16
A Wounded Dove
‘What have you done to your hand?’ she asked.
He was running it under the cold tap in the bathroom. His knuckles were split and dribbled blood. ‘Nothing,’ said Felix. ‘I thought you’d be fast asleep.’
‘Have you been in a fight?’ She could read his face like a book. He was tight-jawed, steely-eyed, looked as if he were seething underneath. ‘Christ, what have you done?’ She went over to a cabinet and took out a small tub that held a variety of medicines and tablets. She opened a box of sticking-plasters.
‘Just some poxy, meddling kid at the Empire.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Thought I’d take Laura along to see a film, quiz her about how she was doing getting the money together. Then I thought I’d go and see our mutual friend.’
She sighed heavily, taking the top off a tube of antiseptic cream. ‘I told you to leave him alone. We don’t need him now. Don’t screw things up, Felix; we’re so close to clinching it. Martin’s a nobody. We’ve used him and there’s an end to it. Why are you so obsessed with him?’
‘I ain’t obsessed.’
‘You are. You can’t let it rest, can you? Are you jealous, is that it?’
He scowled, drying his hands on a towel and squeezing cream from the tube. ‘I had to wear gloves so Laura didn’t see the blood,’ he mused, smearing on the cream. ‘Me? Jealous of that f*cking loser?’
‘You are, aren’t you? Christ, it was a long time ago. He didn’t mean anything to me. I told you what he was like. How he treated me. What he’s capable of. Forget him. It’s been nice to see him squirm, like he made me squirm, but now’s the time to dump him.’
‘You brought us here, Kat. You suggested we use him.’
‘Only to get back at him, no more than that! It was business.’
‘Really?’ He grabbed the sticking-plaster she held out and slapped it over his cuts. ‘You sure about that, Kat?’
‘You moron!’ she said, punching him on the arm. ‘I love you, not that loser. I never once loved him.’ She kissed him on the lips, stared into his unconvinced, sullen eyes. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’ He nodded reluctantly. ‘So just leave him alone, eh? Let’s take the money and run. Forget Martin, forget this goddamn backwater. I hate renting this place in Glastonbury. I hate Somerset. We can have a real good life from here on in, so don’t screw this up for us, not when it’s almost in the bag.’ Kat held his hand, looked at the grazed knuckles. ‘So which kid was this you floored?’
‘He’s the projectionist at the Empire. He saw us on top of Glastonbury Tor. He could be trouble. I was warning him off because he threatened to tell Laura. I think he got the message.’
‘He won’t spill the beans, will he?’ she asked with some alarm. ‘I told you to avoid that place.’
‘He’s a frightened little runt. He’ll not be saying anything.’
‘You don’t go to the Empire again, you hear?’ she said firmly.
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, whatever.’
‘I mean it, Felix. So, when will Laura have our money?’
He smirked. ‘At the end of the week. All sorted by then. I managed to persuade her to get the cash and I’ll be picking it up on Friday. I’ve persuaded her I’m away on business for a few days, and I’m busy sorting out the clinic in Philadelphia, flights, that kind of thing. She still thinks we’ll be getting married after I’ve had my operation.’
‘That’s good,’ said Kat thoughtfully. ‘Till then we keep low. No more visits to Caldwell, no more flooring little runts. You and me we’re going to London to do some serious shopping. I’ve booked us flights to France for when all this is over. I’ve also got appointments booked with French real-estate agents to look over a few villas.’
‘You don’t hang around,’ he said, clutching her to him and kissing her.
‘A week from now and we’ll be sitting pretty,’ she said.
‘You’re already pretty,’ he said.
‘Cut the smarm, Felix; it doesn’t work on me. I’m no Laura Leach.’
No one likes to see a police car. It makes people feel really uncomfortable, thought Vince as he answered the rear door and saw the two police officers standing there, and the car parked like some kind of striped beast of prey behind them in the yard. Their silver buttons gleamed against the dark of their uniforms.
‘Is Mr Caldwell in?’ said one of them, hardly bothering to look at Vince.
‘Yes, he’s in his office,’ he said. He led them down dark corridors.
‘Always amazes me, these places,’ said one officer to the other. ‘How they’re all so dolled-up on the outside and yet as ugly as sin on the inside.’
‘Like a tart,’ observed the other.
Vince knocked at Caldwell’s door, was told to come in. ‘Police to see you, Mr Caldwell.’
Martin Caldwell jumped out of his seat as if he’d had a few hundred volts pumped through it. ‘Police?’ The two officers swamped the room with their presence. Caldwell looked at Vince. ‘That will be all, Vince. Close the door behind you.’
‘Martin Caldwell?’ said the bulkiest of the officers. A man bred for the police force, thought Caldwell, like there was a farm somewhere that churned them out.
