The Chinese Takeout (20 page)

He gaped. ‘What business do you suppose they mean?’

‘Scones? Meat? Wild garlic? Or is it just the questions you asked? Here are the police now, by the look of it.’ The blue light touched the treetops and hedges weirdly. Blues but not twos – this was the countryside, after all. ‘I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ It was cold and I was tired and I was furious.

Who with, I wasn’t quite sure. OK, Tony – with whom.

Although it was very late, or even fairly early, when we got back, I was so pulsing with adrenaline that I could have cleaned the kitchen twice over, defrosting the fridge for good measure. But the scullions had done their usual brilliant job. To my surprise Pix presented me with a glass of my own brandy – the sort I have seen charged at a hundred pounds a glass.

You couldn’t drink stuff that good standing up, so I found a stool and gestured to them to help themselves too.

‘Wasted on me,’ Robin said, helping himself to a Beck’s, while Pix tasted an eye-dropperful. ‘Thing is, Josie, we’re a bit worried about you, especially after tonight. Well, the farm business, too. It isn’t all that long ago that people dropped all sorts of
nastiness on your doorstep – and not to mention trying to blow the place up,’ he added, dropping his voice although Lucy had been despatched to bed ages ago.

‘If anyone tries anything nasty, they’ll have to smile while they’re doing it.’

‘It’s all very well having security cameras and alarms and the rest of it. But what if they took a pot shot at you out of camera-range?’

‘They’d have to be damned good shots. I paid extra for the cameras to track, remember. But I take your point. And I’ll raise it with the police tomorrow, first thing.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Which can’t be many hours away now.’

They took the hint, but with obvious reluctance. Pix turned. ‘What with one thing and another, I shall be glad when Nick’s back. You listen to him.’

‘Sometimes,’ Robin grunted.

The mobile phone photographers had sent me their snaps via my computer, and I duly printed them off. I also circulated them to all the restaurateurs in our organisation. But I didn’t think many of them would be similarly bothered. Not unless they were asking awkward questions about chicken suppliers and baking scones for their neighbours. There was no email address on Bernie’s card or on Lawton’s, so they’d have to make a personal appearance for me to pass them on.

Thence to my phone. No, no message from Andy. Nor one on the answerphone. Was I relieved or miffed? But by then the brandy was kicking in, and I discovered I didn’t care either way, so long as I could tumble into my bed.

Dim I might have been after all my nocturnal activities, but even before nine in the morning I could tell a detective chief inspector in his later forties from a detective inspector in her thirties. Especially when the male officer spent a possibly narcissistic amount of time on his physique and his appearance.

Thank goodness I always started the day with stretches and a shower; thank goodness for my diet and my daily walks; thank goodness for a job that demanded chic at a time I’d much rather have been in bed.

No, it wasn’t because I wanted to pull him. A couple of years ago it might have been. And I had to admit he was terribly personable, with a smile that positively caressed and the sort of suit and shoes I’d have loved to kit Andy out in. If he hadn’t been a dog-collar man, I’d certainly have bought him a tie like that too. Silk, the sort of quality you could only get in one shop in Exeter.

It was because in my experience men like that
disregarded women who weren’t equally spruce and elegant. Looked straight through them. I’d been there, remember, the tub of lard. The thinner I got, the better clothes I bought; when I didn’t have to pretend to be just another woman from a sink estate, the more attention I got. Polite attention, mind, not just the appraising sort.

DCI Burford cast the same sort of eye around my apartment as the Martins had. ‘Left you well off, did he, Mrs Welford?’

‘A lot of hard work and wise investments,’ I countered. ‘Mine. I’ve been all through this with so many people, Mr Burford, you’ll excuse me if I don’t rehearse it again with you?’

‘Not my case. But I’m always open to spontaneous confessions,’ he added, with a smile to die for.

‘A cup of coffee is more likely.’

He shook his head seriously. ‘I’d rather have water, please. Out of the tap.’

A body as temple man, perhaps. Who was I to argue? I joined him, adding lime and ice-cubes to Adam’s ale in fine crystal tumblers. Fine, but not my finest. Since I hadn’t yet breakfasted, I laid out the pastries Pix had produced when he’d done today’s batch of scones. Robin had couriered them down: I expected a detailed report when he returned.

‘So why do I no longer merit a bright and
hard-working
DI?’

‘You merit an equally bright and equally hard-working
DCI. I’m part of an MIT that has taken over the St Jude’s murders case. And I gather you’ve been having what may or may not be problems associated with my case.’

My case
: a tad possessive, since it had taken over a week for him to take it on. How did Lawton feel about the move?

