Guilty as Sin Read online

  ‘Between these four walls,’ he declared, as he helped himself to rice.

  Pa pointed to the ceiling. ‘In other words, this whole conversation is sub rosa,’ he confirmed. ‘Here, what are you doing?’

  ‘Leaving now,’ I said. ‘You know I need information that will stop people assaulting me and robbing church artefacts, in whichever order. You also know I can’t stop it on my own. Or even with your two standing shoulder to shoulder with me. Pensioner power may have worked in Bredeham, but it might have come at a hell of a cost. You’ll have to trust me to work out what material I can pass to the police. Or say nothing. Or decide for yourselves what to tell me. OK?’

  Titus looked at the feast as if I might take it all away. ‘You could freeze it for another day,’ he told Pa.

  Pa hovered in a state somewhere between sitting and standing. ‘Not having my girl killed for the want of a few words.’

  I pressed him back on to his chair, sitting beside him and taking some naan. ‘Shoot, then. Shoot and eat. Dodie’s sons, Tiny and Tim.’ I deeply resented the fact that one of them shared a name with my bear – who, in my haste to depart, I’d forgotten. That decided it. There was no way I’d sleep on my own in the Hall without him. ‘Well?’

  ‘Does the name Mortimer Blakemore mean anything to you?’ Pa pulled a nice furry rabbit out of his hat. What a shame he could tell from my face that I recognized it. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Only as the father of Spencer, the guy who might or might not have shoved me under a lorry, and Honey, who wanted to know all about my repair business. And as the owner of a house to die for.’

  ‘Never did like that expression.’ Titus sniffed approvingly at the chicken Dilshan.

  ‘And,’ I declared, ‘he and his kids keep their cards as close to their chests as you do, Titus. Come on, give, the pair of you.’

  They exchanged a glance. ‘What about Martin Fellows?’

  ‘Ah – he’s Mr Elusive. He organizes antiques fairs in a village called Dockinge. As far as I know, he doesn’t live there. And he may or may not have rented out a site to a group who were ostensibly selling garden statuary, but I think robbed the church there and gave me a shocking headache. But he’s been off on some cruise …’

  ‘You’ve nothing to connect the two?’

  ‘Only the fact that one is into recycling, the other antique fairs – not a close connection.’

  Titus shook his head. ‘You want to sell something dodgy, it’s a car boot sale or local antiques fair, doll. Got word all sorts of one-off stalls have popped up at his fairs. How does retro designer clothing grab you?’

  ‘Designer as in Dior? As in Dodie’s Dior?’ Even as he nodded, I was asking, ‘But how did he get hold of it?’ I raised a hand. ‘Mortimer – he’s Tim, isn’t he? Just the middle of his name? And Martin must be Tiny. They’re brothers. They’re her own sons. One – the one who’s still in touch – gets power of attorney, stops her BUPA membership and, oh, he steals her stuff and finds a way of getting rid of some of it; the other presumably takes on what he can’t and “recycles” it!’

  Titus continued flatly, ‘Word is he recycles other stuff too. Big stuff. Impressive stuff.’

  ‘Stolen stuff,’ Pa put in. ‘Stolen to order, so not strictly recycled.’

  ‘Church stuff?’ Heavens, this was catching.

  ‘That’s what they say. Goodness, my girl – what are you doing with that phone of yours? This is the dinner table, for goodness’ sake!’

  Shamefaced, I was about to put it away. But a text warbled its way in, and I knew I had to take it. Raising an apologetic hand, I got up from the table. ‘It’s from our security firm,’ I said. ‘There’s activity near our cottage. They wanted to warn me. I’ll have to go.’ I dotted a kiss on Pa’s head. On impulse, I slapped Freya’s business card on the table between them. ‘Call this woman now, and tell them what you’ve told me!’ I left the Hall at a run.

  I’d never put the Audi to the test before but had to now, treating the poor thing like a rally car as it bucked and bounced its way down the track and into the lane. Even then I didn’t dare floor the accelerator: it was country roads I was driving through, with a couple of elbow bends between Bossingham and the main road that had been known to defeat even trained police drivers, two of whom had once arrived unheralded in the graveyard of the parish church by dint of driving straight through a fence.

