Jigsaw (21 page)

Tom said quickly, ‘Look, don't worry about me – I'll find something down the road. You don't want me around at a time like this.'

‘Of course you must join us,' Daniel said firmly. ‘Ma's right, we all need to eat. The canteen's down that corridor.'

He relieved Tom of the overnight bag, took Catherine's arm, and started off down one of the long passages radiating from the lobby, and Tom, his mind buffeted by conflicting emotions, fell into step behind them.

Avril was surprised to find him downstairs when she arrived home.

‘You didn't need to wait up,' she told him, walking into the sitting room, where he was watching a late-night film. ‘I told you I'd be late.'

‘I wasn't tired,' he said.

‘But it's nearly one o'clock! The play overran, then some people had gone to the loo and we had to wait for them, so we finished up setting off even later than we'd expected.'

‘Did you enjoy the show?'

‘It was all right. A musical. Always seems a bit unnatural to me, the way they burst into song in the middle of a conversation. I prefer a straight play.'

His eyes had gone back to the screen and she watched him for a moment. He seemed somehow different, though she couldn't have said why.

‘What did you do with yourself all evening?'

‘I went to see a client,' he said.

She made a sound of impatience. ‘I don't know why you dance attendance on them like that. Why can't they see you in office hours?'

‘I wouldn't have gone if you'd been home,' he said levelly. ‘Since you weren't, it didn't matter.'

‘Suit yourself.'

She went out into the kitchen and he heard her running the tap to fill the kettle. Whatever time Avril went to bed, she had to have a hot drink. Tom never did; it would have led to his getting up in the night, and he prided himself on never having to do so.

His thoughts went back, as they'd been doing all evening, to the hospital in Stokely. He didn't know how far the pregnancy had progressed, but it must be traumatic to lose a baby at any stage. He couldn't imagine not having the girls.

And Catherine. He smiled a little, savouring the name. She'd introduced him to her son as a friend, not her bank manager. Was that how she thought of him?

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed one. By this time, surely, she'd be asleep. It had been a strain on her, and he was glad she'd be coming home the next day – today, now – when Jenny's parents took over. Would it, he wondered, be in order for him to phone in a day or two, to ask after her daughter-in-law? Or would their ‘friendship', accelerated by the unusual circumstances, simply sink back into a manager/client relationship?

‘Are you going to sit there all night?' Avril's voice asked from the doorway. Resignedly he switched off the television. He'd not really been watching it, anyway.

‘Just coming,' he said.

The overnight rain had lasted into the morning, and Rona, up in her study, settled down with Catherine Bishop's records. The format of those for the grammar school and college were, she saw, necessarily different; their compiler had not been on the staff of either school and there was no pupil participation. Certainly that for the college, despite its Speech Day programmes and team photographs, had an altogether more serious slant – doubtless a nod in the direction of the academic Mr Maddox.

She opened a notebook and began to jot down such facts as she might, with permission, make use of, trying to work out as she did so how many thousand words she could allow for each school. It would, she thought, be an exercise in précis-writing.

The phone interrupted her, and Lindsey's voice said, ‘Still OK for lunch?'

‘Yep. Where do you want to go?'

‘There's a new wine bar in Market Street. We could try that.'

‘OK by me. See you there about twelve thirty?'

‘Right. By the way, I met your Mrs Bishop the other day. She accosted me in the street, thinking I was you.'

‘What did she want?'

‘I don't know. Nothing urgent, she said. Not much to look at, is she?'

‘She grows on you,' Rona said. ‘Any news about Hugh?'

‘No; it's beginning to get to me, Ro. Every time the phone rings I wonder if it's him, and every time I come out of the flat or the office, I expect him to be waiting for me.'

‘And you're disappointed when he's not?'

Lindsey paused. ‘To be honest, I don't know,' she said.

When they met a couple of hours later, Lindsey continued from where she'd left off. ‘Why did it have to change?' she asked plaintively. ‘It was working perfectly well, with him coming up at weekends and then going back again. I don't want him here all the time, but I'm finding that doesn't mean I don't want to see him at all.'

