Pauline Rowson - In for the Kill

‘This morning, just before seven. He came running up the lane to the hotel. I don’t know why he didn’t call the police before he reached there, but that could be something to do with the shock.’

My heart sank. Deeta had left me just before six-thirty. She must have decided to walk around the beach back to the hotel and someone had followed her. When they got Deeta on that mortuary slab they’d discover that she’d had sex before she was killed. They’d test for DNA. I was a criminal. I was on the national database.

They’d have a match. How long before they came looking for me? How long before Westnam’s body was washed up on the shore?

How long before they connected these deaths with me? Oh, this was good. This was a far better frame up than before. This time I would go down for murder.

‘Will you tell the police about Deeta being on my houseboat?’ I asked anxiously.

She held my gaze. There was still that hostility in her eyes but this time I thought it was tinged with a world-weary sadness. ‘Why should I?’

I probably had a couple of days at the most before the police connected me with Deeta’s death. I couldn’t go into hiding because Rowde had to find me. I just hoped he would before the police.

After Scarlett had gone I lay down. I didn’t even contemplate sleeping. My heart was heavy with the sadness of Deeta’s death. Only last night we had lain here together. I could still smell the scent of her firm young body. I could hear her laugh and her gentle questioning about my childhood and family. It had felt so good to talk to someone.

I had nearly told her about Rowde, but at the final moment remained silent. I had seen the surprise and shock in her eyes when she’d seen the bruises on my torso that had come courtesy of Rowde’s henchman, and the scars that Rowde and my other tormenters in prison had inflicted on me.

Poor Deeta. She had been so alive, so vibrant.

How could she no longer exist? Next it would be Rowde’s turn to kill. My sons and ex wife would die. Enough. I couldn’t let anything happen to them. I would have to kill Rowde, but first I needed to know where they were.

I didn’t intend to sleep but fatigue finally overcame anxiety and I woke to the sound of the birds. It was just on five o’clock, and it was Saturday. I had three days before Rowde carried out his threat.

There was no point going back to sleep. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. If Gus wasn’t Andover then I had to start again. And I was going to start with that aeroplane. Someone at the airfield might know who the pilot was, or perhaps had recognised the aeroplane. I should have done this earlier but events had swept me in a different direction.

This afternoon I was due at Camp Hill Prison to see Ray. My idea that Spires had linked the three businessmen had proven to be false; I was back to Emma Brookes, her daughter Joanne and partner, Jamie Redman. The airfield and Ray were my last hopes and I wasn’t optimistic about either.

There was no sign of life in Scarlett’s houseboat as I passed it. There was also no sign of Rowde.

The bastard was making me sweat. At a call box in the village I telephoned to Gus on his mobile.

He hadn’t heard from Vanessa. He had interrogated the home telephone remotely, from wherever he had gone to ground. There was no message. He sounded dreadful, but assured me that he was safe.

It was too early yet to go to the airfield so I decided to walk along the shore. It was a clear, crisp morning with a slight breeze that rippled the sea onto the sand. I would have enjoyed it if my mind hadn’t been so disturbed by concerns for Vanessa and the boys.

I came to where Deeta’s body had been found.

It was just below the footpath that led up to Swains Road, a select area of Bembridge village.

The blue and white police tape flapped in the wind. I stood for a moment in the silence of the early morning feeling an ache inside me as I recalled her beauty. She had paid a terrible price for the sake of framing me. I couldn’t believe Rowde had killed her, not that he wasn’t capable of it, he was, but if he had known that I cared for Deeta, he would have threatened me with her life, just as he was doing with my sons and Vanessa. No, the man who had killed Deeta was the same man who had humiliated and ruined me: Andover. He was still persecuting me and Deeta had been his instrument. I had to get to him before anyone else suffered the same fate.

I found myself climbing the coastal path and heading through the somnolent holiday camps and towards the airfield. There was a man tinkering with a small aeroplane in one of the hangars. He looked vaguely familiar from behind.

‘I’m looking for someone who can give me some information about an incident here a week ago,’ I began. The man turned. I couldn’t hide my surprise. It was Steven Trentham, my old childhood friend, and Percy’s son.

‘Hello, Alex.’

He didn’t look overjoyed to see me. In fact his eyes were full of hate. The years hadn’t been kind to him. His face was harrowed, his skin dull and his once blonde hair thinning and lank.

I offered my hand. He didn’t take it.

‘How are you?’ I rammed my hands into my pockets, trying not to feel hurt. I wouldn’t have thought Steven would have snubbed me for going to prison. Still, the Steven I had known had been a boy. It was almost thirty years ago.

Much had happened since then and we had both changed.

‘Fine,’ he replied tersely, continuing with his work on the light aircraft.

‘Didn’t you go into the RAF?’

‘Left in 1997.’

Silence for a moment. When it was clear the act of making conversation was going to fall to me, I said, ‘You work here?’ Steven had never been a great conversationalist. When we were kids I was the one who had done all the talking and the bossing around, taking advantage of my superior position as a child of the lord of the manor. If Steven wanted the last laugh he could have it now only he looked as though laughing was the last thing on his mind.

‘I do pleasure flights around the Island and the odd bit of ferrying business people about.’

Do you now! I hadn’t realised that Steven could fly an aeroplane. I recalled Percy’s words that first day I’d seen him when I had asked how he knew that I had been released, ‘ Steven told me.’ How had Steven known? Perhaps he was friendly with, Angela, Miles’s cleaning lady.

I said, ‘Someone buzzed me in a plane a week ago last Thursday as I was walking across the airfield. I’d like to know who. Can I find out?’ I had walked around so that I now faced him. I watched him carefully for a reaction. There was none.

‘I doubt it.’

‘Can’t you check your records. He must have radioed in to say he was landing or coming over the air space or something?’ I said, with exasperation and irritation.

Steven looked up. He gazed steadily at me with hazel eyes. In his right hand I could see the knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on a wrench. There was something akin to disgust on his face.

‘What is it, Steven? Don’t you like associating with ex cons?’ I said harshly.

He glanced away. ‘It’s not that.’

‘What then?’

He put down the wrench and said, ‘Shall we take a walk?’

I agreed with some reservations. I wasn’t sure where his walk would lead; fraternising with types like Rowde had made me edgy. Was Steven about to tell me he was Andover and then try to kill me? I was glad he had relinquished the wrench.

We stepped out of the hangar and walked across the grass towards the bird sanctuary where I had taken shelter from the maniac pilot who had tried to scalp me. My heart was beating faster. Steven was silent. I couldn’t believe he was Andover, and yet…