The Ten Commandments (20 page)

'Patrick, what are you
doing
here? You know we agreed –'

'I was desperate to see you, and I remembered Roy talking about taking the twins to the match. Anyway, I had to get away for a while – everything's so – bloody.'

He reached for her, burying his face in her damp hair, and she held him tightly, trying to find words to comfort him. How selfish she was, thinking only of her own problems, while Patrick's mother was dying and his sister a constant worry.

'Sonia didn't suspect anything, the other night?' she asked, as the panic thought struck her.

'What? Oh – no, I don't think so.' He drew back a little, looking into her face. 'I should have asked after your father. How is he?'

'Bouncing back, as usual.'

'That's great; when's he coming home?'

'They're keeping him in for a while, for his own safety. How about your mother?'

'Not bouncing anywhere, I'm afraid. Nor likely to.'

She looked up at him, her eyes full of sympathy, and saw him change. Sympathy was no longer enough. He said hoarsely, 'Alex,' and slipped the robe from her shoulders. As his mouth caressed her throat she felt her need rising to meet his and the heavy weakness over which she had no control flowed over her. She half turned towards the sitting-room, but he caught her hand and pulled her to the stairs.

'Oh no, my love. I'm not making do with the hearth rug. Not when there's a bed ready and waiting.'

Their coming together was as frenzied as always. There was none of the tenderness she'd shared with Roy, Alex thought, as Patrick finally fell back against the pillows. And – oh God, he was in Roy's bed!

Suddenly and totally, shame engulfed her. She could ignore her conscience as long as their lovemaking was clandestine and exciting – in the car, under the hedgerows like gypsies, even, once, in a hotel. But here, in the bedroom she shared with her husband, it had suddenly shed its glamour and stood exposed for what it was – underhand, sordid, both of them deceiving those who loved them.

She turned away from him, helpless against a rush of tears.

'Hey!' Patrick was leaning over her. 'Sweetheart, what is it? Is there something you're not telling me?'

She shook her head. How
could
she tell him? She was as much to blame as he was.

'Alex!' He gently shook her shoulder. 'For God's sake tell me what's wrong.'

'Reaction, I suppose,' she said between gasps. 'It's been pretty bloody here, too.'

'My poor love.' He pulled her back into his arms, cradling her against him, and she lay passive, waiting for her laboured breathing to quieten.

She said with an attempt at a smile, 'I had a shower to cool me down. Now I need another.'

'Let's have one together.'

'No.' She struggled away from him. 'Look, you'd better go. I'll have to straighten things up in here, and I'm not sure what time they'll be back.'

'Surely there's no hurry.' He frowned, looking down at her. 'There
is
something; what is it?'

She said unwillingly, 'We should have settled for the hearth rug.'

'Ah, the marital bed has been sullied, is that it? Bit late to develop a conscience, love. Anyway, I'm a firm believer that what the eye doesn't see, the heart won't grieve over.'

She forced a smile. 'No doubt you're right.'

To her relief, he got up and began to dress and, slipping on the robe again, she went down to the door with him.

'I parked round the corner,' he said. 'Your reputation is safe.'

'As long as no one sees you leave.'

'They won't.'

She opened the door cautiously. Outside, the hot street was deserted. He gave her a swift kiss.

'I'll be in touch. And don't worry, sweetheart, we're not hurting anybody.'

Glib words, she thought as she closed the door. She was no longer sure that she believed them.

By the end of Saturday afternoon, Lee Baring had been formally charged with the murder of Simon Judd. Not a bad day's work, Webb reflected, and now that the case was under wraps, he could take the couple of days' leave due to him. Counting Sunday, that would make three days in all; if Hannah was free, they might even go away somewhere.

He was whistling as he pushed through the swing doors of the police station on to the baking pavement. Before going home, he'd call at the hospital and give Mace the news. It would cheer the old boy up.

But when he got there, it was to find someone already with Mace, a tall, thin young man who rose uncertainly to his feet as Webb, after a quick tap, appeared in the doorway.

'Chief Inspector!' Mace greeted him. 'Come in, come in. I don't believe you've met my research assistant, Paul Blake. Chief Inspector Webb, Paul, in charge of the Judd case.'

