Fox Evil (27 page)

"Oh lord!" Julian held up his hands in amiable surrender. ''Each to his own, eh? No need to come to blows over it."

Monroe smiled. "That's not very sporting of you, sir. I'm sure the fox says the same thing every time the dogs sniff him out. Live and let live, that's all he wants to do. The trouble is he's outnumbered. Just as you are at the moment-" he glanced at Eleanor-"and the Colonel's been in the matter of these nuisance calls. I understand you told Mrs. Weldon to make them at night, Mrs. Bartlett. Why was that? It looks to me like a deliberate attempt to wear him down."

"I…" she ran her tongue over her lips. "It was the most likely time for him to be there."

Monroe shook his head. "That's not an answer. According to Mrs. Weldon, all the calls were recorded, so whether he was there or not was immaterial. She also said he's become a recluse. Do you want to explain that to me? Because I don't understand why you think it's cruel to back a fox into a corner from exhaustion… but not an old man in his eighties? What were you trying to achieve?"

More silence. This entire evening had been punctuated by silences, he thought, while spiteful women worked out how to justify themselves.

"We were giving James some of his own medicine," she muttered, refusing to look at him.

"I see," he said slowly. "Entirely on the word of someone you describe as 'damaged.' " It was a statement, not a question. "Why do we have trials, Mrs. Bartlett? Why do you think the defense and prosecution stories are so rigorously examined by a judge and jury before verdict and sentence can be passed? Where was reasonable doubt in the Colonel's favor?"

She didn't say anything.

"Whose idea was it to cloak malice as justice?"

She found her voice. "It wasn't malice."

"Then it was worse," he said bluntly. "You will be looking at charges of coercion and blackmail if the Colonel's tapes demonstrate you made demands of him."

She licked her lips nervously. "I never did."

"Demanding that he confess is coercion, Mrs. Bartlett. Even if he's guilty of what you accuse him, it is a criminal offense to use the telephone to threaten him. If you asked for money in return for silence-" he looked pointedly about the room-"or accepted money from a third party to make life so unbearable for him that he would comply with that person's demands, you will be charged with a number of offenses… the most serious being conspiracy to defraud."

"I didn't," she insisted, turning to her husband.

Julian shook his head abruptly. "Don't look to me for help," he warned. "You and Prue are on your own with this one. I'm following Dick's lead." He air-washed his hands. "Find some other mug to bail you out."

Eleanor's pent-up anger burst its constraints. "That would suit you, wouldn't it? A free run with the little bitch… and all
my
fault. How much have you spent on her so far? Vet's fees… a horsebox…" She took a shuddering breath. "I suppose you thought you could carry on indefinitely as long as you gave me the odd sop-" she kicked at the carpet-"like this. Do you make
her
wait? No, of course not. Even you aren't stupid enough to think a thirty-year-old tart would want you for your body."

Julian gave a small laugh. "You're so predictable, Ellie. Yack… yack… yack…" He worked his hand like a mouth. "You can't leave it alone, can you? You have to be at someone's throat. But I'm not the bad guy here-
you
are-along with your fat little clone." He gave a derisory snort. "Tell me this, have you and Prue ever drawn breath long enough to ask yourselves if you're
right
? A moron could feed you a story and you'd believe it, as long as it confirmed one of your vicious little grievances."

"
You
said James had got away with murder," she shot back angrily. "Jammy bastard, you called him… committed the perfect murder… locked Ailsa out in the cold and took barbiturates so he wouldn't have to listen to her whining away on the terrace."

"Don't be an idiot," he said. "She could have walked down to the Lodge if she really couldn't get back in. Bob and Vera have keys." His eyes narrowed. "You need to worry about your brain, Ellie. Vera's the only person in this village with more resentments than you, and she's completely senile." He examined her face for a moment, then gave a grunt of disbelief. "I hope to God you haven't been getting your information from her, you silly bitch. She's had it in for James since he accused her of stealing. She was guilty as sin, but it hasn't stopped her bad-mouthing him. If you've been relying on anything she says, you really do need your head examined."

