

# Carruthers' Demise

Smashwords Edition

Carruthers' Demise

Copyright © 2012

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents therein are entirely

the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living

or dead is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in

any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or

otherwise without prior permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

# Prelude

'And top marks for this week's essay go to Ian Turner,' the teacher announced in her matter-of-fact voice. Only there was nothing matter-of-fact about it, and the young girl felt her resentment rising as she studied the young boy's face; his smirk burned like hot coals on her cheeks as he turned and gloated at her.

She nearly always won the school's creative writing competitions and would have done this time had it not been for the little bastard's prying into her exercise book.

'He's been cheating, Miss Porter,' the girl objected sourly, an arm snaked towards the boy.

'Now then, no sour grapes young madam, learn to be gracious in...'

'Here – you check then...' the girl hurled her book towards the teacher and then clasped her arms tightly around her waist – 'with this. You'll find out I'm right – he just rearranged my words and changed the ending...'

'That's nonsense...'

But the girl wasn't listening to the teacher as she reached across and wrestled the boy for his book, until Miss Porter's hand thumped down heavily on the desk. 'Cease this now! I'll have no unruly behaviour in my class. Leave the room; I'll speak to you later.'

The young girl did more than leave the room – she left the school buildings and strutted along the street to where a broad alleyway led to the Grand Union Canal. She stood there for several minutes, both hands gripping the railings of the old timber bridge that spanned it, her rage evaporating not one bit. The little runt had crept back to class after school, rifled the teacher's drawer for her book and then all but copied her work – he had to have done – there was no other way he could have beaten her.

The thought made her shake with anger.

She checked her watch; school would be over in ten minutes, old Miss Porter would be expecting her apology. Well she could wait on, she wasn't going back today. She was going to do the waiting – for that brat Ian Turner. She'd have a surprise waiting for him. He'd need to cross the bridge to get to the cul-de-sac that lay beyond the field on the other side. If luck went her way he'd be alone and her little surprise would bear fruit.

And luck did go her way. One or two kids passed by unaware of her presence as she stood back in the shade of a large oak, before Turner ambled by, hands in his trouser pockets, that stupid smirk still glued to his face, school bag dangling from his shoulder.

Ignorant of her presence...

Until her hand wrapped around the strap of his bag and she pulled with all the force of her right arm, swinging him towards her, a look of aggrieved surprise on his podgy face.

'Let me go you cow...' his eyes became full moons and he swung in desperation trying to fend her off, but the girl's hands were strong and she had the element of surprise. Those hands were now on the lapels of his school blazer and possessed enough power to raise him from the ground as she began to swing him round. Her intention had been to hurl him into the thicket, to teach him a lesson not to mess with her – it would have only been his word against hers – only she couldn't stop – she wasn't going to – her anger increased with every revolution and so it seemed did her strength. It was strange – she was angry and yet she enjoyed her power over him – but it had to end –

And so it did, with a splash that created rippling waves which crashed to both banks of the canal after she'd launched him into it.

No thoughts crossed her mind that he couldn't swim, despite his desperate cries for help – and even though that fact was known to her.

He'd copied her story and now he'd paid the price. That was all that mattered to her when all said and done.

The girl stood there expressionless before smacking her hands together and making her way home.

# Chapter One

'I'm telling you Martin, I can't do it. Not this time.' Alexander Goldhawk stood up, turned his back on Carruthers, and gazed out of the fifth floor window at the panorama of lean office blocks. He stood for several seconds, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets and then turned and sighed. 'Look, times are hard, Martin. Sales are falling and let's face it, Chelsey's in particular. The old man won't buy it, the board will reject it; we have to make cutbacks somewhere, and I'm afraid that ' _A Woman's Jungle_ ,' isn't what he'll want.'

Carruthers crouched forward in his chair, examining his fingers for some imaginary blemish before staring up at the tall, slim, silver-haired figure of Goldhawk. 'Stop blaming Goddard, Alex, we both know who calls the shots here. You mean you won't buy it. You're the editor for heaven's sake – what the blazes am I going to tell Chelsey?'

'I'm afraid Chelsey's your problem, Martin.' Goldhawk's lips developed a sympathetic twist as he strode back to his desk, placing his hands flat upon it. 'Martin, you're a fine agent, and you know well enough the fact that I'm not taking Chelsey's new work doesn't mean it won't be accepted elsewhere. Another publishing house might take it, probably will. I simply can't fit it into my budget. Sorry.'

'So that's it?'

'Yes, I'm afraid it is.'

Carruthers stood, shaken and angry, refused Goldhawk's outstretched hand and headed for the door. 'Martin, wait...' Goldhawk called, but Carruthers was having none of it. He hurried down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift. He needed a smoke and time to cool his sizzling mind before returning home with the bad tidings.

Outside he found a small park, an oasis of quiet in bustling Kensington. He sat on a vacant bench, drew a cigarette from his pocket and lit one. He considered whether he should have heeded Goldhawk's plea to wait, but his instinct told him to have done so would have served no purpose. His own impression prior to seeing Goldhawk was that Chelsey's latest offering was short of her strongest work, but Chelsey could be headstrong at times and volatile, so he hadn't ventured his opinion. Nonetheless, he hadn't expected an outright rejection from Goldhawk – if nothing else, Chelsey's reputation should have guaranteed a good sale; true there had been a slight downturn in demand but that was true of the industry in general. He'd found himself questioning more often of late, whether the publisher was really in tune with what the public wanted, and far-from-her –best, Chelsey Carruthers could still engross the public. He sighed, jiggling his hand in the jacket of his suit. No sooner had he switched on his mobile phone, it rang.

'So, Martin...' Chelsey's voice, loud and expectant. 'What's the deal?'

Carruthers took two giant puffs on his cigarette. 'There isn't one,' he said flatly. 'Look there's no point in speaking here; we'll talk when I get back.' He curtailed the call before his wife had a chance to answer.

He felt double his thirty seven years as he anticipated the reaction that was sure to follow. His relationship with Chelsey had become increasingly capricious of late, and it hadn't been helped by the fact that Casey Jennings, also on Carruthers' books, was gaining in popularity.

He was aware of the friction that existed between the two, though mystified as to why it existed. One thing was for sure, this development wasn't going to make his life any easier. Chelsey was sure to find a way of pinning the blame on him for lavishing too much attention to Casey's career and not enough on her own. Nothing could be further from the truth but he would struggle to make her see as much. Carruthers wouldn't describe himself as being the most placid of people, he could rise to an argument easily enough, but Chelsey's mood swings had increased in volume and intensity of late, and he viewed his coming confrontation with his wife with some trepidation.

He'd no doubt that given time and effort he could find another publisher to accept her work but his promise to do so was unlikely to pacify her in the slightest.

Thus, with a strong sense of foreboding, Carruthers extinguished his cigarette and headed for the car.

***

Twenty minutes later Carruthers arrived back home. Gathering his case from the back of his Range Rover, he then unlatched the gate to his detached mews house, a stone's throw away from the river at Chiswick.

Before he was halfway up the path, the door was flung open and Chelsey stood there; a tall, lithe figure with tumbling locks of golden hair, and a scowl which obliterated her natural beauty.

'What the hell have you done Martin? How have you managed to botch this up?'

'Cool it Chelsey, just cool it, right?' Carruthers pushed his way past her, placed his case in the hall. 'Let's go through to the lounge and talk this out sensibly.'

Chelsey leaned on the door jamb, arms crossed, fingers tapping furiously on forearms as her eyes followed him. 'So why is there no deal, Martin. What did he say?'

Carruthers sighed, lowering himself into a chair, trying to appear calm in the face of a simmering volcano. 'Let's face it love, you're not producing the same standard of writing you were a few years back – and the economic downturn isn't helping, either.' Carruthers

compressed his hands, interlocked his fingers. 'I think Goldhawk's a fool to reject you, he knows another leading house will snap you up...'

'Oh they might, Martin.' Chelsey tossed her head back, eyes all defiance, 'But I know I'm producing quality stuff; it's you who's not up to scratch. I'll present my own case from now on.'

'Fine, if that's the way you want it!' Carruthers flushed, aware that he was about to utter something he didn't feel, but unable to stop himself: 'I can't deliver on what you're producing. I'm tired of carrying the can for your falling standards.'

'Oh! When have you ever done anything that wasn't in your own interests, Martin?' Chelsey whirled round, snatched Carruthers' case from the hall, rifled through it for her manuscript, and removing it, flung the case across the lounge where it struck his shielding arm.

'Chelsey, for God's sake. What's got into you lately?'

The veins stood rigid in Chelsey's neck as she clenched her teeth. 'Concentrate on your main aim, why don't you? Like promoting Jennings' interests.'

Chelsey stormed out, a heavy thud reverberating throughout the ground floor as she slammed the oak door shut.

Carruthers sank forward, digging fingertips into his furrowed brow. Was that it? Had that been at the heart of Chelsey's fluctuating moods and deteriorating writing? The fact that Casey Jennings, also on his books, had come to be regarded in a higher vein than she? Well it wasn't his fault, he'd toiled for Chelsey, devoted more time to her cause over the years than to anyone else. And he couldn't have foreseen that Goldhawk would choose to give her work the thumbs down. He should be getting on with things; there were other writers deserving of his attention and he'd wasted too much time of late fretting over her. But even though only mid-afternoon he needed a drink; a stiff scotch. Was that what Chelsey was driving him to?

Pouring a double measure, he took it out to the patio, and placing it on the table, lit a cigarette. From the elevated decking he had a view down the sloping mews to the Thames. On a peaceful, balmy afternoon with a soft breeze invigorating the air he might have been at ease. Carruthers, however, was far from that enviable state of mind. After ten minutes slouched in his chair he replenished his glass and stared vacantly at the distant river.

It was sometime later that a hand on his shoulder restored Carruthers to consciousness. He squinted into Chelsey's face. No longer angry, her apologetic stance enhancing her beauty where before her fury had blemished it.

'I'm sorry Martin, I know you try your best for me, I let things get to me sometimes. I simply don't know what's got into me of late.' Chelsey placed an arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek. 'Though I can't accept the quality of my writing has declined in any way.' Her gaze slipping from Carruthers to his glass she added, 'And there's really no need to resort to the booze darling. Go upstairs and sleep it off properly.'

'I've done all the sleeping I'm going to.' Carruthers got to his feet, took Chelsey in his arms. 'I'll be okay love. What time is it?'

'Around six I think. I left my watch in the lounge.'

'You mean I've been slouched there for three hours?...' Carruthers frowned. 'Where have you been?'

'Oh...' Chelsey shrugged, gazed down towards the river. 'Nowhere much; just for a walk along the towpath, trying to cool myself down. It's so hot today.' She swung back quickly, her face suddenly animated. 'Say. We could both do with a break, you know,' and then, wrapping her arms around his neck, 'Perhaps if we turned our back on London for just a few days? It'll give me a chance to put things into perspective.'

'What – you mean with your writing?'

'Yes, of course,' she said, narrowing her eyes. 'What else could I mean?'

Carruthers cast an eye down the mews, catching sight of a cruiser ferrying day-trippers along the river. 'I can only manage a few days,' he said, stroking his chin.

'Oh I fully understand,' she said, breaking away. 'After all, Jennings will need mentoring.'

Carruthers sighed. There was a smile on her generous lips, but it was tight, forced.

'Chelsey, please don't...'

'No, it's okay honey.' She waved his protestation aside, dropped onto a garden lounger and resting her back against the canvas, raised her long legs effortlessly onto it. 'I can only manage a few days myself. Now be a darling and fetch me an orange squash.'

Carruthers went into the kitchen, prepared Chelsey's drink and returned to her. 'So, have you anything in mind?'

'Sure I have.' Chelsey nodded, taking a sip from her drink and placing it on the table. 'Somewhere close by – Hampshire, the New Forest would be ideal. We could take our cycles, or better still, hire a couple while we're there. What do you say?'

'We haven't ridden in ages,' Carruthers scoffed, but considered on reflection it might be the change in habit they both needed. 'On second thoughts, perhaps you've got something there – though it hardly seems your style, my love.'

'I've already told you I haven't time for anything more exotic. Please listen, Martin' she said, a touch of animosity back in her voice.

Carruthers knew when to call it quits – the fingers of her left hand were wrestling those of her right, a sign of mounting irritation. 'Okay, I can find decent accommodation online.'

'No need to bother, honey. I'll call Adrian. Adrian will know of somewhere.'

Adrian Frampton-Williams was Chelsey's half brother and the mere mention of his name these days sent Carruthers' stomach into freefall; not that he wasn't supportive – to her at least – but it seemed that Adrian's attitude towards her extended beyond the bounds of brotherly love. And that wasn't all. He'd felt a hostility, both in Adrian's eyes and his tone of voice. He'd been a frequent visitor throughout their marriage and had at times made Carruthers feel like a third, unwanted party, though of late his callings had been more spasmodic; at the same time however, Chelsey's ramblings had seemed to increase. The realisation of that had given Carruthers uncomfortable food for thought.

Making a big effort to curb his resentment, Carruthers placed a hand on Chelsey's shoulder. 'I'll leave you to call him, then.' He escaped into the house, away from the sweet accent Chelsey adopted when conversing with her half-brother.

He couldn't escape the sound of Chelsey's voice, but that wasn't his problem, that came along with his misgivings whenever her voice became hushed.

# Chapter Two

Carruthers' mobile phone rang. He yawned, reached across the basin to answer it and was greeted by Casey Jennings' throaty voice. 'Marty – any chance we could meet up today? I've got great hopes for my new effort – I'm naming it _Stapleton's Demise_. I have a feeling this could be my biggest ever, I'd really appreciate running through the outline with you...'

Carruthers placed his razor back in the cabinet and sighed. 'Look Casey, this isn't the best of times...'

'Oh come _on_ , Marty. Where's your enthusiasm? You stand to gain from it as well...'

'It's not all about money, Casey.'

Carruthers caught Casey's impatient exhalation. 'Damnit – If I didn't know you better I'd say that was exactly what it was – that right now your finances are balancing just fine; that you don't need...'

'Stop. Stop right there Casey. Don't go down that road. You know I wouldn't use you as a cash cow. As a matter of fact Chelsey and I are...'

Carruthers hesitated. Perhaps he was being unfair – Casey was, after all, both a client and friend, and Chelsey, perhaps on account of the mood she was in, seemed nowhere near ready; when all said and done it was only a fifteen minute drive to her house. It couldn't do any harm.

'Okay, I'll be over shortly – but I'll need to be quick. I'll explain when I see you.'

Carruthers towelled his face dry and strode to the landing. 'I'm just popping out,' he said, sticking his head around the bathroom door. 'A few loose ends to tie up.'

'Let me guess what they are...' But Chelsey's tone was sarcastic rather than malicious as she slipped off her night gown, and Carruthers, avoiding comment covered the short journey to Casey's Ealing Common home in a little over ten minutes.

Pulling up at Casey's neat, ivy adorned cottage on the east side of the common, Carruthers saw her door was ajar. He gave a quiet tap and walked through.

'In here, Marty,' Casey called from her study, which she'd created from a small subsidiary lounge. 'Be a dear and shut the front door will you? It seems to have got cooler all of a sudden.'

Carruthers retraced his steps and duly obliged, Casey having slipped off her reading spectacles as he joined her in the study. Holding them between thumb and forefinger she gave him a long, questioning look.

'So what's the big development that you can't find time for your bestselling author?'

Carruthers raised his eyes to the ceiling fleetingly. 'That's just what I _am_ doing,' he said in a voice of tested patience. He sat opposite her desk, slapping his hands on thighs. 'As a matter of fact I'm taking Chelsey on a few days' break. She's been a bit under the weather of late.'

Casey curved her full face into a sympathetic, though knowing smile, fingering her long dark hair. 'Looking to cheer her up a bit are you? I heard that her latest effort got rejected...'

'How the hell have you got wind of that?' Carruthers spurted, astonished at the speed at which she'd come by Goldhawk's decision.

'Oh come on, Marty,' Casey leaned forward, patting Carruthers' arm. 'Nothing's sacred in this business. Now you should know that; news travels with the speed of a neuron cell. Now I thought you'd like to spend a few moments of your precious time with me, going through the main points of my new best seller...'

'I repeat – that's why I came.'

Carruthers narrowly held back from remarking on Casey's attitude. It was unusual for her to derive such pleasure from somebody else's misfortune; at least that was how it appeared to him.

He glanced around the small study, everything neat and tidy, the wall-to-wall bookcase full of neatly filed books; her desk as orderly as he could remember seeing it. But that was part of a growing puzzle because things were just too ship-shape. Her computer was switched off on her desk; no sign of writing materials and not a manuscript or folder in sight.

'Well, I'm waiting, Casey.' Carruthers drummed his fingers, hunched forward. 'I've...'

'I know, I know – you're in a rush, your time is limited.' Casey gave a reproachful smile. 'I anticipated as much – don't look so tense. I thought it better that I run through the storyline verbally rather than delay you with a skeleton outline...'

Carruthers forced a smile, shaking his head in disbelief. 'But you could have accomplished that on the phone...'

Casey chewed her lip, the corners of her mouth downturned. 'What, and risk Chelsey's interference? I don't think so.' Casey swung away from the desk, moving her solid, shapely frame closer to him. 'Anyway, this is how it goes – my story revolves around an unholy trinity. By which I mean three unscrupulous individuals who manipulate people for their own ends; all individual and self focused characters in their own right and yet tied together by their own cunning and greed.'

'As the story unfolds, increasingly they find their dishonesty doesn't pay; they double-cross one another, none of them profiting, and they end up victims of their own deceit.'

Carruthers sat back, fingering his chin. 'Okay, intriguing as far as it goes, though at present it doesn't stretch a whole distance. This Stapleton – I assume he's the night in shining armour?'

'Oh no. Far from it.' Casey's face soured momentarily before her dark eyes shone. 'But there is a hero out to set the world to rights.'

'Okay.' Carruthers got to his feet, gripping Casey's shoulder. 'But I'd like to take your framework for the book – if I might take a copy with me?'

'Oh what – and spoil your break Marty? No, I wouldn't dream of it; what can you be thinking of? I'm just so glad you came and that I could run through the basics with you. Is there anything I can get you or are you in too much of a hurry?'

Carruthers phone rang and he answered to the rising tone of Chelsey's voice. 'I trust you're not going to be a whole lot longer, Martin, because if you are...'

'No, of course not; as a matter of fact I'm on my way.'

'Got to go,' Carruthers mouthed to Casey, a hand over the mouthpiece. 'Duty calls, but I like what I've heard. Show me the works – I'll call you when I get back.'

Carruthers was aware of a raspy reply, although there was a light-hearted punch on the arm from Casey. He felt a pang of guilt that he'd cut her short but he'd fulfilled his obligation, and when the chips were down Chelsey always came first.

# Chapter Three

Carruthers arrived home to find that Chelsey's mood hadn't improved one bit. In fact it had taken a significant step downhill. It wasn't so much what she was saying rather than the manner in which she was acting. Things flung rather than placed; voluminous sighs and the odd expletive thrown in for good measure.

He'd half a mind to put the trip on hold, only the notion that their break would restore his wife's equilibrium persuaded Carruthers otherwise.

Chelsey's brother Adrian, whom she assured him knew much about the tourist industry, along with everything else it seemed, had arranged a reservation for a week at a hotel close to the Forest centre. Having checked on line himself, Carruthers had to accept that the "Chequers Inn" seemed fine, set back from Lyndhurst village's main street it exuded a relaxed, Edwardian charm.

Chelsey didn't say a lot on the journey down, she'd fallen into a subdued and sullen mindset, and any conversation that Carruthers initiated had been met with a flat reply or incoherent murmur. As they reached the Lyndhurst turn-off however, she broached the subject that might have been the reason for that sullenness.

'Martin, perhaps if you were to approach Ambassador Press – Simon Penrose, the editor there, has been a long time admirer of my work. I know that for a fact.'

Carruthers nodded, compressing his lips to seal off a caustic reply. Penrose, he thought, had been a long time admirer of more than her work. He'd got touchy feely with her at a literary gathering only a few months back and to Carruthers' annoyance Chelsey hadn't seemed to mind at all. He chose his words carefully for fear of aggravating her. 'I'll make Penrose my first priority on our return, if that's what you want.'

'I've just a feeling Penrose won't turn me down, that's all.'

'No, I doubt that he will.' Carruthers was aware of Chelsey's eyes upon him but at that moment his mobile phone rang and, pulling over, he checked the identity of the caller. Chelsey leaned across, her gaze on his phone. 'Oh, now there's a surprise. Well Jennings can wait; we've a journey to complete.' Her lips developed an unpleasant curl. 'Surely you've told her we're taking time out? Didn't you grant her a generous enough portion of your time this morning? I mean why it couldn't wait until you got back I really don't know, do you?'

Carruthers compressed his lips, looked away into the thickening forest and concealed his irritation. 'I merely made use of the time at my disposal – and yes, she's well aware of our break.'

'Well, she doesn't seem to have got the message, or perhaps it's not a business call?'

Carruthers bit the bait, he couldn't stop himself. He slammed his hand on the wheel and turned on her. 'Now if this is a sample of what I'm going to have to endure during this trip then I'm turning round and we're heading home.'

Chelsey scowled, lofting her head. 'Then my dear, you'll be heading home without me. We've come this far. According to the signpost we're eight miles from our destination and I'm damned if I'm going back now. I'll walk if I have to, baggage and all.' She unbelted, and opened the passenger door.

'Oh for God's sake, Chelsey, spare me the dramatics. Now please put your belt back on.'

'Then stop annoying me!' As Chelsey treated him to a fiery stare from her blue eyes and slowly buckled up, Carruthers dropped his phone into his shirt pocket, pulling out of the lay-by just as it rang again. This time he didn't retrieve it, he kept on going fully aware of his wife's glare upon him. But this time he kept his composure, he didn't want confrontation

now. If he'd have carried out his threat and turned for home, Chelsey would have got out at the first opportunity and walked. Her remark had been no idle one.

Casey Jennings, whatever she wanted – had to wait.

He drove on with Chelsey re-assuming her broody posture, his own mood not improved by Casey's call. There was literary rivalry between the two and a marked coolness whenever they crossed paths. At the moment Casey held the upper hand and Chelsey's stance in relation to her was little short of open hostility. Why Casey should choose to call, when she might have guessed they were on the journey down, intrigued and mystified him, but he would have thought that in doing so Casey would have realized that relations between the two could hardly have been improved. However she had the tendency to be somewhat forward at times and he attributed her call to that reason.

Once established in "The Chequers," and with Chelsey refreshing in the bathroom, Carruthers made a hasty call.

'Casey,' he said in a hushed voice, 'what _is_ it? You might have known we'd be on the road.'

There was a pause before she spoke. 'As a matter of fact, Marty, I thought I might be in time to wish you a safe journey.'

Carruthers clasped his neck with the palm of his hand, the bedroom was stifling and the perspiration dampened his collar. 'It's a bit late for that, I'm afraid. We arrived some fifteen minutes ago.'

'Oh I'm sorry,' she said, her voice as spirited as always. 'It's just that I've been working flat out on _Stapleton's Demise_ – you know – a chapter a day keeps the agent at bay...'

Carruthers grimaced, both at the hackneyed cliché and from his feeling that the reverse was happening. He kept an eye on the bathroom as Casey continued, her tone dropping, 'I really was sorry to learn Alex rejected Chelsey's new book, Marty. I hope she doesn't give you a hard time. You deserve a good break.'

'Try telling that to Chelsey.' Carruthers couldn't resist letting his frustration vent. He heard movement in the bathroom. 'Look, I'd better go. I'll let you know when we're back.'

'It's such a shame you have to be looking over your shoulder every time you make a phone call, Marty – you have my sympathies – and of course my best wishes for a good time there.'

'Thanks. Bye Casey.' Carruthers terminated the call. Casey's remark had struck a nerve. He stared out of the window watching the incessant traffic flow along the narrow high street which formed the pulsing heart of the New Forest capital. Sunlight reflecting from vehicle bonnets dazzled him momentarily and he turned to find Chelsey emerging from the bathroom, a towel draped around her otherwise naked body.

'Who was that I heard you talking to, Martin?' She flittered her free hand towards him. 'No, don't tell me, I'm sure I can fathom it out.'

'I was merely returning her call,' Carruthers retorted, cursing his wife's acute hearing.

'Which was purely a personal one of course.'

Carruthers smothered his resentment that rose like acid in his throat, at least he trod a faithful line, which was more than could be said of her, with her openly flirtatious manner at social functions, or any other gathering where she had the opportunity.

'You might at least have left your affairs behind.'

Oh that hurt. That was pushing him too far.

'What am I supposed to make of that?'

'Anything you want, chum.' Chelsey scowled as she collected some jeans and a blue top and flounced back into the bathroom.

Carruthers could feel heat generating inside him and it wasn't attributable to the warmth of the day. Chelsey was simmering again and he wasn't about to add ingredients to her pot.

He headed downstairs and located the bar, elegantly Edwardian but sparsely populated, he felt, when one considered the bustling nature of the village. He'd already noticed that its make up consisted of an assortment of pubs and restaurants, and supposed therefore, that competition was stiff.

He found the barman, neatly attired in black waistcoat and matching trousers, to be of an affable nature, and after tending to Carruthers' request for a long, cool lager, he enquired as to the nature of his stay.

'I'm down with my wife, from London,' Carruthers said, trying to disguise his growing sense of despondency. 'We're taking a short break.' He changed the subject, 'Quiet day for you today?'

The barman nodded; a slim, fair haired man Carruthers adjudged to be in his mid thirties, and named Robin Noades according to the identification tag attached to his lapel.

'Most of our clientele use us as a base for touring the forest, particularly on a fine day like this – they'll return this evening, and if you're dining, you'll notice a difference.'

'I'm sure I will.' Carruthers took a long gulp from his drink, placed it down and drew a deep breath. 'I'm looking forward to sampling some fresh air,' he said, swelling his chest. 'The wife and I are considering hiring a couple of bikes.'

'If you're looking to do some cycling, then this is the place to do it,' Noades said, polishing a glass and placing it carefully above the bar. 'There's Ornamental Drive for instance, just a few minutes from here – outstanding woodland – giant Douglas firs, some of the tallest trees in the country and plenty of picnic areas to go with them. Great on a day like this.' Noades glanced through the window opposite. 'I hope the weather holds up for you.

The forecast is good.' Carruthers thought that Noades' enviably handsome features took on an apologetic air. 'I'm a bit of a nature buff as it happens.'

'I envy you that,' Carruthers said with sincerity. 'Life in London moves to quickly for my liking – at least these days.' He mopped droplets of sweat from his brow; the hotel, decent as it was, relied on overhead propeller fans for cooling rather than air conditioning, probably, he supposed, because they fitted in with the Edwardian décor – unfortunately they weren't as efficient.

Carruthers saw Noades' gaze switch sharply to his right, his eyes widening as in breezed Chelsey, tall and stylish in her pale blue top and designer jeans. Her immaculate fair hair streamed down her shoulders and no longer was there any hint of fire in her sky blue eyes.

'I always know where to find him,' she said, a quick look at her husband before her eyes connected and locked on to the barman. 'He can track down alcohol the way a sniffer dog can drugs.'

'For goodness sake, Chelsey,' Carruthers muttered, turning away in distaste, though neither Chelsey nor Noades seemed to have noticed his resentment. 'A lemon soda for

me,' she said, sliding gracefully onto a stall, 'can't handle anything stronger this time of day.'

Noades attended to her request, placing the glass before her. 'Your husband was mentioning cycling out,' Noades began, placing both forearms on the bar and leaning towards her. 'I've been telling him of a nice area not far from here.'

'Has he really?' Chelsey raised her eyebrows. 'Sounds good by me, I'm impressed. Whereabouts are we going?'

'Ornamental Drive, was it?' Carruthers glanced at Noades, receiving confirmation.

'Well, let's hope it's not too hilly, your legs will never cope'. She raised a finger, 'And no mobile phones, okay? Even if we should happen to get lost. I'll snap it in half if I find one on you.' Chelsey was smiling but for a second there was intent in her eyes. 'So where do we find this Ornamental Drive, Mr – ah...' Chelsey stretched across the bar, Carruthers thought a lot closer to Noades than she needed to, and fingered his badge. 'I see your name's Robin, mind if I call you that?'

'Fine.' Noades shrugged, 'I get called all sorts.' But he seemed pleased and a little too attentive, and perhaps realising as much he quickly met Carruthers' eyes.

'I'll draw you both a map of the area.' Noades disappeared for a moment and returned with an A4 sheet of paper and a pencil. He placed it on the bar to attend to a customer before

returning to them. 'It's not too difficult really. Follow the one-way system through the village and then take the A35, whereupon you keep going until you reach this point.' He stopped sketching and placed a dot on his rough map.

Chelsey looked at the map and then glanced at Carruthers. 'I'm game if you are – why don't we start now?'

'Now?' Carruthers gaped. 'It's a hot, sticky afternoon. Why not wait until morning when we're fresher and cooler,' he said, glancing at Noades for support.

But Noades simply smiled and shrugged. 'If you'll excuse me....' He moved along the bar and attended to a customer.

'Yes, now,' Chelsey swirled some soda around her mouth and swallowed, 'after I've finished my drink that is.' She looked down on Carruthers' pint, two thirds empty. 'And before you've had a chance to down another.' She prodded his arm. 'You're consuming far too much of late.'

'This is supposed to be a break for us both, nothing wrong with the odd pint.' Carruthers drew breath, and looked into his wife's widening blue eyes. He fingered his throat; he felt the afternoon heat on it and concluded it couldn't be any hotter outside than it was in. He could see the frustration mounting as she looked away, her fingers tapping out an imaginary tune on the bar; he sensed Chelsey in flirting mode and sought the lesser of two evils. 'Okay, give me fifteen minutes to change into more appropriate gear. You might want to change into something more practical yourself.'

'Nope, I'm fine as I am. I don't get as hot and sweaty as you Martin. Or is it Marty?'

Carruthers looked away, the temperature had just risen a degree but he wasn't rising to her bait.

'No, I'll just wait down here while you change.' She sniffed. 'I'm surprised and a little disappointed that Adrian recommended this place, really. After all it's a bit stuffy, could do with a little modernization. It does have one redeeming factor, though. Chelsey sipped her drink, then leaning forward on her stool, placed both elbows on the bar and cupped her face in her hands. Carruthers followed her gaze, bit his lip. 'I'll go and change, I won't be long.'

He reached the door and looked back. Noades was already making his way along the bar towards her.

# Chapter Four

Carruthers wasted no time getting changed. He'd cut fifteen minutes down to ten, not wanting their break ruined by Chelsey's insatiable desire to flirt. He knew that Chelsey never took things further, she wouldn't do that, but her tendencies irked him just the same.

Now, as he returned downstairs, he'd almost reached the bar before the chatting couple became aware of his presence; he felt like an uninvited arrival at a private party. Finally made aware by Noades' sideways glance Chelsey swung round, her laughter rapidly dying away. 'Oh, Martin – you were quick.'

_Disappointed are you?_ Carruthers came so close to uttering what he was thinking but let the moment ride. Instead, he slapped his hand on the bar with a show of cheerfulness he didn't feel. 'Right then, are we off?' And then with a flick of the his towards Noades, 'See you later.'

'Yeah, catch you later, Robin.' Chelsey tilted her head and gave her dazzling smile before casting eyes over Carruthers maroon vest and matching shorts. 'Nice and sporty I see. Let's see if you match up to the gear you're wearing, shall we? Now then, where do we get the cycles from?'

'A place called Evans' Hire, just off the High Street according to the hotel receptionist,' Carruthers replied as they descended the steep hotel steps onto the bustling village street.

'Nice guy, that Robin, I must say,' Chelsey said glancing back at the hotel lounge windows. 'Helpful too, and that's good. Just goes to show there's more to a decent bartender than pulling pints.'

_If you'd spend as much time on your writing as you do eyeing up men._ But Carruthers merely gestured as they reached a junction from which the car park lay to the right. 'There it is - that hut to the right, by all accounts.'

'Yep. Let's go for it, hubby.' Chelsey brushed against him and he felt the pressure of her sublime figure. Carruthers responded by placing an arm around her waist and drawing her tight to him. There were times like this, all too rare these days, when they must have seemed the epitome of the perfect couple, in contented bliss. And in early days they were – before...

He stopped, blinked, brought back to earth by the tug of Chelsey's arm. They were at the hut and the attendant had asked a question which Carruthers, deep in reminiscence, hadn't heard. He'd have been happy to have kept on walking, to have savoured their togetherness.

They were provided with mountain bikes which were fully serviced and handed maps detailing routes through the forest ranging from undemanding to the most rigorous.

But Chelsey was having none of it. She'd heard from Robin Noades about a reptile centre close by the Ornamental Drive area he'd described and it seemed to him that anything Noades recommended would take precedence over everything else. He hoped this wouldn't blight their stay.

The attendant provided them with bottled water and cycle kits, and with Chelsey already abandoning the maps to the holdall he'd given them, they set out along the route Noades had suggested. His diagram, Carruthers noticed with an air of resentment, was in her hand.

Despite the air of proficiency his cycling attire gave him, Carruthers would concede that Chelsey was the better cyclist, and it was he who felt the heat more. As, after not much more than ten minutes, they reached the turn-off highlighted on Noades' map.

They were soon in the heart of the Forest. Carruthers was surprised how quickly it closed in on them, the foliage of the big trees seemed to rear up at them, seemed about to burst across their paths spurred on by the breeze, before they found and turned into the narrow Ornamental Drive, flagged on both sides by the giant Douglas and Redwood trees to which Noades had referred. Their height and density afforded some shade to a day of increasing humidity.

Not far along the Drive they came to a clearing and Chelsey brought her cycle to an abrupt halt, forcing Carruthers, close behind, into a collision-avoiding manoeuvre.

'Some warning might help,' he said crossly, but Chelsey was paying scant attention. She'd slipped nimbly off her cycle, and with one hand on the handlebar, the other on her hip, stood staring at the huge oak. 'Would you look at the size of that,' she said without removing her eyes from the tree, 'that's surely the biggest oak I've ever seen.'

Carruthers dismounted and wheeled his cycle to where she stood in admiration. 'It must be centuries old. Just think, Martin, what tales it could tell if it were a living creature.' Her gaze fell to a plaque standing at its foot – "The Knightwood Oak," it says here.'

Carruthers caressed his chin; he couldn't resist a quip. 'I'm surprised your new friend Robin didn't mention it to you.'

'Oh don't be like that, Martin.' Chelsey stretched out a hand and gave his a squeeze. 'Now you know what I put up with when you get calls from Casey bloody Jennings every five minutes.'

'That's a gross exaggeration and you know it.' It wasn't the heat of the day that was colouring Carruthers' complexion now, it was Chelsey's failure to come to terms with her own behaviour – but she might have read his irritation for her mouth curved into a half-moon smile as she wrapped her free arm around his waist. 'Oh come on, let's not quibble. It's lovely here and nice and cool under the shade of these huge trees.' She planted a soft kiss on his cheek, instantly dissolving Carruthers' coolness.

Chelsey took stock of her bearings. 'Let's not follow the road all the way to the reptile centre; let's be more adventurous and take one of the trails – see the area in its natural habitat – I mean, without the traffic.'

'Yes, but I don't think the maps we were given will be comprehensive enough; we could end up getting lost, honey – I say we stick to the straight and narrow.'

'Oh nonsense, Martin!' Chelsey let out a big sigh. 'Who gives a damn about the maps? And anyhow, if we do get lost...' Chelsey broke off and thumbed at a wooden bollard in the ground. 'There's hundreds of these little wooden signposts around.'

She mounted her cycle as if the issue was decided, shooting a glance at her husband. 'Come on you. Hop on. Where's your pioneering spirit?'

'Where it should be; entrusted to our ancestors.' But nonetheless Carruthers conceded and the pair set off on a track which seemed to run true to the road.

The tall trees afforded shade to a sultry afternoon, like huge protectors from the hot sunlight, as they followed the stony track through firs intermingled with colourful shades of rhododendron and azalea; heading towards what Chelsey thought was the reptile centre.

But the further they travelled, the more Carruthers got the uneasy feeling they were on the wrong trail. The track that had originally been aligned with the road had developed an arc, seeming to swing them away from their intended directionand, in branching off and taking a course they thought would correct their route, they found it tapered off before finally disintegrating amidst a clearing scattered with giant redwoods.

Carruthers nudged Chelsey and applied his brakes. 'We're lost,' he groaned. 'I knew we should have stuck to the main drag.'

'Oh that's right, blame me.' Chelsey slid off her cycle, held the flat of her hand to her forehead and blew through her teeth, as she stared at a series of maze-like mini-trails which

looked like leading nowhere – and then she spotted a picnic area. 'There – those three guys, they'll put us straight.'

'They're most likely lost as well.' But Carruthers yielded to the whites of his wife's eyes, 'Okay, let's go find out.'

The trio was largely obscured by the thicket, sitting cross-legged on the grass, only Chelsey's keen eyesight could have picked them out; he certainly hadn't.

