But Carole wanted him to remember other things. “What I find odd about this whole situation…you know, Gaby being stalked by Michael Brewer – ”
“But is it exactly stalking?”
“I don’t know what else you’d call it, Gaby.”
“No,” Robert agreed. “And most of the other descriptions are even less attractive.”
“But what I don’t understand,” Carole went on, “is, if Inspector Pollard is right and Michael Brewer did kill Howard and Bazza, then why?”
“From what I’ve gathered from Pollard, his feeling is that Bazza’s murder was done simply to shut him up. He knew too much about what had happened to Howard.”
Gaby wanted explanations too. “The bit I still don’t get is how Bazza got involved.”
Her uncle grinned ruefully. “I’m afraid that is down to your brother. Your father was stuck at the hotel without means of transport. Phil immediately thought of the one person he knew who could produce a car at short notice. So he rang Bazza.”
“Are you saying that he was in on the plot to kill Dad?”
“No. Pollard thought he must have been. That’s why Phil was pulled in for questioning. The inspector could not imagine that anyone existed in the world whose first thought when a taxi was needed would be to get a friend to steal a car.”
“Ah. Shows he doesn’t know our Phil.”
“No. I’m afraid your brother was never quite the sharpest knife in the drawer. But, anyway, Phil’s off the hook, at least so far as the murder’s concerned. He could still be in trouble over his involvement with Bazza’s car-stealing activities, but I doubt if Pollard’ll bother to pursue that.”
“All right,” said Carole, as though drawing a meeting to order. “We’ve established why Michael Brewer needed to kill Bazza, but I still can’t see what he had against Howard. I can believe he spent thirty years in prison, dreaming of revenge. But why should he take his revenge on Howard Martin? What had Howard ever done to him?”
“Ah.” Robert Coleman was silent for a moment, making a decision. He looked tenderly at Gaby before opting to go ahead. “Gaby, this may not be pleasant to your ears, but I’m afraid it’s something you’re going to have to know some time, and since the topic has come up, I think I may as well tell you now. What I’m about to say doesn’t reflect particularly well on your dad, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was a good man and, in his own way, he loved you very much.”
He allowed himself another silence, before continuing. “As you know, your dad worked for my dad, in a fishmonger’s in Worthing. After he married your mum – and after our dad had died and the business had been sold – Howard and Marie went off to Worcester, where he continued working in the same line. But when he was young, he also had a hobby that was…well, not strictly within the law. He had a shotgun, and he liked to go off after rabbits and hares, pheasants too. Some of them might appear in our dad’s shop, though he never knew where they came from.”
“Uncle Robert, are you saying my dad was a poacher?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s no reason to murder anyone.”
“Not in itself, no. Trouble was, Howard used to go shooting on the estate where Mick Brewer worked as a gamekeeper.”
“That’s still no reason – ”
“Wait for it, Gabs. Will you please wait until I’ve finished? The night Mick killed Janine Buckley, your dad was out shooting on the estate. He saw the car being torched.”
“He saw Michael Brewer actually setting fire to it?”
“Don’t know if he was close enough to be sure it was him, Carole. But he saw the fire erupt. And he called the police – anonymously, he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he’d been trespassing for the purpose of poaching. But, Gabs, if your dad hadn’t seen that car go up, it could have been years before the remains were found. Mick had driven it into a very remote part of the estate. He was reckoning it’d be a long time before anyone found the car, and by then getting any forensic detail from the site would have been a lot more difficult.”
Robert Coleman sighed and took a reflective sip from his beer glass. “So you see, that’s why Mick Brewer wanted revenge on poor old Howard. So far as he was concerned, it was your dad who got him convicted.”
“But, Uncle Robert, there’s no logic to that. Dad didn’t know who he was – ”
He silenced her with an upheld hand. “Gabs, if you spend thirty years in prison plotting revenge, I don’t think logic is at the top of your priorities.”
“No. Perhaps not,” she conceded.
“All right,” said Carole. “Let’s accept that as the reason why he targeted Howard, but why’s he after Gaby? She wasn’t even born at the time of his first murder.”
In a hopeless gesture, Robert Coleman put thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes. “I don’t know. Who knows how a mind like his works? Gaby belonged to Howard, maybe that’s all there was to it. Or maybe she represents what he couldn’t have – the child Janine Buckley was carrying when…I’m sorry, I don’t know. All I do know is that Gaby’s in danger.”
He sat back in his chair and Carole suddenly noticed how tired he was looking. Recent events had taken their toll on his sister and niece, but Robert’s own supportive role had also been exhausting. Being the family rock was not an easy job.
“Still,” he said, “it’ll soon all be over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Carole, that Mick Brewer can’t be at large for much longer. The police are closing in on him, they must be.”
“They’ve been looking for him since last October.”
“Not very hard. Someone who missed the odd appointment with his probation officer isn’t worth a lot of manpower. But now they’re really looking for him.”
“In West Sussex?”
“Yes. He’s somewhere down there. Got some hideaway, I’ll put money on that. Don’t worry, they’ll find him.”
“And then he’ll be charged with both murders?” asked Gaby.
“Bound to be. The police have got DNA evidence. He definitely killed your father and Bazza.”
Gaby sighed wearily. “Oh, I can’t wait till they get him. I don’t think I’ll ever relax again, until I know that Michael Brewer is safely back behind bars.”
Her uncle reached across and patted her hand. “Won’t be long. And till then, we need to see that you’re kept somewhere very secure, somewhere where he’d never think of looking for you.”
“But not Fethering,” said Carole.
Robert Coleman grimaced. “No. Not down there again. I didn’t know about that little excursion until after it had happened. I’m afraid, of all the places in the world to go to be away from the attentions of Michael Brewer, Fethering is the last one I’d have chosen.” He looked fondly across the table at his niece. “Maybe you’d be best to come back to Essex with me. Stay with Marie. As I say, the police are keeping an eye on her up there.”
But Gaby shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine in London. I’ve got friends I can stay with.”
Or I’ve got an even better idea, thought Carole.
Thirty-One
Like everything else in Robert Coleman’s club, the ladies’ room was severe with no frills. But it was spotlessly clean. As she washed her hands, Carole thought about their host’s abrupt departure. Just as they had reached the foyer from the dining room, he had received a call on his mobile.
Its content was clearly urgent because, with the most perfunctory of farewells, he left the two women alone. Robert Coleman’s anxiety about his niece’s safety seemed to have suddenly evaporated. Though, of course, that could mean that the news he’d had related to the capture of Michael Brewer, which would in turn mean that the threat to Gaby was at an end. Carole, not for the first time in her investigative career, felt deeply frustrated. Why were the police – and by extension, their intimates like Robert Coleman – always so uncommunicative about how their enquiries were progressing?