Guilty as Sin Read online

  ‘My darling, the place smells like a Chinese restaurant!’ Griff declared next morning, wafting extravagantly.

  ‘I haven’t quite got round to taking the leftovers out to the compost bin,’ I admitted.

  Very little got past Griff. I felt his questioning eyes on me as I unlocked the kitchen door. And he wouldn’t be put off by any questions I might ask about his night out with Aidan. He knew the evening hadn’t been a success. But perhaps he’d put it down to the fact that I really just didn’t do girlie chats. Perhaps I didn’t. But last night really hadn’t felt like a girls’ night in.

  No, I was being paranoid.

  Perhaps.

  But perhaps I had got away with it. Griff came bustling in from the yard. ‘Heavens, my dear one, it’s Dockinge village hall today, isn’t it?’

  In other words, I’d not loaded the van yet – or even started packing for today’s antiques fair. For the next fifteen minutes there was simply no time for conversation.

  Then something clicked. ‘Griff – Dodie’s Communion!’

  ‘I’ll have to phone Tony while you drive. Just get us there, Lina!’

  Dockinge was more of a hamlet than a village until the building of the M26 made it ideal for car-driving commuters. I don’t suppose it had ever been pretty, but there was now a flourishing community determined to keep alive – and if necessary resuscitate – village customs, one of which was a bi-monthly antiques fair which seemed to me to specialize in the sort of tat no one else would touch. However, several of Griff’s old friends doggedly tried to sell genuinely old artefacts, and as long as they stuck it out, so, I feared, would we.

  To our amazement the fair had grown, with a couple of stalls set up in the car park. A cursory glance – I was ferrying boxes of china for Griff to unpack so any glance except at where I put my feet was going to be fleeting – suggested one with a lot of garden statuary. Inside we worked with the silent speed of habit, filling the last gap on the stand and tweaking the final light just as the first punters trickled in.

  Not the buying sort of punter. The looking at and shaking the head over sort of punter. I had time to do a quick tour round our fellow dealers’ stalls, all of whom, with the exception of the Ty Beanie man, kept checking their mobiles to see if there was somewhere else they ought to be. Or at least to see that more than ten minutes had passed since the previous check. Neither my instinct nor my trained eye found anything worth buying, so, taking charge of our stall, I sent Griff off to meet and greet old mates.

  I responded to some emails and texts, then, thinking it would be really bad form to read the book I’d just downloaded, sat back and looked around me. Griff was deep in conversation with a woman who simply had to be another resting thespian: tall, willowy and with rings so large and dramatic I marvelled at how she could move her hands so eloquently.

  Eventually I got so bored that I set myself the challenge of making the next punter to drift over buy something. It’s not all that hard: once you handle something lovely, it’s difficult to put it down and walk away from it. So the idea is to get the potential customer to pick up something – preferably something we’d make some money on. It’s easier with jewellery, especially when a man and a woman are involved, but, hey, I never did go for an easy option. As encouragement, I’d even offer a ‘best’ price, as opposed to the one we’d written down, with very little prompting.

  My tally by noon was one failure, one success and one woman wandering off to check with her husband. Since she was still carrying the little Worcester sweet-pea vase in question, I rather thought that was a done deal, too. By twelve-ten it was. Two quick sales. Even so, there must be easier ways of making a profit of twenty-seven pounds.

  Fortunately for us, the village WI were on hand with refreshments, and not just the sort of cakes Griff was still forbidden and which I avoided purely to keep him company. Some angel had prepared wholemeal rolls so overflowing with salad you almost got your five a day simply by looking at them. If you ate the lot, it must equate to seven at least. Of course the home-made lemonade was stiff with sugar, but not enough to take away the delicious tartness.

  ‘It was worth coming all this way for the lunch alone,’ Griff declared, dabbing his mouth. ‘Now, my love, it’s time for you to take a constitutional, too. The sun’s shining, take your time.’

