A Thoughtful Woman Read online

  A Thoughtful Woman

  K.T. Findlay

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Preface

  Maps

  1 The limits of forgiveness

  2 Baby steps

  3 A little knowledge

  4 A lunch with spice

  5 Preparing the ground

  6 Your carriage awaits

  7 Miss Helen’s World

  8 Prepping the prey

  9 Points on the board

  10 Here’s looking at you kid

  11 Points of view

  12 People of interest

  13 A slippery customer

  14 Two or three?

  15 The guts of the matter

  16 Now that’s a bit different

  17 Last man standing

  18 Going over old ground

  19 Ground cover

  20 Bobbing around

  21 Time to go

  22 All kitted up

  23 View halloa

  24 The run for home

  25 Tightening the net

  26 Reviewing the situation

  27 Playing around

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Also By K.T. Findlay

  AUTHOR Website

  Copyright © 2019 K.T. Findlay

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters, locations and events are fictitious

  products of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  To the fabulous group of people who helped me make this journey.

  Preface

  This story is set in the late 1980s, when the personal computer was still far too expensive to be on everyone’s desk. Hardly anyone used email, the mobile phone was heavy, bulky and rare, and the smartphone appeared only in science fiction novels. The police computer systems had nothing like the kinds of processing power and databases they have access to today, and while DNA testing was already being used, it was far from the mainstream tool it has become.

  Solving crime in the eighties depends on experience, insight and wits to make the most of whatever the police can find. Fortunately, Detective Inspector Peregrin McEwan has all of that in spades. Unfortunately, so does his opponent. The slightest mistake by either, could decide the outcome.

  Maps

  (More available at www.ktfindlay.com)

  Throcking Countryside Map Key

  A – Widow Maker track – upper

  B – Bleak Road

  C – Emma’s House

  D – Heaven’s Spur

  E.- Widow Maker’s track – lower

  F – Drunkard’s Lane

  G – Throcking Castle

  H – Sally’s house

  I – Peregrin’s House

  J – Bob Harland’s House

  K – Elbow Lane

  Throcking Detailed Map Key

  a – Helen’s house

  b – Helen’s dungeon

  c – Cutty Sark Café

  d – Emma’s house

  e – Beck Pool / Widow Maker

  f – Flying fox

  g – Sky road bridge

  h – Holmes’s house

  i – Throcking Castle

  j – Sally’s house

  k – Thomlinson’s house

  l – Police Station

  m – Hospital

  n – Felicity’s house

  o – Peregrin’s house

  p – Alison’s house

  1 The limits of forgiveness

  A fireball bursting through the driver’s window was pretty much what she’d expected from half a pint of petrol. That the blast might also be enough to blow open the unlatched door and engulf her in flames at the rear of the car, hadn’t occurred to her at all.

  Fortunately for Sally, the flash fire was both brief and slightly off target, leaving her shocked but unscathed. It gave the pursuing policeman a chance to further close the gap, but he was still two hundred yards away when she reached the top of the platform. She retrieved the key from the fine chain around her neck, undid the padlock to the flying fox and slipped it back down her top. The whole platform shook as the officer threw himself up the stairs but she was already hanging from the pulley, drifting out towards the edge of the platform. She wasn’t quite clear of it when she heard him reach the top and leap towards her.

  ‘Got you!’ he cried, and she cringed, expecting his hand on her coat at any second, but unbelievably she drifted free, his fingers missing her by inches.

  ‘Blast!’ he swore. ‘You can’t get away! We’ll have you sealed off!’ he shouted after her now rapidly accelerating back. Then he noticed a trail of smoke coming from the bottom right hand corner of her coat as it flapped in the wind. Something from the Mini must have blown onto it when she’d set it alight. As he watched, a lick of flame appeared amidst the smoke, growing larger as she picked up speed.

  Sally felt the heat of the flame intensify, but needing both hands to cling to the handset, she faced a stark choice, burn, or let go and fall the fifty feet to the river bed below. It had been two years since she’d first met Emma and convinced her to join her quest for revenge. Was it really going to end like this?

  ◆◆◆

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Freddy, taking a sip of his coffee.

  ‘She fell, smashed to bits on the rocks. February eighth 1984. It’s hard to believe it’s been three years now.’ replied James.

  Freddy shook his head sadly. ‘Well, I hope it was quick.’

  James added another spoonful of sugar to his tea and thanked the waitress for his freshly made scone. ‘It was. She died instantly apparently.’ He looked pensive for a moment, envisioning the past. ‘What I never figured out is why he did it! I mean I thought they were happy together. She was a nice woman, and a real looker.’

  ‘You’re certain he killed her? He got off the charge.’ asked Freddy.

  James nodded slowly. ‘Oh yes, he told me so himself, after the trial was over. He just never said why.’

  ‘And you’re certain that he really did arrange a hit on the witness?’ Freddy continued.

  ‘Graham Mellors? Yeah, he did that too. He arranged it through his lawyer, the one we’re seeing tonight. The poor bugger was just walking on the beach minding his own business and probably didn’t see a thing. I think Terry was just being paranoid.’