Monroe watched catastrophe move a step closer in the woman's painted face. She dropped her eyes to her hands. "I-" she broke off. "How do you
know
so much?" she asked suddenly. "Does the little tart tell you?"

Leo answered at the first ring. "Lizzie?" he whispered softly, as if he were in a public place and didn't want to be overheard.

Leo's mobile wouldn't have recognized Mark's, but it was an odd leap to associate an unknown number with his sister. "No, it's Mark Ankerton." He strained to hear noise in the background, but there was none. "Why did you think it was Lizzie?"

"None of your business," said the other man aggressively, immediately raising his voice. "What do you want?"

"How about, Happy Christmas, Mark? How's my father getting on?"

"Fuck that."

"Where are you?"

A small laugh. "
Wouldn't
you like to know?"

"Not particularly. It's Lizzie I'm after, as a matter of fact. I've been trying to raise her on the phone, but she isn't answering. Do you know where she is and if she's all right?"

"Fat lot you care."

"I wouldn't be calling if I didn't." He flicked a sidelong glance at James. "Your father's decided to raise her allowance. He's also considering your position. He's not happy about the row you had the other day… but he wants to be fair." He put a warning hand on James's arm as he felt the old man bristle with indignation.

Leo gave an angry laugh. "You mean the row
he
had. I never said a word. He's completely senile, shouldn't be in control of anything." He paused as if he expected Mark to answer. "You're down there as usual, I suppose, pulling his blasted strings. You'd better know I've put a solicitor onto challenging the wills. The old man's obviously been shot for years-Ma, too, probably-and you drew up new ones without ever questioning their competence."

Mark ignored the rant. "I'm down here, yes. I didn't want him spending Christmas alone." He tried again. "Where are
you
?"

Another angry laugh. "God, you're a patronizing bastard!
You
didn't want him to be alone. Do you know how sickening that sounds? Bloody Mark this… bloody Mark that… You
damn
well influenced my mother. Dad's dangled the estate over our heads since time immemorial, but Ma was always going to leave her money to us."

Mark allowed his own anger to surface. "If that's the kind of bullshit you're giving another solicitor you won't get far. You and Elizabeth were both shown copies of Ailsa's will. She wanted her money put to useful purpose, and she didn't believe that giving it to you and Elizabeth would serve any purpose at all, except your rapid dissolution."

"And who put the idea into her head?"

"You did when you sent Lizzie down to retrieve the Monets."

"They're hers."

"No, they're not. James's mother entrusted them to him until his death. Only then do they become Lizzie's. Ailsa was furious with you. She knew you'd take them and sell them… and it caused yet another screaming match with Lizzie. Frankly, you should be grateful Ailsa didn't close the door on you entirely by handing her fortune straight to charity. At least by passing it to your father, she gave you a second chance to prove yourselves."

"
He's
never going to leave it to us. Becky said it was all going to Lizzie's love child." A snort of derision. "How is she? I presume you took her back… she said you would."

Mark was caught off balance. "Becky?"

"Of course Becky. How many exes do you have? You're welcome to her, by the way… and you can tell her I said so. She's a two-faced bitch-" another laugh-"but you know that already. It served you right. All that Mandrake crap… you
owed
me one."

Mark ran a thoughtful hand around his jawline. "I haven't seen Becky since she left me for you. And, just for the record, I'd slit my throat before I took one of your castoffs. Damaged goods don't interest me."

"Fuck you!"

"Also for the record," Mark went on, "your mother wouldn't have left you a damn farthing if I
hadn't
influenced her. So how about thanking me for the fifty thousand?"

"I'd slit
my
throat first. So where
are
the Monets?"

Odd question. "Where they always were."

"No, they're not."

"How do you know?"

"None of your business. Where are they?"

"Safe," said Mark succinctly. "Your mother didn't trust you not to have another go."

"You mean
you
didn't trust me… Ma would never have thought of it herself." Another pause. "Have you really not seen her? She said she only had to crook her little finger and you'd come running."

"Who?"

"Becky. I assumed you'd been mug enough to cover her debts. It put me in a good humor, as a matter of fact. I liked the idea of you being fleeced. She's got the bug something chronic."

