Time to Pay (38 page)

His directions were precise, and easy to remember, which was as well, because he warned Gideon against committing them to paper.

‘He'll know you've been here. Watch your back.'

‘You keep saying he, was there only one?'

‘Dunno. One guy hit me from behind and held me down, but there might have been more. He wanted to know where the book was, but I wasn't about to tell him. Then the bastard did this . . .' With the hand that wasn't stroking the dog, he gestured at his injuries.

‘Were you an army man?' Something about his neatness, his composure, suggested it.

‘I was . . . once.' Reuben looked down at the dog, which was lying with its muzzle on its master's chest, and his body language plainly said that the subject was closed.

Gideon wandered to the end of the bed. At the top of the form on the clipboard somebody had written
Reuben (?).
It seemed that, so far, their patient had managed to protect his anonymity.

‘I guess, for you – after the copse – this must be hell,' he said sympathetically, leaning on the rail.

‘I'll leave tomorrow.'

Gideon had an idea the staff might have something to say about that, but he didn't give much for their chances of stopping him.

‘What did you tell the police?'

‘Nothin'. Said I couldn't remember.'

‘Where will you go?'

‘Home. Back to the woods.'

‘It's a crime scene . . . They'll have it taped off.'

‘I'll wait. Will you bring Buddy, in a day or two?'

‘Yes, of course, but what if whoever did this comes back? If you didn't give him the diary, aren't you afraid he'll try again?'

‘If he does, I'll be ready.'

Gideon nodded. He had a feeling it was no more than the truth.

WHEN GIDEON LEFT
Reuben, leading a very reluctant Buddy, he found Tilly seated in a waiting area a little way down the corridor, drinking coffee from a polystyrene cup.

‘What did you find out? Does he still have the diary?'

‘He's hidden it. He told me where it is, and he wants me to take it off his hands.'

‘So why couldn't he tell you that with me there? I mean - no offence – but it hasn't really got anything to do with you. After all, Damien was
my
brother.'

‘I think it was because Damien told Reuben he didn't want you involved. Perhaps he guessed it might be dangerous.'

‘So you
do
think it has something to do with his death.'

It seemed only fair to tell her.

‘It looks that way, yes. Reuben thought so.'

Looking suddenly bleak, Tilly squashed her empty cup and dropped it in a nearby bin.
Together they began to retrace their steps towards the exit, the dog padding resignedly behind. After a moment, Tilly pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose.

‘Sorry, it still catches me unawares sometimes,' she said, straightening her back determinedly.

Gideon gave her arm a brief rub but said nothing.

‘What I don't understand,' she went on, ‘is why Damien didn't just go to the police if he found something important in the diary.'

Gideon pursed his lips and shrugged.

‘Perhaps he was intending to but just asked one question too many before he had a chance. Who knows?' he said, still evading the blackmail issue.

They walked in silence for a spell, Gideon wishing he knew what Tilly intended doing. If there were any way to avoid it, he would still prefer not to hand the matter over to the authorities just yet, at least until he had had time to judge the importance of the diary for himself.

‘What do you want to do?' he asked finally.

‘Well, the first step is obviously to find this bloody diary and see just what it does say. Then we can decide what's best to do with it.'

‘And the police?'

‘If it's got anything to do with Damien's murder, then we have to give it to them, don't we? But I want to see it first. If you're right, and it
is
about Marcus and what happened at Ponsonby, it's family business and we have a right to know.' She paused, shaking her head. ‘I still find it hard to believe that Damien would keep
something like that to himself. We were always so close.'

Turning a corner, they came face to face with a grey-haired man wearing a raincoat over a rather tired-looking suit. The man stopped, a look of recognition spreading over his features.

Detective Inspector Rockley.

Gideon cursed inwardly. He'd guessed Rockley would seek them out sooner or later, but he'd hoped it would be later. It was fortunate that, as yet, he knew nothing of the existence of Julian Norris' diary, but Gideon was painfully conscious of what they had been saying just moments before.

If Rockley had overheard, he gave no sign of it.

