Anna had never properly understood what made her daughter so inimical; but guessed at a long-held grudge from childhood. The distance then between single parent and only child had been one forced on them by the requirements of her service career. Jennifer, growing up ever full of expectations, could never accept the need to discipline her in her wilder moments, when Anna insisted no exceptions should be allowed by others for her rank.
Perhaps too there was something inherited. Could Anna's own distaste for her parents' way of living have actually passed into her genes? The grotesque idea made her smile.
She had come here that last time partly out of feeling for poor Freddie, the overlooked provider, the case-study example of woman's inhumanity to man. She'd felt a need to assure him there was someone out there who held him in esteem, because he got short shrift at home, the children constant in their selfish demands, the wife flaunting her glorious independence.
She could forgive Daniel and Angela, self-centred as all
children are at the start. It takes a few years to rub the sharp corners off, learn consideration, finally compassion. Now they were cut off before the process could be completed; unfinished souls. It gave her a burning sorrow inside.
There was still hope that Daniel could have escaped total destruction. She needed that much of herself to survive. Her grandson, her genes; but also a person in his own right.
She remembered how they'd walked down to the river, and the meadow grasses, whipping at their knees, were thick with wild flowers: buttercups, centaury, white campion, poppies and sorrel. It had been high summer: Daniel bare-chested in cut-off jeans; Angela in a white tank top, and proud of her new fuchsia-coloured cords. When she lay face down, spread-eagled by the stream, sunlight had dappled their velvety surface in a jigsaw pattern of pink and purple.
She was flipping the water with a forked hazel twig, to tease the darting minnows. Under the overhanging trees the stream shone like dull pewter. Occasional rocks cut and tilted the surface to resemble overlapping slates with little foamy edges. Daniel waded out to sit cross-legged on a flat-topped rock, trying to look wise; superior to his sister's childishness. For Anna it had been an afternoon of lazy fondness.
The scene was crystalline, preserved forever in her memory. But now one grandchild was gone, the other at least transformed by the years between. And another little girl lost too, one she had never met. Over time Anna had grieved for crashed fliers, spoken with bereaved parents, devastated widows. She wondered about the family of the child who'd been invited for a weekend that abruptly closed her life. Should she get in touch with them? Something perhaps to consult the superintendent on.
A new silence told her the rain had ceased. She looked out as a few pale streaks of sunlight lit the wet grass. Emerging out of the dark wood on the hill appeared the burly shape of a man, with a dog at his heels. She watched him come closer, skirting the trees until he was forced into the open. There was a rough shiftiness about him. The sack he carried seemed weighty. What she'd taken at first to be a wrapped shotgun under his arm turned
out to be some other kind of object, probably a spade. Intrigued, she let herself out on the far side from him and waited until he was almost level.
âGood day,' she greeted him, stepping out into view and smiling broadly in welcome. âThat was quite a downpour. Really caught us on the hop, didn't it?'
He halted, suspicious, but careful not to give offence. âG'day, maâam. Takes more'n that to keep me from me rabbits.' He indicated the sack where a dark stain had begun to gather at the lower seam.
Ah yes, the honest poacher act. Not that he'd have shot them. More likely used snares. But then she doubted the sack bulged with rabbits either. Something larger, a single, much heavier shape.
âI could be a customer for some wild bunny,' she encouraged, holding out a hand.
âThey're bespoke,' he said. âYou'd need to order in advance, like.'
She was watching the sack as the bulge stirred slightly; a dopey â perhaps stunned â creature coming back to life. The snorting grunt that issued was a sound she was accustomed to by night. âCome in and rest yourself. I'll be making us a hot drink.'
He was anxious to be gone. She put a hand on his arm, and the dog â not a farm collie but a muddy Jack Russell â pricked up its ears, showing sharp teeth in a snarl.
âThat's enough, you,' she addressed it.
She turned back to the man. âI insist. You wouldn't want me blabbing about you digging out a badger's set, I'm sure.'
She laughed, making herself sound broadminded, patting his shoulder as she ushered him towards the caravan's door. âMy name's Anna Plumley, by the way.'
He hesitated, reluctantly deciding that, although gentry, she wasn't a bad old girl. Country-born at least. Knew the way things were. âBen Huggett,' he admitted.
