Guilty as Sin Read online

  ‘Whether or not, we’ll secure the scene,’ she said. ‘Seems a funny policy to leave precious stuff like this where anyone could just waltz in and nick it. That’s the Church for you. Now, I shall be busy here for a while. Do you want Toby to escort you back to your partner? Then – and I know it’ll hold you up – but we really need you to come back to Newton Abbott to give a formal statement, see if you can pick out our friends. I know we’ll do wonders with your pics, but that’s procedure. Do you want to pick up your partner first or just give him a bell and say you’ll be late?’

  I checked my watch. Noel didn’t seem to be the sort of man Griff would want to be dumped on for a couple of hours more than he’d bargained for. ‘I’d like to go and collect him first, please. And I’d really love Toby to keep an eye on me.’

  SIX

  Griff deserved some explanation of my late arrival, though he got a slightly edited version of my adventures. His eyes widened when he registered the presence of Toby, who’d been tactful enough to park some distance from the gate. After all, not everyone liked a visit from the police.

  We processed to Newton Abbott without any more excitement. I persuaded Griff to come into the police station with me; he was already sleeping off his lunch in the waiting area when Toby escorted me through security to look at photos of well-known antique thieves and to download the images from my camera, none of which showed their faces in full. The people trained to run the facial recognition software were off-duty till the following day, so we had to rely on my eyes and memory. From time to time my stomach rumbled alarmingly, and soon Toby and I were working our way through the Mondiale picnic, washed down by machine coffee, as we scanned ugly mug after ugly mug. Desperate as I was to point an accusing finger, however, I couldn’t see today’s miscreants – though I did see other faces I knew from here and there, not least my father’s bosom pal, Titus Oates. It didn’t seem necessary to claim acquaintance with him. On to a formal statement, then.

  Pat Henchard arrived back in time to read it through, just as I hoped I could leave.

  ‘You really were very stupid, you know,’ she told me helpfully. ‘A couple of blows from those chisels …’ She drew her hand across her throat.

  ‘Adrenaline,’ I said, by way of apology or explanation. ‘I might have been able to outrun them, leap into my van – and run into you two, of course.’ We grinned at the absurdity of the scenario. ‘But I ought to head home soon. I don’t suppose you’ve found that white van yet?’

  ‘We know it was stolen from a yard in Tavistock, but that’s all.’ She pulled a face. ‘I might just get some of our mates to keep an eye on you if you give me some idea of your route … Kent? Bloody hell! Still, there are lots of cameras watching over motorways, and we’ll alert Traffic. You should be all right. We’ll lead you as far as the A38.’

  It seemed rather lukewarm reassurance, but it was all she could give me.

  ‘If only I’d not succumbed to the temptation of Noel’s Chablis,’ Griff lamented. ‘But I really don’t think I’m fit to drive, my dear one. In fact I’m finding it terribly hard to keep my eyes open.’ Tell me something I didn’t know! ‘Unless it would help you to concentrate if we talked?’

  ‘Find something jolly on the radio,’ I suggested, ‘and I’ll sing along to that.’ And as he fell into his inevitable doze, I could keep an eye open for white vans – the afternoon sun seemed to have brought them out in swarms – and the less frequent patrol vehicles. On the plus side, none of the vans seemed to have scars inflicted by a churchwarden’s staff, and the possibility that they might have receded by the mile.

  By now Griff was awake enough to tell me all about his prolonged lunch with Noel, and I was happy to let him chat away, taking, to be honest, very little interest in a man Griff described as an old bore even when he was young.

  ‘Why did he give up acting?’ I asked idly, just to show Griff I was still listening.

  ‘Why do we all? Lack of roles, dear one, lack of roles. But I’ve an idea he came into money. Quite a lot, I presume.’

  ‘A lot? And he lives in a dump like that?’

  ‘It’s by no means a dump inside: rather gloomy, of course, but a sort of Victorian Scots baronial décor. And it’s not his main home. He has a place in London, one gathers. Is all well, dear one?’

  ‘Absolutely fine.’

