Double Jeopardy, page 7
The pub was not packed, although there was still a reasonable number of people and a loud hum of noise. Apart from a couple of disinterested glances from people by the door, no one had paid him any attention as he went in. Gray dealt with his most pressing concern first and then made his way to the bar to order a pint of beer. He placed his order with the barmaid, paid, took a welcome sip and, leaning his back against the bar, turned to survey the pub and its clientele as he absorbed its warmth and atmosphere. There were tables dotted around and a number of dark nooks in angles of the walls, although not all were occupied. A noisy darts match was underway on the opposite side of the bar and a young man nearby was pumping money into a slot machine with intense concentration. The machine was giving out a lot of bright lights but not much in the way of cash. Gray pulled a face. Despite having most of the vices, gambling was surprisingly not one of them and he rather despised those who he saw as pouring their money away. He carried on with his survey of the pub’s occupants.
He almost missed seeing them. A couple were sitting at a small table in a dark corner away from the main bar area, their heads close together as they engaged in what was clearly an animated and intimate conversation. Gray’s glance swept past them, then registered what he had seen and moved back again. He paused with his glass to his lips, staring in stupefied amazement. He had never seen the man before in his life, but the woman he knew very well indeed. She had long, honey-coloured hair, a pretty face and, even though he could see little of it from that angle, he knew that she had a curving, well-proportioned body. Her name was Beverly Wallace and the only man she should have been in intimate conversation with was Harry Milton. As Gray watched, the man reached out and took Beverly’s hand, leaned over and kissed her on the lips. It was a long, self-absorbed kiss and dispelled any doubt that the relationship between them was passionate.
For a few moments, Gray was not sure what to do. Constructive thought – unless it involved razors or heavy, blunt instruments – was not his strong suit. Beverly Wallace and her companion did not seem to have spotted him and he realized that it would be best if they were kept in ignorance of his presence. He turned his back to them and moved further round the bar to where he was shielded from the direct view of the corner table by other customers. Gray took his mobile phone from his pocket and, under the guise of making a call, manoeuvred himself into a position from which he could take photographs of Beverly and her companion. That provided the evidence in case Milton didn’t believe him. Gray finished his drink in three quick swallows, put his glass down on a convenient side table and made his way back to the door, careful not to look in Beverly Wallace’s direction. Outside, he buttoned his short car coat and stepped out into the night. There was still some dampness in the air, but the worst of the rain seemed to be over for now.
Gray paused and looked round, searching for the familiar car. He saw it, parked to the left and in the shadow of a side wall. He checked the number plate just to make sure. Yes, it was definitely Beverly’s car. What the hell was she playing at? Well, it was actually pretty obvious what she was playing at, Gray grinned wolfishly as he thought of that, but two-timing Harry Milton was a good way to find yourself in a ditch with a bullet in the head – if he was feeling generous. A cheating girlfriend would face something much more prolonged. She must be mad. Gray’s smile broadened. If he was lucky, he might get a chance to participate in the punishment. He felt a stirring of anticipation as he thought of that.
Moving towards his car, Gray considered his options. He could follow Beverly’s boyfriend and find out where he lived. Or, he could get back to Milton’s house so that they would be waiting there to accuse her when she arrived home. He decided on the latter course. He had noticed a signpost at a T-junction just beyond the pub, so once he got his bearings he should easily be able to beat Beverly home; she had seemed in no hurry to leave. He would get back to Milton’s house as quickly as possible. It would be fun to be there when she walked in unsuspectingly to face Milton’s anger and he was sure she would soon tell them who the man was and where he could be found.
Gray got into his car and drove slowly out of the pub car-park. There was no sign of anyone else leaving. He should have plenty of time. He turned right on to the road and drove up towards the T-junction. Stansfield, an area of prosperous houses and even more prosperous owners situated on the outskirts of the city, was one of the places signposted to the right. With a nod of satisfaction, Gray turned that way.
The new road was unlit past the junction. Once again, tall trees bordered the road and soon the only light was from his headlights carving into the darkness. After a couple of miles, there was no sign of further habitation and no more signposts. There had been a couple of what appeared to be minor roads leading off from his road and Gray began to panic that he had missed his turning. The road was narrow and winding and had several deep puddles that threw water against the side of his car as he drove on, speeding up gradually as his anxiety built until he was travelling far too fast for the wet and muddy conditions.
Without warning, it started to rain heavily again. Gray cursed as his windshield became suddenly obscured and the road dipped steeply downhill. He switched on the wipers in time to see the black and white zigzag warning of a curve looming up in his lights. He panicked and braked sharply, sending the car into a spin. The car skidded off the road between two trees and careered down a grassy slope before smashing headfirst into an old oak that had withstood the ravages of the centuries and had no intention of giving way to a cheap motor car.
Gray was jerked forward with the impact, his head smacked against the edge of the windscreen with a nasty thud and he slumped back in his seat, unconscious, blood trickling down the side of his face. The car lights had gone out when the car hit the tree, the engine died and silence and darkness returned. When the next car went past on the road five minutes later, the few signs that there were of the accident were hidden by the darkness and the rain.
