trickle in.
83
Back at the wrap party, it was ten minutes to twelve. People had anaesthetized themselves with drink against the terrors and were now dancing. But a shiver went through the room as Clive strolled in, holding a bunch of white lilies. Here was Rannaldini’s hitman, who knew far too much about all of them, as difficult to ignore as a mamba sliding across the floor.
‘Where’s Gablecross?’ murmured Clive to DC Lightfoot.
‘Guarding Tabitha Lovell at Rutminster General.’
‘He isn’t. I just called there.’
‘Where the hell have you been anyway?’ demanded DC Lightfoot. ‘Everyone wants to question you.’
‘That’s why I haven’t been here. Where’s Lucy?’ Clive’s pale, lashless eyes flickered round the room. ‘I bought these flowers for her. Always liked Lucy. No-one streaked my hair better. And there’s tasty Tristan.’
Tristan was smiling for the first time that evening because Hype-along had just presented him with an album of stills through which Tristan was flipping with exclamations of delight. There was Baby looking romantic, and Mikhail heroic, and Hermione naked and enormous from behind, and Oscar asleep, and Rupert narrow-eyed and mean in his executive producer’s chair.
‘Thank you, Hype-along, it’s all here to remind me,’ said Tristan, kissing his press officer on each sideboard.
On the last page, finding two photographs stuck in side by side, he gave a gasp of pleasure. In the first Lucy, naked except for a pink towel, was stretched on a table with Rozzy massaging her shoulders. In the second, she had reared up in alarm, gorgeous breasts flying.
‘Look at Lucy’s boobs, everyone,’ shouted Ogborne, who was peering over Tristan’s shoulders. ‘How d’you get her to do that, Hypie?’
‘Banged on her caravan window after dark.’
As people crowded round, Tristan seized the album, not wanting everyone to drool. Then his heart stopped as he noticed the venom on Rozzy’s face as her fingers closed round Lucy’s neck.
‘Oh, my God.’ Glancing up in horror, he saw Gablecross and Karen running through the door. ‘Where’s Lucy?’ he yelled.
‘I hoped you were going to tell us that,’ said Gablecross.
‘
For a second, Gablecross studied the two pictures, then he drew Tristan into George’s study next door.
‘Where the hell is she?’ asked a grey and shaking Tristan.
‘She was last seen around seven thirty outside Make Up,’ said Karen.
‘Then she evaded arrest and ran off into the garden,’ added Gablecross.
‘Arrest?’ snarled Tristan. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Hanging on to my lapels won’t do any good. Just let go,’ said Gablecross irritably. ‘Lucy was arrested for the murder of Rannaldini, Beattie and the attempted murder of Tabitha.’
‘That’s crazy! Lucy couldn’t kill an earwig.’
Gablecross explained that her DNA profile matched up. ‘Since then she vanished into thin air.’
‘And James?’
‘Not a sign,’ sighed Karen.
‘Someone’s either hiding her, she’s hiding out in the wood, or the murderer’s got her,’ said Gablecross. ‘It would help if Rozzy turned up.’
‘Oh, my Christ.’ A distraught Tristan was pacing up and down, thinking and thinking. ‘And they’ve searched Valhalla?’
‘Everywhere.’
Next moment, Griselda rushed in, shaking with horror.
‘Tristan, Karen, Sergeant Gablecross, listen to this horrible message on my machine.’
Griselda was followed by Flora, George, Bernard and Simone. Her hand was trembling so much they had to endure several seconds of whirring speeded-up chatter before she found the right place on the tape. The voice on the machine was so high and terrified at first no-one recognized it.
‘Please let me have your cloak for a second, I’m so cold.’
‘Lucy,’ gasped Tristan, looking round with desperate bloodshot eyes.
‘Poor child.’ At first the second voice was sympathetic, then it burst into gales of dreadful crazy laughter, then became chillingly hard and cruel. ‘You’ll be burning hot where you’re going. Where were we? Oh, yes, in Rannaldini’s torture chamber. He strapped them just where you are, in the debtor’s chair.’
‘That’s Rozzy’s voice,’ said Bernard hoarsely.
George put an arm round Flora’s shoulders.
Tristan jumped to his feet. ‘Do something, for Christ’s sake.’
Gablecross raised a shaking hand for silence, as Lucy, in a high, terrified voice, spoke again: ‘I can’t believe you killed Rannaldini. You’re far too slight and, anyway, you were in Mallowfield.’
‘Since I’m going to kill you in a minute,’ it was Rozzy’s voice, amused bitchy, ‘I’ll tell you while I do my face. Now, are you sitting comfortably?’
‘What time was that call made?’ barked Gablecross.
‘Someone called me before that,’ said a trembling Griselda.
‘It was me playing seely buggers.’ Simone had gone scarlet. ‘I rang you on the upstairs phone, Grisel, around twelve less ten minutes.’
As if trying to help the police with their inquiries, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight.
‘So it could have been as little as ten minutes ago,’ said Karen, making lightning calculations.
‘I don’t understand why those obscene outpourings are on my machine,’ wailed Griselda.
‘You’re in her memory,’ said Bernard, who’d gone as grey as Simone had scarlet. ‘Rozzy’s as blind as a bat. I called her just after eleven forty-five to ask if she’d seen Lucy and check when she was coming over. She probably meant to switch her phone off after that, not wanting to be interrupted, and pressed your number instead.’
‘We’ve got to get Lucy out.’ Tristan was suddenly roused from shock. ‘Where the fuck’s the torture chamber?’
‘I can show you,’ said a soft voice.
Clive was hovering in the doorway. Never can so many people have been pleased to see him. He was still clutching Lucy’s lilies.
Pray God, they aren’t destined for her grave, thought Tristan in horror.
‘If Rozzy slams the door and flicks the switch to let the water in, Lucy’s got five minutes at best,’ said Clive.
‘Take my plane,’ urged George.
But as they rushed out of the front door towards the hangar, there was a tick, tick, tick and a judder overhead. Like a troupe of dancing stars, a helicopter landed on the lawn. As Rupert opened the door, his blond hair silver in the moonlight, Gablecross, Tristan, Clive and Bernard, cursing as he stubbed his toe on a reconstituted- stone cherub, raced towards him. But Karen outstripped them.
‘Quick,’ she panted. ‘It’s Lucy, in terrible danger. We’ve got to get to Valhalla and rescue her.’
‘The Famous Five,’ drawled Rupert, glancing at the others behind her. ‘That lot have as much chance of rescuing anyone as Mr Blobby.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ howled Tristan.
‘Rupert!’ came an excited cry as Hermione ran out of the house. ‘Now the party has really begun.’
‘You’re on!’ said Rupert, shooting faster than light back into the helicopter. ‘As long as Karen can sit on my knee — but I’m not taking that murderer.’ He glared at Clive. ‘He stole our Gertrude.’
