The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1) (14 page)

The disgruntled bobby ambled back down to the Holly Tree and banged hard on the door. But there was no answer. He banged again, and again - still no answer. Inside lay Elaine, dead to the world. For a while she'd held out hope the newcomer might wander back for a ‘little fun’ on sobering up. On realising it was not to be, however, she'd drained the vodka bottle and fallen asleep on one of the padded bar-benches, a travel-rug pulled over her. Too late to go home, she'd reasoned, and no need: Elaine had recently moved back with her mother, who'd long since given up worrying about her whereabouts.

Stubbs decided that, since he was out, he might as well check around the village - as he'd be due to at sunrise anyway. There was no chance he'd sleep even in bed now, he reasoned, intensely annoyed by the affair but comforted that he knew where to get a cuppa, even at that hour.

Best make the bakery first call on the list.

The baker's was always open by that hour and that morning was no exception. “Three sugars, please,” said Stubbs as he made himself comfortable in a wicker chair in the corner of the bake-house. Good place to pass an hour, he mused, and the baker would make a good foil to vent his spleen on.

“Silly sod probably
did
get locked in,” moaned Stubbs, “but sod him now! Let him sweat a bit, might teach him a lesson.”

Although only a couple of doors down, it was well over an hour later when the constable arrived at the dairy and, as calculated, things were stirring there too. “That’s what village bobbies are all about,” he muttered smugly as he pecked at his fourth cuppa that morning, “knowing where everything’s happening.”

At five thirty, the newsagent would be opening up shop; it was “bloody cold” and Stubbs felt he could do with more tea after being out half the night.

"A little drop of something in it?” asked Dawn, the newsagent's wife. “Matt always has a tot on cold mornings.”

“Just a drop, then.” Stubbs winked as he squatted on an upturned crate. “I like it nice and hot.”

"Oooh, saucy." Dawn winked as she laced the tea with a liberal dash of whisky. “Matt’s weekly lie in this morning, alters it reg'lar.”

“I know that Dawn,” said Stubbs, carefully removing his helmet, “good name for a newsagent’s wife that eh? Not a lot goes on as I don’t know about!”

“Your uniform looks lovely, and you look so tall lately,” said Dawn with a sigh of approval. “Who was it you caught breaking out of the pub?”

“Never seen him before, some itinerant after one of the barmaids, I reckon. That dick Gorby spotted him and rang me right at the beginning of the fifth. You heard the result, by the way?”

“No, I’ll put the news on.”

Stubbs sat and waited for the six o'clock news - with another “nice cup of tea” of course, and on learning he'd lost his bet, replaced his helmet and prepared to leave for the Holly Tree. “Be light in a minute," he said abruptly, his mood somewhat altered by the result – "I’ll go back to the pub and see if I can knock someone up.”

In the event, Stubbs still couldn't wake anyone, so he headed back home.

*

 "At about what time would that have been, madam?”

“Just now - not ten minutes gone,” answered the distressed lady waiting at the hatch.

“God, I've been out all night an' all!" said Stubbs testily. "Hang on a mo: I’ll come down with you as soon as I've let this drunk out of the cell. It’s obviously not him,” he managed a derisive snort, "been yer hours.”

The PC went along and unlocked the heavy cell door, then another door at the rear of the building. “Go on, bugger off,” he said as he directed Greg out of the village station, “and take it easy on the bottle in future!” He placed his left hand at the joint of his right forearm, and raised his fist suggestively. “And the other!” he added.

The self-satisfied PC never noticed the half-demented glare in Greg’s eyes, or the sweat on his blanched skin.

Stubbs returned to the office, carefully removing his helmet to present himself at his best. “Now, Mrs Penmaric, did you see anyone near the house. Anyone suspicious?”

“Well,” replied Sarah, “I did see a young man hanging around before I went to bed.  A scruffy type with long dishevelled hair… and an eye patch.”