  It was amazing just how many white vans did have scars, of course. And my driving was accordingly – and illogically – twitchy. Perhaps I was simply tired. I pulled over at Solstice Park Services, parking where the security cameras could see us. Surely no one would have followed me this far; they’d have been more interested in dumping their very heavy loot.

  Which set me on another train of thought. I texted Carwyn: what would be the best time to phone him this evening? And did he or his Europol mates recognize these chisel-wielding thugs? A text from him in response told me he’d get in touch late on Monday – meanwhile, I should watch my back.

  So on Monday I simply got on with the day job. Actually, not quite simply. I had a bit of a moral dilemma: usually I deal with my repair jobs in strict rotation, unless really urgent action is required by a gallery, for instance. Because he paid me so much, I also eased jobs for Harvey up the queue. Should I this time? Would he even pay me, thinking that somehow the damage was my fault? Not for anything would I contact him, however. So his box went on to the pending shelf, and I reached for the one at the top of the day’s list, a really tricky bit of Crown Derby, with all its extravagant gilding. Absolute concentration and a steady hand were required. If I allowed my thoughts to wander for one moment in Harvey’s direction, I – and the wonderful plate – would be sunk. Griff had to take responsibility for checking the firm’s emails, and I stuffed my mobile under the sofa cushions well away from my workroom so I couldn’t hear the cheery warble of an incoming text even if I wanted to. Carwyn never contacted me in the daytime, even when he was in England, so he wouldn’t update me till later this evening.

  After Pilates, in other words.

  And, as it turned out, after a quick drink with the other women. My social life being close to zero, I was happy to adjourn to the newly refurbished and renamed Pig and Whistle – though part of me was already rechristening it the Rat and Candle, after the netsuke Griff was taking to show Tony. Once there I had a doubt or two. Laura and Honey managed to look sleek and elegant in their tops and leggings; I merely looked as if I’d been working very hard indeed, which of course I had. I had hopes that a piece of equipment called the barrel would restore my shoulder blades to their rightful position.

  Over water, then wine, we exchanged blow-by-blow accounts of their weekends, Honey’s sounding rather less than inspiring since she’d worked both days on the cosmetics counter, which explained her wonderful make-up. Laura had been to the seaside with her boyfriend. I’d combined the work and the seaside, of course, not to mention winning the fancy-dress prize. They were dead keen on seeing my outfit, so I fished out my phone: I’d accumulated eleven calls and nineteen texts. The wine, a jolly Prosecco, suddenly tasted sour. I thumbed quickly to the photos, skipping the ones of me in the cage, incidentally.

  After all the giggles, Laura said quietly, ‘Something’s upset you, though, hasn’t it?’

  For answer, I showed her unread text envelopes. ‘Bloke trouble,’ I said. ‘The sort of bloke that won’t take no for an answer. Not even, no – piss off!’ I added truthfully, if inelegantly.

  They were duly outraged on my behalf, and wanted the details, topping up my glass.

  ‘I really fancied him till I found out he’s married,’ I admitted. ‘And to be honest, it feels as if I’ve been fending him off for years.’

  Honey giggled. ‘What made you fancy him in the first place?’

  I scrolled through my photos to show them.

  ‘Wow! George Clooney, eat your heart out!’

  ‘Quite. But as I say, he’s married and he’s old enough to be my father,’ I said, with a sudden frisson of
horror at all the implications. To be my father.

  Griff, Pa, Aidan, Harvey … I suddenly saw stretching before me a lifetime of worrying about old men. ‘What I need is a toy boy!’ I declared, more to myself than to Honey or Laura, adding less dramatically and more accurately, ‘Or at least someone my age.’

  ‘So are you going to delete all those messages without opening them?’ Honey asked. ‘That’s the best thing.’

  ‘It’s tempting. But some of them may be to do with work.’

  ‘Go through them now, then we’ll get in some more drinks. Come on.’

  I dealt with the texts first – at least two-thirds were from Harvey, increasing in frantic contrition. Worryingly, the last one told me he was so desperate he was on his way to see me.

  My reply was succinct: No. Absolutely not. Go home now.