Beverly Wallace drove up to the tall, wrought-iron gates and stopped. After a few moments the camera set into the brickwork of the right-hand post recorded her identity and the gates swung open. Beverly drove up to the front of the large 1930s house in Stansfield and pressed a switch under the dashboard. The doors to the double garage swung up and she drove in. She got out of the car, walked back outside and took a small remote control from her shoulder bag to close it again. She glanced at her watch. Eleven o’clock. Not too bad. Her stomach tightened at the thought of what she had to do that night, but she pushed the spurt of fear to the back of her mind. She must not do anything to raise any suspicions.
She let herself into the house and was just unbuttoning her coat when Harry Milton came out of his study into the large square hall. He stopped and looked at her, a smile on his face.
‘Hello, Beverly – have a good evening?’ He was a tall, well-built man with a narrow face and broad, square shoulders. He kept himself in good physical condition and the solid body was well muscled. When you saw him for the first time, he seemed amiable, even jovial, but if you looked into his eyes, there was a cold, calculating indifference that was anything but reassuring. He wore an expensive three-piece dark-blue suit with a thin white stripe, a pale-blue shirt and matching tie. He was always immaculately and expensively dressed, nearly always in a suit and tie, even when the weather was hot. He walked across to her and ran one hand up inside her coat as he drew her towards him.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she smiled, and managed to return the passion in the kiss that he gave her, as his big hand caressed her breast, squeezing it a little too hard and causing her to breathe in sharply.
‘How is your sister?’
Milton liked to keep control of his employees and to constantly remind them that he could manipulate their lives. He was also pleased if, like Beverly, they had some spirit and an inclination to defiance; it meant that he felt even more power when they obeyed him. He allowed Beverly the freedom to go out but he always wanted to know where she was. A few months before she had started going to dance classes twice a week. Milton liked to move in rich social circles and had the money to indulge himself. He attended a number of social functions with other businessmen, some more scrupulous than he was and a few others less so. Beverly usually attended such functions with him and it added a touch of class when she could dance well, in addition to looking stunning in the expensive dresses he brought for her.
Beverly was also allowed to visit her sister on a regular basis. Milton did not know that her evenings out often had little to do with learning new steps – not for dancing purposes, anyway – and that she had only seen her sister twice in the last three months.
‘She’s fine, thanks.’ Beverly knew that Milton couldn’t care less how her sister was. She gave a not wholly fictitious yawn. ‘God, I’m bushed tonight; I think I’ll turn in – unless you need me?’
Milton was obsessive about cleanliness, if he did want her she would have time to take the shower that would be needed to wash away more than just sweat and dirt.
‘I may pop along later, but I’ve got some business to finish now.’ He smiled, squeezed her breast again and turned back to the study.
The ‘business’ was probably waiting for Reggie Gray to report in. Beverly knew that he had gone out on an errand that afternoon. She hid a shiver and walked up the wide staircase to her first-floor bedroom. A number of Milton’s employees and acquaintances frightened her, but Gray gave her the creeps as well. Comparing Gray to Milton was like being scared of a snake compared to being scared of a lion. At least the lion had some outward appearance of being soft and cuddly, even if you knew he wasn’t really.
Beverly had been Milton’s lover for over two years, since he had spotted her working as a hostess in one of his clubs. They had separate bedrooms because he often kept late hours and he made a pretence of not wanting to disturb her. The truth was that he liked to keep her on her toes and on occasion would come in after she was asleep and expect her full attention. He didn’t single her out for that sort of treatment, he kept all of his staff alert and ready to respond to his needs, whether related to business or pleasure. She knew that he saw her as just another of his employees, there to serve his needs and respond to his demands and to be removed when she became ineffective or troublesome, or he grew bored with her. After more than two years, she was aware that her position had lasted longer than many before her. That made what she was about to do a lot easier, if not less nerve-racking.
She got to her room and closed and locked the door. The bedroom was dominated by the large double bed that stood to the right of the door below a mirrored ceiling.
Beverly draped her coat over the end of the bed, crossed to the windows and drew the curtains. She undressed, went into the en-suite bathroom and took a shower. The hot water relaxed her a little and she quickly washed and dried herself. Putting on her dressing-gown, she walked back into the main bedroom. It irritated her that she had to behave as if there was something wrong about her secret affair, when she knew that it was her relationship with Milton that was grubby and demeaning. Still, after today there would be no more grabbing illicit pleasure in smelly hotel rooms and the back of a car, like cheating adulterers or fumbling teenagers. She hugged herself and felt a thrill of pleased anticipation coupled with the ache of fear at what Milton would do if he caught them afterwards – or caught her leaving.
