Head Wound Read online

  She’d only left the room clutching her phone. She returned a minute later with a grin that was strangely sombre. ‘That bit of gravel the nurse found: didn’t you wonder how it got in such an inaccessible place?’

  ‘You said it earlier – my brain’s got a tendency to go AWOL.’

  ‘Obviously. Well, the gravel wasn’t gravel.’ She paused, dramatically, as if waiting for a drum roll. ‘It was a chip. Not just any chip. An electronic chip. The sort someone had implanted in the woman you and Lulabelle found in the woods and in the girl you rescued last night. You know we can’t tell you everything, and the less we talked to you about the – the first woman – the better. What a way to treat your sex slaves – to fit them with a tracking device! As if they’re wild animals on some David Attenborough documentary.’

  Eventually I found a thread of voice. ‘And me? Someone to deal with later?’

  ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ she declared breezily. ‘Which is why you’ve got two of our brightest and best outside your door, and why I’m fussy about ID. Meanwhile, I’m going to sort out somewhere for you to lurk a bit – not a safe house, don’t worry about that. I know they give you the heebie-jeebies.’

  ‘But if I’m no longer … chipped … then surely there isn’t a problem?’

  ‘Your chip will be going on a little journey, don’t you worry. One or two of my team with quite infantile senses of humour will be on to it within the hour – or at least once it’s been cloned. Clever devils, our techies. Imagine long, expensive rail journeys to far distant parts of the UK, for instance. And everywhere it goes there’ll be an equally amused colleague waiting to intercept any would-be pursuers. I’ll be off now: try and get a bit of shut-eye.’ She headed purposefully for the door.

  ‘Hang on! Joy. Joy and Ken. I grassed them up. She’s my friend. Was my friend.’

  ‘Still is, probably. All she’ll know is that they missed the train they wanted because of a computer glitch – and it affected other people, poor lambs, too. So they found themselves en route to Waterloo for a later train with, incidentally, a complimentary upgrade. But – guess what – their car is still in the Ashford International multi-storey. Car? Did I say car? It’s like the monster that tried to flatten you last summer. Strange choice. I’d have seen him in a Merc, somewhat superior to his wife’s, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Do I gather that the other people with booking problems and upgrades might be some of your people?’

  ‘Ah! You’re obviously feeling better! Now – close your eyes and sweet dreams!’

  She missed my snort of derision. But then, closing my eyes didn’t seem such a bad option.

  The sweet dreams didn’t come, however, just a jumble of incoherent thoughts. Some were quite constructive, to do with managing the problems of being unable to use Wrayford Epsicopi school: I couldn’t imagine the police letting us have it back very quickly, and even then, how many parents would want to let their kids go anywhere near such a horrible crime scene. Staff too – all women. And me. Could I ever—? No, that was a thought I’d better suppress.

  Easter holidays – that would be what my therapist might want me to imagine. If I ever had a chance to take Easter or any other holidays, of course … I was to open a catalogue, and look at the pictures of beaches and hills and blue skies and …

  Someone was towering over me. I awoke with a terrifying start.

  ‘Goodness,’ I said as brightly as I could. ‘Superintendent Arkwright in person! And in uniform, to boot! Tell me, Caffy, should I stand to attention? At very least sit to attention?’

  ‘You can shut up and have a hug,’ Caffy said, ‘so long as you tell me where the bruises are.’

  ‘Chiefly to my ego – at being discovered snoring and dribbling,’ I said.

  She passed a cup of water and a bunch of tissues. ‘There. That’s better. When I heard Tom was coming in person I thought I’d tag along – though it’s highly irregular.’

  ‘That’s Caffy for you,’ Tom said, moving a couple of chairs nearer the bed. He took the high-backed one meant for patients. It might suit his long legs, but I wondered if we’d ever prise his shoulders out of it. ‘We’re here to ask what you’d like us to bring in for your supper.’

  I had a sudden, horrible frisson of disappointment. I hated to admit it even to myself that the ‘someone’ bringing in food might be Rufus, with or without Lules. ‘Elaine would bring in Turkish,’ I said, as if I’d just been hesitating over my choice of cuisine. I doubt if I’d fooled Caffy for a minute.

