Читать книгу A Better Tomorrow - D. C. Dalby - Страница 4

Maxine Graff stepped out of the shower and watched most of her fake tan drain away down the plug hole. The clothing she had worn, along with the wig, all fitted neatly into the large shoulder bag. The entire deal now rested at the bottom of the river.

She toweled herself down and thought about the event. The policewoman, a detective of some sort, appearing as she did was unexpected, but nothing to be vastly concerned about. Fuller evidently suspected something. Maybe Grant hadn’t been as careful as he should have been when gathering information.

Maxine shook her head. No, that wasn’t like Grant, besides, with his background he wouldn’t have been seen.

However, if Fuller was the nervous kind and was always on his guard….

It doesn’t matter, she told herself forcefully. The job was done. It had been smooth and simple. A knock at the door. Fuller opens it. He likes what he sees. From then on a simple matter to take him to the bathroom and finish him.

The policewoman had been quick on the scene. The thought continued in her head. A few minutes earlier and it would have become messy.

Maxine stepped out of the bathroom. The Caliburn Hotel was one of the best in town, and, she suspected, was today what The Orient Park had been to the 1930s.

Except this hadn’t been a hotel back then. It had been a privately owned house. According to the tourist information The Caliburn Hotel, before the property developers had got their greasy little mitts on it, had been the stronghold of Giles de Bracineaux, Grand Master of the Knights Templar.

Maxine stood, totally naked, by the window and looked down onto the hotel grounds. The whole damn town just reeked of age and tradition and history. She should, she thought, be somehow reassured by that, but instead it just made her feel….old.

She leaned on the window sill. Beneath her she watched a car draw up and a family get out. Harassed looking parents. Mother and father on the first day of their holiday, having just got here. A couple of children, awake and enthusiastic. Neither of them above twelve. The girl looked the eldest. How did they put up with this town? How did the people who lived in this bloody museum of a town manage to get by without going mad?

So many churches, empty but for the tourists. Museums packed with camera toting Americans. Art galleries devoted to the treasures of the past. It was like a time warp.

Below her the mother and father were unloading the luggage. Their car was a fairly standard Eurobox. They all looked the same to Maxine. A nondescript silver grey. No doubt the father worked in IT or sales management or something equally dull. Mother looked to be doing her best despite having two children to deal with.

She noted the son wore an MP3 player, his head nodding away to whatever passed for music these days.

Maxine allowed herself a smile. She was getting old. When the current popular music began to sound like noise you knew you were getting old.

The son and daughter were dressed in a similar fashion. Trainers, which were, probably, overpriced. Jeans. T-shirts, both with some motif Maxine couldn’t clearly make out, but which looked colourful. They each wore blue puffy jackets, open, but with hoods, which was sensible, given the kind of weather Templecaneston “enjoyed.”

The girl was the one to look up first, her brother too engrossed in his music. Her mouth opened in surprise. Maxine smiled and waved back. The girl giggled and nudged her brother. She said something to him and his head immediately shot up.

Maxine gave him the same friendly smile and wave, enjoying the look of surprise and shock on his face.

Then their parents hauled up behind them and the father patted his daughter’s shoulder.

Maxine shuddered automatically and shrank back from the window. She shook her head to clear away the long ago memories.

Not every little girl had a father like hers.

Thankfully.

She let out her breath. All of that was long ago, well in the past. Her father was long dead. As for now, as for today….

Clothes. As for now she would have to get dressed.

She pulled open the dressing table drawers. The furniture here wasn’t of the highest quality, but then it wasn’t the rubbish she’d encountered in lesser hotels either. She pulled on a pair of everyday black briefs and a plain nude coloured bra. Nothing exotic. She wasn’t looking to stand out. A pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt were good choices. She strapped on a pair of blue and white Dusty trainers. The Dusties were a bit expensive as trainers went, but they were good quality footwear too.

Maxine put on a denim jacket to keep out the chill.

Her mind continued to wander back to Fuller and the policewoman. Foolish, pointless speculation. Yes, the woman had been taller than Maxine, and she looked capable too. But they had passed each other without word or incident, the policewoman suspecting nothing. Except perhaps that a tralk had been visiting someone, which was Maxine had wanted people to think.