‘It sounds to me as though he's playing a very clever game,' Rona said. She paused. ‘To change the subject completely, how do you feel about playing the Good Samaritan?'

‘Which involves what, exactly?'

‘Simply asking a new neighbour of yours to coffee. She doesn't know anybody.'

‘A neighbour of mine?'

‘Yes; she's joined Max's Wednesday class, and he's convinced himself she's a battered wife.'

‘Ye gods!'

‘So he wants me to vet her and tell him what I think. Though what qualifies me to recognize a battered wife when I see one, I can't imagine.'

‘Me neither,' agreed Lindsey ungrammatically.

‘Have you got a Neighbourhood Watch scheme or anything?'

‘Not as far as I know. If we have, they were pretty useless back in March.'

The two of them had been in Lindsey's flat when a double-murderer broke in, and only Hugh's timely arrival had saved them.

‘What number is she?' Lindsey added.

‘One, according to the note Max pointedly left out.'

‘That's on the corner of the main road.' Fairhaven was a cul-de-sac with four detached houses of varying styles on either side. The one where Lindsey lived had been built as two flats, and she occupied the upper one. ‘I didn't know the Baxters had moved out, but I wasn't particularly friendly with them.'

‘Look, I'm no keener to get involved than you are,' Rona admitted, ‘I'm just trying to keep peace in the marital home. So would you be an angel? Have her to coffee, and I'll just happen to drop in.'

‘But when? I'm at work all week, and if I ask her at the weekend, the bruiser would have to come too.'

Rona smiled. ‘Then knock off early one afternoon, and invite her for tea. Come to think of it, could you possibly make it tomorrow? Otherwise, it'll be another week before I'm available.'

‘The things I do for you,' Lindsey said resignedly.

‘Or, in this instance, for Max.' Rona pushed across the slip of paper giving the phone number.

‘Whatever. OK, I'll give it a go, and let you know how I get on.'

Intent on her thoughts, Rona did not notice the young man approaching her up Dean's Crescent until he spoke her name.

‘Hello, Mrs Allerdyce. And – Gus, isn't it?'

Looking up, she recognized Max's ex-student and her own ex-shadow, Dave Lampeter. ‘Hi, Dave. How are things?'

‘Not brilliant, to be honest.'

‘Max told me you haven't managed to find a job yet. I'm sorry.'

‘Yes, stacking shelves wasn't quite what I had in mind when I graduated.' He paused. ‘I hear you're writing again. That's good news.'

‘I've got something on the go, yes.'

‘Excellent. Well, nice to see you. Any time you want a bodyguard, let me know!'

‘Hang on!' Rona exclaimed as he started to move away. ‘Funny you should say that. Come to think of it, I just might.'

He stared at her. ‘You're not serious?'

‘I could be. Look, can you spare me a few minutes?'

‘Sure, I'm on shift work. Off now till the store closes, then I start refilling the shelves.'

‘So you've time to come back for a coffee?'

‘All the time in the world.'

Back at the house, they went down to the kitchen, where Dave prowled about admiring things while Rona made the coffee and took it over to the table by the patio doors. As she pulled them open, the scent of warm wet earth reached them.

‘So,' Dave invited, seating himself and pulling a mug towards him. ‘What's the problem? Not another murdered author?'

She shook her head, not looking at him as she stirred her coffee. ‘You'll think we're a very odd family,' she began. ‘Max originally hired you to keep watch on me without my knowing. Now, I want you to do the same again, but without telling him. Would you be prepared to do that?'

‘Suppose you fill me in.'

So Rona told him about the Buckford project, about her interview with Miss Rosebury, the lost cassette, the phone call and the two notes.

‘He seems to be stepping up the pressure,' she ended, ‘and I'm getting a bit jittery.'

‘I'm not surprised. You do land yourself in it, don't you?'

Rona nodded ruefully.

‘How much of this have you told Max?'

She flushed. ‘Very little.'

‘Could I ask why?'

‘Oh Dave, you know how he was last time. If he thinks I'm in any danger, he'll start laying down the law and demanding I drop the whole thing.'

