Sight Unseen (24 page)

* * *

Umber should have phoned Larter and warned him of his return, but could not bring himself to, knowing that, if he did, he would have to explain why he was leaving Jersey. It was not as if he had made any progress towards securing Sharp's release from prison. He was, however he chose to present it, fleeing the scene of a crime. What the nature of the crime was he could not exactly have said. But to inflict the loss of another child on Jane Questred and Oliver Hall was unforgivably cruel. They would certainly not forgive him when they learned from Chantelle of the part he had played in driving Jeremy to his death. They would travel to Jersey as soon as the news reached them. Umber must not be there when they arrived. He could not look them in the face and tell them what had happened -- how he had watched, helplessly but culpably, their son's self-destruction. He could not. And he would not.

* * *

He took a taxi to the Airport in the morning, rather than a bus, thereby avoiding a diversion through St Aubin. Once inside the terminal building he behaved almost like a fugitive, fearing Oliver Hall might fly in before he left, improbable though that was. It did not happen. Umber boarded the flight to Gatwick and watched Jersey shrink behind him as the plane climbed away to the west. Then it turned, kestrel-like, across the sky. And the island vanished from his sight.

* * *

It was nearly one o'clock when Umber reached Ilford. He checked the Sheepwalk on his way to Bengal Road from the station. Larter was not there. Nor did he seem to be at home. There was no answer to the bell. Umber stood on the doorstep, wondering how long the old boy might be gone.

'David!'

He turned, half-recognizing the voice before he saw who had called to him, but surprised nonetheless when he actually set eyes on Claire Wheatley. She was standing by a sleek blue TVR, holding open the driver's door on the opposite side of the street. He hurried across to join her.

'Surprised to see me?' There was an edge to her tone, of hostility or anxiety -- he could not decide which.

'Yes, I
am
surprised. What's brought you all the way out here, Claire?'

'You. I got the address from Alice.'

'What have I done?'

'I don't know. You tell me.'

'I'm not with you.'

'Where have you been since Tuesday?'

'Why do you want to know?'

'Alice told me about picking you up from the hospital in Reading, David. And why she had to. Your run-in with the people who were looking for Wisby. Remember that?'

'Of course I remember it.'

'It seems to have sparked something off.'

'Oh yes?'

'Get in the car. I'll tell you on the way.'

'On the way where?'

'Whipps Cross Hospital. You'll be wanting to visit your friend, Bill Larter. According to one of his neighbours, that's where he is.'

'Bill's in hospital?'

'The house was burgled last night, apparently. He tackled the burglars and got beaten up. The neighbour didn't know how badly. Shall we go and find out?'

* * *

Umber was too shocked to argue even if he had wanted to. Before he could articulate a response to Claire's news, she had hustled him into the car and driven away. And then she had started to tell him the rest of her news.

'The practice was broken into on Wednesday night. The police reckoned the intruders were looking for drugs and didn't have the brains to realize a psychotherapist isn't a psychiatrist. They certainly made a hell of a mess. But I think that was just camouflage. They went through my client files, yet nothing was taken. Do you know what they were looking for, David? Of course you do.'

'Your notes on Sally,' Umber responded glumly.

'Has to be, doesn't it? I destroyed them a year after Sally's death, as it happens, so they went away empty-handed. Last night they tried their luck here. That's three break-ins, counting the raid on Wisby's boat. So, what exactly are they after, David?'

'I'm not sure.'

'Try guessing.'

'All right. At a guess, I'd say they're trying to figure out how close Sally was to the truth. And whether any of us know as much as she knew.'

'That's my guess too. So, thanks for dragging me into this. It's all I was short of. I've had to move in with Alice in case they come to my house, though I'm not sure
her
house is much safer in the circumstances. My life's been turned upside down since you called round for a confidential lunchtime chat. The way I see it, you were either followed or you told someone about me -- someone you shouldn't have trusted.'

'Marilyn Hall,' he murmured. The sequence of events assembled themselves with sickening logic in Umber's mind. He had mentioned Claire when he had called at Kingsley House in search of Oliver Hall. He had mentioned Wisby too. 'I
am
sorry, Claire. Really. I'm afraid things are worse than you think.'

'How can they be?'

'Easily. As you'll understand when I tell you what I've been doing since Tuesday.'

* * *

Claire had pulled into the car park at Whipps Cross Hospital by the time Umber had finished his account. She turned off the engine and said nothing at first, tapping her nose against a crooked index finger, her lips parted, her gaze unfocused. When eventually she spoke, it was in a pensive undertone.

'I guess I owe you an apology, David.'

'What for?'

'Denying you were onto something. Insisting Sally couldn't have been murdered. Advising you, even if not in so many words, to pull yourself together.'

'We're even then. I never intended to drag you into this.'

'No? Well, I'm in it now.'

'I doubt you really need to worry. The raid on your practice was probably just a precaution. Like you said, they drew a blank. They can't afford to attract too much attention to themselves. I think they'll leave you alone from now on.'

'You do, do you?' She turned to look at him.

'I hope so.'

'Me too.' She sighed. 'Go and see your friend, David. I'll wait here.'

* * *

Umber had to claim a blood relationship with Larter before he was allowed in to see him. The old man was in poor shape, broken ribs having led to a collapsed lung. He had a suction tube in his chest and oxygen on tap to aid his breathing. A split lip was a further obstacle to speech and the sister instructed Umber to keep their conversation to a minimum.