âSo tell me about the wood,' she invited, once indoors and hefting the ever-boiling kettle over his mug. He had opted for Bovril, and the salted beefy scent reminded her she'd eaten
nothing since last evening. âI heard tell from locals that it's haunted or something.'
âBewitched,' he said with relish. âThere's all sorts of devilish things goes on there by night, especially full moon. Dancing and wicked feasting and casting spells. No one in their right mind will venture there certain times.'
Very convenient for such as him, she thought. He doubtless did his fair share of building up the superstitions.
Outside, the terrier had started yapping, dancing round the tumbled sack and darting in for little nips, then dancing free. One corner of the sacking showed a triangular tear where a heavy, vicious-clawed foreleg waved as the badger fought to free itself.
âBest let it go,' Anna advised. âIt'll be more trouble than it's worth now it's coming to.'
âThat bloody downpour held me up,' Huggett complained. âThe clout's had time to wear off.' He slid a choke-chain over the dog's head and dragged him clear. Then, in high dudgeon, the man gave a surly nod and made off, towing the dog behind.
Anna left it to Brock to free himself, then consigned the bloodstained sack to her rubbish bin.
At least that was one of God's wild creatures that wouldn't be baited to death. She hoped that Huggett would regard her presence as good reason not to repeat the venture for a while.
âMiff' Smith, patrolman and outrider for Traffic Division, was an impressive figure, standing six feet five inches in his black leathers and biking boots. He wasn't unaware of the flutter he caused on entering Ward 5 to interview the now-conscious RTA case.
âJeff Wilmott' the note told him: identified by his driving licence, a provisional one. So his bike should have had L-plates. Which it hadn't. Not that it was a powerful beast like his own Kawasaki, but a pootering little two-stroke.
Now that the lad was coming round Miff was prepared to make things uncomfortable for him. Particularly since his pillion passenger, the girl in ITU, wasn't offering much hope of recovery.
âRight then,' he said, seating himself in the chair a nurse had whipped under him. âLet's hear all about it.'
âEverything's a bit fuzzy,' the patient complained. âWe were going along this lane, on the way home. No traffic once we'd left the main road. Then suddenly this fox darted out â¦'
Miff's pencil was poised over his notebook. âA fox?'
âWell, it could have been a dog, I suppose. It happened so quickly. Anyway I managed to miss it, but skidded. Greasy road in the rain.'
âAnd hit a tree instead, side-on.'
âYes. How about Charley? Is she going to be all right? Nobody tells me anything.'
âShe's in another ward. Maybe you can see her later. We'll get this straight first.'
âWell, that's all I know. I must have passed out. I don't remember anything else.'
âYou can start with your address. We have to inform your family. How many Ts in Wilmott?'
âTwo, I suppose. Why? What's that got to do â¦?'
âJeff Wilmott. That's you, isn't it?' The patrolman regarded him with suspicion. If the lad remembered the skid and the fox, he surely hadn't forgotten his own name.
Now he was staring back, wide-eyed and ashen faced. âNo. my name's Danny. I'm Daniel Hoad. I live at Fordham Manor in
Bucks. But I know a Jeff Wilmott. He's a friend. It's his leathers I was wearing.'
âWhich happened to have his licence in a pocket.' Miff Smith sighed. Now the little stinker would have the whole flaming book thrown at him. And the name Hoad clanged a very loud bell. It had been banner headlines in the national press for the past few days.
This was the missing member of the slaughtered family. The sole survivor. He'd need to report in pdq to HQ Control.
Â
Salmon growled low in his throat, suppressing his excitement. âI'll send someone over,' he grunted, making it sound like a threat. He slammed the receiver back on the phone.
They'd been scouring the whole country to find him and the bloody boy was off sowing his wild oats. It seemed the girl in question wasn't going to make it. In which case young Hoad could end up facing a manslaughter charge. And it was a dead cert that some bleeding-heart jury would let him off, because of what happened to the rest of his family.
He waddled into the corridor, stuck his head in the CID office and snarled, âBeaumont!'
âOut, sir,' DC Silver answered instantly, adding âfollowing up a lead.' The white lie should be good for a pint.