A smile twitched at his mouth. ‘I can't see you complying.'

‘No, but it makes for unpleasantness. Anyway, so far I've been writing it off as a joke that's got a bit out of hand. Now, I'm not so sure, especially since, on top of everything, old Miss Rosebury was found dead in the street.' She went on to recount their visit to the mortuary and the police interview. ‘I'm just praying it had nothing to do with the cassette.'

‘And this landlady of yours – the old lady's niece: she's no idea who her aunt saw?'

‘None whatever.' Rona hesitated. ‘I might as well tell you the rest. You're not going to like this, but a murderer
is
involved, though this time he's already locked up. At least, I think he is.' And she told him about Alan Spencer and Beth's account of what had happened.

‘I presume Max doesn't know this, either?'

She shook her head.

‘He'd blow his top if he found out, and I can't say I'd blame him.'

‘I don't want to put any pressure on you,' Rona said.

‘What's more, I'd come in for my own share of the fallout. Probably a large share.'

‘On the other hand, if you don't agree, and something happens to me, and he finds out I asked you for help . . .'

‘Oh, no pressure at all!' said Dave with a wry grin. ‘As far as I can see, though,' he went on slowly, ‘there's nothing whatever to connect this couple with the man in prison. Or have I missed something?'

‘No, you're right; on the face of it, there isn't.'

‘But you think there
is
a connection?'

‘I honestly don't know.'

‘Suppose I agree to all this: what would you require me to do?'

‘Well, I've only got two more visits up there, next week and the week after. Ideally, I'd like you to go up when I do, keep me in sight during the day to see if anyone's following me, and check me safely back into the house at night. I'm sure you could get a room at the pub, which is only minutes from the house. Naturally, I'll pay all expenses, together with a retainer.' She glanced at him. ‘What about your job, though? Even if you don't like it, I don't want to be responsible for your losing it.'

He made a dismissive gesture. ‘That wouldn't be a problem; I've some holiday due to me.'

‘Well then?'

There was a brief pause. ‘I'd be much happier if Max was in on this.'

‘No deal.'

Another pause. ‘Only two visits, you said? Four days in all?'

‘More or less; mid-morning Monday to Wednesday afternoon, both weeks.'

He sighed. ‘I might well regret this, but I'll do it.'

Rona breathed a sigh of relief and leant back in her chair. ‘Thanks, Dave. I'll sleep a lot easier now.'

‘A
ll fixed for tomorrow,' said Lindsey's voice, as Rona lifted the phone.

It took her a moment to decipher the message. ‘Oh, the damsel in distress. What did she say?'

‘She sounded surprised, but said she'd come.'

‘How did she seem?'

‘Not jittery or anything, if that's what you mean.'

‘And you didn't mention Max or me?'

‘Nary a word.'

‘Bless you, Linz, that's great. What time's she coming?'

‘Three thirty. I'm taking the afternoon off.'

‘So if I drop in about four?'

‘Fine. God knows what we'll talk about till you get here.'

‘You'll manage,' Rona said.

When Max phoned an hour or two later, Rona relayed the arrangements.

‘Oh, that's wonderful, love. Thanks so much for fixing it.'

‘I'm not sure what you want me to do?'

‘Look for bruises, if you can without being obvious. Otherwise, just take note of her manner, whether or not you think she's on edge. If you can get her to talk about her husband, so much the better. God, I don't know – use your imagination. I'm just uneasy about her, that's all.'

‘Shall I mention you?'

‘Better not, unless you can't avoid it. I certainly don't want her thinking we've discussed her.'

‘OK, I'll see what I can do, and report back.'

‘You're a gem,' he said.

Max had described Adele Yarborough as pale and quiet. He had neglected to say she was also extremely pretty. She had a small, pointed face, large eyes of an indeterminate slatey colour, and ash-blonde hair cut very short in a gamine style. Mascara and lipstick seemed to be the extent of her make-up, but the luminous quality of her skin made anything else superfluous. Her dress was long-sleeved, Rona noted, and its colour – rose-pink – added to a general impression of fragility. Her only jewellery was a watch and her wedding ring.