Secrets on Saturday (33 page)

That’s enough, Frances decided. She got out of bed and marched to the back bedroom. Flinging open the
window, she shouted, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!”

Shorty looked up, smiling. “Ah, Frances,” he said. “Can’t y’ sleep?”

“Don’t try being funny! Just bugger off.”

He shook his head. “Let me in, Frances,” he said, now unsmiling. “I want to talk t’ you about Reg. Me and Nelly have decided to do somethin’ about him. He’s bloody mad, and we’re getting out. But he owes us a lot o’ money. We reckon you can help us.”

“I’ve got no money, so get out of here before I call the police.”

“Reg wouldn’t like that, Frances,” Shorty warned. “Anyway, we don’t want
your
money. We want t’ get him somewhere safe, wivout his gun, and persuade him to pay up. We’re good at persuadin’.” His upturned face was white in the early morning light, and his grin more evil than usual.

Frances was silent, thinking. If those two idiots could pull it off, with her help they might be able to get rid of Reg Abthorpe for good. She had nothing to lose. Yesterday’s post had brought a card from her husband saying he would not be back for a while, as he had to stay out of the country. He sent his love, which she did not want, and she put the card in the bin. Nothing to lose, then. She leaned out of the window, and said in a whisper, “Hey, Romeo, wait there and I’ll let you in. And no funny stuff, because Reg is not the only one with a gun.”

“We’ll sit in the kitchen,” she said, pulling Shorty inside. Before she could shut the door, Nelly appeared from nowhere and squeezed in behind. “Don’t put the light on!” Frances snapped. “My neighbours are a nosey lot.”

“They’ll not be up at this hour,” said Shorty.

“Doesn’t matter. Just do as I say.” Frances pulled up the blinds, and the kitchen was dimly lit by the lightening day.

“What’s the plan, then?” Frances had no great hopes
for imaginative strategy from these two, but had decided to listen to what they’d got to say.

Nelly opened his mouth, and shut it again as Shorty glared at him. “I’ll do the talking. Well, it’s like this. We know Reg is living with you—”

“
Lodging
with me,” Frances snapped.

“And so we need your help. We got a great place to take him, where we can give him a goin’ over. But we got to get him there.”

“Is that it?” Frances said incredulously. “Your great plan? Sounds more like wishful thinking to me. Where is this place, anyway?”

Nelly said, “It’s up the …” Shorty dug him in the upper arm with his elbow, and the other winced. “Sorry, mate,” he said.

Shorty turned back to Frances. “We can’t tell you now. Security, an’ that. But if you agree to help, we’ll give you the details later.”

Frances laughed. “D’ you think I was born yesterday?” she said. “Now, straight up, if you don’t tell me the place, you can get out now and don’t come back.”

She opened the kitchen drawer, which she knew held nothing more dangerous than wooden spoons, but they both chorused at once, “All right. We’ll tell you!”

Shorty continued, “No need to be hasty. I know we can trust you.” He didn’t, but he had no alternative.

“So where is it?” said Frances, her hand still hidden in the drawer.

“Up at the farm,” Shorty said tersely. “A barn at the back. Nobody knows about it, but Reg’s made it into a lock-up garage for his car, and space for a camp bed. Nelly’s had a spare key cut. Knows a bloke what done it for us on the nod.”

“Does Reg know you know?” Frances was almost persuaded, and shut the drawer. Reg was clever in his twisted way, and a barn out of sight at an empty farmhouse, with dark woods creeping up to it, was a great hiding place. She knew something had gone wrong with the trap for the Meade woman.

Shorty nodded. “Yes. But we don’t get asked up there often, and we don’t go without bein’ asked. Unless we’re sure he’s not there.”

“So, when are you planning to do this?” Frances looked at the kitchen clock, and began to worry that Reg might be back soon.

“Well, that’s it. We got to make a date OK with you. You’d have to slip stuff into his goodnight cocoa, and then give us the signal.”

“Ain’t you forgotten somethink?” Nelly said.

“What?”

“The gun. She’d need to find that and put it where he couldn’t find it. He’ll be dopey, but not uncon … uncon … scious.”

“Right,” said Frances. “You two can get going now. Reg might be back any minute. How can I contact you?”

“Tie a dog lead to the gate. I’ll be watching,” said Shorty. “Reg won’t suspect nothin’. You can say you dropped it and somebody brought it back. I’ll come when he’s out. No need to say anything except the day and time.” He grabbed Nelly’s arm, and the fat man winced. It was where Shorty had thumped him. In seconds they were out of the door and disappeared.

Frances sat for another ten minutes, thinking over what her visitors proposed. It could work, she decided. It was worth a try at anything to get rid of Reg. She opened the fridge and took out milk and juice. Helping herself to a generous portion of muesli, she drowned it in milk and began to eat hungrily. A good start to the morning. She prayed that the rest of it would go equally well.

R
EG
A
BTHORPE WAS UNCOMFORTABLE
. H
E HAD
been standing motionless for about twenty minutes and had cramp in his foot. He carefully shifted his weight and looked at his watch. There had been no signs of either of the old men in the kitchen. They were probably getting dressed. A good time to strike! He was about to emerge from the thicket when the back door opened. It was Herbert Everitt, and he had his terrier by the collar. He bent down to tie the dog up, but it lifted its head, stared straight at the thicket hiding Reg, and began to bark hysterically.