Carruthers slipped through the gap in the thicket ahead of Chelsey and saw the man to his right slip a thickly rolled cigarette to a dark vested, scraggly-haired individual in the centre, who fixed him with an unwelcoming, wild eyed stare.

'You folks lost? Yeah, sure you are.' His smile was more of a sneer and his uneven, yellow teeth, blended in with his swarthy skin. 'Where you be wanting?' the man asked as the smile faded.

'The reptile centre,' Carruthers said stiffly. 'If you could point us in the right direction?'

'Point you in the right direction?' The wild-eyed man drew on what Carruthers had no doubt was a joint and sent smoke billowing into the air. His gaze flitted past Carruthers and rested on Chelsey, where it hung. 'Don't know why you kind of folk can't keep to the straight and narrow.'

'What we _kind of folk_ asked for, were purely directions.' Chelsey thrust her cycle against a hawthorn bush and stepped forward. 'If that's not too much for your fuddled minds? She wafted the smoke back towards them. 'No offence. But will you pollute someone else with that muck?'

'Now you listen here, lady, we ain't bothering no-one.' A gaunt guy to Chelsey's left, wearing khaki, his face criss-crossed in a network of fissures, accepted the joint and narrowed his eyes. 'Now if you want help I reckon you ought to show a little more civility,'

'Fat lot of good you three ignoramuses know about that. I am _not_ prepared to be spoken to in this manner.' Chelsey, her voice raucous in the quiet afternoon, turned, grabbed her cycle, raised and turned it through the air in a blaze of fury and started back through the thicket, a glance over her shoulder followed by a single utterance, 'Creeps!'

'Chelsey!' Carruthers held his head, exasperated. 'Look, I'm sorry fella's, my wife's been under a good deal of pressure of late. She's a writer you know,' he offered, as if that explained everything.

'That a fact? She obviously don't write no books on good manners.' The one with the wild eyes coughed, spat on the grass. 'But what the hell – I guess we can all get uptight at times.' He scratched his long, unruly black hair and locked his gaze on Carruthers. 'I'll tell you what I'll do, not the one to bear any bad feelings like – I'll show you the right route through to that reptile place.' His eyes shifted to Chelsey, now waiting in the clearing, her fingers tapping furiously on the handlebars of her cycle. 'But I'd watch your wife's temper, if I were you. It could get you into a whole lotta trouble. I sure wouldn't want to see that.'

'Don't I know it,' Carruthers muttered, already wishing he'd stayed in Chiswick. He wasn't really sure about the vagrant's last remark but he accepted the man's directions gratefully and, catching up with Chelsey, beat a rapid path back to the road.

# Chapter Five

Chelsey forged on. Carruthers felt himself losing ground, dug deeper into his dwindling energy reserves in a desperate attempt to keep abreast of her. He saw her glance at him. 'Having problems dear?' she asked, her voice annoyingly unruffled.

'No, I'm up to it,' Carruthers uttered between deep breaths, acutely aware of sweat trickling from forehead to cheek. 'If we keep to the route the guy gave me we should soon be there.'

'The _guy's_ name was Foulkes,' Chelsey said, breathing easily while casting a critical eye over him. 'You know, you really do need the gym.'

'How'd you get that?' Carruthers asked, ignoring her observations. 'After all, you stormed off ahead.'

'Not before he handed the joint to his leather-skinned mate – when the guy acknowledged it he called him Foulkes – now that's one creepy bloke. He only had to fix those horrible eyes on me and I cringed. Some guys you just can't take to. You know?'

'Perhaps not. But you didn't have to be so damned rude,' Carruthers uttered through gasps for breath. He mopped his brow with the flat of his hand; all he knew was that they were still climbing and despite Chelsey slackening off he was struggling to stay apace. 'Well at least he helped us out.'

'Did he – are you sure about that?'

Carruthers sighed, there she went again; she never could concede without questioning.

'How do you mean?'

'Well my dear – unless it's escaped your attention, and by the look of you it hasn't – we seem to have been pedalling for quite some time, and although unlike you I can handle it, all I can see is forest, mile upon mile of trees, no perishing reptile centre in sight; makes you wonder if we've been pointed in the wrong direction, doesn't it?'

'Why would he do that?' Unless of course, Carruthers considered with mounting apprehension, Chelsey's "endearing" personality had needled him into it.

And a further five minutes of toiling up a relentless, never-ending hill in the heat, persuaded him that this might indeed be the case. He was relieved when Chelsey pulled up, unleashing a string of expletives at the absent Foulkes. 'For two pennies I'd nail him to that giant oak by his hair.'

'Well, that would get us a long way.' But Carruthers smiled at the image that flashed up. He knew that presented with a few tacks she was quite capable of doing it.

'It'd give me great satisfaction, though.' Chelsey sighed, she reached across and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'You look like you could do with a rest, truth is I could too. Let's try and find somewhere to sit down for awhile, then we might as well make tracks back.'

'The question is where?' Carruthers asked dubiously; they were surrounded by dense woodland, he was beginning to feel tired, and the climb had affected him a lot more than his wife, he reluctantly conceded.

'We passed a clearing not far back, you were head down, so close to the handlebar you wouldn't have seen it. I thought it might have been the centre but I'm pretty sure it was just a picnic area.'

'Well at least it's all downhill.' Carruthers heaved his cycle around and they freewheeled back down the lane, and sure enough, Chelsey had been right.

The woodland opened out on their left to reveal a large enclosure surrounded by a low log-railed fence. Annexed to it was an oval shaped gravel car park, about two thirds full, leading to a kissing gate providing access to the picnic area.

After securing their bikes to the log fence, Chelsey led the way to a vacant picnic table where she removed her braid and shook free her hair. Perching on an unended log seat she took a sip from her bottled water, looking across at Carruthers, her eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight. 'Well, that was a wild goose chase, engineered by that scruffy little middle-aged hippie, no doubt.' She let out a long breath. 'Oh well, it's done now, no point in me harping on about it.'

'No, indeed,' Carruthers agreed, glad that she'd let the matter drop. 'I've been thinking,' he said, drawing a finger across the table surface, 'that we might cross to the Isle of Wight tomorrow if the weather stays like this. Chelsey?'

But Chelsey wasn't listening; something had caught her eye, something amidst the woodland some twenty metres to their left. 'What the hell!' She was on her feet and flouncing across the grass towards the woods.

'Chelsey, what is it?' Alarmed by her movements Carruthers gave chase but Chelsey's pace was so rapid she'd hurdled the low oak barrier into the woodland and had disappeared from his view before he'd a chance to get near her.

Carruthers reached the fence and then hung back, bewildered; the woodland was thick, and scattered with tiny trails that might have been the earth's veins. He cursed his wife's impetuosity and could only wander back and forth like a disconsolate border guard, until, some five minutes later, Chelsey marched back eyes blazing.

'Chelsey – what on earth's the matter?' Carruthers ran forward, tried to take her hand but she waved him away.

'Some guy was watching me through the trees. I saw the branches move, saw a shape. Someone was standing there – and when he realised I'd spotted him he shot away.'

'I'll go see...'

'No Martin, it's pointless. Whoever was there has gone now.' She looked at him with an expression full of hostility. 'I wouldn't be surprised if it was that Foulkes guy, he certainly

seemed the type...'

'Are you sure there was someone there?'

'Of course I'm sure, damnit Martin.' Chelsey made for the cycles, hands crossed to her shoulders. 'You know how keen my eyesight is.'

Carruthers couldn't stem his irritation. 'What possessed you to charge in after him, anyhow?'

'I wasn't having being spied on by some arrogant little toad.' She turned on him. 'I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.'

Carruthers sighed, it was turning into a dismal afternoon and even the weather was beginning to correspond to it. The sky had developed a brown hue – possibly the prelude to a storm. He mopped his brow. 'Perhaps we'd better head back to the hotel; this heat's getting us both uptight.'

'It's got nothing to do with the heat.' Chelsey stopped, fastening her braid. 'I'm sure it was Foulkes, I got a glimpse of his scraggly hair and his silhouette fitted the bill. If |I'd have caught him I'd have knocked him flat.' She looked away, glanced to the far side of the enclosure where a white-washed lavatory block was situated. 'I need the toilet before we head back. You can unfasten the bikes.'

'Are you sure you'll be okay?'

'I can manage,' she snapped, 'and if by chance I encounter the little runt, I _will_ flatten him.'

Carruthers watched Chelsey stride across the grass to the toilet block some two hundred metres distant. He noticed she held her cell phone to her ear, wondered who she was calling or who was calling her, and felt a surge of resentment that she'd objected to him bringing his. This hadn't been the start he'd been hoping for, not at all, and now the conviction that somebody had been watching her, and the fixation that it was this guy Foulkes, had put an additional dampener on things.

He'd only her insistence to go on. Her senses were indeed first rate, but given her heightened state of agitation of late, he had to ask himself whether anyone had really been there?

Could the menopause be setting in early? He doubted it, and any suggestion she saw her general practitioner would likely incur her wrath; she was adverse to them these days in any case, owing to an unfortunate miscarriage a couple of years back which she'd marked down to negligence by her appointed midwife. He'd considered at the time that it had been no such thing, that it wasn't the midwife's fault at all but that hadn't stopped Chelsey remonstrating, and it hadn't helped things between them either.

He raised his head, a nagging awareness of Chelsey's absence returning him to the present. She'd been some while, he was certain. Chelsey was normally brief as far as her natural habits were concerned.

But this was an exception, and the longer she failed to emerge through the strung out crowd of picnickers, the more his anxiety grew.

As the minutes ticked away without any sign of her, Carruthers decided he had to check. He commenced his walk, trying to match his pace to the leisurely air of the area but failing dismally, each anxious step towards the block seeming to increase his momentum.

Once he'd reached the toilets he could only hang about outside ineffectively. He looked around at the scene before him – the families, the children happily engaged close by in what kids did, like play ball, chase around, holler and shout – perhaps if Chelsey and he had had children then things would have been different –.

But this was not something to dwell on, particularly as time ground relentlessly on and still no Chelsey. He glanced at his watch without knowing exactly how long she'd been but reckoning now it must be longer than thirty minutes.

His unease deepening to the extent that he needed assistance, he sought help from the small information office located just behind the block. He explained to the guy behind the desk in the cabin his disquiet, and the sympathetic officer duly dispatched a young female assistant to check the ladies' lavatory for him.

Any relief he felt at the prospect that Chelsey would emerge and all would be easily explained was dissolved when the young woman returned with a puzzled look on her face.

'The toilets are empty, I'm afraid sir – you must have somehow missed your wife.'

'No, that's not possible...' but Carruthers broke off. It was of course the only possible explanation. She must have taken a wider route back, possibly on account of continuing in private the mobile phone conversation she was having.

Carruthers took one more look around the area, but in any case there wasn't much to see other than the forest encroaching onto the log railings at the rear of the block.

He hurriedly returned across the field, remembering as he did so, that he'd unlocked the cycles and left them unattended. Chelsey would be sure to remonstrate with him for that.

Except that she wasn't there and the cycles remained untouched. Now Carruthers' heart-rate increased two-fold, thumping heavily in his chest.

His mind began to manufacture a series of barely rational thoughts – like: Had she been right? Had there been someone stalking her – had that someone attacked her – taken her away –and had that someone been Foulkes – and had that misdirection been part of his plan?

But surely somebody would have seen – the place was full of picnickers - though would they have paid any attention? And Chelsey would have been certain to put up one hell of a fight – not only that but she was in the mood for it. And who had she been on the phone to when she'd set out for the lavatory block? And another thing – the only entrance and exit seemed right here, where he stood now.

Carruthers clasped his hands to his head. Out of the corner of an eye he saw a fair-haired female approaching. His heart told him it was her, but his eyes let him down.

'Are you alright?' the woman asked.

# Chapter Six

'Thank you, yes – it's just the heat, I'll be fine.' Now facing the woman, Carruthers could see that any resemblance was restricted to a similar build and hair. The person now regarding him with concern was older than Chelsey, judging by the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and spoke with a northern accent.

'It was my husband who noticed first,' she remarked. 'We were concerned you were going to keel over – well as long as you're okay...'

'To tell you the truth I'm concerned about my wife,' Carruthers spurted before she could turn away. 'She set out for the toilets ages ago and seems to have vanished into thin air. I know it sounds daft, but I don't suppose you've seen a tall, blonde woman looking lost?'

The woman shaped her mouth to speak and then just as quickly compressed her lips. She looked over her shoulder, exchanging a glance with her grey haired partner whom Carruthers adjudged to be in his fifties.

'No...' she said, but without any real assurance. 'Well – with all the people here...it's so busy today that...'

'I can well understand.' But Carruthers wasn't convinced. He'd an idea she'd been about to say something and thought better of it. He reached down, delved into his holdall for the pen and notebook he habitually carried, scribbled his phone number on a leaf and handed it to her.

'There's probably nothing to it,' he said in a voice he knew was strained. 'She'll probably appear at any moment but I've got a bad feeling about this – she's been under stress you see – anyway, if you do happen to recall anything, please call me. I'm afraid I

don't have my phone with me right now, I left it at the Chequers Hotel where I'm staying – wife's instructions, you know.'

'I see,' the woman said, though her expression told Carruthers she didn't really see at all.

'Can we do anything for you, Mr. Carruthers?' It was the grey haired man who spoke – 'Would you like a lift?' He glanced around, tilting his face towards the heavens. 'Seems like we're in for a storm. We're headed that way.'

'No – thank you – I'll wait here. I'm not going without Chelsey.'

'Quite.' The man swapped what Carruthers thought was an uncomfortable glance with his wife. 'Well, I'm quite sure it'll turn out okay, you'll see.'

Carruthers nodded, 'Thank you.' He watched the woman tuck his number into the back pocket of her slacks and partner her husband to their four-by-four.

Carruthers turned his attention to the field, sweeping his gaze over it once more, again to no avail. Overhead the sky had darkened further, the sun having turned hazy had now disappeared entirely. In the distance thunder growled, but still he waited, he waited until the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, until lightning flashed, and even the hardiest picnickers had vacated the area.

But still there was no sign of Chelsey.

Perplexed and agitated, Carruthers resigned himself to the fact she wasn't going to show. He now faced the prospect of a lengthy walk back in what threatened to develop into a full blown thunderstorm at any minute. The potential dangers of a trip through the forest in thunder and lightning, riding his own bike with one hand and guiding Chelsey's in the other were starkly apparent to him. But they were heavily outweighed by his concern for Chelsey. Okay, he'd probably get back to the hotel and find her there, possibly cozily chatting across the bar with Robin Noades – and then all hell would break loose. But of course that was nonsense. Whatever had happened, and he willed her to be there when he arrived, he certainly wouldn't find anything like that.

But what of the couple he'd not so long ago spoken to? Why the look of uncertainty on the woman's face? Why did she suddenly button up and not consider whether she might have seen Chelsey, and what of the odd exchange of looks with her husband?

Of course it could have been the working of his own mind, paranoia setting in, but he couldn't help thinking that it wasn't.

Halfway along the lane that led to the main road into Lyndhurst, Carruthers was forced to abandon his attempt at handling both bikes. A large four-by-four had approached from behind, the thunder having rendered its presence inaudible, until its rude booming horn gave him such a shock, destabilizing him as he careered into a roadside ditch with Chelsey's bike landing across his midriff.

The four-by-four of course went by as though nothing had occurred, but Carruthers could now add outrage to the myriad of emotions he'd already experienced in one short day.

Already wet through, cuts and bruises now added to Carruthers' discomfort, albeit minor ones but they itched like hell, as he pushed on towards Lyndhurst, reaching it one dreary hour later.

He deposited the cycles in the rear of the hotel car park, he'd return them tomorrow, and after all they were the least of his worries.

Despite his ordeal, Carruthers bounded the broad hotel stairs two at a time, hurrying along the corridor to his door, his hand on the lever in rising expectation and as it yielded to his pressure freely his spirits rose. So she was here, somehow she'd beaten him back – probably with a lift from whoever she'd met –

# Chapter Seven

Carruthers swept into the room, his spirits having risen like a high-powered elevator, but disappointingly there was no trace of Chelsey and the room appeared in the same condition as he'd left it.

He snatched his phone from the bed where he'd deposited it prior to leaving, but found no new calls or messages. Maybe she was downstairs; perhaps she was in the lounge reading, possibly in the bar. God forbid that she was chatting up Noades, but by the nature of things now he'd actually be glad about that, at least he'd know she was safe. It began to bother him now, that possibly he'd been in such a rush to get back downstairs earlier that he'd left without securing the door. Try as he might, he couldn't recall whether he'd done so or not.

Carruthers didn't bother to change his soaked clothes; that could wait. He had to know whether she'd somehow returned ahead of him.

He ran down the stairway, hurried along the passage checking out the lounge area as he went – it was empty save for an elderly couple playing a board game.

Ringing the bell on the foyer desk he summoned the attention of the receptionist. She'd asked at the outset if everything was all right, obviously taken aback by his bedraggled appearance and despairing manner.

'I'm looking for my wife, I managed to lose sight of her this afternoon and wondered if she'd checked back in here – I'm a bit anxious.'

'Mrs?'

'I'm sorry, Carruthers. Chelsey Carruthers.'

'Not the writer? The receptionist laughed, checking her desk, clearly expecting a negative answer.

'Yes – it is.' Carruthers was aware his reply sounded abrupt, he simply wanted confirmation of her safe return.

'Oh, really?' She raised her head. 'What a coincidence, I'm an avid reader of her books – I was only thinking a few days ago – there doesn't seem to have been a new one for some time. When can we expect...'

'Soon...' Carruthers interrupted, rapping his fingers on the desk – he hadn't expected this – certainly not to be led into having to explain how a publisher's rejection had brought them here – and he wasn't about to be drawn into it. 'Look,' he said with mounting impatience, 'I just need to know whether she's checked back in.'

The receptionist glanced across her desk. 'No, it doesn't seem so.' Her reply was apologetic but negative. 'Have you tried the lounge – or bar?'

Carruthers shook his head. 'Not the bar, no, thank you,' he muttered, making full haste for it. Noades was there, he was washing glasses, but the bar was empty.

'Why, hello there.' Noades flashed a smile which irritated Carruthers no end. 'You got caught in the storm I see.'

'Ten out of ten for observation,' Carruthers muttered. 'I was looking for my wife.'

'Oh...' Noades bit his lip. 'Well, as you can see she's not here,' he said, sweeping an arm around the room to emphasise the point. 'I take it there was a race back and you won.'

'No,' Carruthers said tersely, aware now that he was standing in the bar in his cycle gear, rain still dripping from his drenched body. 'Look, I'd hardly have rushed in here like this if there was – I'd want to get the hell out of these clothes...'

'I'm sorry, a foolish assumption on my part,' Noades' smile, which Carruthers couldn't help regarding as derisory, vanished. His tone became more sympathetic, earnest. 'If there's been a problem, if I can help in any way, I'm due a break...'

'Thanks.' Carruthers breathed out heavily, he didn't want to be explaining his dilemma to this man, but he had to start somewhere. He needed to converse with someone, and right now

Noades, who'd seemed to have hit it off with his wife from the outset, was the obvious starting point.

Carruthers ordered a lager shandy; he didn't feel stiff alcohol appropriate right now, he needed a clear head.

Noades served him before slipping into a room behind the bar, returning a moment or two later with a pretty dark haired girl. 'Lucy here will keep guard for ten minutes or so. I could do with a smoke, mind if we go outside?'

'My sentiments, exactly.' Carruthers swigged down his pint, he'd been craving for a cigarette but Chelsey's disappearance had put that on hold.

He followed Noades along the rear corridor, past the central stairway and out into the hotel's garden, deserted now on account of the storm. Noades led him round the side of the building, where in the shelter provided by the platform of a fire escape stairway he produced a packet of cigarettes.

'Smoke?'

'I wouldn't say no.' Carruthers selected one from the packet, surprised and grateful that Noades had taken such an interest in his plight. 'The door was unlocked when I got back, I thought for a moment she had beaten me here, but I've searched everywhere, I'm pretty sure now I must have left the room without locking it. I'm at my wits end,' he said, explaining to a man who was little more than a stranger, the events of a sorry afternoon – of Chelsey's wish to cut across land, of them getting lost and seeking the help of the guy called Foulkes who Chelsey had at once regarded as obnoxious; of her belief that he'd purposefully misdirected them, and that he'd spied on her under cover of the woods surrounding the picnic area.

Something that Carruthers couldn't substantiate, but that had now, with her sudden

disappearance caused him increasing concern.

'Was she upset? Might she have gone straight home?' Noades asked, his contracting brows producing few wrinkles on what was an enviably smooth skin.

'I hadn't even considered that, I'd no need to.' Carruthers inhaled on his cigarette. 'To be frank I can't see why she'd do that. This guy Foulkes had her rattled but apart from that Chelsey was as even-tempered as she could be.' He shook his head, 'No, that's a non-starter.'

'Nonetheless,' Noades advised, 'that should be your first move. Check home.'

'Apart from calling the police, I suppose.' Carruthers exhaled heavily, heard the rain hammering down on the fire escape landing, cascading onto the lawn below. It was difficult to imagine a worse start than this.

'It's what they'll ask you; they'll ask if you've had an argument and try to convince you that she'll turn up safe and sound; in short, that you're making too much of it, to give it a while.'

'I thought you were supposed to be trying to help.' Carruthers frowned at Noades, but there was no overly amicable smile now, just a steadfast expression on his handsome face.

'I said it's what _they_ , the police will ask you, what you can expect from them at the moment. Now, I'm quite prepared to offer all the assistance I can. I have a certain knowledge of the area as I've said. I'll be finished at seven, if you want to take a drive round I'll be happy to accompany you. But let's hope she's shown up before then. I'm sure everything will be okay.'

'That's very kind of you.' Carruthers stubbed out his cigarette on an ash can. 'But I can't ask for any more of your time.'

'Nonsense, I can see how upset you are, and your wife seems a very nice woman. You won't get a lot of help from the cops at this stage, that's why I'm offering to help.'

'Okay,' Carruthers managed a stiff smile. 'I really appreciate it.'

'No problem. I'll be on the other side of the bar this time if you want me. Let's hope it won't be necessary.'

'Yes, let's hope.' Carruthers smile dissolved with a grim twist of his lips. 'I reckon I'll get out of these clothes and clean up.'

'Yeah, you'll feel a lot better for it.'

They returned inside and parted company at the main staircase, where Noades slapped Carruthers gently on the shoulder. 'Chin up fella. All's well, you'll see.'

But all was far from well, and despite Noades' willingness to help, the man's show of optimism did nothing to raise Carruthers' spirits.

Carruthers let himself into the room, again painfully void of Chelsey, leaving his phone on the bed while he showered.

Then he heard it ring...

# Chapter Eight

Carruthers scrambled from the shower, snatching the phone from his bed. 'Hello?'

'Hello, this is Mrs. Winterman, am I speaking to the gentleman from the forest earlier?'

'You are...' Carruthers' grip on the phone tightened upon recognition of the woman's voice, and the slight delay that followed did nothing to calm his nerves.

'Well – I've been speaking to my husband – and I wasn't sure at first, but now – yes I do recall seeing a woman fitting the description you gave. Would she have been wearing a light blue top and jeans?'

'Yes, she was.' Carruthers clawed his scalp, just wishing the speaker would crank up the pace of her speech.

'We believe we may have seen her near the perimeter of the car park, close to the toilet block. There's an old dirt track runs nearby – it's not used much...'

'Yes. But what was she doing there, was she...'

'She was on her mobile phone. I recall now she seemed agitated if her body language was anything to go by. We didn't think anything of it you see, just somebody having a heated conversation, and then – well...' the woman paused, Carruthers heard a male voice in the background and then she let out a sigh. 'A short while after a car came along the dirt road, a grey one I recall, and she walked straight over and got into the front passenger seat. After a few minutes it drove away – I never saw her get out, but as I say, we didn't pay much...'

'What kind of car – did you see the driver?' Carruthers hands were shaking; he needed them both to clutch the phone.

Another delay as the woman consulted the male. 'No, I'm afraid not, my husband thinks the car was an Audi, but he's not certain. Visibility was poor by then you see, with the approaching storm...'

'Never mind – Mrs.Winterman,' Carruthers said in a voice as unsteady as his body, 'If you recall anything else please call straight away. And can I please have your details in case the police should...'

'Yes, most certainly.' Helen Winterman provided Carruthers with an address in nearby Brockenhurst and he took spidery note on the hotel's courtesy pad.

'I do hope everything is all right, Mr...'

'Carruthers, Martin Carruthers. Thank you.' Carruthers terminated the call, feeling a gut wrenching sickness at the thought that his wife could have simply walked to somebody's car – somebody she'd obviously arranged to meet, because that would explain the phone call she'd made as she headed for the toilets – and then well out of his sight got into the car of her own free will and allowed herself to be driven away; in effect, totally abandoning him for another man.

But hang on – he took a bottled water from the mini-bar, wrenched off the cap and poured the liquid down his parched throat – just hang on because Chelsey wouldn't do that – however moody, unpredictable, changeable she'd been of late, his wife simply wouldn't abandon him in the middle of nowhere in favour of a pre-arranged meeting with another man.

Would she?

Well just let her turn up later with some cock and bull excuse at why she'd disappeared, sprung from the depths of a novelist's imagination.

Except that it wasn't like that, it couldn't be. And so it went on, his mind the captive of see-sawing thoughts, illogical yet possible. He wanted her back; he wanted her back in the hotel room now; how he willed her to come through the door with a plausible explanation of what he'd just heard. But it wasn't going to happen. Whatever had occurred wasn't going to be easily explained, he knew it. And what did he do now, through the pinball machine of

broken thoughts that was his mind?

He couldn't go to the police with Helen Winterman's visual account, even if he genuinely believed this miserable situation wasn't of her own making. He no longer had anything to go on. She'd got willingly into a car as far as Winterman had been concerned, and that put an end to any possibility of Foulkes being involved. Surely it had to.

But had the woman been wrong? She'd said herself they hadn't paid too much attention. And yet he'd a strong hunch from the outset that she'd seen something and withheld it, probably because she'd sensed the delicacy of the situation. So they'd obviously seen enough.

He needed a drink, and this time it would be a stiff one. He raided the mini-bar, poured himself a neat scotch and then raised it to his lips where it lingered a moment before he slammed the glass on the table.

What would getting drunk solve? Nothing.

He checked his watch; enough time had passed now for Chelsey to have made it to their Chiswick home if that had been her intention, but a hastily made call to their home number went unanswered and caused him no great surprise.

Carruthers flung himself onto the bed, a tired wretch of a man, his head felt heavy and his eyes began to yield to that weight. He'd had enough for now; the storm had done little to raise the blanket humidity of the day, which was pressing him to sleep when the phone rang again.

'Chelsey?'

'Oh Martin, I'm so sorry to disturb you, I know you said not to call but...'

'Casey, not now, _please._ '

'Are you all right, Martin – is Chelsey not there with you?'

Carruthers clasped a hand to his brow and rolled over, exhaling deeply. 'No Casey, she isn't. I don't know where the hell she is. Now what do you want?'

'It's just that I met a publisher at a function this afternoon. He might be interested in Chelsey's latest offering.'

'Who is he?' Carruthers asked, his enthusiasm at a low ebb.

'Bob Leonard of Leonard-Collinson, you know him.'

'Yep, I know him.' Leonard-Collinson were lesser known publishers, the kind he'd go to if he had belief in a writer's book as a last resort. But Carruthers was far from pursuing that path for now as far as Chelsey was concerned; he'd find her a lucrative contract elsewhere. He was taken aback that Casey had even thought to mention it. However it mattered little at the moment. 'I'll speak to Chelsey,' he said abjectly.

'Are you and Chelsey okay, Marty? You seem, well – flat.'

Casey Jennings' soft yet husky voice was soothing in its way, and tired though Carruthers was, she was a good sort. Everyone thought so, apart from Chelsey that was.

Carruthers became drawn into the relaying events of the afternoon in much the same fashion as he had with Noades, only this time with the demoralizing eye-witness account of Helen Winterman.

'Oh how awful for you Marty, and after all you've done to promote her career – you must be...'

'Hang on Casey. I don't know what to think at the moment. I've been that worried. I really don't need you jumping to conclusions, there's probably some innocent explanation to this. Right now I need some rest. It's stifling here. I'll be in contact, okay?'

'You be sure you do,' came Casey's concerned reply. 'Sorry to have bothered you, Marty, but I'm here for you. Please remember that.'

'I will. I will.'

Carruthers flung his phone to the side, lay back on the bed. The next thing he heard was the tap on the door.

# Chapter Nine

'Sorry to disturb you pal, but when you didn't show downstairs I thought I'd pay a welfare call.'

'Oh – yes, come in.' Carruthers swept a hand across his eyes. 'What time is it?'

'Eight o'clock.' Noades hovered uncomfortably as Carruthers scrambled his senses. 'I take it no news. Huh?'

'I'm afraid not,' but Carruthers checked his phone just in case. 'No. I fell asleep, I was that tired.' He made for the window, forcing up a sash, lit a cigarette and held it over the edge.

'I hadn't realised your wife was a famous writer – the receptionist told me. He didn't mention...' Noades coughed, then changed tack, 'Well I suppose the police will be more inclined to act...'

'What did you mean by that?' Carruthers frowned at Noades' puzzled look. 'You started to say "he didn't mention"...I wasn't aware there was a male receptionist.'

'Oh I see... the manager, as a rule he informs us when we've a personality in our midst.'

Carruthers gave a nod. 'But in any case the police won't be in a rush to act.' Turning sharply, he drew on his cigarette, aware he was smoking inside and with a member of staff present at that, but he didn't care. 'She was seen getting into a car with a bloke.'

Carruthers relayed Mrs. Winterman's account, becoming more dejected as he went. 'You know,' he said with an air of finality, 'I've been trying to keep an open mind on this, but how can I really? It speaks for itself.'

'The reality is, pal, we don't know that.' Noades glanced down at Carruthers' untouched scotch. 'And resorting to the hard stuff won't help. I suggest we take the original course of action, and take a trip out to the forest. You never know what it might turn up.'

Carruthers shook his head, he couldn't see any purpose in it, but it was one up on the sense of hopeless confinement he felt now, and if there was any chance it might lead to something –

He glanced at Noades, and then at his cigarette – 'Sorry Robin, but needs must.' He squashed it on the outside window ledge. 'Okay, let's do it.'

'I suggest I drive; no offence.' Noades winked, Carruthers supposed the gesture was intended to keep his spirits up. He managed a smile. 'I don't think my nerves are up to your forest roads, at any rate.'

Noades' car was parked in the staff bays near the entrance arch, a smart little red sporty number Carruthers couldn't put a name to, until the hotel barman told him it was a kit car he'd assembled himself.

The storm had receded into the distance where a few rumbles of thunder still persisted, leaving the evening overcast and damp, and intolerably humid. 'We'll follow the route you would have taken,' Noades said, 'apart from the village one-way system that is.' He slipped the car into gear and followed the road out of Lyndhurst as Carruthers kept sharp eyes on the leafy roadsides, quiet now that the storm had deposited its torrents of rain.

Noades gave Carruthers a quick glance. 'Gillian – that's our head receptionist – was saying she's a reader of your wife's books, says she doesn't think there's been one for a while.'

'No, I told her there'll be a release soon. I'm her agent, I should know. Oh look I'm sorry,' Carruthers said, apologising for his surly response.

'No, it's okay; I can understand you being distressed.' Noades kept his gaze straight ahead, moving up through the gears on the open road.

'The fact is, that her normal publisher rejected her latest offering – I'd been telling her I didn't think it was up to scratch, but of late she's been excitable to say the least.' He sighed,

yearning for a cigarette, but the interior of Noades' car was immaculate, and he sensed that

smoking inside his vehicle was something he never did. 'I must say I didn't expect a straight-forward refusal, however. And so basically that's why we're here; we reckoned a short break was probably the best thing – for both of us. I just didn't allow for this – development...'

'I don't suppose anything like this has happened before?' Noades must have seen the look of irritation on Carruthers' face as he added, 'I just thought I'd ask.'

'It's okay.' Carruthers chewed on the inside of his lip. 'No, not on this scale anyway.' True, there had been unexplained absences; she wasn't immune to disappearing for a few hours occasionally, returning without explanation of where she'd been – but he'd assumed she'd been out walking as she was apt to do. At any rate it didn't warrant dwelling on here.

They'd reached the turning into Ornamental Drive and Noades slowed the car down, the engine growling in protest. Things looked so different now in the gloomy evening air, the big firs and pines dripping their water onto already soaked ground. Carruthers broke off any attempt at conversation, focusing now on the slightest movement amongst the trees either side of the road, but it was as if any human, any animal, had given up on the day, and left the area for the nocturnal creatures to follow.

And then with dusk setting in early they reached the picnic area, the point where Carruthers had last seen Chelsey, deserted now apart from a gathering of deer near the woodland fence to their left.

'So this is it,' Noades said, looking across at Carruthers, any cheeriness in his manner long gone. 'Where did this woman say she'd seen Chelsey?'

Carruthers stretched an arm to the far left, perhaps two hundred metres distant, where an old dirt road terminated in a dead end. 'I think that's what she meant, but it's pointless now, there's nothing to see.'

'You never know, and now we're here we may as well take a look around.'

Noades jumped from the car, looking for Carruthers to follow suit, which he did reluctantly. His stomach felt hollow, empty, he'd hardly eaten that day but lack of food wasn't the reason. The disappearance of his wife was that reason – and the way she'd

deserted him. And now, taking that trip across the rain-sodden picnic area in the same direction she'd trod, caused anger, pain and confusion to rain on him, lodging in the base of his stomach.

They veered to the left, where the long-disused track, littered with weeds, curved to meet them; Carruthers noticed the toilet block was about twenty metres to their rear. He stopped, put his hands on his hips and exhaled loudly. 'Well, this is about it, where they say she was when she was picked up. Damn her doing this to me.' Carruthers smacked the fence support with his balled fist. 'She must have known I wouldn't see a thing through the crowd.'

'Either she or somebody else did.'

'Say again?'

Noades gave him a lop-sided look, and shrugged, 'Well, we don't know. Do we?' He sighed. 'I'll take a quick look in the woods.' He hurdled the fence, watched a group of deer shy into the woods and then disappeared.

_Like that'll help._ But Carruthers bit back the words. It would have been unkind to have uttered them given the help Noades was providing.

He'd been gone some minutes leaving Carruthers a lonely, isolated figure, when he returned through the foliage speaking on his phone and appearing agitated. 'You didn't tell

me...' Carruthers thought he heard Noades say, but on his approach the call was terminated. 'It's girlfriend trouble, I'm afraid. You think you're the only one,' he added awkwardly.

Noades studied the ground around him, his eyes falling on some tracks. 'Well, it looks as though whoever met her reversed all the way back – hey – what's that?...'

He backtracked to where the woodland encroached and scooped up a small leather case from the tufted grass. Slipping it open he beckoned hurriedly to Carruthers. 'You better come see this.' Noades dug his hand inside the case, producing the small grey object that had been inside. 'Would this be your wife's?'

Carruthers scrambled over the log fence ignoring the splinter that spiked his hand, and grabbed the phone from Noades. 'Yes, this is Chelsey's – she must have dropped it when she got into the car – there's still life in it,' he muttered.

'Yeah, well I guess the case protected it from the elements.' Noades gazed over Carruthers' shoulder. 'That's why she couldn't call you.'

'Oh yes? Look at this...' Carruthers, his jaw clenched, his eyes bulging, was staring at a text message – ' _Look, meet me at four, I'll ring when I'm there – you don't know what you've been missing..._ '

'Oh shucks,' Noades whistled. 'So she was seeing someone.'

'Not just someone,' Carruthers uttered with rising fury. 'The text is from Alexander Goldhawk, the bloody publisher!'

To have something stolen from you that you created in your own right kindles a fire that is hard to extinguish. But when the ugly event is repeated the fire becomes a furnace, becomes insatiable in its desire to consume – the perpetrator must be annihilated, for only annihilation has any chance of quenching the fire that burns within.

But in some instances extinguishing is impossible, like a dormant volcano it smoulders beneath, the pressure building until an eruption is inevitable. The fire bursts forth once more and leaps at a new perpetrator, clutching him in its fiery grasp.

For their will always be a new perpetrator...

The furnace demands it.

# Chapter Ten

Carruthers recalled little of anything Noades said to him after that. He thought the barman had suggested he let matters lie and start with a clear head in the morning, but he was enveloped in a blind fury, too angry with Chelsey, too incensed with Goldhawk to pay heed to any advice.

He'd muttered something or other to Noades as they'd parted company that evening, but the first action he'd performed upon returning to his room was to call the lousy Goldhawk there and then, so charged up had he been.

But when that hadn't worked, when repeated calls to both house phone and mobile met only a robotic recorded message Carruthers' basic instincts took over. Goldhawk knew who was phoning; that was why he hadn't answered – or perhaps the two of them were cosily wrapped in each other's arms, too indulgent in themselves to pay heed to his repeated attempts to get through.

