Souvenirs of Murder (15 page)

Rundle gave Patrick a hostile stare. ‘So what standard of competence, mental and physical, do you reckon you possessed at that time?'

‘By the time I returned to the house probably seventy-five to eighty per cent of norm all round. The fresh air –' Patrick nodded briskly – ‘Yes, I did walk from here. The fresh air made me feel better.'

Which percentage brought him down to Mr Average-man-in-the-street, I supposed.

‘OK,' Rundle said, glancing at his watch. ‘I can't spare any more time right now. Are you sticking around?'

‘We're staying with this until I've cleared my name,' Patrick said.

The DCI guffawed. ‘You might have to stay a long time.'

‘No, I shall go and find him myself.'

‘Don't,' Rundle grated.

‘I have an adopted daughter – she's actually my niece – who's been hearing from the kids at school that her uncle's a killer. I promised her I'd come to London and find out what really happened. Nobody, no cop,
no
one, is going to stop me from doing that.'

TEN

Perhaps wisely, Rundle made no further comment on the subject and went off after sourly telling the landlord that the cleaning team may as well continue as any damage had already been done. We also left the premises and, Patrick already having decided to walk to where we had left the car, set off, Rundle possibly having forgotten that he had given us a lift there.

‘It doesn't look as though there's much choice of routes from here to Pangborne's place unless you deliberately went a roundabout way,' I said, tucking my arm through Patrick's. ‘And you probably weren't in any state to find your way through back alleys.'

‘I'm sorry I nearly lost it back there,' Patrick said, giving my arm a squeeze.

‘I meant what I said when I spoke of chemistry,' I told him. ‘It'll take a bit longer for you to fully get over this.' I glanced at him quickly. ‘Are you really going after Hulton?'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘Your consultant here is really freaking out over it. I honestly don't think you're yet fit enough to go after someone like that – never mind what those in charge are saying.'

‘He's only a stupid grown-up yob who's been sheltering in the organization of a clever woman.'

I didn't have an answer to that right then.

It had started to rain again and I put up the hood of my coat. In the distance could be seen the pall of black smoke from the fire as it rose above the rooftops. Traffic was light.

‘None of this means anything to me,' Patrick said, looking around when we were probably halfway there. ‘All I can remember is a breeze on my face and just roads and buildings.'

‘Hardly surprising as it all looks very much the same,' I replied.

‘There's something else you ought to know that I haven't mentioned before and didn't want to tell Rundle about.'

‘What?'

‘All through that morning I was hallucinating. It's very difficult for me to pick out what's real. I have to keep censoring out all the impossible bits.'

‘Like people with two heads and fire-breathing double-decker buses, you mean?'

‘Fantastic colours, feeling as though I was flying, everything distorted like looking through a special effects camera lens, seeing people who couldn't possibly have been there.'

‘Like who, for example?'

‘Mum and Dad riding bikes and, somewhere or the other, the Queen taking some corgis for a walk.' He added, giving me a grin, ‘She stopped to tell me what a splendid job I was doing.'

‘She's always been a fan of yours.'

This was not entirely make-believe on my part. During his service days there had been several commands to assist at investitures, because, it was breathed, she found him amusing. Her Majesty, one gathered, was another born mimic.

We walked on in silence and, a few minutes' later, reached the car.

‘At least we now know why you came back to this house,' I said.

‘But we still don't know if I'm a mass murderer or not,' Patrick answered before grimly falling silent.

We had just booked into an hotel in central London – we needed time to plan our next move – when Patrick's mobile rang. I gathered from hearing half a conversation that it was Michael Greenway and that he wanted to take us out to dinner that night.

‘He said he'd be in the Dover Street wine bar at seven thirty,' Patrick reported.

‘How did he know we were in London?'

‘Apparently he rang home as we'd switched off our mobiles while we were at the murder scene this morning because we didn't want any interruptions and Carrie told him.'

‘What's it all about?'

‘Probably to soften me up before giving me the guilty verdict.'

But he was wrong because Greenway's first words to us were, ‘Let's be quite clear on one thing; as far as I'm concerned you're still working for me until I hear otherwise. My priority – and bugger the Met – is to get hold of Hulton. He's the key to this, whether he's guilty of murder or not. What would you like to drink before I fill you in on the latest?'

I wondered if the tone of this opening meant he was about to engage with us in a council of war but it appeared that the Commander was reckoning this to be mostly an evening off and had every intention of enjoying himself.

‘So what is the latest?' Patrick prompted him, in receipt of his second whisky double.

‘He hasn't left the country,' Greenway said. ‘There's been a sighting of him here in London.'

‘By a member of the team that you initially assured me did all the groundwork before Patrick went in to the Pangborne gang?' I enquired. ‘Those who were the basis for your statement that he wasn't going in alone? The same ones who mysteriously disappeared while all the action was taking place so witnessed bugger all?'

For the first time I got the impression that Greenway was genuinely angry with me.

‘It wasn't like that,' he said stiffly.

‘What
was
it like then?' I persevered. ‘Other than a monumental cock-up?'

After a somewhat overwrought silence the Commander said, ‘There was round-the-clock surveillance – by the Met – from a house nearby but as you know the Pangborne place faces a park so observation from a house opposite was impossible. They were a little farther down the street on the other side. I was liaising with the officer in charge, a bloke called Rundle, and for some reason that has not been subsequently explained there was a mess up with the rota. Only one person was on duty that night and he had a bad attack of the trots. No one turned up at six that morning to take over from him, by which time he was obviously suffering from food poisoning and subsequently admitted to hospital. I don't
think
there were any suspicious circumstances in all this.'