  Should I take him at his word? Why not? There were far more dealers than punters now, some already packing up, although officially doors didn’t close until four. The sun took me to the village shop, closed until two, which was no problem since I’d left my bag with Griff, and from there to the church, some 300 metres from the nearest habitation. It was short and squat, clearly very old, its spire absurdly small, as if someone had shoved a witch’s hat on to a spare flat space. To my surprise the notice board was up-to-date, promising regular services. There was also information about preventing bat damage: I couldn’t be bothered to read whether it was the fabric or the bats that had to be protected. In any case, the main door was locked, surely a good idea in view of what had happened to the equally old Devon churches I’d seen robbed. Presumably the thieves had got away with it; I’d had no information from Devon Police telling me anyone had been apprehended.

  Someone had gone to the trouble of strimming the grass between the graves, one or two of which were new. A sudden gust of wind set a wreath bowling away; it was the work of seconds to catch it and return it to fill the gap. You can’t just dump a tribute to someone who died only last week, so I stood for a moment in silence. At least I think I must have done, because the next thing I knew I was lying face down amongst the flowers. A thumping headache and a lump on the back of my head too tender to explore thoroughly prevented me from getting up as quickly as I’d have liked, and looking to see who might have socked me – assuming I was thinking so coherently, which, to be honest, I wasn’t.

  It dawned on me eventually that somehow or other I had to get back to the village and ask for help. Three hundred drunken metres later, I decided I might as well press on to the village hall, where one of the blessed WI ladies could no doubt find some ice to put on the lump. I didn’t register much as I staggered towards the car park, except that the garden statue people had finished packing up already and were pulling out on to the road without much regard for the little local bus. Talk about White Van Man. But there was no crash, and to be honest I’d not have made a very reliable witness. It was a huge physical effort that got me as far as Griff before I collapsed again.

  THIRTEEN

  Despite my arrival by ambulance, it was clear I was going to have a few hours’ wait in William Harvey Hospital’s A&E, so I sent Griff, who’d followed the flashing blue light far faster, he later assured me, than he’d driven in years, back to Dockinge to pack up and get some of his mates to load the van. Staring at the cubicle ceiling for ever pretty well got me back to my usual state, and I would have been happy simply to discharge myself. But to my surprise a young man turned up with an ID that told me he was DC Conrad Knowles. Asking if I felt well enough, he said he was here to interview me.

  Fortunately I’d sorted out a few things in my own mind and began my narrative, though very hesitantly.

  ‘You’re lucky to remember anything of the attack,’ he said earnestly.

  ‘All I really remember is catching a wreath,’ I insisted. ‘I’d wanted to look inside the church but it was locked. I was glad it was locked because it was very old – Norman? And I didn’t want anyone to take anything from the inside.’ Over the paper cup of tea he’d brought along for me, I found myself telling him about the thefts from St Rumon’s and St Sidwell’s. Not that I could recall their names: I could barely remember the county. But my phone came to my aid and it wasn’t long before I’d brought up Henchard’s details. This minor triumph – or the tea – encouraged me to ask my first intelligent question: ‘You think I might have disturbed another robbery?’

  ‘Sadly, you were too late for that: they’d already hacked out a twelfth-century crucifixi
on panel from behind the altar. Or maybe it’s a good job you missed them. It looks as though they assaulted you as they got away. If you’d interrupted them in the building, they might have used their sledgehammers and chisels on you.’

  I patted my mobile again. ‘Photos. I’ve got pics of the chisels at St Whatsit’s. Oh, and the back of the guys’ heads. Not much to go on. But Henchard and her spotty sidekick … maybe if you called them you wouldn’t have to reinvent the wheel?’ What about telling him to talk to DS Hunt? No. Different case. But there was one person who ought to know – and whom I’d like to know about my present situation. ‘Oh, and do call my mate Carwyn Morgan. He’s one of your colleagues, on secondment to Europol.’

  ‘Carwyn? How do you know him?’

  ‘He’s a friend.’ Sort of. Bother the finer details. ‘You could send him my love.’

  ‘You’re that Lina!’

  There weren’t all that many antique-dealing Linas in Kent, surely?