  I knew, of course, that the security team would be there long before me, summoning the police if necessary – preferably via their hotline, not the 101 service. And if this wayward farm vehicle didn’t pull off soon – it was far too wide for me to contemplate overtaking – everything would probably be done and dusted before I reached the outskirts of Bredeham.

  It was. The street outside the shop and cottage was deserted. Via our Bluetooth connection, the duty security officer – Imran – phoned me to say it had all been a false alarm. ‘You’re sure?’ It still seemed strange not to hold the mobile while I talked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Before you go, tell me how long it took your mates to get here.’

  ‘Sixteen minutes, door to door.’

  I didn’t so much think as know. ‘Get them back to the village – to the church,’ I said, flooring the accelerator. ‘Now.’ He may even have heard the squeal of the tyres.

  The people we were dealing with weren’t stupid, were they? They’d know – they’d have timed them – that once the security team and the police had left the village, they’d have a little time to strip the best stuff from the church. With luck they wouldn’t know about the camera, wouldn’t know that any movement would trigger it. And once the alarm sounded, the team could turn on their heels and race back. U-turn. Silly Lina. But by then they might have torn out the brasses or broken up the wooden carving. Not on my watch they wouldn’t. At least I hadn’t come unarmed this time. I had a spray that managed to be legal. Not pepper, but probably almost as effective, since the person on the receiving end finished up with a red face – and if he or she tried to wipe it away they ended up red-handed. Literally.

  This time the vehicle parked outside the church was a plumber’s van. Did churches need plumbers? I’d never given it much thought. Someone had lifted the stopcock cover and a convincing-looking cast-iron rod poked out. Was I mistaken? Or were these guys just good at window dressing? Holding my phone – set to camera – in one hand, my spray in the other, I was ready to move in.

  ‘I thought you were at your father’s,’ a voice said quietly.

  Phil. Angus was checking out a lamp-post.

  ‘I was. Our security company said there was a threat to the cottage and to come home. I was just going back to Pa’s when I saw this.’ I curled my thumb at the van. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re right to be anxious. Last time you called someone: can’t you do that this time?’

  I went one better. I texted Freya and security, telling them: Look at church camera feed now!

  ‘You’re not going in, surely?’ He gripped my forearm quite tightly.

  ‘Genuine plumbers won’t mind. Fake ones might be hacking bits off the church even as we speak. So yes, I’m going in. Be prepared to trip anyone making a quick exit, right? Oh, use Angus’s lead!’

  It didn’t take long for my eyes to get used to the comparative gloom in the body of the church. Or for my camera to snap four people in jumpsuits; each carried a jemmy and black polythene sacks. But then – who was that behind me?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I smelt something before I even heard or sensed a movement. Something – no, someone, wearing perfume or cologne. And a Tony Blair face mask. An ex-Prime Minster was going to crack me on the head. But this time I wasn’t going to be socked. The spray was out and fired before I was even on my feet to run. Poor fake Tony Blair: the person behind the mask was howling shrilly, mostly with rage. The noise made the four other identical Tony Blairs wheel round to face me. All had chisels in their hands; two of them brandished hammers. T
he camera must be working overtime by now – but it would be useless, of course, in recognizing the men behind the masks. As one they headed towards me.

  Once they got within range of my spray, I’d be within reach of their chisels. But I might still buy myself a couple of minutes.

  I was right by a shelf full of hymn books – hardbacks, solid. I thought about Fozia and cricket practice, and all those balls thrown against the wall. I can’t claim to have hit with each book, but the barrage certainly took the Blairs aback.

  Four of them in front. There was still the one behind me, too, who’d be as angry as a wasp by now. On impulse I dropped the book I was holding and ran forwards, grabbing an implement I’d found so useful in Devon: a warden’s staff. This time I didn’t dare poke at the men. The odds were too poor. So I headed for the pulpit. There was only room for one person at a time to climb those steps, and once installed I could jab down at anyone coming up. There was still some dye left in the spray too, with luck.

  Custer’s last stand – in Bredeham.

