The Possessions of a Lady (42 page)

Cradhead and three uniformed men were standing a yard in front of
the car.

'Evening, Lovejoy.' He palmed the air down, but I wasn't going to
dowse the lights for anybody. 'You wish to explain?' They walked up, shone
torches on me.

'Explain what?'

'That bloody hook. The bloody knobkerrie on the passenger seat.
Your blood-soaked appearance.'

'In here, sir,' some Old Bill called. Another talked into some
gadget. God, I was sick of gadgets.

'Ambulances,' Cradhead called, not taking his eyes off me.
'Plural. Brewer? Who's your first-aider?'

'Foster, sir. Inside, Foster. See what you can do.'

'Cradhead,' I said feebly. 'I can explain.'

Cradhead said, pleasant, 'I
thought
you'd say that.'

A lorry trundled down the cobbles, its brakes shrill. I got out as
Tinker alighted. He swayed, sloshed out of his mind. I looked closer. He
wasn't
drunk. Drunk was normal. This
Tinker was cold sober. He hawked, spat, grinned. There was no purple trailer.

'Wotcher, Lovejoy. Awreet?'

'Yes, ta.' I alighted and went to his lorry, flipped open the
sagging canvas. Empty. 'Tinker? The antiques.'

'Eh?' He acted horrified. 'Was I suppose to collect some stuff,
Lovejoy?' He looked sheepish. 'Only, I didn't feel well, had to stop for an
ale.'

'Book him, lads,' Cradhead said. 'Drunken driving.'

'Here, Lovejoy.' Tinker finally noticed I was covered in blood.
'You hurt?'

'Not Lovejoy,' Cradhead said, still affable. 'Just everybody else.
You were saying, Lovejoy?'

Lamely, I started stuttering my tale. All I could think was, it
hadn't been such an auspicious day for Tubb after all. What had he said?
'Certainty's the best feeling on earth.' Treacherous stuff, certainty.

38

They had me dictating, remembering, all night long. Except
memory's not much good, is it? It's treacherous, only picks out good bits.
Like, everybody remembers Lady Godiva, but who remembers her wicked husband
Leofric?

I didn't mind tiredly telling my tale. Nicola, in the Royal
Infirmary with her broken leg, dislocated shoulder, minus two teeth, exonerated
me. She told them I was a hero, had risked all to save her.

'It seems you're in good,' said a smart, attractive woman who came
to drive the final nail in. Her assistant, one Ackers, kept eating toffee,
nougat, Pontefract cakes, sucking Uncle Joe's Mint Balls (these last the best
sweets ever made) without offering me one, selfish sod.

'Well, I'm a hero.'

'She maintains that you only
pretended
to run for it, Lovejoy.'

Cradhead chortled disbelief. Police have this system, being so
short of manpower. One talks, two more sit idle, one runs a tape recorder,
another yawns, a sixth brings more toffees, tea, biscuits.

'Listen, missus,' I said to the newcomer.

'Orla M. Featherstonehaugh,' she said. 'We spoke once. I'm the
suspicious hoary old cow, you told Viktor Vasho at the hospital.'

I nodded, after a minute, the ball in her court.

'And all the time,' Ackers said, cracking an Uncle Joe's with pot
teeth, 'you were fighting for Nicola?'

'I was under threat, sir.' A bit of grovel never does harm. 'And
scared.'

'He stole the antiques,' Cradhead said.

'I didn't!' They had me on a chair, facing.

'After he'd told me about poor Spoolie.'

'I've told you all I know, sir.' I tried to remember what I'd said
in the babble of the moment. 'Boxgrove and Tubb did Spoolie because he was
getting scared. They were all in it. Thekla backed out.'

'We have Napier Montrose Shelvenham, a.k.a. Roger Boxgrove. And
Carmel. And Roadie. You make enemies without even trying, Lovejoy.'

'Why's everything my fault?' I growled, tough. It emerged as a
sheep's baa.

'You should have known that Boxgrove was crazy about Vyna.' Orla
was so innocent. 'Have you heard of something called a chain-date agency,
Lovejoy?'

'No,' I lied politely. 'Why?'

