Hidden Power Read online

  But Julie pulled herself upright. ‘I’m going up now anyway. Get her jacket, Gary. There’s a love.’ She waited till he was out of the room. ‘There’s something you haven’t told us, Kate. What is it?’

  ‘Told you every last grim detail, honestly, Julie. And some of them’—she tried to beat back a giggle—‘were quite interesting details. Oh, the poor bugger: you coming in and finding him like that!’

  ‘I’m just glad we didn’t find him like anything else. Are you sure you don’t want to stay over? You could call your parents-in-law and tell them.’

  ‘Sure, thanks.’

  ‘But have you far to go?’

  ‘Just out to the Topsham road and then towards Exmouth.’ Hell! She’d meant to reassure, not blab something as stupidly as that. ‘There’s just one thing—if you wouldn’t mind? I just want to go and see the kids have settled.’

  And give them one last goodnight kiss.

  Chapter 24

  Just like a real mother-in-law Earnshaw was waiting for Kate on the doorstep. So was Knowles. ‘Kate, my dear girl! Come on in and sit down.’

  ‘Thanks, Ma’am. I just need to get the stuff out of the panniers and lock the bike.’ She was clumsier than she liked. She stared at her hands as she stepped into the hall: they were shaking. ‘Have you got a freezer hag? There’s something here that ought to go into it. I’ve got a lot to report,’ she added, sinking on to a kitchen chair as she produced her spoils: the camera; the bug; the tissue she’d mopped Gregorie’s semen with.

  ‘Less than you think,’ Knowles said. ‘They called us—we heard everything that was going on.’

  ‘And—?’ Kate prompted.

  ‘If the Vernons hadn’t returned, you’d have found a couple of friendly neighbours appearing from an unmarked car claiming to smell gas or something. We wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, Power.’ He blew his nose, as if unused to emotion. ‘But I’d like to assure you that your coolness and resourcefulness have not gone unnoticed. You may be in line for a commendation if all this goes well.’

  ‘It’s not a commendation I need so much as a glass of something. I had to leave that wine behind,’ she said, adding, plaintively, ‘and a very good Beaune it was too.’

  Earnshaw stared as if she’d asked for a slug of ambrosia. ‘Come on, Leeds,’ Knowles said, ‘you’re bound to have some whisky.’

  ‘Fancy you remembering that,’ Earnshaw chuckled, emerging from the wastes of her pantry with half-full bottles of The Macallan and Laphroaig. ‘They said I had an accent when I came down all those years ago, Kate.’ As if she hadn’t now!

  She disappeared again, this time in the direction of her living room. She returned with six heavy crystal tumblers, which she held from the top, for all the world like a barmaid clearing a table. She plonked them down with equal disregard for what Kate suspected were heirlooms. ‘I take it you prefer your water separate?’

  Not sure whether it was a drinker’s shibboleth, Kate agreed she did. The heavy tumbler sat graciously in her hand, the deep incisions in the crystal refracting the kitchen light bulb as if it were a chandelier.

  ‘So the transmitter worked,’ Kate said, breaking a long silence. ‘I brought along this little souvenir of Gregorie, by the way.’ She touched the tissue in its bag. ‘I’m sure it can’t be the first time he’s attempted something like that. Might be worth a look for DNA matches.’ God, she was so sleepy—and she’d hardly touched her whisky. ‘I’m not so sure about the camera; because I couldn’t set it up properly. I may have got nothing except streetlights. I did get these, though.’ She fished out the crumpled documents. Rubbing her face didn’t help keep her eyes open. She gave into a huge yawn and a stretch. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to be up at five-thirty, remember.’

  Earnshaw snorted. ‘At your age we thought nothing of twelve-hour shifts and then some more on top.’

  ‘Quite so,’ Kate agreed mildly. ‘I seem to have worked a seventeen-hour one. Or is it eighteen? I never was much good at maths. She staggered as she got up. ‘I’ll do as I did last time, Ma’am—forage for some breakfast and slip off. Goodnight—Ma’am; Sir. Oh, what arrangements for tomorrow?’

  ‘There’s a nice pub at Cockwood as I recall. Two nice pubs, come to think of it,’ Knowles reflected.