  Part of my mind wondered why Phil, who must have heard all the noise, hadn’t dashed in like the cavalry to my rescue. God knew I couldn’t hold out much longer – in fact, since I was in His house, I really could have done with some of His assistance.

  But I didn’t expect Him to send in an armed response unit, and I especially didn’t expect them to have their weapons pointing at me.

  I couldn’t obey their orders to lie flat on the ground either, could I? So, watching the Blairs prostrate themselves, I stood with arms spread as wide and weaponless as I could make them, the staff, my phone and spray clattering from my splayed fingers on to the tiles. The longer my arms stayed airborne, the greater was the impulse to drop them, but you don’t argue with the barrels of what looked like very serious weapons. What little I could see of each face was certainly very grim indeed.

  ‘How did I guess?’ Freya’s voice rang out from the church door. ‘OK, Lina, come on down. But keep your hands where we can all see them. The rest of you can gather up our erstwhile Middle Eastern Peace envoy – or at least his representatives in Kent. Been on the Red Eye flight, have you, gentlemen? One at a time, mind. And keep them separate.’ She raised one hand, stopping her colleagues short. ‘Tell you what, let’s see the rest of their faces. Stay where you are, Lina. I said— Oh, shit!’

  I could no more have stayed where I was than flown to the moon. I was down the steps and heading towards the masks. Who did I know who wore cologne? Phil the Pill. Honey – no, hers was always upmarket and feminine – and Spencer Blakemore. It had to be Spencer, didn’t it?

  It was. They had to tear me off him.

  The police removed the masks from the other three not much more gently. I didn’t recognize any faces and waved them an ironic goodbye.

  As they took Spencer and the other ex-Blairs away, I rested my hands on a pew. That was that, then.

  Had I messed up everything? Had I ruined the police case?

  Then it dawned on me that someone was missing: the person who’d crept up behind me. I could have sworn that he’d rushed at me as I ran to the pulpit. So where was he now?

  I put my hand on Freya’s arm, touching my finger to my lips. ‘One got away,’ I mouthed.

  ‘Couldn’t have. You’re sure?’

  At this point a figure emerged from the rear of the church, for some reason wearing dark glasses. She waved. Honey?

  ‘I came in to see what was going on,’ she said blithely. ‘And there were all these policemen looking fierce. So I thought I’d better stay where I was.’

  ‘Quite right,’ I said, heading towards her with a smile. I could sense Freya’s alert tension as she followed. As if it was a social occasion we exchanged air kisses before I introduced them. I made sure that Freya was close enough to grab her if necessary. But I wasn’t in any great hurry. ‘I’m sure I dropped something earlier,’ I lied cheerfully. ‘Just hang on, then we can walk home together.’ As if. But I left her no time for argument, slipping off with a wink to Freya.

  Got it! Tucked behind the very back pew was a jumpsuit, just like the men’s. And a dirty tissue showing that someone had scrubbed at their red eyelids. Evidence. I knew better than to touch it.

  Time to stroll back to Freya. ‘I must have been mistaken. But someone else had left something behind. Heavens, Honey, I know Pilates has given you wonderful core muscles, but are you sure you should have put them to that sort of use?’ I pointed at the damaged wood.

  She started swearing and clawing at me, until Freya pinioned her. She completed the performance by spitting at me. It would have done me so much good to get into a catfight and crack her skull on the church floor. So much good. Or I could have outsworn her. Easily.

  But not here. Not in church. Though I could hardly breathe, though I was shaking with the effort not to be violent, I managed to say, without so much as a quaver in my voice, ‘Judas!’ And I turned on my heel and walked back to the altar.

  I’m not quite sure how long I was on my knees, long enough for them to cart Honey off, however, because when I opened my eyes I found Freya on her knees beside me. After a while, she asked quite matter-of-factly, ‘OK, what damage have the buggers done?’

  ‘I’ve not had time to look,’ I said, realizing that just behind us some people were rapidly shimmying into protective suits. Someone handed one to Freya. I pushed my luck. ‘Got a spare?’