Herbert looked across in alarm, and the dog pulled away from him, rushing towards Reg. It disappeared into the thicket and there was sudden shouting and growling and more furious barking. Herbert instinctively ran towards his dog, desperate to rescue him, but almost immediately there was a shout of “Get off, y’ bugger!” and then the sound of a shot, followed by dead silence.

For one terrifying moment, Herbert was shocked into immobility. Then he turned and scuttled back into the house, slamming and locking the door. Reg followed, limping and cursing, but he was too late. The house was still, with no sounds. Reg consoled himself that he had only to wait. Everitt would not be able to resist coming out again to look for the dog. Best to hide again, this time in a different place, and wait. He limped back and hid behind a thick thorn bush, scratching himself deeply on his arm. He was close to crying. His ankle hurt like hell
where the dog had sunk in its teeth, and he knew he should have it treated. But to give up now was to waste time. He would have to start all over again. And anyway, the old men knew he was around now, and would do all they could to keep him out. No, it had to be today. He crouched down and took a look at the ankle. Blood was oozing out fast. He folded up a cleanish handkerchief and bound it round the wound. That would have to do for now.

H
ERBERT SAT UPSTAIRS ON
W
ILLIE
’
S BED
,
HIS HEAD IN
his hands, his shoulders heaving.

“Oh, Bert, how could anybody do that?” Willie said, his arm around Herbert’s shoulder. “I can only think of one thing to say that might help.”

Herbert sniffed hard, and said, “What’s that, then?”

“It would’ve been quick, Bert. Like the fox—a good shot in the head is far kinder than being torn apart by hounds. I never used to think that, but I do now.”

Herbert lowered his hands and stared at William. “What if it’s not a good shot? Supposing Spot is lying out there in the bushes only half dead, in agony? I’m going to find him,” he added, and stood up.

“No, you’re not, Bert,” William said, pulling him down again. “Just listen to me. If Spot is still alive, and hurt, he’d be whining and calling you. Listen …” They were both quiet for a couple of seconds. No sounds from outside. “See? The old boy’s in dogs’ paradise by now. Special supper of his favourite meat, an’ a dog choc to follow. Oh, shit,” he added, muttering to himself and rubbing his eyes.

They sat in silence for five or so minutes, and then both spoke at once. “We’ve got to think now,” William said, and Herbert reluctantly suggested they should both make the house as secure as possible and then find a hiding place. Together they stood up, and looked across at the open door leading to the dark chamber.

“That’s it, boy,” said Herbert. “Everything’s locked up
downstairs. He can crash through the windows, o’ course. But I reckon Spot had a good go at him, got his jaws round his leg, before he … well, until he … you know. No, let’s get in there and move some of that stuff up against the door. There’s heavy trunks in there, and Abthorpe looks a bit of a weed.”

“And no windows in there,” William said. “Couldn’t be better. D’ you reckon we should get some water and food?”

Herbert shook his head. “Better stay up here now. I’ve got water by my bed, and you have, too. Bring that.”

William looked embarrassed. “I’ve got some chocolate biscuits, too. They were in that cupboard over the sink. Gone off a bit, but still edible. I’ll get ‘em.” They collected up these meager supplies and went quickly into the dark chamber, pulling the door shut behind them.

Reg, listening intently from outside, could hear faint sounds of bumping and scraping, and then all was quiet. He decided it was now or never. He’d have to get help with his ankle soon. He emerged from his hiding place into the back yard once more, and limped over to the door. He could hardly put his foot to the ground, but he tried to forget it. The door was locked, of course. He threw his weight against it, but it didn’t budge, and he had difficulty in suppressing a scream from the intense pain.

The windows, then. He limped round the house, but all windows were shut and the catches rusty and fixed. He could break the glass, but how would he climb through with his dodgy ankle? He slid down on to his haunches, his back against the wall. Think, Reg, think. He felt dizzy, and after a minute or two of being totally unable to think of anything except the pain, he decided he would have to get back somehow to the farm, and rest up until he could think clearly again. He’d have to ask the two idiots to get some dressings or something similar from the shop. If they had any. Antiseptic cream would be better than nothing. He knew that driving his car was out of the question.

He fell forward on to all fours, and began to crawl across the yard. How are the mighty fallen! he said to himself and went doggedly on, stopping now and again to take deep breaths.

Inside the dark chamber, Herbert and William sat on a box, side by side, eating a stale chocolate biscuit and drinking rationed amounts of water. “If we ever get out of this,” Herbert said slowly, “I’ve been thinking of making a suggestion.”

William looked at him. “No good proposing,” he said, with a brave effort at a smile. “I’m spoken for already.”

Herbert bit his lip. “Close,” he said. “My proposal was that you come and live with me in Blackberry Gardens. There’s plenty of room for us to keep out of each other’s way when necessary. But it’d be companionship. Maybe watch telly together in the evenings. That sort of thing …” He tailed off, looking anxiously at William.

“It’s a deal, Bert.” William replied. “Here,” he added, holding out another biscuit. “Half each to clinch it.”

F
RANCES HAD GONE BACK TO BED AFTER HER EARLY
morning snack, but she did not sleep. She was thinking hard, and had come up with an idea which, if it worked, would solve all her problems at once. She was not stupid, and knew that Shorty and Nelly had not told her everything. Once Reg was out of the way, they would be back with one thing on their minds. Blackmail. But she could be one step ahead. They were not, after all, the brightest of crooks. She got out of bed and looked at the clock. No sounds of Reg’s return, but that meant nothing.
He came and went like a pale shadow, and never told her where he was going or when he would be back.