  Freddy raised his cup to hide the contempt on his face. ‘Sounds like Terry.’

  James glared at him. ‘It kept the man alive!’

  ‘It’s also why he wrote down everything he knew about the agents he was working with, for insurance he said. He was always one for the insurance our Terry. Maybe he just killed Carol for the pay out. Did you ever think of that?’

  James glared at him. ‘Terry and Carol Walker were my friends! You didn’t really know him! He’d never have done something like that!’

  The rest of the café’s clientele were staring at them now and Freddy raised his hand slightly off the table to calm his colleague. ‘Remember where we are James. We’re supposed to be ramblers, exploring the area, not a pair of conspiracy theorists writing a book. Calm down for goodness sake.’ James scowled at him but Freddy persisted. ‘We need to find out what happened to him, but not because he was your friend. We need to get that document back or more than a dozen agents could be toast, including us. The fact that he’s your friend can help us, or it can hinder us. Your choice.’ He took another sip of coffee before tackling his chocolate cake.

  James begrudgingly gave him a nod. ‘Right. Okay, where do you want to start?’

  Freddy pointed out the
window. ‘At Coveton, where Carol fell off the cliff. It’s a good walk up the coast to the west. I reckon we can get there and back before it gets dark. Mrs Hinchcliffe at the BnB thought it was doable by a couple of fit young lads like us.’

  James gave a sardonic laugh. ‘You want to watch that one mate. I reckon she’s got her eye on you. Young? Huh! You’re in your forties!’

  They finished their late lunch and left the Cutty Sark café. James was first out and Freddy caught him staring at a car turning into a side road to head up the hill. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  James removed his tongue from his cheek. ‘It’s a funny old world. That was Graham Mellor’s widow.’

  ◆◆◆

  It was one of those moments when everything in Emma’s garden conspired to create perfection. A luxurious spring sun gently warmed her back, the early flowers perfumed the air, and to accompany the birdsong, the birch leaves shimmered and chattered gently in the sparkling clean sea breeze. The whole world breathed with life, and a quiet determination to get on with things.

  Which was for the most part almost completely wasted on her. What really mattered was the furnace of rage roaring inside, consuming mind, body and soul. Her fists opened and clenched, the only visible sign of the tension that rippled up her arms and into her shoulders, before spearing down through her heart and guts. Huge sobs burst from her throat with such force that she struggled to breathe. A vision of her George, smiling and waving goodbye, not knowing it was to be the last time, was replaced by the sight of his killer punching the air in victory, as the not guilty verdict was read out in court that very morning.

  She could see the delighted lawyer, grinning broadly as he shook the victor’s hand. Another game won.

  ‘You bastards!’ she shrieked at the top of her voice, her eyes clenched tight, face turned to the heavens, mouth open so far it hurt.

  ‘You bastards.’ she gasped more quietly, as the sobs returned and robbed her even of the ability to scream her despair.

  The tears burst afresh, and in frustration she collapsed to her knees, her arms clutching herself in a desperate hug, as if George was still there holding her tight. ‘You bloody bastards.’ she whispered to herself, as the spasms in her chest refused to let her refill her lungs.

  For a full minute she just rocked gently back and forth on her knees, still hugging herself as hard as she could, silently letting the tears course down her cheeks and onto the grass.

  Slowly she became aware of a presence.

  A woman’s shoes walked quietly past on her left side, towards the patio table. She heard the clunks and clinks as bottles and glasses were put down, and the gentle scrape of a chair being pulled out to allow the woman to sit.

  At last she managed to regain enough control to partly uncurl, look up at her visitor and say ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’

  ‘My name’s Sally Mellors.’ said the slim, thirty something brunette. ‘I thought you might need a stiff drink.’

  Emma’s face added a layer of bewilderment to the cavalcade of emotions already in play. ‘Who? What?’ she spluttered.

  Sally reached down into her willow basket and pulled out a lemon, a wooden chopping board, and a small knife. ‘I was in court this morning, specifically to watch your case. Have you tried this new Bombay Sapphire gin? It’s exquisite.’

  Emma twitched her head in frustration. ‘Why were you watching George’s case?’

  Sally carefully shaved some zest off the lemons and added it to the pair of glasses in front of her. ‘It’s a very personal case of déjà vu. A single to start?’ she asked, breaking the seal on the beautiful blue glass bottle. ‘The father of the drunk who killed your husband killed mine, in a road accident three years ago. He was drunk as well.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ whispered Emma.

  Sally nodded her head as she measured out the gin. ‘That’s why I’m here. I’m sorry too.’ There was a loud hiss as Sally unscrewed the lid off the tonic water. ‘And I knew what you’d be going through. Here you are.’ she said, carrying both glasses across the lawn.

  Emma took one, and attempting a desperate smile through the tears, clinked it gently against Sally’s.

  ‘Absent friends.’ she said, and drained it in one.

  Sally gently patted her shoulder, took the empty glass and went back to the table to make her another one. She reached down into the basket again.

  ‘I’ve brought pate, cheese and crackers if you’d like something to eat with it?’ she asked.

