Peter Helton - Rainstone Fall

‘My heart bleeds for you. Is this the story you want them to believe or me to believe?’

‘It’s what happened,’ I protested.

‘All right then. So no weapon has been found, certainly none with your prints on it. Someone stole your car and used it to run over the old dear, it happens all the time. There’s nothing to link you to the victim apart from the car you reported stolen and the police have been negligent in finding your cab driver. They haven’t got a snowball’s chance of keeping you here. As usual I can’t believe you even talked to the police without me. And for the second time! You really must like it in here. When will you learn? I know you rate Superintendent Needham highly but all the same: say nothing and call me . How often must I tell you?’ She waved my cigarette smoke away irritably.

‘That’s fine for you to say. Has anyone ever told you how much you charge?’

‘You can pay me in paintings,’ she said, dismissing my point.

‘Paintings? Tings? Plural ? Your fees have gone up.’

‘A pair, forty by eighty inches, predominantly blue.’

‘Predominantly blue?’ I huffed. ‘I don’t do interior decorating.’

‘And I don’t do charity work. Please don’t go all injured artistic soul on me, Chris, a) you can’t afford it and b) I know you’d happily exchange one of your paintings for a roast turbot if one came along.’

She was right, of course. I agreed and twenty minutes later I went and collected my mobile phone from Sergeant Hayes at the desk while Grimshaw waited impatiently by the exit. The relief of getting out of there must have shown on my face.

‘Don’t know what you’ve got to smile about,’ Hayes grunted as he made me sign for my phone. ‘It’s much safer in here than out there.’

‘Yes, but the tea is lousy.’

‘There is that,’ he agreed and walked off to file the receipt.

Once back outside in the drizzle Grimshaw and I shook hands. ‘Keep me informed of any new developments, will you? Don’t wait until they pull you in again.’ She pointed her key. A racing-green Jaguar in the station car park flashed its sidelights.

‘What makes you think there’ll be developments?’

‘That hungry look on your face, it means you’re off to get yourself into trouble,’ she said over her shoulder.

‘Talking of which, you couldn’t give me a lift to trouble, could you?’

‘Certainly not. There’s a taxi rank around the corner. Take some free advice, Chris,’ she said as she got into her car. ‘Go home. Start painting.’ Then she got into her car and drove off at fifty quid a minute.

It was good advice and free and it was tempting. While I walked I got out my mobile and noted that it needed charging, which almost certainly meant some copper had played around with it while I was in there. I called Griffin’s, the insurers, and asked for Haarbottle.

‘Ah, Honeysett, have you nailed him?’

‘Nailed him? You’re watching too many cop shows. Now, I have followed Lane every waking minute over the past few days,’ I lied, ‘as you will see from my invoice and there’s not the slightest hint that he is anything but genuine.’

‘Rubbish. Keep at it. I know he’s faking it, I can feel it in my waters.’

‘I don’t want to know about your waters. I’m standing in the rain as it is.’ I was grateful I’d never felt anything in my waters. If I ever did I’d see a doctor about it. I had really hoped to rid myself of this job. With DI Deeks interested in Lane and some DC called Howell traipsing after him — and just possibly me as well — this didn’t spell fun. But then there were roofers to be paid. ‘Look, I don’t feel right taking Griffin’s money when there probably won’t be a result at the end. Just how much are you prepared to fork out for this?’

‘Oh no, I’m not falling for that one. I’m not allowed to tell you that, otherwise that’ll be exactly the sum you’ll charge us. Give it another week, then we’ll call it off. Think of something. Be inventive. He has to slip up sometime. I just know it.’

‘Do you realize it hasn’t stopped raining since I took this job? I’m thinking of charging you extra for work in inclement weather.’

‘Get a brolly,’ said Haarbottle and hung up.

At the taxi rank I realized I had no money on me. Well, I’d be able to pay the driver at home.

This time I made mental notes on the make of car (Mercedes), the taxi firm (Sulis) and the back of the driver’s head (square). I wedged myself into the corner of the back seat, absentmindedly took out a cigarette and lit it without even noticing I’d done so until the driver got agitated. ‘Hey, there’s no smoking, all right? Nuff signs everywhere.’

I apologized and chucked the cigarette out of the window with a pang of regret. I’d be smoking in my sleep soon. When we splashed into the yard at Mill House I asked him to wait so I could get enough money to pay the extortionate fare. I ran through the rain to the front door. It was locked. I felt for my keys and remembered I hadn’t brought them, so I gave the bell-pull a workout despite the fact that Annis’s Land Rover was missing. I just didn’t want to believe the way the day was going. I made apologetic gestures towards the cab driver and walked round to the kitchen door. Locked. When I got back to the front the driver had got out of the car. Cab drivers hate getting out of the car. ‘Problems?’ he asked.

‘Didn’t bring my keys,’ I explained. ‘I expected someone to be in.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘It’s no problem though.’ If a mere constable could do it then so could I. I took a short run at it and rammed the door open with my shoulder. Just like in the movies, except in the movies no one ever hopped about afterwards rubbing their sore shoulder and cursing like their Tourette’s had just kicked in. Right then. . money. I hunted round in a couple of jackets without result.

The driver was standing in the door, eyeing me doubtfully. ‘You do live here, right?’

In the end I had to pay him in small change scraped together from a gherkin jar full of silver and copper coins I kept on top of the fridge and he was not a happy man when he drove off. At least, should anyone else have got themselves bumped off in the meantime, he would definitely remember driving me home.

In the kitchen I opened the bread bin: empty. There was no sign of my abandoned breakfast. I opened the fridge: no smoked salmon left. There was a note from Annis by the kettle.

Gone shopping, there isn’t a thing to eat in the house.

When Annis came back she noisily unpacked the shopping on the kitchen table. While I attacked the groceries armed with a loaded butter knife she slapped down several ominous items. ‘Bleach, toilet cleaner, cream cleanser, Marigolds, Hoover bags.’

‘ Hoover bags ,’ I repeated in awe. We hadn’t had Hoover bags for months. Our perennial problem was that the somewhat relaxed attitude to housework and the chaotic habits of two painters combined unfavourably with Tim’s eating procedures. There were probably enough crisps and salted nuts down the back of the furniture to see the squirrels and us through the winter. Despite the considerable size of the barn we used for a studio, ‘stuff’ tended to drift down to the house — canvas samples, whole paintings, drawings, sketch books, paint-stained art books, oil pastels and bits of string. It was usually Annis who capitulated first and started making spring-clean noises, having a slightly lower yuk-threshold than me.

I fled on the Norton into the hill fog that crept down the sides of the valley, then crossed over into Swainswick via Bailbrook Lane. Over here visibility was even worse. Once I’d taken to the narrow lanes that snaked through the Lam Valley the fog made orientation difficult. My poor abused DS had of course long been removed to the police compound where forensic technicians went over it with things a lot finer than the proverbial, yet even if the fog hadn’t obscured the opposite hillside I’d have found it hard to make out which field exactly it and the dead body had been found in. The smashed gate would give it away of course but I was on the wrong side of the Lam brook and the further I rode into the valley the less I could see. The lane I cautiously puttered along was at least tarmacked and gently rose and fell but was taking me nowhere near the place. I realized I had probably driven past the turn-off in the mist and was just slowing to turn back when a cluster of farm buildings hove darkly into view.