*

Greg staggered back to the caravan, anxious to exercise Red, who’d also been locked up all night, though on reaching the 'van he was barely able to steady the key. He flung open the door and released the patient animal on to the field. “I’ll take you for a walk in a minute,” he mumbled as he pulled himself into the ‘van, "…soon as I’ve steadied my nerves.”

After a scalding cup of tea, well laced, Greg changed his torn jeans and took Red for a walk - though every step he took was with trepidation. He was in constant fear of Stubbs appearing from behind a tree or rock - or even under one - and dragging him back to the station. Greg made a vow right then that if anyone - regardless of standing - tried to lock him up again, he'd give them a run for their money.

He walked right down to the shore’s edge with Red, and stood as the sea lapped over his shoes; it didn’t seem important that they'd be soaked, and almost impossible to dry on a cold, damp, February morning.

“It’s so lovely here.” Greg sighed as he squatted to cradle Red’s bony head between his knees. "Be nice to have some peace to enjoy it.”

Greg went back to the caravan expecting to go out like a light, though sleep evaded him. Several times he woke sweating and shivering, and on each occasion it was a while before he convinced himself he wasn’t still locked in the cell. He got up around mid-day, still tense and aching, and after an icy shower he visited the cabin.

“I was just going to make some tea,” said Jan as she opened the door, “Jamie and me have just got back from the village.” Jan prepared a tray, and sat opposite Greg at the table and waited for the kettle.

“What on earth have you been doing?” she asked as she studied Greg in the uncompromising light from the kitchen window, “you look
awful!
”

After swearing Jan to secrecy, Greg recounted events. “It was the worst experience I’ve ever had, Jan,” he finished eventually. “I never want to go through anything like it again.”

“I can well believe you from the state you’re in,” sympathised Jan. “And what you’ve said explains the gossip in the village earlier.”

“What’s been said?” asked Greg with concern.

“They said Penmaric’s garages - the coach-houses - have been broken into, and one of the cars ransacked.”

“I’d better go and put Sarah wise about what I heard, then.” Greg stood to leave. “Don’t mention anything to a soul.”

“What about your tea?”

“Sorry, no time. See you later.”

Sarah was every bit as shocked as Jan had been by Greg’s appearance. “I think you should see a doctor,” she declared.

Greg shrugged off her suggestion, “I’ll be alright,” he replied, “I must tell you about last night.”

Sarah listened with horror to Greg’s revelations. “I'll call Stubbs immediately,” she said when he finished, “so they can lock all three up where they belong.”

“All
three?
”

“That’s right - there seems to be a young man involved as well, I saw him last night, and I’ve seen him hanging around Trevelly several times recently.”

“What’s he like?” asked Greg with some curiosity.

“Young… scruffy…” replied Sarah hesitantly, “...but most significantly he wore an eye-patch.”

“A scrawny, long-haired yob?” Greg’s eyes widened as he gulped with surprise.

 “That’s right. I never got a close look, mind; but there’s worse, Greg - much worse.”

“What?” croaked Greg, finding it difficult to believe matters could deteriorate further.

“Drugs, Greg. Stubbs called in a DCI Tooth from Plymouth, who said a 'light dusting' of white powder has been found in the back of the Aston-Martin, They're calling in drug squad.”

Greg’s eyes widened again, this time with horror. The whole sequence of events on his ill-fated trip suddenly clicked into place.

“I’ve been set up!” he said. “I’ve carried hard drugs into the country without knowing, and worse still, the police have a cut and dried case against me.” The last vestiges of colour drained from Greg’s face as he told Sarah what had happened; and how he was certain to be jailed if he didn’t leave immediately. He also explained how he'd told a series of lies to tie in with the first innocuous one about his background.

“I know it was a stupid thing to do,” he said, covering his face with his hands, "but I didn’t want to explain the whole degrading affair to every new acquaintance; I wanted to be someone other than Greg Alison for a while. Do you understand?”