  ‘A bit close to the complex, Sir. We don’t want to blow it at this stage.’

  ‘True. How about if you come back here? Leeds and I can meet you here or leave a message.’

  • • •

  Kate felt like leaving Earnshaw a message. What about my breakfast? Then she remembered that at one point yesterday Earnshaw had asked her to shop—though neither of them had mentioned it subsequently. So it was her own fault she rode into work with no more than a small black coffee in her stomach. It shouldn’t matter, she told herself. But she’d eaten very early the previous evening, and had had nothing since. God, she was hungry. In fact, her stomach was rumbling audibly as she lugged the vacuum around and tackled the bar. At last she fumbled for—change to feed a confectionery and crisps machine. It swallowed two fifty-pence pieces before conceding it was out of order. She found paper in the bar manager’s office, and blu-tacked a warning notice to the machine, complete with time and date. Or brownie points for an efficient worker. But her stomach—was still grumbling. She might find something in the kitchen. This wasn’t an area she was responsible for: you had to have proper training for food preparation areas, she gathered. But special training or no, she recognised a fridge when she saw it. Anything she could plunder? Oh, she’d make a point of leaving a note and of telling Vernon: she didn’t envisage any problems there.

  No bread or biscuits—well, she wouldn’t expect them in a fridge. But there must be something somewhere to make a sausage butty with. The freezer? Yes. It was a big, wardrobe type affair, but not especially well stocked. What were those? Whole, ready-made burgers. Hell, all this huge expanse to cook in and the chef brought in ready-made—yes, complete with cheese, relish and bits of chopped onion. Still, no doubt they showed up on the accounts, and it certainly wasn’t her job to grass anyone up if they didn’t. Pity she didn’t fancy a ready-made burger at seven fifty in the morning. What about—hell!—ready-made hot dogs? No thanks. She was about to give up when she noticed something she didn’t expect to find in a freezer. A polythene bag full of 35mm film cassette holders: the black cylinders she never knew how to recycle. She knew experts advised storing unused films in a deep-freeze or fridge—but used ones? Shouldn’t they be developed straightaway, not stored? And as for that package, flat and wrapped in black polythene, that looked like prints. Store prints in a freezer? She’d never heard of such a thing.

  At which point she became aware of a movement behind her. As she turned, someone hit her.

  Hard.

  ‘The freezer? Why should anyone hit you while you were looking in a freezer?’ Gary Vernon stood the far side of his desk, one hand poised over the phone, the other worrying a blackhead on his chin.

  ‘Goodness knows, Mr Vernon. But they did. Good and proper.’ She lifted the hair behind her right ear to show him. She hoped the bruise looked as impressive as it felt. Actually, whoever it was could have hit a lot harder—perhaps her sudden movement had helped her. And she probably hadn’t been out for more than a few seconds. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. She’d had half an hour with a pack of frozen peas on the lump before she’d felt like moving far or fast. Though that might have been because she was so hungry. ‘I mean, why should anyone want pre-packed beef-burgers?’

  ‘If that’s what they wanted… You didn’t see what they took, of course? Look, Kate, are you sure I shouldn’t call an ambulance?’

  ‘Actually, I might get an appointment with my doctor—mind you, the way things are, it’ll be next week before I get to see him.’

  ‘And only then because it’s an emergency!’ He laughed with her. ‘Oh, look, sit down. Before you fall down. Let me run you back to your mother-in-law’s.’

  ‘Why
don’t I just get your first-aider to have a look?’

  ‘First-aider?’ As if the first memo she’d seen him type wasn’t one about health and safety.

  ‘Don’t you have to have one? Every place I’ve ever-worked in had one. Just an ordinary person to look after cuts and bruises and things.’

  ‘I’ll find out who it is. But it’s not an ordinary bruise, Kate. On top of last night, too…’ He shook his head.

  ‘The children—are they, all right I was so worried.’

  ‘You were more worried about them last night than you were about yourself; weren’t you? I shall phone the school and tell them there was a bit of bother—ask them to contact me if necessary.’

  ‘And Mrs Vernon? Julie? Poor lady, she’s got enough to worry about without—’

  ‘Quite.’ He tightened his mouth and stared at his desk. In our own home…’

  Was he going to ask why she’d not called the police? Perhaps not. Was he going to call them himself now? After all, he had an attack on one of his staff to report. Almost certainly not.