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ Tom said doubtfully. ‘Meanwhile, I’ve brought some of my auntie’s best cake.’

  I spread my hands with pleasure. ‘Wow: what a treat! Thank you! About supper – if after all this I’ve got any room – can I text you? I’ve really no idea what I fancy.’

  Caffy took my hand. ‘You can tell us, when you’re ready, that is. We’re not going anywhere yet. Elaine reckons you’re ready for any information she or Tom can give you without compromising the investigation or the trial. Elaine’s pretty well asleep on her feet—’

  ‘I’ve stood her down till tomorrow morning,’ Tom put in. ‘Oops. Sorry about that. I only make puns when I’m pleased with our progress, just so as you know. But you’ve been through a lot and I wanted to tell you it isn’t all in vain. I’d like to begin at the beginning, but in all honesty, like you, I suspect, I’m not sure where that is. We could do with a giant whiteboard, but we’ll have to manage without till we can get you out of here, although Elaine and I officially advise you to go into witness protection—’

  ‘The answer is no!’ I said, revolted. ‘I’ve been on the run a third of my life, Tom, because of my ex. I’m not changing everything again – not sacrificing everything, not changing who I am, ever again. So please let there be an alternative! Hey, Elaine said something, didn’t she?’ I genuinely couldn’t remember.

  Caffy smiled. ‘There’s actually battle royal going on between us and Jo and Lloyd about which is the best place for you to stay, my place or theirs. They’re both secure, with CCTV and entryphones. Not quite up to police standard, but pretty good. The upside with ours is the swimming pool, the downside the fact we can’t be there all day to keep you company. With Jo’s you’ll have her popping in from time to time, and of course there’ll be the kids bouncing around. Problem?’

  I was rigid with doubt. ‘I don’t want to bring trouble to anyone’s door.’

  ‘You won’t. No one will know where you are,’ Tom said. ‘OK, I have to make this clear. You’ll be incommunicado until we’ve dotted every last “i” and crossed every last “t”. We’ll get you another phone – OK, we’ll download your address book for you. You’ll use another computer. We’ll get you new clothes. Nothing that can be identified as yours. What have I said?’

  I suppose they’d been lurking for some time, but suddenly the tears flowed as if I was four. And what I said could have come from the mouth of one of my reception class kids: ‘Oh, Caffy – I want my teddy.’

  Tom blinked. ‘I’ll nip down to the hospital shop, shall I?’

  ‘No,’ I sobbed. ‘Not a new bear. My own bears.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Braced by a cup of green tea and some Divine chocolate Caffy happened to have in her bag, I tried to redeem myself, to prove myself an adult once again. Questions. Of course I had questions. And Tom had explanations.

  ‘We can get anything you really want, Jane – I promise. Your bag, which you’d left in your car, is safe – as is your car, of course: I think you must have taken the keys with you when you went into the playground. Right?’

  I nodded. ‘Jacket pocket.’

  ‘So it got towed away. I’ll get hold of the keys and someone will pop round.’

  ‘Will they tell my neighbour I’m OK? Enid. Her number’s in my phone.’ What about Brian? No, he could wait.

  ‘Of course. But we can’t tell her where you are or where you’re going to be. OK? Now, interrupt if
you want: Caffy alleges I talk in paragraphs. You’ve been a real busybody, haven’t you?’ he observed, the kindness of his voice belying the words. ‘You’ve certainly kept our control room people on their toes. And fortunately, though they never seem to do anything other than murmur platitudes and promise to record what you’ve reported, they’ve actually been pretty meticulous. Especially about what you and your clever neighbours have observed in your close, from foxes upwards.’

  ‘Foxes,’ I said, in the encouraging tone I use to pupils reluctant to do their class presentation.

  ‘Which we actually investigated. Like all animals, they leave traces. And guess what, there is evidence that one or two real foxes do pass some of their time in the close, making a great song and dance about it – but our clever little gizmos proved that not all the fox screams emanated from foxes. Some were real human screams. So well done you. Seriously. And well done for spotting that a room in one of the houses, and then one in quite another house – had photographic quality lights inadequately blacked out.’