Webb looked from one to the other. Despite Mace's heartiness, there was an air of constraint in the room. It seemed he had interrupted something. Blandly he took the bony hand the young man extended.

'I've come to tell you, Mr Mace, that Baring has just been charged with Simon Judd's murder. It'll be on this evening's news, but I wanted you to know first.'

'That's very good of you, Chief Inspector. I appreciate it.' The old man looked up at him consideringly. 'And what marks do I get for my theory of long-distance wrong?'

Webb grinned wryly. 'Ten out of ten, sir. He's done a stretch, and Judd was the foreman of the jury that convicted him. He was convinced he'd swung them against him.'

'Excellent. Quite excellent.'

Blake said eagerly, 'So the relevant Commandment, sir, would be bearing false witness?'

'I suppose it would,' Frederick agreed, 'albeit unintentionally; I don't doubt Judd was genuinely convinced of the man's guilt. However, Chief Inspector, Baring might have a point: Paul here was saying only the other day that these rather weak, mild-mannered men can be quite ruthless, holding doggedly to their opinions when they believe they're in the right. It would have been in character if, as foreman, he'd argued forcefully against Baring.'

His face brightened. 'But to more pertinent matters; now he's under lock and key, may I go home?'

'I'm afraid not, sir, not yet. It wasn't Baring who attacked you; we're still looking for someone who takes size-nine shoes.'

Mace gave a short laugh. 'They're on to you, Paul!'

Colour flooded the young man's face as Webb glanced quickly at his feet. They certainly looked the right size, and interestingly enough the sole of one shoe, visible since Blake was sitting with his leg crossed, was of rubber.

Webb smiled noncommittally and, deciding to stay a little longer than he'd intended, seated himself on the vacant visitor's chair.

'So you're Mr Mace's researcher, Mr Blake,' he said pleasantly. 'Does that mean you do all the hard work, and he gets the glory?'

'Exactly!' Frederick confirmed.

'I wouldn't say that, Chief Inspector.' Blake's flush was fading. 'I was born curious, and nothing gives me more pleasure than unearthing facts and figures.'

'So you research full time, for other people as well?'

'No – at least, I do carry out research for other people – quite often associations, in fact – but I'm not a full-time researcher. I work at the library, and I'm also Mr Mace's secretary.'

'A busy life. You live round here, I take it?'

'Yes, I have lodgings in Sheep Street. It's convenient both for Mr Mace and the library.'

Mace put in, 'I advertised for a researcher for my last book. Paul applied, and obligingly moved over here.'

'It fitted in very well,' Blake explained. 'I'd just been offered the post at the Central Library.'

'So your family live elsewhere?'

Webb saw Mace's eyebrows lift at this persistent questioning, and the younger man flushed again.

'My parents divorced when I was a child and my father remarried. I don't see much of him these days.'

'And he lives –?' Webb persevered.

'In Oxbury.'

There was no mistaking the surprised turn of Mace's head. It seemed he'd been unaware of that.

'Is that so?' Webb said smoothly. 'No wonder you're interested in the Feathers murder. Were you living there at the time?'

'No, by then I was in the Shillingham area, at North Park Library.'

That would be checked at the earliest opportunity. Webb glanced at his watch. 'Well, I mustn't stay here chatting, I'm sure you both have a lot to discuss. Thanks for the pointer on Judd, Mr Mace. If you can do the same for Philpott, I'm sure Erlesborough police would be grateful. It sticks in their craw that it's remained open for so long.'

He rose to his feet and nodded at Paul. 'Nice to have met you, Mr Blake. I presume you were asked to take your shoes along to the station? They're examining all size nines they can lay hands on, for elimination purposes.'

And without waiting for Blake's reply, he took his leave.

By the time Roy and the twins returned from the match, hot, sunburned and happy, Alex had showered again and changed the bed linen. As she'd stuffed sheets and pillow slips into the washing machine, she'd caught herself wishing fancifully that she could put her whole life in with them.

The boys seized gleefully on the lemonade, and she poured a glass for Roy, too.

'You should have come with us, darling,' he told her. 'As cricket matches go, it was quite exciting.'

'A contradiction in terms,' she said lightly. She found she could not meet his eyes.