âIt'll have to be you then. Get down to Ascot hospital. The Hoad boy's there, RTA casualty under a false identity. I want your report on my desk by 4 p.m. Details of everything he's been up to since Friday. Name and address of his girlfriend; length of the relationship; where they met; the lot. Oh, and try for witnesses to the accident. We need to know how he was behaving beforehand.'
It could be that the boy wasn't vital to the investigation, except to supply background to the family. He'd left home â as if for scouts, being an Explorer, some newfangled rank that hadn't existed in Salmon's own youth â well before the storm began, and now it appeared that, with the camp cancelled, he'd gone womanising.
Salmon wouldn't exactly have wished the accident on him, but
his puritan cast of mind suggested a hint of justice in it.
He supposed he'd better wise up the superintendent on this latest development. With this in mind he made for Yeadings' office where the Boss, immersed in paperwork, shot a glance of exaggerated patience over his half-moon reading lenses. âDCI Salmon,' he sighed.
âWe've located Daniel Hoad, sir.'
âAlive?' Yeadings' back straightened.
Salmon explained.
âHave you notified his grandmother?'
âI was about to, sir.'
âBest leave it to Z. She can run the lady down to Ascot and double on interviewing the lad as soon as he's fit enough.'
âSilver's on his way there now, sir. And there's a girl injured too, Hoad's pillion passenger. They don't rate her chances high.'
âThat's bad. Well, Silver and Z can cover it between them. What's afoot nearer home?'
âThis man Jay, the other little girl's father. Seems he's a QC and he's throwing his weight about.'
âYes. I've already heard of him from the Chief Constable. We have a meeting set up for this afternoon, at the man's home. I'll be taking a WPC along. You can leave the Jay family to us, Salmon. It's a wretched business altogether, and they're naturally very upset.'
âThere are leads to follow up there, sir. Their little girl, Monica, supplied the eats and drinks.' His tone indicated the hard line he'd have taken with them himself.
âFor the “midnight feast”? Yes, I'll be mentioning that. It's possible the mother was a party to it and provided the goodies â apart from the sherry perhaps.'
Salmon's mouth had tightened into a single line. He bridled every time the superintendent abandoned his desk to grab some action by rights in his own remit. But with the Chief Constable drawn in, there could be flak flying. So, just as well this time if Yeadings' broad shoulders were on the receiving end. That's what a super was paid for.
Salmon returned to his own office, soon to be further piqued
by sight from his window of both Yeadings and Z leaving the building and separating to reach their respective cars. Beaumont was still missing, off on some scent of his own and leaving no hint of his whereabouts. When Salmon tried to raise him on his mobile it was still turned off.
One point continued to niggle at the DCI like a touch of tinnitus: the recurrence of the word âSwindon'. Hoad's partner-manager Bertie Fallon, who once worked there, had denied knowing Mrs Bellinger, a resident, but no cross-checking had been done. He would drive down there and question the woman himself.
Passing Reception he observed several large open-topped cartons stuffed with crumpled paper being carried in. âWho's that for?' he demanded.
âSuperintendent Yeadings, sir. At his request. Recovered from Fordham Manor's recyclable waste, sir.'
Salmon's lip curled. He wished Yeadings joy of it when he returned from his outing, especially the large, tangled bundle of shredded typescript spilling over the edge of one carton like drunken party streamers. Gumming that back together could be more exercising for the mind, he reckoned, than a Sunday newspaper's puzzle section. For himself he'd rather hunt in Swindon for a connection between Hoad's business partner and the woman his housekeeper had been weekending with.
Â
When Z broke it to Anna Plumley that Daniel had been located, injured in a biking accident, the elderly woman closed her eyes. âThank God he's alive. Has he been told how things stand here?'
âI'm hoping that will be left to us. A DC is already on his way to question him about the accident. I've tried ringing him to hold back, but his mobile's turned off. I'll try again on the way down, if you're ready to leave now.'
In the passenger seat Anna sat silent, hands clasped in her lap. Only when Z darted a sideways glance at her did she catch the little wobble of her chin as she fought against tears.
âHe's been conscious for several hours now. There's no call to imagine he's in real danger. But he'd had a passenger on the
pillion, and she's in Intense Therapy. I haven't heard what her name is or if her parents have been notified.'