Well they'd pay heed alright, he'd see to that. Carruthers checked his watch, eight forty five – little over forty five minutes had passed since they'd initially set out, though it seemed like hours. He wasn't going to be being treated like this, either by the licentious Goldhawk or his treacherous wife. He'd never have believed it could happen, but the fact that it had filled him with uncontrollable anger.

Carruthers set his enraged sights on Haslemere, and Goldhawk's spacious Tudor mansion; at this time of evening he could reach it in two hours. And he would.

Snatching his keys from the table Carruthers ran down to his vehicle, ramming the four- by-four into gear and narrowly avoiding a side-on collision as he exited via the hotel archway onto the village one-way system paying scant attention to approaching traffic. The

narrow miss, as the oncoming car screeched to a halt amidst angry blasts of its horn, at least

served to buck-up his concentration, if not to douse his fury.

He sped onto the M3 motorway, its lack of eastbound traffic aiding his progress, but the closer his journey took him towards the Buckinghamshire countryside, the more the veil of red before his eyes allowed pockets of realism to infiltrate his mind, much as he fought to disperse them.

Did he really expect to find Goldhawk in? Would he have been likely to have swept her back to his main residence? For what it was worth the louse had a wife, Jacqueline, making it even more unlikely he'd take Chelsey back there.

But he'd make sure Jacqueline knew about her husband's infidelity. He'd do that alright.

It took him less than two hours to reach Goldhawk's residence, an impressive Tudor fronted mansion in a swish crescent on the northern edge of the town. The steel-barred gates were invitingly open, which was fine – and Goldhawk's Jaguar stood outside his garage at the top of his lengthy arced drive. Okay, so it wasn't an Audi as Mrs. Winterman's husband had thought, but it was the same colour and that sealed things for him.

So Goldhawk was inside, unsuspecting of his presence. He'd most probably shopped Jacqueline off for a few days, replacing her with his wife.

That thought alone generated renewed rage in Carruthers. His Range Rover catching the kerb and then mounting the pavement, he abandoned it unlocked and then marched up the driveway.

But as he followed the arc towards the main door he saw at least eight or nine vehicles parked in the crown of the drive, beyond his vision until now. He'd walked into a function, and it wasn't solely the array of vehicles that told him so – the raised voices and music flooding his ears confirmed as much.

Carruthers cursed his impetuosity, the scene he was about to create was going to be witnessed by all and sundry, and who knew what influential literary figures he'd find inside.

But the stark realisation did little to pour water on his fire of certainty that he'd find Chelsey inside. He'd gone too far now, his indignation knew no bounds

Carruthers rang the bell, his heart beating the drum in grim contrast – he needed to ring twice before a dinner-suited male sporting a black bow-tie answered the door.

'I'm looking for Alexander Goldhawk – and my wife.' Carruthers used the flat of his hand to force the unyielding figure aside and the man tottered backwards, upending an oval table and sending the tray of glasses he'd laid upon it crashing to the hardwood floor.

The commotion it caused was enough to bring Goldhawk hurrying from the main reception room. 'What on earth – Martin...' Goldhawk clapped his hand on his brow. 'There was no need to make such a dramatic entrance old chap – I would have invited you only...'

'I'm sorry Mr. Goldhawk, this man simply barged in...'

'Yes, I can see that, Bolton,' Goldhawk said, keeping his eyes on the approaching Carruthers. 'Get yourself cleaned up and attend to the mess.'

'Where's my wife, you louse – where's Chelsey?'

'I beg your pardon? Martin what are you on – what's this all about?'

'My wife. Where is she?' Carruthers stormed past Goldhawk, heading for the room he'd seen him exit from, turning and thrusting a finger as he went. 'I'll find her and then I'll account for you.'

But Carruthers' advance was halted as he reached the arched doorway leading into it. Five, maybe six males attending the gathering had rushed to Goldhawk's aid, and Carruthers, his arms pinned behind him, was bundled towards the door.

'I want my wife, you lecherous old bastard,' Carruthers screamed. 'I'm not going until I find her.'

Goldhawk brushed his silver hair, took a nervous look back along the passageway. 'She's not here, Martin – I promise you – now look try to calm down and we'll talk about it in private – I don't know what's got into you but...'

'Alexander, what's happening, why all the rumpus?' It was Jacqueline, Goldhawk's wife, demure, soberly dressed in a beige, calf-length frock who emerged from the reception room – 'Why, Mr. Carruthers, what on earth's going on?'

'Mr. Carruthers has himself slightly confused, my dear; I feel he is a little the worse for wear. I'll find him a quiet place to rest, it's perfectly alright Jacqueline.'

'Well – if you say so.' Goldhawk's wife sighed and fixed Carruthers an assessing stare. 'I'll help out in the kitchen.'

Carruthers hung his head as Goldhawk looked to the group restraining him. 'It's okay, you can let him go.' The host watched the congregation slowly disperse and approached Carruthers cautiously. 'I don't know what's got into you old chap, but we'd best have a quiet chat.'

Goldhawk led Carruthers to the rear of the house, into a small, richly carpeted parlour, closing the door behind them.

'Now, what's got into...'

'This!'

Carruthers thrust Chelsey's mobile into Goldhawk's unwilling hands – 'Read it. This is Chelsey's phone and your message to her, asking to meet and telling her she doesn't know what she's missing – and then of course she dropped the damned thing when you picked her up in your grey Jag...'

'No, no – this is madness, please keep your voice down, Jacqueline is very... look.' Goldhawk raised his hands, backed away. 'Yes, it is – was my message, but I sent that text,

two – possibly three months ago. Sit down, Martin, please. I'd rather we deal with this cordially.'

'Cordially, you expect me to be cordial – damn you...' but Carruthers sat down with a vast exhalation of breath. Slowly, through his enraged senses, it was becoming clear to him that whatever had happened to Chelsey, Goldhawk hadn't been involved.

'But you _are_ telling me that you had an affair with my wife.'

'No, no, no!' Goldhawk turned to the drink cabinet, poured himself a whisky, offered a glass to Carruthers receiving only a glare.

'Look I'll admit I tried it on – no hear me out...' Carruthers seemed to Goldhawk as though he would spring from his chair. 'I'm sure you must know the way Chelsey comes across to men – I did what any red-blooded male would do – I sent her a text, _that_ text. It was following an afternoon function, she'd been funny, amusing – good company – I thought I'd go for it. Sorry if it distresses you old chap but it's the oldest game known to man, and I'm as much of a player as anyone else. Only it didn't work. I didn't even get an answer. I regret doing it now.' Goldhawk gave Carruthers a long look. 'I don't know what's happened to Chelsey, Martin, but I can see how stressed out you are. I wouldn't blame you for...'

'Okay, okay.' Carruthers cupped his face in his hands, perched awkwardly forward in his seat. 'I jumped to conclusions, but tell me something honestly; I don't know what's happened to Chelsey – and right now it's driving me out of my mind...' he fixed Goldhawk with a hard stare, 'but I'd call that a rejection. Was that why you rejected her novel?'

Goldhawk swallowed, remained silent.

'Was it, damn you?'

Goldhawk threw his hands in the air, forgetting the whisky in his grasp. It showered him, made him cough. 'I don't know,' and then flinching from Carruthers' gaze he said, 'Yes – I think possibly it was. Once again, we're all susceptible to rejection; it doesn't apply solely to writers.'

'In which case, I've nothing more to say.' Carruthers strode past Goldhawk as though he was heading for the door and then stopped dead. He swung his right arm, catching the editor flush on the chin. 'Take that from both of us.'

Out in the night air, Carruthers shivered. The humidity had finally gone, at least in these parts. His conscience though was prickling him big time. He'd commenced a two hundred and fifty mile round journey in the belief that Chelsey and Goddard were having an affair. He should have known that she wouldn't have betrayed him.

Now all he could wonder was what had happened to her, and to go right back to Lyndhurst and hope to find her safe and well.

He'd used her, acted as though it was a privilege of his position – and she'd gone along with him, because if she hadn't, maybe he wouldn't have published any more of her work. After all, he was the publisher – her agent wasn't the one pulling the strings.

But it went deeper than that – it cut deeper, because he'd been getting greedy, more demanding, creating more pressure – and all the while he was doing that he was selling her work at exorbitant profit; in effect stealing it. Her mind whisked into fury; whirling her back to a time when in adolescence she'd effected retribution for that overriding reason. And the thing was –

She'd have to effect it again.

# Chapter Eleven

Alexander Goldhawk felt his chin, painful where Carruthers had struck him; quite some temper that man, not unlike his wife, who he doubted would be seeing him today. Despite the blow, he regarded Carruthers as a decent enough chap as things went, though too gullible by half. Crossing the room he examined his jaw line in the mirror, only the faintest trace of a bruise there, nothing to mar his appearance, thank heavens for small mercies.

Closing the imposing oak double doors behind him, Goldhawk then slung his heavily laden briefcase into the boot of the car and slipped behind the wheel. The case and its contents could wait until later, until afternoon in all probability, because he had a surprise engagement which took priority over his day's publishing agenda. He'd called his secretary, Joyce Wainwright, and informed her that the weekly production meeting would need to be postponed for two hours at least – in all probability it would be four. These things happened, they were unavoidable.

Goldhawk smiled; both unavoidable and desirable. Well, every so often one of his favourite writers would return his favours, as had happened on this occasion. Out of the blue it was too, and overdue. He'd almost given up on this case, had been practically convinced he'd been getting nowhere, that his overtures hadn't been receiving the attention they deserved and so he'd resigned himself to pulling the plug on this particular author's ambitions – at least where Goddard and Co were concerned.

But now they had borne fruition, his endeavours hadn't been in vain, even though the chosen location had surprised him. It was the towpath at Chiswick – a quaint, refined and attractive spot, but rather close to his conquest's abode, although when all said and done he wasn't unduly concerned by that.

He whistled a tune subconsciously, pleased with himself. A publisher's lot wasn't such a bad one, all things considered. He made plenty of money, that was the thing. A glossy cover, a bit of patching up by a decent copy-editor, a shrewd and astute advertising campaign and publishing program and bob's-your-uncle. If one author didn't comply with his demands

there was always one that would. His conquest was a reasonable writer, he'd give her that, but it was his own professionalism in producing the finished article that she owed him for. Well, to be frank they all owed him. That was his justification, in that there was no remorse.

He reached Chiswick, turned off the high street and approached the Thames, parking his car in a quiet side street and strolling down to the towpath. He didn't see her at first, she hadn't been quite in the arranged location. He crooked his head when he heard her call, she was walking down a steep alleyway towards him. She looked a picture; he could scarcely contain his delight.

***

Greedy, good for nothing Goldhawk; she'd seen his approach even though he hadn't seen her. He thought she was going to guide him to some seedy hotel for a few hours and let him have his disgusting way with her. Well, not any more buster, the game was over, at least for him. Her plans for today, for the foreseeable future were pointing in a whole new direction. Corrupt guys such as Alexander bloody Goldhawk got their comeuppance in the end, and his was nigh.

He amounted to step one in her new direction; she was already planning step two.

She strode to the top of the alleyway, through gaps in the cottages she could follow his approach, and although not close enough to focus, she could imagine his leer of anticipation.

She allowed herself a smirk and then heart pumping blood ever quicker through her veins, trod lightly down to meet him.

# Chapter Twelve

'What do you mean? She can't have just "disappeared." You're telling me she just got into someone's car and they drove away. You must have pissed her off big time. Now what the hell's going on here?'

'I haven't "pissed her off," as you put it.' Carruthers clapped a hand to his brow. 'Look, I'm not blaming Chelsey either, not now...'

'What the blazes do you mean, 'not now'?'

Carruthers dangled his cigarette over a window ledge. 'Goldhawk's been trying his luck, slimy bastard – but it's got nothing to do with her disappearance. Look I'd rather not go into that right now...'

Carruthers heard Adrian sigh and curse; he sounded as vexed as he was. 'Have you phoned the police?'

'I was advised there would be little point, not until I'd exhausted all possibilities.' Carruthers drew heavily on his cigarette, inhaling into the warm morning air. 'A guy at the hotel who's been very understanding said they wouldn't act at such an early stage – he said to wait a while. After all what have I got to go on? He's got a point.'

'It's my sister we're talking about.'

'And my wife,' Carruthers answered, aware of the acidity in his voice. 'I tried to get hold of you last night...'

'Obviously very late...' Adrian snapped back. 'If I'd have had any idea of this I'd have been onto you right away...' there was a pause, somewhere in the background a dog barked. 'I'm coming up; I don't like the sound of this at all. Expect me at noon, and in the meantime, don't listen to what a stranger says, call the bloody police.'

Adrian terminated the call and Carruthers sank further into the depths of despair. The

prospect of the obnoxious Adrian Frampton-Williams storming around the place was more than he could stomach right now.

Nonetheless Carruthers resigned himself to Chelsey's doting half-brother's presence and proceeded to do what perhaps he should have done earlier – to call the police.

He'd arrived back from Goldhawk's house in the early hours of the morning, unsurprised that his wife hadn't returned. But that hadn't stopped the worry and hurt in what had turned into a long and sleepless night. Losing his door key hadn't helped; he'd had to pester the night porter for a replacement, following which he'd tried to raise Adrian, though acknowledging there would be little likelihood of a response at such an hour. And of course, that had been the case.

Carruthers decided to set out on foot for the police station; stopping off en route at the reception desk he was relieved to find that Gillian, the avid reader of Chelsey's books, wasn't on duty. He wasn't of a mind for an in-depth chat that morning – he'd have enough of a headache with Adrian's presence.

Taking heed of the receptionist's directions he found the police station a few minutes' walk from the village centre. He explained his plight to a civilian desk clerk, who took his details down on a form which he carried through to an inner office.

He'd waited only a few minutes before the security door opened and a white-shirted sergeant ushered him through; a tall, lean man with wavy brown hair and a suitably serious demeanor, whom Carruthers adjudged in his early thirties. He was led through to a small, sparsely furnished room obviously used for interview purposes, where the sergeant introduced himself as Higginbotham and gestured for him to sit.

Sergeant Higginbotham drew up a chair behind his desk and glanced at the report from the clerk. 'I symphathise with you, Mr. Carruthers, very distressing for you obviously. He looked up, elbows on desk, supporting his chin with his knuckles. 'Let me run through this. You're here on holiday right? It was your first day, you went cycling and you stopped off at a picnic spot with your wife. She goes to the toilet but doesn't return, and a couple you've not seen before tell you they saw her get into a car with another man, after what seems to have been an agitated phone conversation.'

'Another person, yes – they couldn't make out the driver.' Carruthers told of how he'd driven back to the spot and how Noades had found her mobile phone. He added briefly the message Goldhawk had left and his hastily undertaken journey to the man's house which proved embarrassingly futile.

'Do you have the phone now, Mr. Carruthers?' The sergeant asked, picking up a pen.

'It's in the hotel room – I could...'

'No, keep it safe. At some stage it might be necessary for us to take possession but hopefully the situation won't arise.' Higginbotham fixed Carruthers with a long stare which made him feel uncomfortable. 'Has your wife been acting in any way strangely – out of her norm?'

Carruthers lowered his head and sighed. 'Sergeant, she's not been her normal self for some time; my wife is a writer and novelist – I'm her agent.' He met Higginbotham's gaze, 'I think her moodiness is due to being under pressure to maintain her standard of work, I think that's all it is. It doesn't explain her disappearance.'

'No, perhaps not.' Leaning his forearms on the desk, Higginbotham sat forward. 'But by all accounts your wife seems to have arranged to meet somebody she obviously knew and to have driven off with them of her own free will.' He glanced down at his notes. 'If Mrs.

Waterman's account is anything to go by, Mr. Carruthers, you might need to face the fact that although Mr. Goldhawk might not have been the villain in this instance, your wife could

indeed have been involved in some kind of clandestine relationship.' Higginbotham slid back in his chair, threw out a hand, 'I'm afraid it's hardly a new concept.'

'It's not a concept my wife would engage in,' Carruthers said sharply, then mashed his lips.

'But it was something you considered in relation to Mr. Goldhawk,' Higginbotham said, picking up on Carruthers' discomfort. 'At any rate...' Higginbotham jotted something on his pad, returned his gaze to Carruthers with an apologetic air, 'at this juncture, speaking for the constabulary we don't have any grounds for concern about your wife's welfare. However I will circulate her details at our briefings so that our officers can be made aware...'

'And that's it? What about the heated phone conversation before she was picked up?'

'I'm afraid we can only speculate on that Mr. Carruthers, and speculation isn't our business.' Higginbotham sniffed. 'Nonetheless it's something we might bear in mind, if you can forward me this lady's contact details?'

'I have them here...' Carruthers rummaged in his pocket, handed them across. 'There's something else...'

Higginbotham's fair brows arched. 'Go on.'

'We'd got lost before we came across the picnic spot. We ended up in an area not far from that big "Knightwood Oak" tree – we came across three, well – rough and ready types. One was pretty sarcastic and Chelsey took umbrage with him right away. She stomped ahead, and he said to me I should watch her temper or words to that effect, but that he'd set us on the right road to the reptile centre, where we'd been heading.

'Chelsey was adamant that he'd deliberately sent us the wrong way and looking at it now I'd say she was right.' Carruthers leaned forward. 'But there was something else, just before she disappeared she was adamant that someone had been watching her through the trees in the picnic area, namely him, and that had got her pretty ruffled. She said one of the other two men referred to him as Foulkes...'

'Foulkes...' Higginbotham's voice had raised a notch; he held his pen to his lips and sat back in his chair, eyes no longer focused on Carruthers.

'You know him?' Carruthers noticed the change in expression, pressed for an answer.

'Describe him.'

Carruthers fingered his chin. 'Middle-aged hippie type, long scraggly hair, unshaven face, wild eyes...'

'Yeah,' Higginbotham conceded, 'I know him. But it doesn't fit in with Mrs. Winterman's account. Nonetheless, I'll speak to my superior; we might just have a word with our Mr. Foulkes. Other than that, we've no justification at present for extensive enquiries I'm afraid. Now we have your contact details – are you considering staying on here?'

'I certainly am.' Carruthers got up from his seat. 'I'm not leaving the area until my wife is found. I'm convinced she's in trouble.'

'Let's hope not, Mr. Carruthers.' Higginbotham led Carruthers through to the security door, held it open. 'I sincerely hope all turns out well.'

Sergeant Higginbotham closed the door and Carruthers made his way out to the street. The air was gaining humidity once more, and above, the sky was an unhealthy brown colour. More storms on the way, Carruthers thought – and one in the making...

He checked his watch, eleven thirty. He could expect Chelsey's temperamental brother's company soon after he returned to the hotel. What Adrian thought he could achieve escaped him. But bearing in mind the journalist's close association with her he had to concede his presence was unavoidable.

# Chapter Thirteen

Carruthers returned to the hotel, ordered a coffee at the bar and prepared for Adrian's arrival. He enquired as to Robin Noades' whereabouts but the middle aged barman who served him shrugged. 'Should have been here half an hour ago, he hasn't shown.'

'Oh, is he normally that unreliable?' Carruthers had intended it a matter of jest but the barman raised his brows. 'I can't say; he's a new recruit, only started a few days ago – hardly a good sign though.'

'No, I guess not.' Carruthers took his coffee through to the lounge, surprised to learn that Noades was new to the hotel. And then a thought flashed before him with the swift incisiveness of a blade: _"The manager usually informs us of any personalities in our midst,"_ those had been Noades' words or very nearly; he'd given the impression of being a long established member of staff, not a newcomer – had Noades been deliberately trying to mislead him, and if so why? But Carruthers had no chance to dwell on that because as he'd taken his first sip of coffee he'd heard a voice in the lobby ask for the lounge and the recognition of that voice sent his spirits spiraling, even though it wasn't unexpected. And then Adrian was upon him, five foot nine, perhaps ten, dressed in his grey suit despite the weather, his white linen shirt open at the collar, and with long unruly hair that in Carruthers' eyes rendered wearing a suit pointless.

'Now, Martin – what's this all about?' Six years younger than Carruthers, and adopting his haughty tone, Adrian perched on the edge of a chair opposite, pulling it that bit closer so that he was almost in Carruthers' face. 'I can't believe my sister would simply get into another man's car and vanish – there has to be more...'

Carruthers threw open his hands. 'I'm sick with worry, I find it hard to credit – and what's more the police won't take it seriously – not right now at any rate.' He took a gulp of coffee, felt it burn his dry throat. 'They're not regarding it as suspicious – look I'll start from the beginning...'

Carruthers ran through all he knew, with Adrian's dark eyes fixed accusingly on him throughout, though when he'd finished Adrian's vehemence surprisingly wasn't directed at him.

'Goldhawk's an old bastard, I never did like him – and I'll tell you one thing...' Adrian raised a finger, crooked it at Carruthers, 'there's no way Chelsey would get into a car with that man – I happen to know it.'

Carruthers swallowed, tried to hide his irritation. Adrian, his head aloft, always inferred he knew more about Chelsey's inner thoughts than anyone else... 'So all we have to go on is the account of Mrs. Winterman.'

'And what of this guy, Foulkes?'

Carruthers shook his head. 'Nuisance value at the most it seems. The police know him though – the sergeant I spoke to says he'll check him out.'

'But Chelsey reckons he spied on her...'

'Well, that's what she thought but we can't be sure.'

'If my sister said so then that's how it was,' Adrian said adamantly and Carruthers saw total belief in his eyes.

And then those eyes widened. 'What of Chelsey's shoulder bag – did she have it with her?'

'No, it's upstairs. She didn't take it on the bike ride. It's all intact, I've checked – which in my eyes makes it all the more...'

'We'll double check; there might be something that'll give us a clue.'

'Well I don't know what.' Carruthers didn't get Adrian's drift but Chelsey's brother was on his feet, leading the way out. 'Where's the room?'

Carruthers showed him upstairs, unlocked the room and indicated Chelsey's shoulder bag on the dresser where she'd left it. He paid a brief visit to the bathroom and returned to find Adrian rifling through her bag. 'Doesn't it make you feel uncomfortable going through my wife's possessions?' Carruthers said, letting his feelings vent. Adrian turned his thin face towards Carruthers, adopted his smug, aloof tone. 'Why should it? We don't keep anything secret, my sister and I.'

Carruthers had been about to boil over, but he squinted – Chelsey's brown diary seemed to be missing, and yet – 'That's odd.'

'What is?' Adrian asked, continuing his rummaging.

'Chelsey's diary - I don't see it.'

'No? Well, everything else seems to be here – perhaps she's taken it with her?'

Carruthers shook his head. 'But it was there, in the front compartment,' he persisted. 'I saw it when she flung it down earlier.'

'Well you're obviously mistaken,' Adrian said dismissively. 'Pretty much all her documents are in place; she obviously wasn't planning on going anywhere – that's something the police should know.'

'I've told them,' Carruthers retorted loudly, 'but it doesn't change their stand.'

'It will do when it hits the front pages.' Adrian Frampton-Williams' face glowed with arrogance. 'Don't forget what I do – who I am.'

'I know who you are, Carruthers thought, 'a know-all, gobby little journalist, freelancing because he couldn't command a regular column in a national paper.' Carruthers kept his thoughts to himself however; he was wondering just how long he would need to put up with Adrian's infernal presence when the journalist's phone flashed a message. Adrian blinked and stared hard, finally muttering, 'I have to go.'

With that, Adrian flew out of the room. So much for his concern for his sister, Carruthers thought as he watched him leave the car park in his sports car, relief mingling with curiosity over his rapid departure.

Carruthers turned his thoughts to Chelsey's shoulder bag and to her diary. It was typical of Adrian to have searched her bag; it fitted in so well with his possessive attitude towards her. But the diary had been there, in the front pocket and he'd seen it with his own eyes. Adrian hadn't taken it, so who had, and why?

Could Chelsey have returned to the room without his knowledge, was that diary so important to her? And the door had been unlocked –

Adrian hadn't considered the point and up until this moment neither had Carruthers.

He felt that degree of uncertainty return once more, mixing with his anxieties, befuddling his mind.

He returned to the bar, downed a lager as thunder clapped overhead. Again no sign of Noades but that was of no concern to him right now.

Had Foulkes really spied on Chelsey in the picnic area, had he followed them there? And if he had, what had he seen?

Carruthers glanced through the windows, rain had started to fall. He needed it to stop and for the skies to clear so that he could get back to the Forest, to Ornamental Drive and do his goddam best to track down Foulkes, confront him on the subject.

Despicable though the man might be, he may have a clearer picture than anybody of what had happened there.

# Chapter Fourteen

Carruthers spent a miserable afternoon in the hotel bar, more populated than he'd hitherto seen it on account of the adverse weather. His intentions of returning to the Forest and tracking down Foulkes thwarted by the conditions, he was running things through his mind for the umpteenth time and getting nowhere when a hotel porter came in, laying the local afternoon paper on a table opposite. Its headline immediately caught his eye, " _Leading writer disappears in Forest mystery."_

Carruthers got to his feet, taking the paper in his hands as calmly as he was able. Unfolding it he took in the smaller print beneath the main headline, getting hotter as he read, " _Local police are not regarding Mrs. Carruthers disappearance as suspicious, believing it to be of domestic origin."_

To hell it was domestic origin, but that thought drew his mind to her diary, because if Chelsey had returned for it, then forming any other conclusion was going to be difficult. It struck Carruthers that he hadn't checked with reception; somebody might just recall giving her a spare key.

However, a trip to the reception desk proved negative and left Carruthers wondering just who had taken Chelsey's diary and why. It was a development that needed reporting to the police considering their insistence that Chelsey's disappearance had been of a domestic nature.

He needed some fresh air and stepped out of the foyer to find the humidity had subsided a little. The rain had ceased apart from the occasional spot and pockets of brightness were showing through the heavy cloud. After leaving a message on Sergeant Higginbotham's phone concerning Chelsey's missing diary Carruthers chanced a walk along Lyndhurst's main street, painfully aware that twenty four hours had passed since her disappearance. Twenty four hours that had seemed an age. He turned right at the foot of the hill, crossing over a cattle grid to find himself in a wide expanse of Country Park. He wandered for a while without rhyme or reason, following a hilly trail between bracken and heather which led loosely in the direction of Beaulieu, before becoming aware of the growing weariness in his legs as he diverted onto a sandy track winding down to meet the Beaulieu road. From there he followed the road back to its junction with Lyndhurst High Street, noticing to his right a green mound, on top of which stood a bench in the shade of a huge yew tree.

It was a steep climb for Carruthers' ailing legs and resting his back against the bench he drifted into an unpleasant slumber, vaguely aware of the wind rustling the yew's branches, and then of something more tangible – his mobile jarring him back to life in what was now approaching twilight.

'Marty, it's Casey, where are you?'

'Still in Lyndhurst,' Carruthers answered tiredly.

'Still no sign of Chelsey?'

'No...' he trailed off, searching his pockets for his cigarettes.

'I heard there was some kind of incident last night.'

'Yeah...' Carruthers didn't want to be reminded of it, 'you could say that.'

'Marty, I'm coming down.'

Carruthers gripped his brow, what he wanted now was a good sleep, not his brain spinning in a late evening conversation with Casey –

'Casey it's late...'

'I'm halfway there. I anticipated you'd have returned to Lyndhurst. I'm so worried...'

'Okay.' Carruthers got to his feet, conceding it was too late to stop her. 'I'll meet you in the hotel lounge.'

'Fine Marty, I won't be long.'

Carruthers trudged back to the hotel, ordered a Cajun chicken salad and then took it through to the lounge where his sore stomach accepted it grudgingly.

So, by her reference to the 'incident' Casey had to have been referring to his fiasco at Goldhawk's. Despite his fatigue and worry Carruthers' curiosity was piqued. How had Casey picked up on it, and so quickly? Similarly she'd seemed to have had instant knowledge of Chelsey's rejection by Goldhawk – and now he'd wrenched the real reason from the editor that still bit deep. He wondered briefly whether Casey might actually have been at Goldhawk's party but didn't have time to dwell on it, because within a few minutes of him having consumed his food Casey Jennings had breezed through the lounge double doors.

'Oh Marty, but you look so pale.' She took his hands, kissed him on the cheek. 'I'm sorry to arrive like this but I was so worried – particularly after I'd heard what happened.

'By that I take it you heard about my little run-in with Alexander?...'

'Yeah.' Casey sighed, sat down, clasping her hands in her lap. Smaller than Chelsey, perhaps five feet four with a firm figure and an attractive full face, marred only by a blemish on her left cheek from where she'd had a mole removed.

'I'd worked for ages on "Stapleton's Demise" and then completed my collection of short stories. I called Alexander to let him know. Only he wasn't at his office. His secretary hadn't heard from him either, which was unusual. I thought he must be at home so I tried there, and that's when I spoke to Jacqueline.' Casey placed a hand on Carruthers' wrist, her husky voice dropping a touch further. 'What's happening Marty, what's going on?'

'Well if I knew, I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here now...'

Carruthers saw Casey's chin rise in resentment. 'Oh look I'm sorry love; plain fact is I saw the old green monster for a while...'

He summarized finding Chelsey's phone with Goldhawk's message on it – 'Fact is, I

ended up getting things completely wrong and doing a two-hundred mile round trip in the process.'

Casey's head dropped, she examined her fingers absently before returning her gaze to him – 'You said that you spoke to Jacqueline...' Carruthers prompted.

'Yeah – Jacqueline didn't elaborate, I'm not sure she knows anything about the lecherous old rogue's motives. She just said there'd been a bust-up, that you socked him one, though he didn't say why – and that since then Alexander's been acting odd. She couldn't reach him on his mobile phone, at his office – or anywhere.'

'Did you know that was the reason the old bastard rejected Chelsey's book?' Carruthers asked, renewed bitterness causing tremors in his voice.

'What was?'

Carruthers exhaled heavily. 'I would have thought you'd have grasped it – Chelsey rejects his advances – albeit in text form, so he rejects her latest book....'

Casey shook her head, 'But surely Marty, he'd be the loser there...'

'Only if it sold, and I'm afraid the main ingredients there lie in its advertising and distribution, which of course Goldhawk has control of. The old rogue could quite easily shut her out if he'd a mind to – and quite frankly, that's exactly how I think his mind works. I've tried telling her – at any rate, that's how it is.' Carruthers sank back in his chair, met Casey's eyes. 'Thanks for coming Casey – I'm sorry I've been a little offhand, just so worked up. You'll excuse me if I don't show too much concern that Alex has gone off in a huff. Right now I reckon I owe him a lot more than a punch on the nose.'

Casey gave a thin smile, stretched across and patted his hand. 'So what happens now?'

'The police reckon it's domestic, nothing suspicious.' Carruthers glanced across to the large coffee table where several papers lay. He found the local one and handed it to her. 'Here, it's made the headlines.'

Casey swept her long dark hair from her eyes, read through it quickly and then regarded him with a sorry expression. 'Oh Marty, do you think that's plausible though. That she simply arranged to meet some fella, had it planned all along?'

'Absolutely not!' Carruthers responded more forcefully than intended, attracting the attention of an old couple in an alcove. 'Sorry no...' he said in a deliberately hushed voice. 'Okay, I might have thought that earlier, but now my head's cleared...' he shook his head, 'no, I don't see it at all.'

'Okay.' Casey nodded, expressionless, took the paper back and returned to her seat. 'So what do you do now? Just sit around here hoping she shows?'

'No, there's a guy called Foulkes, looks and acts like a creep. Even if it wasn't intentional, he's the reason she's missing today.'

Carruthers gave his account of their meeting and explained what happened thereafter. 'He knows something Casey – and he's known to the police as well – I'm going back at first light tomorrow. I'm counting on him living rough – he seems the type. I'll find him, you bet I will.'

'I'll come with you.'

Carruthers looked into Casey's large brown eyes, wide open, earnest – 'No Casey, you go home. I don't want to involve you.'

'You need support, that's why I'm here.' She leaned across, held his wrist, tightened her grip. 'You wouldn't send me out into the dark, cold night would you?'

Carruthers forced a smile, 'No. I don't suppose I would. I'll see if I can get you a room.' He freed himself from Casey's grip and made for the foyer.

'No Marty, Casey called softly. 'I can sleep on your floor, or in a chair, nobody will know.

'It's a room or no deal,' Carruthers said firmly, receiving a wistful look from his visitor. He continued through to reception. _No, nobody would know, only Chelsey if she came back that very night, and that was what he wanted most of all._

# Chapter Fifteen

'Are you sure you don't want a companion for the night, Marty? I'd be more than happy...'

'No, thanks all the same, but hey – thanks for coming.' Carruthers looked at his attractive friend poised by the door in her low-cut silk blouse and almost wavered. The fact that he could even consider such a thought when not knowing Chelsey's demise disgusted him. Looking at Casey now - mouth slightly parted, white teeth showing between her lips, eyes wide and seeming to will him to say yes, and fringed by her tumbling long black hair – one thing could so easily lead to another –

For a second he was frightened she wouldn't budge and allow him through until he consented, but as he moved towards the door she stepped aside. Pulling his head down towards her with her right arm she planted a kiss on his cheek and then released her grip. 'Okay Marty, you get a good night's sleep. I'll be just down the corridor if you need me.'

'Thanks love, I'll remember that.' Carruthers unlocked his door and slipped into the room, closing it on her before he'd a chance to reconsider.

He let out a deep sigh; he needed sleep badly but doubted whether he'd get it. There were too many thoughts revolving in his head, clashing with each other, jarring him with worry. He checked Chelsey's bag again, searching for some clue that might have been missed before. There was nothing amiss until he looked into its upper compartment. Her diary was missing – but it _had_ been there when he'd checked. He was positive.

He checked all the drawers in a flustered flurry but to no avail – asking how it could have vanished, but his mind was too fuddled to come up with an answer.

When he finally slumped onto his bed and closed his eyes he surprisingly got some sleep, but it was broken and interrupted on one occasion by what he thought was someone tapping on his door. The sound jerked him back to consciousness and a succession of possibilities blew through his mind before he'd a chance to consider any of them. When he drew the latch however, the dimly lit corridor was empty, neither sight nor sound of anybody.

That did for him as far as sleep was concerned, and he laid still, hands locked behind his head, staring out of his open window watching the dawn mist give way to blue sky, and lending volume to the birds' dawn chorus.

He was itching to get out to the Forest, to find Foulkes, even if he knew in his heart the chances of stumbling blindly across him were remote. But it had barely turned five and out of respect for Casey and her offer to assist him, he needed to wait, at least until breakfast.

That was what he thought, but at five thirty the dull ring of the hotel phone had Carruthers reaching for it in such a hurry that he knocked the table lamp alongside it to the floor, shattering the bulb.

Cursing his clumsiness he grasped the receiver; Casey's deep, cultured tones greeted his ears. 'Marty, if I've guessed right you can't sleep; if I've got it wrong I've woken you up – in which case I'm sorry – but I thought you might like an early start in seeking out this guy...'

'Are you sure you can't read my mind?' Carruthers raised himself to the edge of the bed, carefully nudged the broken glass aside and stepped down. He had visions of dragging the low-life from his sleeping bag and shaking him until he had an answer – but in reality – 'I think we might be a bit early love...'

'Excuse the old pun, but doesn't the early bird catch the worm?'

'So they say.' What the hell, he wasn't going to do anything else other than to lay and wonder. 'Okay, you're on – meet me downstairs in twenty – and thanks.'

He hastily swept up the broken glass, showered and dressed, and went downstairs to find Casey ready and waiting in her car. 'Thought I'd drive,' she said brightly, hope you don't mind, it'll save you the bother.'

'Yeah, good idea, my concentration's shot to pieces.'

Carruthers yawned; the fatigue was still there in his limbs, his eyes were sore and the remnants of a headache he'd taken to bed with him still nagged.

'Come on, wakey, wakey.' Casey reached across and ruffled Carruthers hair. 'Which way are we heading?'

'Once we've gone round the one-way system take the A35 out of the village,' Carruthers said, Casey's strong hand having done nothing to remedy his aching head. 'A couple of miles on there's a turn-off – it shouldn't take us too long.' He glanced over at Casey as they met the road; fresh and bubbly he thought, for such an unsocial hour. One question bugged him, had prodded him constantly during his long, largely sleepless night – okay, he could understand how she'd found out about his confrontation with Goldhawk, but –

'Mind if I ask you a question?'

'Ask away,' Casey said, her eyes fixed on the road.

'How did you find out so soon about Chelsey's rejection?'

'What a strange question.' For a moment the cheeriness had gone from Casey's manner; she glanced at him. 'Why do you ask?'

'Purely from a professional point of view,' Carruthers lied, keeping his voice steady. 'Speaking as an agent who provides him with quality writers and material, I wouldn't want to think that Alexander advises all and sundry of his decisions.'

There was a delay before Casey answered, as she pulled out to overtake a slow-moving vehicle, a chancy manoeuvre Carruthers considered, as an oncoming car blasted its horn. 'He did call me as a matter of fact, though it was out of concern for you – I don't think it was any more than that. I think he felt guilty because he really does appreciate your time and effort – as do I Marty.'

Carruthers felt that Casey was about to reach over to him again, having taken a hand off the wheel, when he barked out, 'Left here,' a little louder and later than he'd intended. Casey's reply was occupying his mind, something about it didn't gel.