  The calls were all from him. The last two or three sounded as if he was on the road. Honey and Laura looked from me to each other. ‘You’re going to have to call him back – let’s hope he doesn’t answer so you can leave a really firm message. Not a teary one,’ Laura added.

  ‘I’ll need a few deep breaths,’ I said. I dialled. And got to him direct. I would not panic. ‘Harvey, this has got to stop. If you’re on your way to Kent, then just turn round and go back home. And don’t try phoning or texting,’ I said, overriding him, ‘because I shan’t respond.’ I cut the call. The girls applauded. They didn’t know I still had thousands of pounds’ worth of shards to put back together. Or did I? Was his vase not now his problem? I could return it to him in the state in which he’d left it. Easy. But would a surgeon refuse to treat a patient on the grounds that its parent had annoyed her?

  Even if I’d considered talking over the situation with Griff – hard, since it was he who’d accidentally dropped me in it in the first place – I got home to find him in a worse temper than mine after a meeting of the Parochial Church Council. Why he’d ever consented to join the PCC was beyond me – if there was such a thing as a committee man, Griff was the antithesis. To stop him grumbling about the slowness of arcane procedures, I asked about the netsuke. To be honest, I didn’t care much: the extra Prosecco was catching up with me. If I wasn’t careful I’d take out my rather tipsy anger with Harvey on Griff himself. When I was younger, I would have smashed anything or anyone within reach; supposedly my counsellor had suggested ways of dealing with anger, but all I dared do tonight was keep a lid on it.

  ‘Tony thought he might have seen our little rat on Dodie’s table,’ he said, taking it from his pocket and stroking it absentmindedly, ‘but he couldn’t be sure. And like me he doesn’t want to cause trouble where there isn’t any. So it’s all been left hanging in the air – unlike our bat-droppings problem,’ he added. ‘You’ll never guess where they’ve started fouling now …’

  At this point I decided l really should get in touch with Carwyn.

  ‘My Europol colleagues were quite interested in the pics you sent,’ he said.

  ‘Even though they don’t show their faces properly?’

  He laughed. ‘Would you believe, there are people working on ear recognition these days?’

  That was something I knew about. ‘Like fingerprints? They get them from windows and other places they may have touched …’

  ‘That’s old hat. They’ve known about that for years. But actual ear shape … I’ve been on to DCI Webb, by the way.’

  ‘Freya! Why on earth …?’

  ‘Because when I emailed her, Henchard said she was afraid Chummie might just have seen your van. Might not, of course. But I thought – and I’m not trying to put the wind up you, Lina – that the Kent Police in the form of DCI Webb ought to know you could conceivably be a target.’

  I snorted. ‘And they or she could do something about it? Whenever I see her all she can talk about is cuts and budgets and police commissioners and the sheer impossibility of doing anything except run to catch up. Actually, she’s right, isn’t she? I was looking up some stuff online the other day.’

  ‘Yes. It’s bad.’

  ‘You sound as if you need a hug. Hell’s bells, Carwyn – you’re not being made redundant, are you?’ Actually, my heart sank: what if he was offered a permanent job abroad? I’d really miss him. Really, really miss him.

  ‘No. Not until I’ve worked off the amount it’s cost them to second me, at least. Any news about Griff and the netsuke?’

  I updated him. It would have been nice to have some advice; instead he cut in with a question.

  ‘Have you two had a falling out?’ he asked.

  ‘It’ll pass.’ I kept my explanation as low-key and rational as possible, but then admitted I’d had to fend Harvey off this evening.

  ‘He’d come all the way up from Devon to apologize for swearing?’

  ‘Not quite. In fact, I don’t really think it’s anything to do with his awful behaviour,’ I said, the possibility dawning on me at last. ‘I think he just wants to get back into my good books so that I’ll repair the vase he broke.’

  ‘And will you? After all that shit?’ He wasn’t usually a man to swear, and there was a distinct edge to his voice.

  ‘I said I’d do it before he broke it again, so I suppose that’s some sort of verbal contract. But he can whistle for it till it reaches the head of the queue – which is three or four months’ long. Sometimes in the past he’s paid for preferential treatment, when he’s got a buyer waiting, for instance. And check out what he says on his website about restored items I’ve handled – a really good advert for me.’