'Boxgrove met Vyna through it. They thought up a scheme to lead
you north, to divvy the textile jewellery.'

'No good explaining,' Ackers said, nasty. 'Lovejoy's thick.'

'Thekla tried to warn you, Lovejoy.' Orla read from the note
Thekla had got Vyna to slip me.
'Please
forgive me, darling. Beware Roger, Carmel and Tubb. Come back. Please? I will
tell you everything. I need you to find Galberti Rappada urgently. All my love,
darling, Thekla.'

Galberti who? Then I vaguely remembered making some frock designer
up. Was she still believing my lies?

'Are we sure Lovejoy didn't do it?' Ackers asked Cradhead, as if I
wasn't there.

'Me? Look, sir. I was nowhere near.'

Orla crossed her legs, got my full attention.

'The problem is,' Ackers went on, ignoring me, 'the Manchester
trinkets. You were pinching them, right?'

'Certainly not. I told Tinker to move them to a safe place.'

Cradhead and Ackers looked downcast. My spirits rose. Good news?
Ackers spoke, morose.

'The police officer we installed in the purple caravan—a justified
trespass—reported that the vehicle was abandoned at the Lostock road.' I'd
guessed right, that too-swift light in its window.

'The towing lorry then drove off Cradhead sipped his tea. 'To join
us when you'd finished killing everybody in the farmhouse.'

'I didn't!' But I did. 'Self-defence, sir.'

'The trouble is,' Cradhead said, 'a thousand witnesses saw Thekla
write that message.'

Relief came in sweat. 'Can I go, then?' It was four o'clock in the
morning. I didn't mind.

'One thing, Lovejoy.' Orla held up some papers. 'Why did Tinker
Dill try to steal the few antiques donated by the mayor?'

'I didn't!' I tried it saner. 'He didn't!'

'But he did, Lovejoy,' Orla said, watching me. 'He drove to Mrs.
Wanda Curthouse, gave them to her.'

'He
what?
’ I'd thought
at least I'd get away with something. Tinker, betraying me for honesty?

'Mrs. Curthouse was only just in time to sell them to the last
dealers to leave. High prices, I hear.'

'Wanda sold them?' I couldn't believe it. I wanted them for me.
'Er, good!'

'Wasn't that the arrangement, Lovejoy?' said Cradhead.

I felt bitter. Wanda, typical woman, going honest. Do they never
get wrong right? I had a hell of a headache. 'Can I have some tea, please?'

'No,' Ackers said urbanely, sipping his. He brought out an Uncle
Joe's, examined it in the light. We used to do that, look for the transfixed
bubble. It was supposed to be good luck, though the edge of the bubble cut your
tongue.

'Mrs. Curthouse and her husband run a very tight ship,
antiques-wise,' Ackers said. 'Right, Lovejoy?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Accurate accounts. Precision itself.'

Bertie'd been hard at it, then.

'You see our trouble, Lovejoy?' Cradhead took a biscuit, smiling
his thanks at a bonny police woman. She smiled fondly. None for me.

'No, sir.' I was under arrest, not them.

'Mrs. Finch, Faye, Amy, Wanda, the rest all to exonerate you,
Lovejoy. But you have committed some awful crimes. You've stolen a
commemorative wedding mug, for example, from a Mrs. Mavis Winwick. You've
stolen a valuable touring car. And, Lovejoy, killed two people. Nicola
implicates you in a disappearance.'

'She what?'

Orla took it up. 'Florsston Valeece. Nicola believes that you
competed with him for her, Lovejoy.' Ackers heaved a sigh. I scented the aroma
of his toffee.

'That's nonsense, sir.'

'This Valeece,' he said, 'is missing.'

'He's gone to Italy. He told me. He bribed me with a faked blue
lacquered cabinet.'

'Bribed?' They cheered up, incrimination at last.

'To take Nicola off his hands.'

They beamed. 'Let me get this straight, Lovejoy,' Ackers said,
mirth brimming. 'You seriously expect us to believe that a man in his right
mind
gave
you a rare antique as a
bribe, to accept the sexual favours of an attractive woman?'

'No,' I stammered. 'Yes. I mean, no.' I added weakly, 'It's fake'.
But would Florsston ever admit our deal to the police?