'You could have given me a little more warning.' Casey braked heavily, swung left as he apologized, aware of how aggressively she was driving. He'd been a passenger in her car on occasion and hadn't picked up on it before.

'Gosh it's nice out here...' Casey's brow furrowed as she took her eyes from the road, 'such a shame that you've had your break spoiled, Marty...'

'I'm more concerned about Chelsey at the moment.' Carruthers shot a glance at Casey, scarcely concealing his indignation at her apparent lack of concern for his wife – except of course that she had made the journey down on his – or their – behalf.

'I do understand that, Marty,' and as if picking up on his thoughts, 'that's why I've driven down here.'

'Yes, of course.' Carruthers sat stiffly; he recognised the large oak looming up. 'This is it.' He crouched forward, 'Pull into the parking area – please.'

Casey pulled into a clearing and parked a distance away from two others cars Carruthers was surprised to find there, given the time of day. 'Perhaps one of them belongs to your fella Foulkes,' she said, killing the engine.

'I don't think he's the driving type,' Carruthers scoffed, 'more like a Forest vagrant.'

'Then how did he manage to turn up at where you last saw Chelsey?'

'Say again?'

Casey sniffed, gave him a searching glance. 'Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you told me you'd cycled some distance before you found the picnic area.'

'Yes – we did...' Carruthers hadn't thought of that, though perhaps he should have done. Any optimism he had of finding the man began to ebb as he considered Casey's remark. He couldn't picture Foulkes in charge of a vehicle for one moment and yet that seemed the only way he could have found them.

Nevertheless, he wasn't abandoning his immediate goal now; his wife was far too important a cause for that.

'Stay here, Casey,' he said with as much authority as he could muster.

'What – are you joking?' He saw Casey's jaw drop in protest. 'So what am I going to do, sit and stare at that big tree?'

'It's famous.' Carruthers opened the passenger door, and stepped out.

'Oh – I'm impressed, but it's still only a tree. Look, Marty...'

'No Casey, you look,' Carruthers said, holding the door open, 'you've been good enough to drop me here, but this isn't your concern. I don't want you getting wrapped up with guys like these, understand? I said, understand?'

Casey flashed a glance which he might have termed indignant, crossed her arms and stared at the Knightwood Oak, leaving Carruthers to pursue as closely as possible the course he'd taken with Chelsey on their first afternoon, without any great optimism.

# Chapter Sixteen

Carruthers took the gravel track he'd ridden with Chelsey, negotiating his way between the tall trees, with an early morning mist rising and creating a silky blanket around their trunks. There was a chill in the air and he shivered, regretting wearing only a flimsy pale blue T – shirt and jeans. The busy tapping of woodpeckers greeted his ears and large blackbirds flew noisily above, seeming to mock him in what was in all probability a futile exercise.

He'd left Casey behind deliberately and although it was true he didn't want her involved for safety sake, he was on a personal mission to find his wife and Foulkes was his only possible lead.

And what was it about Casey's answer to his question that made him feel uneasy? Possibly that it was difficult for him to concede that Goldhawk had a conscience, but in which case why relay his feelings to Casey? Why not himself or Chelsey?

More pressing matters soon forced these issues to the back of his mind and reaching the point where the track split, he had little problem determining the one he and Chelsey had taken. The single gnarled oak that was dwarfed by giant deciduous trees along the path had seemed incongruous to him at the time, and did so again now.

Sure enough, the narrowing trail dwindled away and through the trees, surrounded by bracken and gorse, was the clearing where they'd run across Foulkes and his buddies.

This time however, there was neither sight nor sound of them, but as he slipped into the enclosure there were tell-tale signs that someone had been there. Cans, bottles and stubbed out cigarettes littered what should have been a pretty area. Carruthers wondered whether the patch was purely Foulkes' domain or if the spot was frequented by a nucleus of vagrant types.

A shotgun sounded nearby, he heard a dull thud followed by another, more audible this time. Pushing through the bracken at the back of the clearing he found himself on a mini-trail and formed a claustrophobic sensation of trees and undergrowth closing in on him. Thankfully it was short-lived, because through the mass of twigs and branches lay another clearing, oval shaped and a good deal larger, in which he saw two figures, one of whom held a shotgun. His heart began to pound on realization that the man with the gun was Foulkes.

Carruthers marched into the clearing as Foulkes fired again, then as his companion gestured towards him Foulkes swung round. 'Well, well, well – if it ain't the writer's hubby – you should watch where yer walkin', fella – could get a nasty surprise – what are yer doin' back 'ere anyhow?'

'We need to speak.' Carruthers took his eye off of Foulkes fleetingly and focused on the shotgun barrel. 'And don't point that thing at me; it's illegal practice anyway.'

'Is it now?' Foulkes raised his head, lofted the gun onto his shoulder; Carruthers felt his fierce, fiery eyes travel over him. 'Can't say I see us 'aving much to talk about either – unless you're thinkin' of callin' a Ranger in which case...'

'No – look, right now I don't give a damn about your poaching. I need to find my wife.'

'Ah...' Foulkes tilted his head again, slanted his eyes. 'So I saw right; she's left yer ain't she, with that...' Foulkes minced his lips, 'guess I ought to stop right there.'

'So it _was_ you, you _did_ spy on her.' Carruthers felt rage grip him, took a step forward but so did Foulkes' tall, gangly accomplice – and besides, Foulkes had the gun but also no doubt, the information he wanted.

'Calm yerself fella – from what I saw you ain't losing much...'

'How dare you...' Carruthers kept himself in check – but barely. He screwed his eyes, 'What _did_ you see?'

'Well now, that would be tellin'. Foulkes sneered, exposed his yellow teeth. 'I reckon, to bring you running back to these parts I guess it means a lot – how much is it worth?'

'You despicable low-life...'

'Steady on fella...' Foulkes lowered the shotgun, prodded it into Carruthers' midriff, curtailing any advance he made. 'Best advice is, let's keep it nice and friendly like – from where I'm standing you ain't exactly on the right track to find out what I saw. Now you and your wife are monied people; I noticed that right away. I figure a miserly sum wouldn't set you back one iota.'

Carruthers sighed, moved the barrel away from his stomach. He had no fear that Foulkes would use the gun, his anger might have blinded him in that respect, but if he wanted information he was going to have to play ball with the vagrant.

'And what do you term a miserly sum?'

'Well now,' Foulkes' wild eyes stopped roaming, locked onto Carruthers as he scrubbed his chin with a scraggly right hand. 'Like I say, I figure you want to know bad. Call it two hundred and I'll tell yer what I saw.'

'That's ludicrous,' Carruthers hissed. 'I don't carry that kind of money in my back pocket.'

'Well I sure as hell don't take credit cards.'

Carruthers checked his watch, a jerky movement; his adrenalin was pumping in torrents. 'I need the village cash point,' he said bitterly. 'I can be back by seven-thirty. Where will I find you?'

'Now yer talkin'' Foulkes sneered. Carruthers could smell the sweat and grime oozing from the man, it made him feel ill. 'Where I'm standing now; ain't plannin' on going far – not with two hundred quid coming in my direction.'

Carruthers was exasperated, felt like smacking Foulkes but retained his composure.

'How did you manage to find us, and why?'

'How? Easy – though it was by chance. I know this Forest like the back of me hand – that picnic area ain't so far from 'ere as you might think. Me and me mates were just headin' for a little free food, plenty to be found in that area – so we cut across country and what do I see? You and yer wife tying yer bikes up.'

Foulkes lowered the shotgun, placing both hands over the barrel. 'And why? Because yer wife struck me as a snotty bitch – that's why I gave yer the wrong directions, sent yer on that long, winding road – and then when I saw her I couldn't resist a bit of fun...'

'You disgust me.'

'Yer wasting time fella – two hundred quid and I'll tell yer exactly what I saw...' Foulkes scowled, 'the sooner you get yer money, the sooner yer get to know what happened.'

Carruthers swallowed his indignation, walked briskly back along the narrow track and then onto the parking area where he'd left Casey.

He was greeted by the sight of her empty car and for ten long minutes, becoming increasingly more tense and livid, Carruthers developed a sense of déjà-vu. He yelled repeatedly for her, his voice swallowed up in the Forest vastness.

'Not again.' He sat on her car bonnet, hand clutching his forehead, trying to think straight but losing the struggle, when her hand clamped on his shoulder making him jump to high heaven.

'Marty are you all right?'

'No, I'm bloody well not.' Carruthers let out a heavy sigh. 'I asked you to wait here, where have you been?'

Casey shrugged. 'I took a walk around the big oak – look I didn't know how long you'd be and it was time better spent than staring at it through a car window.'

'Didn't you hear me shout?'

Casey shook her head. 'No, I'd have come right back if I had.'

'You gave me a bloody big fright.' Carruthers got up, looked into her large brown eyes – it was so difficult with Casey to know what he was reading in them.

'Okay, look – I struck lucky and found Foulkes.'

'You did? Oh Marty, what did...'

Carruthers raised a hand to silence her. 'The downside is he won't talk without a payout. I should have known but...'

Casey felt inside her jacket. 'How much, I've got some cash.'

'Two hundred quid,' he said, watching her head drop.

'I've only got about forty.'

'Look, it doesn't matter; I can get to a cash point and back in less than half an hour.' He shot her a disgruntled look; 'Although I've wasted ten minutes waiting for you.'

'How did I know, Marty?' Casey's husky voice betrayed resentment as she opened her car door. 'If you'd have let me come with you...'

'Okay, okay.' Carruthers slid in beside Casey, realised he was taking his frustration out on her. 'Smack my wrist?'

'I'll do more than that in a minute.' But Casey Jennings met his eyes with a sympathetic smile as she drove them out of Ornamental Drive and onto the road back to Lyndhurst.

# Chapter Seventeen

Foulkes watched Carruthers troop away and spat into the undergrowth. Two hundred perishing quid, he should have shovelled a lot more than that out of the lousy bugger. The twat would have paid it even though he wouldn't like what was going to be told.

But in the end, the two hundred quid was easy money, and in any case although he despised this type of guy it wasn't the bloke who'd ruffled his feathers. No, it was the tall, willowy blond woman he'd taken a dislike too the moment she opened her mouth. He'd seen her at the picnic site, prancing across the field to the car. He knew the make alright, he'd driven a few motors in his time, not legally mind, but what difference did it make? He'd got a look at someone inside it; he hadn't been close enough to give a description but if he told the bloke what kind of car he saw, that would likely give the snooty bitch's game away in any case.

Oh he'd been watching, you bet. At first he'd been doing it to annoy her – to get his own back for her show of toffee-nosed arrogance. After she'd crossed the field though, and come out of the toilet, that's when he'd seen her take a different direction – make for the car – her phone held to her ear like she was being directed. He'd seen the short conversation that followed, and how she'd been hurried into the car – after she'd taken a quick look around of course, obviously to check that the coast was clear; only it wasn't –

A trampling in the undergrowth interrupted Foulkes' thoughts, causing him to turn. 'Smith,' he called. 'Smith, is that you?'

'Back in a minute,' he heard Smith call from a distance. 'Getting some supplies.'

But it couldn't have been Smith who'd caused the distraction. Puzzled, Foulkes began to force back the bramble bushes on the overgrown track where he'd heard the rustling. He knew the forest well, he'd lived rough in it for long enough – but that knowledge caused an overconfidence for which he was about to pay the price.

Foulkes gaped as he stared into the face of the newcomer. Seconds later he let out a moan.

# Chapter Eighteen

'I wonder what this Foulkes character saw that's worth two hundred quid.' Casey took her eyes from the road, looked squarely at Carruthers. 'I wonder _who_ he saw?'

Carruthers threw up his hands. 'I really have no idea.'

'It's just incomprehensible to think that she'd get into a car with a complete stranger.'

'It obviously wasn't a total stranger,' Carruthers said irritably. 'She was speaking to him on her mobile phone when he picked her up.'

Casey put her foot on the pedal all of a sudden, throwing Carruthers back in his seat. 'You say "he" Marty, but how do you know that?'

'Just a figure of speech,' Carruthers answered gruffly, irked by her sudden acceleration.

'And in any case, that might have been a coincidence; she could have been on the phone to anyone.'

'Yeah, I'll give you that; all too _much_ of a coincidence in my book though.'

'Perhaps.' Casey checked her mirror, roared past a tractor. 'I just hope it's not somebody she's met at some function or other.'

Carruthers glared across, shocked. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Well you know how she likes to socialize – I mean, men?' Casey craned her head. 'Oh come on Marty, she never could resist a bit of flirting.'

'And that's all she does, she never takes it further.' Carruthers shook his head furiously. 'Casey, that's nonsense. Chelsey wouldn't just walk out and leave her belongings – this has got nothing to do with her so called flirting. I'm surprised you even considered it.'

'Excuse me for talking out of turn, but I really can't see any other possibility.'

Carruthers might have been rattled, but his memory received a jolt also. 'Her diary's missing.'

'Say again?' To Carruthers' relief Casey kept her eyes on the road.

'I said Chelsey's diary's missing.'

'Perhaps she never brought it.'

Carruthers shook his head. 'I checked her belongings earlier, it was there. I'd swear to it.'

'Well there you go then; she's been back and removed the incriminating evidence.' This time Casey did turn slowly towards him. 'Another bloke I mean.'

'I know what you mean.' But suddenly Carruthers' eyes widened. 'Adrian searched through her things...'

'What for?'

'I guess because he thought it might give us a clue. But I'd already checked and...' 'Why the hell should _he_ want the diary?'

'I've no idea. And in any case I kept my eyes on him.' Carruthers reflected on that – well he had, until he'd gone to the bathroom. But in any case, as annoying as Adrian was, what would he want with her diary? There had to be some other explanation as to why it was missing, but it only heaped further turmoil on an already besieged mind to contemplate that now.

Casey spotted a cash-point on Lyndhurst High Street and pulled over for Carruthers. 'I only hope this works for you Marty – could be this guy'll take your money and feed you a load of crap...'

Carruthers climbed out without offering a reply, he didn't like the way Casey was vilifying his wife. It was a side of her he wasn't used to seeing, but he had to concede he might be fuelling Foulkes' anti-social habits without recompense.

Nevertheless he had no other option.

Carruthers collected his money from the cash-point and Casey drove them back, showing the same careless abandon in her driving that she had previously, but at least she didn't force the issue on Chelsey's lack of virtuosity. In fact she remained silent throughout the ten-minute drive, her only attempt at speech coming when they reached the parking area.

'I'll wait for you here,' she said, her voice oddly flat.

Carruthers exhaled heavily. 'Casey I do appreciate what you're doing to help, it's simply that I can't bring myself to see things from your angle.' He laid a hand on her lap. 'Listen, I could do with some company,' then seeing her eyes widen, 'no - I really could.'

Casey bit her lip, nodded and then brightened a little. 'Okay then, let's go find this guy.'

Carruthers led her through the Forest tracks; a cool wind had risen in the short time they'd been away and he detected a subtle change in its direction. The fresh air seemed to remove some of his lethargy.

They passed through the clearing where Carruthers and Chelsey had originally found Foulkes and then carried on into the large one where the vagrant had indicated he'd wait.

'Well this is the spot.' Carruthers halted, placed hands on hips and glanced at Chelsey, 'But as you can see, there's nothing.'

Casey drew in air, looked around the large oval clearing, noticing that at its far end the trail continued. 'Perhaps he's moved further on,' she said. 'Let's go check.'

'Wouldn't have thought he'd do that,' Carruthers said dubiously, 'not when he's sitting on two hundred quid's worth of easy money.' He lofted his hand, 'No sound of shotguns either, not a sound apart from the birds.'

Nonetheless Carruthers followed her through to a trail every bit as narrow as the one that had led them into the clearing, but this time bramble and nettle partially obstructed their path, causing them to edge sideways to avoid being stung.

'Foulkes – Foulkes, where yer gone?'

Carruthers heard the coarse shout from somewhere to his left and finding himself in a small, earthy clearance in the trees amidst which were pitched a couple of grey, canvas tents, he encountered the tall, gaunt man he'd seen Foulkes with a short time previously.

'Where is he?' Carruthers demanded, his impatience growing.

The gaunt guy afforded him an unfriendly stare. 'If I knew that, I wouldn't be calling him, now would I?'

'He said he'd be waiting...'

'Aye, that's right.' The vagrant wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. 'I brought some of our haul,' he said, pointing to a cluster of wildfowl that Carruthers had to turn away from, 'went back to join him but he weren't there.' He sniffed. 'No telling where he gets to sometimes.'

'Are you telling me he'd go walkabout when he's onto easy money?'

The vagrant shrugged. 'Maybe – maybe not, but he ain't here.'

Carruthers sighed, ploughed back along the track with Casey and Foulkes' accomplice following in his wake. He reached the clearing to find it empty, turned and cursed. 'I'm

losing my cool with this. Look,' he said pointing a finger at the gaunt guy, 'tell him I'm coming back at twelve – and he'd better be here if he wants the money.'

'Want me to take the money now? I reckon he'll be here...' the man said, arms outstretched.

'Go to blazes.' Carruthers stormed off, Casey hurrying to his side.

'You're not really coming back here, are you Marty? It's plain to me he was having you on.'

Carruthers slapped a hand on his forehead, drew it down across his face. 'I would have gambled he'd be here...'

'It really isn't worth chasing him around, Marty...apart from being a trickster he's

obviously unreliable to boot. He's probably found somebody else to rip off.'

'Perhaps.' Carruthers gazed at Casey, narrowing his eyes.

'What is it Marty – what's the matter?'

He leaned towards her, parting her hair at the neck. There was a jagged scratch, a good three to four inches long, running from jaw bone to neck...

'Where did you get that? Been in a cat-fight?'

'What?' Casey brushed his hand away with her forearm, running her finger along the line of the scratch, her complexion colouring. 'No, don't be silly, of course not.' She hefted her shoulders, 'I probably caught it on some tree branch – oh well, no big deal, it'll heal.'

'Keep an eye on it, there's a trace of blood there too.'

'Thank you for caring.' Casey gave an uneven smile which Carruthers returned, and then they both fell silent journeying back.

'What will you do now, Marty?' Casey prodded after a while. 'There comes a time...'

'I know what you're going to say, but we were down here for a week, I may as well see it out.'

'I'll worry about you down here on your own, Marty,' Casey said as they entered the hotel car park. 'I'm going to have to be off. I need to be pushing on with _Stapleton's Demise_ – I really can't wait to finish this one.'

'Oh yes – _Stapleton's Demise_. I'll be following your progress with interest, once this is all over.' Carruthers reflected on that. Casey's dedication to her work was impressive; it really was good of her to travel down to him in his hour of need. It was a pity that of late, Chelsey hadn't followed her example.

Casey pulled up, placed a hand on Carruthers' shoulder. 'Marty, I think you should come straight back with me, leave this be and accept the inevitable. Chelsey's abandoned ship, left you for another – presumably male – get on with your life, love – show her it hasn't ruined...'

'How can I show her if I can't _find_ her!' Carruthers sighed. 'No – thanks for your help, Casey, but I can't agree to that.'

He walked on alone to the hotel, entered his room and flung himself on the bed. He was beginning to doze when the phone rang. 'This is reception, Mr. Carruthers – a Police Inspector Manners is here to see you.'

Carruthers experienced an involuntary intake of breath. 'I'll be right down.'

# Chapter Nineteen

A cloak of trepidation engulfed Carruthers as he made his way along the hallway towards reception, strangling any attempt at rational thought.

A tall man, seemingly in his mid-thirties had been sitting in a lounge chair by the window, elegantly attired in a beige suit, and with short receding brown hair. The man rose on his approach and Carruthers followed the line of the receptionist's eye for confirmation, if he needed it, that this was the Inspector.

'Mr. Carruthers? Inspector Manners of Hounslow Borough Police,' the newcomer announced in a formal, and Carruthers thought, surprisingly polished accent. 'I'm told there is somewhere we can talk in private.' Manners walked briskly to the desk and the receptionist, unlocking the catch, led them through to an inner office which seemed to have been vacated for the purpose.

Carruthers waited impatiently for the woman to close the door behind her. 'Is it Chelsey, Inspector, what's happened?'

Manners shook his head, took a seat behind the empty desk, stretched out and invited Carruthers to take a chair opposite.

'I'm afraid I know nothing of the whereabouts of your wife, Mr. Carruthers. Suffice to say that at the present time her activities aren't my primary concern.'

'Not your _primary_ concern?' Carruthers met the steady gaze of the lean inspector. 'Then why are you here?'

Manners chewed his lip, seemed to consider an instant before answering. 'You are, I gather, at the very least an acquaintance of an Alexander Goldhawk?'

'Through working practices, yes...' Carruthers edged forward in his seat. 'Why do you ask?'

Manners produced a gold pen, held the top against his bottom lip. 'Would you describe your relationship with Mr. Goldhawk to be in any way strained?'

'He's not my favourite person on earth right now, I gave an account to the police here...'

'If you're referring to the statement you gave Sergeant Higginbotham, yes – I am aware.' Manners reached down for his case and drew out a document, placing it before him and slipping on his reading spectacles. 'You see, Mrs. Goldhawk tells of a serious altercation, during which you are alleged to have punched her husband in the face causing serious injury.'

Carruthers clamped a hand to his cheeks, held it there for a second before slapping it on the desk. 'Serious injury? I hardly think so. I may have hit him, yes – look Inspector, what are you getting at, why are you here – surely that doesn't make it a major incident?'

Manners leaned back in his chair, fixed Carruthers with a remorseless, grey-eyed gaze. 'I am here, Mr. Carruthers because Mr. Goldhawk was found dead yesterday afternoon. We do have reason to suspect foul play, and the way I see it, you have a motive.'

'I suggest you speak to Sergeant Higginbotham again, Inspector,' Carruthers said, his shock rapidly followed by bitterness that rose like bile. 'That matter is cleared up. I may have acted impulsively – and yes recklessly, but I now firmly believe that my wife was not having an affair with him. Therefore my motive, were I to have one, has gone.'

'Nonetheless, you punched him in the face; you do not deny this and less than twenty four hours later the man is found dead. These are the facts Mr. Carruthers.'

Carruthers pounded a fist on the table. 'I know nothing of this Inspector; I had nothing to do with it.'

Manners stared, unmoved. 'Shows of aggression, Mr. Carruthers, are hardly likely to help your case. Neither is your apparent unconcern at Mr. Goldhawk's demise.'

Now look – what do you expect from me?' Carruthers crouched in his chair, thrust out a hand. 'My wife is missing. I've been worried out of my mind, and now this.' He gave a heavy nasal exhalation. 'Are you charging me?'

For the first time there was a ghost of a smile from Manners. 'I am not some hatchet man; grant me more intelligence than that. I am simply following a line of inquiry. Do you intend remaining here?'

'I was going to see the week out,' Carruthers answered, head bowed. 'Chelsey wouldn't have left me high and dry.'

Manners produced a handkerchief and sneezed. 'Excuse me, Mr. Carruthers, hay fever.' He fell silent for a moment and Carruthers had no doubt he was being assessed. 'Which brings me to the question of Mrs. Carruthers; she is a well-known novelist, is she not?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'And you act as her agent?'

Carruthers nodded, mincing his lips.

'And Mr. Goldhawk, the publisher of her books, is dead and your wife is missing.'

'Inspector I...'

'Mr. Carruthers I merely state the facts.' Manners raised a hand silencing Carruthers. 'If you're thinking of leaving the locality please advise me of your whereabouts.' Manners delved into his suit pocket and produced a card. 'You will be hearing from me shortly; in the meantime should you recall anything you might have forgotten, please advise me of such. Naturally the local constabulary is aware of the situation; they are also likely to be in touch with you.'

Manners got up, headed for the door, stopped and turned. 'I'm surprised about one thing, Mr. Carruthers...'

'What's that?' Carruthers said tiredly, rifling a hand through his hair.

'That you didn't ask where the body was found.'

Carruthers shook his head. 'I'm just too overwhelmed by the whole thing to really care. Well go on tell me, where was it found?'

'We found it washed up on the banks of the Thames in Chiswick, not far from your abode by all accounts. You might also be interested to know that there were indentations around the victim's neck, although it's premature at this stage to determine them as the cause of death. Goodbye for now.'

Manners' final remarks echoed in Carruthers' head with the repetition of a tolling bell.

# Chapter Twenty

It wasn't enough that Carruthers had to contend with Chelsey's disappearance, the shock of Goldhawk's death and Inspector Manners' suspicion that he might be implicated in it – on top of it all the man's body had been found by the Thames, in Chiswick, within walking distance of his own home.

Was that pure coincidence or something more worrying and ominous? And had Chelsey's disappearance something to do with it? The possibility of that was too painful to contemplate right now. His stomach felt knotted and contracted as he wound his way through the hotel to the rear garden, where he selected a bench and had a smoke. The taste was acrid, lingered unpleasantly and did nothing to settle his belly. He'd give up the habit if he had the willpower to do it, just now though, he couldn't even consider doing so.

Perhaps he should go home, what was there to do with his day apart from worry? In light of recent developments, that might prove the best course of action. But his gut instinct held him in the New Forest; he couldn't bring himself to leave the area where he'd last seen Chelsey. He still believed that left to her own devices she wouldn't simply have up and left him.

He needed to do something constructive with his time, to engage in something that might count towards finding her. He wondered whether Casey had got wind of Goldhawk's demise, and checked his watch. She should have arrived back by now, at the neat town house bordering Ealing Common where she lived alone.

No boyfriend for Casey, not for some time now, which was surprising because with her looks she certainly wouldn't be short of suitors. Perhaps the reason might lie in the fact that, whereas Chelsey undeniably thrived at social functions, Casey for the most part had a tendency to stay away from them. Sometimes that baffled him; it didn't seem to fit her character.

Carruthers called Casey's home and found the line switched to automatic answering. He supposed the traffic was heavy and that she was still driving back. Opting not to call her mobile for fear of distracting her concentration, he decided to try Adrian; obnoxious as the man was, he needed to be kept in touch with developments and moreover as a journalist it was highly probable he already knew about Goldhawk. He'd been surprised by Adrian's hasty departure the previous morning, and more so, though hardly offended, that he hadn't been in contact since.

As in Casey's instance, Adrian's phone went straight onto recorded message, but a call to his mobile was met at the first bleep.

'Adrian Frampton-Williams,' the supercilious voice announced with an enhanced formality, even as Carruthers knew, Adrian was fully aware that he was the caller.

'Adrian,' Carruthers began with thinly-disguised irritation, 'I take it you've heard?'

'Heard what? Are you talking about Chelsey? What in God's name's happened?'

'No – it's Goldhawk, he's been found dead.' Carruthers masked his face with his hand. 'I thought you might have heard...'

'Goldhawk found dead?' Adrian sounded bemused, muttering the words slowly. 'No, I've been out of touch, taking a day or two off – how? – where did it happen?'

Carruthers gave a sharp nasal inhalation. 'His body was found washed up on the banks of the Thames at Chiswick.'

'Well, I'll be damned. That's your back yard.'

Carruthers grimaced, as if he didn't know. 'I've already had a police inspector from London question me – they're not saying much but they're treating it as suspicious.'

'Well be careful what you say to them – you know how they can twist things. You're on a sticky enough wicket as it is.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Simply that you had...' Adrian broke off, shouted something as in the background a dog barked, deep and loudly.

'Simply that you have a motive to want him harmed – his attempted affair with Chelsey, his subsequent rejection of her new book – and from where you say they found his body, things hardly look good for you, Martin.'

'I've been in Lyndhurst all the time...'

'All the time? Not from what you told me.'

'Apart from that incident, I mean.'

'Well there you go, so be careful.'

Carruthers snorted, he was getting hotter by the minute. 'Things won't look good for Chelsey either; I wish I knew where the hell she was.'

'Whatever happened to Chelsey, Martin, don't you go implicating her.' A touch of anger crept into Adrian's haughty voice. 'I won't stand for it.'

'I'm not trying to implicate her,' Carruthers retorted his voice rising. 'I'm trying to fathom out what's happened here – and you don't seem to be offering much help.'

'What help do you expect me to be? Good God man, I'm as worried as you are; I lay awake wondering. I came up as soon as I heard.'

_Yes, and just as quickly went back,_ Carruthers thought. But there was little point in putting that fact to him, the conversation had become heated enough.

'Yes, well – I'm going to see the week out. I won't be returning before then – I've got a gut feeling Chelsey's still in the area...'

'You have? Why?'

The sudden elevation in Adrian's tone caused Carruthers to throw up his free hand. 'I don't know. I just feel it – but listen, there's one way you can help – pay home a visit for me if you can find time, see if there's any trace of Chelsey having been back.'

'No point, I already did.'

'What?' Carruthers was taken aback. 'Why didn't you say – is there any...'

'No there isn't,' Adrian said tersely. 'From the outside the place is clearly empty. I just thought I'd check, she's my sister after all.'

'Yes, yes,' Carruthers muttered, didn't he know it. 'When was that?'

'Oh, I don't recall...' the sound of the barking dog filled the background once more, 'oh yes – yesterday afternoon, it was all quiet.'

'Okay,' Carruthers said tiredly, 'well if you hear anything call me.'

'Of course I will,' Adrian answered, his manner still offhand, but there wasn't anything unusual in that. 'I'll check with the news agency, see what I can find on the Goldhawk case. Anything crops up, I'll let you know.' The phone went down.

As abrupt as ever. Carruthers blew smoke into the air, how he abhorred the man.

He spent a few minutes in deep contemplation before taking himself out to the high street – the bustle, comparative to the solitude of the garden, might do him some good.

His mobile rang and wrenching it from his pocket he dropped the appliance on the street, his fingers were so clammy, but that wasn't caused by the heat of the day as much as his own internal temperature. If the concept of spontaneous human combustion were to be a reality then he would be in real danger of exploding into flames.

He retrieved it from the pavement, his mind linking back to the moment Noades had found Chelsey's phone at the picnic spot. Any faint hope that it might be her was blown to smithereens as the flashing screen brought up Casey's number.

'Sorry Marty, missed your call. I got caught up in the traffic I'm afraid – you wouldn't believe the lane closures.' There was a pause. 'Isn't it horrible? You wouldn't believe the commotion it's caused around your locality either.'

'You've been there? You've heard?'

'Right on one count, Marty – I've heard, but I haven't been near the place, I didn't need to – the radio stations are full of it, and the press too, I wouldn't be surprised.'

'Are you sure?' Carruthers scratched his head, caught a blister on his scalp and instantly regretted it.

'Of course I'm sure.'

'It's just that Adrian was remarking on how quiet it had been – apparently he'd checked for any sign of Chelsey having been back.'

He heard Casey's slow intake of breath. 'Don't you think it's strange, Marty?'

'What's strange?' Carruthers asked, although he was aware of where Casey was leading.

'That Alexander's body was found so close to...' she broke off... 'it's all so horrible – so very horrible.'

Carruthers' temperature climbed another degree. 'Adrian seems to be laying the blame at my door.'

'What – Chelsey's disappearance, you mean?'

Carruthers sighed, turned a corner where the pavement was so narrow he was forced to step onto the road to avoid a pedestrian, nearly getting run down by a car in the process. 'No, of course not, silly,' he said struggling to regain his composure. 'I mean Alexander.'

'Well that would be just typical of Adrian,' Casey said with venom. 'Pay him no heed. Everybody knows you don't have murder in your veins.'

'What do you mean, everybody? If the police take the same line as Adrian, they'll have made their minds up.'

'Nonsense,' Casey said sternly, 'the guy's a creep; look, you've got to snap out of it, Marty – bring yourself back to civilization – closer to the ones who care about you.'

_But the one who cares about me the most isn't there..._ though Carruthers refrained from making his thoughts audible, because despite it all there were seeds of doubt, and Casey had been their cultivator.

But he knew the truth – he couldn't go back home without his wife being there.

'I'll hang it out for the week, Casey – as I've told you.'

'I wish you'd reconsider...'

'We've been through that – I'll contact you when I'm back – bye Casey.'

But any ideas Carruthers had of spending his time away from home were soon to be curtailed. He'd reached the entrance to the Country Park when his mobile rang again, the words, "number withheld," concealing any identity until the caller announced himself.

'Mr. Carruthers? Inspector Manners here – I require your presence down here in Chiswick, forthwith I'm afraid.'

Carruthers heartbeat skipped then raced _._ 'What is it Inspector? What's happened?'

'We need to consider a new angle in the case, Mr. Carruthers, and I'd like you here sooner rather than later if you wouldn't mind.'

'But...'

'That's all I'm prepared to say at the moment,' came the firm reply.

Carruthers bit his lip, turned and headed back to the hotel. Just what was Manners up to?

# Chapter Twenty One

Carruthers bought some cigarettes and a copy of the local evening paper from a newsagent on the high street. The headline stood out bold and stark. " _Missing Novelist – Link to Dead Man."_ Carruthers read on as he hurried back to the hotel.

"Reports linking novelist Chelsey Carruthers, who disappeared from a Forest area two days ago, to the editor Alexander Goldhawk, whose body was found on the banks of the Thames at Chiswick, have been substantiated by local police. While refusing to comment further they do confirm that Mrs. Carruthers' resides within the vicinity of the incident, along with her husband and agent, Martin. He is said to be remaining in the area for the time being."

Carruthers sighed, so the police _were_ linking Chelsey's disappearance to Goldhawk's death. That seemed the reason he was being summoned back to West London.

He hurriedly changed and showered, ran down to his Range Rover and set off for the police station at Chiswick. A glance at his fuel gauge told him he was running low, and about two miles out of Lyndhurst he spotted a garage and pulled in.

Fuelling up, a smart red sports car in an adjacent bay caught his eye; he'd seen the vehicle before and didn't need telling where. He glanced across to the garage main which included a small shop, but couldn't make out the interior for the darkened glass.

It was Noades' vehicle though, no doubt about it. He needed to speak to him – the man he was sure, despite his sudden departure from the hotel, would want to know of his plight – he'd been that helpful in the first instance –

Slamming the nozzle back on its catch he entered the shop, joining the queue two places behind Noades. 'Robin,' Carruthers called on entry, but Noades appeared not to have heard as he engaged the cashier.

'Robin,' he repeated, excusing himself as he stretched past a customer and tapped Noades on the shoulder, receiving no response as the former hotel worker made hurriedly for the door.

Carruthers was dumbfounded; Noades must have felt his touch, heard his voice – after all, he'd called him twice. It was so out of keeping with the man he'd come to know, albeit temporarily. Impulsively Carruthers skipped past the ageing man ahead of him and slapped forty pounds on the counter. 'Forget the change love, I'm in a hurry.'

There was some kind of murmur in response but Carruthers wasn't concentrating on that. Ahead of him Noades had slipped quickly into his sports car and a sharp glance in the agent's direction suggested that this time he surely must have seen him.

But Noades roared off, and Carruthers, disturbed to the point of being upset by the man's behaviour, rushed to his Range Rover, pulling out onto the road behind him.

He slammed his hand on the horn, slammed it again, becoming increasingly frustrated as Noades, his car canopy down, gave no response at all.

Carruthers fumed. Noades knew he was behind him – damn him, he knew – what was going on here? The closeness of Chelsey and Noades on that first day, when it seemed that he and his wife had a natural affinity smacked him hard now – had he been tricked? Okay, so Noades had volunteered his services in helping to find Chelsey, had recovered her phone – but she could have dropped that when Noades had driven her away. It could all have been arranged –

So Noades was hot-footing it now, because somewhere, Chelsey was waiting for him...

Well, he wasn't going to be hot-footing anywhere – because although Noades had the speed, on the narrow winding road he was restricted from using it – and Carruthers' four by four had greater maneuverability over the uneven terrain.

Carruthers honked again. He was travelling away from his intended direction, back towards the heart of the Forest, the steadily encroaching firs told him as much, but he didn't care – in his own mind he was becoming convinced that Robin Noades, after all, held the key to Chelsey's whereabouts. He'd overlooked the significance of how the pair had interacted that lunchtime, or perhaps until now he'd not wanted to consider it.

The road was becoming more uneven and rose at an ever increasing gradient – something in the Range Rover's favour, and moreover in Noades' speed was restricted by a slow moving vehicle in front.

Carruthers was experiencing increasingly deep hues of red and with his anger heightening to new peaks he made the decision to ram Noades, and to hell with the consequences.

Carruthers braced himself, pressed sharply on the accelerator and powered forward, too late now to change his mind. He bore down on Noades, only to find him gather speed and swing sharp left into a narrow lane that his anger had blinded him from seeing. Carruthers could do nothing to adjust, his Range Rover ploughed on, making immediate impact with the caravanette in front of him.

His seat belt prevented him from crashing through the windscreen but it couldn't protect him from the backbreaking wrench that followed as his vehicle impacted with the camper van.

Shaken, Carruthers held his hands to his head, watching through his spread fingers as a ruddy-faced, angry man stomped towards him.

'What the hell do you think you're doing, eh? You been drinking?'

Carruthers shook his head, 'No – I'm sorry, my foot slipped on the pedal,' was all he could think of saying. He stepped out, surveyed the large indent in the rear of the caravanette. 'My insurance company will make good the damage – I'll give you my details.'

