Simmy had seated herself near a window in the Queen’s Head pub, with a glass of wine and a ploughman’s. Her view of the street was patchy, and there was no way she could be sure of Bonnie’s movements from there, but she was content for the moment to be close enough to be of some use if there was trouble. In a few minutes she would phone the girl and ask if she was all right, without revealing how nearby she was. It was a poor compromise, she supposed, but better than nothing.
Her car was in the main car park, which was full to bursting with visitors’ vehicles. It seemed they routinely left the car there and went off in all directions on foot. A great many of them were in the town, messing about in the shops and pubs instead of climbing the fells as might be expected.
Bonnie had leapt ahead of her in the search for Ben, putting her to shame for her lethargy and hopelessness. She must have discovered something from that Barnaby boy which sent her into the middle of Hawkshead, because Simmy had seen the girl walking the quarter-mile from Colthouse into the village, and felt a pang of frustrated remorse that she wasn’t at least driving her. She had been told to go away, it was true, but she ought not to have obeyed the order. Bonnie was little more than a child, unable to grasp the real danger she would be in if she tried to tackle the unknown murderers.
Simmy drained her glass, thinking she ought to indulge in wine a bit more often. It made her feel relaxed and optimistic. The ploughman’s included the nicest chutney she’d had for ages, and there was a very pretty girl behind the bar. In the midst of violence and worry, she found herself in a momentary oasis of calm. It was her nature to do so, she supposed. Never tempted to see herself as a rescuer, she was content to be the bringer of delight in the form of flowers. And even though the occasion was not always a happy one, the flowers themselves gave pleasure.
Then she saw people she recognised outside. It was the couple from the hotel, the Lillywhites, walking briskly along the pavement towards the village centre. The wife was in front, which seemed at odds with the relationship Simmy had observed on Tuesday. She was throwing remarks over her shoulder at the husband, who looked mutinous, but not nearly as domineering as Simmy remembered. They certainly did not look like carefree holidaymakers.
She watched them out of sight, wondering whether she ought to follow. The idea was both exciting and ridiculous. They would see her in no time, because she was tall and unskilled and Hawkshead was a very small place. That would be embarrassing. So she finished the last of her cheese and sat back for a moment, asking herself exactly what she thought she was doing.
Then another familiar figure passed by the window. This time it was the smart woman in high heels, head held high and tight skirt emphasising the curves of her posterior. The word streetwalker flashed disconcertingly into Simmy’s head. The wiggling walk was provocative, and quite out of place amongst these wholesome fell walkers and their friends. Except, she supposed, nobody was altogether wholesome. In ordinary life, they were quite likely to be addicted to gambling or online pornography or be cruel to animals, or conducting dishonest transactions of one kind or another. Bad people went on holiday just as much as good ones – possibly even more, spending their ill-gotten profits.
The woman teetered away, the heels of her shoes surely lethal on the cobbled streets.
And this time, Simmy got up and followed.
Afterwards, she could not properly account for the way time telescoped. Events felt to be passing in a flash, from that moment when she left the pub, even though there were long minutes in which nothing happened and she felt mad with frustration and indecision. The little procession proceeded the few yards into the centre of Hawkshead, where there were cafés, galleries and a big abandoned bookshop. Simmy loitered uncomfortably, keeping the dark figure of the high-heeled woman in view and hoping not to be noticed herself. The woman went around the disused shop, where there was an open area in front of the King’s Arms pub. A shop selling fancy jams and cheeses was the main attraction. A steeper street led up to the church. Simmy wondered if she could walk briskly past as if going up there, without being recognised. It would give her a useful vantage point. So she gave it a try, rounding the corner and trying not to catch the eye of any of her three quarries gathered together outside the bigger and more handsome building attached to the empty one. The two women were speaking, while the man stood a little distance away.
Clumsily, Simmy walked by. A large man was walking towards her, and she stepped around him, so he would hide her from sight. Then a woman pushing a baby buggy provided a similar screen. By the time she dared take another look, the trio had closed up and were apparently heading back the way they’d just come.
This was stupid, Simmy told herself. The people were just chatting. She ought to call Bonnie to check she was all right and then get back to work. Nothing here would help to find Ben or catch Dan’s killers. She got her phone out and turned it on. It felt good to have the means to connect to a friendly voice. Perhaps she’d call her mother, or Ninian or even Helen Harkness, before Bonnie. Ninian never answered his phone, though. It had surprised Simmy to learn that he even had one. Helen might not be in any mood to chat, and her mother was likely to have nothing but depressing things to report about her father.