  Anyway, suddenly he was my new best friend, and I could trust him to get on with the job. So I relaxed. It was just too much effort to argue when someone in scrubs told me they were keeping me in overnight for observation. I closed my eyes and let them get on with finding me a bed. After all, when I opened them again, Griff would be there.

  He was. It was seven o’clock. We sat in companionable silence until I realized he’d have to drive home in the dark if I wasn’t careful, and I was going to have a zizz anyway. I awoke to find someone else sitting beside me. Carwyn? ‘Carwyn!’

  ‘Bummed a lift,’ he said. He probably gave a proper explanation but I was just so happy to lie there holding his hand that I fell asleep again.

  Carwyn talked his way into staying the night, convincing them that as a police officer he was there to ensure that my assailants didn’t strike again. But he had to leave at six-thirty to get back to France for an afternoon meeting; French time was an hour ahead of ours, of course.

  His visit practically had Griff booking the church and having our banns read. Harvey and his pretensions had flown from his mind as completely as if they’d never been there. It wasn’t a long drive home from Ashford, so I let all his happy chatter wash over me. I found I was expected to recline on the sofa all day, with TV and audio zappers to hand – not a problem for once because my head really didn’t like the prospect of bending over broken artefacts. What I didn’t expect, however, was the arrival of my father, clutching some good champagne and what were obviously garage flowers – it was a good job I’d organized nice ones for Dodie. The two men bickered with extreme politeness over two of Griff’s best Thai salads, Pa arguing that I’d be safer in the seclusion of Bossingham Hall, and Griff pointing out our state-of-the-art security. A text which arrived during the fruit salad dessert – not that I took it then; both men would have withered at the awfulness of such a breach of etiquette – solved the problem to my great satisfaction. Carwyn had booked me a ferry passage and a hotel in Calais for a bit of joint R&R. This had the effect of making the old dears unite in condemnation of such a perilous undertaking. I let them get on with it, actually a little anxious that I might not feel up to the journey the following morning.

  I did.

  One reason our relationship worked so well was that neither Griff nor I ever asked any questions about the other’s sex life. What happened in the bedroom stayed in the bedroom – unless, of course, it led to a pretty white wedding with bells and confetti. This was more likely in my case, I suppose, than Griff’s, though I wouldn’t put it past him to try if he and Aidan ever called a permanent truce on their silly tiffs and acknowledged the part each had in the other’s life.

  So, as he picked me up on my return, apart from checking that we’d enjoyed ourselves and that my head was better – though no doubt he wanted to know whether our relationship was becoming a bit more romantic – Griff let me resume my life as if nothing much had happened.

  Actually, nothing had. Nothing worth reporting on the evening news, as Pa would say. It was just two friends – no longer with benefits, actually – enjoying each other’s company. I felt calmer and more refreshed than I had for weeks, and Carwyn returned to his Europol work braced for more intensive French classes.

  Meanwhile, it was back to routine. Or it would have been, if I hadn’t had a text from DS Hunt who wanted my help. She wanted it so badly she was even prepared to come over to Bredeham and see me on my own turf.

  Despite what I’d said to Honey and Laura, when she asked to see my workroom I agreed, though I did ask her to leave her coat and very bulky bag downstairs.

  ‘Actually, in the bag is something you need to see.’ She dug inside and produced a truly hideous vase. She plonked it into my bemused hands.

  ‘Does anyone need to see that?’ Griff asked. ‘Dear God, is it a booby prize from a fairground stall?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ Hunt admitted. ‘Actually, someone gave it to my mother-in-law, who loathes it and asked me to drop it into a charity shop.’

  ‘Drop it full-stop would have been better,’ Griff observed. ‘Are you staying long enough for coffee, DS Hunt?’

  ‘I should say yes, if I were you,’ I said. ‘It’s good – nearly as good as Griff’s biscuits. But you didn’t bring me that as a present, did you? You want me to do something with it? Apart from smashing it, that is?’ I led the way upstairs.

  Her eyes widened as she looked round. ‘It’s like an operating theatre, with all these clean surfaces and bright lights! All these labelled cupboards. But why filing cabinets?’

  I explained our system in more detail than the version I’d given to the Pilates women, showing her the paperwork involved. She seemed impressed.

