Rat Poison (13 page)

‘Therefore, in law, there's still uncertainty with regards to his participation.'

‘Exactly.'

‘Were there any weddings last weekend?' Patrick asked his father that evening.

‘Not at this church,' was the reply. ‘And not to my certain knowledge at Wellow.'

We had invited Elspeth and John in for pre-dinner drinks.

‘You don't happen to know if there was a reception over at the pub following, say, a civil ceremony?'

‘It could only have been a very small one if there was,' Elspeth replied. ‘The place simply isn't large enough so they normally have to hire a marquee and have it erected at the front on the green. After applying for permission, of course. I can't remember that happening since the early spring. It poured down with rain all day and I felt so sorry for everyone. Why are you asking?'

‘Oh, local research. So you don't think there's been any kind of big bash over there for four or five months?'

‘Nothing of the size you seem to be talking about,' said John. ‘We can't help but notice really due to the loud pop music that people can't seem to live without these days.'

‘Do they have many coach parties?'

The couple exchanged looks and John shook his head.

‘They must sometimes but we really can't say,' Elspeth said. ‘I'd probably notice if I was here as they'd have to leave it in full view – there's only a small car park with that big oak tree overhanging the entrance.'

‘And you haven't seen anything like that lately?'

‘No.'

Patrick changed the subject.

‘I can't imagine they do much in the way of outside catering either,' he reflected later, his mind still obviously on the pub.

‘Were there records of lots of bookings?' I asked.

‘Yes, dates in connection with discos, wedding receptions, office outings – but I realize the latter could probably be accommodated inside – birthday parties; one, like the weddings, with a marquee booked plus oceans of champagne, and Christmas bashes, only those are quite likely genuine. It adds up to a lot more events than it would appear have actually taken place. And according to Andrews' records there's a big customer in a service industry, an insurance company based in Bristol to which he provides catering for meetings and training sessions, etc. That's the only thing I've had a chance to check up on. The company doesn't exist.'

‘What's it all about then?'

‘Money laundering. To explain high profits. But the money's mostly coming in through the door in cardboard boxes disguised as something along the lines of food ordered for the kitchen. It's likely there are other scams involving stolen goods. It's the kind of thing Greenway was talking about.'

I went cold. ‘Matthew could have been killed.'

We gazed soberly at one another.

‘D'you think he's safe here?' I wondered. ‘Andrews must know you work for SOCA.'

‘I shall have to involve Greenway and Carrick.'

‘He could have been made just to disappear without trace if they thought he'd been nosing around in the office. He still could be.'

‘I'm staggered Andrews hasn't dropped the charges in an effort to draw attention away from the place. That's poor judgement.'

‘I don't think he's very intelligent – as well as being spiteful.'

‘You're probably right.'

‘Patrick, what are we going to
do
about this?'

‘The biggest problem is lack of formal evidence. I'm already going to get it in the neck over what we've discovered already.'

‘Look, I'm talking about
Matthew.
We ought to send him away somewhere safe.'

My mobile rang.

‘It's a girl!' James Carrick said jubilantly.

‘A daughter and both doing fine,' I reported to Patrick after conveying all due congratulations.

‘Yes, I'm talking about Matthew too,' he said, as though the call had not occurred. Then, ‘Do we have a bottle of fizz in the house?'

‘We usually do.'

‘I'll take it over when Carrick's home and talk to him about it.'

‘His brain'll be blown from lack of sleep and becoming a father.'

‘Surely not,' Patrick said absently. He went from the room to rummage in the kitchen.

Whatever the reason, Patrick could raise no one at the Carrick's old farmhouse when he drove over later, even though the DCI's car was parked outside.

Anxiety gnawed, like rats, at me. All the last of the tests and exams were over at school and the children were due to break up for the summer holiday in around a week's time. I felt I could not raise my concerns with the Youth Offending Team as to explain my worries would involve giving details of an ongoing police investigation. So there was the choice of either taking Matthew out of school and spiriting him away somewhere, possibly to my sister in Surrey, or not allowing him out of our sight. No, we had to talk to Carrick.

‘He's having a few days paternity leave,' Patrick reported early the following morning. ‘He's concerned about Matthew, of course, but not really interested in the reasons for our worries, even though I'd stepped out of line to get what is potentially new evidence. As you said, brain a bit blown. But he
will
contact the relevant Youth Offending bod and tell her we're taking the boy away for a while for his own safety. He doesn't have to go into details apparently as he's the officer in charge of the case.'

Relief washed over me.

‘Where does Matthew go then?' Patrick went on to ask. ‘It's a bit difficult with your sister in the States.'

I had forgotten all about their holiday in Florida. Sending him to his other grandmother was absolutely out of the question as she would doubtless forget to feed him and send him out to buy her cigarettes and booze. I do not get on with my mother – she has never forgiven me for marrying Patrick – and has always made herself so obnoxious to everyone, even those trying to help her, that I am afraid, one day, she is going to end up one of those elderly people who are discovered in their homes very, very dead.

‘DS Keen is running Carrick's cases, keeping in contact with him by phone,' Patrick went on. ‘I shall have to go in and assist.' He groaned. ‘Confession time again – to Mike.'

I did not learn of any consequences, if any, of that conversation until later when the pre-school chaos was over, leaving Matthew, puzzled as to why he had been told to stay at home, having a more leisurely than normal breakfast in the kitchen.

‘I'm missing the trip to Cheddar Gorge,' he said quietly.

‘We'll take you another time,' I promised.

‘Will someone phone in and say why I'm not there?'

‘Of course.'

‘
Why
aren't I going?'

Patrick had come in and heard the last question.

‘Because you're going to stay with someone in Berkshire who has a very large garden and wants you to help him with it as he hurt his shoulder a while back,' he said. ‘How are the muscles?'