‘Ah! Miss Daniels; Mr Blake. I was going to come and find you tomorrow. I understand you found our mystery man in the woods. Would you by any chance have a minute to spare?'

‘Er, well, we were just trying to sneak the dog out,' Gideon confided. ‘He really shouldn't be here.'

‘Well, in that case, we could either talk outside in the cold, or maybe I could find someone to let us have the use of an office or something for five minutes. I'm sure there are several empty, this time of night, and I should think the dog would be excused for a short time. Ah – nurse, have you got a moment?'

Because he was waiting to see whether Tilly stood by their half-formed agreement to keep the existence of the diary a secret, the interview with Rockley, though not long, was uncomfortable, for
Gideon at least. Honest by nature and upbringing, he didn't relish the idea of being less than truthful with the detective, for whom he had a great deal of respect.

Rockley didn't seem overly surprised that Tilly could give him no further information on the charcoal burner, not even to the extent of being able to say for sure whether Reuben was his first or last name.

The nurse had brought tea and a plate of bourbon biscuits for them, and, seated at the desk of some absent consultant, the policeman took full advantage of both. He listened while Gideon and Tilly gave him their account of the morning's events and, probably because it was the partial truth, he accepted without demur their story of the sheep's presence on the gallops having led them to search the woodsman out.

‘Has he told you anything about the attack?' Rockley asked. ‘He was particularly unforthcoming when I visited him earlier. I think he would have liked me to believe he was a few peas short of a pod, but I don't think there's a lot wrong with his intellect. Did you get on any better?'

‘He said they took him by surprise,' Gideon reported. ‘Apparently he was feeding his dog – this dog – when they hit him from behind. He doesn't know who it was. Or if he does, he wasn't telling.'

‘And he doesn't know why?'

Gideon shrugged. ‘He's not a talkative kind of bloke.'

‘You know . . .' Rockley said, dunking a
biscuit in his tea for what Gideon felt was a dangerously long time, ‘I can't help thinking there must be more to this than meets the eye. First your brother's murder,' this with a nod towards Tilly, ‘then the house is broken into, and now this . . .'

‘You think it's connected?' Gideon injected incredulity into his tone. ‘But I thought you were satisfied that Tetley shot Damien.'

‘Well, it seems that way.' Rockley took another bourbon cream. ‘But what I'm seeing is a whole bunch of loose ends, and I don't like loose ends. I don't like 'em at all.'

The diary was hidden in a large plastic sandwich box, ten feet up in the hollow trunk of a gnarled ash on the edge of Reuben's copse.

Gideon had made his way to the wood the morning after visiting the hospital and, mindful of Reuben's warning, he'd gone alone. Just supposing someone really
was
watching, it would be virtually impossible to reach the copse undetected, starting out from the farm. Gideon thought it unlikely that Reuben's attacker would be in a hurry to return to the scene of his crime, but on the other hand, if he suspected that Gideon knew where to find the diary, he might quite well lie in wait to relieve him of it on his return.

Leaving the Gatehouse by the way of the Priory drive and Home Farm Lane, and setting off in the opposite direction to that of his destination, Gideon arrived on the outskirts of Puddlestone Farm's land feeling fairly confident that he hadn't been followed. He parked in a field gateway, some two
miles from Reuben's copse, and with Zebedee bounding happily at his heels and an Ordnance Survey Explorer map in his hand, found his way across country to the south corner of the wood. Here, following Reuben's efficient directions, he almost immediately happened upon the stile beside which grew the hollow ash he'd come to find.

Having called upon almost forgotten childhood tree-climbing skills in order to retrieve the plastic box, Gideon lost no time in opening it. It had, in the months it had lain hidden, accumulated on its surface a partial coating of algae, several rotting leaves and a deposit left by a sheltering bird, and, in spite of being watertight, the inside was clammy with condensation. Luckily, Damien had had the foresight to seal the diary itself in a plastic bag, through which Gideon could make out Julian Norris' initials and a date written on the spine.

Suddenly, he found himself feeling rather vulnerable. Someone had wanted this handwritten journal so badly that he'd been prepared to beat a man half to death to discover its whereabouts. Where was that someone now?