‘Certain problems, yes. Which may or may not simply be associated with my business. I’ve been trying to source cheaper poultry, Mr Burford, and my enquiries have produced no chicken but a lot of interest. And it’s not a figment of my imagination: your colleagues will have no doubt reported on the threat in a bottle one of my neighbours received, presumably from the same source.’

‘Heinz or HP?’

Oh, we were a wit, were we? I granted him a token smile.

‘So why should people object to your wanting cheaper chicken?’

‘Because I think – and you may have the evidence to support or contradict this – that Tang—’

‘That’s the dead Chinese lad, right?’

A token nod, this time. Even newcomers – especially newcomers? – should be up to speed. Despite his shapely ankles, clad in the sort of socks I used to buy Tony as a welcome home present, I got less impressed by the moment. At least, most of the time, Lawton had seemed interested, if ultimately out of her depth. OK, and antagonistic – or
attracted – to Nick. ‘Have his clothes shown anything interesting?’ I asked. ‘I found them in the compost maker at the rectory.’

His eyes widened, then narrowed with something like hostility. ‘And why would you look for them there?’

‘More to the point, why didn’t your colleagues find them there?’ My eyes and voice went into senior management mode. ‘All trained officers, presumably – you’d expect them to explore every nook and cranny. I found them when I was throwing out dead geraniums,’ I added blazing all my charm guns at him, just when he wasn’t expecting it.

He responded with an A grade smile. ‘As far as I know, the bag’s still with the forensic science people. But you’re expecting it to have—?’

‘The clothes stank. Something foetid. Rotting flesh. Maybe human, if he killed someone, but maybe – and this would be my theory – dead animal or chicken. Chicken because he wouldn’t touch cooked chicken.’

‘So you weren’t really trying to source chicken? Not for use in your restaurant? You were trying to get some handle on – what? Somewhere Tang might have worked? Forgive me, Mrs Welford, but I don’t see chickens turning up with “killed by Tang” stamped all over them.’

My nod suggested that he, as an Alpha male, was of course right, and I was a Silly Billy.

‘Why do you think Tang and Tim were killed, then?’ I asked. Gotcha!

‘This is why the MIT has been brought in, Mrs Welford. And we shall certainly look into the chicken connection. Thank you very much.’ He stood, eyeing the spare pastries.

As if absent-mindedly I passed the plate. Equally absent-mindedly he took another.

‘And of course,’ I added, ‘there’s always the problem of whatever crime Tang sought sanctuary for. Isn’t there? A problem which has been systematically ignored by everyone.’ Including myself, but I didn’t add that.

‘Hospital?’ I echoed. ‘And they’re keeping her in?’ I sat heavily on a kitchen stool.

Robin nodded. ‘Apparently they wanted Abby to stay in last check up, but she said Dan couldn’t spare her. Well, he’s got to now. Till she pods, I should think. And now he’s wringing his hands saying he doesn’t know how to manage. I guess it’d be financially as much as anything else. I don’t suppose that tea and scones venture brings in more than fifty quid a week, maybe more if they have a fine weekend, but it seems to me that’s what they live on. That,’ he added, looking hard at me, ‘and the wild garlic.’

‘Which is vital for your wild garlic risotto, wild garlic soup and butter-braised wild garlic,’ I said, smiling innocently.

‘Absolutely, gaffer,’ he responded. ‘Even at £10 a kilo. So how are we going to keep them afloat, eh?’

My shock was genuine. ‘We? Are you off your head, Robin? We’re fully stretched here – more, with me gadding around hither and there.’

‘The cooking’s no problem. It’s just finding someone to serve the teas.’

‘“Just” finding someone. The age of miracles is past, kid.’ But when his face fell like that, what else could I do? ‘Or maybe, just maybe, it isn’t. Leave it with me. And by the way,’ I added, patting his arm before I headed back upstairs, ‘you’re a nice lad – you know that?’

‘I’m sorry everything’s such a mess,’ Annie apologised.

All her cottage showed was that she was just back from her holiday, with a pile of unopened mail on the hall table and the sound of a
washing-machine
already in action.

‘Doesn’t look messy to me. And I’m sorry I came at an inconvenient time. Only I needed some help and thought of you.’

‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it? And you can fill me in on what the police have found so far.’

I sat. The Regency day bed she used as a sofa was as excruciating as it was elegant. I kept the narrative brief. It could have been briefer but I wasn’t sure how she’d respond to a single four-letter
word before ‘all’. And in any case, Tony never liked to hear me use the word, except in an appropriate context.