"What bug?"

"Work it out for yourself. Is Dad serious about upping Lizzie's allowance?"

Gambling…?
"Yes."

"How much?"

"Five hundred a month."

"Jesus!" Leo said disgustedly. "It's a pittance. He hasn't put it up in two years. Couldn't you have pressed for a grand?"

"What's it to you? You won't get your hands on it."

"I don't expect to."

It would be a first, then, thought Mark cynically. "It's better than nothing. If she's already blown her mother's fifty thousand, then it's a guaranteed fifty bottles of gin a month… but James won't give it to her unless she talks to him."

"What about me?"

"I'm still negotiating."

"Well, don't expect gratitude. Far as I'm concerned the best place for you is six feet under."

"Fuck you!"

This time the laugh was amused. "It's my only option at the moment."

Mark smiled rather grudgingly at his end. "Tell me about it," he said dryly.

There was a second of mutual understanding. "You've obviously twisted Dad's arm for some reason," Leo said then. "In normal circumstances he'd cut it off before he gave us any more money, so what's this call really about?"

"Do you know Eleanor Bartlett? Lives at Shenstead House."

No answer.

"Have you ever spoken to her? Did you introduce her to Elizabeth?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Mark tossed a mental coin in his head, and opted for honesty. What did he have to lose? If Leo was involved, he already knew what was being said.
If he wasn't…
"She's accusing James of incest-says he's the father of Lizzie's child-and she's claiming Lizzie gave her the information. She's been using the telephone to threaten him, which makes it a criminal offense, and I'm advising James to go to the police. Before we do that, we want to know if Eleanor Bartlett's telling the truth about hearing the slander from Lizzie."

Leo's grin sounded in his voice. "What makes you think it's slander?"

"Are you saying it isn't?"

"It depends what it's worth."

"Nothing."

"Wrong answer, my friend. Dad's reputation matters to him. Reopen negotiations on that basis and find out how much he's prepared to pay to protect it."

Mark didn't reply immediately. "What about your reputation, Leo? How much is yours worth?"

"I'm not the one with the problem."

"You will be if I repeat this conversation to the police, plus the various allegations that Becky's making against you."

"You mean the garbage about me forcing her to borrow money?" Leo said scathingly. "It won't hold water. She's in hock up to her eyeballs on her own damn account." A suspicious pause. "You said you hadn't spoken to her."

"I said I hadn't
seen
her. I rang her about half an hour ago. She was very forthcoming… none of it complimentary. She's accusing you of abuse… says she's frightened of you-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Leo broke in angrily. "I never laid a finger on the bitch."

Mark glanced at James. "Wrong victim. Try again."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Work it out for yourself. You thought it was funny when it didn't apply to you, even suggested you could make money out of it."

There was a long silence. "Do you want to put that into words of one syllable?"

"In the circumstances, I wouldn't advise it."

"Is Dad listening?"

"Yes."

The line went dead immediately.

Nancy had received three conflicting messages in two hours. One from James in a deeply troubled voice saying that, much as he had enjoyed meeting her, he didn't feel it was appropriate in the circumstances for her to visit him again. A text from Mark, saying that James was lying, followed by another, talking about an emergency. Every attempt she'd made to call Mark's mobile had been diverted to voicemail, and her message to him had gone unanswered.

She had been concerned enough to abandon her unpacking and make the fifteen-minute drive from Bovington. Now she felt foolish. What circumstances? What emergency? Shenstead Manor was in darkness, and there was no response to her ringing of the bell. A fitful moon shone intermittent light on the facade but there was no sign of life anywhere. She peered through the glass panes of the library, looking for light under the closed door to the hall, but all she could see was her own reflection.

She felt uncomfortable. What would James think if he came back and found her peering through his windows? Worse, what was he thinking if he was watching her from the darkness inside? Whatever the circumstances he had referred to, presumably they still existed, and his message couldn't have been clearer. He didn't want to see her again. She remembered his tears of the morning, and her own embarrassment. She shouldn't have come.

