A Place Of Safety(85)

‘And thought he was after Carlotta,’ reminded Audrey Brierley. ‘He must be absolutely besotted.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Barnaby. ‘Let’s just hope he’s not so besotted he’s prepared to lie.’

‘You mean cover for Jackson?’

‘There’s already a discrepancy over time. Fainlight thought he got to the garage flat about half three. Jackson said it was nearer three o’clock.’

‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Constable Phillips, gradually unfolding from his chair, peeped out of his shell.

‘Does he know the score, Fainlight?’ said DS Griggs.

Barnaby shook his head.

‘That’ll make a difference,’ said WPC Marlin. ‘Wait till he discovers what he’s giving an alibi for.’

‘Which brings us to the most important question,’ said Barnaby. ‘On which everything, everything will depend.’

‘How he got back?’ said Sergeant Troy. And suddenly twigged the message on the mobile from the car park.

‘Exactly.’

The room broke out into general conversation. Everyone talking, offering ideas and suggestions. Chairs were scraped as people turned round to agree or disagree.

‘He wouldn’t take a cab, that’s for sure.’

‘Nobody could be that stupid.’

‘Would he risk thumbing a car?’

Cries of ‘oh, please’ and ‘I thought you said he wasn’t stupid’ followed by ‘the driver’d remember him’.

‘Steal one then?’

‘He’d have to leave it on the outskirts of the village.’

‘Well, he used something. You don’t walk twelve miles in half an hour.’

‘He used a bike, of course,’ said Sergeant Troy, cutting into the general hubbub with a self-satisfied smirk. ‘I believe we’ve already run a check on thefts, isn’t that right, sir?’

Barnaby fished out a sheet of A4 from the clutter on his desk. He waved it with a hint of smugness rather in the manner of television cooks producing out of the oven a dish they’d prepared earlier.

‘There were three stolen in Causton today. A kid’s mountain bike, a bone-rattler some poor old pensioner took to his allotment and a Peugeot Leader Sprint left outside the Soft Shoe Cafe. They’re really lightweight. They can be ridden hard and fast and I reckon that must be the one we’re looking for.’

One or two officers looked rather disgruntled at this conjuring trick. If the chief had worked it out and checked it out, why couldn’t he have just spoken out? Barnaby smiled, indifferent to their discomfiture. If time permitted, he always liked the team to suss things for themselves.

‘A bit of a risk, sir,’ said Sergeant Brierley. ‘What if he hadn’t found one?’

‘Bound to. There’s always several on display outside Halfords, for a start. He was probably making for there when he came across this one.’

‘It’s brilliant, that,’ said DS Griggs. ‘Covers the distance, easy to dump and you can jump off and hide if you have to.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Barnaby. ‘The machine can’t be far away. I shall organise a search first light in the morning.’

‘Won’t he have nipped out by then and disposed of it properly?’

‘I hope he tries. I’ve a man on the house. From now on wherever Jackson goes, we go.’ No point in spelling out the problems he’d had obtaining this temporary surveillance. His positive conviction sounded like mere suspicion unsupported by a single shred of evidence to the powers that held the purse strings. The lookout having been grudgingly given, Barnaby was told the situation would be reviewed every twenty-four hours. This time tomorrow, Jackson could once more be as free as the lark ascending. If that happens, thought Barnaby, I shall put one of my own team in his place and keep quiet about it.

‘So are we going to give him a tug, sir?’ asked Charlie Agnew.

‘No. He’d walk. There’s nothing to hold him.’ Barnaby stared grimly through his team and directly at the back wall with its hideous montage showing the mangled remains of Charlie Leathers. ‘When I bring that bugger in, he stays in.’





Louise was getting ready for bed. So far she had taken over an hour about it and could well take another, the procedure being so utterly pointless. For she would never sleep. She might as well stay where she was now, wrapped in a cream velvet robe and curled into the deep hollow centre of a leather armchair. The chair was a perfect oval without arms or legs, suspended by transparent silk ropes from a glass beam in the roof of the house.

Swinging gently backwards and forwards often helped her to relax, sometimes even induced a dreamlike drowsiness. But not tonight. Tonight it would take a pharmacist of genius or an opiate not yet discovered to bring an intermission to her tormented consciousness.