‘No wonder they’ve handed it over to a specialist team,’ she summed up for me. ‘And those poor boys denied a burial. Dear me. I almost wish I’d stayed away a bit longer, but I could hear the garden calling me. You know how it is. You plan a low-maintenance life, and need to add a bit more spice to it because it’s so bland, and next thing you know you’ve got a water feature and fish to worry about. And still have time round the edges.’

‘That’s music to my ears! Annie, I know you’ve got your CAB commitment – but could you take something else on? Maybe just for a few days – maybe for a good deal longer?’ I explained. ‘But before you say anything, I ought to warn you: someone disapproved of my connections with the place – they sent a warning message in a bottle last night.’

Her chin went up. ‘All the more reason to get involved, then. Count me in, Josie. I bet there are a couple of other ladies from St Jude’s we could involve, too.’

‘They’d have to know the risk.’

‘That’s about the only advantage of growing old I can think of: even thugs tend to treat you more gently.’

I would have argued, but she embarked on a
reminiscence of her teaching days, and I didn’t want to interrupt.

As I stood, eventually, to go – my bum announcing that it simply would not countenance another minute on the unyielding springs – she asked, ‘Was this Andrew Braithwaite’s idea?’

I nearly sat down again. ‘No. Why should it be?’

‘I just wondered. He seems such an imaginative man. Very attractive too,’ she added, shooting a look from beneath her eyebrows.

‘Very,’ I said.

‘But already spoken for, I’d say.’

‘He has a lady friend?’ I was quite pleased by my choice of term, given the shock.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘By whom, then?’

‘By God.’

I popped the portable CD player, with a supply of batteries and a selection of discs, on Abigail’s bedside cabinet, plus a pile of glossy mags she might just care to leaf through. ‘You’re looking better already,’ I told her, almost truthfully.

‘Don’t tell Dan, or he’ll want me straight back again.’

I didn’t think she was joking. ‘Of course he misses you.’

She dismissed the platitude with the sniff it deserved. ‘Misses the work I do, more like.’

‘Well, he won’t be missing that, not if the ladies
of St Jude’s have anything to do with it. The afternoon teas, at least. And one of them swears she enjoys cleaning. Truly!’

‘You’re having me on.’

‘Why should I do that? It gives them something to do, Abigail – they can’t lovingly polish the church or tend the graveyard, not till the police say they can. Their families have moved away. They’ll be operating in pairs so they’ll have a bit of company. It’ll work, I promise you. Because Annie Bryant’s running it.’

‘Not you?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry: I truly don’t have the time. Which is why I have to dash. I’m so sorry.’

To the shops. If that nightie was the best she could manage, I’d better hit Taunton fast. A couple of places on my own behalf. Marks and Sparks for Abby’s nighties and some flowers. I couldn’t trust Dan to take either, though I didn’t say so to his face as I handed them over at the farm gate.

‘Don’t you dare let on who they came from!’

‘I don’t want your charity.’

‘How about they’re an apology for disturbing your sleep last night? Come on, man, you don’t have time to shop, but it’ll do her heart good to think you did. Won’t it? How did Annie get on, by the way?’

He looked at me hard. ‘Like you. Like a bloody whirlwind.’

Whirlwind? All I wanted to do was sleep when at last I got back to the White Hart. That, and pop aspirin for a vicious headache. But I had scarcely ten minutes before I had to be on duty. The bookings file showed we were pretty full again, and this only a Thursday. Friday and Saturday evenings were already booked out, and not even Jamie Oliver would get a table for the next three Sunday lunches. We’d have to get more staff. No argument. At very least someone we could call on for emergencies. It wasn’t fair to put pressure on Lucy, not when she had exams to worry about.

There were a couple of messages on the answerphone, and my mobile had a couple of calls I hadn’t taken. Damn it, they could wait till I’d had a cup of tea.

Better still, a stiff gin and tonic. A very stiff gin and tonic.

Crazy. You start drinking on your own in this business and you might as well book in for the next session of AA.

Green tea, then, and the quickest shower going.

Just as I’d undressed, the phone rang. Nick.

I never thought I’d say it, albeit strictly under my breath: ‘Thank goodness you’re coming back!’

But he wasn’t. He was ringing to say he’d picked up some bug. He was sure it was flu, but since he’d been in contact with all that vile meat, Elly had insisted he stay put. I never argued with Elly and this wasn’t the time to begin.

‘Everything’s absolutely fine down here,’ I insisted. ‘And Elly’s right: if you’re not better in the morning, you get into A and E and insist you have the proper tests.’

‘OK. I will.’

His docility worried me: he must really be ill. Ebola Fever! All those zoonoses – animal diseases that could attack humans – I’d read about on the Internet! What if he didn’t make it through the night? If only Andy and I were on speaking terms, and I could ask him to have a quiet word with his Boss.