She walked back to the Discovery and swung herself onto the driver's seat. She tried to convince herself they'd gone to the pub-it's what her parents would have done-but she wasn't persuaded. In the circumstances-
were these the circumstances?
-the arguments were all against them abandoning the house. Mark's messages. James's reclusive nature. His isolation. The proximity of the travelers. The trap set for James's dog. It didn't feel right.

With a sigh, she took a torch from the dashboard pocket and jumped to the ground again. She was going to regret this. She would put money on them sitting in the drawing room, pretending to be out; even more on seeing a terrible politeness cross their faces when she showed herself at the window. She walked around the side of the house and along the terrace.

The drawing-room lights were out, with the French windows bolted on the inside. She tested them, but they held firmly. She cupped her hand over her eyes to search the interior, but the muted glow of burning embers in the hearth showed the room to be empty. As a last lip service to duty, she stepped back to look at the rooms above, and a bad feeling prickled up her spine as she realized she was standing on or near the spot where Ailsa had died.

This was crazy, she thought angrily. A wild-goose chase, engineered by Mark bloody Ankerton, and ripples of superstitious fear because of a woman she'd never even met. But she could feel the weight of someone's gaze on the back of her neck… could even hear their breathing…

She whirled around, scything the torch beam in a wavering arc…

The older policeman hammered on the door of Fox's bus and showed little surprise when no one answered. He tested the handle to see if it was locked, then looked curiously toward Wolfie. Bella gave an irritated sigh. "Stupid fucker," she muttered under her breath, before gluing a smile to her face.

"Do you know where he is?" Barker asked.

She shook her head. "I thought he was asleep. Like I said, he's doing the night shift at the barrier… that's why I started at the other end… didn't want to wake him earlier than I needed to."

Barker switched his attention to Wolfie. "What about you, son? Do you know where your dad is?"

The child shook his head.

"Does he always lock the bus when he goes away?"

A nod.

"Does he tell you when he's going?"

A frightened shake.

"So what are you supposed to do? Freeze to death? What happens if there's no one like Bella around?" He was angry, and it showed. "What's in the bus that's more important than his kid?" he demanded of Bella. "I think it's time we had a chat with this mysterious friend of yours. Where is he? What's he up to?"

Bella felt a rush of movement beside her. "Oh,
great
!" she said crossly, watching Wolfie take off into the wood as if the hounds of hell were behind him. "Well done, Mr. Barker.
Now
what are we gonna do? 'Coz you're right about one thing, dar-lin', his dad won't care if he freezes to death… and neither will anyone else." She poked a finger at Barker's chest. "And d'you wanna know
why
? I don't reckon he's been registered, so the poor little tyke
don't fucking exist
."

Nancy's message came through as soon as Mark disconnected, and this time there was no discussion. He punched 999 into his mobile before lodging the handset into the car rest. "Police," he said curtly into the overhead microphone, before slamming the Lexus into a three-point turn.

It was a dog-eat-dog, thought Monroe, as the Bartletts tore into each other. He had no sympathy for Eleanor, but Julian's sneering grated on his nerves. The dynamics of their relationship were relentlessly aggressive, and he began to wonder if some of Eleanor's problems could be laid at her husband's door. For all his urbanity, the man was a bully.

"You're making an idiot of yourself, Ellie. Someone's obviously fed you a piece of gossip, and now you're trying to manufacture a war out of it. Where did all this rubbish about a tart come from?"

She was too fired-up to think through her answers. "The people at the Copse," she snapped. "They've been watching us."

He gave a surprised laugh. "The gyppos?"

"It's not funny. They know a lot about us… my name… what car you drive."

"So? It's hardly secret information. They probably got it off a weekender. You need to cut down on the HRT and Botox injections, girl. They're frying your brain."

She stamped her foot. "I looked in your computer, Julian. It's all there. Emails to GS."

Not anymore, thought Monroe, as Julian gave an amused shrug. It was too easy for him. He was a step ahead of her every time. Monroe's mobile started to vibrate in his breast pocket. He retrieved it and listened to the request to attend an incident at the Manor. "Will do. Three minutes." He stood up. "I shall want to talk to you again," he told Eleanor. "You, too, Mr. Bartlett."