The back garden at Shelseley consisted of a large lawn area leading down to trees and shrubbery at the bottom end. Nearest to the house was a mossy terrace, now criss-crossed with washing lines, which flew rows of brightly-coloured children's clothes like a regatta.
The far end of the garden, down past where the ballroom jutted out from the main body of the house, was a place of shadows and imagination. I didn't want to go poking about down there in the dark, but Joy started forwards again, and I had little choice but to press on.
The air was grainy with early evening mist. When we stopped near the line of laurel bushes at the edge of the lawn, we could see our breath in clouds against the cold night air.
“He's gone,” I said, trying not to pant. “There's no chance of finding him out here. I don't even want to try looking.”
“Who on earth do you think it was?” Joy asked. She didn't seem to be out of breath at all. God, I needed to do a better cardiovascular work-out. My stamina levels were lousy.
I shook my head. “Who knows?” I said. “Maybe it was just some guy who gets his kicks looking at a bunch of girls wrestling with each other.”
“Jeez, some people!” Joy said, pulling a face. “Doesn't he have satellite TV?”
Noise from up the garden behind us made us turn. Ailsa appeared from the back door, carrying a flashlight. There was a big group of Lodge residents with her, spilling out onto the terrace. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“Charlie?” Ailsa called, her voice high with alarm. “Are you all right, love?”
I shouted back that we were fine, and we started trudging back up the grass to where she was standing. Ailsa had pulled on a huge knitted shawl against the cold. Tris was beside her, huddled into his old parka.
“That does it,” Ailsa said tightly when we were closer. “I've called the police. They've said they'll send somebody out right now.”
Not wanting to just sit around twiddling my thumbs until the cops arrived, I took my students back into the ballroom and continued the class. For all the good it did me. They were nervous and distracted, and I admit that I taught the rest of the lesson with half my attention on the row of French windows, just in case our mysterious observer was stupid enough to put in a reappearance. Needless to say, he wasn't.
The police, in the form of a small Asian WPC in a Fiesta panda car, turned up about half an hour after I'd finished. By that time my students, including Joy and any other potential witnesses, had all gone home.
She had a noisy poke round the back garden, came and made a few desultory notes, and left again. It didn't do much to inspire confidence in anyone, least of all me. I gathered from Ailsa that Nina had locked herself into her room and was refusing to answer the door. I couldn't really say I blamed her.
I told myself that finding out the details about Susie had made me jumpy, that was all, but that didn't have much of a calming influence, somehow. When I left the Lodge later and started up the Suzuki I was aware of a sudden overwhelming vulnerability that I didn't like.
I didn't like it at all.
Eight
By the time I started my stint at the New Adelphi Club that Saturday night, the police had made little progress in tracking down Susie Hollins' killer. According to Clare's contact on the crime desk, at any rate.
I asked her to keep me informed, and she promised to give me an update when I went over to eat lunch with them on the Sunday. I think it was Clare's not-so-subtle way of reminding me to turn up.
I was still smiling to myself at her heavy hints when I pulled into the car park of the New Adelphi Club. I left the bike in a corner. Out of the way, but still covered by the cameras, of course, and ambled round to the back door.
Deciding what I was going to wear had been a difficult one. Marc eventually relented on the black jeans front. Considering my limited wardrobe, he didn't have much choice.
Some discussion had taken place about the rest of me, apparently. The best compromise they could come up with was one of the badged polo shirts worn by the bar staff. It was the only thing they'd got that was something like the right size.
Marc said if it worked out on a longer-term basis, he'd see about getting me something more suitable. He didn't specify what. I had visions of the mini-skirt and stiletto outfits worn by the girls waiting on the tables at the club. My acid comment that putting me in high heels would reduce my agility to that of a kipper had been received in noncommittal silence. Ah well.
I hammered on the back door until it swung open. I was expecting Gary, but it was Len who admitted me, dressed in his usual dinner suit uniform. I could imagine him going to ASDA, or down the launderette in it.
He looked me up and down insultingly, making it clear he didn't think he was looking at much. I kept my expression bland while he played his little game. I've dealt with the Lens of this world before, and this time I didn't want to join in. So I didn't challenge, didn't show fear or irritation. I just stood and waited until he decided I'd had enough.
“Let's just get this straight from the start,” he said at last, bolshy, jabbing a sausage-like finger a millimetre from my nose. I resisted the urge to bite at it. “The boss may have hired you, but I'm in charge of security in this place, see? You got a problem, you come to me. You don't go running to Mr Quinn. Clear?”
“Crystal,” I said, making my voice drawl just because I knew it would wind him up.
He grunted, but said nothing, turning and stamping off down the corridor and leaving me to follow on in his wake.
I sighed. It was going to be a fun evening.
Len eventually led me to one of the bars where the rest of his team were gathering. He didn't bother to introduce me while we waited until the last of them turned up. There were six of us altogether, including me, which proved me right in my own mind about Marc's problems. For a place the size of the New Adelphi, a dozen working security wouldn't have been overdoing it.
They were uniformly big men, who walked with their arms pushed out from their sides because of the amount of time they spent working on their back and chest muscles. It must be a qualification for the job that you have to have your neck shortened. I made an educated guess that their combined police records would make long and interesting reading.
They obviously all knew each other, judging from the friendly jokes and comments that were being tossed back and forth. I was carefully excluded from this display of macho camaraderie.
As opening up time approached, the walkie-talkies came out. Some of the team looked mildly taken aback when Len handed one to me.
“This is never the new lass is it, Len?” one of them asked. “Sorry, love, I thought you were bar staff,” he said to me. “The way Dave described you, I thought you'd be bigger.”
“Has nobody ever told you that size is not important?” I asked dryly. “You do surprise me.”
There were a few jeers at that. Even Len grinned, but he didn't ease up enough to show me how the walkie-talkie worked. He left me to work out the tangle of wires by myself.
Eventually I got it sorted. The main device, about the size of a mobile phone, hooked onto my belt, with a separate earpiece and a clip-on mic. The mic had its own remote transmit button. By leaning over someone's shoulder I gathered the channel we were operating on.
Len's only advice was short and sweet. “Unless it's a real emergency, stay off the air,” he told me, then turned to the others. “We're still spread thin, so you all know your areas. If you get a problem, give us your location first, then what's happening, otherwise we don't know where to come and get you out of the shit, do we?”
“So what's my brief?” I asked as the rest of the team each headed off to their own pitch.