Why Aren't They Screaming? (24 page)

‘Well –
do
you believe me?'

‘Oh yes. I'm not sure anyone else would.'

‘I'd worked that much out myself.'

‘OK, OK, I'm trying to think about what we can do.' He picked up his cigarette packet, took one out and lit it. ‘What it comes down to is this. Clara told you she was getting threatening phone calls and letters. She hadn't told the police. You both heard voices in the middle of the night. Neither of you told the police, you didn't even mention it after she was murdered. D'you know if they found any of the letters when they searched the house?'

‘I don't know – I suppose so.'

‘But they were anonymous, anyway. And maybe they were nothing to do with the base. Could have been someone in the village, those lads who chucked paint at the house. Then you found the tape–'

‘One of Bailey's men found it. He gave it to me at the end of the interview.'

‘Did he know what was on it?'

‘He didn't say. I assume so.'

‘I bet they listened to it. Wouldn't have given it back otherwise.'

‘In that case–'

‘In that case – nothing. You said yourself it sounded like a play. Look, Loretta. I think you're setting too much store by this tape, even if you still had it. Which you don't. And if you go to what's his name –'

‘Bailey.'

‘If you go to Bailey and say it was part of a plot to scare Clara, but you don't happen to have it any more because this Rambo character took it off you in a churchyard at dusk –'

‘He wasn't anything like Rambo. More a young Clint Eastwood.' Loretta started to giggle.

Tracey smiled briefly, then became serious.

‘I'm sorry, Loretta, I shouldn't have said that – it isn't a laughing matter. If word did get back to this guy that you'd talked to the police – well, I don't like to think what might happen.' He got up, stubbed his cigarette out in the sink again, and gave her a stern look. ‘This is
exactly
what I was afraid of when you rang off this afternoon – that you'd dash off and get yourself involved in something like this! Honestly, Loretta! You shouldn't be allowed out alone! You've got about as much sense as – as that teapot!'

‘I like that! Just because you –'

‘Loretta!' He came back to his seat and faced her earnestly across the table. ‘You're out of your depth and so am I. These guys aren't joking. Come back to London – forget the whole thing!'

‘I
can't!'
Her tone was anguished.

Tracey reached out and squeezed her hand.

‘I know how you feel. It's tough. But I don't want to be rung up in few days and asked to identify your body. Look, I'm not good at conversations like this – you know that. But I care about you. I really do.'

Loretta sat in silence, her head averted. Tracey's talking in this uncharacteristic way had deeply impressed her. Suddenly there was a scratching noise at the front door, followed by a familiar wail.

‘What's that?' Tracey was startled.

‘Only Bertie. Clara's cat.' Loretta got up to let the animal in. He followed her to her chair, waited while she sat down, then jumped up on her lap.

‘God, Loretta, you're a real sucker! Don't tell me you've adopted a
cat
! You live in an upstairs flat. What are you going to do with a cat in Islington?'

‘Lots of cats live in Islington. Anyway, I haven't adopted him – I'm just looking after him. Someone's got to!' She
didn't want to admit that the possibility that she'd have to take Bertie back to London had already crossed her mind; Jeremy hadn't shown the slightest interest in the cat's welfare and Imo, though back in the village, hadn't come to collect him either. She brushed this thought aside for the moment.

‘John, isn't there anything you can do? In the paper?'

‘What, run it as a story?'

‘Yes.' She looked at him hopefully.

‘It's – it's
impossible,
Loretta.' Tracey groped for words. ‘All you've got is unsupported allegations. Even if the
Herald
was prepared to run it, which I frankly doubt, we'd be a laughing stock. And more to the point, so would you. How would you look after if d been denied by everyone from the Home Secretary downwards? Not to mention the American ambassador. You'd be walking round with an invisible label saying “loony” round your neck. People don't like conspiracy theories. Think of your –'

‘Wait a minute, what about that woman in the west country – what was her name? The one who grew roses. You remember, she was writing a paper about Sizewell and then she was found murdered. There was lots in the papers about her.'