She smiled at the raised eyebrows when she had pushed out her augmented chest. Had there been something else too?

Perhaps.

She grinned, immediately feeling better. If nothing else she’d given a dyke policewoman a pleasant surprise before outwitting her.

Maxine stepped out of her hotel room.

The next name on the list was Frank Tomelty. Former police detective inspector. Though he could wait a little while, she had a few ideas about approaching him and wanted to think them, through.

She rode down to the ground floor in the lift. Alone, no one seemed to be about much this early. She ordered a light breakfast of grapefruit and a glass of orange juice in the hotel restaurant.

As she was finishing the family she’d seen earlier came in for food.

If they even noticed her, sitting alone in the corner, none of them showed it.

Maxine looked out at the dull grey morning and contemplated killing.

*

Louise Bowman, across town stepped out of the cramped shower at the rear of the caravan. She hurriedly toweled down and dressed. As nights went it hadn’t been so bad. She’d endured much worse. The selection course for example a few years ago. Now that made this place look like the Hilton.

She chuckled slightly and stretched. She wasn’t as young as she used to be but she was fit and able. She plugged in her juice extractor. She’d brought a lot of things with her. Her husband reckoned she was crazy. It wasn’t as if she was going to the developing world, just the North of England. Which was all very well, but this was a caravan and the “all mod cons” promise had been something of an exaggeration. She opened the small fridge freezer. It seemed Ms…whoever had lived here before either was very generous and left a stocked larder for the next potential resident. Or, far more likely, Martin Ross had ordered a delivery online from the local supermarket. She put some mixed greens from a plastic bag into the juicer and picked up a small piece of ginger. She trimmed it using one of the ceramic bladed knives she had brought with her. Ross had provided her with four knives in a clear Perspex block. She had, idly picked one out after he left her to unpack. The knife had been light and cheap. The handle plastic and the manufacturer one she’d never heard of.

In went a chopped red apple. Apple and ginger. Very tasty. She added a pear also. You had to juice pairs. Or drink pear cider. Pears were a mystery to her. They were dry as dust and rock hard for ages. Then, overnight, a disgusting mushy mess. Pears were the one fruit that seemed to have evolved with the juicer in mind.

She spooned in some mixed seeds. These she had brought with her. Technically she was a product of the North and knew that the stereotypical unhealthy pie munching brown ale swilling northerner was as absurd as any cultural stereotype. Yet a part of her insisted on playing it safe.

In went some seedless grapes and a few cubes of ice.

The machine screamed and reduced the whole lot to a drinkable juice in a minute of so.

Louise sat at the, rather flimsy, drop down table and drank the juice for breakfast. It was light outside, but the kind of light that Temple Caneston always had. A dull, diffused, slightly grey daylight that always threatened rain. That so often delivered on the threat.

She had cleaned up the juicer, being simply a litre jar and the blade assembly. She had washed up the dinner things from last night. She had a light meal. Some stir fried veggies with chicken strips and a spring onion sauce. Sometimes her level of organization irritated her husband but That was how she was.

She laced on her trainers. She wore a pair of light coloured and lightweight trousers teamed with a pale grey sleeveless top that was a good deal more fitted. She would go for her morning run in a short while, but for now she opened up her laptop computer.

She logged into her email and scrolled down, removing the many pointless emails that everyone seemed to receive and archiving ones related to shopping or official things such as banking.

That left her with four emails. The first was an official confirmation from the genetics study company. It was an expensive business and her husband hadn’t been keen on the idea anyway. But the results were enlightening and the cost had been split three ways. If nothing else she had to admit that she had received a good deal more cooperation from everyone involved. More than she had expected.

The second email was from Martin Ross. She read that one through slowly and carefully twice. It was a long message and she didn’t really believe everything it contained. Which is to say Ross. Himself. Either believed it all or, far more likely, wanted desperately to believe the things he’d written. She sighed, you couldn’t go back. People always said that and a lot of time they were right. There were all the clichés about too much water going under bridges and what have you. But, at the end of the day, if people didn’t get on, they didn’t get on. Louise did consider this a lot, over the years she’d thought about it long and hard. She had spoken with her husband many times. Until, probably, the poor man had been sick of the subject.

