A Question of Guilt(90)

‘Drink that, and I’ll make some coffee.’ He went up the three stairs to the kitchen area, and I sank my head into my hands, massaging my temples where a headache had begun.

‘Here we are.’ Jeremy was back, placing a mug at my elbow. ‘Only instant, I’m afraid, but hot, strong and sweet. Hey . . . you’re not drinking your whisky.’

‘Not my bag.’ I managed a weak smile.

‘Come on, it’ll do you good.’ He nudged the glass closer to me and I took an obedient sip, quickly followed by a gulp of coffee. After the strong spirit, it tasted oddly bitter.

‘So. Tell Uncle Jeremy what this is all about.’

I was a little calmer now, sipping whisky and coffee alternately, and finding it surprisingly comforting. But I still barely knew where to start.

‘You said you had a diary belonging to Dawn, so I take it this is all connected to your story about the fire,’ he prompted me.

‘Yes, but it’s much more than that. The fire is just part of the big picture,’ I said, and explained about my visit to Dorset, how Dawn’s mother had let me borrow some of her diaries, and discovered that the latest ones were missing. ‘The thing is, I’m pretty sure Dawn was targeted – and I don’t just mean the fire,’ I went on. ‘I don’t believe her death was an accident either. From the diaries I’ve already studied it’s pretty clear she’d begun to suspect something illegal was going on at Compton Properties, though she didn’t know what, or who else, besides Lewis, was involved. But later I think she did find out, and it cost her her life.’

‘This is pretty startling stuff,’ Jeremy said. ‘Are you sure you aren’t seeing conspiracies where none exist so as to make a good story?’

‘I don’t blame you for thinking that,’ I said. ‘I sometimes wondered myself if I was chasing rainbows, and everything that was happening was just coincidence. But now I have Dawn’s latest diaries. I haven’t had a chance to read them properly, but I’m pretty sure they contain what she discovered about what was going on – she was really meticulous about keeping them up to date – as well as who it was she was afraid of: Lewis’s partner in crime.’

‘Where did you get them?’ Jeremy asked.

I lowered my eyes, staring at the half-empty coffee mug that I was gripping tightly between both hands in an effort to keep them from shaking.

Josh. Josh had them. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud – I could scarcely bear to think about it, shrinking from the pain of knowing how he’d deceived me, ashamed of what a fool I’d been.

‘I was going straight to the police when I realized what I had, but I didn’t have enough diesel to take me to Porton and there’s no one at the station at Stoke Compton overnight,’ I said instead. ‘I’m going first thing in the morning, but I’m really frightened, Jeremy. And I wanted to ask . . . will you come with me?’

For a moment Jeremy said nothing. He was looking at me narrowly, almost as if he was trying to read my mind. Then he stood up.

‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll ring them now.’

‘But . . . they’re closed . . .’

‘Stoke Compton, maybe. I’m ringing Porton. The divisional commander is a good friend of mine. A mention of his name will ensure this is treated with the seriousness it deserves. If you’re right about all this, Sally, then you could be in the same danger as Dawn. You need to tell the police all you know, and hand over the diaries as soon as possible.’

He was right, I was sure, but the thought of going through everything again tonight was a daunting one. I was beginning to feel dreadfully tired – it was, after all, the middle of the night, though how I could sleep after all that had happened, I couldn’t imagine.

The telephone was at the far end of the living room, and Jeremy’s back was towards me, so I couldn’t hear what he said, but after a few minutes he was back.

‘Now that’s what I call action,’ he said, with a look of grim satisfaction.

‘They’re coming now? Tonight?’

‘They want us to meet them at the warehouse.’

‘The warehouse?’ I repeated stupidly. ‘But why . . .?’

‘It seems they’ve had their suspicions about the place for some time. They want to strike while the iron’s hot.’ He glanced at me narrowly. ‘Are you all right, Sally?’

‘Not really.’ I did feel very peculiar, totally devoid of energy, and my eyelids heavy.

‘Come on. You can’t fall asleep now. We’ve got to get going.’