Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 (34 page)

It was all maybes
and
schmaybes, and I was losing the will to wonder. And with so many inconsistencies, which one was smoking hot? The one to rule them all, the one that in the darkness binds them? The one that tilted the truth in an unmistakeable direction?

I sketched a rough map of Priory Road showing the location of the houses, then traced out timelines, denoting a big ‘X’ where the protagonists should have crossed paths. They didn’t match. If I followed Helen Porson’s timeline, she was on her way back from an errand at number ten when she saw Jimmy leaving. According to her statement, she hid behind the gate of number eight to stay out of sight. Plausible enough. But that meant her time-elapse for cat feeding was off. Maybe she’d underestimated her time at the neighbour’s house, but that still didn’t explain what had disturbed the Nkongos a few minutes earlier, when they’d high-tailed it out of number four.

When Robert had recounted his story to me at the Mayflower, I’d assumed Helen Porson’s return had spooked him. But if that was true, why hadn’t they seen each other? In his statement, Robert said they’d left the house the same way they’d gone in, but only after checking the coast was clear. Did Helen Porson see them and stay out of sight, as she’d claimed about Jimmy’s departure? Even so, she’d still managed to come three doors down – according to house-to-house enquiries – without any neighbours seeing her. Not even
über
nosy from next door, the deluded Mrs Davies.

If Jimmy’s account was correct, how had Helen P got back to the house after
the Nkongos left, but before Jimmy arrived, without being seen by anyone?

It raised another question: what had spooked the Nkongos? It couldn’t have been Jimmy’s arrival, because they saw him on the road afterwards. It might have been Helen returning from her errand, but if so, it was back to the “why hadn’t they seen each other” dead end. Maybe it was just an unconnected noise, a misheard sound too close for comfort.

The big neon “solved” sign wasn’t exactly flashing above my head. I hadn’t even got the “s” to blink. In frustration I screwed the makeshift map into a ball and whizzed it against the wall. The compressed paper rebounded at an uppish angle and looped back to me. On a reflex I tried to catch it in the same hand. As it bobbled out of my grasp, something bobbled in my mind, and I remembered the route I’d used to cycle to Helen Porson’s house for our first meeting. It was something and nothing, yet still a blink. A faint, unmistakeable blink. I picked up the ball of paper, smoothed it out, and studied the map again. I returned to the statements then back to the map. There was only one way to join all the dots.

Bingo! The neon sign crackled into life.

I called over to the long-standing WPC. ‘I need to see Hobbs.’

She nodded and slipped out of the room. Within a few minutes DCI Hobbs stood wearily in front of me.

He leaned forward. ‘Well?’

‘I need to go to the house. There’s something I have to see.’

~

Once upon a time a dash across town in a police car – blue lights flashing and sirens blaring – would have been the stuff of dreams. Turns out it was a disappointment. Then again, I hadn’t been much in the mood.

Bugg had insisted on cuffing me before we pulled away from Weighton’s epicentre of law and order. Only Hobbs’ brusque reminder that I was no longer a suspect persuaded him otherwise. As a result, Bugg had a furious scowl on his pudger for the remainder of the journey.

Hobbs never asked what I wanted to see. He could tell from my tone it was important. Whether that was on his mind or he couldn’t compete with the intrusive siren, he stayed silent the whole way. Bugg, true to form, kept up a cycle of lame digs, but we both ignored him.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the police station, our squad car turned right off Chester Way and rolled into Priory Road. Helen Porson’s elegant Victorian house was set back a good way from the entrance and it nestled peacefully in its own manicured grounds. A sandstone wall and wrought iron gates shielded the house from the road, and a brigade of elm trees lining the other side of the wall provided a natural second buffer. Hobbs pulled up on the cobblestone drive and parked by the ornate gate pillars. On the left pillar, two angels held a ceramic plate aloft, displaying the number “4”.

The last of the summer daylight had faded, and Weighton’s street lamps were doing their best to fight the encroaching gloom. I got out of the car and walked up to the gates with Hobbs and Bugg close behind. In the dying light the scene looked eerie, and I jumped when my movement triggered the drive security lights. I let my eye follow their sequencing, peering down the curved drive to the front door.

After waiting a few seconds to take everything in, I turned right and jogged along the pavement to number ten. Bugg apparently thought I was making a break for it and almost fell over himself trying to catch me up. Not that Weighton’s least finest would have broken the tape before yours truly.

All the while, Hobbs watched me carefully, but didn’t speak.

Similar to the house at number four, number ten was Victorian in style and set back from the road. Its gates were closed. Judging by the curtains, the neighbours were still away. On the gate post was the entry panel that, according to her statement, Helen had used to gain access to feed the cat. No doubt his Tibbs was already feasting elsewhere.

I had a good look at the house from the road then walked back to number eight. Once there, I stopped to examine Helen Porson’s alleged hiding place behind the gate pillar, getting a feel for her line of sight. If the timing was right and she’d been passing number eight when Jimmy left the house, then no doubt she would have ducked behind the gate.

In his statement, Robert Nkongo said he and Kip had turned left out of the drive of number four, crossed the road, and been a house further down when they’d seen Jimmy and his crew pull up and get out. That meant Jimmy and co would
also
have turned left coming out of the drive when they’d gone back to the car. In other words, Helen Porson could have seen them before they saw her, and shuffled safely out of sight.