  ‘Used for—?’

  ‘Bear with me. Because nothing happens just that fast. We get a lot of white vans and indeed other less obvious vehicles hurtling up and down an otherwise quiet residential street. A sudden burst of Amazon deliveries? Could be. Or it could be something else. The fact that some public-spirited soul in Wrayford wanted to set up a Neighbourhood Speed Watch Scheme was a wonderful coincidence. We got an excuse to discuss with some of the drivers that you and your colleagues logged the reason for their haste.’

  ‘Hang on. Eoin Connor told us that the speed merchants just get a warning letter telling them to mend their ways. OK, so I’d guess that in some cases, as if it was normal procedure, your colleagues paid them a visit, and asked a few questions. Especially, I should imagine, those guys who smashed the speed gun and the camera.’

  ‘Yes and no. There are a lot of surveillance cameras around, Jane – even some in the country. Sometimes it’s better to track people than to alert them.’

  ‘Of course. But those bright lights, Tom: my God, they weren’t making snuff movies?’

  ‘Actually, no. The young women in question were involved in cyber-sex – a so-called victimless crime. The idea is that it’s a safe, no-touch form of prostitution – which in some cases it is. The pervy punter pays by PayPal or whatever, she takes the money and she does what he fancies watching. What is totally illegal is when the girl is joined by a sexual partner and they both perform for the voyeur who’s paying.’

  He was as keen on alliteration as Elaine, wasn’t he?

  It was time to make an effort: ‘And as well as pop-up cyber-brothels, I’d guess there were pop-up everyday brothels – if there are such things. Like the one our anonymous woman was held in. And maybe that house that was deep-cleaned and redecorated.’

  He raised his eyes as if surprised I knew about it. But he didn’t comment. ‘That’s still worrying us, as it happens. As is the state the vicarage was in. Not to mention its garden and that interesting bonfire. Thank goodness you persuaded Mrs Vicar (what’s their name? West?) to report it – or was it you who actually called it in? At least the house has been industrially cleaned and the garden’s been well dug over – in patches, at least. Nothing to show for it all, sadly, except those burnt shoes. We got the wearer’s DNA so let’s just say the case isn’t closed, not by any means.’

  I made the words come out of my mouth. ‘Do you think she might have ended up like the … the body … in Rufus Petrie’s woods?’

  ‘Petrie? Oh, Elaine was saying … No, there’s no trace of his ever having done anything you wouldn’t tell your grandmother about. Ever. Not to everyone’s taste, but a decent guy. Our take so far is that people took advantage of his having public footpaths through his woodland, and the fact that very few people use them in the winter. The undergrowth’s pretty dense – maybe he should manage it better or maybe he’s one of these re-wilders. Let Nature Take Her Course,’ he intoned.

  I didn’t want to talk about Rufus any more. ‘Have the Wests forgiven me yet? People are so funny, aren’t they? You’d think they’d be pleased that they were able to provide evidence of what may or may not be a crime, but they seem so resentful. And especially of me.’

  ‘I gather they actually made one of my colleagues suspicious of them at one time.’

  ‘Really? They’re decent people, surely – just temporarily homeless. I’d probably have been grumpy in their situation.’

  Narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips, Caffy seemed about to say something but apparently thought better of it.

  A little silence became a bigger one. I suspected there was something Tom needed to broach; I knew there was something I had to ask. To lighten things up a little, I said, very plaintively, ‘You mentioned your auntie’s cake, Tom. I’m inclined to think it’s a myth.’

  I’d once had some before, so I knew it was real, but the quip gave me time to brace myself. ‘I don’t know if you can answer this, Tom, and I shan’t be offended if you can’t. But the CCTV footage of this afternoon’s – incident – will have shown two people … dealing … with the poor girl. One of them I know about: Rufus and I sort of met him.’

  ‘And you got away with it, which is something of a miracle! Yes, he’s one of them.’ His voice was very controlled.

  ‘I’m guessing, since Elaine was at great pains to avoid the issue, that the other one is someone I know. Your face is giving you away, Tom.’

  ‘I’d just rather you didn’t have to hear it from me.’