  It seemed they had. Freya snorted as she tossed it to me. ‘“Elf and Safety” – hitch the trouser legs up and don’t dare fall over. That’s better. Fits you like a drink of water, doesn’t it?’ If she meant it was so large it almost dripped from me, I suppose it did. ‘Let’s have some lights over here!’

  And there was light.

  She twitched the gloves she’d pulled on; we all did. And like her I ran my fingers over the chisel marks, surprisingly limited in scope and fairly superficial. ‘Could you fix it?’ she asked.

  ‘A woodwork version of me could. But not me. By the way,’ I added, turning, ‘have you noticed the lectern’s not where it should be?’

  ‘Check their van,’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘The plumber’s, of course!’

  For some reason Freya insisted on my accompanying her to Maidstone, where she installed me in a soft interview room, with tissues and teddy bears for company.

  ‘We’re a bit busy tonight,’ she said, flipping over a couple of KitKats. ‘If you want to curl up and have a kip, that sofa looks comfortable. I’ll get someone to bring you a blanket.’

  ‘I could always sleep at home,’ I said mildly, breaking the KitKat and handing her half.

  ‘Not till we’ve thoroughly checked the cottage; something was going down there earlier, and we want to make sure everything’s OK. So I could do with your keys and your burglar alarm code, please.’

  ‘The place has got one or two hidden surprises,’ I said. ‘I’d get Sam from security to go with you. Or I could show your mates myself.’ I really didn’t want to hand over anything to anyone. Paranoid or what?

  ‘You’re staying here till we know it’s safe. I promised your pa. Oh, yes, he was on the blower the moment you left Bossingham Hall. Didn’t make much sense at first. Had he been drinking?’

  ‘When has he not been drinking?’ I said cautiously. She was still after Titus, after all, and he’d probably been standing next to Pa when he made his call.

  ‘Your mate Oates sounded sober enough. Sober enough to give me names. Didn’t even bargain for immunity from prosecution.’ She paused expectantly.

  ‘I think he deserves it.’

  ‘You would, wouldn’t you? Look, I’ve got to mop things up here and liaise with Devon. I’ll get whatshername to debrief you and also fill you in. Fi Hunt. Only don’t give her so much as a crumb of that.’ She pointed to the KitKat. ‘She’s not up to speed on her fitness tests.’

  I might have been braced for a night identifying vile people, but Fi brought me the frustrating yet suddenly welcome news that the
police computer system had crashed. ‘I’ll give you a ride home,’ she said. ‘Your security people and our SOCOs have been through the cottage and found nothing. But if you happen to wake in the night, don’t be surprised to find a couple of our lads parked outside. Just to be on the safe side.’

  To keep my mind off the appalling situation Titus might have put himself in, just to save my skin, during the drive I talked nothings with Fi, who was happy enough to give me the run-down on the problems of being a mother and full-time sergeant. Our route took us past Dodie’s cottage.

  I pointed. ‘What’s she doing up at this hour?’

  She slammed on the brakes and put the car into screaming reverse. ‘Let’s find out. No, you stay here.’

  As if.

  The front door was unlocked. Calling out, we pushed it open to find a scene of chaos. The radio and picture of Bossingham Hall were in pieces. The tatty ornaments were shards scattered over the carpet.

  ‘Dodie?’

  She’d got as far as her bedroom, and was lying still dressed on her bed, clutching the bear now called Mop. As I ran to her, to take her hand, I could hear Fi yelling for an ambulance.

  ‘Bossy,’ Dodie murmured. ‘I knew you’d be here.’

  I touched my lips as Fi came in. She nodded, quietly stroking Dodie’s tears away.

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ I whispered. ‘But you mustn’t leave me – understand? Try and tell me who smashed your stuff.’

  ‘My boy.’

  Her son! If he’d been in the room just then it would have taken more than four police officers to tear me off.

  But she was reaching for my hand again. I had to bend close to hear what she was saying. ‘That lovely girl of yours, Bossy – those clever cameras of hers … He didn’t like them. Always did have nasty tantrums. Couldn’t control himself then. Not now. And his brother.’ She gripped my hand tightly. ‘My will, Bossy! That solicitor of yours. He’s got my will. And I want to be buried with Mop. No one else will ever love him as much as I do. Do you understand?’