She looked up again, thinking about her options, her gaze on the big picture window of the empty shop. Something inside moved. Something light-coloured, barely visible against the sunny glare of the street. It was impossible to be sure what it was, but the way it moved indicated a person, darting unnaturally fast across the open space. When she blinked, it had gone, and none of the handful of people close by showed any sign of having seen the same thing.
No longer caring about remaining concealed or conducting her idiotic shadowing of the hotel guests, she went to the window and peered in. There was a dusty blue carpet on the floor and a door was open in a corner. Nothing moved. There was every reason to think she’d imagined the ghostly figure that had looked so worryingly like Bonnie Lawson. And even if she had seen something, how could it possibly be of any significance? No reason, and yet she knew in her guts that something climactic was happening. Then her phone rang.
‘Simmy? It’s Bonnie. Where are you?’
‘Standing outside a big empty shop in the middle of Hawkshead.’
‘I thought I saw you just now. I’m inside it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Listen. You’ll have to call the police for me. Call Moxon – I haven’t got his number, and my battery’s almost flat. We’ve got to go carefully, or they’ll get away. Do you see? Tell him … tell him …’ Her voice broke and there were no more words for a moment. Simmy peered desperately through the dusty window, forgetting the Lillywhites and the smart woman just the other side of the building.
‘Bonnie? What’s the matter?’
‘Ben’s here. He’s almost unconscious. But he won’t let me call an ambulance until the criminals are caught. Do you understand? We have to have evidence, and catch them now, before they get away.’
‘That sounds like Ben,’ said Simmy, still not fully convinced of the reality of the situation.
‘Right.’ The voice choked again. ‘He’s got to have water,’ she said. ‘Can you get some to us somehow?’
‘How?’
‘Put a bottle through the broken window, round the back. Low down behind a parked car. Just drop it in.’
‘All right. Yes. I’ll do that first.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I don’t know what else we can do, though. Moxon’s not going to just arrest them on my say-so, is he? They’re right here, right now. They must be coming in. They must have a key or something. How did you get in?’
‘Don’t ask.’ Bonnie sounded faint and weak. ‘How many of them?’
‘Three.’
‘Okay. Let them come in. I’ll hide. They might be bringing water for Ben. He hasn’t had any for ages. He thinks they meant to leave him for dead, but maybe they’ve changed their minds about that. Or they might be planning to take him somewhere else. We need to keep them here until the police come.’
‘Oh, Bonnie. That’s not going to happen, is it?’
‘You can help. It’s great you’re here. You can lock them in. Or create a diversion or something.’
Simmy felt useless and wholly lacking in any sort of initiative. She couldn’t see the three apparent criminals, so had no idea what they were doing. They might even have moved away, never to be seen again. If they had spotted her, they might have guessed she was following them. ‘How will they get in?’ she whispered. ‘All the doors are padlocked.’
‘They’ve got a key to one of the padlocks. They must have scammed it off the agent or something. They’ve been walking in and out as if they owned the place, Ben says.’
‘So he’s all right? Talking and everything? Just thirsty – is that it?’
‘He’s not all right,’ said Bonnie, also in a whisper. ‘Not at all. He can only say a few words at a time.’
‘How long have you been in there?’
‘Never mind that now. You have to do something. We’re trapped in here until you do.’
‘All right. Hang on. Leave it to me.’ She had no idea what made her say that, but it sounded reassuring, and Bonnie most definitely needed reassurance.
‘Wait,’ came Bonnie’s small voice. ‘Don’t call me, okay? If the phone goes off, it might give me away, if I’m hiding. Do you understand?’
That little detail had to have come from Ben, thought Simmy. Even in a state of delirium, his brain was functioning better than hers. ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘Bye for now.’ She almost ran round to the Co-op on a parallel street and bought their biggest bottle of water. This was the shop, of course, where that Barnaby boy had met Ben. But … that made no sense, if Ben had been tied up inside that building since Tuesday. She shook her head, and went to find the broken window.
It took a little while to see it. Was this how Bonnie had got inside, then? It looked dreadfully small and tight. What a brave girl she must be! And when she bent over and peered in, the floor looked a long way down. Wouldn’t the bottle crack when she dropped it, spilling the precious water?
But she could see no other alternative but to do as Bonnie had asked. Glancing around, seeing that nobody was watching, she pushed her arm through and let go. It sounded all right, as it landed, just a plastic thud, with no suggestion of cracking. She wanted to wait and speak to Bonnie, down there in the gloom, but she had other tasks to perform, and it was foolish to linger near the window, risking giving away what Bonnie had done.
Before she could start keying in Moxon’s number, she wanted to rehearse what she should say for the best effect. She knew so little about what the police would do, once they were told where Ben was. There had to be procedures for rescuing kidnap victims, and those procedures had to be trusted.
