“Oh yes? A fat lot of good that’s done me in the past. The lawyers are all part of it. They’re all in it together.”
“Mick, I used to work for the Home Office – ”
“So you’re part of the conspiracy too, are you?”
“No. But I did make some useful contacts while I was there. In particular, a solicitor called Jerome Clancy. Have you heard of him?”
An abrupt shake of the head.
“Well, he’s got quite a reputation for taking on cases of miscarriage of justice. Given what we’ve now got on Robert Coleman, I’m sure he’d take you on. With Jerome Clancy behind you, you wouldn’t need to worry about the police.”
“I’m still afraid. If they get me alone in a police station, they’ll charge me with something. I’ll never get out of there.” The eyes flickered with fear.
“You will, Mick. I know you’ve had a lousy deal in the past. But believe me, your life is about to change.”
“Huh.”
He did, however, finally agree that she should ring Jerome Clancy in the morning, and try to arrange a meeting. And Carole agreed that she would stay another night in Leper’s Copse, because the police were probably on the lookout for her too, and might force her to lead them to Michael Brewer.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll stay. But I have to make one phone call first.”
“Not to the police?”
“Nothing to do with the police, I promise. In fact, it might well take the police pressure off, stop them searching for me as well as you. I’ve just got to call a friend to tell her I’m all right.”
Jude was in the hotel in Villeneuve-sur-Lot, just getting ready for bed, when her mobile rang.
“Carole.”
“Thank God. I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Well, this is just to say I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you that. All be clear tomorrow, I promise.”
“But, Carole…”
“I can’t tell you anything else.”
“Oh. All right, I’m sure you know what you’re doing. Listen, shall I ring Inspector Pollard? He said I should get in touch the minute I heard anything from you.”
“No. Under no circumstances tell Inspector Pollard you’ve heard from me.”
“What about Gaby and Stephen? They’re desperately worried about you too.”
Which was rather gratifying, really, Carole thought. “Tell them I’m OK, but don’t tell them anything else.”
“I can’t tell them anything else, you’re being so cagey. Ooh, and what about David?”
“What about David?”
“Stephen says he’s been terribly worried about you. Can Stephen tell him you’re all right?”
“Yes,” said Carole, somewhat surprised, “I suppose he can. One other thing…”
“What?”
“Gulliver. That poor dog has been stuck in High Tor since – ”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“What?”
“A local policeman checked on your house because Inspector Pollard was worried about you. Gulliver is apparently living it up as a guest of Fethering Police Station.”
After she finished the call, Carole grinned at Michael Brewer. “Probably as well I’m lying low. Apparently the police have taken my dog in for questioning.”
Their next task was to try to clean themselves up and get out of their petrol-soaked clothes. Michael Brewer proved to have quite sophisticated domestic arrangements in his primitive hideaway. He had a tank of water for washing in, and an array of soaps and detergents.
He also found some clean clothes. “Be a bit big for you, I’m afraid. And perhaps a bit masculine. I’ve only got one dress” – he looked wistful – “and that’s been here for over thirty years.”
“Marie’s?”
He nodded. “Little disco dress she wore. Her mother didn’t know about it. I’d pick her up in some sedate little number her mother approved of, then bring her out here to change.”
“Did Marie often come here?”
He nodded briefly, as if the recollection were painful. “Marie and I loved each other,” he said.
Carole had had some prudish qualms about washing and changing down in the cellar with Robert Coleman there, but he appeared to be asleep, trussed up against his chair. Perhaps he was concussed after Michael Brewer’s smashing him into the tree. Anyway, his eyes were closed, and he twitched and mumbled, as though in troubled dreams. And given what he’d done, Carole thought tartly, his dreams deserved to be troubled.
She managed a fairly effective basic toilette. Keeping on her underwear, to which the petrol did notseem to have penetrated, she dressed in the T-shirt, knitted jumper and jeans Michael Brewer had looked out for her. The jeans needed a lot of rolling up, giving her the look of an American bobbysoxer. Very definitely not Carole Seddon’s usual style.
In spite of assiduous washing and fresh clothes, the smell of petrol still lingered around her. She didn’t think she’d ever be free of the smell of petrol. And, as for the Renault…
She vacated the cellar for Michael Brewer to do his own cleaning-up process, and went for a little walk around Leper’s Copse as she tried to settle her mind. In the hollow of a field a little way away, she found a small blue Peugeot, presumably the car in which Robert Coleman had arrived.
When Michael Brewer emerged in his change of clothes, he suggested cooking a meal for them. To her surprise, Carole realized that she was suddenly very hungry, and accepted the offer.
Neither of them wanted to eat down in the cellar. The space felt contaminated by the presence of Robert Coleman. So Michael Brewer brought plates of hot sausages and beans out into Leper’s Copse. He said he’d offered food to Robert, who hadn’t wanted any. “Have to be humane to prisoners,” said Brewer with a trace of humour. “At least I know all about that.”
They ate their food on the edge of the copse, as far away from the smell of petrol as possible. As on the previous evening – which to Carole now seemed a lifetime away – her eyes soon adjusted to the darkness and she was aware of the greying contours of the surrounding Downs. It was a beautiful area, which kept its secrets.
Among his stores, Michael Brewer had managed to find a bottle of wine, and their little dinner â deux – the Home Office retiree and the former lifer – felt surprisingly cosy.
After they had finished eating, Carole asked, “How long have you known that Gaby was your daughter?”
He sighed. “I suppose I always suspected it…hoped it was true – hoped that there might be one positive thing salvaged from the wreck of my life. But I didn’t know for sure until Marie wrote to me in Parkhurst.”
“When was that?”
“Seven, eight years ago.”
Just round the time of Gaby’s panic about bowel cancer, thought Carole, and Michael Brewer’s next words confirmed her conjecture.
“Marie said she had wanted to keep the truth from Gaby all her life, but for some reason she’d had to tell her that Howard wasn’t her real father. She hadn’t told Gaby who her father was, but there was a lot of stuff in the press around that time about adopted children tracing their birth parents. Marie was worried Gaby might have a go at that. And I had been around at the right time, so, in case Gaby made the connection, Marie thought I should be prepared for some kind of contact from her.”
“And did Gaby contact you?”
He shook his head. “I doubt if it ever occurred to her that I might be involved. Doubt if she even knewof my existence. But, obviously, once I knew for certain she was my daughter, I wanted to make contact with her. But I couldn’t write or anything, because I didn’t know what the set-up was with Howard. I didn’t want to put Marie in an impossible situation inside her family, so…I knew I’d have to wait till I was released.”
“Why did you vanish when you were released? Why didn’t you go to your appointments with your probation officer?”