, chilling enough to unnerve the bravest of men.

Sam threw himself at him.

Sam knew he was in trouble the moment he connected. Instead of sending the man flying through the air, the rugby tackle only rocked him on the spot. Sam ricocheted off him harmlessly and ended up unceremoniously on his backside. The man cocked his head and stared down at him in mild amusement. This enraged Sam further. He struggled to his feet and grabbed hold of the man's jacket. Suddenly, he was slipping on the wet turf, stumbling backwards, still holding a fistful of the man's clothing. Both of them went over, rolling back down the slope, rapidly picking up speed along the sodden floor. Suddenly, Sam crashed face first into a tree trunk. A moment later, the man also came to an abrupt halt, landing heavily on Sam's leg.

Sam screamed in agony. His world swam in and out of vision. Nausea welled up inside him. He heard his opponent grunt and get to his knees. With the little energy he had remaining, Sam blindly swung a punch. The man caught it easily in one giant fist and laughed. Breathing hard, he leaned close to Sam and whispered in his ear.

'Not you.'

Sam awaited the worst. Barely clinging on to consciousness, he was at the mercy of this man. A madman who had already tried to kill him once. Suddenly, Sam's clenched fist was released. The man was getting to his feet. Sam heard him walk away. As the footsteps grew distant, Sam shut his eyes and took some deep breaths. His leg felt as though it was on fire. His face felt as though it had been cut to ribbons.

Then the world went totally quiet.

He came to a few minutes later. Blinking several times to clear his vision, he raised his head up off the wet grass and looked around.

There was no-one in sight.

***

Sam drove home like a man possessed, gripping the steering wheel tightly, grinding his teeth until his jaw ached. Parking outside his flat, he practically fell out the Capri before dragging himself up the stairs. Once inside, he washed down some painkillers and threw on a clean set of clothes. Then he went into his office and located the key taped to the underside of his desk. He used it to unlock the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Kneeling down, Sam pulled out a neatly folded rag, stained with patches of oil.

He took the rag over to the desk and unfolded it slowly. The silver handle of a handgun appeared, gleaming in the dull room. Sam checked the gun was loaded and in working order. Satisfied, he sat down at his desk and contemplated the weapon.

Then he was up and out again.

He had a wake to go to.

***

The Ex-Servicemen's Club was packed to the rafters. Benjamin had stumped up for a generous buffet and free bar, leaving Sam to wonder just how many people would have turned up otherwise.

He was in a cynical mood.

He got strange looks as he headed for the bar. Perhaps it was the matted hair and battered face, or maybe it was the wild look in his eyes. Sam cared little following the incident at the cemetery. After downing a double whisky, he cared even less.

He spotted John Carr in the room's snug, sat down at a table, a plate of food in front of him and a glass of ale in his hand. Sam had the feeling John had purposely avoided him at the cemetery, keeping his distance, avoiding eye contact. Sam watched him bite heartily into his sandwich. It was time he cleared things up with Geoffrey's next door neighbour.

'John!'

The slap on the back sent John's sandwich flying back out onto the plate. He coughed and put his hand to his mouth.

'H-Hello, Sam.'

Sam sat down alongside him.

'Hello, John. Are you having a good day?'

John nodded, trying to gather himself.

'Well, I'm not,' said Sam bitterly. 'In fact, I'm having the day from hell, if you'll pardon the slightly inappropriate expression.'

John remained silent. Sam's hand moved to his shoulder in an apparent show of comradeship. A friendly squeeze with just the slightest pressure.

'But you can help my mood by telling me what really went on between you and the late Geoffrey Compton.'

John flinched at the hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Sam. What he saw didn't fill him with confidence. Sam's eyes were blazing. His jaw was set firm. He had a graze above one eye, a bruise under the other and small cuts elsewhere on his face. His hair was a mess, and a damp smell emanated from him. Most unnerving for John was the stare. As though Sam was looking into his very soul.

'Please, Sam, move your hand and we'll talk.'

'Okay,' said Sam, slowly withdrawing his hand. 'Talk.'

John sighed deeply.

'When I moved in next door to Geoffrey five years ago, Benjamin asked me if I'd keep an eye out for him...knock on his door every so often and check he was alright. Benjamin was away a lot, and as his father was a certain age, he left me a key in case of an emergency. I'm a member of the local church. We consider it everyone's duty to help the more vulnerable in society.'

Sam wished John would help him by getting to the point.

'A couple of weeks before Geoffrey died, I called on him one evening. I could hear him in the front room, talking on the telephone. He sounded upset...'

'And?'

