Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective (31 page)

“Please promise not to make me go anywhere near the cliff-edge, even if you are hanging on to me. I’m terrified of heights.” She snuggled up to him. “I haven’t known you long enough to find any attraction in the idea of us perishing together on the rocks in each other’s arms with the seas breaking over us.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” He let go of her and fished around in his pocket for the key to the BMW. “I wouldn’t take you up on the headland if there was any risk. But I want you to see a little bit of life in the raw.” He pressed the remote button on the key and the locks sprang open. “I think you’re in serious danger of living so protected a life that you’ve forgotten how to experience nature in the raw.”

She looked up at him as he held the door open for her and her eyes were dancing. “The last week has shown me a whole new range of experiences,” she said. “I suppose one more won’t do me any harm even if I don’t enjoy it much.” She allowed him to settle her in the car and pull the safety belt round her. She thought it was delightful, the caring way in which he looked after her in all these little things. She had been so used to being ignored for most of the last ten years.

He started the car and pulled away gently from the parking space. He turned into the narrow lane leading up towards the headland. As they went they were deep in conversation about their plans for tomorrow after another wonderful night together. And there were going to be several more of those nights, now that she had told Mrs Harding she could have the week off.

They didn’t even notice the car which started up just after they left. They didn’t see that it followed them at a discreet distance or that the driver was driving without any lights, leaving the window open so that the tail-lights of the BMW could be easily trailed in the darkness.

* * * * * * * *

Paulson watched the Mercedes pull away. He had been following it most carefully all evening. He was confident that the driver had no idea that he was under observation. But now he couldn’t pursue him any longer by road. He would almost certainly be seen, and that would destroy the small chance he had of getting the driver into the open. With a sigh he climbed out of his car and put on his thin, light mackintosh, which was the only top-coat he was carrying at the moment. After a second’s thought he took the stick which he carried in the boot, bearing in mind that it might be useful on the rough ground he had to climb. He locked the car and made for the footpath which would short-cut the winding roadway to the car park, fumbling in his pocket for the little torch which he hoped would show him the tortuous way.

As soon as he reached the path he knew he was in trouble. His lightweight, leather-soled shoes slipped and slid on the wet stones. The stick was only of limited assistance. The violent wind was blowing the brambles across the narrow track. Long, clawed tendrils reached out and tore at his clothes. He could feel them penetrating the fabric of his trousers and ripping the skin of his legs. His current adventure was going to ruin this pair of light slacks. His wife would be furious.

However he knew that his progress was probably more important than the damage he did to his clothes. Sliding and stumbling he forced himself to climb the steep path. Twice his feet slipped from under him and he went down on his hands, scratching them and covering them with mud. Yet still he forced himself on up the steep hillside.

At last he came out on top of the cliff and the path levelled out and became tarmac. He had wasted a good five minutes climbing that narrow, steep section in the dark. Now he must get a move on. It would be a disaster if he got there too late. He broke into a trot. He used the feeble light of his torch to search for the path to the fort.

* * * * * * * *

Richard turned the BMW into the deserted car park at the top of the little road which led to Berry Head. He drove right to the far end and switched off the engine. He smiled at Susannah. “All right?” he asked. “Of course you can cry off if you want to.”

“Not likely. I know a challenge when I see one.” She smiled back at him. “You’ll never let me forget it, if I back out now.” She was busily knotting a scarf over her hair and tying it round her beautiful slim throat.

“OK. Here goes.” He pushed the door open and stepped out into the roaring wind. A cold gust burst into the car, scouring round its deep corners, blowing up inside her skirt. Richard reached into the back and got out their coats. He closed the door and pulled on his own anorak. Then he came round to her side with her big, heavy mackintosh. He wrapped its heavy folds around her as she got out and slipped her arms into the sleeves.

He locked the car and took her hand. There was a well-paved path leading towards the fort and they took this. As they came out of the hollow where the car park had been built they were struck by the full force of the southerly gale and a small flurry of rain enveloped them briefly.

“Oh, my god,” said Susannah, “I’m going to get my hair wet for the third time today.” But the words were whipped away by the wind. She didn’t mind that he couldn’t hear. Suddenly she felt deliriously happy. She grasped his hand tightly and leaned against him. He was right. She felt as though they were experiencing something almost primeval together.

Ahead of them the wall of the fort loomed wetly in the darkness - a massive, but not very high, stone wall above a steep grassy bank. This had been built from the earth and rocks which had been dug out of a deep ditch excavated across the root of the peninsula. In the centre it was pierced by a narrow opening through the ramparts.

The path crossed the ditch by a small bridge and they were temporarily sheltered from the worst of the wind by the flank walls of the fortifications and by a modern building inside the fort.

“This place was built at the time of Napolean,” said Richard. “They were apparently worried to death about the French invading.” He shook his head. “Although you’d have thought they were safe here, protected by two hundred-foot cliffs on three sides.” He indicated the flat grass area that ran along the top of the headland. “They say that this area was covered with barrack buildings and that up to two thousand men used to live here.”

Susannah shuddered. “What a dreadful place to be stuck - especially in the winter.”

“Later on it was used as a prison.” He grinned. “I bet they didn’t have many escape from here. Come on - do you see the lighthouse building at the far end?”

She nodded.

“Near there is where we’ll get the best views of the waves crashing against the cliffs.”

He put a protective arm round her and they moved out along the path towards the light. As they came out of the lee of the building, it seemed as though the wind fell upon them with a renewed, shrieking fury. It seemed to come howling in from the wide Atlantic with nothing to break its assault. Some of the strongest gusts were enough to make them pause in order to avoid being blown off their feet. At this moment the wind carried no rain, although the wetness underfoot testified to the fact that squalls were likely to come again later.