‘That’s right. What’s wrong, officer?’ His voice was thin and insubstantial. He blinked nervously.
‘You’re manager here, right?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘We understand Monica Andrews works here. Is that correct?’
He nodded quickly. ‘That’s right. What’s the matter?’
‘She’s been reported missing, sir.’
‘What, as in missing missing?’ Caldwell lowered himself into his seat. ‘She’s not been into work for some days now.’
‘When did you last see her, sir?’
Caldwell thought about it. ‘About a fortnight ago now, I think. She never came into work. Thought she had a cold or something at first.’
‘Did you contact her to find out why?’
‘She doesn’t have a phone in the house. Who reported her missing?’
‘Her sister.’
‘Maybe she’s visiting someone.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual about her behaviour when you last saw her?’
He shook his head. ‘Not that I can say.’
‘Anything that might be upsetting her?’
He shrugged. ‘Like I say, nothing that I noticed. She was a cleaner – we didn’t talk about personal things.’
‘Was?’
Caldwell cleared his throat. ‘Slip of the tongue. She was a cleaner, then she got promoted to the office. I sort of thought she’d decided to pack her job in.’
The officer nodded slowly. The other was disconcertingly quiet, surveying the small room. ‘Maybe you’re right. Perhaps she is visiting someone,’ he said, smiling that pasted-on smile police officers always carry with them. ‘If you hear from her, or hear anything about her whereabouts, please contact us straight away. It might be nothing to worry about but we have to check. If you don’t mind we’ll question other members of staff.’
‘Please, do what you must,’ encouraged Caldwell. ‘I hope you find her soon. She was a valued member of the team.’ He rose from his seat as they made to leave the office.
Then the police officer stopped and turned at the door. ‘Were you aware that she was pregnant, Mr Caldwell? She’d been to the clinic the day before she went missing.’
‘What? Pregnant? No, she didn’t tell me that. I mean, she’s hardly likely to, is she?’
‘She’s not married,’ said the other officer, his first words of the meeting.
‘I know,’ said Caldwell.
‘I know it’s highly unlikely, but would you happen to know who the father is?’
Caldwell felt his insides being scrunched up. ‘Is that important?’
‘Maybe she’s with him. Or he might know where she is, that’s all.’
He shook his head vigorously. ‘I don’t know who the father is, or if she’s been seeing anyone. Like I say, we didn’t talk about her private life.’
‘But she was a valuable member of the team,’ observed the officer.
‘Manager-speak,’ said Caldwell. ‘Can’t help it. You know how it is.’
The police officer nodded sagely. ‘Yes, of course we understand. We’re all getting to be like Londoners these days. Anyhow, any news please let us know, sir.’
Vince Moody crept down from the roof-space of the Empire, stealthily so as not to be heard through the ceiling. He’d managed to overhear the last few dregs of the conversation though the thin ceiling of Caldwell’s office. He allowed a smile of self-satisfaction to spread sweetly over his lips.
The letter lay open in her lap like a wounded dove. She had read it and re-read it, at first thinking it was some kind of perverse joke, cruel and sick in its intentions. She was reminded sharply of all those evil little pranks thought up by the girls in boarding school, terrible memories being dragged up from the stinking silt of her past. But whoever wrote this anonymous letter knew far too much for it to be a simple, spiteful prank. But still she could not believe it entirely. How could she doubt him, her dear Casper? It simply could not be true, that he was a cheap fraud, doing all this, lying through his teeth to her so that he could get his hands on her money. That his love was a complete sham.
Laura Leach sat for a full two hours with only her crashing emotions for bitter company. In the end she put her coat on and grabbed the keys to her car. She drove in a half-daze into Langbridge, parked in the very same spot she’d been pulling out of on that fateful day she met Casper, not wanting to think that it hadn’t been chance at all, that he’d planned everything down to the last little detail.
She went into the local jewellers. The elderly man behind the counter knew who she was, knew she had money and greeted her accordingly. She twisted the engagement ring off her finger and handed it over to him.
‘Can you tell me how much this is worth?’ she said, her voice on the verge of breaking up.
His eyes widened when he saw the large, flashing stones. He twirled it between his fingers, stared at it, frowned, took out his eyeglass and spent all of five seconds studying the ring under it.
‘If you’re looking to sell it, Miss Leach, you’re going to be very disappointed. It’s gold-plated and the stones are made of glass.’
Laura uttered a tiny squeal, her face falling alarmingly pale.
‘Are you alright, Miss leach?’ he asked concernedly.
She grabbed the ring and threw it onto the floor. She stormed from the shop, the bell above the door tinkling frantically.
* * * *