Elizabeth George - This Body of Death

“What the hell was she doing at the portrait gallery?” Barbara asked. “That’s some bloody coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Not if she was there to check out the competition. Not if she was there because she was and is still involved with Frazer Chaplin. Why would their relationship have ended just because she had to find other lodgings? We reckon-”

“Who?” She couldn’t help herself although she hated herself the moment she said it.

“What?”

“Who reckons?”

“Barbara, for God’s sake.” He was not a fool.

“All right. Sorry. Go on.”

“We’ve spoken to Mrs. McHaggis at some length.” He banged on then about DragonFly Tonics, transfers, Frazer’s lime green Vespa, Winston Nkata’s viewing of the CCTV films in the area, the two e-fits, and the yellow shirt and Jemima’s handbag found within the Oxfam bin about which, he concluded, “We reckon his intention was to hand them over to Georgina Francis to plant somewhere on Gordon Jossie’s holding. But he didn’t have the time to do it. Once Bella saw the story in the paper about the body, she called the police and you turned up. There was too much risk at that point for him to do anything but sit tight and wait for a better opportunity.”

“He’s here. In Hampshire. Sir, he’s here.”

“Who?”

“Frazer Chaplin. I’m following him just now. He’s got a woman with him and we’re heading-”

“She’s got Frazer Chaplin in sight,” Lynley said to his companion on the other end of the conversation. The superintendent said something quite sharply. Lynley said to Havers, “Phone for backup, Barbara. That’s not from me. That’s from Isabelle.”

Isabelle, Barbara thought. Bloody Isabelle. She said, “I don’t know where we are or where we’re going, so I don’t know where to ask backup to go, sir.” She was playing fast and loose for reasons she didn’t want to explore.

Lynley said, “Get close enough for the number plates if you can. And you can tell the make of car, can’t you? You can see the colour.”

“Just the colour,” she said. “I’ll have to follow-”

“God damn it, Barbara. Then phone for backup, explain the situation, and give your own bloody number plates and a description of your own car. I don’t have to tell you this bloke’s dangerous. If he’s got someone with him-”

“He’s not going to hurt her while she’s driving, sir. I’ll phone for backup when we get where we’re going. What about Whiting?”

“Barbara, if nothing else, you’re putting yourself in danger. This is not the time for you to-”

“What’ve you learned, sir? What did Norman tell you?”

There was more talk from Ardery at his end. Lynley said to the superintendent, “She thinks-”

Barbara cut in airily with, “I’m going to have to ring off, sir. Terrible traffic and I think I’m losing the connection anyway and-”

“Whiting,” he said. She knew he did it to get her attention. Typical of him. She was forced to listen to a catalogue of facts: Whiting charged by the Home Office with the highest level of protection of someone; Lynley and Ardery were concluding the person was Jossie; it was the only explanation for why Whiting hadn’t turned over to New Scotland Yard the evidence of Jossie’s trip to London; Whiting knew the Met would focus on Jossie because of it; that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“Even if the evidence made it look like Jossie killed someone?” Barbara demanded. “Bloody hell, sir. What kind of high-level protection asks for that? Who is this guy?”

They didn’t know but it didn’t actually matter at the moment because Frazer Chaplin was the one they were after and since Barbara had Frazer Chaplin in view…

Blah, blah, blah, Barbara thought. She said, “Right. Right. Got it. Oh damn, I think I’m losing you, sir…bad connection here…I’m getting out of range.”

“Phone for backup and do it at once!” were the last words she heard. She was not out of range, but ahead of her the car she was following had made a sharp turn into a secondary road on the edge of Brockenhurst village. She couldn’t be bothered arguing with Lynley at that point. She put her foot down to catch up and veered right just ahead of an oncoming removals van, where a sign pointed to Sway.

Her mind was swarming with a horde of details: facts, names, faces, and possibilities. She reckoned she could pause, sort through it all, and phone for the backup Lynley was insisting upon, or she could get to wherever they were going first, suss out the situation, and make her decisions accordingly.

She chose the second option.

TESS RODE IN the back seat of Whiting’s vehicle. Dumb as the poor dog was, she was dead delighted to be going for a ride in the midst of a workday since she usually had to hang about waiting for Gordon to finish up before she was able to do anything other than lie in the shade and hope for the diversion of a squirrel to chase. Now, though, the windows were open, her ears were flopping, and her nose was catching the delightful smells of high summer. Gordon realised that, come what was likely to come, the retriever wasn’t going to be able to help him.

What was going to come soon became apparent. Instead of heading in the direction of Fritham-the first enclave of cottages they should have come to on the route to Gordon’s holding-Whiting drove in the direction of Eyeworth Pond. There was a track in advance of the pond that they could have taken to get over to Roger Penny Way and another road that still would have made quick work of reaching Gordon’s cottage, but Whiting passed this by and went on to the pond where he parked on the upper level of the two terraces that comprised the roughly hewn car park. It overlooked the water.

This delighted Tess no end, as the dog clearly expected a walk in the woods that edged the pond and stretched out to encompass a vast acreage of trees, hills, and inclosures. She barked, wagged her tail, and looked meaningfully out of the open window. Whiting said, “Either shut the dog up or open the door and get it out of here.”

Gordon said, “Aren’t we-”

“Shut the dog up.”

From this Gordon understood that whatever was to happen was going to happen right there in the car. And this made sense, didn’t it, when one considered the time of day, the season, and the fact that they were not alone. For not only were there vehicles in the lower section of the car park at this very moment, there were also two families feeding ducks on the distant pond, a group of cyclists setting off into the woods, an elderly couple in deck chairs having a picnic beneath one of the distant willow trees, and a woman taking a pack of six corgis on a midday stroll.

Gordon turned to his retriever. He said, “Down, Tess. Later,” and he prayed that she would obey. He knew the dog would run into the trees if Whiting forced him to open the door. He also knew how unlikely it was that the cop would allow him to fetch her once she’d done so. Suddenly Tess was more important to him than anything else in his pathetic excuse for a life. Her affection for him, in the way of all dogs, was unconditional. He was going to need that in the days to come.

The dog lowered herself to the seat with great reluctance. Before she did so, she cast a soulful look from the outdoors to him. “Later,” he told her. “Good dog.”

Whiting chuckled. He moved his seat back and adjusted its position. He said, “Very nice. Very, very nice. Didn’t know you had such a way with animals. Amazing to learn something new about you when I reckoned I already knew it all.” He made himself more comfortable then, and he said, “Now. We’ve some unfinished business, you and I.”

Gordon said nothing in reply. He saw the genius in what Whiting had planned and how well the cop had been able to read him from the first. Their last interaction had been interrupted, but it had gone on long enough for Gordon to know where every future interaction would lead. Whiting understood that Gordon would never again see him both alone and unprepared to defend himself. But defending himself against Whiting in a public place would lead to an exposure he could not afford. He was caught again. He was caught on all sides. And it was always going to be that way.