“Of course, but surely that isn’t a terrible offence?”

Greg shook his head. “I’m not sure it's an offence at all in that sense, but it’s far more involved. Before I left for Spain I realised I’d brought my old passport by mistake. There was no time to sort it, but Nigel got it doctored, brought up to date that is. Problem is he did it in my assumed name!”

“How
stupid!”

“I realise that now, but I intended doing nothing more sinister than seeing my children. Instead I brought a junkie back, and came through border control with a forged passport, an assumed name and a cargo of hard drugs as well apparently. And to top it all I’ve no alibi for my whereabouts in France… I could never find that doss-house again in a million years, and I don’t think I’d get much support considering I left without paying. I’ve no proof of where I was during that time.”

“Where
is
this forged passport?” asked Sarah with urgency.

“That’s the worst bit,” moaned Greg, “I left it in the Ulster glove box; in police hands by now, no doubt.” Greg buried his face in his hands again. “Best of all I put the junkie in the clear by
insisting
he cleared customs as a foot passenger. No wonder he never argued….it seems the varmint had stowed a duffle bag full of hard drugs in the back!”

Sarah saw the full implications, but was still puzzled. “Where do Hud and Ten come into it all? Do you reckon they’re in on the drug business as well?”

“I honestly don’t know what to make of it,” said Greg, “judging by their mentality it must have been a sordid coincidence. It's my guess that Cass lout and his partner had been waiting their chance to recover a further hidden stash, and turned up on the same night as Hud and Co. The only thing I
am
sure of is that someone’s paying Hud and Ten to find your late husband’s
legacy
, and destroy it for some reason. There must be a lot of money involved somewhere.”

“Do you think Nigel's in on it?”

“It's hard to imagine him being shrewd enough to muscle in - but he did use the rally as an excuse to travel to Barcelona!" Greg paused for a moment and asked: "Did Lawson ever mention paintings - or a man named Edwin Ralph?”

“No” Sarah looked blankly at Greg. “I’ve never heard the name. As for paintings, the only pictures we have are here in the library. Worth thousands I'm sure, but nowhere near enough to put the estate right.” She poured them each a large brandy then asked Greg what his plan was.

“I’ll have to get out of the area. The police won’t waste any time, and if they find me here, I'll be locked...” Greg winced; the sentence was too painful to finish.

“But surely Greg,” countered Sarah firmly, “if you’re innocent they
can’t
just lock you up.”

“Stubbs did last night,” said Greg bitterly, “and that was for breaking
out
of a pub. God knows what treatment I’d get for suspected drug running.”

“But Greg...”

“I’m not giving them chance!” insisted Greg, “I’ll risk death before I’ll let ‘em lock me up again.” He considered for a second and added, “Can you spare Bart or Si for the day? I need one of them to tow the caravan away somewhere.”

“But what about your truck?”

“Risky enough moving the caravan, but I’ll be a sitting target driving that. Would you ring Hud and ask him to bale it up please? I don’t like involving a shark like him, but he’d weigh his kids in for a tenner. No doubt someone will be riding round in it in a few weeks with a new registration, but that’s his pigeon.” Greg looked desperate; prepared to resort to any means to stay outside a cell.

“It all sounds utterly ridiculous to me,” protested Sarah angrily, “someone’s
bound
to give you away. I think you should stay; face the police and explain what’s happened.”

Greg remained adamant. “They’ll never believe me,” he insisted, “and I’ve a slender chance of proving my innocence while I’m free. Locked up I've none!”

Sarah could see he wasn’t to be moved. Reluctantly she walked over to a small writing desk.

“For God’s sake don’t involve me,” she said as she returned with a handful of notes and the keys to the Ranger, “this is all the cash I can spare just now. Where will you go?”

“Bromyard way – in the Worcester-Hereford area.” Greg took the keys, but raised his hand to reject the money. “I can manage with what I have, Sarah. Thanks very much.”