Perhaps Vera saw the indecision in her face because the gnarled finger jabbed in her direction again. "See," she said jubilantly. "I said it wasn't right, but she wouldn't listen. It won't work, she said, better to give it to strangers. So much heartache… and all for nothing when she had to go looking for it in the end."
"If you're talking about me," Nancy said coldly, "then Ailsa was right. You're the last person in the world anyone should give a baby to. Look at the damage you did to your own child." She started to walk forward. "Are you going to move or will I have to make you?"
Tears welled in Vera's eyes. "It wasn't my fault. It was Bob's fault. He told them to get rid of it. I wasn't even allowed to see it."
But Nancy wasn't interested. Telling Wolfie to turn the handle, she backed into the old woman, forcing her aside, and with a sigh of relief hooked the door open with her foot and hurried into the corridor.
Leo's voice took on an amused drawl. "When Dad got back, about two or three months later, he discovered his mother's rings had been nicked, along with bits of silver from the various display cabinets on the ground floor. Everything else had been shifted around to fill the gaps, so Ma didn't notice, of course-she was far too interested in her charity work-but Dad did. Spotted it within twenty-four hours of walking through the door. That's how acquisitive he is." He paused to see if Mark would rise to the barb this time. "Well, you know the rest. He lammed into poor old Vera like there was no tomorrow… and Ma never said a word."
"About what?"
"Lizzie's shenanigans."
"What did they have to do with it?"
"Who do you think stole the flaming stuff?"
"I thought you owned up to it."
"I did," Leo said with a grunt of laughter. "Bad mistake."
"Who, then? The boyfriend?"
"Christ, no! I wouldn't have taken the blame for him. No, it was Lizzie. She came to me, shaking like a leaf, and told me what had been going on. Her bloke persuaded her he'd marry her if she could get some money together to elope to Gretna Green. Silly cow. She was a pathetic romantic. Got comprehensively screwed by a waster… and still looks back on him as the best thing that ever happened to her."
Mark took to staring at the wall again. Which was the lie? That Leo had stolen from his father… or that he hadn't? He could feel the tug of the man's charm again, but he wasn't so gullible these days. The single thing he could be sure of was that Leo was playing a gamble. "Did Vera know about it?"
"Of course she did. She was part of the problem. She adored the toerag because he took the trouble to soften her up. He was a bit of a charmer, by all accounts. Vera told lies for Lizzie so Ma wouldn't know what was going on."
"Why didn't she say something when your father accused her of stealing?"
"She would have done if she'd been given time. That's why Lizzie came howling to me."
"Then why did your mother believe you? She must have guessed that Lizzie had something to do with it."
"It made life easier for her. Dad would have given her hell for letting Lizzie run out of control. In any case, I'm a convincing liar. I told her I'd blown the lot in a casino in Deauville. She had no trouble believing that."
Probably because it was true, thought Mark cynically. Or partially true. Ailsa had always said that what Leo did, Lizzie did six months later. Nevertheless… "Will Lizzie vouch for you if I tell your father this?"
"Yes. So will Vera if she hasn't gone completely doolally."
"Is Lizzie with you? Can I speak to her?"
"No, on both counts. I can ask her to ring you if you like."
"Where is she?"
"Not your business. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you herself."
Mark placed a palm against the wall and looked at the floor. Pick a side… "It might be better not to mention that her daughter's here. I don't want her thinking she's going to meet the girl." He heard Leo's indrawn breath. "And before you blame your father for that, it's the girl herself who's not interested. She has a brilliant adoptive family, and she doesn't want her life complicated with the emotional baggage of a second. Also-and this is strictly between you and me-Lizzie is the one who will be hurt. There's no way she can measure up… either to the daughter or the daughter's adoptive mother."
"It sounds as if Dad isn't the only one who's besotted," said Leo sarcastically. "Is this your way into the family fortune, Mark? Marry the heiress and scoop the jackpot? A bit old-fashioned, isn't it?"
Mark bared his teeth into the receiver. "It's time you stopped judging the rest of us by your own standards. We're not all middle-aged pricks with self-esteem problems who think their fathers owe them a living."
The grin came back into the other man's voice to have finally got a rise. "There's nothing wrong with my self-esteem."
"Good. Then I'll give you the name of a friend of mine who's a specialist in male fertility problems."
"Fuck you!" said Leo angrily, hanging up.
28
By the time Martin Barker returned to the campsite, the search of Fox's bus had produced as much as it was going to. Doors, luggage compartments, bonnet had all been opened, but there was little to show for the search team's trouble. A table had been set up under arc lights with some items of little value across its surface-electric power tools, binoculars, a battery-operated radio-which may or may not have been stolen. Otherwise the only finds of interest were the hammer and razor that had been retrieved from the terrace and a metal cash box that had been under one of the beds.
"It's small beer," Monroe told Barker. "This is effectively it, and he doesn't even bother to keep it locked. There's a couple of hundred quid, a driver's license in the name of John Peters with an address in Lincolnshire, a few letters… and damn all else."
"Is the license kosher?"
"Nicked or bought. The John Peters at that address is sitting with his feet up in front of a Bond movie… deeply incensed to have had his identity stolen."
It was a common enough story. "License plates?"
"False."
"Engine number? Chassis number?"
The sergeant shook his head. "Filed off."
"Fingerprints?"
"That's about the only thing I'm optimistic about. The steering wheel and gear stick are covered in them. We should know who he is by tomorrow, assuming he has a record."
"What about Vixen and Cub? Anything to show where they are?"
"Nothing. Can't even tell if there was a woman and a second kid living there. It's a pigsty, but there's no female clothing, and barely any children's." Monroe pushed the box away, and started on a small pile of papers. "Jesus!" he said disgustedly. "The guy's a joker. There's a letter here from the Chief Constable, assuring Mr. Peters that the Dorset Constabulary is scrupulous in its dealings with travelers."
Barker took the letter and inspected the address. "He's using a P.O. box in Bristol."
"Among others." The other man shuffled through the remaining letters. "They're all official responses to queries about travelers' rights, and all to different P.O. box numbers and areas."
Barker leaned over to look at them. "What's the point? Is he trying to prove he's a bona-fide traveler?"
"I shouldn't think so. It looks more like a paper trail. If he's arrested he wants us to waste our time trying to track his movements round the country. He probably hasn't been to any of these places. The Bristol police could spend months looking for a trace of him while he was in Manchester all the time." He put the letters back into the box. "It's smoke and mirrors, Martin, rather like this flaming bus, as a matter of fact. It looks promising, but there's nothing in it-" he shook his head- "and that makes me seriously interested in what our friend is up to. If he's thieving where does he keep his stash?"