'When did you sleep, cohabit, or otherwise cash in on, this, ah,
sordid arrangement, Lovejoy?'

I didn't. Haven't.'

'Given a gorgeous lady, and
didn't
?
You want us to believe that, Lovejoy? And why exactly did you steal that
valuable car?'

I licked my lips. 'I can explain.'

'Go on, then, Lovejoy.' Ackers was all heart. They leant back.
'We're waiting.'

They let me go at six that evening, Cradhead watching me from the
lobby window. I was knackered. I'd declined to accept messages in posh police
envelopes. Tinker was nowhere to be seen. The Braithwaite had been impounded. I
was to be charged with something or other on account of it. I'd just had enough.
I wanted to sleep on a train going anywhere.

Wanda waved me over. I went to her car.

'Evening, Lovejoy. You took your time. Get in. We've a long way to
go.'

I inhaled my first free breath. Or last.

'Thanks for coming, love,' I said. Start as you mean to go on.
'You took everything to the auction, then?'

Wanda smiled. "Too many Old Bill not to, Lovejoy. I played it
straight, collected the mayor's antiques from Tinker's truck. Lydia helped me
to sell them, a last-minuter.'

'Trained her myself.' I felt proud, then felt whatever the
opposite of proud is. Sad? 'You've made Briony a fortune, eh?'

'Bertie's at the accounts now. Her new chip shop will be among the
superleaguers. And the charity is quids in.'

'Great.' Everybody but me.

'Get in. Incidentally, Lovejoy.' She went iron.

'I've settled with Total and his team. And paid off somebody
called Maurice for a damned dog.'

'Ta.' I turned aside. 'Have to sign my release form, then I'll be
out. Will you wait, doowerlink?' She jerked her head, beckoning me closer,
brought her mouth up to mine. She tasted of apple. Every woman tastes
different.

'My lawyers said it was all done,' she said, irritated. 'Hurry,
Lovejoy. I've waited long enough.'

'Right, love.' I hurried in. Cradhead was still there. 'Craddie.
Can I leave the back way?'

'You really want to, Lovejoy? I'd think twice.' He wasn't smiling.
'Your messages.'

The desk man handed me the envelopes. I opened one. Briony wanted me
to call urgently. She'd declared me her partner in a fried fish emporium,
Streatham Hill. Best offer I'd had lately. Could I be an incognito partner?

Cradhead said, 'Mrs. Finch is a determined lady.'

So was Wanda. The second was Nicola's.

'The ward sister had to write it for her, Lovejoy.' Cradhead
shrugged. 'Sorry. We had to read it.'

It went:

Darling Lovejoy,

         
Thank you for saving my life. I shall
come to you the minute they let me travel Please visit when the police finish
taking statements. All my love, darling, Nicola.

'There's one phone message, Lovejoy. I feel like your secretary.
Lissom and Prenthwaite auctioneers want you to be an advisor.' Cradhead almost
nearly smiled. 'Lydia is waiting at the Man and Scythe.'

Good old Lydia. 'How's that Viktor Vasho?'

'Brilliant. Some idiot chatted to him when he was moribund. Did
wonders. Heard from his woman Faye, a journalist. You met her.' He paused. I
said nothing.

'Remember you owe me, Lovejoy.'

'Eh?'

He smiled. 'The Pascal Paradox replica was expensive. And you
hardly kept your part of our bargain.' He patted my shoulder. 'Pay it back any
time, old chap. Report in, daily.'

'Who to?'

'Orla Featherstonehaugh. She's on secondment from the Antiques
Squad, in Mayfair. All for you.' He did that chortle just to madden me. 'You
have her number?'

They showed me the way out. I might get to Manchester before Wanda
twigged, then it was up to me. I went through the compound where they park
their expensive police motors when they're not being used for a sly kip, and
stepped out into the bright evening. I hurried across the street, bumped into a
bloke coming the other way.

'Sorry, mate,' I said, and halted. I felt myself go pale.

'That's all right, Lovejoy.' Derry, with Bonch.

Quickly I glanced about, relieved to see some late shoppers, but
town centres empty fast, and dusk was closing in.