Minette Walters - Fox Evil

"That's bullshit."

She blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "Don't think so. Maybe you was planning to give the project a whirl when you joined, but you sure as hell gave up on it by lunchtime. You was always gonna scarper tomorrow… so I reckon you went on the prowl looking to compensate yourself for wasted time-" she shrugged-"'n' now you're wetting yourself in case Fox comes back and beats the shit out of you for fouling his patch. Whatever he's up to, he ain't gonna be pleased to have cops crawling all over the place."

"You're in the same boat. You told your copper friend about Vixen and Cub. You think Fox is going to be any more pleased about that?"

"Wouldn't think so."

"Then use some sense and get out while the going's good. The police won't find him. He'll go to ground somewhere, then come after us."

"He won't take us on in here-assuming he can break the door down, which I doubt." She smiled slightly. "It won't help you , mind. Either way, someone's gonna do you. If it ain't Fox, it'll be Mr. Barker when people start reporting their hedge trimmers stolen… but that's your problem, mate. One thing's for sure, I don't plan to get my throat slit 'coz you're too scared to go outside on your own. You wanna save your arse, save it yourself, but don't try 'n' pretend you're doing the rest of us a favor. 'N' don't take your kids and your lady out there, neither," she added, glancing at the introvert woman who claimed to be Ivo's wife. "She can't handle Fox on her own if you decide to leg it."

He launched a frustrated kick at one of her seats. "Maybe Fox isn't the only one who wants to slit your throat, you fat bitch. You're too fucking friendly with the cops. Who's to say it wasn't you brought them out here? You've been carrying on about Wolfie's mum most of the day. It wouldn't surprise me if you decided to do something about it."

She shook her head. "Not me… 'n' I wouldn't be pointing the finger at someone else if had." She jabbed her cigarette at him. "I ain't scared of Fox. He's no different from any other two-bit con artist… throws his weight around, hoping to get his own way… and when it all goes pear-shaped looks for someone else to blame… usually a woman. Remind you of anyone, you little fucker?"

"You've got a big mouth, Bella. Someone should have slapped you down a long time ago."

"Yeah… right. You wanna try?" She shook her head disdainfully. "Nah. Didn't think so. Maybe it's a good thing this project's dead in the water. I'd go mad with a pathetic little weasel like you for a neighbor."

Fox's trail went cold at the end of the terrace. Barker and Wyatt cast around for footprints on the lawn but, even after James had switched on the outside lights, few of which were working, there was nothing to indicate which direction he'd taken. Spots of blood showed here and there on the flagstones but if they continued on the grass they were black on black in the dark. Reluctant to confuse the trail with their own footprints, they abandoned the search and returned to the French windows.

There was a heated debate going on inside the drawing room between Monroe and Mark Ankerton, with Mark Ankerton backed up against the door to the hall and both men wielding their forefingers like clubs. "No, I'm sorry, Sergeant. Captain Smith has made it abundantly clear that she does not wish to go to hospital, nor is she ready at the moment to answer questions about the incident on Colonel Lockyer-Fox's terrace. As her lawyer, I insist that her views are respected."

"For Christ's sake, man," Monroe protested, "she's got blood all over her face, and her arm's obviously broken. It's more than my job's worth to have Dorset police sued because I refused to call an ambulance."

Mark ignored him. "In addition, as Wolfie's lawyer, I am advising him that he should, under no circumstances, answer questions until the legal guidelines regarding the interrogation of children are implemented-principally, a full understanding of what he's being questioned about, absence of pressure, unalarming surroundings, and the presence of an adult he knows and trusts."

"I object to the language you're using, sir. There's no question of interrogation. I merely want to satisfy myself that he's all right."

Martin stepped through the window. "What's going on?" he demanded.

Monroe gave an angry sigh. "The girl and the boy have disappeared with the Colonel, and Mr. Ankerton's refusing to let me call an ambulance or give me access to them."

"It'll be the kid," said Barker, reaching for the telephone on the bureau. "He's terrified of the police. That's why he took off earlier when we were searching the campsite. I'd leave them to it, if I were you. We don't want him vanishing again with his father roaming around outside." He nodded to Ankerton. "May I use the phone?"

"It's disconnected. I'll plug it in if Mr. Monroe agrees to stay away from my clients."

Barker yanked at the lead. "Do it," he ordered Monroe, "or it'll be you carrying the can if this bastard goes to ground in someone's house and takes hostages." He tossed his mobile to him. "If that rings, answer it. It'll be a woman called Bella Preston. As for you, sir," he told Mark, as the younger man went down on all fours to push in the jack plug, "I suggest you lock the Colonel and your clients into a bedroom until I give you the all-clear. I don't trust this man not to come back."

In view of the darkness, the fact that the valley was unlit, and there were too many natural hiding places to justify calling out the police helicopter, a decision was taken to abandon the search for Fox until daybreak. Instead, roadblocks were erected on either side of Shenstead Valley and the occupants of the village and the three outlying farms were given the choice of whether they wished to remain inside their homes or be escorted to temporary accommodation elsewhere.

The tenant farmers and their families chose to remain on site with shotguns leveled at their front doors. The Woodgates and their children went to Stephen's mother in Dorchester, while the banker's twin sons and their girlfriends, bored with household chores, happily accepted hotel rooms for the night. The two commercial rents returned hotfoot to London with demands for compensation ringing in police ears. It was a disgrace. They hadn't come to Dorset on holiday to be terrorized by maniacs.

Prue Weldon threw a fit and refused to leave or be left alone, clinging to Martin Barker's hand like a limpet and begging him to make her husband come home. This he succeeded in doing by impressing on Dick that the police did not have the manpower to protect unoccupied buildings. Drunk as a skunk, he was driven back to Shenstead by Jack and Belinda who decided to stay after he loaded his shotgun and fired it at Prue's chicken casserole.

Surprisingly, the Bartletts were unanimous in their decision to stay, both insisting that there was too much of value in their house to leave it undefended. Eleanor was convinced her rooms would be vandalized-"people like that defecate on the carpets and urinate on the walls"-and Julian feared for his cellar-"there's a fortune in wine down there." They were advised to go upstairs and stay in one room with the door barricaded, but from the way Julian started prowling the hall it seemed doubtful they would take the advice.

As for Vera Dawson, she agreed to be taken up to the Manor House to wait with the Colonel and Mr. Ankerton. Bob was away fishing, she told the two young policemen, as she sucked and mumbled her way into an overcoat before locking the front door. They assured her he'd be stopped at one of the roadblocks when he came back and brought to the Manor to join her. She tapped their hands flirtatiously. Bob would like that, she told them with a happy little smile. He worried about his old lady. She still had her marbles, of course, but her memory wasn't as good as it used to be.