But as his senses began to recover, Carruthers' eyes fell on the signpost indicating the road where Noades had swerved left. It read 'Beaulieu and Lymington.' What concerned him now was this – had Noades' course been deliberate, or taken merely to shrug him off?

# Chapter Twenty Two

Carruthers was gripped by a desire to remain and to search out Noades – to get to the root of the new turmoil he was now experiencing.

But he had to endure the drive to London, no matter how much he disliked the prospect. It wouldn't do to antagonise Manners – Adrian was right about one thing, if Manners had a prime suspect right now it was sure to be him.

Carruthers watched the aggrieved driver pull away and sighed. Beaulieu three miles; Lymington nine. He'd keep the signpost and mileage locked in his mind, because he'd be back to scour the area, make no mistake about that. And now Foulkes' shabby features loomed large and dark, bringing with them a new significance –

Goldhawk's death and the appearance of Manners had pushed Foulkes to the back-burner of his quest to find Chelsey, but not any longer – if Foulkes could be found, and the description of what he'd seen did match that of Noades, then that was surely proof of their conniving – and what then?

Carruthers didn't know; he didn't have the answer to that, but he guessed he'd be one very bitter man.

But right now he'd an appointment with Manners, and his chase after Noades had taken him several miles out of his way.

Carruthers found a farm track further along the lane, reversed into it and headed back towards the motorway. The damage to his Range Rover could have been worse, there was frontal damage that needed workshop repair, but it didn't appear to be affecting the performance of his motor. He'd agreed to call Manners immediately on arriving back in Chiswick, and the police inspector had indicated he'd be right over.

Despite the need to summon all his concentration on the drive back, Carruthers couldn't get the association between Noades and Chelsey out of his mind –

But had all the worry and torment over Chelsey's disappearance escalated to the point where imagination overruled logic? After all he had no real evidence to support his blind belief, but that could change – once he'd returned to Lyndhurst and found Foulkes.

***

Carruthers arrived in Chiswick nearly three hours later, to find parts of the towpath near his mews house sealed off and a good deal of police activity in the surrounding streets.

He had expected as much having been forewarned by Casey, whose account had differed markedly from Adrian's.

His first move was to unlock the door and then to hurry through the house checking that everything was as he'd left it; as far as his memory was concerned, that was the case. Her drawers showed no signs of being disturbed, there was no sign of anything untoward, and upstairs the utility room which she used as her study, and afforded views down to the river, was much as he'd remembered it.

He checked her desk drawers for her diary, even though he was certain she'd taken it with her. Her memo pad was there along with her notebook, but apart from a few jottings – Chelsey was a keen observer of human behaviour – there was nothing he could find that could link to her disappearance.

Carruthers was resigning himself to the fact that he had to call Manners, when his mobile phone rang. 'Mr. Carruthers? Inspector Manners here, have you not arrived yet?

It seems some time since we last spoke.'

Carruthers felt a surge of irritation, he'd only been back a few minutes for goodness sake and already the man was plaguing him. He consulted his watch. 'Two hours fifty minutes,' he said tersely. 'I'm sorry I got held up, I'm back now.'

'Just in time then, I'd say. I was beginning to think we might need a warrant. Expect me in fifteen minutes.'

'Now look Insp...' but Carruthers heard the click of the phone and bit his lip. He really disliked Manners, even allowing for the fact that the man was doing his job there was something in his demeanour which grated and was in danger of becoming personal. Manners couldn't have been less aptly named.

Carruthers went outside and lit a cigarette, glancing down the mews where it intersected a narrow street, beyond which, lay the towpath and river. The mews was quiet enough but he could make out through its continuation the shimmer of red and white tape along the towpath. Several police vehicles were parked in the street itself, while white clad figures scoured the river's edge.

Shortly afterwards he saw a grey Jaguar saloon swing into the mews and head in his direction at speed, pulling to a halt with what Carruthers thought was an unnecessary squeal of tyres. Manners stepped briskly out, opened the unlocked side gate and joined him in the small patio garden, accompanied by a thick set colleague whom Carruthers adjudged to be in his mid thirties.

You know who I am, Mr. Carruthers, this is Sergeant Harman,' Manners said with a slight inclination of his head. 'I apologize for the necessity to bring you back here. However this is now a murder investigation and as such, your co-operation is required and appreciated.'

Manners stood still, fixed him with cold grey eyes that matched his suit. 'Yes, that's right Mr. Carruthers, I did say murder. Indentations around the throat if you're interested; we've now confirmed strangulation as the cause of death. Shall we go inside? I have some questions you might be able to assist me with.'

Manners walked into the lounge, looked around him, placed his hands in his pockets and stared down the mews. 'I've perceived that you have a temper, Mr. Carruthers, but it appears that your wife has one to match.'

'I find that remark insulting and without foundation,' Carruthers snapped, reddening.

'Oh really? Not according to my records.' Manners said, consulting his notes. 'There have been altercations at this address, which due to complaints from the public we have been required to attend, and it appears from reports I've studied that on at least one occasion Mrs. Carruthers needed pacifying.'

'Oh that.' Carruthers swept a hand through his hair in frustration. 'You're referring to a single instance.' Carruthers raised a finger as Manners turned to face him.

'One instance perhaps.' Manners gave a quick nod of his head, grudging acceptance of what was a fact, Carruthers thought. 'However, one instance serious enough to take two officers to physically restrain her.'

Manners' eyes travelled slowly around the room, resting on a framed photo of Carruthers and Chelsey, side by side, hands linked. It had been taken by a friend following a cycle rally three years previous, and took pride of place on their mantelpiece.

'Quite a striking woman your wife if I might say so; tall and athletically built. I can

imagine her being a considerable handful when enraged.'

'Come to the point, Inspector,' Carruthers muttered, lips twisted, face crimson, 'what are you implying?'

Manners produced a handkerchief from his pocket and sneezed into it. 'Very well.' He straightened, locked eyes with Carruthers. 'I'm suggesting that your wife is physically capable of applying sufficient force to inflict the injury which caused the fatality.'

'That's preposterous!' Carruthers yelled. 'Your own speculation; Chelsey could never

commit murder.'

'Maybe. Maybe not.' Manners raised his head in his infuriating fashion and strolled through the lounge. 'What I'm looking for, you'll understand, Mr. Carruthers, is anything which might point to a connection between Mrs. Carruthers disappearance and Mr. Goldhawk's demise. As such, it might prove necessary to remove some of her belongings...'

'No, I don't understand, I don't understand at all,' Carruthers blurted out. 'There is no way on earth that my wife is connected with Goldhawk's death!'

'I need to establish that as a fact,' Manners said in polished, matter of fact tones. 'If you co-operate with us, we can be out of here a lot quicker than we could if you prove a hindrance.'

'Right. Be my guest,' Carruthers said in a voice that implied nothing of the kind. He led them upstairs to the bedroom and her study, flinging open wardrobes and drawers. 'There's nothing to hide here.'

'I'll need a listing of your wife's relations and known contacts...' Manners nodded to Sergeant Harman who began manhandling Chelsey's clothing, '...comprehensive, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Her parents have retired to Malta,' Carruthers said seething, 'her father has heart disease – I haven't bothered them...'

'I'm afraid I may need to,' Manners said stiffly, 'any other family more local?'

'Adrian Frampton-Williams,' Carruthers answered with a large exhalation. 'He lives in Denham, Buckinghamshire. Look, I'll drop you a detailed list off tomorrow – I need to think straight.'

'Manners considered, nodded. 'The earlier the better.' He turned his attention to items of Chelsey's clothing, took them from Harman and when he'd finished in the bedroom strode

through to her study, where he removed her notebooks and more alarmingly, her computer.

'I take it you'll issue a receipt for my wife's possessions?' Carruthers request was more of a demand, his voice tremulous with outrage –'They're all very valuable.'

'Naturally, Mr. Carruthers, I'll see to that.'

Carruthers suddenly lost his tenuous hold on his temper and marched across the floor, raising his arms towards Manners, forcing the Inspector to take a step back and prompting the intervention of Harman. But Carruthers managed to restrain himself from laying hands on Manners. 'Why are you taking this course of action?' He pleaded.

Manners sighed, raised his head in an aloof stance and slowly extended a hand towards a chair. 'Sit down, Mr. Carruthers, please, you're making me nervous. Now look,' he began, waiting for Carruthers to seat himself, which was achieved with extreme reluctance, 'We feel it is more than mere coincidence that your wife disappeared shortly before Mr. Goldhawk's body was found...'

'Then why didn't you say so yesterday?'

Manners looked down, appeared to contemplate. 'Because additional factors have become apparent.'

'And they are?'

'I'm not prepared to divulge at this stage Mr...'

'Then I'll get a solicitor.'

'You might well be advised to.' Manners turned his back on Carruthers, gazed through the study window with its view of the Thames in the background. 'You see, for all I know your wife and yourself could be in cohorts.'

'That is the most outrageous assumption I have ever...' Carruthers was on his feet, straight into the restraining arms of Sergeant Harman.

'As I say,' Manners said smoothly, 'it's quite some temper you have there...one to match your wife's, I wonder?'

'You can hardly blame me, this is preposterous!' Carruthers exhaled heavily, and Harman removed his hands from the agent's shoulders. 'In any case, I don't know what you've got on her, but it can't be Chelsey.'

Manners raised his head, fixed Carruthers with his cold, grey eyes. 'Oh – and why might that be?'

'Because she's run off with another man,' Carruthers snapped bitterly. 'It was arranged, I was tricked.'

There was a slight narrowing of the policeman's eyes. 'And you know that, do you?'

Carruthers swallowed, examined his fingers. 'Not as a fact, no – but I'm as damned well sure as I can be...'

'And the evidence?'

Carruthers dropped his head again, shook it, what evidence was there apart from Noades' behaviour, and a guy like Manners wasn't going to buy that.

'Let's get this straight, Mr. Carruthers,' Manners said, his voice slackening a touch of severity, 'I am not, at this stage accusing you of complicity concerning Mr. Goldhawk's death, but I am regarding you as a possible suspect nonetheless. Your wife however, is somewhat higher up the tree.'

'And you can't tell me why?' Carruthers pressed angrily.

'It would be inappropriate at the current time. My investigations are at any early stage.' Manners made for the door. 'I am not demanding you stay in the locality, Mr. Carruthers, although you might find it advisable given the current situation.' Manners ran a finger across his lip. 'I will almost certainly find it necessary to conduct a formal interview and I don't want to be chasing the breadth of the country for you.' He nodded to Harman, 'Begin loading Mrs. Carruthers' possessions, Sergeant – Good-day Mr. Carruthers.'

Carruthers didn't answer. When Harman had finished loading Chelsey's belongings and the pair had departed, he snatched up the phone and dialled Adrian's number.

# Chapter Twenty Three

Carruthers rejected the idea of calling Adrian's home number, of late it had gone unanswered and phoning his mobile instead, he was greeted by an unusually breathless voice.

'I take it this isn't a convenient time?' Carruthers enquired, perplexed.

'Not particularly.' He heard Adrian take a deep breath. 'Been doing a spot of jogging, have you any news?'

'Something you're not going to like,' Carruthers said grimly.

'I trust you're not bearing bad news about Chelsey?' Adrian asked, his voice on a downward curve.

'No, there's no word.' Carruthers bit his lip. 'But they're not ruling out Chelsey's involvement in Goldhawk's death – or mine either for that matter.'

'What the hell have you said to make them suspect her?' Adrian demanded angrily.

'Nothing – nothing at all.' Carruthers stiffened; he'd been expecting an accusation of some kind from the arrogant son of a bitch.

'Well you must have said something. They should be concerned for her safety, not treating her as if...'

'Look just let me finish...' Carruthers shouted over him, finally losing his cool with Chelsey's brother. 'They've got grounds for suspicion – that's what the Inspector says – I don't know what they are, they won't tell me.'

'To be brutally honest, I can imagine them suspecting you, Carruthers, but Chelsey? The thought of that makes my blood boil.'

Carruthers swallowed his resentment, took a deep breath; the spectre of Noades raised its head, he thought about revealing his own suspicions to Adrian but the atmosphere was sour enough already, and besides, Adrian's superior voice began to grind into his ears once more.

'Well, if there's nothing else I need a shower, it's jolly hot and I'm sweating like a pig – but don't you go running down Chelsey – I'll hold it against you if you do.'

Carruthers ignored the warning but took pleasure in his final remark: 'Oh – and by the way, you can expect a visit from the police too. I've been asked to compile a list of family friends and acquaintances.'

Carruthers slammed down the phone, how good it felt to be having the last word. It didn't feel good to be home though, particularly without Chelsey to share it with, but he'd been strongly advised to remain in the area – thus he'd adhere to it, at least for the night. In the longer term though, he had unfinished business in the New Forest.

Rather than sit around anxiously clicking his fingers, Carruthers elected to pay Casey a visit – her Ealing Common home being just a few miles from his. If he couldn't run his thoughts through Adrian – and that wouldn't have been wise anyway, Casey would listen, he was sure of that.

Listening to his car radio on the journey across to Casey's house, the hourly news report carried an account of Goldhawk's murder – _"The_ _police are conducting urgent enquiries,"_ the report said, though there was no mention of any suspects and Carruthers was thankful for that, for the moment at least, he and Chelsey went unmentioned by the press.

It took Carruthers only fifteen minutes to reach Casey's house on the northern fringe of the Common; the white-washed three storey town house stood neat and bright in the evening sunlight.

Carruthers pulled into Casey's driveway and parked behind her car, upon alighting becoming aware of her rich voice which sounded as if it came from the rear garden. He wasn't of the mind to engage with anyone other than her, but having completed the journey his choice was in a sense, made.

The gate providing access to her rear garden being unlocked he trod the alleyway towards it – and stopped.

'Jacqueline it was purely a courtesy call – I merely wondered...'

'Look, I'm sorry to hear of Alexander's demise and I sympathise – but I really resent being referred to as a...' silence followed...

Carruthers faltered then pressed ahead, rounding the corner just in time to catch Casey utter the word "bitch," and fling the phone onto the garden table.

She looked up startled as Carruthers' silhouette caught her eye – 'Why Marty,' she put a hand to her face, drawing it away with an awkward smile. 'Not one of my better moments I'm afraid – a friend of mine let me down on a night out – would you believe that? Not that I get a lot of free time as you know and...'

'Oh, do I know him?' Carruthers cut in, assuming a casual air.

'Her – Jackie,' Casey uttered with a brisk headshake, not that it matters now you're here. You should have told me you were coming Marty, I would have cooked us a nice meal.'

'I don't feel hungry as it happens.' Carruthers sniffed. 'When were you seeing this – Jackie?'

Casey rifled a hand through her hair, furrowed her brow. 'What is this, twenty questions?'

'No, of course not.' If ever a name had been conjured out of the air it was that adaptation from Jacqueline to Jackie. Why was Casey concealing the fact that she'd been in a heated conversation with Goldhawk's wife? But he felt that posing the question would get him nowhere – and right now he needed solace, not an argument.

'I could do with a drink though,' he said mustering a little cheeriness.

'Fine.' His reply seemed to have settled Casey, she gave him a smile. 'What can I fix you?'

'Oh, nothing major – a small can of beer would do me fine, I'm driving don't forget...'

Casey raised her brows. 'You could always spend the night...'

'Don't tempt me.' Carruthers returned her smile, selected a garden chair. 'No – I need a shoulder,' he called as she headed into the kitchen.

Returning with a beer can Casey thrust it before him, taking a seat opposite, her expression serious. 'Is it Chelsey, Marty?'

Carruthers nodded, bit his lip, snapped the ring-pull from the can. 'Yes but not in the way you might think – the police have got some kind of evidence that links her to Goldhawk's death, only they're not saying what it is.'

'Rubbish.' Casey scoffed. 'Chelsey had nothing to do with Alexander's murder. They're either idiots or trying to pressurize you into...'

Carruthers frowned, took a gulp from his can, 'What makes you so sure?'

Casey threw her head back, fixed him with an amused smile, far removed now from when he'd walked in on her. 'It's blatantly obvious – I've already tried telling you there's another guy involved. I know I'm telling you what you don't want to hear, but you've been taken for a sucker. When are you going to listen to me?'

If Casey had been expecting an outburst from Carruthers he didn't deliver. He gave a heavy nasal exhalation and then proceeded to outline the events preceding his arrival back in London. He dwelt on Noades' behaviour that he thought justified his suspicions, and therefore provided backing for Casey's views.

'At last he sees the point. Very cleverly contrived I guess, but he sounds like your man.' Casey leaned forward for the glass of burgundy she'd brought into the garden; she took a sip, letting it swill around her mouth before swallowing it slowly. 'So what do you say, you spend the night here, with your best pal?'

'No...' Carruthers shook his head, gave her a long look. 'Best pal' wasn't the form of expression Casey normally used but he supposed it might fit the bill right now. He was sorely tempted to stay and might have done, but Casey's earlier lie lingered in his head like a hangover. Why hadn't she revealed her call to Jacqueline Goldhawk, why had she turned it into an outright fabrication?

Carruthers didn't know, it was an unpleasant prospect, but he had to find out.

# Chapter Twenty Four

Carruthers returned to Chiswick with his mind swimming in a whirlpool, not relishing the prospect of paying Jacqueline Goldhawk a call but determined nonetheless to do it. Casey's bizarre and heated conversation needed following up.

He drew up outside his mews house not bothering to garage his car and set to work on the list of Chelsey's known contacts requested by Manners. It took his fuzzy head perhaps thirty minutes to complete the task, and then, on a muggy evening with dusk setting in he decided on a walk to the towpath. That, and a bit of air, he thought, might help him sleep.

Surprised to find the red and white tape removed and the towpath void of police activity he strolled in the direction of Kew, a course frequently taken with Chelsey at his side, her hand in his, although as he reflected sadly, of late she'd chosen to walk alone. Why, he hadn't determined, but then Chelsey had a writer's mind and who knew what plots were bubbling inside her head.

Except of late her writing had suffered –

He sighed, looked up as a rowing crew passed swiftly along the Thames, their cox letting blast through a megaphone. After they'd gone he heard the sound of steel-tipped heels behind him, footwear not normally associated with the towpath at this time of night. Carruthers turned quickly out of curiosity and stopped, his stomach beginning to churn.

'Nice evening, if not a trifle close don't you think?' Jack Manners breathed in air, slapped his chest. 'Out for an evening walk I see.'

Carruthers shot a glance at the grey-suited Inspector. 'Aren't you somewhat overdressed for these parts?' he said, aware of the sarcasm in his voice. 'I take it I'm being followed.'

'Not necessarily.' Manners stopped, placed his hands on some railings, the implication being that Carruthers did likewise. He fixed him with his cool, grey stare. 'But the murderer has a habit of returning to the scene of his crime, some kind of warped conscience you know.'

'I see.' Carruthers chewed his lip, laid his gaze on Manners. 'And I take it from your heavy emphasis on "his" you're implying it's me.'

'My position remains unchanged,' Manners said smoothly, 'but if you think the cap fits...' he broke off, looking away.

'Why aren't you telling me what you're holding on my wife?' Carruthers snapped, irritated by the Inspector's sudden appearance and his vague insinuations.

'Because it's not appropriate to do so.' Manners turned slowly back to him. 'At least not at the current time. I take it you've compiled a list of all known...'

'Yes – and if I'd have known you'd be following me I'd have brought it along. I'll drop it in tomorrow.'

'Nine o'clock would be acceptable, any later would not.'

Carruthers let out a sharp breath. 'Inspector, if you've nothing specific to ask me, I take it I'm allowed to walk home unhindered.'

'Naturally.' Manners eyes undertook a slow sweep of Carruthers' face. 'Unless you know of any reason why I should detain you?

'No? Then please continue Mr. Carruthers – and sleep well.' Manners sneezed and walked away. 'And I should get something for that cold,' Carruthers called petulantly after him.

Sleep well! He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. Manners certainly knew how to get under a person's skin. If only he'd be equally adept at apprehending Goldhawk's real killer.

Bile rose thickly in his throat as he returned to the mews in the bitter-sweet knowledge that it couldn't have been Chelsey. He'd establish as much for a fact if he managed to track down Foulkes and Noades.

***

Carruthers handed in Manners' list shortly before nine the following morning and then set off for Jacqueline Goldhawk's house at Hazlemere, arriving there some forty minutes later. Unlike the evening of his previous visit, the place was bereft of vehicles and depressingly silent. It took a while for his buzz to be answered and he began to suspect he'd been observed and declined. But eventually Jacqueline appeared, looking jaded and weary.

'I'm surprised to find you here, Martin...' she said, her tone giving him every indication that he shouldn't be there. Carruthers hung his head then met her cold stare. 'I was sorry to hear about Alexander's death.' He bit his bottom lip. 'I know we had that confrontation, but please believe me I had nothing to do with it; though some might think differently.'

Jacqueline's lashes met fleetingly. She looked away but held the door open. 'Come in, Martin.' Leading him into the lounge, she asked, 'Can I get you anything?'

'No thanks, I won't impose on you...'

Jacqueline fingered the collar of her dark frock, steadily appraising him. 'Sit down Martin, you look exhausted – stay for a cup of tea at least.'

Carruthers nodded readily, he hadn't expected the courtesy, locking his fingers tensely until she returned, placing a tray before him.

Sitting on the sofa opposite, she sighed. 'Look Martin, for what it's worth I'm not blaming you for what happened to my husband. I've discovered some things recently which have been deliberately concealed from me – things that tell me Alexander wasn't the man I thought he was. If I'd have known then my lips would have stayed sealed, I wouldn't have been in such a hurry to report your argument with Alexander to the police.'

Carruthers shook his head, took a sip of his tea. 'I don't hold that against you either. I would have taken much the same course.' He placed his cup on the saucer. 'I need to ask you a question, Jacqueline.'

Jacqueline brushed her frock. 'I thought there might be more than condolences...'

'I walked in on a phone conversation last night,' Carruthers said, jumping in with both feet.

'I can guess, Casey Jennings.' Jacqueline took a deep breath. 'Alexander hasn't even been laid to rest before she's bombarding me with questions about whose succeeding him at...' she paused, 'I mean how should I know? Look I don't want to be talking about her – that woman is as pushy as they come.'

'Pushy?'

Jacqueline stiffened. 'Oh, very well. I can see by your expression, Martin, that I've surprised you. It might surprise you even more if I say I think there was more going on...' she added, emotion overcoming her reluctance.

'Casey?' Carruthers frowned, narrowed his eyes. 'Casey wouldn't...'

'Oh don't get me wrong,' Jacqueline raised her hand, wearily expelled air, looking back at him with eyes wide. 'It's only since this - business - that I've realised what a deceitfully licentious man he was. The things I've found hidden away – photos, notes, you name it. God knows what's on his computer, I shudder to think.' She nodded towards the window. 'The police have just removed them.'

Carruthers leaned forward, took a drink from his cup and almost let it overflow. 'Are you saying that Casey and Alexander were having an affair?'

'Perhaps, perhaps not but nothing would surprise me there. I do know there was far more contact between them than need be and I don't think it was all my husband's fault. I was never struck on her writing to be blatantly honest – it wouldn't surprise me if she allowed my husband to take advantage of her for – well let's just say career enhancement.'

She held up a hand. 'Oh Martin, I'm sorry. I know you're her agent and what I'm saying is shocking but there were times when she stuck to him like a leech, and Alexander being the sort of man I've discovered him to be – need I say more?'

Jacqueline slouched forward, some of the anguish having vented itself. 'I could of course be wrong, but...'

Carruthers was rendered speechless. The idea of a strong association between the pair hadn't entered his mind. Casey had given the impression of being the last person to engage in anything immoral. And he being her agent, representing her affairs and dealing with Goldhawk, hadn't had a clue –

'I take it no news on Chelsey?' Jacqueline had been asking; she had to repeat her question before Carruthers' mind honed in on it. 'No.' He breathed deeply. 'Nothing I'm afraid.' He gulped down the remainder of his tea, sighed. 'I'd better be going, Jacqueline.' He turned on the doorstep. 'I hope they find Alexander's murderer, and that he serves the full term.'

'He?' Jacqueline's eyes widened. 'He's been stepping on plenty of toes,' she remarked, 'but there's nobody more vicious than a lesbian scorned.'

'You really think that's a possibility?'

But Jacqueline Goldhawk merely raised her brows, shrugged, and closed the door behind him.

The clock is ticking, my dear – it might have reached its hour, but no – perhaps a moment too soon. Who knows what opportunities might spring forth if I exercise a little patience – allow a little more time for the perfect resolution. After all, my penultimate chapter is not yet complete. The ending remains to be written, and who knows what the final outcome will be?

# Chapter Twenty Five

Carruthers felt belittled and betrayed. As Casey's agent, he'd no idea of any direct association between her and Goldhawk. When she'd first approached him as a wannabe writer, with what he thought was a promising manuscript, he'd taken her into his 'stable' and negotiated a contract with Goddard and Co. Two of her subsequent novels had proved best sellers and he'd assumed that editor-in-chief, Goldhawk, had accepted her work on literary and commercial merit. To have that belief challenged by Jacqueline's denouncement of her and the implication that she'd gone behind his back left a foul taste.

He'd taken Chelsey's derogatory comments about her writing as sour grapes at her rising success, but was there more to it than that? Jacqueline obviously thought there was. Yes, Casey was a hit with the public in her genre and Carruthers had thought it was a reflection on his own ability to spot talent, but she'd also been afforded an unusual amount of advance publicity, it wasn't common practice at all.

And what was he to make of Jacqueline's referral to a "lesbian scorned?" It had immediately followed her accusations against Casey but when he'd questioned her on her utterance she'd remained tight lipped.

It might have been more of a blow to his self-esteem had Chelsey's disappearance not held sway. Because as determined as he was to confront Casey over her behaviour, he needed to return to the New Forest, to find Foulkes and to track down Noades.

Both could hold the key to locating Chelsey, and much as he shuddered at the prospect, only when the mystery was solved could he begin to tackle normality.

He was acutely aware of the need to advise Manners of his actions, and no matter what the Inspector might make of them, he wasn't a prisoner; at least as yet. Carruthers sat in his car outside Jacqueline's gates and called Manners on his direct line.

'I know you're not going to like this,' he began, fingers tapping the wheel, 'but I've got my own life to live while this is going on, and as I'm not prime suspect I'm returning to the New Forest for a day or two – I thought you should be told.'

'On the contrary,' came Manners' smooth reply. 'I find that quite acceptable.' There was a pause and then a sneeze. 'Are you on your way now?'

'As a matter of fact, yes,' Carruthers said firing the engine. 'Why do you ask?'

'So that I know when to expect you. Shall we say Lyndhurst police headquarters then, around two pm?'

Carruthers clutched his forehead. 'What's going on?'

'There's been a development.'

'Which of course you're not going to tell me about,' Carruthers said caustically.

'Correction; which I will tell you about upon your arrival. I wouldn't want to encourage you to use your mobile phone when driving.'

'Thanks a bunch.' Carruthers terminated the call, his head beginning to throb. Surely any new development must include Chelsey. Had the man no compassion that he couldn't understand how his obsession with secrecy played on peoples' emotions?

He arrived back in Lyndhurst two hours later, the journey having done nothing for his spirits – outbreaks of rain had prevailed throughout his drive, and now, stepping out of his air-conditioned vehicle he was aware of an increasing humidity.

He'd over an hour to wait until his appointment with Manners, and after showering in his hotel room Carruthers took a brisk walk to the newsagent along the high street where the bold headline on the placard delivered him a high voltage shock.

_Body Found In Forest –_ Carruthers stared in horror as he took in the heart-wrenching possibility that it might be his wife, before hurrying into the shop and snatching a paper from

the stand.

A man's body, believed to be that of a local vagrant was found yesterday evening in undergrowth close to Ornamental Drive in the New Forest.

Carruthers first experienced a flood of relief that it wasn't Chelsey, but as realisation dawned that the body might be Foulkes,' the implications began to gnaw at his mind.

First and foremost, if the body were to be that of Foulkes then his first point of contact was eliminated, but before his mind had a chance to lead on from there Carruthers forced it away, vowing to keep his senses sharp. It did no good to dwell on what might or might not be.

Manners was leaving his car as Carruthers reached the police station forecourt. The Inspector halted on seeing him and adjusting his black raincoat, flicked his eyes to the heavens. 'Hardly the best of days in more ways than one; thank you for joining me,' and before Carruthers could deliver a terse reply – 'I'll be with you as soon as I've consulted my counterparts. Meanwhile if you'll wait in the foyer...' Manners stepped through the entrance ahead of Carruthers, indicated a row of bench seats and after a word with the desk clerk was ushered inside the secure area.

Typical of Manners, Carruthers thought, no mention of why he'd been summoned here though thanks to the newsagents he had a pretty good idea.

As it happened he'd over thirty minutes to wait before Sergeant Higginbotham raised the security catch and beckoned him through. He was led into the same office where the sergeant had interviewed him, and where Manners now sat in a chair alongside the desk.

Manners, his forearms on the side of Higginbotham's desk, his fingers interlocked, nodded for Carruthers to take a seat. 'There has been an unfortunate development Mr. Carruthers, which could conceivably be linked to Mr. Goldhawk's murder.'

'You mean you've found another body,' Carruthers said, his tone curt. 'Why beat about the bush?' and then sighing, 'I know, I've read the newspaper.'

'Precisely.' Manners fixed him with a cold stare. 'The dead man was a vagrant called Foulkes. I gather you've had dealings with him.'

Carruthers nodded, sat hunched; this confirmed his worst suspicions. 'He was the one we first saw on the forest – Chelsey thought he'd followed us – that he'd been watching her.'

'Indeed,' Manners cut in, throwing a glance at Higginbotham. 'Foulkes' death could be mere coincidence, but we could suppose that whoever murdered him had knowledge of him seeing your wife getting into the car, and thus eliminated a lead.'

'So Foulkes _was_ murdered?'

'I said, we could _suppose,_ Mr. Carruthers,' Manners said flatly. 'The cause of death has yet to be established.'

Higginbotham leaned onto the desk. 'It has to be said,' he interjected, 'that Foulkes was known to us and surrounded by petty crooks – any of whom might have held a grudge against him.'

Carruthers looked to Manners, narrowed his eyes. 'Nonetheless you obviously suspect a connection or you wouldn't be here.'

Manners nodded. 'And I wouldn't have requested your presence – since you appear to have connections with both of the deceased...'

'I had no reason to want Foulkes dead – he was my only lead, so if you're inferring...'

'Please calm yourself, Mr. Carruthers.' Manners raised a hand, paused. 'Can you tell us about your wife's state of mind the afternoon you encountered Foulkes – allowing for her temperament, did she appear unusually distressed?'

Carruthers sighed, rubbed a hand across his face. 'She objected to Foulkes, she found him obnoxious – she did get heated with him but apart from that Chelsey was her normal self.'

'Or as normal as she could be,' Manners said quietly, his eyes fixed on a folder lying on Higginbotham's desk.

'Just what do you mean by that?'

Manners reached for the folder. 'I have to tell you, Mr. Carruthers, that we found fragments of what appear to be pages from Mrs. Carruthers' diary in Mr. Goldhawk's pockets.' He delved into the file, took out a couple of sheets. 'These are of course copies, but would you kindly verify that this is your wife's handwriting? As you'll note they appear to make references to sexual advances made against her. She seemed somewhat angry.'

'Wouldn't you be?' Carruthers felt the heat building, he felt sweat trickle down his neck. Flinging the copies back at Manners, he said, 'I can see where you're leading – why the hell would Chelsey want to thrust parts of her diary, no matter how angry she might be, into his pocket. I can't hold with that. I'm not sitting here...'

'Please sit down, Mr. Carruthers.'

Carruthers had got up to leave but Manners response carried the weight of command rather than request. 'You don't understand. You have to appreciate the psychological motives of the suspect. Your wife was so enraged with Goldhawk that she simply ripped the relevant parts from her diary and stuffed them into his pocket. In her mind Goldhawk was going to his death with her feelings and reasons for doing what she did embedded in his clothing. She

wouldn't have known that the river's swell would dump him on the towpath before the Thames had had a chance to consume both him and the diary parts.'

'But Chelsey had the diary with her, at the hotel!' Carruthers yelled.

Manners looked long and hard. 'So you say, Mr. Carruthers, so do you know more about this than you're admitting to? It would seem, that given the probability that your wife left the area in a car driven by another, that she had an accomplice.'

'Do you see now, why I cannot exclude you from my suspicions?'

# Chapter Twenty Six

Carruthers sank his head into his hands and shook it. 'I don't care what you've found on Goldhawk's body, Chelsey had nothing to do with his death and neither did I.'

Manners sniffed. 'Right now, Mr. Carruthers, I'm having difficulty agreeing with you. Such evidence as we have...' Manners broke off as the phone rang. Higginbotham took the call, frowned. 'Confirmed you say? Right, thanks, Jess.'

He turned to Manners, no words being exchanged but the Inspector's nod of the head told Carruthers they weren't needed.

'I suggest we visit the latest murder scene,' Manners said, rising quickly to his feet. He regarded Carruthers through narrowing eyes. 'Yes, we have another one. I'd be obliged if you'd accompany us.'

'Do I have any choice?' Carruthers asked curtly.

Manners shrugged. 'You're a free man for the time being.'

Carruthers pulled on his raincoat, let the Inspector's comment ride. 'Might I ask why you request my company?'

'It certainly isn't companionship, Mr. Carruthers.' Manners slipped on his own coat, perhaps there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he added, 'I don't think we'd quite hit it off, do you? No, the reason I've asked you along,' Manners continued as Higginbotham slipped into the driver's seat, on what was a wet and squally afternoon, 'is that you might conceivably see or remember something that might jog your memory. It happens.'

The Inspector turned away, looking out onto a wild afternoon and then glanced sharply back at him. 'Run through again, if you wouldn't mind, the events of the afternoon your wife vanished. I want to get things clear in my mind.'

Carruthers sighed, and like Manners ran his eyes over the bleak exterior. By the time he'd given his pained account of a cycle ride he wished had never taken place, Higginbotham had driven into Ornamental Drive, parking in the same area he'd used when accompanied by Casey, and next to a couple of police vehicles.

He was further surprised when Higginbotham led them along the same trail he'd taken with Chelsey that afternoon, passing through the smaller enclosed area and then out to the clearing where he'd arranged to meet Foulkes.

Higginbotham stopped, nodded to the undergrowth from whence came rustling sounds, and white clad figures similar to those he'd found in Chiswick emerged from a narrow track. After a brief exchange with them, Manners and Higginbotham came back towards him.

'The body was found there,' Carruthers said flatly.

Manners raised his brows, lofted his head. 'You don't seem surprised.'

'No – I thought it was strange.'

'Say again?'

'I didn't for one moment think Chelsey had anything to do with Goldhawk's death. I only wanted to find Chelsey, so I tracked Foulkes down. He said he'd seen her with somebody at the spot where she disappeared and I believed him – after all, Chelsey had been adamant Foulkes had been watching her. But he asked for cash and I had to leave the area to get it. I arranged to meet him back here, but when I got back after half an hour or so there was no sign of him.'

Crevices appeared on Manners' brow. 'Why on earth didn't you tell me this?'

Carruthers shrugged. 'I'd been meaning to but I was so dumbfounded about the diary it took my mind clean away.'

Manners minced his lips, nodded. 'Exactly where did you arrange to meet him?'

'As I say, right here in the clearing. May I ask what was the cause of his death?'

Manners afforded Carruthers a stony stare, as if he thought he already knew the answer to the question. 'Indentations were found around the neck of the victim, inflicted it seems by a physically powerful person, or indeed, someone with a great deal of anger to discharge.

'Can you think of anybody who might have been involved in Mr. Foulkes' death?'

'I...' Carruthers started then stopped abruptly, shaking his head. Casey's silhouette had flashed before him; the sophisticated Casey Jennings who'd so recently called him her best pal, who'd apparently had a much closer connection with Goldhawk than she'd disclosed – who'd accompanied him to the Forest in his search for Foulkes, and when he'd returned to the car park been nowhere to be seen. And then the long, unexplained scratch marks he'd seen on her neck that day – and she had strong hands, he knew that for a fact...

'Mr. Carruthers, if you're holding anything back I'm advising you to reveal it...' While Carruthers had been lost in his inner musings Manners had been watching him intently. 'I hardly need to remind you that your own position is somewhat precarious.'

'No, there's nothing.' Carruthers forced his hands into his raincoat pockets, hunched it around him. He couldn't seriously put Casey forward as a suspect, and yet...

'Very well, if you're certain.' But Manners was eyeing him sideways on, with that cold look. 'I take it nothing further has triggered your mind?'

'No, nothing,' Carruthers answered grimly.

'Because it strikes me, that if what you say is true and the time of death is found to be approximate to your discussion with him, then somebody quite likely had Foulkes under observation and conceivably murdered him to eliminate a lead. And I suggest, Mr. Carruthers, that that person was either your wife or an accomplice.'