She would keep it simple, then. Just that she’d spoken to Bonnie who was hiding inside the empty shop with Ben, afraid that his captors would return and be dangerous.
Her thumb was actually on the first key when the phone tinkled in her hand, indicating an incoming call. The screen told her it was Melanie.
‘Mel? Sorry, can you wait a bit? I’ve got to call Moxon.’ She glanced around, wary of observation or even attack, if the Lillywhites and their friend really were the criminals. Why hadn’t she asked Bonnie to confirm their identities when she’d had the chance? But of course, they must be. Why else would they be there, just the other side of a wall from the suffering Ben?
‘Why’re you calling him?’
‘I can’t explain now, but we’ve found Ben.’
‘What? Wow – that’s brilliant!’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And I’ve got news for Moxon, as well. I think there’s something dodgy being planned for the upstairs room. I can’t work out what exactly, but it’s to do with that Sheila woman you told me about …’
Simmy went cold. How could she tackle the people she’d been following when she had no idea which, if any, had evil intentions? ‘Thanks, Mel,’ she said. ‘I’ll get back to you the minute I’ve made this call. I promise I will. But I’ve got to go now.’
What were the three people doing, she wondered. It seemed unlikely that they would stay in the doorway attracting attention to themselves for no good reason. Warily, she walked back around the corner for a look. They were still there, but the body language had changed dramatically. The woman in the tight skirt was plainly angry, stabbing a finger at Mr Lillywhite and glaring into his face. Mrs Lillywhite had her arms folded, feet planted firmly on the pavement, the image of an immovable object.
Crazily, Simmy saw this as an opportunity. Suddenly decisive, she walked up to them and smiled. ‘Hello!’ she chirped. ‘Remember me?’
It seemed for a moment to have been an inspired thing to do. The three shifted awkwardly and glanced at each other. ‘Um …’ said Mrs Lillywhite.
‘You know – the florist at the hotel. I found Dan Yates’s body on Tuesday, with Melanie Todd. It was terribly traumatic for her, you know. And me, of course. A dreadful thing.’ She prattled confidingly, throwing random smiles at them in turn.
‘Of course,’ said the man. ‘You poor thing.’
‘Yes. Well, nice to see you. I’d better get on. Things to do.’ She looked up at the blank window beside them. ‘Time they got someone to take this place on, don’t you think? It spoils the look of the village like this.’ She tilted her head in a poor show of ingenuousness. ‘Or are you thinking of taking it on yourselves? Are you in business?’
It was too much; far too much. All three gave her strange looks. But they did start to move away from the building, which struck Simmy as a positive development, even if it contravened Bonnie’s order that the kidnappers not be allowed to escape.
‘Bye, then,’ she said, and gave a fatuous little wave. This reminded her that the phone was still in her hand, and she was still supposed to call DI Moxon as a matter of extreme urgency. How many minutes had she wasted already?
The Lillywhites and the second woman were still in earshot. There was a frozen aspect to the situation, everyone apparently waiting for someone else to move. If this was a dramatic climax, unfolding to a spectacular denouement, there was no outward sign of it. People were passing by, chatting and laughing, entirely unaware that anything interesting was going on before their eyes. Their very presence was a rock-solid protection, Simmy realised. Not just for her, but for Ben and Bonnie inside the shop. And yet the urgency remained. Crossing the road again, she stood close by the display on the pavement outside the National Trust shop, and made her call.
Thankfully, Moxon answered almost instantly, with his habitual, ‘Mrs Brown? How can I help you now?’
‘I’m in Hawkshead,’ she gabbled. ‘We’ve found Ben. He’s inside the big empty shop, in the middle of the town. Bonnie’s in there with him. The people who kidnapped him are here as well. She says they mustn’t escape, so you shouldn’t all rush here and frighten them away.’
His response was impressive. ‘Who are they?’ he asked.
‘Mr and Mrs Lillywhite, guests at the hotel. And another woman. Sheila something. Melanie thinks she might have found out what it’s all about. She called me just now.’
‘I see. And is Ben all right?’
‘Not really. Very dehydrated and not fully conscious.’
‘We’ll need medics, then.’
‘And I’m not sure Bonnie’s okay, either.’
‘Where are the Lillywhites now?’
She looked round. ‘They’ve gone. Oh, no, they’re still here – it looks as if they’re going into the shop, through the door at this end. Oh, my God. You’ll have to get here quickly. They’ve got a key to the padlock. I never thought they’d do it. I thought I’d frightened them off. Oh, please – please send someone as quick as you can.’
‘Five minutes,’ he said. ‘Stay where you are.’
But of course, there was no way she could do that.