'Lucky... I didn't have... my teeth in,' Larter wheezily joked. 'I'd probably have had them... knocked down my throat.'

'Were there two of them, Bill?'

'Yeah. Smug-looking geezer... and some shaven-headed bruiser... with a baseball bat.'

'Did they say what they were after?'

'Not
what... Who.'
Larter pointed a shaky finger at Umber. 'Thought I could... take them on.' He managed a weak grin. 'Bloody stupid of me.'

'I'm sorry, Bill. This is all getting way out of hand.'

'Yeah.' Another grin. 'I'll have them... keep a bed for you... Maybe George is better off... where he is.'

'Yes. Maybe he is.'

'Word of advice, son.'

'What?'

'Don't hold back... It's too late... for that. It's them... or you.'

* * *

Before leaving the hospital. Umber promised Larter he would board up the window Walsh and baseball-bat man had broken during the break-in. He had the keys to the house and permission to stay there as long as he needed to. As it turned out, however, Claire had other ideas about his accommodation.

'I've just spoken to Alice. She suggested you stay at her house for the duration.'

'There's no need for that.'

'Isn't there?' Claire's look suggested otherwise.

'Safety in numbers, you mean? All right. If Alice insists.'

'It's more than that. We have to decide what to do for the best, David. I don't want to have to schlep out to Ilford to talk it over with you.'

'We can talk it over now.'

'No. I have to see a man about a new lock. Tonight, at Alice's, the three of us:
that's
when we'll talk.'

* * *

At 45 Bengal Road, Umber found some chipboard and tools in the garden shed, as Larter had said he would. He knocked out the broken glass from the smashed pane in the back door and covered the gap as best he could.

Then he busied himself on the telephone. The one meagre consolation he could take from what had happened in Jersey was that Wisby had got away with less than he must have reckoned on. The inscription had been removed from his stolen Junius. There had to be a reason for that -- a reason that might reveal some of what Jeremy Hall could have told them had he chosen to. The only advantage Umber possessed over Wisby was his historical training. There was still a trail he could follow that might lead to Junius -- and the secret contained in the inscription.

Several phone calls later, he had established that the Ventry Papers were held at the Staffordshire County Record Office. Not Derby, Nottingham or Leicester, then, but Stafford. With the weekend looming, he would have to wait until Monday to inspect them. That felt like a preposterously long time in his present state of mind, but Monday it would have to be.

* * *

It was late afternoon when he left Ilford, but he did not go straight to Hampstead. Guilt and anxiety were gnawing at him as sharply as ever. From Liverpool Street he took the Tube to Bond Street and walked down to Kingsley House. A damp dusk was descending on Mayfair. It was more than dark enough for the lights to be on in the Halls' apartment. But none were. Umber risked a word with the porter manning the desk in the lobby.

'Mr and Mrs Hall have gone away, sir.'

'That must have been sudden. I told them I might drop by this evening. They didn't say anything that suggested they mightn't be here.'

The porter smiled tightly. 'Perhaps they changed their plans.'

'Have they gone to Jersey?'

'I couldn't say, sir.'

But Umber could. He knew exactly where they had gone. And why.

'Do you want to leave a message in case they phone?' the porter asked.

'No.' Umber turned towards the exit. 'No message.'

Dusk had given way to night by the time Umber reached Hampstead. He walked up Willow Hill, steeling himself for the accusations Alice and Claire had every right to throw at him. He had no adequate response prepared, nor any course of action to suggest that might lead them out of their difficulties. George Sharp in prison, Bill Larter in hospital and Jeremy Hall dead: they were the bitter sum of his achievements to date.

* * *

'Good of you to join us,' was Alice's sarcastic greeting. She had been hitting the gin, to judge by the half-empty tumbler of something with lemon clutched in her hand as she opened the door of number 22, not to mention the heaviness of her tread as she led him into the drawing room.

An aroma of fresh paint still lingered in the room. Redecoration was evidently complete. Some platitudinous enthusing over the colour scheme died on Umber's lips. Claire, who was sitting by the fire with a mug of green tea, rolled her eyes at him as Alice pulled round a chair.

'Would you like some tea, David?' Claire asked.

'I expect he'd prefer a beer,' said Alice.

Umber shrugged. 'Whatever.'

'Either way, it's in the kitchen. Help yourself.'

Umber shrugged again, this time for Claire's benefit, and made his way to the kitchen. He found a bottle of Grolsch in the fridge. While he was hunting down a glass, he caught a drift of words from the drawing room, but could not make them out. Claire was speaking, in an undertone. Only Alice's response was audible. 'Why should I?'

* * *

'It goes without saying that I'm sorry for dragging you both into this,' Umber ventured as he rejoined them. 'I never intended to cause you any trouble.'

'What did you intend to do?' Alice snapped.

'Learn the truth.' He sat down and countered her glare with a level gaze. 'If I could.'

'Find one more to your liking, you mean.'

'There's only one truth, Alice. And it's not what we thought.'

'I'm not going to start believing Sally was murdered just because you've stirred up a hornets' nest.'

'I think you may have to.'

'I was here when it happened. You weren't. Sally was alone when she died. There was no intruder. No murderer.'

'You can't be absolutely certain of that, Alice,' put in Claire.

Alice tossed her head pettishly. 'Not you too.'

'We need to consider every possibility.'

'OK, then. Consider this. How did the murderer get in?'

'Perhaps Sally invited him in.'

'Then promptly took a bath? Get real, for God's sake.'

'It was a summer's evening. She'd have had the windows open, presumably.'