'Rubbish!' Carruthers yelled, rain driven into his mouth by the gusting wind making him cough. 'I've told you, whoever's behind this it can't be Chelsey.'

'Can't, Mr. Carruthers?' Manners raised his head in his annoying way, leaning sideways in his chair, his fingers tapping its arms. 'And how do you deduce that?'

Carruthers lowered his gaze, there was no logical way that he could – he simply believed it to be the case. 'I'll find her. I'll prove it.'

Manners met Carruthers' eyes when he finally looked up. 'You would be best advised to leave matters in our hands. We have issued a warrant for Mrs. Carruthers' arrest. All possible leads will be followed up.'

'You're making a mistake,' Carruthers said bitterly, still coughing rainwater from his lungs.

'There is precious little evidence of that,' Manners said dismissively, 'but I'll grant you one thing. You're apparent conviction of her innocence is in itself, convincing.'

'Because I know she couldn't carry this out.' Carruthers strode away. 'I'll find my own way back.'

# Chapter Twenty Seven

Leaving Lyndhurst police station, Inspector Jack Manners hurried to his car, ducking out of the ceaseless rain that had attributed considerably to the gloom of his day. He sneezed; the damp weather was doing nothing to vanquish his hay fever affliction. Sinking back momentarily in his seat, he raised his eyes to the visor that had been redundant of late, and taking a deep breath uttered an expletive.

Why did the powers that be choose to involve him in a case like this? A murdered publisher, and a disappearing best-selling novelist, who in all likelihood was responsible not only for his murder, but the vagrant Foulkes as well. Add to that a disagreeable literary agent in her husband, who even if he wasn't in collusion couldn't see the wood for the trees – and to top it all a country bumpkin of a sergeant who he'd been forced to cooperate with owing to the rural plod's dwindling resources.

What made matters worse was he couldn't understand how people such as novelists made up stories and got well paid for doing it. He lived in the real world, dealt with real people in real locations – he wasn't locked away in some cosy study creating make-believe. Okay, in Carruthers' case he only represented writers but that was just as bad. They lined his pockets and he doubted that the man had to do too much to earn the cash. Manners engaged the engine, shook his head. They should try living in the real world, the lot of them. He hadn't the time for their nonsense.

And yet, despite the touch of acid that this case brought to his throat, it wasn't all bad. There might yet be a silver lining locked away in there somewhere. If he could track the woman down quickly enough he'd have the result he badly needed to restore momentum to a stuttering career.

Manners drove out of Hampshire contemplating that very point. There was no doubting his career had stalled. He'd had a good beginning – a sound education had stood him in good stead for his push to the top. And then, early on in his police career he'd met Jennie, a constabulary police officer, at a police charity ball.

They'd hit it off, and it had helped that Jennie's father was a former superintendent with influence in the force. The combination of some good publicity on one hand and a word in the right place on the other, plus his own undoubted skills had propelled him to the rank of inspector in no time at all. And that was where it had started to go awry. Jennie being something of a publicist had a liking and tendency to be at the hub of things. That inclination had started to grate on him and it wasn't too long before he'd begun to dissociate himself from the various gatherings Jennie attended; not all, he thought, were professionally orientated.

Before long the rift had developed sufficiently for them to part company; okay, it might have been pure coincidence but that had been the point at which his career had run out of steam.

However, if he could nail this one quickly enough he might be able to gain a little upward momentum; particularly considering the social status of the individuals concerned.

Because that was what he'd set his sights on the moment he'd joined the force. His banker father and lecturer mother had raised their eyebrows initially, but once he'd explained that plodding the beat featured nowhere in his aspirations, they'd capitulated to his reasoning.

Now however, he was becoming increasingly frustrated with the standstill in his fortunes. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility however, that this case, even with the literary theme he abhorred, might yet prove to be his saving grace.

# Chapter Twenty Eight

Carruthers wandered off into the rain, glad to be free of Manners' overbearing presence and having received his inevitable caution that the Inspector be advised of any movements he might make.

Manners was on the wrong track but only Carruthers' own belief and intuition told him that.

He'd come close to pointing a finger at Casey, she might have jumped out in front of him, so stark was the sudden notion of her involvement. But as much as he needed to confront her he was hell bent on finding Chelsey, even though he knew he might find her in Noades' arms. The shock revelation that Manners was looking to arrest her brought added urgency to Carruthers' objectives.

The chances were she'd find out anyway, because no matter what Noades and Chelsey had going between them, it would be unthinkable that she could avoid the tentacles of the media with all its forms; but he'd made it his personal quest to find his wife and nothing was going to deter him from that.

Thoughts of the media brought him around to the distasteful subject of Adrian; no doubt with his press connections the man was well informed, nonetheless Carruthers summoned up the spirit to contact him, more out of a sense of duty than anything else.

Oddly he found the conditions less oppressive out on the Forest. Free of Manners he found the rain squalls a relief from the intense humidity.

Not for the first time he thought Adrian sounded harassed. 'Just a moment.' He heard the furious 'hush' to the barking dog.

'I expect you've already heard,' Carruthers began, 'but in case you haven't, the police have issued a warrant for Chelsey's arrest.'

'What? Are you kidding me? Adrian blustered. 'This is your doing, Carruthers – what the blazes...'

'It's not my fault, damn you,' Carruthers yelled back, then steadying himself, 'they've found pieces of her diary in Goldhawk's pocket...'

'How the hell could they have done that?'

" _Because someone took them from her bag and for all I know that might have been you..."_ Carruthers narrowly held back from uttering his thoughts, because what possible reason could Adrian have had? And in any case the man jumped in again with another outrageous remark –

'And who put them there, you?'

'Oh for goodness sake, if you're going to continue to take this absurd line I'm ringing off...' Carruthers thought to do just that but he needed to let rip. 'I don't see you doing anything to help find her, when you came here you disappeared soon enough.'

'Rubbish, Carruthers,' Adrian responded sounding angrier by the minute. 'I'm utilizing all my media contacts to try and locate her. I'm more concerned than anybody.'

Carruthers stifled a sneer. 'There are a couple I'm not sure about – this hotel guy for one, I thought there was something about him...' he broke off, on the verge of relaying the Noades issue, but he knew how possessive Adrian was about his half-sister.

'What hotel guy?' Adrian's voice rose. 'What on earth are you talking about?'

'It doesn't matter,' Carruthers said tiredly. 'And Casey Jennings, there's never been any love lost between them, she's been acting strangely.'

'Now look Carruthers, you're trying to blame everyone but yourself!' Adrian stormed.

'Fine, if that's what you think.' Carruthers terminated the call, not being willing to listen to any more bluster from a man he'd always struggled to tolerate.

He caught a bus for the first time in a long while. It came along as he was ending his unsavoury conversation with Adrian, and wondering how on earth the man had managed to engage all available media contacts to determine Chelsey's whereabouts, while being unaware of the warrant for her arrest.

That didn't gel. He had to assume that Adrian's claim was plucked out of the air in response to his counter-accusation of her half-brother's lack of concern.

Given Adrian's closeness to Chelsey this puzzled Carruthers, because despite his blustering, accusatory tone there seemed to be no underlying concern for her whereabouts.

Carruthers showered and changed clothes, and then eager to scour the area where he'd lost sight of Noades he headed out to his car. And then he had a thought – if he was to search clinically then he needed to start from the beginning. When the hotel had employed Noades they must surely have recorded his personal details – and that would have included an address.

He strode back to the hotel and engaged the receptionist, one he hadn't seen before. She gave him an awkward glance when he asked whether they had Noades' address. 'I'm an old friend,' he lied, putting on his most amiable face, 'and I'm looking to surprise him.'

The receptionist appeared to accept this and went through to the main office, emerging a few minutes later with some details scribbled on a complimentary slip. 'This is the address we were given, Mr. Carruthers. It's against our normal procedure to release employee details but as you're a guest at the hotel we've made an exception in this instance.'

Carruthers thanked her and returned to his car. There had been an apprehension about the woman which suggested that Chelsey's disappearance and ensuing incidents had afforded him a degree of notoriety. He wondered whether this was the way it would be from now on.

Once in his car Carruthers studied the address the receptionist had given him. Brockenhurst was as good a start as he could have hoped for, being close to the point where Noades had slipped away from him. He punched "The Rise," into his navigation system and arrived at the location, close to Brockenhurst centre, in fifteen minutes. The house was a sizeable, nondescript grey brick affair, with a "no vacancies" sign displayed inside a front window.

Giving three raps on the door pane with his knuckles, he was met by a portly middle-aged male who evidently thought he couldn't read. With the index finger of his right hand arcing towards it, he said, 'I'm afraid there aren't any vacancies as the sign says.'

'No.' Carruthers raised the palm of a hand. 'I'm not looking to stay. I'm led to believe that a Robin Noades is living here.'

'Robin Noades?' The proprietor frowned, gave a shake of the head. 'I don't have anyone of that name, I'm afraid you've been misinformed. I had a Robert Bodes book in a couple of weeks back, stayed a week – but other than that I can't help you.'

'I see. I'm sorry to have disturbed you.' Carruthers turned, irritated at the apparent dead-end, but then had a thought, wheeling round as the man was closing the door. 'No, wait – can you describe this – Mr. Bodes?'

The proprietor sucked in breath. 'As I recall he was tall, fair haired and slim, seemed a likeable young chap. A bit of a ladies' man I should imagine.'

Carruthers bit his lip, the last part hurt. Could this man be Noades?

'And I don't suppose you've any idea where he is now?' Carruthers asked, aware of his accelerating heart rate.

'None at all.' The podgy man looked up at Noades thoughtfully. 'He said he was touring the area, enjoying his holiday, though I suspected there was more.'

'Why do you say that?'

'After he moved on I found some property rental leaflets from estate agents in his drawer. It seemed to me he might have had plans for staying longer term.'

Carruthers enlivened heart missed a beat, causing him to cough. 'Have you got them now?'

The proprietor shook his head. 'I'd no reason to keep them.' He narrowed his greying brows. 'Why do you ask – are you a detective?'

'No, only a friend needing contact – I don't suppose you recall the agents who provided the leaflets?' Carruthers asked, feeling a wave of sudden optimism.

'Oh yes, of course – there are only two.' The man turned towards the door. 'I'll jot them down for you...'

'No it's okay.' Carruthers didn't want to waste time with pen and paper. A glance at his watch told him that time was pressing on. 'If you could provide me with their names that should be enough.'

'Yes, very well. One's Buddington and Hart, the other's Jeffries. You'll find them both on the main street.'

'Thank you very much,' Carruthers said, getting the feeling he was really on the trail, but not liking the picture his mind was painting for him.

Carruthers sped to the main street to find one agent closed and the other in the process of doing so. But the second of the two, Julian Jeffries, had been obliging enough to check his records for any property lettings related to Robert Bodes and call him in the morning. When

asked for his name Carruthers had given it as Cousins. The name Carruthers right now, was bound to invite questions he wasn't willing to answer.

He returned to the hotel that evening fired up, the picture developing in his mind having provided the fuel. He had the feeling he was on the verge of tracking down Noades and confronting Chelsey. She had nothing to do with any murder, he'd always known that in his heart – but her heart appeared to have deserted him in favour of Noades.

If this really was Noades, then had he known Chelsey for longer than he'd thought? Had they formed a relationship prior to their arrival, and had his stay at the lodgings been to scout for a house? Was this the reason for Chelsey's increasingly disturbed and aggressive behaviour?

He'd soon find out the answer to that.

Carruthers headed for the bar and ordered a double whisky.

# Chapter Twenty Nine

At first Carruthers thought he was dreaming, that the tone from his mobile was part of an unpleasant experience conjured from his tormented, overworked subconscious. But when it announced its intrusive, melodious presence a second time he rolled over, groping for and finally locating his phone on the bedside table.

'Marty, Marty where are you? Can you please come over I'm so scared.' Casey's unusually strained and excited voice rasped Carruthers' ears, forcing him upright in his bed.

'Casey, what is it?' He masked his eyes from the early sunlight which blazed between curtains he'd forgotten to draw.

'There's somebody outside, watching me. I don't like the feel of this, Marty.'

Carruthers sighed, rubbed his scalp. 'You're imagining things, it's what writers do, you should know that...'

'No, I'm not imagining things.' This time her voice was richer, adamant, more like her old self. 'There's been a car parked at the foot of the drive for the past couple of hours. There's somebody in it.'

'Well either go and ask what they're up to or call the police if you're that bothered – oh, I don't suppose you'll want to do that, will you?'

There was a pause, and then Casey's voice, inquisitive and yet severe, 'What's that supposed to mean, Marty?'

Carruthers bit his lip, Casey's undisclosed closeness to Goldhawk having tarnished his regard for her, that and his growing suspicion that she might have been involved in his demise.

'I can't help you Casey, I'm in the New Forest.'

'Well that's just dandy isn't it?' she said, a detectable tremor in her voice. 'My best friend over a hundred miles away without letting me know, and on account of a pointless pursuit of a wife who's run off with another guy.'

'That's enough Casey,' Carruthers snapped. 'There's been a murder here too, if you're not aware, and a warrant has been issued for Chelsey's arrest. I have to find her, so my advice to you is to contact the goddam police – they'll be speaking to you soon enough anyway, and who knows that might be who's outside, tracking your movements.'

'For God's sake, Marty...' Casey sounding more angry than afraid now, 'what are you driving at?'

'Well it seems to me that you were a lot closer to Goldhawk than I realised. You said nothing to me of any close association with him...' Carruthers fired back, aware now that he'd been pacing the room in circles.

He heard a sharp intake of breath. 'I see. You've been talking to Jacqueline, have you?'

Carruthers, seeing crimson, ignored her question. 'I would have thought that as your agent I would have been entitled to know of any intimacy with him.'

'Huh.' There was a snarl, Casey's voice lowered in pitch. 'That's my business – if I'd have counted on you I'd have been saddled with second rate publishers where most of your clients end up...'

'Well, thanks for nothing.' Carruthers disconnected, flung the phone onto the bed and cupped his head in his hands, but within a few seconds it rang again.

'Please Marty, I'm sorry,' Casey gasped. 'I lost it – I wouldn't have gone behind your back, but I was never going to excel with Chelsey there...'

'What – what are you saying?' Carruthers stuttered, suddenly alarmed. What have you done?'

'I haven't done anything – I'd never do anything to hurt you Marty, please believe me. I simply got to know very soon that I could twist Alexander around my little finger and he'd go the whole hog in promoting my writing. I'm sorry if I lost my rag when confronted with it. I was simply trying to find a back door into the big time, and I apologise for not being straight with you, but Alexander held it open. Please help me, Marty...'

Carruthers exhaled heavily, clamped thumb and forefinger to his forehead.

'He was my passport to success...'

'And you don't know anything about Goldhawk's death, or Foulkes'?'

'Why should I?' Casey groaned. 'What use to me would Alexander be dead? And Foulkes, the guy who claimed to have seen Chelsey, you're telling me he's dead too?'

'Yeah,' Carruthers muttered. 'That's right.'

'I don't know what to say, Marty, except that I know nothing of this.' She broke into a sob, 'And right now, I need help.'

Carruthers cursed under his breath. Could he believe her, and if he did, should he then take her seriously – that she might be in danger too? But what could he do given the distance that separated them?

'Alright. Get yourself out of there via your rear exit. Go to your service yard at the back, but call a cab and the police right now, tell them what you're doing and why. Direct the driver to my house and you'll find the door key on the first shelf. Code 9130B unlocks the garage.'

'Will you come, Marty?' Casey asked, still sobbing.

'I've told you,' Carruthers struggled to keep his voice even, he didn't know what to make of her right now, but then his nerves were in shreds. 'I've got to find Chelsey. Call me later, when you're at my house and after you've spoken to the police.'

He walked to the window, looked down on the traffic below. It might have been early morning but already there was an incessant stream winding its way along the narrow street below.

But it didn't command his attention for long, there was too much rushing around in his mind for that. Alright, it might have been a poor reflection on his ability to spot talent, that Casey - who even Jacqueline had regarded as an average writer \- could go behind his back and extract favour from |Goldhawk for services rendered, without which she might have struggled to stay afloat in writing circles.

Sometimes there was nothing more effective than aggressive advertising and a glossy cover.

And now, he had some idea of the kind of man Alexander Goldhawk was. If he accepted Casey's word however, who had really killed him? In truth there might be a score of people with grudges against him - the likes of aggrieved lovers and jilted wannabies - but that wasn't his concern - he needed to extricate himself from pondering on the subject forthwith, and to find his wife, however small the consolation of proving she couldn't have murdered Goldhawk because of being in the arms of another man, might be to him.

Carruthers glanced at the clock. Soon, if the estate agent was true to his word, he'd be provided with a vital lead towards finding her.

# Chapter Thirty

It was around ten a.m. when the estate agent called. Carruthers clutched the phone tensely to his ear.

'Mr. Cousins?'

'I beg your pardon?' Carruthers had blinked at first, until his scrambled senses alerted him to the fact he'd used an alias. 'Oh yes – speaking.'

'Mr. Cousins - Jeffries and Co. here. In response to your query I do seem to recall an enquiry from a Mr. Bodes concerning properties in the area, however he doesn't appear to have followed them up – I'm sorry I can't help you further on this...'

'Okay, thanks anyway.' Carruthers felt his spirits instantly submerge, but then a thought came to mind – 'Would you be able to tell me what kind of property he was interested in?'

'You mean by way of size?' There was a pause. 'If I remember rightly, the type of property with a degree of land available – I recall forming the impression he was considering working from the premises.'

'Thanks,' Carruthers repeated, terminating the call. There must be innumerable smallholdings out on the Forest, he thought despondently. It was a hopeless venture but at least there was the minutest chance he might stumble on something.

He drove out to the country road he'd seen Noades swing into a couple of days past. It was an undulating lane winding between pockets of birch and oak, through which he could catch the occasional glimpse of well concealed, substantial properties. Any recognisable vehicles, unfortunately for him, shut off from view. Could that have been Noades' intention? Carruthers wondered now, pulling up at the head of a driveway protected by a five-bar gate. If he and Chelsey had wanted total privacy what better place to obtain it? A largish property with a piece of land, tucked safely away – such as the one he was outside now. He could have been a tourist checking his map, had he not been craning his head for that one stroke of fate that might lead him to Noades and Chelsey. A white concreted drive gave way to a crescent, intermittently visible through the sway of trees, and he saw parked within it a sports car of similar shape and size to Noades'.

Carruthers heart began to pound and then stuttered back to silence as he saw an elderly man with a stoop struggle into it and advance slowly down the driveway towards him. He saw now that the vehicle bore no real comparison to what he'd imagined. Only the colour bore similarity.

He drove on, passing through a hamlet consisting of two rows of terraced houses, either side of the lane. Slowing, he ran his eyes along the cars parked on the shingle bordering the road but none matched Noades' vehicle.

A mile or so further on he encountered a large lake on the outskirts of Beaulieu, again easing off the pedal, and when an impatient driver almost hooked onto his rear bumper he pulled onto the grass verge.

Abandoning his car there, Carruthers elected to walk around the lake's fringe. Being a fine morning the area had drawn a sizeable gathering; appearing not to have a care in the world, although inside sick with despondency, he shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled along. There were kids with kites and model boats, adolescents with jet skis, couples and families, plenty for him to surreptitiously run his eyes over for that one sighting –

And then from his pocket, the jingling of his phone –

Carruthers snatched it from his pocket; even now there was the slightest possibility that it might be Chelsey, raising his hopes just a little – but no such luck –

'Carruthers, I've been thinking...' a pause by Adrian, with his normal impersonal greeting – no reference to his missing sister, and yet her half-brother's next remark surprised him to say the least.

'Listen old chap, we've been on the wrong footing lately – and you aren't entirely to blame; perhaps if we were to meet up we might have a better chance of finding Chelsey – two heads are better than one, so they say.'

Taken aback as Carruthers was by this change of stance he was in no position to reciprocate. 'I'm still in the New Forest, Adrian, I...'

'That's okay, I can be there. As you say I've not been playing my part. I had a visit from the police yesterday, instigated by your prompting no doubt but that's all right, I understand. It made me realise how little help I've been...' he broke off, gave an incongruous short laugh. 'I mean I couldn't tell them a lot really. But I've got a few ideas. Look, what say I call you tomorrow when I'm down – I've a journalist friend who'd be more than happy to accommodate me for a couple of days.' He gave a long, pained sigh. 'I mean – we can't have my sister as a murder suspect, can we?'

Carruthers scratched his head, nonplussed at Adrian's change of tack. It wasn't like him to be so conciliatory, even if his tone remained indifferent. Nonetheless he'd go along with it – anything that might help to find his wife he was bound to accede to.

'Okay, call me when you're here.'

'And then a voice, frighteningly real, 'Martin – Martin...'

'Chelsey?' A high voltage shock leapt through Carruthers' body. 'Chelsey! He yelled, impervious of attracting attention from passers-by – but the phone was dead. Adrian had gone, but he'd heard it, Chelsey's voice in the background as surely as – or had he wanted to hear it, been wanting to hear it so much that his mind had created it?

His phone rang again. His hands were shaking so much he almost dropped it. 'Chelsey?' he asked, almost pleading.

'Marty, are you alright? Have you found Chelsey?'

'No.' Carruthers shook his head, flat with dejection. 'For a moment I thought...'

'I called you just now, but the line was kind of funny...'

'Funny, how do you mean?'

'Like there was someone else talking, I could hear you but...'

'Ah.' Carruthers had been brought crashing back to reality. 'So that's what it must have been...'

'What what must have been? Look, never mind explaining now.' Casey's voice raced with urgency, 'I called to say I couldn't find the key – it wasn't where you said...'

'What? But it must be there.' Carruthers fumbled for a cigarette, his trembling free hand making a hash of it.

'I tell you it's not, Marty. I don't want to go back home, I'm scared.'

'Dammit.' Carruthers retrieved his cigarette from the ground. 'Look, is there any sign of anyone having been there?'

'No, it's all locked up. The only person around was your nosey neighbour across the way. He came out fishing, wanting to know this, that and the other. He hasn't seen anyone, I'm sure he would have said.' She broke off, caught her breath. 'Marty, what shall I do?'

'Have you called the police?'

'I didn't have to. Before I had a chance to get out they pulled up – and whoever had been watching outside drove off. They asked me questions, mostly about Chelsey...'

'Did you tell them you were being watched?'

'Yes of course I did,' Casey said forcefully, clearly exasperated. 'When I could get a word in – but they didn't seem too concerned, apparently there has been a spate of burglaries lately – they just said they'd pay passing attention...' Casey broke down – 'I don't know what to do, Marty. Can I come up, please...?'

'Okay. Get yourself up here if there's no other safe place. Look for what it's worth I think the police have got their sums wrong. I reckon they're way off track, and your association with Goldhawk might have put you at risk – who knows? Wait for me in the hotel lounge if I'm not back.'

'Are you still cross with me, Marty?'

'I should be, goddamit.' Carruthers lit his cigarette, exhaled towards the lake, glistening in the morning sunlight. He drew in the warm morning air, it seemed a peaceful, surreal world out here, at odds with the one he existed in. 'You haven't done yourself any favours in my book, but right now I've got more than that to worry about. Now you stop worrying and get yourself here.'

'Marty, I've been thinking...' suddenly there was less abjection, a modicum of composure in Casey's voice.

'Can't it wait...'

'If I could be in jeopardy, possibly because of my association with Goldhawk, then might not Chelsey have been too?'

'I think we've both agreed on what's happened with Chelsey,' Carruthers said bitterly, 'and it has nothing to do with any connection to Goldhawk. Besides, she didn't sail as close to him as you...'

'There's no need for that, Marty, but nonetheless it might be something for you to consider. I'll see you in the lounge,' she continued, apparently shrugging off his remark and ending the call.

Carruthers replaced the phone in his pocket, strode along the lakeside, took a bench seat and tried to untangle his mind. He stretched an arm along the back, trying to exude a composure he didn't feel.

Notwithstanding his bitchy comment to Casey, distasteful as it was, was there some semblance of reality in what she'd said? Could some wired-up-wrong wannabie novelist be behind all this? Casey appeared to have all but wrapped herself around him to make a name, and Goldhawk only needed to have crossed the wrong person – a complete psycho.

He shook his head, hunched forward, stubbing out his cigarette on the metal rim of the bench. No, Casey would doubtless pursue the argument when she got there but Chelsey's disappearance wasn't so much connected to that notion as to a pre-planned alliance with Robin Noades.

And what about the key? It should have been easy to find, but if it were to be missing, who knew its location other than he or Chelsey? Nobody as far as he knew. And given that, did it mean that Chelsey had been back to the house – if so he was wasting his time out here looking for her.

But he wasn't abandoning his cause because of Casey Jennings. She must have missed the key, that was his reckoning.

And then Chelsey's voice came back to haunt him, for that one second he'd been positive it was her – only for his hopes to be bludgeoned by the sound of Casey – but there was a difference in those voices, one big difference –

Had that difference been bridged by his imagination?

Carruthers supposed that it had, but it didn't make it any easier for him to accept –

# Chapter Thirty One

Carruthers spent most of the day searching the Forest between Brockenhurst, Beaulieu and Lymington to no avail. He stopped off at a village, enquiring in its only shop as to whether the shopkeeper had seen anyone matching Noades' or Chelsey's descriptions, only to be met with a brisk shake of the head – not an unexpected reaction, indeed everything he was doing in his efforts to find Chelsey was a shot in the dark.

He drove into Beaulieu, pulled into a hotel, drank a shandy, ate a sandwich and casually enquired about sightings from the bartender. The result was again negative, the man had given an apologetic smile – 'Busiest time of the year for us, this.' He waved a hand around the bustling lounge as if to emphasise his point. 'I'd be hard pressed to identify anyone apart from our regulars. I've been run off my feet.'

Carruthers thanked him and went on his way, returning once more to the point where he'd last seen Noades, driving slowly along the winding lane and encountering nobody, before reluctantly setting course back to his Lyndhurst hotel.

It was approaching four o'clock when he strode into the lounge to find Casey sitting legs crossed in an easy chair, casually flicking through the pages of a glossy magazine, the black satin blouse she wore matching her raven hair. She exuded the relaxed air of a sophisticated woman.

But as she raised her head on his approach, the dark crescent-shaped shadows beneath her eyes and unusually pasty complexion told a different story.

She offered a thin smile. 'No luck, eh, Marty? You don't have to answer; I can read it in your eyes.' Casey dropped the magazine on the table. 'Sorry for the assessment but you look as rough as I feel. Have you thought about what I've said, Marty?'

Carruthers exhaled heavily, bit back his irritation. 'You mean about Chelsey? Yes, but I can't accept the Goldhawk connection, in your case perhaps, but not in hers, look...'

'Mr. Carruthers, I was told I might find you here...'

The voice came from behind, he was struggling to put a face to it until he crooked his neck and met Higginbotham's gaze. 'I wonder if I might have a word?'

Carruthers glanced between Casey and Higginbotham. 'Sergeant, is it necessarily private or can we speak here?' Seeing Higginbotham's apparent reluctance, he added, 'This is Casey Jennings, she isn't unacquainted with the situation.'

'Ah yes, Miss Jennings, the novelist. It's the first time I've met a writer face to face.' Higginbotham gave a polite nod and then sighing, drew up a chair. His expression became grim as he eyed Carruthers. 'I've been requested by Inspector Manners to update you on the situation and to ask whether you've heard from your wife.' He held a fist to his mouth and coughed, adding quietly, 'I need to remind you of your obligation to inform us of any such developments. I can advise you there has been no activity in regard to your wife's bank account apart from routine direct debits. So we must assume she is remarkably self-sufficient, or that somebody is supporting her.'

'Robin Noades.' Carruthers let out an acidic, humourless laugh. 'This thing was all pre-planned, you're on the wrong track in suspecting Chelsey – you've got it all...'

'But the evidence doesn't suggest that,' Higginbotham cut in, extending an open hand towards Carruthers, 'the diary pages...'

'Could have been a plant,' Carruthers snapped. 'No, I'll rephrase that – were a plant to divert suspicion away from Goldhawk's real killer.'

Higginbotham arched his brows, cupped his chin. 'With respect that is supposition – your supposition.'

'And Casey Jennings has been followed...' Carruthers crooked his head, gestured to her, 'someone's been camped outside her house...'

Higginbotham pursed his lips, considered briefly. 'I've been updated on that; there have been numerous burglaries in the area of late... and Inspector Manners remains of the opinion...'

'Inspector bloody Manners!' Carruthers blustered, and then with a deep breath to regain his composure, 'Look I'm sorry, but why won't you people listen?' Carruthers thought about mentioning his missing key, but decided the disclosure would serve only to heap more suspicion on Chelsey.

Higginbotham leaned forward, his voice carrying a hint of impatience. 'Unless something unforeseen occurs to change our reasoning we are bound to adhere to the most logical theories – and, Mr. Carruthers, you need to face up to facts – that your wife is responsible for Mr. Goldhawk's death, and in all probability Mr. Foulkes' also.'

Carruthers flushed, temperature on the up. 'If I can find this Noades, I can at least prove Chelsey's innocence – and then, perhaps you'll stop wasting your time hounding her and get to grips with the real killer.'

Carruthers caught his breath, waited for Higginbotham's response and received an impatient shake of the head. 'I would have thought that by now Mrs. Carruthers would have learned about the warrant for her arrest, and if she's nothing to hide come forward of her own accord – but she seems to have preferred not to do so.'

'Or perhaps she can't do so.' Casey's voice, rich and critical, cut through the ensuing silence, bringing a violent jerk of Higginbotham's head. 'What do you mean,' he frowned.

Casey thrust a finger into the palm of her right hand. 'I've been stalked – I don't give a fig about the burglar story, couldn't give a sodding euro for it. Okay, I might have used Goldhawk for my own ends, but Alexander was not a very nice person. He could easily have been the victim of someone who's sick in the mind – I could be next on this person's list and quite possibly Chelsey got there before me.'

Carruthers shook his head but said nothing. That was the part of Casey's argument he wasn't going to concede, but he wasn't lending support to Higginbotham on it. Higginbotham was in a sense only acting for Manners but he was nonetheless part of the investigation team and he wasn't going to fuel the argument against her by openly disagreeing with Casey.

Higginbotham had been looking to Carruthers, possibly waiting for him to counter, but when nothing was forthcoming he swept a hand across his brow and said, 'I'm afraid, Miss Jennings, we've nothing to substantiate that; as I've said – if and when we find Mrs. Carruthers we'll have solved Mr. Goldhawk's murder. That is our belief anyway.' Higginbotham slapped his hand on thighs, rose to his feet. 'I must be going.'

'Is that your belief or purely that of the Inspector from London?' Casey's throaty voice carried through the confines of the otherwise empty lounge.

Higginbotham swung back to face her as if he'd been tugged by an invisible arm. 'Both forces are in complete agreement; this is a combined operation.' He swept a hand through his hair, bid them good-day and strode swiftly into the corridor.

'He's not sure,' Casey said, her eyes following the sergeant until he disappeared from view.

Carruthers' gaze widened. 'What makes you say that?'

'That young man was unwittingly very expressive. His facial expressions when he spoke, his physical gestures, his posture, his complexion – he was uncomfortable being here – and don't forget he was asked to come here by what's his name – Manners? Never mind,' Casey flapped a hand. 'I think he's toeing the line, he's very much the junior partner in this and feels it – the 'Met' playing big brother and all that...not quite the combined operation he's so anxious to have us think.' She gave a nasal exhalation, 'I'm not sure he's convinced...'

'Well there's not much we can do about it,' Carruthers said grimly. He got to his feet. 'I could do with a cigarette; it's been another long day.'

He made for the garden with Casey on his heels.

# Chapter Thirty Two

'Well I hope I've given him something to think about,' Casey said, crouching beside the pond in the hotel garden, thumb and forefinger caressing a blade of grass.

'Given who something to think about?' Carruthers stubbed out his cigarette, flicked it into the container provided.

'That sergeant – Sidebottom.'

'Higginbotham...'

'Higginbotham then.' Casey snorted. 'Honestly Marty, we were only speaking about it a moment ago – you're in a world of your own, there's a murderer too close for comfort and you're obsessed with this bloke Noades...' she got to her feet, straightened her blouse. 'I wish you'd listen to me, Marty, initially I thought the same as you, but now I think we need to look again.'

'No, no, no.' Carruthers waved her suggestion away, hushed his voice, there was a cream tea assembly at one of the tables fringing the pond and he saw heads turn. 'I'm not going over that again.'

Casey swung round, gave the group one of her icy stares and it seemed to do the trick. Satisfied, she fronted him again. 'So where do you go from here, if you've no leads, and what do I do if the police won't see sense?'

Carruthers leaned against the hotel wall, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and tilted his head towards the cloudless sky. He sighed. 'Adrian phoned yesterday, unusually civil for him I must say. He actually apologised for being no help and suggested we meet up. Two heads are better than one – that's what he said.' He met Casey's eyes, minced his lips. 'I don't know what good it'll do but anything that helps find her I'm bound to take up. You might as well join me, pointless going back there if you are being watched.'

'I guess there isn't. I'd feel tense and uncomfortable, certainly unable to write. I might as well see this thing through to the end.'

Carruthers managed a grin. 'You certainly look far from that right now.' He wiped his brow, the afternoon was becoming humid once more. 'Fancy a drink, something cool?'

Casey smiled, slapped him hard on the shoulder. 'Thought you'd never ask – looks can be deceiving - all this heavy stuff's weighing me down...'

'Yeah, well it's not going away any time soon, I'm afraid.' Carruthers led her through the rear of the hotel, along the plush red-carpeted corridor and into the bar. Casey ordered a Smirnoff while he asked for a lager. They took a seat by the window, looked down on the traffic below.

He leaned forward, hand caressing the glass. 'Oh I know I'm reaching the point where remaining here would be futile; I guess Adrian, strange as it may seem, is my last hope. His eyes widened, engaging Casey's. 'I can't understand how the key could have gone. Nobody knew it was there apart from Chelsey and I, and the garage is protected by combination lock. I keep telling myself that if she has been back there, then there's precious little point in being here anyway.'

Carruthers' mobile rang; he clutched it to his ear. 'Ah – Adrian – what's that? You're here now? Well I'm in the Chequers, Casey's with me - Casey Jennings. Say, why don't you join us?'

'Oh I see, well I suppose we could – I'll ask her.' Carruthers cupped a hand around the phone, leaned across to Casey. 'Adrian's asked us to join him on the |Forest; I asked him here but apparently he has an engagement this evening...'

Casey shook her head, raised her glass to her lips and then seemed to reconsider. 'Okay, if you think you'd like a bit of civilized company.'

Carruthers returned to his call. 'Yes, Casey will join us. 'Where will we find you? Wait a minute, let me write this down.' Carruthers took an A6 pad from his trouser pocket, jotted down a series of directions, not unaware of the fine lines knitting on Casey's brow. 'Shall we say about an hour? Okay, Adrian, that'll be fine.'

'Yeah, that'll be fine,' Casey mimicked, stretching over to scan the directions he'd scribbled down. 'Where on earth _is_ this place anyway? Sounds like the back of beyond.'

'It belongs to a friend of his,' Carruthers explained, taking a gulp from his pint. 'He's spending a couple of days there.'

'Then why the sudden rush this afternoon?' Casey jumped in. 'Why couldn't it wait until tomorrow?'

'Because it concerns Chelsey,' Carruthers answered with impatience. 'That's why. I'm going to take a shower. Shall we say fifteen?'

'Okay. I'll do likewise.' Casey glanced dubiously at his sheet of directions, tracing a finger down it. 'I should take a few minutes digesting that,' she said, assuming an ominous air. 'We could end up getting horribly lost.'

'No we won't, I'll feed it into the sat-nav,' Carruthers said casually, before treading the stairs to his room.

But back in the room, over a shower, he considered the wisdom of accepting the sudden invitation. Adrian's friend did indeed appear to live in an isolated location. He'd had a pint, and although that was unlikely to set him over the limit, the tribulations of the day had, as usual, begun to grind him down. Why, really, couldn't it wait until morning, when he was fresh? After all, Adrian had inferred that he'd be staying for a couple of days at least. But when he came down to the nitty gritty, if as he expected, Adrian wasn't going to be a lot of help, then he'd just as soon head back home immediately afterwards. He'd exhausted all possibilities and himself in the process. It would be time to face the real world again.

And furthermore – face it without Chelsey.

# Chapter Thirty Three

Carruthers waited impatiently for Casey to appear. She'd diverted to reception as they'd made their way out, for whatever reason he hadn't a clue. His fingers drummed with increasing intensity on the wheel until finally she emerged, jet black hair sweeping about her face in the strengthening breeze.

'I don't know what you're going to achieve by this,' Casey said, jumping in and settling beside him in one fluid movement. 'This Adrian chap is one obnoxious guy, if he hung around me the way he did Chelsey I'd smack him a bunch of fives – and he's her brother too.'

'Half-brother. And in any case,' Carruthers couldn't resist the quip – 'with your taste I doubt you'd be much offended.'

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that.' Casey's reply was light enough but there was venom in her eyes that sobered Carruthers up.

'So you noticed it too?'

'Noticed what?'

