Eleanor looked as if she'd been sandbagged. "I don't know what you're talking about," she managed.
"I'm sorry. I obviously didn't explain myself very well. Mrs. Weldon believes her intruder to be the man who's behind a hate campaign against Colonel Lockyer-Fox. She further believes him to be one of the travelers camped in the wood above the village… and says you must have spoken to him this morning as you've been acting very strangely ever since. He uses a voice distorter to disguise his voice, but she says you know who he is."
Eleanor's mouth turned down in an unattractive horseshoe. "That's ridiculous," she snapped. "Prue's a fantasist… always has been. Personally, I think you should question whether an intruder ever existed because she's not above inventing one to get a little attention. I suppose you know she's had a row with her husband and he's talking about divorcing her?"
Monroe didn't, but he wasn't about to admit it. "She's frightened," he said. "According to her, this man mutilated the Colonel's dog and left him outside for the Colonel to find."
Her eyes darted nervously toward her husband. "I don't know anything about that."
"You knew the dog was dead, Mrs. Bartlett. Mrs. Weldon says you were pleased about it-" he paused for emphasis- "something to do with chickens coming home to roost."
"That's not true."
Julian's reaction was to throw her to the wolves. "It sounds like you," he said. "You never liked poor old Henry." He turned to Monroe. "Sit down, Sergeant," he invited, pointing to an armchair and taking another for himself. "I hadn't realized there was any more to this-" he made a gesture of distaste-"humiliating story than my wife and Prue Weldon making phone calls. It seems I was wrong. What exactly has been going on?"
Monroe watched Eleanor's face as he took the other chair. She was a different animal from her plump friend-stronger and tougher-but catastrophe was showing in her eyes just as clearly as it had been in Prue's.
22
A similar thought was running through Martin Barker's head as Bella tried to pretend that the reason there was no bed for Wolfie in her bus was because he preferred to curl up in a sleeping bag on the banquette seat. "He's a bit of a nomad is Wolfie," she said with feigned confidence while worry created wrinkles on her brow. "Don't go much for beds, do you, dar-lin'?"
The child's eyes widened yet further. Terror seemed to be his constant companion, stalking him relentlessly the closer they came to the darkened bus. Bella had made various attempts to leave him behind in the other vehicles, but he clung to her coattails and refused to be parted from her. Barker pretended not to notice, but he was seriously interested in the boy's connection with the bus.
Bella put a despairing arm around Wolfie's shoulders and turned him toward her. Lighten up, kid, she begged inside her head. If you shake any more, you're gonna collapse. It was like dragging a neon sign behind her, flashing: sure we've got something to hide. We're the brain-dead decoys while the fucker who brought us here is out casing the village.
Her anger with Fox was intense, and not just because he'd brought the police down on their heads. No one should make a child so afraid that the mere sight of uniforms struck him dumb. She wanted to take Mr. Barker aside and blurt out her concerns-the mother's vanished, the brother's vanished, the child says he has bruises-but what was the good if Wolfie denied it? She knew he would. His fear of authority was far greater than his fear of Fox. In any child's mind a bad parent was better than no parent at all.
At the back of her mind, too, was a worry that she only had Wolfie's word for it that Fox had ever left the camp. Supposing he was wrong? Or supposing Fox had slipped back through the woods and was watching from his bus? What then? Wouldn't the child's situation be a hundred times worse? And wasn't that what he was really afraid of? That Bella would do or say something to make Fox angry?
"He don't know what 'nomad' means," she explained to Barker. "He reckons it's something bad." She gave the child a comforting squeeze. "Why don't you stay with the girls, darlin', while I take these gentlemen to the last bus? Fox said he'd man the barrier tonight, remember, so he's likely asleep. He'll be that mad at being woken… and there ain't no reason for you to hear him cursin' and swearin' just because he's in a bad temper."
Barker's curiosity intensified. Fox? What were the odds on a relationship between a Fox and a Wolfie in a community as small as this one? He ruffled Wolfie's hair. "Your dad?" he asked amiably, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Bella.
No answer.
Bella gave a small nod. "Fox ain't much of a cook… so the poor kid ain't getting proper meals." She was staring at Barker as if she were trying to tell him something. "That's why he's stopping with me for a while."
Barker nodded. "So where's his mum?"
"Wolfie ain't too-"
Abruptly, the child pulled away from Bella's supporting arm. He had shadowed her from the moment she'd said his mother was away, because he knew the policeman would ask that question. "She's in Devon," he said in a rush.
Barker chuckled. "So you do have a voice!"
Wolfie stared at the floor, distrusting the way this man looked at people as if he could read their thoughts. He spoke in staccato sentences. "My mother's on holiday with my brother. They're staying with friends. I said I'd rather be with my father. He's very busy because he's the organizer of this project. That's why Bella's cooking for me. It's not charity. My dad's paying her. Mum and Cub will be joining us in a few days. Fox likes families. That's why he's chosen them to build this community."
It was arguable who was the more taken aback. Martin Barker because of the sophistication of Wolfie's speech when he finally opened his mouth-like Bella he had assumed the child was younger than he was-or Bella because he chose to ape his father's classy accent. She smiled weakly as the policeman frowned. They'd be accusing her of kidnap next…
"He watches too much telly." She plucked a film out of the air. "Probably thinks he's-whatsisname-Mark Lester in Oliver!." She ruffled Wolfie's blond hair. "He's got the looks for it, even if he's more of an Artful Dodger at heart."
Barker raised amused eyebrows. "Which makes you Nancy, I suppose? The tart with the heart in Fagin's den of thieves?"
Bella grinned in response. '"Cept I'm no tart, this ain't no den of thieves, 'n' I sure as hell don't plan to get done in by Bill Sikes."
"Mm. So who's Bill Sikes?"
"Oliver Reed," she said firmly, wishing she'd chosen her film more wisely. "The sodding film's full of Olivers."
Barker bent down to look through her windscreen at the last bus. "How about Fox?"
"No chance," she said, squeezing past him to lead the way outside and feeling the tug on her coat as Wolfie followed. "Oliver! was a random pick so don't go reading Freud into it. The kid copies voices. I might just as well have said Little Lord Fauntleroy."
"Or Greystoke… the Legend ofTarzan," he suggested.
"Sure. Why not? He's a good imitator."
Barker thumped heavily to the ground behind her. "They're all films about orphaned boys being rescued by their grandfathers, Bella."
"So?"
He glanced past Wolfie's blond head, searching for the lights of Shenstead Manor through the trees. "Just curious about the coincidence."
James shook his head when Mark started to explain about Leo's alibi. "No need for details," he murmured gently. "I do understand. I've always wondered why you sided with the police when I accused Leo. Now I know. It can't have been easy for you." He paused. "Is his alibi still watertight?"