Robert Coleman had already destroyed Michael Brewer’s life once. And now, as he stood beside the man’s prone body, he prepared to do it a second, more permanent, time. He flicked the lighter flame into life.
Carole Seddon held her breath, not only to shut out the fumes, but also as though in some way that might lessen the inevitable agony.
What happened next was so fast as to be almost a blur. Michael Brewer’s body jerked into action. From the ground his legs scissored and slammed against Robert Coleman’s knees, sending him flying away from the petrol- soaked area.
Immediately, Michael Brewer was on his feet, grabbing his quarry once again by the lapels, lifting him up like a rag doll and slamming his back against the broad trunk of a tree. As Robert Coleman sank dazed to the ground, Brewer reached in and removed the gun from his pocket.
Keeping the gun trained on his enemy, he backed towards the Renault and opened the back door.
Carole Seddon burst out of her malodorous prison, and in sheer relief pressed herself against her rescuer. Fumes of petrol rose around the two of them.
? The Witness at the Wedding ?
Forty
Robert Coleman’s eyes opened, and took a moment to focus on the tall man with a gun who faced him. “What are you going to do, Mick? Kill me?” The question was almost a sneer.
“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it. Often, over the last thirty years. And don’t think I’m not tempted now.”
He pointed the gun at the heart of the crumpled man on the woodland floor. Carole saw the finger whiten as it tensed against the trigger, and she could feel Michael Brewer’s desire for the purgation that this death would bring.
A long moment elapsed. Then, his inner demon vanquished, he lowered the gun. “But no. I want you to be punished as I was punished.”
Half an hour later, Carole and Michael Brewer stood in the petrol-reeking clearing. Robert Coleman was safely tied up in the old cellar, with the metal lid firmly closed on him. It was nearly dark. Through the gaps in the trees they could see the daylight dwindling over the Downs.
“So what do we do now?” asked Carole. “Call the police?”
His response was an automatic and distinctive “No!”
“But this is a police matter. We’re both witnesses to what Robert tried to do to us. He should be in custody.”
“I’m not questioning that, but I’m not going to let a policeman get near me.”
Carole tried to soothe the paranoia she saw in his eyes. “Michael – Mick, it’s all right now. Your nightmare’s over. We know the truth. And we can tell the truth. At last justice can be done.”
“I’m still not going near the police,” he insisted doggedly.
“Mick, the police are on your side. On the side of justice.”
He barked out a bitter laugh. “You dare tell me that? I had my bellyful of the police thirty years ago. On the side of justice? They didn’t listen to me. They believed what was easiest to believe. The police stitched me up.”
“It was Robert Coleman who stitched you up.”
“The police helped. They wanted me sent down. They were part of the conspiracy with all the other authorities: the judges and banisters who convicted me; the judges who rejected my appeals; the prison officers who made my life hell. I’m never again going to get close enough to the police for them to arrest me. Because experience has taught me that, with my record, that’s the first thing they would do.”
Carole wanted to argue, but she knew that the long build-up of distrust would not easily be shifted. And, insome ways, she could not help feeling sympathy for his view. Given what had happened in his life – spending thirty years under a brutal prison regime for a crime he did not commit – Michael Brewer was entitled to be paranoid.
“That’s presumably why you didn’t approach the police after Howard’s murder? You must have known Robert had done it.”
“Of course I did, but there was no way I was going to put myself at risk. Robert’s framed me once, and he’s quite capable of framing me again. Come on, if it came to a choice between him and me, who would the police go for? Ex-copper and bloody Justice of the Peace? Or the lag who’s just done a thirty-year stretch for murder?”
Carole could see his logic, and part of the reason for his instinct to hide himself away. She felt enormous pity for the man, the way his trust in everything had been destroyed. “Listen,” she said, “what you need is legal representation.”
“Oh yes? A fat lot of good that’s done me in the past. The lawyers are all part of it. They’re all in it together.”
“Mick, I used to work for the Home Office – ”
“So you’re part of the conspiracy too, are you?”
“No. But I did make some useful contacts while I was there. In particular, a solicitor called Jerome Clancy. Have you heard of him?”
An abrupt shake of the head.
“Well, he’s got quite a reputation for taking on cases of miscarriage of justice. Given what we’ve now got on Robert Coleman, I’m sure he’d take you on. With Jerome Clancy behind you, you wouldn’t need to worry about the police.”
“I’m still afraid. If they get me alone in a police station, they’ll charge me with something. I’ll never get out of there.” The eyes flickered with fear.
“You will, Mick. I know you’ve had a lousy deal in the past. But believe me, your life is about to change.”
“Huh.”
He did, however, finally agree that she should ring Jerome Clancy in the morning, and try to arrange a meeting. And Carole agreed that she would stay another night in Leper’s Copse, because the police were probably on the lookout for her too, and might force her to lead them to Michael Brewer.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll stay. But I have to make one phone call first.”
“Not to the police?”
“Nothing to do with the police, I promise. In fact, it might well take the police pressure off, stop them searching for me as well as you. I’ve just got to call a friend to tell her I’m all right.”
Jude was in the hotel in Villeneuve-sur-Lot, just getting ready for bed, when her mobile rang.
“Carole.”
“Thank God. I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Well, this is just to say I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you that. All be clear tomorrow, I promise.”
“But, Carole…”
“I can’t tell you anything else.”
“Oh. All right, I’m sure you know what you’re doing. Listen, shall I ring Inspector Pollard? He said I should get in touch the minute I heard anything from you.”
“No. Under no circumstances tell Inspector Pollard you’ve heard from me.”
“What about Gaby and Stephen? They’re desperately worried about you too.”
Which was rather gratifying, really, Carole thought. “Tell them I’m OK, but don’t tell them anything else.”
“I can’t tell them anything else, you’re being so cagey. Ooh, and what about David?”
“What about David?”
“Stephen says he’s been terribly worried about you. Can Stephen tell him you’re all right?”
“Yes,” said Carole, somewhat surprised, “I suppose he can. One other thing…”
“What?”
