Pauline Rowson - In for the Kill

‘You didn’t call the police?’ I asked, watching her carefully. She returned my gaze.

‘No.’

She could see I had been beaten up. From what Vanessa had told me though, I guessed that she had probably been raised with a deep mistrust of the police because of her father. I was warming towards Scarlett.

‘Why not?’ I asked.

‘It’s none of my business,’ she shrugged.

‘Then what are you doing here?’ It sounded ungrateful but I didn’t mean it that way. I wondered if she’d take umbrage like she usually did. This time she didn’t.

‘I had to bring Mother into the day centre. It’s all right – I found her last night. As I was here, I thought I’d call in and see how you were at the same time. Besides,’ she added, ‘I owe you for finding Mum the other evening and bringing her home.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I winced and held my side as I tried to propel myself up. ‘You’ve got a car?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, you can give me a lift into Newport.’

‘But you can’t possibly…OK, but don’t blame me if you have a relapse,’ she hotly declared.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Where are my clothes?’

Seven days, Rowde had given me. This was day one. By next Tuesday I had to find Andover and that money. Time was a luxury I no longer had.

‘In the cabinet.’

She left me to get dressed which I did as swiftly and as silently as I could. It wasn’t easy. My body screamed out in pain, which I had to ignore. I couldn’t feel anything, not yet. And I couldn’t rest up until I had found Andover. A nurse showed up with a stern expression on her face.

‘And just where do you think you’re going?’

‘Home,’ I told her curtly. ‘I’m discharging myself. I’ll sign any papers you give me to relieve you of any guilt, or comeback if I have a relapse, but I must get out of here.’

She stared at me for a moment, then with a lift of her eyebrows turned swiftly on her heel and left me to finish dressing. Putting on my socks and shoes involved such a supreme effort that I almost fainted. I gritted my teeth, remembered the broken photograph of my sons on the floor of the houseboat and foresaw their broken bodies dumped in a dank ditch somewhere, and it was amazing what I could achieve. I was like Superman after recovering from a dose of Kryptonite.

Amid many censorious looks I signed the forms and found Scarlett waiting for me by the lifts. We didn’t speak until we had reached her car, a rather rusty old Renault, but as long as it went it could have been a Mark One Ford for all I cared.

With much grunting and groaning I eased myself into the passenger seat. I scanned the road behind us looking for marble man. I couldn’t see him. Of course there was no need for him to follow me now; Rowde knew where I lived and how to get to my sons. He had wound me up like a clockwork toy and had let me go. I just hoped it wouldn’t be round and round in circles until I ran out of time, energy and clues.

Sometime before the seven days were up I knew Rowde would return to remind me that my time, or rather my sons’ time, was running out.

I looked at my reflection in the small mirror. I was not a pretty sight. My face was bruised and swollen and my mouth cut. Miraculously my teeth were still all present, though I thought a couple in the top right hand corner felt a bit loose.

Time for the dentist later, I hoped. God alone knew what Scarlett thought of me. I glanced at her as she headed towards the centre of Newport.

She’d not asked me any questions and I wondered why. She was remarkably uncurious for a woman.

She must have sensed my gaze because her eyes flittered to me and then back on the road.

‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’ I said.

‘I can see what happened. You got beaten up by those men I saw leaving the boat.’ She said it so matter of factly that it annoyed me.

‘So this is such a regular occurrence for you that you take it in your stride?’ I quipped.

‘What am I supposed to do? Wail and wring my hands, ask you to tell me why you got beaten up? Firstly I don’t wail and wring my hands, and secondly if I did ask, you wouldn’t tell me, so there’s no point, is there?’

I couldn’t fault her reasoning and rather admired it. I guess her father had trained her well.

‘What did you tell them at the hospital?’

‘That you got beaten up defending my honour.’

‘And they believed that?’

‘I doubt it, but I think they’re too busy to play social worker these days.’

The traffic lights turned red. Even that seemed an unnecessary delay to me. I wanted to scream at them. I wanted Scarlett to ignore them and race through. Every second counted.

I urged myself to calm down. Getting angry wasn’t going to achieve anything. Perhaps I should tell Gus. Perhaps he could take the boys away to safety. Yes, maybe that was what I should do. I didn’t want to worry Vanessa but I couldn’t see her letting Gus take David and Philip out of school without an explanation. And I didn’t quite trust him. That pilot’s licence still niggled away at me. I needed to know more about Gus Newberry.

Even if I could get my boys to safety I had a terrible feeling that Rowde would find them. I didn’t fool myself that marble man was Rowde’s only accomplice. Men like Rowde had a whole network of them. I knew that from my days spent with him in prison.

I couldn’t tell Scarlett about Rowde or my boys, but I could use this time to ask about my mother.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you used to clean for my mother?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Did my mother ever tell you that she thought someone was in the house? Or that she suspected an intruder?’

Scarlett flashed me a wary look. ‘No.’

‘And you never saw anyone suspicious loitering around or heard anyone?’

‘No. And I’m not a thief.’

‘I never said you were. Did you tell the police what Ruby said?’

‘About someone pushing Olivia down the stairs? Of course not. Mum doesn’t know what she’s saying. Your mother fell. It was a tragic accident and I’m sorry. I liked her. ’

‘So did I,’ I muttered.

‘Despite your ex wife giving me the push I’m still working at Bembridge House. I clean for Mrs Aslett three times a week.’

The new owner. I’d never met her.

‘The rest of the week I work as a chambermaid at the Windmill Hotel, OK?’

‘What you do for a living, Scarlett, is nothing to do with me.’

‘No, it’s not.’

She dropped me off, then chugged away, her exhaust rattling.

An hour later, after a few wary looks and some persuading that I wasn’t a reckless driver or a car thief, I had hired a car. It was an automatic, which would save me the physical pain of moving my leg to change gear. I returned to the houseboat and hastily packed a bag and collected the press cutting file, Joe’s reports and my notebook. Then I knocked at Scarlett’s door. Whilst I waited for her to answer I looked around. There were no cars loitering in the car parks further along the road towards the Toll Gate café, or in the other direction towards the marina, but a few passed me on the Embankment Road. Any one of them could have contained one of Rowde’s cronies or the police, which reminded me…had Miles found out what unit DCI Crowder was attached to? Time to call him later. I was just beginning to think that Scarlett was out when the door opened. She looked as though she’d been asleep.

She ran a hand through her hair.

‘I’m going over to the mainland. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I thought you ought to know in case your mother tries to get on the boat and gets upset.’

‘Oh.’ She looked surprised. I suppose my thoughtfulness disarmed her.