Pauline Rowson - In for the Kill

I called Gus. He didn’t answer immediately and when he did he sounded exhausted. I understood how emotional strain drained you more than physical effort.

I told him about the plans I’d made with Rowde.

‘But you don’t have the money, Alex.’

‘Rowde doesn’t know that. As soon as we’ve taken off call the Specialist Investigations Unit and ask for Detective Chief Inspector Crowder.

Tell him everything. He’ll know what you’re talking about. You got that?’

‘Yes. I could fly you there.’

‘No. I don’t want you mixed up in this. And I need you to be this end to see that Vanessa and the boys are safe.’

After a moment he agreed.

‘In case I don’t come back look after my sons.’

My voice faltered. Gus took a deep breath before he said:

‘Good luck.’

‘I’ll need it.’ I rang off. Almost immediately my phone rang. It was Miles.

‘I’ve left Steven at the hospital by his father’s side. It doesn’t look too good for the old man.’

I felt sad for Percy and sorry for Steven.

Miles said, ‘The police will call me when they’re ready to resume questioning, but Steven had already told them about you and Deeta. They want to question you.’

‘They can’t, Miles. I’ve got to stay free,’ I said desperately. And I told him about Rowde.

‘Bloody hell! And Gus?’

‘I’ve told him to lie low. He’ll alert the police as soon as we’re in the air.’

‘And you and Rowde?’

‘One of us might come back. If it’s me, I’ll need a good lawyer.’

There was silence.

I continued. ‘You mustn’t breathe a word of this to the police, Miles.’

‘They might be able to help you find them.’

‘That’s only the half of it.’ I told him about Westnam’s body being dumped on my houseboat, and that I had slept with Deeta the night before she was killed. He listened in silence. He was probably thinking how on earth he could defend me this time.

When I had finished he said: ‘You think Andover killed Deeta?’

‘Yes. To frame Steven this time, not me.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s another long story. I’ll tell you about it one day.

‘Alex, do you know who Andover is?’

‘I thought it was Gus. He was having an affair with Vanessa at the time. I thought he wanted Vanessa for himself and so set out to destroy my reputation in order to get her. Now I think it might have something to do with what happened in the war.’

‘Which one?’ Miles asked surprised.

‘The Second World War.’

Miles scoffed. I didn’t blame him.

‘I told you it was a long story. How safe am I in your apartment from the police?’

‘Safe enough.’

‘The police know you’re my lawyer and my friend, won’t they make the connection?’

‘They haven’t asked me if I know where you are, and when they do I’ll tell them I haven’t got a clue. They can’t search my apartment without a warrant, or without asking me. They know that if they do, being a lawyer, I’ll have them by the balls.’

I didn’t feel entirely comfortable about it but Miles had a point. ‘Is Steven all right alone? The police won’t try to trap him into saying anything whilst he’s vulnerable, will they?’

‘With Scarlett beside him? She’s quite a girl.’

She was. God alone knew what she thought of me. I hoped it wasn’t too awful. Her opinion of me mattered. It shouldn’t have done, but it did.

I rang off and stared across the narrow strip of water of Portsmouth Harbour to the lights twinkling in the town of Gosport opposite.

Where was Rowde keeping Vanessa and the boys?

I assumed here on the mainland but what if they were on the Island?

I moved away from the window and began to pace the living room. To get to the Island they would either have crossed on the ferry, too risky for Rowde, or been taken across by private yacht. Did Rowde have a yacht? The first time I saw him he looked as if he had just stepped off a luxury cruiser. Could they have come across on someone else’s boat? Rowde wasn’t a sailor as far as I knew and wouldn’t know anything about crossing the Solent, and I doubted if marble man could skipper a boat. So who could have taken them? No, they had to be here on the mainland.

I needed a drink. I opened one of Miles’s kitchen cabinets and began searching for something alcoholic that might numb my senses for a while and let me sleep, albeit fitfully. Miles wasn’t the tidiest of men. Things were stashed in any old how. There was nothing in the kitchen.

Perhaps I would find something in the lounge. I retrieved a bottle of Glenfiddich from a sideboard, and as I did a folder fell out. It was stashed full of photographs. I poured myself a drink and went to replace the folder in the cupboard when a couple of snapshots caught my eye. They were of a Hardy 50 motorboat and Miles was on the deck. I was surprised. I didn’t know he owned a boat. He’d never said, but then there was quite a lot I didn’t know about Miles.

As I sipped my drink I recalled our conversations over the years; they had all been about me, obviously. I knew Miles was single, hardworking, and a partner in a thriving law practice in Portsmouth. And that, I realised, was about the sum total of it.

I sat back thoughtfully, nursing my drink and staring at the photograph. It was the type of boat that could easily have taken Vanessa and the boys to the Isle of Wight. In fact it was the type of boat that could have taken them to the Channel Islands, to France or anywhere around the world.

I tossed back the whisky and rose, irritated with myself. I had no reason to think they had been transferred to a boat. They could be imprisoned in a country cottage, a council house, or a caravan for all I knew.

I pushed the folder back inside the cupboard.

It got stuck on something. Annoyed I reached in and as I did I dropped the folder.

‘Damn!’ I scooped up the snapshots until my hand froze. I was staring at a very old and very small photograph, no bigger than two inches square. With a start I recognised instantly where it had been taken: in the background was my grandfather’s folly. My pulse began to race. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. Why would Miles have a picture of the folly in his apartment? I took a breath and studied the two people in the photograph. The man was about thirty, rather short, square with piercing eyes and a wide smile and beside him was a young, fair-haired woman.

With shaking hands I turned the photograph over. There was nothing written on the reverse, but that didn’t matter because I knew who I was staring at. It was Hugo and Amelia Wildern. And I also knew, without any doubt, who Hugo’s grandson was: Miles Wolverton.

CHAPTER 16

I stuffed the photograph in my pocket, grabbed my bag and caught the ten o’clock car ferry back to Fishbourne. The scope of Miles’s betrayal was breathtaking. As I sat on the ferry recalling the last few years of my life I found his duplicity hard to comprehend. He had seemed so genuine.

He had defended me with such vigour. He had always been there for me, telephoned me and visited me in prison. It had all been an act. How he must have gloated and silently crowed at my downfall. He had robbed me of everything. The bastard!

Now I had confessed to him that I had found Westnam’s body and he knew about Deeta; yet more ammunition to humiliate me further. I wasn’t going to call and alert him. I wanted to have this out with him face to face. But I’d bide my time. First I needed to know if he had a house on the Island, which must be where he was keeping Vanessa and the boys. It made sense.

Now all I had to do was find it.

There was one person who might know: the cleaning lady Miles had engaged to clean my houseboat, Angela. I tried Scarlett’s number several times. Her mobile was switched off. I guessed she was still at the hospital. Just after I disembarked I tried her again. This time she answered. I let out a sigh of relief.