  ‘I have – and it’s weird he refers to you by name. Why doesn’t he say “Repaired by Townend Restoration”? That’s the name of your company, isn’t it? He’s just trying to get into your knickers by flattery. Your pa’s right – the man’s a posh toe-rag.’

  ‘A married toe-rag too – and given my pa’s history, remember, I don’t do married men.’ I’d learned by painful experience that it just didn’t work. And I suspected the same applied to men married to their work. What I needed was a nice boy next door. Perhaps life would be better when Carwyn moved back this side of the Channel.

  SEVEN

  What I got was a police car passing the front door a couple of times during the next week; this was presumably Freya’s best effort at keeping me safe. Reassured – possibly – I got in a couple of days’ uninterrupted work. As usual when I was under pressure, Griff took over the running of the house, and Mary Banner dealt with any sales. When she’d been the widowed Mrs Walker, we’d always addressed her formally; now she’d remarried, she’d inexplicably regained her first name. Mary was equally at home in the shop or on the internet. Despite our worries, the shop was doing well this week, with internet sales down slightly: perhaps the pleasant weather and absence of schoolchildren was bringing out the punters. The weather was pretty irrelevant as far as I was concerned, apart from the early evening walks that had been Griff’s road to recovery and now proved my back’s salvation.

  ‘Are there any emails or texts I should know about? Harvey apart, of course,’ I asked as we headed up the hill to the church, the highest point of the village and once quite a testing walk for him. Now he kept up with me pace for pace, and had enough breath to talk.

  ‘There was what looked like a standard email from Devon and Cornwall Police saying that they were doing everything in their power but hadn’t yet solved the crime that you witnessed. Let me just pop this card into the postbox over there, my love – a little thank you billet for poor Noel, so much more personal than an email. There. I do wonder if I shouldn’t have sent him a little something. It felt very poor form to turn up without so much as a bottle of wine or a bunch of flowers.’

  ‘I don’t think petrol station versions would have filled the bill either, do you?’ I gave him a sideways look. ‘OK, what did you find out when you Googled him?’

  ‘As if I’d do such a thing! As it happens,’ he said, dropping his voice as if the yew hedge we were passing might sprout ears, ‘he’s turned
up in the Sunday Times Rich List a couple of times. How about that? No, you’re never impressed by money per se, are you? My dear one, I can’t undo what I did on Saturday morning, can’t unsay it, but I wish with all my heart I could. You must know that.’

  There and then, halfway up Church Hill, we stopped and had a hug. ‘Let’s not talk about it anymore. Pa will be pleased, anyway: he refers to him as a lounge-lizard, which always sounds pretty disgusting. OK, this here netsuke and Dodie’s other goodies – what are you going to do, you and Tony?’

  ‘Take her Communion again tomorrow, as it happens. I don’t suppose you would have time to come along too?’

  ‘Imagine me being DBS checked! OK, I know I don’t actually have a criminal record, not so much as a parking ticket, but I’d hate the process even more than you.’

  ‘You’d be chaperoned so you wouldn’t need one.’

  ‘And how would you explain my presence? There! Gotcha!’ It was lovely to share a laugh together. ‘However,’ I said, ‘I do have a serious suggestion. Our security people could install a hidden camera as easy as winking. We’ve even got one, haven’t we, in our caravan, disguised as a radio?’ We never took the caravan to gigs these days so it was pretty much going begging. In fact, we might as well sell it.

  Griff froze, hands in the air. ‘And you’re thinking we could take the fake radio and leave it there?’

  Was I? Perhaps I was.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ he continued without a break, ‘we’d have all sorts of regulations to deal with, my love. Violations of privacy, that sort of thing. Even if Dodie herself said she’d like it, who’s to say she’s compos mentis enough to make that sort of decision? I couldn’t.’

  ‘Would you really have to tell anyone? If you saw anything that did arouse your suspicions, then—’

  ‘Get thee behind me, Satan!’

  ‘OK, how about you simply see if she thinks she might have lost the rat? Come on, Griff, you’re wonderful with old ladies. If anyone can extract a sensible answer you can.’