‘So who's seen Hulton?' I said.

‘One of Rundle's team who's routinely working undercover in a nightclub in Acton much frequented by people who ought to be helping us with enquiries but aren't. You must appreciate that he couldn't simply order in a raid – he had his own cover to think about. Hulton was tailed to Chiswick by someone else but lost when he dived down into a tube station.'

Patrick said, ‘We met Rundle today. Following your permission Ingrid and I went to the murder scene to see if it helped me remember anything. There was not much of a result but I did at least remember Hulton – or someone I thought was him – telling me he was going to sell Leanne to a paedophile ring. It must have been why I went back to the house.'

‘He wouldn't have baulked at shooting the poor child then,' he commented quietly.

‘I told Rundle I was going after him myself.'

‘Well, you aren't,' the SOCA man replied smoothly after a sip of whisky.

‘That's what Rundle said.'

‘Leave Hulton to me. He may well have told you that to ensure you went back to the house and had it all tidily planned so that you would end up as number one suspect for the killings. OK, suppose you do go after him. He might have oppos whose orders are to start shooting when you arrive on the scene. You end up in the frame for injuries to innocent parties as well as all the others as he'll be prepared to swear under oath that he saw you kill them. It's too risky.'

‘He's too fond of his own skin to make plans that would involve his being in any kind of shoot-out and I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any sidekicks,' Patrick argued. ‘Believe me, I've spoken with him. The only plans he ever makes involve what he's going to eat for his next meal and when he might get blind drunk and enjoy killing someone.'

‘So do I have to lock you up somewhere to stop you disobeying orders?'

‘He would,' I said to Patrick.

‘I'm sorry, Patrick,' Greenway said after an awkward silence. ‘But you aren't working for MI5 now. Everything is more
accountable.
'

There was another pause that was broken by Patrick's mobile ringing. He apologized and left the bar to answer it.

‘That man is still not well,' Greenway said in an undertone. ‘I don't like his colour and I'm worried about his mental state. I wonder if the tests the clinic carried out did pick up everything he was dosed with. Mixtures of drugs have to be horribly toxic.'

‘I don't want him to go after Hulton either,' I said. ‘Although – and I think you should take this on board – I think time will prove him correct with his summing up of this character.'

‘Can you stop him?'

‘No. He promised Katie he'd clear his name. That means everything to him, keeping the promise.'

‘So what do I do, Ingrid?'

I looked Greenway right in the eye. ‘You might have to lock him up.'

‘It would have to be a safe house. But surely someone who's served in special services would find it quite easy to break out of a place like that, even if I put people armed with Tasers on the door.'

‘Yes, you'd either have to chain him up or rely on his cooperation.'

‘Are you saying, in effect, that there's no easy answer?'

‘There never is with Patrick. I think though that if you closely involve him in your plan to get hold of Hulton, telling him it's
initially
in an advisory capacity, you'd get that cooperation.'

At this point Patrick returned and I could tell from his expression that all was not well.

‘That was Elspeth,' he said. ‘There's been a break-in at the church and people have held some kind of pagan or black magic ceremony. They did a lot of damage and Dad's suffering from shock and none too well.'

‘What, last night?' I asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Why on earth didn't she ring you earlier?'

‘She didn't like to bother us at work.' Patrick sat down suddenly. ‘God, I'm staggered that people could do such a thing.'

‘What did you say?'

‘I told her that one or both of us, you probably, would drive down as soon as possible.'

‘You both go,' Greenway said. ‘And Patrick: I've decided on my next move. I'll get my team together and we'll provisionally map out how we're going to get hold of Hulton. I want you closely involved, initially in an advisory capacity. When you've sorted out the trouble at home get straight back here and we'll trot past you what we're thinking of doing. This is on the strict understanding that nobody's going off to try to grab Hulton on their own. If anyone's going to get killed as a result of grabbing this bastard it's going to be him. Agreed?'

After hesitating fractionally, Patrick nodded and said, ‘Agreed.'

I almost fainted with relief.

We arrived at Hinton Littlemoor at almost midnight having phoned Elspeth on the way. She was adamant that although it was late it would do John good if we could call in briefly before we went home.

I hardly noticed at the time, merely registering a certain spaciousness outside the rectory, and only realized later that all the skips, piles of building materials and rubbish outside my new home had gone. I parked the Range Rover – having done all the driving as Patrick was exhausted as well as having had a couple of whiskies – and we let ourselves in through the front door. That of the annex was ajar, Elspeth having obviously heard our arrival.

‘I'm sure you're hungry,' was her opening, and characteristic remark, after returning our hugs.

‘We're both absolutely famished,' Patrick assured her. Dinner with Greenway had had to be abandoned.

‘Good, I'll find you something to eat.'

I held back. Sometimes even a wife can be an intruder in her husband's family but Patrick motioned to me to accompany him as he went to see his father.

John was in bed.

‘You've been thundering from the pulpit again,' Patrick said to him after I'd kissed him and Patrick had grasped both his hands, which I noticed shook a little.

‘Not really, I was asked to take a midweek morning service at Southdown St Peter and mentioned my worries. Your mother shouldn't have dragged you all this way,' said the priest. He looked pale.

‘She didn't,' his son replied. ‘We came as soon as we heard.'

‘You did warn me to be careful.'

‘Does James Carrick know?'

‘Yes, I rang him as soon as I discovered what had happened this morning and he came straight over. There's been some kind of crime team in the church all day – Carrick's wondering if there's a connection with Blanche's murder.' He fell silent for a few moments and then said, ‘I know you'll think I'm giving up in cowardly fashion but I don't think I can take any more of this.'