Gideon couldn't resist glancing around him, but there was nothing to be seen except the budding hazel coppice with its carpet of bluebell leaves promising glory to come. Zebedee, who'd been wandering to and fro, happily snuffling amongst the wet leaf mould, was now sitting about a yard away, nose up scenting the air. Gideon took comfort from the thought that the dog's sharp eyes and ears would discern any approaching person at some distance.

Wondering if Reuben had indeed discharged
himself from the hospital, he tucked the grubby box in the poacher's pocket of his oiled-cotton coat and had turned to retrace his steps before a disturbing thought struck him.

Damien had been shot, and although Gideon could derive some reassurance from the knowledge that his murderer was accounted for, was this false security? There were four more men on the list he'd made who were still alive and at large, and, by the very nature of their sport, all four would be expert marksmen.

But surely, he reasoned as he trudged back across the wet grass, however great the provocation, the chances of finding more than one man who was prepared to commit murder, in a group of five unrelated men, had to be infinitesimal.

Trying to ignore the slightly uncomfortable sensation between his shoulder blades, Gideon let himself through a gate in the hedge and started across the open space beyond.

Friday April 23
^rd
– Day Six

Six days down, eight to go. It was my turn to ride the grey this morning. I wasn't looking forward to it after he played up with Robin yesterday, but actually, it was OK. I got a clear round and Harry said he went well for me. Got a bollocking this afternoon, though. That Major Clemence is a bastard. I was running as fast as I could but there's no way I could keep up with Marcus and Timothy Landless. Even Lloyd was struggling. Clemence keeps calling him ‘Old Man' which is really making him mad!

I don't know what I'm doing here. I'm worst at everything except the shooting and fencing. If it wasn't for Marcus, I think I'd leave, but I promised Damien and I don't want to let him down. Marcus has been quiet all day ~ it was his eighteenth birthday and I think maybe he was homesick, poor kid. Chef made him a cake at tea, which we all helped him eat. Bed early tonight, the others were teasing me but I need all the sleep I can get!

Monday April 26
^th

Oh God, this is a nightmare! I still can't believe it. We got drunk and played a stupid game and now Marcus is dead!

How can this have happened? I keep thinking I'll wake up ~ God, I wish I could! What the hell am I going to say to Damien? They were here yesterday ~ the whole family ~ but I didn't have a chance to speak to them. I don't think I could have faced them, anyway.

What have we done?

I haven't slept since Friday because every time I close my eyes I hear that terrible scream. The police were here again today and I was terrified they would want to see us but as Sam said, why should they? They don't know what we know. Nobody knows except us.

Sam and Adam seem really calm. How can they be? I'm so scared. I still want to tell the truth. Gary wants to as well but the others agree with Lloyd.

Oh God! Why did we start that bloody stupid game? It
is
my fault, whatever they say. I was supposed to be looking after Marcus. I knew he'd had too much to drink and I should have brought him straight back here.

Oh God, why did this have to happen? Why??? I'd do anything if I could go back and undo what we've done.

God I swear I'll never drink again! But that won't bring Marcus back. I don't know how I'm going to live with myself.

Gideon lowered the book to his knee. After the drama of the entry on that Monday there were nothing but blank pages. If Julian Norris had continued to keep a journal, he hadn't done it in this book. Maybe he feared discovery and had hidden it away somewhere. One thing was for sure: if the others had known then that he'd committed the story of the tragedy to paper, complete with names, they'd have been considerably less than happy. Gideon imagined their dismay when Damien's photocopies had arrived on their doormats, years later, with their accompanying ransom demand.

There was now little doubt in his mind that this was what had happened, and although Gideon couldn't entirely condone Damien's actions, he found it hard to blame him, too. It was almost impossible to imagine how Damien must have felt reading the diary for the first time, and Gideon couldn't decide whether Julian's decision to finally come clean had been the right one. However wrong it had been to withhold the truth originally, after twelve years, wouldn't it have been kinder to the family to let the matter rest? Or was it more important that the record be put straight, whatever the consequences?