  ‘The only thing you don’t seem to have is a drill,’ she observed, clearly disappointed.

  What the hell? ‘Do you want a dental burr or something to dig up roads?’

  ‘Something to put a hole in this vase so we can install a second camera in your friend Dodie’s place. In addition to your radio-camera. Have you checked it recently …?’ she asked, so offhand that I knew instantly what she was carefully not referring to. Goodness, it didn’t take long for gossip about a colleague’s activities to wing its way round the police force.

  ‘As you know, I’ve had a head injury and needed to recuperate,’ I said, absolutely deadpan. ‘The bruise is going down, thank you, but I’m due for a check-up on Friday. Actually, I thought you might be bringing me flowers as opposed to a vase.’ I stuck my tongue in my cheek so she could see the bulge. ‘Or better still some news of the bastards who robbed the church.’

  ‘Not my case. But I’ll find out for you.’ She made a note on her mobile. ‘Now, can you drill the vase?’

  ‘I could. But I wouldn’t inflict that on Dodie. Those hideous knickknacks on her table were a present from a son she doesn’t like, not her choice at all. And in any case, Sergeant, a vase can’t simply appear. Not in a house someone’s pretty well stripped bare. Can it?’

  ‘A present from you? Or from Mr Tripp?’

  I didn’t dignify that suggestion with anything except a raised eyebrow.

  Her chin fixed in the way it does when people know they’re in the wrong but don’t want to give up on what they thought was a good idea. ‘Your father?’

  ‘Credit him with a bit of taste. He’s lived most of his life amid the amazing collection of Meissen and Limoges that’s still on show front of house at Bossingham Hall. Hang on, I’ve got an idea coming on.’ I clicked my fingers in irritation. ‘How about something that might remind her of Bossingham Hall? So it could be explained away. The trouble is, anything new is bound to attract attention, so your device would have to be good enough to pass KGB or CIA muster. If only I’d not given her a glass vase when I took her Pa’s flowers … Let’s go and have a coffee and see if we can come up with something else.’

  ‘What puzzles me,’ I said, as we settled in the living room, ‘is all that seaside tat on her table. She told me it was to keep her daughter-in-law, who’d given
it to her, on side. Fine. But what did it replace? That woman’s got an eye for good things. Surely she’d have acquired something apart from netsuke on her travels? Did she give everything away? Or did it go the way of the clothes?’

  ‘We’re working on that,’ Hunt said tersely. ‘But her son insists the old lady’s memory is blown, and that she probably gave away her clothes herself, years ago.’

  ‘My dear sergeant, another biscuit?’ Griff asked. ‘Except I find it hard to serve good food to someone who only has a title. Might I ask your name?’

  ‘Fiona. Fi. I used to use the whole name until I married. It didn’t sound quite right with Hunt, somehow.’

  ‘Quite,’ Griff agreed. ‘And I’m Griff to my friends. More coffee? The work of moments, I assure you.’

  She raised a pudgy hand: no more. But she succumbed to another biscuit. I knew from experience that the trouble with Griff’s biscuits was that it was impossible to stop at one. Or even two.

  ‘She recognized that little rat netsuke by touch as much as anything,’ I said sadly. ‘And she liked the bright clothes I bought her best. I wonder if she has an eye problem.’

  ‘She’s old,’ Fi pointed out unnecessarily.

  Griff raised a finger. ‘Some opticians do home visits,’ he said. ‘With Moira’s permission, I’ll arrange one. New glasses could work wonders. Who knows? I’m almost ready for a cataract operation myself,’ he confessed, startling the socks off me. ‘I went to those nice folk in Canterbury while you were on your little jaunt, my love. Goodness, they’re just the people to see dear Dodie!’

  Fi looked at him sideways. ‘She’s become quite a project of yours, Mr Tripp. How long have you known her?’

  ‘Since I became more active in the church after a life-saving operation. When you’ve had a close look at the Pearly Gates you want to say thank you for not having to go through them immediately, you know. So a few months at most.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Like the other volunteers, Fi, I’m DBS checked, you know.’