‘Hilda – Hilda something. I know who you mean. But that was all pretty inconclusive in the end. No one ever proved anything. What I was going to say was, what about your career? Just think of the effect it could have, a story like this. You haven't even got tenure. Or have I missed something?'

Loretta shook her head. ‘No, you're quite right. I'm eminently sackable. But it's so bloody
unfair.
Can't you get your contacts to confirm it? Those people you know in MI5?'

Tracey lit his third cigarette. ‘I know you don't like it, but I need them when I'm under stress.' He inhaled deeply. ‘Loretta, how d'you think your friend with the funny sense of humour knew you'd got the tape? Why leave you a note today? Why not yesterday? You've had it since Tuesday night.'

‘Oh, Good God – of course! I remember now – he said something about me asking questions. That means – that means your man tipped him off?'

‘It's a possibility. Though I didn't actually say you'd got the
tape, I just asked if he knew of any operations of that kind around Dunstow. I think I said I knew someone up here, and there'd been funny goings-on. Anyway, it looks as if all that stuff about bad relations with the Yanks was so much guff. Either that, or – well, there is another possibility.'

‘Which is?'

That someone was tapping the line you used to call me.'

The line
I
used? Who on earth'd go to the bother of tapping a telephone kiosk?'

‘Well, it has been done.' Tracey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I mean, it's never been admitted, but the evidence is quite good. Think about it, Loretta. This box you used is pretty near the base, right – those planes I heard went over very low. And the women from the peace camp, they don't have phones sitting in the trees. Tap a few local phone boxes, and you've got a good chance of finding out what their plans are – demonstrations, blockades, that sort of thing. Forewarned is forearmed.'

‘Gosh.' Loretta let it sink in. ‘But – say it was your contact? Would he really do that to you? I thought you were on good terms with MI5 or MI6 or whatever they call themselves. Isn't that where your Berlin story came from last year?'

Tracey pulled a face, giving the impression he was finding their conversation excruciatingly painful.

‘Yes, all right, it did. But the thing you've got to understand about the intelligence service ... look, telling a journalist what the other side is up to is one thing. If you must know – and I'm telling you this in the
strictest
confidence' – he was positively glaring at her now – ‘that stuff was leaked to me because of a disagreement. They knew there was a spy ring but they couldn't decide what to do with it. The higher echelons wanted to leave it in place a bit longer, and the people lower down thought too much damage was being done. They
used
me, if you like.'

Loretta listened in silence, surprised by Tracey's frankness. It wasn't like him to play down his role in getting a story, particularly one he regarded as a major scoop.

‘So there's nothing you can do,' she said at last.

‘Nothing. But let's look on the bright side. What if this guy in the churchyard is telling the truth? What if his men didn't
do it? Just because he comes on like the Lone Ranger on a bad day doesn't make him a liar.'

‘I sup-pose so,' Loretta said uncertainly. ‘If he is telling the truth ... I wonder if Jeremy's still at the police station.'

‘Jeremy? That's Clara's husband?'

‘Yes, I forgot to tell you. The police hauled him off for questioning this morning. He wasn't very keen on going. But maybe he's back by now. Did you see any lights in the house while you were waiting for me?'

‘Oh no, there was no one in. I knocked.'

‘I wonder if he did do it... but surely he'd have arranged an alibi?'

‘Maybe that's what the police are trying to crack. Listen, Loretta, why don't you come back to London tonight? I'll even drive your car down if you're too tired to do it yourself. Now
there's
an offer for you – it'll mean me getting up at the crack of dawn to come and get mine. I've got to be in the office by eleven tomorrow. How about it?'

Loretta considered. Perhaps Tracey was right, and she should wash her hands of the whole affair? Then she remembered something.

‘What about Peggy?'

Tracey sighed. ‘Sorry, Loretta, I must have missed this bit. Who's Peggy?'

Loretta explained briefly. With the air of one who was beginning to run out of patience, Tracey reached for his cigarettes again.

‘So you haven't any proof that she's actually missing? She might perfectly well have gone off of her own accord before the murder?'