In a way she hadn’t wanted to come back here. But sometimes the pull of new information is too much. She’d managed to swing six weeks from work to get here. That hadn’t been easy. It had taken a couple of appeals and a good deal of explanation. Then there was the matter of where to stay. The house, despite Ross’ assurances was out of the question. It had never been a happy place….

Louise corrected herself, it had once, a very long time ago, been a very happy place indeed. Then it had changed. She accepted her share of the blame but even now a simple apology wouldn’t fix things.

A hotel might have been a much better idea but Ross had suggested the static caravan. It was very inexpensive. It was private. This was an isolated area away from the main park. She had an internet connection and no one would bother her here. She could do what she came here to do, then go back to her husband. With any luck in a lot less than the six weeks she had allocated the task.

The third email was from someone she didn’t know, and had yet to meet. Hazel Vernon, This email was the latest in several they had exchanged over the past few weeks.

Though she didn’t know Hazel, she was impressed with the woman and how organized she was. Hazel was more cautious than Ross, but seemed to be friendly and approachable. Louise looked forward to seeing her.

The last email, as ever, was from Don, her husband. She smiled as she read it through. He was missing her. He hoped everything was going well. Couldn’t wait for her to get back and they might put some of her break to better use than looking up the past.

Maybe finding the future too, she thought. Then shook her head. Getting far too fanciful there.

Louise decided that was a good sign to shut off the computer and go for a run.

She locked up the caravan. It was probably a useless gesture. There would be spare keys at the office. Then she jogged out of the site. The warm up run took her past the other caravanners. No one she recognized. But they were a type. Middle aged, prosperous. Looking a bit pale and soft. They were hurrying around doing whatever it was they did. Sitting under multi-coloured awnings to keep out of the rain.

She left the caravan site by the pedestrian exit. If Ross was around he would be in the office by the main entrance. She ran down the pavement and noted several 4x4 vehicles approaching towing caravans. So even the questionable weather didn’t dampen their spirits.

She nearly laughed at that thought. They were in vehicles. She was the one running down the street in the rain.

The caravan site was, technically, out of town by at least a klick. Louise oriented herself and began running towards town. If she remembered the map correctly this would take her close to the river. She would run down a narrow road that serviced a farm. There were houses she’d pass, though not many, and not all inhabited. She would then emerge by the river, just near a bridge to the western part of town.

As she ran she passed a few people walking dogs. Don was always talking about getting a dog. Some big loping Labrador like the one he had when he was a kid. Louise quite liked the idea. Or at least she had no strong objections. Her husband knew about dogs and he would be the one to walk the animal, feed, water and clean up after it. She had noticed all the dog walkers carried plastic bags. She smiled, maybe they should get a cat.

The run was damp but uneventful. In some ways it was quite pretty. The countryside was green and wooded and sparsely populated with a few sheep and cows. Further down, when she reached the river, she could see the yellow fields of oil seed rape. Growing a product that was on the way out. That was Caneston all over. The city was old, it reeked of age. The Romans, The Vikings, The Knights Templar who gave this place its name. She ran past a large, empty house. It looked spooky, or would if she believed in such things. With the boarded up windows and broken, weed infested yard.

Further down she passed the farm. She could see some vehicles parked up. The road was slightly wider here, but she didn’t see anyone else. Either on foot or driving.

Eventually she encountered more houses. Urban houses. Small, connected, with neat little gardens and neat but old cars parked in a line outside.

She ran under the railway bridge. The flood defences were more noticeable here. The high sloping banks had given way to modern military green metal barriers. Their bases set in thick waterproof rubber seals.

The rain had formed a large, deep, pond in the base of the underpass. Louise continued right to the edge then leapt. Her right foot came down solidly on a brick that someone had tossed into the middle of the pond. Then she was airborne again, landing safely and dryly on the other side.

She powered up the steep slope to the path. The bridge and main road was in plain sight now. She reached it in a minute or so and began her return trip down the pavement near the road.

She felt fit and energized and ready to face the day.

She also knew why she had returned home and what she needed to do now she was here.