  ‘Yes, someone up there’s got it in for me! A husband who socks me, your colleague who wants to rape me, and now someone who doesn’t like me peering in your freezer. Well, they say things happen in threes. Perhaps it’ll be my turn for the Lottery on Saturday—that’d prove my luck’s turned.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re a good kid, Kate. And ever so good with the children. You ought to do something better with your life than contract cleaning. Get yourself on a course—you could be a nursery nurse. Even a teacher.’

  She laughed. ‘Got to pass a lot of exams for either of those. And it’s loans, not grants, these days. I dread getting into debt, Mr Vernon, and that’s the honest truth. It’s all very well going to university, but imagine coming out owing thousands of pounds. No, thanks.’

  Vernon nodded. ‘I bet a lot of people think like that. We’ve got an annuity for our children’s university education, of course. Now look here, Kate—I want you to go off home. I’ll clear it with the agency. If they try to stop your wages, I’ll make sure Sophisticasun top them up. I’ll check with Chef what’s missing. I’ll get a memo out telling everyone to be on the lookout for a prowler. Off you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And drive safely—I’m not sure you ought to be driving at all, really. Look, if you left your bike here, I could collect you tomorrow morning and—’

  Kate grinned. ‘At six o’clock? No, honestly, Mr Vernon.’

  There was no way she wanted him turning up to find Earnshaw with or without Knowles. But then, last night—yes, she’d almost given Julie directions. At least he’d been out of the room then. And presumably her home address hadn’t been paramount in their subsequent marital discussions.

  She’d got halfway down the corridor when he called her back. But he said nothing until he was in his room with the door firmly shut. ‘I have to ask you, Kate—I mean, I think it’s very strange of you, and my bosses might not like it at all… What on earth were you doing in the kitchen in the first place? And why open the deep freeze?’ His expression reminded her of the previous night’s, when he’d irrationally lost his temper.

  She laughed. ‘Greed. Well, hunger, really. I only managed to grab a quick sarnie before I came to your place last night. And—well, to be honest—Ma-in-law’s not the greatest of housekeepers. So there wasn’t anything for breakfast this morning. I tried a snack machine but it wasn’t working. I left a note on it, by the way.’ How nice to be able to tell the truth, pure and simple. But from his expression she rather thought he’d have preferred an elaborate lie.

  She took things very gently on the way back to Earnshaw’s, stopping at the village store in Kenton to buy essentials. In fact, she felt so woozy, perhaps she ought to eat something now. Chocolate. Improve blood sugar levels. God, what if she blacked out now? Or worse still, while she was on her bike? Heroics were for pedestrians.

  A phone box. Why not? Earnshaw could come and get her. Ned could come and collect the bike in a ute. They could sort everything out while she—

  ‘Yes?’ Earnshaw’s phone was answered by a male voice. ‘It’s Kate I need some help.’ She gave her location. Then came Earnshaw’s muffled voice. ‘Tell her we’re on our way.’

  We? Our? It dawned on her that Knowles’s car had still been in the lane outside when she’d set out that-morning. Well, he hadn’t been in the living room, and she was in the only spare bedroom…

  She was still chuckling when she paid for her iron ration—a freshly made apple turnover. And the romance was all her doing, too.

  To celebrate, she fed her change into, an air ambulance collecting box.

  ‘You’re sure you didn’t lose consciousness?’ the police surgeon asked, peering into Kate’s eyes and prodding the bruise with what seemed unnecessary force. Earnshaw had summoned him to her cottage, much to Kate’s embarrassment and no doubt the irritation of a waiting room full of people far more in need of treatment than she was.

  ‘Only for a second or two. As soon as I realised what had happened I iced it: plenty of frozen peas in the freezer.’

  ‘Any nausea? Any-double vision?’

  ‘I felt sick, but now my stomach’s full I’m fine. Vision fine. No headache—’

  ‘No headache?’ He looked vaguely amused at catching her in a lie. ‘Sure?’