  Emma nodded again, and heaving a heavy sigh, dragged herself back to her feet. ‘That would be nice.’ she said, as she slumped down into the other garden chair. ‘I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.’

  Sally smiled and offered her a cracker with brie. ‘Thought not. Where are your sons? I’m a bit surprised they’ve left you on your own this afternoon.’

  Emma nibbled at the cracker. ‘They’re just out for a while, getting us something to drink. It’s okay. I actually wanted a little time away from them, so I didn’t have to…’

  ‘Keep putting a brave face on it. I know. Well you don’t need to do that with me. Just let rip whenever you feel like it.’ said Sally handing over another couple of crackers.

  ‘I live over there on the outskirts of Throcking.’ she said pointing east across the Sky river valley. ‘You can see it from here, that renovated farmhouse above the main road. I’m an artist now. I took it up seriously after Graham was killed. It helped me to process things.’

  Emma stared at her. ‘How long before the pain stops?’ she pleaded.

  Sally kept looking across the valley. ‘No idea. Mine’s still there, and the rage. Everyone’s different. I guess it depends how much you’re prepared to let things go.’

  ‘Isn’t it better to forgive and forget, if only for your own sake?’ asked Emma.

  Sally shrugged. ‘Again, it depends. If you’re just going to fume, but not actually do anything, then yeah, that’s dumb. Better to let it go. But, if you’re really prepared to seek revenge…’

  Emma’s face hardened, and she became more focussed. ‘If I ran Bob Harland over then I’d go to jail myself. What’s the use in that? Perhaps I can appeal and take him back to court, but that’s about it.’

  Sally shook her head emphatically. ‘The courts are a legal system darling. They don’t do justice. You saw that for yourself this morning. If you want justice, there’s just us.’

  ‘So what do I do?’ asked Emma.

  Sally looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Imagine the courts had handed Bob Harland over to you, trussed like a turkey and said you could do anything you wanted to him. What would you do?’

  Emma’s face creased up in fury. ‘I’d ram my carving knife through his chest!’

  Sally laughed. ‘That’s a bit quick isn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Emma shot back.

  ‘You’re hurting, I mean really hurting. I heard the noises you were making when I arrived. Don’t you want him to feel something too?’

  Emma leapt to her feet, and started to walk around, aggression pouring out of her. Her right hand shot out, fingers spread, but curved and strong like a claw. ‘Yes! I want to scratch his eyes out!’

  ‘And…’ Sally said softly.

  ‘I want to shred him! Cripple him! Throw him down a hole, and watch the bastard rot!’ Emma snarled out the words, dispelling her excess energy through twists and turns on the patio, her fists clenched tight. ‘I want to be there at the end, to watch the life and hope drain from his ugly, useless face, and savour the last, final flicker in his eyes!’

  ‘There you go,’ said Sally slowly, ‘much more creative!’

  She sat up, and pulled a bottle of soda water from the basket. ‘But,’ she said, ‘the court didn’t give him to you, so what can you really do?’

  Emma slumped back into her chair. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’ she said sadly.

  ‘Really?’ asked Sally, handing her a soda and lemon.

  Emma glar
ed at her. ‘Not if I want to stay out of jail!’

  Sally nodded. ‘Ah, and there it is, the real reason. If you really thought we could get away with it, would you at least consider taking your revenge?’

  Emma thought for a moment. ‘Yes.’ she nodded. ‘Yes I would!’

  A second thought struck her. ‘What do you mean “we”?’

  Sally smiled. ‘Well, we have a lot in common. Husbands killed by father and son drunks, evidence falsified by the same cop, the same smart-arse lying lawyer –’

  ‘Whoa!’ cried Emma. ‘What are you talking about? What about the cop and the lawyer?’

  ‘Well Thomlinson, the cop who attended both crashes, is under investigation. My friend in the police thinks he deliberately lost the blood test taken at Graham’s crash to force a later one to replace it, which of course showed a lower reading. He reckons the same stunt might have been pulled this time too. Well, Peregrin couldn’t actually say that out loud, but it’s why he was there today, observing, as he put it.’ Sally took another sip. ‘Oh that’s refreshing! Almost as nice as the gin.’

  ‘Who’s Peregrin?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Peregrin McEwan, one of my very best friends.’

  ‘Your best friend’s a cop?’

  Sally laughed. ‘What’s so strange about that? He’s a really great guy! Now, Holmes, the lawyer, he told the judge that George’s accident was simply a matter of oil on the road, hidden by the rain. He didn’t provide any evidence to support it, and conveniently, Thomlinson hadn’t checked, but it convinced the judge enough to let Bob go. Right?’

  Emma nodded.

  Sally took another sip. ‘What the judge seems to have forgotten is that Holmes and Thomlinson played the exact same trick three years ago to get Dick Harland acquitted of killing Graham.’

  Emma gasped. ‘You think they rigged it between them?’

  Sally nodded. ‘Absolutely. Throw in the swapped blood samples and it’s way beyond coincidence.’

  ‘That’s unforgivable!’ cried Emma.