“I must be mad,” thought Susannah and laughed at herself. She realised that what she felt for Richard was a kind of madness. She was sure her comfortable, staid friends would have thought she was completely insane to even contemplate abandoning her luxurious life with Stephen for this poorer, younger man. “You know nothing about it,” she argued silently with them, as she fought her way through the storm. “What you don’t understand is that I’ve found out at long last what it’s like to really live and to have real feelings instead of just acting a part. That’s what this man has taught me.”

At last they reached a clump of bushes where they paused and gained some relief from the buffeting wind. Beyond them she noticed now the flashing of the automatic light below the unmanned lighthouse, as it performed its warning gyrations for any unfortunate ships which might be out at sea. The light was reflected back off the low, streaming clouds and the squalls of rain in the distance. It gave a strange, stuttering, ghostly light to the lonely wind-swept headland. Susannah doubted that there would be anyone else foolish enough to be out on the cliffs on a night like this.

“Are you OK?” Richard checked that her heavy coat was still wrapped tightly round her, and that her scarf was still knotted about her throat. “It’s not very far now - just down to the end of the path by those rocks. Then we’ll have a magnificent view. Are you ready?”

She nodded and together they moved forward again into the storm. Now she felt as though she was a small weak creature, buffeted by the mighty forces of nature.

* * * * * * * *

Charlotte had lost all sense of direction as Julian swung the car up the narrow, twisting lane beyond the little fishing town of Brixham. When they suddenly emerged in to an open area of tarmac it came as a surprise to her.

“We’ll have to leave the car here and continue on foot. I see our friends are ahead of us.” He pulled up beside a couple of other cars. One was the white BMW.

“Bingo,” he enthused. “It looks as though your brilliant computer was right.”

“Oh, my god,” muttered Charlotte, pushing the door open as her worst fears were realised. “I hope to god we’re not too late.” She leaped out of the car almost before it had stopped and stood, looking round for the right way to go. The wind whipped her hair away from her head in long tendrils. Then she saw the path and made for it.

“Wait a minute,” shouted Julian, as he climbed out and slammed the door. “You’ve got to wear something over that thin dress. Come here. I’ve got a coat in the boot.” He went round to the back of the car and got out a great, padded winter anorak which he brought over and helped her into. Then he went back for a barbour for himself. By the time he’d got it on and had locked the car, Charlotte was twenty yards up the path. He ran after her.

“I wonder where the hell they are,” she gasped. “We’ll never find them in this weather.”

“I think they’ll have gone onto the headland,” said Julian. “That’s the place I’d choose if I wanted to push someone off. The cliffs there have a sheer two hundred-foot drop into the sea.”

“Which way is that?” she demanded anxiously.

“Don’t worry. We’re going in the right direction. I’ll show you the way. It’s no good getting in a panic.”

They continued to hurry along the path.

“In a panic,” shouted Charlotte at him. “Do you realise that stupid woman’s body may already be at the foot of the cliffs.” In her mind she could see it, lying broken on the rocks, washed back and forth by the great breaking waves. She hardly noticed the howling gale tearing at her body, the bushes and small trees alongside the path which thrashed about in the violence of the storm. She was only half aware of the wall of the fort looming up, of the small bridge and the gateway. The next minute she was rushing along the path towards the headland, looking to right and left for the other two people.

The scene was lit in a macabre way by the circulating flashes of the automatic lighthouse. They glanced violently but briefly upon the clumps of bushes, the stone walls and the couple of small buildings which stood, haphazardly about the grass-strewn plateau on top of the cliffs. Then they passed on, leaving the place dark and mysterious for several long seconds before they came round again to briefly bring the scene back into focus.

“Where the hell are they?” she muttered to herself. “Oh, please god, don’t let me be too late. Please let me be in time to save another tragedy.” She was unaware of the strange mixture of oaths and prayers which escaped from her lips. She was equally unaware of Julian just behind her, desperately trying to keep up with her.

Then suddenly, as she came past a clump of bushes, she saw them, not twenty yards away from her as the beam flicked across them. She thought it was two people. Surely they were both there. Then the light flashed briefly upon them again, and she was absolutely certain. They were locked in each other’s arms, like a pair of lovers, unaware of the violence and the tempest of the world about them. They seemed to be as solid as the rocks they stood upon - two hundred feet above the sea.

Charlotte slowed as she approached the couple. They were gazing out to sea and didn’t hear her footsteps above the wild noise of the wind. When she got to within five yards of them they suddenly seemed to become aware of her. The man’s head jerked round.

“Richard Harris?” shouted Charlotte before he could say anything. “I am a police officer.”

They half-parted as they turned to face her. Their mouths and eyes were like black holes in their white faces, as another sudden beam of light illuminated them. They were a frozen tableau waiting for the release of the next flash.

“Richard Harris,” she repeated. “I am Detective Chief Inspector Faraday. I want to talk to you about the death last year of Cynthia Adams.”

They still remained frozen there. Charlotte was desperately afraid that he would suddenly turn and hurl the woman off the cliff to her death. She had to keep him standing there.

“Please don’t do anything foolish,” she said. “There has already been enough misery and tragedy, following the death of your wife. You have already had more than enough revenge for one sad suicide.”

She was approaching him slowly, step by careful step to prevent him from taking sudden violent action. “Do you think that your wife would have wanted you to do all this? - to bring all this misery to all these other families?”

She was aware of Julian at her shoulder and motioned to him to hold back. She didn’t want their combined advance to frighten the man into precipitate action.