Walking over to the wardrobe, she slid back one of the doors, took down two large suitcases from the top shelf, put them on the bed and unzipped the lids. Quickly and carefully, listening out for the sound of anyone coming upstairs, she packed the cases with clothes and other essentials and the few personal possessions that she valued. A loose floorboard at the back of the wardrobe was lifted and the money and jewellery she had accumulated over the past two years was added to the cases. After checking the wardrobes and the rest of the room to make sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything, Beverly closed the bulging cases and put them back into the wardrobe. They were heavy, but she wouldn’t have to carry them very far. She put them on the wardrobe floor, hidden as much as possible towards the back behind some long dresses and coats. Milton never looked in her wardrobe, so they should be safe enough there. She left on the top shelf a third case, not quite as large as the others and with a strap that meant she could carry it on her shoulder. That would not be needed until later.
Selecting jeans, a thick polo-neck jumper and some soft-soled trainers, Beverly put them to one side. That was all she could do for now. Her heart beating much faster than the recent activity warranted, she unlocked the door, turned off the light, removed her dressing-gown and got into bed. She lay dozing, the mixture of excitement and fear building inside her and making her toss and turn. She woke from a light doze just after midnight as voices came up the stairs and she felt herself tense as she prayed that Milton would not pay her a visit. He wasn’t the most over-sensitive of men, but he was bound to sense the tension inside her if he came to her that night. She relaxed as the familiar voice passed her door and she heard him enter his bedroom. From what she could hear of the conversation, it sounded as though Gray had failed to show up and they couldn’t raise him on his mobile. Milton was clearly not best pleased. After a few minutes, she drifted off to sleep again.
It was two o’clock when the soft alarm in her wristwatch awakened Beverly. She got out of bed quickly and dressed as quietly as possible, alert to any noise from the corridor outside. She crept to her door and eased it open. The house was silent and in darkness. Apart from herself and Milton, there were four other regular occupants of the house: Jack Pace, Milton’s bodyguard and general enforcer, and Horace Soames, Milton’s secretary and accountant, both slept on the same corridor as she did. There were two live-in domestic staff, Janice Gardner, the cook, and Jane Weston, a young woman who was loosely described as a maid but whose job description covered far more than hoovering and dusting and who had formed an attachment with Pace. Gardner and Weston slept in another wing of the house except when Weston was being entertained by Pace, but the other three would be roused if there was any unexpected noise.
Beverly had a small torch in her hand, but did not use it as she moved softly across the landing and felt for the banister rail. A window at the end of the corridor provided a little filtered light from the street outside, enough for her to make her way to the head of the stairs. She went carefully down the stairs, walking at the edge so that they would not creak. At the bottom, she paused again and listened carefully. There was no sound. She walked round to the cupboard under the stairs. Opening the door, she used her torch for the first time as she keyed in the password that switched off the alarm system. The system beeped twice as it turned off and Beverly froze, waiting to see if anyone had been woken by the brief noise. It was a good five minutes before the continued silence gave her the courage to continue.
If anything, it was even more of a strain to go back upstairs once more to her room, knowing she was getting closer to Milton again. There was no convincing explanation that she could think of if he found her wandering around the house in the dark, fully dressed and carrying a torch. Beverly took a few deep breaths at the top of the stairs to steady herself. Once back in her room, she took the cases from the cupboard, put on her coat and put the torch in her shoulder bag. With the empty case slung across her back and carrying the two suitcases, she left her room and carefully locked the door behind her. The longer it took them in the morning to realize that she had gone, the better. She made her way back down the stairs, once again glad that she would not have to carry her cases very far. It might have been more prudent to restrict herself to one main case and the one across her back, but she was determined to take away as much as possible from the last two years – at least in a material sense.
Outside the door to Milton’s study, she put down the cases and took from her shoulder bag the duplicate key she had managed to get cut a few weeks before. She had taken Milton’s own spare key from his desk and he had almost caught her when she returned it. The thought of what he would have done to her had he realized the truth gave her a moment of blind panic. Beverly took some more deep breaths, eased the key into the lock and turned it carefully. Even the faint click as the lock turned sounded like a crack of thunder in the silent house. This time she did not wait, from now on she needed to move as quickly as was prudently possible. Beverly opened the door, picked up her cases and went inside. It was tiresome having to move the cases with her each time, but if someone did wake up and come downstairs, she would stand still less chance of escaping detection if the cases were standing in the hall.
Putting her cases down just inside the door, Beverly locked the study door from the inside before she switched on her torch again and crossed to the large desk that dominated one side of the room. The room was wood panelled and had heavy leather armchairs and book-lined walls. Some books had been bought for decoration, but Milton had a good collection of volumes on both art and military strategy that he often perused. A number of original oil paintings were hung around the walls. Thick curtains covered the windows, but Beverly did not dare switch on a light in case it shone into the hall from under the door. The room smelt of Milton’s strong cigars and gave the impression that his spirit was still in the room, watching her. Although that was just a piece of fancy, Beverly could have done without it slipping into her subconscious at that point. The only sound was the ticking of the ornate Louis XIV-style clock that stood in the centre of the imposing mantelpiece.