Carruthers took a deep breath, checked in his mirror and pulled out of the hotel archway. 'The man's attitude as much as anything.'

Casey curled a hand to her brow and yawned. 'I must say that in the few times I met him, I found him – shall we say – abrasive?'

'Abrasive?' Carruthers shot her a glance as he drove through the high street, swinging right across the cattle grid that took them into the Forest National Park and onto the Beaulieu road.

'Yes, in his manner...' she continued, her eyes focused on a group of rider-less horses cantering across the hillocks, 'and he's got those sharp features, little short of hostile – and mean eyes darting as if they were rife with suspicion. A weird one if you ask me.'

'Which makes his change of attitude more difficult to understand...' Carruthers turned the air conditioning up a notch; the humidity was becoming oppressive, even in the Range Rover's spacious interior.

The Forest closed in for a while as the road swept down into it, the big old oaks either side combining branches to form gloomy woodland tunnels, before rounding a tight bend the woods suddenly relented, yielding to moorland as the navigation system whispered, "In three hundred metres, turn right."

Carruthers obediently obliged, flicking on the wipers as large droplets of rain splattered on to the screen. The sky had developed a threatening brown hue and mist began to sweep in on the turbulent air. 'Great,' Casey observed dismally, 'we're heading for a storm.'

'You didn't have to come.' Carruthers rattled his fingertips on the wheel; ignored Casey's raised eyebrows and studied his directions. 'Shouldn't be much further – there's a right turn in a mile or so, and apart from a small lane that's about it.'

'Then let's press on while we can still see where we're heading.' Casey glanced around morosely. 'Dusk's closing in early.'

Resisting a sudden impulse to swing round and head back, Carruthers set the four-by-four in motion. He didn't know what had caused the sudden inclination but to have succumbed to it would have been acceptance of defeat in his eyes. He had to give this a chance.

Reaching the turn he veered right. The lane, wide at its junction soon narrowed, climbed and snaked. Hedgerows encroached on either side, their thistles brushing the sides of Carruthers' vehicle.

The rain began to intensify, adding to the general murk and Carruthers missed it at first – the makeshift road that Adrian had told him would lead to the entrance of "High Warren," his friend's house.

Heather and bracken had obscured the track from his view but in the distance to his left, Carruthers caught the twin chimneys and roof of a house. He brought the Range Rover to an abrupt stop eliciting a groan from Casey, and reversed the twenty metres or so to a tiny junction, the track leading off it only narrowly managing to separate two fields of heather and several foot high rye grass. The terrain was rough and lumpy, even for a four-wheel drive and seemed to incline continuously, until finally they reached the summit and an overgrown entrance with the words "High Warren," engrained into the bark of an oak – the point at which Adrian had said he'd meet them.

Except there was no sign of him –

Carruthers checked his watch and saw they were ten minutes beyond the agreed time.

'Perhaps he's given up and gone inside,' Casey said glancing about. 'Wherever inside is.'

'Wherever indeed. Oh to hell with this...' Carruthers flung open his door, jumped down from his vehicle, strode through an entrance once protected by a wooden five-bar gate which now lay rotting amidst a mass of tangled undergrowth. Ahead lay a concrete road, reminiscent of a war-time runway, but now cracked and riddled with weed and moss, beyond which stood a partially collapsed open ended barn, looming like a vast hollow in the premature dusk.

Carruthers heard Casey's footsteps behind him and turned in exasperation.

'High Warren? He's having a laugh,' she said before he could speak. 'And the joke's on you – by the look of it.' She raised her eyebrows, slapped his shoulder.

'No, it's no joke.' Carruthers shook his head. 'There is a house here; I saw it from the road.'

'Okay.' Casey sighed and turned full circle. 'It's well concealed then.' She gazed wide-eyed at a wild and desolate landscape.

'No, wait.' Carruthers raised an arm, pointing through the barn, beyond which seemed a blanket of trees, their outlines dimly visible in what little light there was left. 'I reckon the road veers off, leads to the house. We can't see it for bad visibility but I'll vouch that's where the place is. If not, we'll call it a day.' Carruthers looked pleadingly. 'Agreed?'

'Okay.' Casey flinched as she entered the cavernous barn. 'But I'm not liking this one bit.'

Carruthers led the way through the barn, heard Casey's voice resonate in the hollow metallic surround. 'This place is kind of creepy. I really don't think we should be here.'

'It's harmless enough,' Carruthers said dismissively, 'the elements just make it seem that way.'

'Then where is our friend, Adrian?'

Carruthers had no answer to that. He pushed on ahead, passing through the barn, restricting his breathing from the stench of rotting vegetation that made him want to gag, and out into the open once more. He swept soaked hair from his eyes and turned to Casey, two paces behind. 'There, just as I thought,' Carruthers gasped. He indicated the track which did indeed arc tight left through a clearing in the woods, passing another disused farm outbuilding – a long, low rectangular shed, towards, in the distance a large old Victorian house, a hulking shape in the near-darkness, flanked on either side by a pair of enormous oaks.

Carruthers halted, turned to Casey. 'We'll get the car and drive down,' he said, placing an arm around her shoulder. 'It'll save us getting drenched.'

Casey grumbled, 'If you ask me we're on a wild goose chase – this place hasn't seen human habitation in years.'

'Oh but that's where you're wrong, here's the living proof...'

Carruthers and Casey swung in unison to find Adrian Frampton-Williams behind them, arms outstretched. An old grey twill sweater and dark slacks were all he wore as protection from the rain.

'Sorry I missed you good people. Went for a stroll, never was one to correctly anticipate the conditions.'

Carruthers stared through the gloom of the barn at Adrian's silhouette and the whites of his eyes. His smile seemed static and unhealthy, but Carruthers wrote that off as being down to the elements and poor visibility.

'I'll fetch the four-by-four, drive it through. I take it you're staying at the house at the bottom?'

'I sure am. How kind of you – and then we can have that chat about Chelsey.' Adrian's expression didn't change one iota as Carruthers passed him en-route to his vehicle, aware now of Casey's strong grip on his arm.

'Some power you've got there.' Carruthers winced and Casey instantly relinquished her hold. 'Guess it's just that I'm a bit tense. Perhaps we shouldn't be here – you could reverse right out...'

'No I couldn't do that. I have to go through with it.'

Casey clicked her tongue, 'Whatever you say,' and jumped into the passenger seat as Carruthers took the wheel. He reached for the ignition, tried to trigger it to no avail, tried once more – nothing.

He glanced at Casey, whose eyes were fixed on Adrian, who stood studying them with an unchanged mirthless grin.

# Chapter Thirty Four

'I can't understand it,' Carruthers grumbled. 'It's not so long since I've had the damned thing serviced.'

Casey hadn't taken her eyes off Adrian, as he stood motionless in the centre of the barn, with his fixed smile. 'It's him,' she said through clenched teeth, 'he's behind this.'

'Don't talk nonsense,' Carruthers said irritably. 'Your novelist imagination is running riot.'

'He's standing right in our path. I tell you he knows it won't start.'

'For goodness sake, Casey...' Carruthers swept a hand across his face, rubbed it against his chin. 'I'm no expert on engine technology.' He jumped down from the Range Rover as Adrian angled his head. 'Having a spot of bother, old chap?'

'Won't start.' Carruthers scratched his head, eyed Adrian hopefully. 'I don't suppose you're a dab hand with...'

But Adrian was shaking his head before he'd finished speaking. 'Not in the slightest. I can't help you there, I'm afraid.'

'Damn.' Carruthers raised the bonnet, gave the engine a cursory examination and shrugged. 'I'll call the breakdown service, I've got the number logged on my mobile...' but he grimaced as removing the phone from his jacket he studied the signal indicator. 'I'm never going to get a signal out here. I'll use your landline if that's okay.'

'Sure,' Adrian called back, already several yards into a walk towards the farmhouse.

'Two birds with one stone.' Casey's voice was so quiet that Carruthers wasn't sure he'd caught her at first. 'Two birds with one stone,' she repeated a little louder, and then in her normal tone, 'Oh it's nothing. Something from a book I'm engaged on just flashed before my eyes.'

Carruthers frowned, shook his head. 'You never told me about that; you sure are strange sometimes.'

'Maybe I am,' Casey mused, eyes still hooked on Adrian. 'But I'm not half as strange as him.'

' Come on down,' Adrian yelled, arcing his arm in the direction of the barn. 'It could take some time in this neck of the woods. I'll make us all a nice cup of char...'

Casey glanced around, looked at the dark contour of the barn, like a huge yawning mouth in the gloom, and listened to the rain pounding on the roof and windows. She muttered incoherently, slowly stepping away from the Range Rover, staring fiercely at Adrian who simply met it with his vacant, humourless smile. 'Excellent, follow me my merry people, just momentary discomfort but all in a good cause, and all worthwhile.'

Adrian led the way through the barn, the white patches on his otherwise filthy sneakers like dancing specks in the murk.

Carruthers made to march alongside but felt the resistance of Casey's restraining hand. 'I don't know what you're getting us into, but keep your wits about you. The Adrian I knew was abhorrent but this one's totally off the planet.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake...'

Carruthers' derisive reply was louder than he'd intended but Adrian appeared not to have heard, leading them into the gathering dusk and following the track sharp left where it became increasingly muddy and heavy underfoot.

In the distance a faint orange glow emanated from a downstairs window of the big old house, appearing to flicker and stutter. Casey shivered and gripped Carruthers' arm with considerable strength as Adrian ploughed on ahead, seemingly impervious in his inappropriate attire to the rain drenched conditions.

They passed the shed they'd seen earlier, heard the rain battering against a roof in danger of subsiding through neglect, the largest of a cluster of farm outbuildings apparently long abandoned – and then somewhere a dog barked, causing Casey's eyes to shoot to her left. 'I wonder if...' she broke off, coughing rainwater from her mouth.

'You wonder if what?' Carruthers glanced at Casey but she shook her head. 'Oh nothing; thinking aloud again. Mind you, the old Adrian wouldn't be seen dead in a place like this, let alone walk round in those soaking old clothes.'

Carruthers bit his lip, managed to free himself from Casey's hold and forced himself through the packed mud to Adrian's side. Casey's last words had hit home, this wasn't Adrian's habitat at all. 'What on earth possessed you to abandon suburbia for a wilderness like this?' he spluttered, sweeping rain from his mouth with the heel of a hand.

'I haven't abandoned it old chap,' Adrian announced casually, his eyes fixed dead ahead. 'I was invited as I told you – I'm a guest visiting a friend.'

'We need to talk about finding Chelsey,' Carruthers said, his tone suggesting irritability and impatience. 'You said you were prepared to help.'

'Indeed I am, old chap - indeed I am - but let's get in the dry first. Conditions are just too bloody inhospitable to enable me to think.'

The house loomed over them, stark and uncompromising as they approached, and Carruthers gave an involuntary shiver at the rain cascading from an overflow pipe down its brick walls.

In the darkness, he made out a rough concrete road leading from the building's frontage, disappearing into woodland to the west. Adrian's car stood alongside the portico and Carruthers vented his frustration.

'I take it there's a more civilized method of entry to this goddam place, in which case why have you made us trail a mile or more through the mud?'

'More chance of you getting lost, old chap, and I couldn't have that.' Now Adrian did turn to Carruthers, the whites of his eyes large in the gloom. 'And I couldn't have vouched for the conditions, either, now could I?'

Except that the soggy conditions hadn't simply materialized as a result of the current rain, they'd obviously been evident for some while but Carruthers didn't press the point, there would be precious little purpose in it. But he was beginning to feel a certain unease as Adrian pushed open the warped, green wooden door, and it wasn't all attributable to Casey's overactive imagination.

# Chapter Thirty Five

The musty, damp odour struck Carruthers immediately, soiling his lungs. Above, one solitary light bulb dangled from a cord providing the only illumination in a large, square hall. The gloom on the inside seemed little improvement on the dark evening sky.

'Mind if I call breakdown?' Carruthers didn't wait for consent, checking the number and then grabbing the old-fashioned phone from its mounting on the wall. 'There's no line,' he complained. 'Where's the phone that works?'

Adrian spread his hands. 'Sorry old chap, didn't I tell you? Bad storm the other day, apparently; seems it could be some time...'

'Now there's a surprise,' Casey murmured, the trace of a smile creasing her mouth.

'What the blazes is going on here?' Carruthers slammed the receiver back in its ancient wall-mounting. 'You know bloody well you didn't mention it. You had ample opportunity.'

'Calm yourself, man. Let's go through to the front lounge.'

Casey thrust herself between Carruthers and Adrian – 'If you've got nothing useful to say, we're leaving right now.'

Adrian's lips snaked in a bitter smile as he eyed Carruthers. 'Would you leave without discussing our beloved Chelsey?'

Carruthers mopped his rain-sodden brow. He didn't like the sudden acidity in Adrian's tone. 'If you've got anything useful suggestions, let's hear them now.'

Adrian sauntered through the dim hall, casting a thin shadow across the peeling green paintwork, and stopped at a closed door. 'Let's see what I can do to help. Come through.'

Carruthers caught the glare from Casey's ebony eyes, he knew she was opposed to spending any more time in the place but something in Adrian's demeanour strongly suggested that he should be here – that this was the starting place to locating Chelsey.

Adrian appeared relaxed as he settled into a worn winged armchair, impervious to his wet clothing; only his sharp, restless eyes negated the impression, as he waved an arm for them to seat themselves on the tatty Chesterfield opposite. Carruthers, however, unsettled by the darting eyes shook his head. 'No, I think we'd rather stand. Just what is there to discuss?'

'We need to discuss, old chap, exactly what might have transpired to cause my sister's disappearance.' Adrian took a deep breath. 'I mean to examine the circumstances in their entirety and act accordingly.'

'We know the circumstances for heaven's sake, she left for another man,' Carruthers blustered with undisguised impatience. All I want is to see her free of any damned murder charge. Whatever else, she's killed nobody.' He paused, drew sour air into his lungs. 'Now we've made an unpleasant journey into the middle of nowhere and unless you've any light to cast on the subject...'

'I might have.' Adrian stretched his legs, sunk deeper into the lumpy chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. His eyes stopped roaming, became more focused, moving slowly between Carruthers and Casey. 'You know, even if Chelsey can't be here, it's a bonus to be in the company of two of her most intimate soul-mates. It provides one a certain solace, to say the least.'

'I'd hardly call my relationship with Chelsey intimate – and as for soul-mates...' Casey screwed her eyes. 'What planet are you on?'

'Look, where's this leading, Adrian?' Carruthers snapped. 'I've had just about enough of this – if you've nothing useful to contribute...'

'Oh, but you disguise yourself so well, Miss Casey Jennings.' Ignoring Carruthers Adrian lofted his head, his eyes widening, no longer shifting but locked on her. 'I'll bet our friend Carruthers has no idea of your sexual leanings towards my sister. Have you, old chap?'

'He's talking rubbish!' Casey yelled. 'I tell you he's lost it!' As Carruthers directed an astonished glance at her Casey snatched his arm. 'Come on, we're out of here. I knew this was a mistake.'

'You'll hear me out, Carruthers, if you want re-uniting with my beloved sister – I'm the only one who can help you with that.'

Adrian's voice had deepened in tone yet risen a notch in severity – he remained in his chair in a room lit only by a pungent oil lamp throwing its wavering glare into the darkened recesses, but that voice had developed a sinister authority and Carruthers experienced the coils of tension gripping him.

Managing to free himself of Casey's strong hand he turned on Adrian. 'I don't know what the blazes you mean by that but are you intimating you know something of Chelsey's whereabouts? I mean, for heaven's sake you seem to have lured us here...'

'Lured? Ha-ha. I like the dramatic edge.' Adrian's thin lips curved into a smile without mirth, which lasted but an instant – 'So much you don't know Carruthers. So much you've yet to learn.' Adrian angled his thin face at the agent, his pupils like piercing brown dots, settling on him. 'So if you really care about Chelsey, you'll sit down and hear me out.'

'Dammit Marty, you can sit and listen to this crap but I'm out of here...' Casey screamed, stomping towards the door.

'Casey please...'

'Let her go.' The humourless smile was back on Adrian's face. 'It's not as if she can get far – out here in uncharted territory, on this pitch black, inhospitable night.'

Casey stopped at the door, turned, crossing her arms, fixing Adrian with a glowering stare that screamed defiance. 'You're enjoying this, you moron!'

'I don't derive any enjoyment from my sister's demise.'

'Demise? What do you know? You'd better level up Frampton-Williams and quick...' Carruthers bunched his fingers into fists, closed on Adrian.

'Steady on, old chap...' Adrian's hand lowered to a trouser pocket. 'I think you'd best sit down, both of you. I'm done with playing the genial host.'

# Chapter Thirty Six

'Oh well done old chap, you've finally guessed it.' The unwavering smile on Adrian's face bore total contrast to the harshness of his eyes. His right hand now gripped a small black pistol, and Carruthers, horror burning through his inners like acid didn't doubt it was the genuine article. With fleeting eye movement to where Casey now stood frozen he added, 'I have a notion the delectable Miss Jennings got there sometime before you.'

Adrian sniffed, sneered, his finger caressing the pistol's trigger. 'Though I can't say it surprises me...'

Oh I might have.' Casey folded her arms, looked at Adrian askew, her rich throaty voice pierced the momentary silence. 'I reckon you're going to tell us you've got Chelsey here somewhere – and it wouldn't surprise me one iota to learn that you killed the tramp – now the question is why you've lured Marty here...'

'Shut the fuck up! I'll come to you in a moment.' Adrian gave a lop-sided snarl as he leveled the pistol at Carruthers' chest. 'You always were a dim one Carruthers. I guess you promote other peoples' books because you can't write your own.' He sniggered at the consternation on Carruthers' face. 'Like I say, you've been ignorant of the facts; it's time to enlighten you.'

Adrian leaned forward, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. 'Fact – if it hadn't been for you, my sister wouldn't have got involved in this sickening self-satisfying fiction fiasco; fact – she'd have led a normal, stable life, one where she'd see reason, one that would have provided a future for her, that I could have arranged...'

'What codswallop are you ranting, man? Chelsey was already an established writer before...' Carruthers broke off, because Adrian wasn't listening –

He'd narrowed his eyes, emitting a curious incandescent aura in the glow of the oil lamp, and glanced at Casey, her eyes still burning defiance as she perched alongside Carruthers on the edge of the Chesterfield sofa where they'd been prompted to sit.

'And you –you plagued my sister with your sexual desires,' Adrian said plainly.

'Don't be so disgusting.' Casey rose from the couch, shrugging off Carruthers' restraining arm and he feared she would charge him, but Adrian extended the gun, his finger curling tighter around the trigger. 'Stay where you are.'

'Why should I?' She scowled, contorting her mouth in bitterness. 'If you're going to use that thing get it over with – or face me without the weapon, let's see what a big boy you are then.'

'Do you deny it?' Adrian growled, ignoring her remark.

'Of course I damned well do.'

'Then you're a liar. Don't think I haven't observed you playing up to her...'

'Give me one example,' Casey snarled, baring her teeth.

'Goldhawk's function last month, to name but one – I watched your hand clawing hers...' stabbing a finger at Carruthers he added, '...while _he_ was distracted. I saw the way you followed her around the room...'

'Yes – to keep her away from you...' Casey said, jutting out her chin.

'Oh for goodness sake, let's stop this,' Carruthers said desperately. He shook his head; thrust a hand through his hair. 'Why are you doing this, Adrian? Because you have some kind of warped desire for Chelsey? Just what is going on in your sick little mind - and what the hell have you done with her?'

'What have I done with her? You'll find out soon enough – no don't shift a muscle either of you if you truly value reconciliation with my sister.' Adrian, having spotted Carruthers' agitated shift forward trained the pistol on him. 'There, that's better.'

'And why did you kill Goldhawk?'

'Kill Goldhawk? I...'

Suddenly the low growl of an engine and splashing of tyres on wet concrete engaged Adrian's attention, forcing him bolt upright. He lunged towards the window, eyes and pistol still trained on the pair as it braked sharply. 'Who the hell – don't either of you damned well move.'

But Adrian's damp shoes lost their grip on the threadbare carpet as he headed for the window; slipping and struggling to retain his balance his knee caught the coffee table bringing forth an enraged yell.

Carruthers shot a quick glance at Casey, was of a mind to take advantage of Adrian's slip and tackle him, but although momentarily unbalanced the man still retained his grip on the pistol.

There was another option and Carruthers elected to take it. 'Now!' He yanked the startled Casey to her feet, deciding not to pass Adrian in the race for the door, but to head in another direction – in the shadows he'd spotted another door standing partially open, where the room led off at right angle.

Hoping against hope that it led to a way out, Carruthers pulled Casey with him in a run for it – he heard Adrian shout, expected to hear a shot, feel the heat of a bullet, but nothing came. Instead they found themselves in a long narrow scullery with no light to guide their path – expecting to hear Adrian's scurrying footsteps in pursuit at any second – but again heard nothing.

'Here...' Casey's voice, urgent, hoarse, penetrated the silence. She'd found a frosted-glass door. Carruthers rushed to her, tried the handle but it wouldn't budge. He fumbled below it, whispered a silent prayer as he located the key, turned it and slid the handle down freely.

They were out in the open – but only God knew where.

'Now what?' Casey breathed at him.

'We find Chelsey.'

'Just like that?'

'She's here somewhere. You said so yourself.'

'In case you haven't noticed, there's a maniac with a gun about to burst upon us at any minute – and it's as black as hell out here.'

'I'm not leaving without her – come on, let's get clear of this place; we'll find some cover somehow.'

Carruthers jogged through the undergrowth bordering the side of the house, once presumably a large garden but now a soggy, squelching bog. Casey, close behind him, slipped, but quickly corrected herself. Some forty metres beyond, the garden gave way to woodland and they ploughed through squelching mud and grass towards it. Once under cover of the trees Carruthers glanced back at the house, sweeping a hand across his eyes to clear them of the droplets they deposited.

The rain had stopped; a half-moon produced partial light, enough for them to spot any emergence from the dwelling. They waited several minutes, their rapid breathing slowly diminishing. And still there was no movement.

'What's going on?' Casey whispered. 'How come he's not charging after us?'

Carruthers turned his head to her, brow creased in puzzlement. 'I've no idea.'

'The vehicle we heard draw up – do you think it might have been the police?'

'How would they have known what was happening here? It's hardly the hub of civilization.' Carruthers sighed. 'Never mind, whoever it was saved our skins – at least for the time being.'

'Because... Casey stalled, drew breath. 'Because before we left I handed the details of our journey to reception. I asked for it to be passed to the Sergeant – it's just possible...'

'Well done you.' Carruthers bit his lip. 'You might not be quite as worthless as I've come to believe.'

'Don't you _dare_ speak to me like that...'

'Let's not argue now!' Carruthers lowered his voice. 'We need to find out whether it is them, or get some idea of what's going on.'

Carruthers emerged cautiously from the cover of the trees. With the side of the house no more than forty metres away there was just enough moonlight to observe it.

But they needed to see the front and that meant joining the concrete road that the vehicle must have approached on. It would mean leaving themselves exposed, but it was the only way.

'Let's go...' Carruthers looked questioningly back at Casey. 'You don't have to come.'

'Don't I? I'm not staying here.' There was anger and resentment in Casey's eyes, no doubt on account of Carruthers' remark but he bit back any reaction to it.

They managed to keep inside the cover of trees until upon reaching the road, the woodland fell away. Emerging into the clearing Carruthers cast his gaze sharp left, down to the building's front entrance, outside which two cars were now parked.

One belonged to Adrian, but despite the poor light Carruthers had no difficulty in identifying the other. And to his dismay it didn't belong to the police, but to Robin Noades.

Carruthers gazed at Casey, aghast. 'I might have known it.'

# Chapter Thirty Seven

'Now what?'

Carruthers shrugged, tensed. He tried his mobile once more before slamming it deep into his pocket in resignation. 'This explains why Adrian hasn't come after us, for whatever sick reason they're in this together. They're no doubt plotting – they'll know we're unfamiliar with the terrain, that in this wilderness we won't get far and they're right. But it'll be daybreak in a few hours and then it's a whole new ball game – we'll find a high point where I can use the phone and summon help. In the meantime we need to backtrack, to find ourselves some decent cover.'

'They'll stop at nothing to find us,' Casey said dubiously. 'Let's hope they're as unsure of their bearings as we are.'

'Adrian might be.' Carruthers scratched his soaked scalp and gave an exasperated sigh, 'But I'll bet that Noades is familiar with the area.' He stared across at the house, now a barely visible black hulk, merging with the night as the moon slipped behind clouds.

Leading off from the house's main entrance though undetectable in the darkness, lay the rough road they'd come in on, heading off through the woods towards and beyond the cluster of outbuildings, ending at the point where they'd been forced to abandon their immobilized car. From where they stood now, they could head into the woodland, making their way north-west under cover of the foliage until they were parallel to the road and farm buildings.

'I suppose we could cut through the trees,' Carruthers began, voicing his thoughts, 'and maybe take shelter amongst the crop of outbuildings we saw.'

Casey hung her head, shook it. 'It's the first place they'll look. We need more substantial ideas, Marty – perhaps lying low outside the boundaries of this place until it's light is our best bet...'

'I've told you, I'm not leaving this place without Chelsey.' Carruthers had to raise his voice, the wind had risen again.

'I'm not talking about quitting, just using common sense.' Casey's teeth were barely parted, brilliant white in the darkness as she hissed, 'You seem to have forgotten that guy's armed. For all we know they both are, though I don't see where Noades comes into this.' She cocked her head, angled it at him. 'You're not so insistent he's run off with Chelsey now, are you Marty? Like I've said, I'm sure of one thing – Adrian's got her here somewhere – either that or she's already dead!'

Casey's last remark was too much for Carruthers, he snatched her shoulders. 'You've hardly helped in this, if bedding Goldhawk wasn't enough you swing in the other direction and lust after Chelsey – you're nothing but a...'

'Don't say it Marty.' Quickly Casey used her forearms, breaking his grip and slapping her hand against his mouth. 'I swear if you do I'll punch your lights out – don't think I can't do it!'

Carruthers gritted his teeth, thrust his hand on her wrist, managing to lever her arm down. 'You can try – your true colours are really flying now.'

The whites of Casey's eyes flashed, she drew back her arm, launched a punch, managing to curtail it just short of his chin. She turned to stomp into the woods, made a few strides and then stopped, slowly turning and flinging out her hands. 'Oh look, I'm sorry, I admit I did make advances but it didn't lead anywhere. If she had of responded I can't be sure I'd have gone the whole hog.'

'Am I supposed to be impressed by that?' Carruthers fumed. He thought he could see a tear on her pale cheek as she placed her hands on his forearms but it could have been moisture from the trees. 'Now look,' she said, 'I know I've behaved less than admirably but the least we can do now is stop arguing. It won't help Chelsey and it certainly won't help us.' She bit her lip, gripped his arms. 'I was about to become dead meat in there once he'd finished having his say, with Chelsey's diary page stuffed down my knickers most probably, and you wouldn't have been far behind. He would have saved the worst for you. Being her husband and all...'

'But why the hell should he?...'

'Because he's her half brother, dimwit. My guess is he's had some fatal fascination for her all along. He practically admitted as much just now. If we were to dig into his past we'd probably find that one out. He was always hanging around her but you just let it ride – and right now you need to understand that you won't help Chelsey by dithering. Now let's head out the way we came in, eh? Applying caution, obviously.'

Carruthers dropped his gaze, took a deep breath. What was done was done. Taking it out on Casey now wasn't going to help anyone. And perhaps she was right. Perhaps they should make tracks out of the place, the way they'd come in.

He led her across the road, into the woodland on the far side. Initially it was dense, with tree branches depositing their moisture all about them with intensity akin to a score of running feet.

'This is terrific.' Carruthers felt Casey's hand on his back, urging him on. 'Not only is this scary but I'm getting another soaking into the bargain.'

'That could be the least of our worries,' Carruthers spluttered over his shoulder. 'Listen, you're probably right. We'll head north-west until we meet the track out, and keep parallel to it, under cover of the woods. We'll keep going until we're off the farm and then take it from there.'

'Casey shrugged, seeming almost disappointed, but then she nodded. 'You're on,' she said, perking up. 'I guess it makes more sense than sitting waiting for Adrian to find us, which he surely would before daybreak.'

Carruthers took Casey's hand, guiding her as they battled their way through the tangle of trees and undergrowth with the light of an intermittent moon as their only help. He felt the thrust of twigs and bracken around his legs and ankles, and was certain that Casey must be experiencing the same, though she made no protest. Eventually as Carruthers was beginning to despair the woodland relented somewhat, one small clearing leading into a larger, man-made one – and with a sigh of relief he saw the shadowy outlines of the farm outbuildings ahead.

And then a thud – two thuds from somewhere behind them that couldn't be attributable to either the wind or trees. There followed the deep roar of a powerful engine and then globes of light began to bounce off the trunks of the oaks, unmistakably from a vehicle negotiating the uneven road. Carruthers pulled Casey to him, away from the clearing. His heart beginning to gallop he forced her to crouch with him, as headlights illuminated the enclosure.

They were too close for comfort; this had all gone horribly wrong. Some twenty metres was all that separated them from the compound – that, and a handful of thinly spread trees.

The vehicle began to pull in, to turn full circle and park. The beam from its headlights was a second from revealing their presence when Carruthers dragged Casey into dense undergrowth, stifling her anguished yell as she fell into the bracken.

Holding Casey tight to him, Carruthers heard the crunch of footsteps on rough shingle, followed by the deep bark of a dog and the scrape of a door being yanked open.

He crooked his head as far as he dared; shielding himself with his free arm from the headlights' glare he saw Adrian vanish into the large, rectangular barn.

And then he heard a scream –

Chelsey's scream.

# Chapter Thirty Eight

Carruthers' instinct was to lunge forward, to bolt for the barn and rescue his wife, but Casey's grip on his arm was strong and tight. 'Don't be a fool, Marty; you wouldn't have a chance, wait...'

'But he's armed, he could kill her...'

'He could kill both of you, together; that's probably his intention anyway.' Casey crouched forward, head peering through the undergrowth, still gripping his arm. 'That might provide him with some sadistic excitement but right now he's only got her...' she turned her head to him, brow furrowed, 'don't make it easy for him, and anyway...' she crooked a finger, '...you've forgotten about him, the guy still in the car.'

Carruthers met her gaze with a cocktail of anxiety and rage. 'What am I supposed to do, just sit here?'

'They won't kill her – not until they find you – take it from me.'

'And you know, do you?'

Casey exhaled heavily. 'That's precisely why he lured you here.'

The barn doors squealed open – instantly drawing their attention. The dog barked again and bounded into the yard, a big Alsatian, in the light of the headlights its coat seemed the colour of the night.

Out marched Adrian, beckoning to Noades who leapt from the car to join him. Adrian turned sharp left with Noades following behind, into the main area of the yard, a powerful torch lighting their way. Carruthers listened to the footsteps recede and then halt for brief intervals as they searched amongst the outbuildings. There was the sound of items being thrown around as though any potential hiding place was being overturned and laid bare, before the grinding of boots on gravel became more audible again. 'They're not here anywhere,' Adrian's bitter voice carried on the wind. 'They'd have been holed up in here now, that's for sure. We'll head up to the hanger, that'll be where they're making for – we can work our way back from there. We'll find them.'

Adrian and Noades came into view, courtesy of the light thrown by the torch, with the dog ahead of them. Suddenly the Alsatian diverted its course, bounded to its left and headed directly for Carruthers' shelter. He glanced at Casey, saw only defiance in her eyes as the dog bore down on them. His heart seemed to beat inside his mouth as he heard the shout from Adrian, the voice rasping and severe. 'Tyson, here! Here now!' The beam from his torch swung over their heads but it was only a cursory exercise by Adrian. The dog yielded to the command, turning tail, close enough for Carruthers to smell its foul breath.

Carruthers didn't risk raising his head, he heard the metallic thump as the car doors slammed shut, listened to the harsh surge from its engine as it roared onto the track and only then did he peer over the bracken, emitting a lengthy sigh.

He slapped Casey on the shoulder. 'Come on, let's go for it.'

'You go, I'll stay here.'

Carruthers had struggled to his feet. He gaped, his hand already outstretched to haul Casey up. 'I can't leave you here...'

Casey didn't take his hand, instead she gestured towards the barn. 'You heard what they said; they're going to search from the far end. Now go to Chelsey and don't hang about. Meantime you'll need someone to play night watchman, and that's what I intend to do. Now get!'

The force of Casey's arm propelled him forward, and after a fleeting glance back he hurried towards the barn. The gravel surface was deceptively steep however; a fact concealed from him by the night sky, and in that oppressive darkness Carruthers struggled for balance and direction, until, as his eyes adjusted he saw the black barn gables loom over him. Close enough now, to make out the timber double doors he groped for the padlock, conscious of a renewed cry from Chelsey.

Resisting the urge to respond for fear of his voice carrying to Adrian, Carruthers first inclination was to curse his luck yet again. He should have known he wouldn't be allowed to simply walk in and rescue his –

But the lock came away in his hand and Carruthers realised that for once, something seemed to have gone his way. In his haste Adrian had obviously neglected to secure it.

Carruthers threw the padlock to the floor, slipping inside a dark void –

'Chelsey? Where the...'

'Martin – Martin is that you? Oh thank God. Up here...' the voice seemed strained, it wasn't Chelsey's refined tone at all, yet how it warmed him to hear it again. But he knew he couldn't yield to emotion now. He was in a black pit exuding a rancid stench that seared his nostrils, and as to where "up here" was he hadn't the slightest notion.

His disposable lighter was the only thing he could think of – the solitary light source he possessed. He fumbled in his pocket, his trembling hands almost betraying him and dispatching the lighter onto a blacked-out floor. But he clung on, pressed his thumb hard on the flint-wheel and produced a flame, woefully weak in the vast interior but a light source nonetheless.

'Where's up here?' Carruthers craned his neck, willing his eyes to provide him with the answer, but Chelsey called again.

'I'm here - in the hayloft – listen there's a ladder he throws on the floor. Please Martin, hurry, he carries a gun...'

'Yes, I've found that out.' Carruthers raised his lighter, and as he stepped back, in its dwindling flame he could barely make out Chelsey's crouched figure on an elevated platform above his head.

'Where's the damned ladder...' Carruthers began to panic, kicking out at the ankle deep straw that carpeted the place.

And then his foot struck metal, sending a shaft of pain from toe to heel. He spotted the rungs of the ladder protruding through the straw and reached down, barely managing to hoist it with his free hand, manoeuvering it painfully slowly to bridge the gap between ground and loft.

Carruthers used his shoulder to force the ladder into position and then, satisfied it was secure, began the climb. The wavering flame revealed Chelsey's face as he neared the top, wide eyed and expectant, but her silky blond hair was matted, plastered in parts to her cheeks.

He scrambled onto the loft and gazed down at Chelsey. She sat on her bottom amidst the remains of a straw bale, her hands behind her back, tied to a vertical beam.

Carruthers mopped his sweaty brow, paused an instant, almost giving way to emotion. 'How and why has this happened?'

Chelsey looked him full on. 'I don't think this is quite the place to answer that, is it Martin? Please get me out of here.'

'Easier said than done.' Carruthers bent down, examined the thickly woven rope that bound Casey's wrists to the beam.

He stared at the weak flame from his lighter; soon it would dwindle to nothing. There was no chance of burning through it, and to unravel it would take more time than he had.

Because outside he heard Casey shout, heard a solid blow.

Carruthers swung to his wife in alarm.

# Chapter Thirty Nine

The door swung violently against its wooden jamb, the resultant crack resounding throughout the barn, and then came Robin Noades' agitated voice. 'For God's sake calm down!'

Carruthers turned, gazed below despairingly. Noades stood by the barn entrance, his left arm clamped around Casey's waist, heaving her off her feet and into the blackened interior. He swept blood from his nose with the hand that held a torch. 'The little vixen packs a punch, I'll give her that. Now if I put you down will you stop fighting me? I'm here to help and we don't have time for this.'

Carruthers glanced between Chelsey and Casey then glared back at Noades. He was no fighter but while the oaf was grappling with Casey there was a chance of overpowering him. He descended the ladder two rungs at a time but Noades had forced Casey onto the seat of her pants, and as Carruthers made for him he was ready, easily thwarting the flimsy attempts to land a blow on his chin. With one eye on Casey, Noades forced Carruthers' arms behind his back, swinging him round and thrusting him towards the ladder. 'Now will you two back off? I meant what I said. I'm here to help you and there isn't time to argue. I'm going to cut your wife free and then we're out of here.'

'Why would you do that?' Carruthers panted, but Noades didn't respond.

In the light thrown by the man's torch Carruthers saw Noades draw a knife from a sheath on his waist. A second later he glimpsed Chelsey scramble unsteadily to her feet, grasping Noades for support. Carruthers saw red for an instant, the dark stain of jealousy cloaking his sight, but Chelsey retracted her hand as soon as she'd steadied, following Noades cautiously down the ladder.

The sound of the dog came through on the wind and a man's voice, urgent, demanding.