'When he came to the door, he looked really down, as though he'd just had some bad news. When I asked if everything was alright, he told me it didn't matter anymore and shut the door in my face.'

'It didn't matter anymore? What did he mean by that?'

John shrugged.

'I don't know. He was often grumpy when I called round, but that was the first time he had ever shut the door in my-'

'What did you do?'

John looked embarrassed all of a sudden.

'I was so annoyed by his ungratefulness that I threw away my key to his cottage...chucked it into the bushes at the top of my garden. All I had tried to do was help, and he constantly threw it back in my face. That night was the last straw.'

'You kept this from Benjamin, didn't you?'

'Yes,' replied John, nodding his head sadly. 'I was too ashamed. When I calmed down, I realised it was me who was being unreasonable. Geoffrey was an old man on his own. I needed to be more understanding. After that, I made sure I kept my patience.'

John shook his head in remorse.

'If only I'd hung on to that key,' he groaned. 'I might have been able to help him the night he died.'

Sam noticed Benjamin walk across the room and exit out the back door. Sam saw his opportunity to resolve another pressing matter. Getting up, he gave John a pat on the back. A much friendlier gesture this time.

'John, give yourself a break,' he said quietly. 'There was nothing you could have done.'

With that, Sam followed Benjamin out the door. He found him on the patio, staring wistfully up at the pale blue sky. The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a muggy atmosphere.

Benjamin did a double-take and raised his eyebrows when he saw Sam's appearance.

'What happened to you?' he asked.

Sam saw little point in beating around the bush.

'I had a run-in with the man who broke into your father's cottage. He was at the cemetery for the funeral.'

Benjamin's eyes widened.

'Sam, I asked you to-'

'He also tried to run me over a couple of nights ago.'

Benjamin was lost for words, struck down by trepidation.

'He's the reason you called off the investigation, isn't he, Benjamin? It was nothing to do with anything your brother said. This man got to you and persuaded you to forget all about your father's death, didn't he?'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Sam could see Benjamin was struggling to maintain the conceit.

'He wanted your father dead for some reason, Benjamin...and now he's after somebody else.'

Benjamin shook his head, consumed by fear and confusion.

'Sam, I really don't know what-

'Benjamin, listen to me. I honestly believe somebody else is in danger from this man. So, tell me the truth, if only to prevent somebody else from getting hurt.'

That did it. Benjamin's body posture changed. His shoulders slumped in resignation.

'He followed me back from the cottage the evening before last. He broke into the bungalow...sneaked up on me in my own home...'

Sam felt a pang of guilt at his own spot of trespassing.

'What happened?'

Benjamin's looked at Sam forlornly.

'He grabbed me from behind. I couldn't get away...he was too strong...'

Sam could vouch for that, remembering how he had literally bounced off the man back at the cemetery.

'He wanted to know where my father was. He threatened to hurt me if I didn't tell him. So, I told him the truth. He didn't believe me at first. In fact, he only accepted my father was dead when I gave him the details of the funeral. He told me that if I was lying, he would come back for me.'

'Well, that's good news for you.'

'How?' asked Benjamin, perplexed.

'It means you're not his next target. You wouldn't be here now if he wanted you dead.'

Benjamin pulled a face.

'What makes you think he's after somebody else?'

Sam told him about the man's fascination with the mourners as they left the cemetery. He also repeated the two small words whispered in Sam's ear.

Not you
.

Somebody else.

'So, who is he after?' asked Benjamin.

Sam shook his head.

'Well, it's plainly not me,' he replied. 'I'm just an annoyance...somebody getting in his way. It's the same with you. You're just a source of knowledge and nothing else. No, this bloke has got particular targets.'

Sam was struck by a thought.

'All this still doesn't explain how he knew we were looking into your father's death?'

Benjamin looked at him sheepishly.

'He was watching the cottage the day he followed me. He saw you leave...wanted to know why you were there.'

Sam raised an eyebrow.

'I had to tell him, Sam!' exclaimed Benjamin, his voice desperate. 'I thought he was going to kill me. I told him I would take you off the case...that I wouldn't tell a soul. He promised he would come after me if I ever went to the police-'

'Hold on,' said Sam. 'Did you tell him where I lived?'

Benjamin shook his head vigorously.

'No, he never asked.'

'What time did he turn up at your bungalow?'

'About seven. Why?'

Sam tried to clear his head. The man couldn't have been in two places at the same time. Either he had an accomplice, or somebody else had driven that car at Sam the other night. Somebody with a grievance. He considered what else had happened recently.

Sam groaned in dismay. Alice's ex, Richard. He must have seen Sam drop Alice off at the apartment.

It appeared Sam had got himself involved in two entirely separate cases.