Matthew looked down at his wiry arms. ‘I don't think I've got any. Do I have to go?'

‘I was only joking about the gardening. So cheer up – Mike has a lad about your age. But to answer the question properly – yes, you do.'

‘When are we going then?'

‘This afternoon. Now then  . . .' Patrick drew a chair up to the table. ‘I'd like you to tell me
everything
you saw when you had your second little snoop around the Ring o' Bells.'

Matthew's face fell. ‘Am I in more trouble?'

‘There's no need to look like a policeman,' I said quietly to Patrick.

‘No, my apologies and to be sure we're all in this together now,' Patrick responded in a strong Irish accent. Then in his own voice, ‘But this
is
work. Cast your mind back to that night. You climbed out of your bedroom window. What then?'

Matthew frowned. ‘I walked through the garden into the churchyard. It was quite light still so I could see where I was going. I went through the gate and crossed the road a bit farther down so I wouldn't have to walk across the middle of the village green where people might see me.'

‘Good thinking. Then what?'

‘I didn't see anyone except old Mrs Taylor taking her little dog for a walk and when I got there a man was sitting smoking outside the pub.'

‘What did he look like?'

‘I couldn't really see his face as I wasn't that close but he had red hair.'

‘Had you ever seen him before?'

‘I don't
think
so.'

‘OK, go on.'

‘I didn't dare go near the front of the place at all and tried to look as though I was going to see someone in one of the houses up the lane at the back. But I went in through the gates behind the pub. There wasn't anyone around.'

‘No, it was almost closing time. Any cars parked there?'

‘Only the big four-by-four that belongs to Mr Andrews. I couldn't see the car park from where I was but there were several cars out the front.'

‘One of which could have belonged to the man with red hair.'

‘He was sitting quite close to a nice green sports car.'

‘D'you know what it was?'

‘No, but it was old. An MG or something like that.'

‘Then you went in the rear door?'

‘After I'd stood quietly for a little while in case someone came. I went straight back to the office where the computer was and—'

‘There was a computer?'

‘Yes, a Dell.'

Patrick turned to me. ‘Did you notice it when you were called there?'

I shook my head. ‘No, I was too worried about the kids to notice much at all.'

‘I'd started playing around with it when Katie and I were there earlier,' Matthew continued. ‘People use the stupidest obvious passwords. I'd already got into it just by keying in ROB and had just managed to shut it down when we'd heard Andrews coming and ran back into the storeroom. That's why I went back, to try to find out more.'

‘Please try to remember anything that might be useful.'

‘I couldn't possibly remember all of it. It was mostly loads of names and figures.'

‘No, of course not,' Patrick said with a sympathetic smile.

‘So I sent that file and a couple of others to my computer here. Then the dog found me.' Ruefully Matthew added, ‘I kept quiet about what I'd done in case I got into even more trouble.'

Sometimes, moments of pure pleasure have to be prolonged and there was an appropriate silence.

‘Do you still have all this stuff?' Patrick asked.

‘Yes.'

‘May SOCA have it?'

‘Of course,' Matthew answered with a grin.

Patrick took a deep breath and let it go on a delighted sigh. ‘You know, Ingrid, sometimes adults can be really
thick.
If someone had enquired of this young man a little further before now  . . .' And then to Matthew, ‘What everyone's been telling you about trespassing still applies.
Don't
do it. You'll still probably get some kind of official telling off but my reprimand will be in the form of a hundred quid spending money for your holiday provided you don't ask any more questions about this,
whatever happens,
and keep it all very much to yourself. Promise?'

‘I promise,' Matthew said.

NINE

M
oments later DS Keen rang in a state of some excitement with the news that Gilly Darke had been arrested the night before for being drunk and disorderly. Despite diligent searching she had not been located since the night when Lynn Outhwaite had spotted her in the restaurant and was now, having been put in a cell overnight to sober up, spitting mad at being further detained.

The answer to his question to Patrick as to whether he would like to question her was predictable.

I had thought Lynn's summing up of the woman's outward appearance to be the product of boredom, resentment and a leg in plaster but on following Patrick into interview room one I had to give the girl her due. In fact, to describe Darke, who was probably in her late forties, as resembling anything to do with that most clean of animals was an unkindness to pigs. In short, she was filthy. Spending the night in a police cell notwithstanding it was not so much the musty-smelling clothing, muzzed-up dyed black hair and smeared make-up as the obvious fact that the latter had been applied over grime. Her fingernails beneath chipped bright red polish were full of dirt, the black high-heeled shoes scuffed – this last fact perfectly obvious because as we entered she snatched off one of them and wildly threw it at Patrick. He caught it.

‘I'll have the other one too, if you don't mind,' he said quietly.

‘Fuck off,' the woman mouthed at him.

‘Otherwise we'll upend you on the floor and remove it ourselves.'

‘I know my rights,' she whispered with a triumphant smirk.

Patrick looked at me. ‘OK?'

We moved in on her.

‘OK, OK, keep your soddin' hair on!' Darke whinnied, pulling the remaining shoe off and throwing that too, at me this time, but Patrick still fielded it. No doubt relieved at not having to touch her, he took them outside.

The formalities over, Patrick said, ‘You'll shortly be charged with being drunk and disorderly last night but as far as this little chat's concerned you're not actually under arrest in connection with the recent shootings in the city; I just want to ask you a few questions.'

‘Shootings!' the woman blared. ‘I didn't have nothin' to do with that!'

‘It'll save a lot of bother and wasted time if you cooperate,' Patrick went on as inexorably as a combine harvester. ‘You were seen in a Bath restaurant just after it happened by a police officer, in the company of any number of hoodlums, local and otherwise. It's a waste of breath to deny it.'