'Noades, Noades, where the hell are you man?'

Carruthers glared accusingly at Noades. 'Sounds like your partner in crime has shown up...'

'He's not my partner in crime,' Noades said flatly, moving deeper into the barn. He shone his torch diagonally, towards a bottom corner. 'Come on - quickly, there's more than one way out of this place.'

But Chelsey was rigid, staring down at Casey from her lofty six foot. 'How the hell did she get here?'

'Oh does it really matter?' Carruthers snatched Chelsey's hand. 'If this guy really is on the level we should be right behind him.'

Chelsey relented, allowing herself to be hustled along the barn, her eyes locked on Casey. 'We'll have this out later.'

Casey's eyes were like lanterns in the dark as she scrambled through the wicket-gate at the barn's rear, behind Carruthers and Chelsey.

'We'll make for the gatehouse,' Noades shouted, urging them on.

'The gatehouse?' Carruthers creased his brow.

'Yes, the gatehouse,' Noades yelled above the wind. 'Now look we don't have time to stand around talking. If I can lead us there and fetch my car we can have you out of here. The bastard still thinks I'm helping him.'

'And are you?'

'Not any more. I never realised the extent of his intentions...' Noades broke off as Adrian's renewed shout filled the air...

'Noades, where are you?'

Noades turned, pushed Carruthers ahead of him, beckoning the two women urgently. 'Get going – while he thinks I'm helping him there's still time.'

Casey pushed past Noades as he swung his torch across the clearing into the woods. 'You'd better be on the level buster,' she glared. 'You were lucky I didn't get a good swing just now. I could and would have taken you down.'

Carruthers held back for Chelsey, and taking and pressing her closely to him as they followed Noades' directive through squelching, inhospitable woodland. Noades vanished from sight and all Carruthers' misgivings resurfaced.

The beam from the torch had disappeared with him leaving them in darkness, but barely had he a chance to transmit his alarm than Noades re-appeared, leading the way. 'This is my terrain, not his,' Noades called back. 'He's in unfamiliar territory; if we keep going we'll be fine.'

'What about the bloody dog?' Casey questioned through gritted teeth. 'The infernal barking's sounding close.'

'Believe me, he won't get a lot of help out of that animal, not in these conditions – just a few minutes'll see us through.'

Noades threaded his way through more dense woodland, forcing aside bracken, Carruthers a few strides behind reluctantly releasing his grip on Chelsey's waist when the thin track wouldn't accommodate them both. 'When we get through this,' he said, his voice taut with emotion, 'you can explain your encounter with that madman...'

'And you can explain what Casey bloody Jennings is doing with you,' Chelsey hissed, just audible enough for Carruthers to hear. But he'd no chance to respond because, ahead, Noades threw up an arm and turned to them. 'We've reached the road.'

Carruthers saw the break in the trees, watched as Noades emerged cautiously from their cover and then urged them through. 'There's the gatehouse across the way. I'm going to let you in and head back for the car, it won't take a few minutes but you'll be safer in there – Adrian won't suspect...'

'Let us in?'

'Yes, it's my place.'

'And you brought Adrian here?' Carruthers swung an arm angrily back towards the woods – 'You put my wife's life in jeopardy – all our lives in fact – what's your part in this, Noades?'

'Look, if I was to try to explain that now, all our lives will be more than in jeopardy. There simply isn't time – when Adrian discovers I've set Chelsey free, and it's only a matter of time before he adds things up, our chances will be virtually nil.' Noades marched ahead, towards the turreted gatehouse. 'Now are you coming?'

'Do we have a choice?' Casey made a move across the road but Chelsey grabbed her arm. 'I tell you what, you head out onto the open road, it won't be long before someone slows and picks you up.'

Casey glared up at the fair haired woman, swung wildly, shrugging her off and wound up to explode a punch onto Chelsey's chin but Carruthers swiftly intervened, knocking her arm away.

Chelsey snarled. 'I don't need your help in handling her.'

'And _we_ don't need this bitchiness right now...' Carruthers fumed. 'What we _do_ need is out of here.'

For a second the moon peeped from behind racing clouds highlighting the whites of Casey's eyes as she bunched her fist before unclenching it and raising a finger. Later, buster. You won't know what hit you!'

'I can't wait.' Chelsey, some six inches taller stared down as if assessing her prey, before Carruthers looped an arm through hers, leading her unwillingly towards the gatehouse, while Casey stomped along behind. Carruthers felt her searing breath.

'The best thing you two can do,' Noades uttered through gritted teeth, 'is to quit your feuding.' He swung a torch. 'Stay here, and for safety sake leave off the light. If our luck holds and you keep from each other's throats we'll be out of here within five minutes.' He delved into a draw, producing another torch. 'Here, I have a spare, take it. If I'm not back within five minutes head out into the lane.'

Before any could answer, Noades stepped into the night.

# Chapter Forty

Carruthers stood edgily by the door watching Noades' slim figure merge with the darkness and then turned towards the women, the beam of his torch directed at their feet, its halo providing a faint circular light in the small lounge and revealing their hostile stances.

'You heard what Noades said, if you two can manage to keep from pursuing this pointless hostility for a few minutes we'll be out of here.' He furrowed his brow, unable to hold the question back. 'What's been going on here, Chelsey?'

'What's been going on is bloody obvious. I've been held captive.' Chelsey rifled a hand through her hair, gave a violent exhalation. 'Look, I'd rather we were out of this godforsaken place – I can't think straight let alone describe a total nightmare – right now let's just say my half-brother was never what he seemed...' she paused, swinging towards Casey with renewed hostility, glaring between her and her husband. 'And that sentiment might be extended towards you two.'

'Oh for heaven's sake...'

'No, let me speak before I flatten her.' Casey waved aside Carruthers' intended intervention. 'I was being stalked, I called Marty,' she said, her jaw clenched. 'I had nowhere else to go – you needn't think for one moment that you're the only one who's been hard done by. Oh poor Chelsey, let's feel sorry for her. Huh! I might even feel some sympathy for the mad son of a bitch, evcn though I reckon now he was the one doing the stalking.' Casey raised her voice, responding to the fury in Chelsey's eyes. 'Before you even attempt to lay a finger on me, answer me this – has your demented brother been with you all the time?'

'Now how the hell would I know?' Chelsey thrust her hands on hips, when Carruthers suspected she might lash out – 'I've been tied to a flaming post, remember?'

Casey mashed her lips, her pupils like dark, hard diamonds. 'Yes, well in the process concocting his little trap he tried to get to me, I'm convinced of it – but the police turned up and thwarted him. He wants revenge on us all for some warped reason. And you're at the hub of this. No doubt somewhere along the line you've played your part in the way he is.' She took a step forward, her index finger raised as she glanced at Carruthers. 'What I want to know – no, what we _both_ want to know is why your brother lost his marbles. Something tells me you know the answer to that.'

'If I do know, I'm sure as hell not telling you...'

'Oh...so there _is_ something you're holding back on...'

The sound of a dog, angry, snarling, drew attention away from the confrontation – and then two pistol shots had them twisting in alarm. Casey raced for the door but Carruthers caught her arm, hauling her back. 'Don't be a fool; you'll be dead meat if you rush out there...'

'We could be dead meat full stop, let her go – blown off the face of the earth she's one less problem to us all.'

'Why you...' but Carruthers retained his grip on Casey's wrist, preventing her forward lunge. 'You're staying right here – and curbing your temper. We don't know what's happened here but we do know the police have been informed...' and then Carruthers trailed off – indeed the police had been alerted by Casey's quick thinking but several hours later there'd still been no response to her note. He saw Casey's raised brows and thought she was reading his mind. A split second later he was sure of it. 'I left them a note, remember? Where the hell are they?'

A slamming door sliced through the tension, they heard footsteps approaching the gatehouse – Carruthers' stomach knotted in a sickly feeling they could be at a killer's mercy.

He rushed at Chelsey, held her tightly enough to hear the pulsing of her heart. 'Damn him, damn my brother,' she uttered through clenched teeth.

But it was Robin Noades who strode through the door, switching on the light which for a second dazzled their eyes. Casey at the forefront drew back at first, mouth gaping, but then rushed at him, her arms hugging his midriff. 'Whoa, whoa, he breathed, 'that's certainly a change of attitude.'

'Is it over? I mean the shots...'

'More by luck than anything,' Noades nodded. 'Adrian spotted me, as I feared he'd found out that Chelsey had been freed. As I approached the car he ran out of the woods setting the dog on me. The dog bounded towards me but collided with his knee. He had the gun in his hand and as he lost his balance it went off...' Noades broke off, grimaced. 'I reckon the bullet passed straight through his neck.' He sighed, released himself from Casey's hold. 'I really didn't like that dog. It had grabbed my leg in its jaws but I'd had hold of the pistol by then.' He wiped his brow, soaking from a mixture of dew and sweat, 'So folks I guess it's all over. All we need do now is wait for the police – no need to bolt...'

'Have you got the gun?' Casey asked, 'I mean in case he isn't dead?'

'No. I tossed it somewhere or other. Perhaps I should have held on to it, the police will want it no doubt.' Noades shrugged. 'But believe me, he's dead alright.'

Carruthers gave Chelsey a hug, nodded. 'We all owe you hugely...' and then frowning, 'But I still can't understand your association with him.'

Noades raised his head, expelled air as he forked a hand through his fair hair. 'Worst thing I ever did, offering to repay a favour.'

'Repay a favour?' Casey narrowed her eyes. 'What do you mean?'

'In a minute. I need to call the police from a land-line, mobiles are no good here as you've probably found out, the only place that gets a signal is the hayloft where Chelsey was...'

'Then why the hell didn't you call from the hayloft? Or for that matter why wait until now when you could have made it when you first guided us here?' Chelsey, ashen faced in the light of the lounge lamp, eyed him with suspicion.

Noades halted by the passageway door, his impatience showing through. 'Because time was of the essence for heaven's sake – as it was, it was only luck that saved the day.' He strode into the passage, snatching the phone from its wall mounting as Carruthers, fingering his chin, turned to the women. 'That would explain the phone conversations I had with Adrian, there was sometimes the sound of a dog in the background – and then the time I heard Chelsey shout. I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me but...'

'But you were right.' Chelsey bit her lip. 'I managed to loosen my gag, it slipped. I tried to call you...'

'Can't he hurry up,' Casey interrupted, constantly clenching and unclenching her fingers. 'I want to get this whole sorry business over with...'

'Huh, that's a laugh!' Chelsey tossed her head back. ' _You_ want this over with, what about me? I'm the one who's been through hell here – whereas you...'

'Damn you!' Casey raced across the room, launched a punch before Carruthers could intervene but Chelsey, although weakened by her ordeal, saw it coming and reeled aside.

Before she had a chance to lash again, Carruthers had grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off her feet and as she struggled furiously, carried her away from Chelsey.

'You wanna try that again? Chelsey scowled, surging forward, thrusting her face out tauntingly.

'Stop this!' Carruthers bellowed, and Chelsey, surprised by the fury in his voice dropped her aggressive stance, while Casey, her breath drawn by Carruthers firm grasp, merely scowled back before all heads turned as one, as Noades re-entered the room.

# Chapter Forty One

'The police are on their way; all we need do now is wait.'

Chelsey crossed her arms, closed up to Noades and looked him in the eye. 'Okay, if we're to wait here until the police show up – and this time let's hope they do – then we might as well have your explanation – for what it's worth.'

Noades shoved his hands in his pockets, tilted his head. 'Alright. I'm a journalist by profession, as was Adrian. My career was going nowhere until he got me my first big break a few years back. He had contacts with a local newspaper in Dorset and put a first class recommendation in for me. I figured I owed him a favour for starting me out on the road, and so when he called asking that I arrange a rendezvous location with his cherished sister...' Noades broke off for an instant, looking apologetically into Chelsey's furious eyes – 'I'm sorry, those were his words – I agreed to oblige. I suggested the location to you at the hotel and then advised Adrian.'

'He called me at the picnic spot,' Chelsey cut in, turning to Carruthers. 'I was heading to the toilets, he said he wanted a chat in private but when I met him at the car he seemed agitated, insisted we took a short drive – he said it wouldn't take long. I couldn't call you – I couldn't find my phone but I didn't think a lot of it – I mean that's the way Adrian was.' Chelsey shrugged, forked her fingers across her temples. 'Prelude to a nightmare as it turned out. I ended up in this godforsaken place, hadn't a clue where it was – but before we got here he insisted on that chat being over coffee – so he pulled in to a roadside café. Worse thing that could have happened; I guess he slipped something into my drink because I don't seem to recall a lot thereafter – not until I ended up bound in that barn.'

'For you and me both,' Carruthers snorted. 'We found your phone at the spot.' He groped for his cigarettes, lit one without asking Noades' permission and fixed his stare on him. 'You came back to look for her with me – you knew how concerned I was. Why couldn't you at least have told me what was going on?'

Noades gave a sigh. 'Adrian said he wanted time undisturbed. I had no way of knowing things would turn out the way they have – I merely thought I was giving him time.'

'Even to the extent of arranging his stay on the farm?'

'I tried to find him suitable accommodation, searched long and hard...'

'Even to the extent of using an alias, Robert Bodes I believe, wasn't it?' Carruthers cut in edgily.

'Now look, I know I took alternative lodgings for a while, if there was to be any comeback from this, I didn't want it falling on me. I knew what I was doing was underhand, that was why I took the precautions I did, but no way could I have known it would come to this, don't think I feel good about this – dammit I'm not prepared to be cross-examined by you!' Noades blasted in his first flash of real anger. 'I might not have handled things very well but I never expected this – Adrian didn't seem the type.'

'And I never suspected my brother was capable of this – this...' he was always simmering but never...' Chelsey broke up, thrusting her palms over her eyes.

'Didn't you Chelsey, didn't you really?'

Chelsey gazed at Carruthers, open-mouthed, wide eyed. She looked so abject he didn't push the question. 'Well never mind, but the police will be sure to ask, they'll need some pointers to what caused him to act this way.' His eyes roamed the room and then he frowned. 'Where the hell's Casey gone?' He glanced towards the passageway.

'Wrong direction.'

His frown deepened. 'What?'

Chelsey lowered her head in the direction of the door. 'She slipped out while we were arguing.'

Carruthers strode for the door. 'Why didn't you say?'

Chelsey threw out her hands. 'Why should I? She's a free agent.'

'She's not been in a good frame of mind, lately, not herself at all. We can't let her walk back alone.'

'Why not?' Chelsey's voice, harsh in his ears, but Carruthers ignored it, stepping out into a dawn throwing fingers of light that were beginning to lift the darkness.

He looked right, through the trees to where the driveway would hit the open road, but saw nothing. But Casey couldn't have been gone for more than a minute or two and even in the poor light he would have seen something.

Carruthers glanced to his left, towards the farmhouse and thought he saw a small figure move, as if someone had crouched down.

Hunching his shoulders in the chilly morning air Carruthers headed towards the house, where Adrian's car stood, and just over to the right on the waterlogged drive where a body lay prostrate, sure enough he saw Casey's figure stooped over it.

She rose to her feet upon laying eyes on him, thrusting her hands deep into her jacket pockets. 'Casey, what the hell are you doing here?'

'What does it look like?' Casey's reply was frosty, as if she resented his presence. 'I was making sure he was dead; for all we know it might have been a trick.'

Casey brushed past Carruthers as he stared at the motionless body sprawled on the ground. 'Looks like the police have finally turned up.'

'Thank heavens for that.' Carruthers glanced along the drive and then raised his head skyward as if to endorse his thoughts. 'And now perhaps we can all go home.'

'Except one...' Casey gazed back at Adrian's body and Carruthers raised his brows.

'You sound as if you'll miss him. Come on, let's join the party,' he said wearily. Ahead he saw Higginbotham emerge from a squad car accompanied by three uniformed officers, whilst behind, flashing blue lights indicated another response unit.

Higginbotham spotted them, gestured to his officers to attend Noades' house and then hurried in their direction. The response unit swerved round Higginbotham's car and followed the sergeant along the drive, passing him and pulling to a halt alongside Adrian's body.

'If you'll wait here, please.' Higginbotham laid a hand on Carruthers' shoulder before striding forward and examining Adrian, the occupants of the response vehicle soon joining him.

As Higginbotham got to his feet, Carruthers saw Noades and Chelsey emerging from the gate house in the company of the remaining officers. Higginbotham, returning to Carruthers' side, waited for the approaching party to reach them before he spoke.

'I'm pleased to see you're well, Mrs. Carruthers, it seems you've had a harrowing ordeal.' He turned to Casey. 'We did despatch a unit to a location given by Miss Jennings in a note, but unfortunately it proved to be a little wide of the mark.'

'I can hardly be blamed for that; I'm not a native of the area.'

'Nobody's blaming you, Miss Jennings.' Higginbotham said, switching his attention to Noades. 'I understand from what you say that Frampton-Williams shot himself whilst in the process of trying to shoot you.'

Noades looked towards the body and nodded. 'His dog sprung forward, lunging for me and collided with him. He stumbled, the gun went off and the bullet passed right through his neck. I shot his dog. No apologies.'

Higginbotham looked to the ground behind them, the light was still poor but his men were searching for something. 'The weapon, Mr. Noades, I take it you have it in your possession?'

Noades shook his head. 'No, I tossed it aside. I'm afraid I've no idea where it landed.'

Higginbotham took a deep breath, let it out slowly. 'Well, no doubt we'll find it once the light improves.' He turned to Chelsey. 'I'll need an account from you, Mrs. Carruthers,

something for the Inspector to go on when he arrives here – he'll no doubt require statements from you all – we need to understand why this man acted the way he did.' His eyes travelled over Casey and Chelsey as they glared at each other but neither spoke. 'In any event,' he

continued, 'we appear to have found the killer of both Mr. Goldhawk and Mr. Foulkes, but I'll leave such judgements to the Inspector.'

'Alexander, dead?' Chelsey squinted.

Carruthers nodded. 'You'll find fragments of Chelsey's diary inside the house, sergeant.' He threw an apologetic look in her direction. 'Sorry, I haven't had a chance to tell you – but yes, and you were prime suspect thanks to Adrian's sick mind.'

Higginbotham sniffed, addressed the gathered party. 'Well, you're all at liberty to go about your business. I'm sure you'll be more than happy to do that.'

'Won't we just.' Chelsey, her face pale and drawn in the gathering morning light looped a hand around Carruthers' arm. 'Let's get our stuff together and go...' shooting a glance at Casey, she added, 'just the two of us.'

'I wouldn't dream of intruding,' Venom flared in Casey's eyes as she stared out Chelsey, and then Higginbotham broke into the exchange. 'The Inspector will of course be in touch with you, sooner rather than later, no doubt. However it does seem that this unfortunate business can be concluded.'

'We can't let Casey walk back,' Carruthers protested.

'Why all this concern about her?'

'Will you...' Carruthers' anger rose at the continuing hostility between the two but Higginbotham intervened. 'If I might suggest in the circumstances that I drop Miss Jennings off? We are returning to Lyndhurst when all said and done.'

'Thanks Sergeant.' Carruthers turned away, glad that another potential flashpoint had been avoided, and then he had a thought. 'I'm afraid we're stuck here for a while, Chelsey.'

'What do you mean – this is no time to play...'

'He means that one of Adrian's little tricks was to immobilise the car.' Noades ventured forward, leading the way along the track towards the back entrance to the farm. 'But I might have an answer to that.'

# Chapter Forty Two

Inspector Jack Manners was hitting the pedal as if his life depended on it – at any rate his career certainly did.

He'd been slow, too slow to assess the situation in its entirety. He'd missed some vital pointers; probably because he'd allowed his dislike of Carruthers and the parties involved to cloud his reasoning. Unprofessional, possibly, but unavoidable? Maybe. But then he disliked the literary world in general – particularly the fictional side of things, and the fancy, arty-farty types who resided in it.

Higginbotham had thought the case done and dusted, that they'd found the killer of both Goldhawk and Foulkes, but as Manners realised now, that with Frampton Williams' death the case had only been partially solved.

_Stapleton's Demise_ had provided the final, large element of the puzzle. He'd done some delving into an old case, read up on it and then rummaging through Casey Jennings' home in her absence, had found an incomplete manuscript in her desk.

He'd forced himself to read what he hated most, namely fiction – albeit fleetingly, but the parallel had been there, staring out at him, confirmation of his rising suspicions. It had been a tale written with accentuated bitterness – and with a pounding head he'd drawn the final conclusion.

He'd heard from Higginbotham when he'd been less than twenty miles from the area – and with the country bumpkin sergeant so cocksure he'd solved the case had had to stop him right there. He hadn't leveled with him on what he knew for sure – that there was a vicious murderess on the loose and that she was about to strike again. To have done so would have endangered any recognition he might receive for solving the case – and that in turn would have meant a closing of the door to any chance he had of that elusive promotion.

No, he'd instructed him to await his arrival in Lyndhurst, gambling that he had sufficient proximity to prevent another fatality – thus enabling him to claim the credit.

Manners exited the motorway, almost shunting a slow moving three wheeler out of the way in his haste.

Less than ten minutes he estimated would see him in Lyndhurst.

Manners couldn't wait...

# Chapter Forty Three

'I can understand if you don't want to talk about it...' Carruthers swung the Range Rover into the lane and gave a sideways glance. Chelsey, hunched alongside him, her golden hair lank, gave a long exhalation. 'We'll get to it in a bit,' and then with a gradual head movement, 'thanks for coming after me, but I would have preferred it to have been without Casey's help.'

'What was I supposed to have done?' Carruthers' voice carried more intensity than he would have wished and he applied more acceleration than he'd intended, needing to break sharply at the bend. 'I couldn't leave her at Adrian's mercy – or lack of it, this business has had an effect on her too, you know Chelsey. Damn it, what happened to turn him from a moron into a monster?'

'I said later...' Chelsey clamped a hand to her forehead. 'Let me get back to the hotel, get washed and brushed up – maybe sleep a while and then get my thoughts into gear – and then I'll try to explain what I think caused it. And as for Casey Jennings I don't want to hear one more damned thing about her.'

Carruthers allowed his eyes to leave the road for a second. 'Perhaps now this is all over we could manage a proper holiday – give you a chance to clear your head before you do any more scribbling.'

'Huh – guess I won't be doing much of that for a while...' Chelsey's hand tightened on her brow, her nails etching tiny indents, then she turned to him sharply – 'I need time on my own, Martin...'

Carruthers jerked his head towards her. 'I see – it's come down to that, has it? Separate ways...'

'I didn't say that.' Chelsey slapped a hand on her thigh, stared across at him with heightened severity. 'It's the trauma you know, well you wouldn't know. Nobody could unless they'd been through it. I need time to re-adjust, it'll take a while.'

'Where will you go?' Carruthers asked, letting out a slow breath.

Chelsey shook her head, scratched her scalp, gazed at the raised mound of Bolton's Bench that marked their arrival back in Lyndhurst – 'Wherever – but it won't seem any different to you than when I'm away researching.'

'So you won't wash your hands of me completely then?'

'Chance would be a fine thing...' Chelsey twisted her mouth into a semi-smile, raised her eyes as they passed through the hotel archway. 'It seems a whole lot more than a mere few days since I was last here...'

Carruthers nodded, he knew the feeling, though perhaps not as acutely as his wife.

He held the passenger door open for Chelsey and then escorted her into the hotel, his arm through hers, supporting her unsteady steps. The receptionist was in the process of relieving the night-porter, her eyes widening in recognition of Chelsey, who gave a quick smile by way of acknowledgement.

Once in their room she made for the bathroom, while Carruthers headed for the window and stared out at the street below. He saw Casey emerge from Higginbotham's vehicle and after a brief word ascend the hotel's front steps. He felt a twinge of regret at the way the incidents seem to have impacted on her and wondered if she'd ever return to her effervescent self. They forged a friendship over the few years they'd known each other. Derived originally out of his becoming her agent, one however, that was also viewed with hostility, he knew, by Chelsey. This hostility had now spilled into the open and he doubted things would ever be the same. But what was worse for him was not knowing whether his relationship with Chelsey would survive the aftermath of the trauma; they had been on unsound footing for some time before this ugly affair engulfed them with its tentacles.

His musings disintegrated as Chelsey's voice rang across the room. 'Right, this is what I think turned Adrian...' she slammed the bathroom door and flung herself into a chair opposite Carruthers.

'I'll be the first to admit I've kept my family affairs close to my chest, not something I'm proud of but sometimes memories prick a little...' she watched for Carruthers attentive nod. 'Right here goes – what you do know is that my parents ran a horticultural business which became quite profitable for them, eventually enabling them to retire to Malta. What I probably haven't told you is that initially this business was more of a partnership – comprising of both my parents and Adrian's...'

Carruthers shook his head, chin resting on the palm of a hand. 'No – I don't think you did.'

'Well, there was some kind of bust-up,' Chelsey resumed, irritability bringing unevenness to her tone. 'I was only a kid, don't forget – I was in a world of my own most of the time – but I remember mother and father took over the reins completely and I think Adrian's father took to drinking – perhaps he always was a drinker for all I know. Anyway things went downhill and eventually he committed suicide, leaving his mother to look after him.' Chelsey sighed, dried her hair on the towel she'd left limply on the chair arm. 'His mother's health took a turn for the worse however, and it wasn't long before she was taken into care. Shortly afterwards she died too.'

Chelsey finished towelling her hair, placed an elbow on her knee, her fingers pensively caressing her chin. 'Once she was in care my parents raised him so they'd carried out their duty, you might say. But I could tell he was alienated, or maybe perhaps they were alienating him. I guess though, that I treated him like a brother from then on, though when I think about it now he was always strangely possessive, I had more than once to stop him going too far – to put our relationship into context, and then he'd become sullen and moody, aggressive at times.' Chelsey turned her head slowly towards Carruthers, her blue eyes wide and unblinking. 'And that never really changed – although if anything it got worse. His demands on my time increased, started to affect my work – my writing – I should have ...'

Carruthers reached out for her hand, he could see her eyes beginning to well, but suddenly the door swung open and both heads turned in unison –

# Chapter Forty Four

Casey Jennings stood before them, a serene smile transfixed to her face. 'Sorry for the unannounced entry – I just hoped and prayed I'd get the chance to be alone with you two – one more time.'

'Just what is it with you?' Chelsey yelled; fury swelling her pupils. She was on her feet, striding to confront the intruder, but Carruthers was up too; something in that smile, smug, unnatural, made him step in front of his wife –

'Oh don't be so jumpy the two of you – anybody would think you were frightened of me...'

'No, not frightened,' Carruthers said, composing and steeling himself, eyes logged on Casey. 'Perhaps a little unnerved and wary; you've not been yourself since...'

'Since when?' Casey arched her dark brows.

'Goldhawk's death?' Casey's right arm had been behind her back but now she drew it forward, settling elbow against midriff, unravelling her hand so that it exposed the small metal object within. 'Something I found lying around.'

Carruthers gaped, flung out a hand to snatch the pistol but in a single fluent motion Casey swiped the barrel down across his fingers. 'Not so fast...' her laugh was fleeting and harsh – her lips became mashed and screwed, and Carruthers, clutching his rapped fingers noticed she wore make-up perhaps for the first time. Smeared on as it was she resembled a clown – and he knew – a dangerous one at that.

'Get back, both of you – there are things I want to say – from a distance.'

Chelsey forced herself out from behind Carruthers' shadow and arched forward. 'I don't know what the hell's got into you but if you think I'm...'

'You'll do as I say!' Chelsey felt the force of the pistol in Casey's backhand blow – the cold steel sending her reeling. Instinctively Carruthers reached out to catch her, hauling her away from Casey's reach.

'That's better,' she snarled, 'have the decency to let me speak without interruption.'

Carruthers was forced back on the bed, his arm tight around his wife for fear of retaliation as he glared at the demonic figure who'd once been his friend.

'Oh, isn't that touching,' she snarled. With her free hand she pinched her fingers. 'I'll take a mental clip of that – you know, like a camera's shutter. No don't spoil it with wasted words...' she took several steps forward and Carruthers thought of charging her, but the weapon in her hand was unwaveringly steady. 'Huh – such fools all of you – though I had Adrian wrong. I thought he was an idiot and a waster, never assumed him capable of killing anyone – which I assume he did to Foulkes...' again the harsh laugh, 'it sure as hell wasn't me. But Goldhawk, now he was another matter, that one _was_ attributable to me, well he had it coming – the lecherous and conniving bastard. And that chump Higginbotham tying up the loose ends, wrongly, handily for me. Oh yes, because in the end it's acted in my favour.

'From what I saw, in the end I reckon Adrian was unbalanced enough to have killed you Chelsey – and you too Marty my love but that would have spoilt my fun. As it was my knight-in-shining armour arrived in the form of Noades, dear sweet Noades.'

Casey delved into her pocket, her eyes switched from Carruthers to Chelsey – she flung fragments of crumpled paper in front of them, littering the floor – Chelsey's eyes widened as she realised what they were –

'My diary!'

'Ten out of ten for observation. But it won't win you any prizes, too late for that. Yes the cops attributed the parts found on Goldhawk's body to you, Marty dear, and to you Chelsey – before finally believing the culprit was Adrian. Not a single one twigged it was me.' A cold laugh, but she held the gun held menacingly straight. 'I bided my time you see, I knew what I wanted to do, I followed you to Lyndhurst but I couldn't believe my luck, dear Marty, when you tore up the M3 with the intention of throttling Goldhawk. Tut, tut, dropping your room keys in the hotel car park like that...'

Chelsey, her gaze unwavering on Casey, took a step forward. 'What are you going to get out of blasting us to kingdom come? Why are you doing this?'

'Goldhawk, Chelsey and you Marty. An unholy trinity out to deceive, exploit me and steal my ideas.'

'What? You're out of your mind.'

An ironic laugh, with more than a hint of madness barrelled into the air. 'Perhaps I am, but there's many a truth revealed in madness...'

'Alexander was about to abandon me, having made his money and abused my services – in just the way he rejected you, Chelsey. And you Marty – I was so fond of you – but you devoted more time to her than was good – you should have known she mimicked my work. She didn't have half my talent. But now things have changed – I can write my final chapter – _Stapleton's Demise_ will become my biggest seller, with a real life edge to it – and guess what Marty my boy – you're Stapleton. Even the most inept agent or crooked publisher will buy this one, and let's face it sunshine, they don't come any more inept than you...'

'Put the gun down, Casey.' Carruthers got to his feet, slowly outstretching his hand. 'I'll see you get help.'

'Stay where you are!' Casey gnashed her teeth. 'Let me gloat on this moment. I've been waiting for the right opportunity – there was a moment in the barn I thought I had you both at my mercy – huh! I even laid eyes on the perfect weapon, there was an iron shovel in the corner – but then Noades showed up and I had to put things on hold. Yeah, that's right, I hedged my bets. I reckon I'd make a darned good actress. I only pretended I wanted out of the woods. I guessed my chance would come and I'd get the pair of you together. Adrian was my problem, he had the gun – without it I could have taken him – and in any case he didn't quite fit the script.' Casey took a step closer. 'But he did leave me this as a parting gift.'

Chelsey matched her movement. 'Isn't the truth really that you courted favour from all and sundry – and when the tide turned you couldn't cope with it? Give me that blasted thing...'

'No, Chelsey – no!' Carruthers yelled, but too late. Chelsey had sprung forward, all lethargy blown away by the adrenaline that flooded her veins. She'd forced Carruthers aside, her hand grasping the weapon's nozzle, forcing it upward, her height and superior strength too much for Casey to cope with. The gun was levered still higher until Casey's wrist gave and her enraged screech invaded the air.

'I'll have that thank you very much – and you can have this...' Chelsey's right fist struck Casey plum on the jaw, the power of the blow sending the dark haired woman crashing to the floor.

There was a commotion in the outside corridor and Chelsey, after casting an assessing glance at her dazed foe threw the weapon to Carruthers. 'Can I trust you with this?'

Chelsey threw open the door to find Inspector Jack Manners, Higginbotham and a handful of officers racing towards her. She turned, flung out an arm and glared down at the stricken woman. 'I take it you're looking for her? A bit late in the day if I might say so. The matter's been dealt with.'

She afforded them the faintest of smiles. 'Well you were half-way there, I suppose. At what point did you realise there was more than one villain in the piece?'

It was Higginbotham who spoke, Manners appearing unwilling to do so. 'The Inspector's been catching up on his homework,' he said in a manner which betrayed irritation.

'Not quickly enough,' Chelsey cut in, 'nothing like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.'

Manners lowered his head, and for Carruthers, not the greatest admirer of the man, there was some satisfaction that he actually seemed humble. He swallowed. 'I apologise, Mrs. Carruthers, for getting my sums wrong initially – I failed to take into account Miss Jennings' history.

'I came across the details purely by chance; I hadn't ruled out totally the fact that another party might be involved. I'd been trawling through records for unsolved cases at headquarters in Hounslow and picked up on one from 1988. A young boy drowned in the Grand Union Canal in the area. It was treated as a suspicious death and followed a heated classroom argument between the youngster and a girl by the name of Casey Jennings.' Manners studied their demeanour, waited for his words to take effect. 'Yes – none other than...' he stretched an arm towards the corridor, where Casey was now being escorted away. 'She was prime suspect; her schoolteacher described her as brilliant but potentially violent. Unfortunately her alibi was substantiated by her mother – chiefly that the girl returned straight from school after being dismissed from class and was indoors by three-thirty when the incident would have taken place. I found one or two other instances involving her - nothing more than minor skirmishes really – but all in all enough to get the cogs grinding. I slept on it, very unsoundly if I might say so – and then, when I obtained a warrant for Miss Jennings' house I came across her work in progress, _Stapleton's Demise_ – it all fitted then. I was halfway here before I received the sergeant's call.' Manners remorseless grey eyes had yielded to a softer tinge reflecting abject apology as he added, Anyway, we need to get the woman back to the station. I'll leave the Sergeant to take your statements – providing you feel up to it...'

'I just want the whole business over with,' Chelsey said tiredly. 'I thought it was until she barged in – I might have known.'

'Some right hand you've got there,' Manners said ruefully as he left. 'I sincerely hope you don't have to use it in that manner again.'

'I wouldn't bank on it.' But Chelsey Carruthers managed a wry smile, rubbing her fist along her husband's chin.

Manners left for London that night with scarcely a word to Higginbotham. He knew that his explanation had been someway short of the truth and that the Sergeant resented him for that. And although the case was finished he'd been perhaps seconds too late to claim the credit; that hurt him more than anything, never mind what the yokel thought.

# Chapter Forty Five

'So where are you planning on going?' The question had been on Carruthers' mind throughout the journey back from the New Forest and he couldn't hold back any longer.

'Say again?' Chelsey, still pale from her ordeal led Carruthers through the door, dropping her case in the hall.

'Well you were adamant you wanted a break away from me – from everything...' Carruthers probed, following her as she bustled into the kitchen.

'Ah, that.' Chelsey raised her eyes to his, locked onto him. 'Originally yes, I guess I was so overcome by it all. But while you were driving back at snail's pace I had a chance to think, to untangle the brain and put the house in order so to speak.'

Carruthers swallowed heavily. 'Well, don't leave it there, I'm intrigued.'

'Yes, I can tell.' Chelsey took a step forward, pinching his chin between forefinger and thumb, and then turned away, pouring water into the kettle. 'This little escapade needs writing about – don't you think?'

Carruthers lowered his jaw, gave a loud exhalation. 'I don't follow...'

'It shouldn't be too difficult for you. I mean there's a story waiting to be written here, one with a real-life edge that you don't get in an everyday novel. So I guess I should be getting on with it.'

'Chelsey...' Carruthers clutched his forehead; the drive home may have been at snail's pace in Chelsey's opinion but it had also been wearing; by her silence he'd assumed Chelsey had been making preparation for a break without him – permanently, had been his greatest fear. He should be mightily relieved that that didn't appear to be the case, but – 'Chelsey,' he raise a hand to her shoulder, drawing her towards him. 'That was precisely what Casey was engaged in; no matter how demented she might have been in her reasons for writing it you can't simply steal her story.'

Chelsey broke from his grasp, poured water into the kettle and then swung back to him, clutching his hands. 'But that's the point, it's my story hon'. No matter what she writes while she's locked away in her prison cell it won't compare with mine. It'll have my edge, my angle – a whole different perspective.' She pulled him onto tip-toes. 'So don't go on about _her_ story. Are you with me or not?'

'You know I am.' Carruthers took a strand of his wife's fair hair, entwined it between his fingers.

'And you'll act for me? Find me a publisher who isn't a rogue or corrupt in any shape or form?'

Fixed on Chelsey's eyes Carruthers smiled at the mischief in them. 'That's another matter; you know I can't promise you that. And you know that as different and compelling as your tale will no doubt turn out to be, you'll have to compete with the notoriety that will lend its hand to Casey's work. She'll have an unfair advantage...'

Chelsey twisted her lips, the trace of a half-smile but said nothing, simply strolling into the lounge and the mini-bar, selecting two goblets and a bottle of Burgundy. Handing the bottle to him, she said, 'Then let's christen my new baby with something stronger.'