I continued back to number four, walked through the open gates, and stopped. Grabbing the edge of the gate, I swung it back and forth, but heard no squeak. I edged slowly down the drive, looking left and right. After the line of elms behind the wall, there were randomly spaced trees, bushes and shrubs, with grass between them. The combination of these and the curved drive could easily have obscured Helen Porson from view when the Nkongos made their check before leaving. If Helen Porson had heard or seen them first, she could have stayed out of sight in the garden. That meant I couldn’t rule anything out – at least not so far.

From the front step I surveyed the angles, trying to assess what the Nkongos could have seen before making their exit. They would have been able to see most of the drive, but not all the way to the gates. Given what had happened in the house, they’d taken a big risk by leaving via the front door, but something had spooked them, maybe at the back of the house. Either way, a leisurely “risk review” clearly hadn’t been their first thought.

Hobbs approached me. ‘Well?’

‘Nothing so far.’

‘Are you done?’

‘No, I haven’t looked at what I came for yet. I’m just ruling other stuff out.’

He nodded. ‘You almost look like you know what you’re doing. Either that or you’re pulling my chain?’

‘As if.’

‘What next, then?’

I pointed my thumb behind me.

He looked over my shoulder ‘You mean inside?’

‘No. Back garden.’

Hobbs pushed a torch into my hand. ‘You might need this.’

As I walked around the side of the house, more security lights came on. The biggest light was over the back door. I grabbed its handle and gave a hard tug, eliciting a quiet rattle.

From the back of the house I saw a large patio, landscaped lawns, a greenhouse, and a stone path leading to a lower level. The higher level was bordered by small, neatly pruned bushes. Hobbs stood by the back door, wailing into a police radio. Bugg stayed put on the patio, ambling around, kicking stones, not bothering me. Perhaps he’d finally got used to the idea that I wasn’t a serial killer. Either that or he just liked kicking stones.

I moved past the shaped bushes then descended the steps to the lower level. On the left side of the path I made out a vegetable patch, with a number of fruit trees on the right. A few yards in front of me stood a high wooden fence that marked the end of the garden. When I turned to look back at the house, reflecting in the beams of the up-lighters, it looked grand and serene. I stood at the end of the path, my back to the fence, and took in a full sweep of the lower garden. When I got to my extreme left, level with the fence, I spied a structure. I switched on the torch and traced an outline of a hardwood pergola, overgrown with climbing plants. My torch light flickered over the tangle of wood and vines, and something in the background glinted back.

I pushed through the pergola tunnel, aimed the torch, and saw exactly what I thought I’d come for.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Sunday – 22:22

On the way back to the police station, I asked Hobbs to knock off the sirens. The drone was hurting my ears, and I couldn’t think straight. From the back of the car I wondered about my discovery at the back of the garden. Sure, I’d found what I went looking for, but what it actually meant I couldn’t say.

At the station, Hobbs hustled me into a meeting room, ordering coffee from a passing uniform on the way. Before I’d even warmed my seat he held out imploring hands.

‘You saw something, didn’t you?’

I nodded.

Hobbs looked at me in exasperation. ‘Well, don’t faff about. Just tell me.’ He loosened his tie knot and undid the top button of his white shirt. ‘Don’t go forgetting our deal, Eddie. I need payback, and it starts now.’

‘All right. Hold your seahorses.’

I took out the location sketch I’d done earlier and flattened it on the table. With a pen I inked in the back garden at house number four and then marked an opening in the far right corner. After catching Hobbs’ eye, I jabbed the pen tip at where I’d drawn the opening.

‘It’s a rusty old gate, hidden by a pergola.’

‘A rusty gate?’

‘Yeah. I opened and closed it a few times tonight. Didn’t you hear it?’

He shook his head. ‘I was inside. Bugg and his bloody stone kicking – couldn’t hear a thing on the radio.’

‘Well, for the record, the gate screeches like a squashed banshee.’

Hobbs looked at me, frowning. ‘That’s it?’

‘Not quite.’

I turned the map side-on and drew two lines that ran parallel with Priory Road and curved behind the houses. Between the lines and the houses I shaded in the other back gardens. I pointed again.

‘A bridle path. It links the houses to Priory Park.’ I drew a circle to show the proximity of the local park. ‘You can’t see the path from the main road. And it has a spur that cuts through to the top of Priory Road.’ With a flourish I whizzed a line on the map to show the cut-through. ‘That’s how I got to her house the first time I went.’

Hobbs looked at me, baffled.

‘On my Santa Cruz Superlight,’ I explained. ‘Finest cross-country mountain bike west of the Pecos.’ For an uneasy moment I wondered if I’d ever see my pride and unadulterated joy again.

Hobbs blinked at me uncertainly. ‘I see.’

‘You do?’

‘No, not really.’

‘It’s the missing link. It explains away the inconsistencies.’

‘Your mountain bike?’

‘No, the path at the back of the houses.’ Coffee couldn’t come soon enough, and I didn’t even like the stuff. ‘All the houses have back gates, including number ten. I walked along the path tonight and checked.’