Хилари Боннер - The Cruellest Game

But, of course, I could only imagine what actually took place in Robbie’s room between Brenda Anderton and my son. I could only imagine how Robbie had felt. And that was the part of it all that really devastated me. More than anything. My beautiful boy being told something that was so totally destructive to him that he no longer wished to continue living.

I felt tears pricking at the very thought of it and blinked them away ferociously. There were still things I wanted to know and DS Jarvis seemed, from what I knew of him anyway, in an unusually receptive and helpful mood. Perhaps he was under his own pressure, I thought obliquely. Maybe the great and the good of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary feared that I might sue them.

I wasn’t sure if it would be remotely possible, but the thought had a certain appeal even in the state I was in. I had questions to ask first, though. I needed to know all the facts possible.

‘What about Brenda Anderton’s death?’ I asked. ‘You told me you were re-investigating that? Have you found anything out? Do you now have reason to believe her death was suspicious?’

Jarvis turned towards me, his face expressionless.

‘I’m afraid I cannot really talk about that, beyond confirming that our investigations are ongoing,’ he said formally.

I pushed him as much as I could but got no further. Indeed, he almost reverted to type — at least to the way I’d summed up when we first met on the day that Robbie had died. On the worst day of my life.

The two officers left a few minutes later. Jarvis repeated his instruction of the previous day for me to stay inside and keep all my doors and windows locked, and told me to make sure I set the alarm when I went to bed. I could only assume that he still suspected Robert of all kinds of things I really didn’t want to think about. Who else could he think might want to harm me now that Brenda was dead?

‘I’ll get Jacobs and Bickerton to continue to keep an eye right through the night,’ he said. ‘This is their patch and, if you ask me, they don’t usually have enough on, it’s that peaceful round here. A bit of extra duty will do them no harm at all. So don’t panic if you hear an engine or see lights approaching. It’ll be the boys in blue looking out for you.’

He paused, then added almost inaudibly: ‘I hope.’

I had good ears. ‘So do I,’ I said.

He grinned. ‘Don’t worry,’ he went on. ‘I’ll make sure they stay on red alert. And if you have any cause for anxiety, dial 999 at once. Don’t mess about. I’ll also make sure it’s known everywhere that you’re top priority.’

I nodded. A little boy had to be kidnapped and a woman, whatever she might have done, had to die before I was given any priority at all, I thought. But I said nothing.

The next morning Gladys arrived shortly after nine, holding a delicious-looking gooey cake before her. I answered the door in my dressing gown, Florrie at my feet.

‘Don’t worry, I didn’t make it,’ she said, by way of greeting, ‘Mrs Simmons, specially for you. Sticky toffee. Best she does, I reckon.’

I smiled my gratitude.

‘Hope I’m not too early,’ Gladys continued. ‘Just wanted to bring the cake round and tell you how thrilled we all are that the police have finally come to their senses.’

I thanked her and invited her in, wondering yet again at the efficiency of the village jungle drums.

She insisted on making coffee and cutting into the sticky toffee cake — ‘nothing better to start the day with, flower’ — while I got dressed. During which time I remembered my manners.

‘I just want to thank you so much for your support and all you did when I was arrested,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ve done so before, not properly, and that’s very wrong of me. You’ve been terrific. Really.’

‘Don’t worry about that, Marion, you’ve had one or two other things to think about,’ Gladys replied. She looked slightly embarrassed, but pleased, I thought.

‘I’m just glad it’s all worked out,’ she added.

I thanked her again, thinking, none the less, that it was a little premature to refer to anything having ‘worked out’.

‘I suppose so,’ I said mildly. ‘But you and I both know I will always be that woman whose son killed himself, and who was then arrested for abducting a little boy. Mud sticks in small communities. And Dartmoor mud sticks like nothing else I know.’

‘Oh, goodness,’ countered Gladys, reaching out a hand to touch my arm. ‘You mustn’t think like that, luvvie. The ones who just gossip will soon move on to something else, and the rest of them... well, I know a lot of people who just want to help you. Really.’

I managed a weak smile. I wondered how much, if anything at all, she knew yet about Robert’s double life and the role Brenda Anderton may have played in events. In any case she and the rest of the village would learn about it sooner or later for sure. I thought I probably owed Gladys the courtesy of giving her a summary of events myself, but I just didn’t feel up to it.

I studied her in silence. She smiled back at me warmly, and began to make light small talk. She asked me no questions about anything. Not for the first time I became aware how much more sensitive she was than she appeared to be. And I was quite surprised to realize what a comfort her presence was. Gladys Ponsonby Smythe really was an unusually kind and strong woman. She didn’t overstay her welcome either, leaving right after we’d finished our coffee and cake.

‘Take care if you go out,’ she said. ‘The vultures are still gathered at the top of your lane.’

I’d assumed they would be. Even if they knew that I was no longer a police suspect they would presumably be looking for a quote on that and a picture to go with it.

However, I was going out. I was pretty sure neither DS Jarvis nor his colleagues would approve of what I was planning to do, but I didn’t care.

When Gladys had left I gave Florrie her breakfast — a scant handful of dried food — and shut her in the kitchen. I put on a warm coat and my fluffy boots, set the alarm excluding the kitchen, locked up, and left the house. Then I climbed into the little Ford and roared up the lane as if I were Jenson Button and it was a Formula One racing car. Well, I certainly drove as fast as speedster Charlie Jameson had ever driven on such a surface, I was quite sure. If not faster. When I got to the top I did not slow down, instead swinging the car onto the public road at full throttle, causing it to slide sideways for quite some way, so that mud and muck splashed all over the gathered group of vultures, as Gladys had so accurately described them. They scattered in various directions, several of them jumping into the hedge in order to escape me and my speeding vehicle. I only just managed to maintain any kind of control and narrowly avoided ending up in the hedge myself. It would have been worth it even if I had. Indeed, it gave me such pleasure to watch the panic of those who had so diligently added to my distress that I felt almost in high spirits as I slowed to a more sensible pace and proceeded on my journey.

I was heading for that grim Exeter council estate again. The place where Brenda had lived; the house she had shared with Robert, when he wasn’t with me or in the North Sea; the other home he had kept going for so many years. The other home which was such a far cry from Highrise. The place where I assumed Robert now was, with his younger daughter.

It took me the best part of an hour to reach the inappropriately named Riverview Avenue. I drove slowly by number 5, and parked a little way up the road behind a white transit van, almost mimicking my first visit to the street. But this time, thankfully, there were no threatening hoodies gathered by the garages.