Peter Helton - Rainstone Fall

And waited. The stuttering engine sound of a microlight plane crossing the valley did nothing to convince me that this was a sport I should rush to get into, though I envied whoever was up there the freedom to buzz across the countryside without having to follow the roads. It was quite pleasant sitting there with the windows open while the sun went in and out of the cloud breaks. But after a while it got tedious, so to pass the time I started worrying about things: about Jill’s son, locked up somewhere, terrified of what might happen to him; about me and Annis; about Tim and Annis; about the dead guy in my car, despite Grimshaw’s assurances; about Thursday’s break-in, despite Tim’s assurances.

I could hear the surge of the Volvo’s old engine long before it gained the track, so had plenty of time to start my own car and wonder how I was going to follow the woman without her spotting me behind her in an empty, if winding, country lane. When I first caught a glimpse of the Volvo ahead of me my worries disappeared. Not only was the rear window of the estate blind with mud and obscured by who-knows-what junk in the back but half the glass was missing from her only wing mirror. Nevertheless I let her get a couple of bends ahead to be on the safe side. The speed at which she pushed her old banger along confirmed to me that this was one worried woman — or one with one hell of a tobacco craving. As if to confirm the latter she stopped her car on a double yellow line in Larkhall, jumped out and disappeared into a convenience store. Two minutes later she came out with a copy of the Bath Chronicle and two packets of cigarettes and dived back into her car. A moment later a white puff of smoke appeared from the driver window, a black puff of smoke from the car’s exhaust and we were off again. She turned sharp left, crossed a couple of main roads and headed west into the country again. For a while we were more or less following the Kennet and Avon canal then the Volvo slowed and without indicating turned into a narrow tree-lined track between empty fields. As the track curved around into a slight depression crowded with more trees a police constable by the side of the road gave me the first indication that the circus was in town but by then it was far too late. The Volvo had already stopped on the track in front and Gem had got out, looking back at me without apparent surprise. I’d have to work on my shadowing technique. Beyond, a patrol car, a big grey Ford and a technicians’ van were crowded into the small gravelled space in front of a tiny crumbling bungalow. It looked like a post-war prefab that had managed to survive into the twenty-first century by hiding under a clump of trees in the countryside.

The constable put his face to the driver window. ‘Would you mind switching your engine off, sir? And could you tell me what you are doing here, please?’

‘Nothing, really. I think I must have taken a wrong turning, I’ll just back out again, shall I?’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’ He reached in through the open window and snatched the keys so quickly I didn’t get a chance to bite his hand. He pointed invitingly towards the bungalow. If I was where I thought I was then this could spell serious trouble. In my humble opinion Gem, who obviously knew a lot more about the expired gent in my car than she let on, had driven straight to Mr Albert Something’s house to check on his general well-being or more specifically his continued existence which, judging by the assembled police troupe, was now in serious doubt. And since I had vigorously denied all knowledge of the dead man’s identity I might find my own presence here hard to explain away. Gem was walking quickly ahead of me towards the bungalow where a multi-tasking uniformed constable moved across to intercept her while holding on to a cat and talking into her radio at the same time. I followed more warily and couldn’t stifle a groan when Detective Inspector Deeks popped out of the front door like an evil jack-in-the-box. He seemed to react with surprise at seeing Gem and with anger at seeing me. To my own surprise he charged along the few algae-green flagstones in front of the house, straight past Gem and the WPC to confront me.

He brought his face close and spoke in a low voice charged with fury. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Honeysett?’

‘I was just following her,’ I said, pointing at Gem who appeared to have instantly bonded with the WPC over the cat.

‘Why were you following Gem Stone?’

‘It’s a detective thing, you wouldn’t understand.’

‘Stop clowning around. You know whose shack this is? Was?’

‘Albert Whatsit’s who expired in my car. I’m only guessing, of course.’

‘You must be bloody psychic. Yes, Albert Barrington. The woman who drops round his free-range bleedin’ eggs once a week got worried. No one else seems to have missed him. Except you and Gemma Stone obviously suddenly decided that you did. Did you know all along who the stiff was? You’re a mad fuck, Honeysett, and I loathe the sight of you, you know that? I want you out of here, pronto, so I can forget I saw you here. Now get back into your. . thing and drive it away.’

Did I know the stiff ? Now what kind of language was that for a police officer? The deceased, surely. ‘Gosh, that’s a gorgeous animal,’ I said loudly and ducked from under his incinerating gaze to join Gem Stone and the WPC who were busy ear-scratching the confused and mewing cat the policewoman was holding. The cat’s fur was a marbled grey and black but the downy fluff on his stomach flamed in autumnal gold. Until that very moment I had never shown even the remotest interest in pets of any kind but Deeks probably didn’t know that. I was just getting a little confused by his attitude and wanted to buy myself some time to work it out. After all, he’d spent the last few years trying to make my life a misery whenever the chance presented itself and now he wanted to just forget I’d been here? ‘He really is cute,’ I said to Gem. ‘Was he Albert’s?’ The cat wriggled in the policewoman’s arms and sniffed at me.

‘You like cats then?’ Gem asked with just a hint of suspicion.

‘Yeah, I’m quite potty about cats,’ I lied. ‘Though I don’t have one myself at the moment.’

‘Yes, I suppose he’s Al’s, technically, though he’d only just appeared out of nowhere a short while ago, as they do. Al wasn’t sure he should keep him. He wasn’t very well, you know. He wasn’t even sure that he could afford to keep him. . cat food, flea collars, worming tablets, vet bills. .’

‘Do you know the cat’s name then?’ the constable asked Gem. She was obviously a cat lover herself and oblivious to the fact that her uniform had already collected enough cat hair for her to knit her own moggy.

‘He didn’t want to give him a name until he’d made a decision about whether to keep him, he thought it would make it more difficult to let him go. What’s going to happen to him?’

The constable pulled a pained face. ‘Normally, in these cases, unless someone comes forward to claim the animal, like a relative, for instance, then he would have to be put down — ’

‘Put down?’ Gem echoed, horrified. ‘As far as I know Al didn’t have any relatives.’

‘How about you then?’ The policewoman smiled invitingly and held the cat out to her.

‘I can’t. I’ve got a dog who wouldn’t take kindly to introducing a cat. Anyway, herb beds and cats don’t really mix.’

Deeks appeared by my side and just stared at me as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Perhaps he couldn’t. I tried to ignore him.

‘How about you, Mr. .?’ The constable proffered the wriggling thing.

‘I really can’t. My place is. . ehm. .’