  ‘For God’s sake, whisper it to Caffy and she can tell me! OK, let’s run through the people I know. Male people. Rufus? You seemed to rule him out a minute ago. Or should I rule him in again? After all, your Albanian had every chance to kill him, and didn’t. Didn’t kill me either. And funnily enough, the injuries I got this afternoon were minor compared with Aaron’s. One theory might be that Rufus was using some leverage − note I used the English, not the American pronunciation, Caffy! − to protect me. Which he could only do if he was involved.’

  ‘It’s a plausible theory. One we might have explored, but for your CCTV.’

  ‘I don’t see this as Brian Dawes’ thing at all. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool capitalist, who fails to connect his activities with the social problems he deplores; he’s a bully and a chauvinist – but he has a strong sense of right and wrong. Your namesake, Tom, my deputy, works so many hours he wouldn’t have time to do anything bad. My ex-husband is still in Durham Jail – yes? Oh, fuck!’

  Tom’s phone rang. ‘Sorry. Yes, he is, but I have to take this.’ He dodged outside.

  ‘It’s going to be tough, living next to Joy and her husband after this, isn’t it?’ Caffy observed. She didn’t quite add, ‘I told you you’d have to sell.’

  I managed a grim laugh. ‘Joy’s a friend. A kind woman. And I’ve betrayed something she said in confidence.’

  ‘She may never know – if things turn out all right for Ken.’

  ‘But I will. She said he’d changed – she didn’t know him any more. And by coincidence, Rufus said I should tell her to leave him.’

  ‘You like this Rufus, don’t you?’

  ‘Cautiously.’

  She took my hand. ‘Can you ever imagine falling head over heels with—? Oh, no! I’ve been trying to avoid that. And out it comes.’

  ‘After Simon, any man has to come with a cast iron warranty – ideally I’d want him to go through the disbarring inspections teachers and volunteers submit to,’ I admitted, forcing a laugh. ‘Rufus has the complication of a daughter whom I teach. We did talk – was it only this morning? – about the implications.’

  Before she could respond, Tom burst back into the room. To my amazement he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Got him! Ken Penkridge. That great beast of a vehicle – he may have bought it to transport his yachts, but he’s been carrying humans too. They’ve found human hair, some blood and cloth fibres. As yet, we don’t know if his p
assengers were willing or unwilling, living or dead.’

  ‘Neither do you know if Ken was willing to carry them: don’t forget his landlord was Tony Carpenter, someone Joy really didn’t like. Carpenter could have been putting him under pressure—’

  ‘Which is something he’s got a name for. It isn’t just us who’ve had our eyes on him, Jane – a lot of other unpleasant people are after him too. Don’t worry – we’re not leaping to any conclusions about Ken. We’ll just follow the trail of evidence and see where it leads us.’

  ‘Does it lead you to the conclusion that it was Ken who beat up Aaron and implanted that bug?’

  He shook his head, sitting down again. ‘No. The CCTV cameras have him on the M26 at that point.’

  ‘So … OK, I’m trying to employ a little logic here. Stop me if you don’t want to hear what I’m saying because it concerns one of your own.’

  He said nothing, but nodded, rather sternly.

  ‘I must still be concussed because I can’t remember how long ago this was: it could have been yesterday but equally last year. When Wrayford and Wray Episcopi set up the Speed Watch team. I went along – with Joy, as it happens. There seemed to be an immediate rapport, an attraction, I’d say, between me and the officer running the scheme. Yes, Caffy, immediate. Weird. Anyway, he joined me and Joy for a pub supper, and came back with us to check out the close and its goings-on. But he shooed us back inside almost immediately – said it wouldn’t do us any good to be seen with an officer in uniform. Then Joy did a really stupid thing.’ I told them about the Amarula moment.

  Caffy fell into an attack of giggles.

  Tom didn’t. ‘What a totally crazy irresponsible thing to do. Why the hell?’

  ‘You know what, I think she might have been attempting to do some matchmaking.’

  ‘Does that usually involve getting someone drunk and putting their career at risk? Imagine, a man in his position getting done for driving under the influence. My God!’