âWe should visit her too,' Anna decided.
Â
Despite Salmon's instructions Silver was determined to confine his interview with Daniel Hoad to the RTA which had landed him in Ascot hospital, but he discovered that once the Traffic officer had had the name on the patient's clipboard corrected from Wilmott some unutterable oaf in the same ward had blabbed information on the family disaster. By the time he reached him the young man had become hysterical and been given sedation. With Daniel beyond questioning for the present, he found his way to ITU, tapped at the door, showed his warrant card and was admitted.
He sat alongside the unconscious girl, listening to the soft sigh and clunk of the ventilator that was breathing for her, and keeping his eyes off the gruesome assembly of equipment connected by tubes and wires to the comatose figure in the bed.
A nurse, mistaking him for a relative, brought him tea. When again he produced his warrant card she raised no objection to showing him the girl's personal effects.
The clipboard at the foot of her bed named her as Charleen Jenkins. Her clothes had consisted of flimsy underwear smelling strongly of perfume, a short black leather skirt, black knee-boots, a red and white horizontally striped sweater with a low neckline and a navy hip-length reefer jacket. All were stiff with dried-out mud and black grease. There was a rather scruffy red plastic handbag on a long strap which had snapped. Inside he found make-up, contraceptives, a mock-leather cover for a filofax which was empty and a Sainsbury's credit card from which the hospital had learnt her name. There was no address.
It wasn't lost on him that there was considerably more activity taking place around the other curtained beds than at this one, although a nurse checked every fifteen minutes and made a note of her readings. Eventually she turned to Silver and said, âI'm afraid you're wasting your time. I can't say more until we've traced next of kin for her, you understand. And her doctor won't tell you anything definite.'
Which sounded pretty dire. They could be waiting for family to authorise switching off the life support equipment.
âNo hope then?' he ventured. She said nothing, just tilted her head, eyebrows raised. Horribly discreet.
He supposed the Area police would be trying to contact family. At least they'd a name to go on, but she needn't be a local. Under the bandaging and bruises it was a pert little face with a tip-tilted nose. A frizzed bottle-blonde, she was young, but not as young as he knew Daniel to be. Perhaps early twenties. An older female to teach him the basic points of seduction? Prostitute or amateur; you couldn't tell by appearances these days.
A buzzer sounded. The nurse who took the call came across to them. âDetective Constable Silver? Your sergeant's in Reception asking for you.'
Â
There was another woman with Z. Silver guessed this must be the ex-Squadron Leader. She listened in silence as he explained how news of the carnage at Fordham had already been broken to the injured boy.
âNot your fault,' Z said quickly. âHow long has he been sedated? Could he be alert enough to interview?'
âI doubt you'll be allowed in,' Anna Plumley interrupted. âI'm family. They'll let me sit by him until he's properly come round.'
Z considered this. Banned as a policewoman, she must leave all questioning to the other woman. But why not? She was a wise old bird and Daniel would speak more freely with her out of the way. âWould you rather talk to him alone?'
âCan you trust me to report back fully? No, come in with me. To the nurses I could pass you off as my niece. You needn't say more than hello.'
Z followed in her wake. Outside the private room to which Danny had been moved she was conscious of the woman's pause, the stiffened shoulders, the deeper breath she took before opening the door. Her substantial figure cut off sight of the occupant in the hospital bed. As she moved to one side of the room Z glimpsed him petrified with amazement.
He made an effort to sit up, then fell back against his pillows.
âGrananna! You?'
âIt's some years since I heard you call me that, Daniel.'
âWhy've you â¦? But, of course.' He swallowed desperately. His voice came out thin and uncertain. âThere's only us now. Have you heard?'
She nodded, sat on the visitor's chair provided and took his hand in both her own. âI know.'
âIsn't it the most â bloody â filthy â thing? It can't be true, can it? They've muddled us with someone else. Who would ever want to â¦?'
âWhy else would I be here?' She sounded calm and reasonable, almost detached. âI'll do whatever a grandmother can. Whatever you think I should. I've moved in and I'll stay on there for a while, if that's all right. Until you feel more settled.'