THIRTY-NINE
The Fire Brigade were still on the scene, albeit at a reduced level, when a new day dawned, preposterously bright and vernal. Sunlight glinted on the puddles of water in Falmouth Street, limned with rainbow slicks of diesel, and shafted through the smoke drifting up from the hollow, blackened walls of number 37.
Harry surveyed the dismal scene through the window of Mrs Jenkins' front parlour. It was a small mercy for which he was duly grateful that his mother had not lived to witness the destruction of her home. But he was aware that it was really no mercy at all. If she had still been alive, he would be safe in Vancouver with Donna and Daisy, blissfully unaware that an Operation Clean Sheet reunion had even been held, let alone disrupted by murder. And the house he had been born in would be as he remembered it, not the gutted, smouldering ruin he saw now.
The door opened behind him and Harry turned to see Chipchase, wearing one of Mrs Jenkins' home-knitted cardigans and a pair of her late husband's capacious bowls trousers under his bathrobe, looking as a result like a bewildered fugitive from a down-market nursing home. Harry might have laughed, but for the knowledge that his own outfit was not one he would wish to be seen in on the streets of Swindon.
As far as that was concerned if no farther, Chipchase was the bearer of good news. 'Jackie's going to buy us some clothes as soon as Marks and Sparks opens and bring them round. She knows my size and you're about the same. It's the spring '05 leisure look for you and me, Harry old cock. She said she'd pop into Boots, as well, and kit us out with a toothbrush and razor each. She never took such good care of me when we were married, I can tell you. I'm seeing a whole new side of her.'
'I hope she's not expecting us to pay her for all this stuff.'
'She knows we got out with nothing but our hides. Play our cards right and she might even… extend us a loan.'
'We'll need one.'
'At least until Donna wires us some cash, right?'
'Ah. Donna.'
'You'll be telling her about this, won't you?'
'Actually… I'm not sure.'
'Not sure?'
'I'm worried how she'll react. Until we decide what to do next…'
'What can we do without the disk?'
'I don't know, Barry.' Harry looked back through the window at the remains of number 37. 'I just don't know.'
—«»—«»—«»—
Jackie arrived shortly after 9.30 with two large M&S carrier bags bulging with clothes and an offer of emergency accommodation at her house. Chipchase was all for accepting, but Harry felt obliged to object.
'Somebody tried to kill us last night, Jackie. They might try again. We'd only be endangering you by staying at your place.'
'You really think it's as bad as that?'
'Every bloody bit,' Chipchase reluctantly agreed.
'Then you should tell the police.'
'They'll realize it was arson soon enough. But as for catching the arsonist… they're more likely to conclude we did it ourselves to get us off the hook with Grampian CID.'
'Surely not.'
'I'm afraid so.'
'Yeah,' said Chipchase gloomily. 'They very well bloody might.'
'Give them the disk. They'll have the resources to—' Jackie broke off and looked at each of them in turn. 'You don't have it any more, do you?'
'It's just a lump of goo under a scorched floorboard now. I should have grabbed it as I left the bedroom. But…' Harry shrugged. 'I didn't.'
There was a brief silence. Then Jackie asked, almost plaintively, 'What are you going to do?'
'I asked him that myself earlier,' said Chipchase.
'And I still don't have an answer,' said Harry.
—«»—«»—«»—
An answer of sorts, though hardly a reliable one, had emerged by the time they checked in at the police station. The duty sergeant gave no hint that he had any knowledge of the previous night's fire — or their connection with it. Nor did he react much at all to Harry's announcement that they were planning to return to Aberdeen the following day. 'Very good, sir. We'll let them know.'
—«»—«»—«»—
'We're not going back to Aberdeen tomorrow, are we?' Chipchase asked as they threaded their way through the Saturday morning crowds in the Brunei Centre.
'We have to go back there sooner or later.'
'Yeah? Well, in the meantime you and I need to conduct what you might call a strategic overview. I get the distinct impression we're in a canoe heading for the rapids without a paddle between us.'
'OK. Where do you want to go for this… tactical talk?'
'Well, the Pot should just have opened.'
'Good idea. But they'll expect us to pay for our drinks. So, first things first.'
—«»—«»—«»—
The hairdresser whose eye they caught upon entering Jacaranda Styling's Swindon New Town salon waved them through to the back office, where Jackie was waiting.
'There you are, Harry,' she said, handing him a bulging wallet. 'I guess I'm settling a debt that's been outstanding ever since I let Barry talk me into running out on you all those years ago. So, I added some interest to what you asked for. I even bought you something to keep the money in. If I were you, I'd dole it out to Barry in single note instalments, strictly as the need arises.'
'Thanks for the vote of confidence, darlin',' said Chipchase, smiling ruefully.
'I still think you should tell the police everything.'
'Maybe we will,' said Harry.
'And maybe we won't,' said Chipchase.
'I suppose it's pointless urging you to be careful.'
'No,' said Harry. 'It isn't. We will be careful. Believe it or not, we have been. All along.'
'Yeah,' said Chipchase. 'And look where that's got us.'
—«»—«»—«»—
'You know,' Chipchase announced after a first swallow of the first pint of Monkey's Revenge pulled at the Glue Pot that morning, 'I was pretty sure last night I'd drunk enough of this stuff to guarantee a steam-hammer hangover. Instead, my head's clear as a bell. Must be down to all that night air I got the benefit of. How are you feeling?'
'Great,' Harry replied. 'Just great.'
'You don't look it.'
'That's because I'm aware somebody wants us dead and may be determined to finish the job they started last night.'
'Plus of course beige isn't your colour. Or would you call that taupe?'
'Maybe we should go back to Aberdeen. Today rather than tomorrow. Protective custody could be our safest bet.'
'You're obviously not feeling at your most sparklingly optimistic'
'Nor should you be. Someone's after our blood, Barry. You do understand that, don't you?'
'Of course I do. But old Chipchase doesn't turn tail and run at the first whiff of grapeshot. Counter-attack. That's what we've got to do.'
'But counter-attack who? We still haven't a clue who's doing this. Or why.'
'My money's on Tancred.'
'What's his motive?'
'Beyond a twisted personality? Well, I don't actually…' Chipchase's boldly launched analysis of their options trickled away, like water into desert sand. He grimaced and gulped down some more beer.
'Exactly. No plausible motive. And not a shred of evidence. We've got—'
'Harry,' the barman called.
'Yeah?' Harry looked round.
'Woman on the phone for you.' He held up the receiver.
Harry was vaguely aware that he had heard the telephone ringing a few minutes before. It would never have occurred to him, however, that it had been ringing for him. He advanced cautiously to the bar and took the receiver.
'Hello?'
'Harry, this is Erica Rawson.'
'Erica?'
'Yes. Returning your call. The mobile number you left is out of order. Something to do with last night's fire, perhaps.'
'You know about that?'
'Certainly. We've been doing our best to keep tabs on you ever since you left Aberdeen.'
'We?'
'Well, as you know, I don't work for Aberdeen University. But I do work for another organization. So, we is appropriate, I think.'
'What organization is that?'
'Not something I can discuss over the telephone, I'm afraid. Which is why I suggest we meet face to face. If you and Barry leave the pub now, you'll be at the station in ample time for the next London train. Get off at Didcot. I'll meet you in the long-stay car park.'
'Hold on. I—'
But the line was dead. Harry had been summoned. And the possibility that he might refuse to answer the summons was simply not allowed for.