'Did you go to the hospital?'

'No, it was too hot to make the effort. I'll go along this evening.'

He made no comment, and she wondered if he realized that the visit had been planned as an escape.

'Mother says he's asked for his notebooks,' she added, 'so he must be feeling better.'

'Can we go and see Grandpa?' Jack asked, wiping the lemonade from his mouth.

'I don't see why not,' Roy said. 'We can all go together tomorrow.'

Was it her imagination that he had stressed the word 'together'? She was becoming neurotic, Alex thought impatiently; this was what a guilty conscience did for you. As Patrick had hinted, hers had been a long time surfacing.

'Yes, I'm sure he'd like that,' she said.

'So congratulations are in order,' Hannah commented, as Webb handed her a glass.

'Yes; after the hold-up in locating Baring, we made pretty good time on this one.'

'But Mr Mace was right, that it wasn't connected with the other murder?'

'It was connected in that it was a copycat killing, as he'd already suggested, but Baring didn't kill Philpott, alas.'

'Still, that's not your case, is it?'

'No, thank God. By the way, I was thinking of taking Monday and Tuesday off. Perhaps we could go away for a couple of nights?'

She turned to look at him. 'You want to go away, at this stage of things?'

He swirled the liquid in his glass. 'As you said, my part is finished for the moment.' He looked up, met her sceptical gaze, and grinned. 'All right, you know me too well. I
do
feel involved in the Philpott case, partly through old Mace. Still, after six years, they're not likely to wrap it up in the next four days.'

'Stranger things have happened,' Hannah said equably.

'So what do you suggest we do? Spend a couple of nights at the Oxbury Hilton?'

Hannah laughed. 'It would be a thought, if there really were any hotels.'

'There's the Five Oaks, just outside,' he reminded her. 'That's where all the Greystones parents stay.'

'Better to opt for a B and B, then we could go out for dinner each night. There are several good restaurants around.'

He looked at her in surprise. 'You're serious? About going to Oxbury?'

'Why not? It's a lovely little place; we can walk in the woods and along the river – even take a boat out if we want. And you know you wouldn't be happy going further afield just now, even if there was a chance of getting in anywhere at such short notice. My only stipulation is that you don't spend all your time detecting.'

'I couldn't if I wanted to, it wouldn't be etiquette. But there's no reason why we shouldn't sit in the odd pub and listen to what people are saying. We might come up with something useful.'

And while he was there, Webb thought to himself, he'd see what he could find out about the Blake family.

It was a pleasant and restful break. In Shillingham, they never went out together; Hannah's reputation had to be as unsullied as that of Caesar's wife, and Webb himself had no desire to set tongues wagging. It was fortunate indeed that they could call on each other without having to go outdoors and brave curious glances.

For the sake of propriety, Hannah even went so far as to change the ring she normally wore to her left hand. It was in three shades of gold, and could well have been a wedding band.

'If we were in our twenties or thirties, I'd brazen it out,' she defended herself when Webb laughed at her. But at our age we're supposed to abide by the rules. Anyway, we don't want the nice, respectable landlady looking at us askance, do we?'

Webb had looked up the name Blake in the phone book. There were only two living actually in Oxbury, and one proved to be over a shop, which he dismissed as unlikely. On the Sunday afternoon, he and Hannah strolled round to the other address, to find the windows all closed and the scorched grass overlong. Almost certainly they were away on holiday, and Webb felt safe, therefore, in stopping to speak to the man in the next-door garden.

'Excuse me, are the Blakes away?'

He straightened. 'Friends of yours, are they?'

'Friends of friends. I said I'd look them up while I was here, but it seems I'm unlucky.'

'Due back next week; we've been keeping an eye on the place. I've kept meaning to get the grass cut – bit of a giveaway – but it takes me all my time to keep our own garden straight.'

'It's their son I was hoping to see,' Webb said after a minute.

'Paul? He moved away about six years ago. Over in Ashmartin now, I believe.'

'Not married, I suppose?'

The man smiled sourly. 'You suppose right. Still, each to his own, as they say.'

Webb felt a spurt of excitement. 'That's right.' In all conscience he could say no more, and at his side Hannah was growing restive.