Питер Ловси - On the Edge

‘He’ll probably find his own way home. They usually do. Do you live nearby, miss?’

‘No, in London. That’s why I’m so worried.’ The lies rolled easily off her tongue.

‘It’s a long way to bring a dog for a walk.’

‘Oh, we only stopped for a wee.’ She gave him a smile. ‘You know what I mean. I’ve been to Brighton for the evening and I’m on the way home.’

‘You’ve got your clothes in a state, miss.’

‘I know, darling. Isn’t it a bore? I can’t wait to get out of them and into a nice, hot bath. Imagine it!’

He tilted his head to one side. She watched his eyes. He was young. He gave a half-smile — the sap.

‘What’s the dog’s name?’

Quick — a name for a dog. ‘Lucky.’ She was away now. ‘A cross between a bull terrier and a Bedlington, if you can imagine that. Pink eyes and white woolly hair. If ever a dog was misnamed, it’s this one.’

‘Well, if I hear anything ...’

‘You’ll make a certain lady very grateful indeed.’

‘What’s your name, miss?’

A name for a woman this time. ‘Um — Princeton. Vicky Princeton. What’s yours?’

He slid his finger under the strap of his helmet.

She said, ‘Well, you’re flesh and blood, sweetie. You must have a name.’

‘We use numbers in the police, Miss Princeton.’

She peered at his collar. ‘109 is it? I’d rather call you Bobby.’

He said ponderously, ‘I’d better make a note of your address, in case someone brings in the dog.’

She laughed and said as if she was being propositioned, ‘Oh, yes?’

This wasn’t all fun and games. He’d taken out his notebook and pencil.

‘Well, I’m staying with friends at the moment. It’s a pub. The Prince Regent in Lambeth.’

‘That’s not your own address, then?’

‘It’s not my own dog.’ She was pleased with that witty riposte. ‘It belongs to the landlord. If I’m still there, I’ll buy you a drink, Bobby.’

‘PC 109, if you don’t mind.’

She smiled. ‘I don’t, if you don’t.’ And if I’d met you anywhere else, you pushover, it wouldn’t have to end with me driving off alone into the night, she thought.

He kept rigidly to his official manner. ‘I must ask you to move the vehicle, miss. Strictly speaking, you shouldn’t have driven it in here.’

‘I was on the point of leaving anyway... officer.’

She swung back the door and got in. Closed it. Smiled.

Felt in her coat pocket for the keys.

Her pocket was empty. So was the other one. But she had driven the car here.

He tapped on the window. ‘Something the matter, miss?’

‘My keys — I can’t find them.’

As she said it, she remembered Antonia asking for the keys to open the boot when the two of them had gone to fetch Hector’s body. Once the lid was up, Antonia must have pocketed them.

The bloody keys were buried with Antonia .

PC 109 opened the door. ‘Let me have a look. They’ve fallen on the floor, I expect. Step out a minute, would you?’

Rose got out. This was dreadful. Maddening. She considered making a run for it while he got on his knees to search. No, she had to brazen this out.

The beam of his lamp probed the interior. ‘Could they be in the back, do you think?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’

As she opened the rear door a ball of paper fell out of the car. She knew what it was at once — the disposal form Antonia had filled in with Hector’s name and screwed up in disgust when she saw the part that had to be returned to the registrar.

Bloody Antonia!

She stooped to snatch it up.

Too quickly. Too nervously. Antonia would never have moved so fast.

Reacting to her sudden movement, the policeman reached out and grabbed it first.

‘What have we got here, then?’

‘Give it to me.’ Suddenly the old fears flapped and swooped like vultures. This was dreadful, ruinous. She wasn’t going to get away with murder. She was only Rose Bell, the luckless Rose.

‘I said what have we got here?’

He flashed the lamp at her, dazzling her. The white light had a strange, disorientating effect. It bleached out the bomb site, the Bentley, the policeman, in fact everything that had happened since she had last been blinded by torchlight. She had a horrid conviction that Antonia was still there, pointing the torch, mocking her.

She screamed. A full-throated, terrified scream.

The policeman lowered the lamp and said quite calmly, ‘I think I’d better see what all the fuss is about, don’t you, miss?’

He started to unfold the ball of paper.