  ‘A bit of one. And I’ll admit I’m sleepy. But that might be as a result of having had only three hours’ sleep in the last thirty. A couple of hours’ zizz and I shall be fine…’

  He laughed. ‘Just what I’d prescribe myself. But if you have any dizzy spells, let me know. And blackouts. Especially blackouts. And don’t drive if you do.’

  Kate nodded. Somehow they had to solve the problem of her Honda and the following morning’s transport in to work—there was no way she wouldn’t go in—but that could come later. Smiling vaguely, she flapped a hand and drifted upstairs. That bed was calling. Loudly.

  Above it, all the same, she caught the doctor’s next words. ‘And which of you will be keeping an eye on her? I don’t like to leave concussion victims unsupervised.’

  Earnshaw or Knowles as nanny? Well, they could sort that out too.

  At least the knock on the head hadn’t dislodged her ability to wake up when she wanted. One o’clock. Fine. Some lunch and then an update on all the stuff she’d got for them. She was entitled to that.

  Her overall? She hadn’t even stripped that off. Or her shoes! Well, she had been pretty knackered. She padded off to the bathroom. If only she had a change of clothes. That was the first thing to ask for: a lift home to get whatever she needed. A shower and hair wash would have to wait till then—in any case, the luxury of Earnshaw’s drinking utensils did not extend to the bathroom, a cheerless, inhospitable room if ever there was one.

  So why hadn’t the sound of her movements, the flush of the loo, made someone call up to her? Why was there absolutely no sound at all from downstairs? Someone eating a sandwich? Sorting through papers? Watching the midday news?

  No. Nothing.

  Knowles, Earnshaw—one of them would have stayed on guard. That was one thing people in hierarchical organisations were good at: obeying orders. On impulse, she slipped not into her own room but into Earnshaw’s. If only the wretched woman had a bolt on the door. As quietly as she could, she wedged a chair under the door-handle. The phone was next to the bed, of course. And a convenient wisteria clung to the cottage wall. How close it came to the window, and how freely the latter—an old-fashioned sash—would open she had no idea. Well, she’d see how technology worked first. She dialled Earnshaw’s direct line.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ma’am? Kate. There’s something wrong here—I feel it in my water—’

  Someone picked up the downstairs extension.

  Earnshaw must have heard too. She cut the connection without a word.

  OK, if whoever it was knew that Kate was up and communicating, she could risk making more noise. Just as sh
e’d told the children the previous night, she dragged a chest of drawers across the door. Hell, what did Earnshaw keep in it? Pig iron? It was noisy and took forever—long enough for any professional burglar to escape without trace—but at last she managed it. There. She leant back against it, eyes briefly shut, catching her breath. When she opened them, it was to see the window moving gently upwards. Pushed by none other than Gregorie.

  Chapter 25

  Kate charged, head down. What else could she do? She’d just sealed her escape route. She caught Gregorie in the stomach, just as he pushed the window up. For good measure, she slapped his fingers, as they scrabbled on the sill. They slithered free. Screaming, he dropped backwards.

  Shit. For all she’d acted in self-defence, she’d just brought down on herself suspension and a Police Complaints Authority inquiry. And her cover would be blown.

  She couldn’t even use her police clout to speed the ambulance she called.

  The chest seemed even heavier now she tried to drag it free from the door—valuable seconds wasted, when a man might be dying of spinal injuries.

  Before she got to Gregorie, though, she found Knowles. He was slumped over Earnshaw’s kitchen table, a nasty contusion at the base of his skull. But—her fingers were shaking so much it took seconds to find a pulse—he was still alive. To move him into recovery position or to leave him?

  Screams from the garden gave her the answer. Gregorie was still alive, too.

  Cold, phlegmatic Earnshaw was having hysterics. Near enough, anyway. Kate was afraid she’d have to slap her.

  ‘My house. My house. My…my territory,’ she kept saying. So it wasn’t for Knowles she was crying, not on the face of it, anyway. Not that he needed tears. The blow wasn’t much more life-threatening than Kate’s. But he’d been carted off to hospital, no one taking the least notice of his protestations that all he needed was a quiet sit down. Everyone was far too preoccupied with the Gregorie problem. Kate’s only contribution was to provide tea for everyone and hope Earnshaw wouldn’t notice how much sugar she’d shovelled into hers.