‘Yes, but–'

‘Wherever she is, I don't see what you achieve by hanging around here.' He glanced at his watch. ‘It's after ten already. Why don't you start packing?'

Loretta began to get up. The idea of a restful night in her brass bed in Islington was suddenly very attractive. She was letting the cat slip to the floor when she sat down again.

‘I can't leave tonight.'

‘Why ever not?'

‘Robert.'

‘Ah.' Tracey had the grace to lower his gaze.

‘I'd like to try and sort things out with him before I go.'

‘All right, Loretta, I'm sorry about that. I just didn't take to him – he was too damn
proprietorial
about you, if you must know. I know, it's none of my business who you choose to have affairs with. But honestly, I can't imagine
what
you see in him – that posh bloody voice, for a start! I don't know how you stand it. Not to mention –'

‘Leave it alone,
please,
John. I'm too tired to argue. I'm going to stay one more night so I can see him tomorrow – I promise I'll be back in Liverpool Road by tomorrow night.'

‘Promise? Cross your heart and hope to die?'

‘Yes, all that.'

‘OK, I'll be off. Lock the door after me, won't you? And ring when you get back to London. If I don't hear by tomorrow night I'll be back. That's a threat!'

Loretta followed him to the door and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks for coming.'

Tracey hugged her for a moment, then opened the front door. Loretta wondered whether she should move her car, but decided she was too tired. She watched Tracey reverse out into the road, then closed the gates.

‘Bye,' she said under her breath, listening to the sound of his engine die away. For a fleeting moment she longed to be in the passenger seat, speeding back towards the safety of the metropolis.

Loretta was packing upstairs next morning when she heard a knock at the front door. It occurred to her that it might be Robert, regretting his abrupt departure the previous evening, and she rushed to examine herself in the dressing-table mirror. She tidied her hair, wishing she had time to put on some make-up; the dark circles had reappeared around her eyes, and her cheerful pink T-shirt and flowered skirt emphasized how wan she had become. There was another knock, louder this time, and she ran downstairs to answer it. She pulled open the front door, smiling in anticipation, then stared at her visitor in disappointment.

‘Oh. Hello.'

‘Hi.' Jeremy's greeting sounded forced; he was unshaven
and his clothes were crumpled as though he'd slept in them.

‘You're back then.' As soon as she'd said it Loretta realized it wasn't a very tactful way to address a man last seen marching off in the company of two burly policemen.

‘Yes, I, er ... got back late last night. They tried the old rubber hosepipe, and let me go when they could see it wasn't going to work.'

‘What?' She stared at him in astonishment until the ghastly smile on his face told her he'd been making a joke. She smiled back uncertainly. ‘Oh, I see.'

‘This came for you,' Jeremy said suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket. He held out an envelope.

‘Thanks,' Loretta said, surprised. She examined the letter briefly, not recognizing the handwriting. The sender didn't seem to know her very well; it was addressed to ‘Loretta', no surname, ‘c/o Mrs Wolstonecroft's house, near Fitwell, Oxon.' It bore an Oxford postmark. Mystified, Loretta started to open it, then realized Jeremy was still standing in front of her.

‘By the way, I'm probably going back to London today. My tenants managed to, er, make other arrangements.' She looked down, embarrassed. ‘Will you remember to feed the cat? I've been doing it since ... um ...'

‘The cat?' Jeremy looked blank for a moment. ‘Oh God, him! I'd completely forgotten. I – I'll have to take him to the vet, I can't be lumbered with a cat.'

‘The vet?'

‘They find homes for unwanted animals, don't they? Or do I mean the RSPCA?'

‘You mean – you're just going to dump him?' Loretta was aghast.

‘Well,
I
can't keep him. I'm in – I'm far too busy.'

‘What about Imo? Won't she want him?'

‘Imo?' For a second Loretta thought Jeremy didn't know who she was talking about. ‘Oh, she won't want him, she can't stand cats. It's about the one thing we've got in common.' He pulled a face.