Chapter 31

The upside was that Robert knew where he was going this time – the downside, he knew what he might expect to encounter along the way plus he couldn't begin to imagine what Rhodes' reaction would be to the news that Jonathan was still alive.

At this stage he would gladly walk away from it all and just accept that he was eight grand down with one brother too many. But Rhodes was unlikely to know of his failure and would come looking for him if he didn't show up to make the second payment.

He felt caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, he wasn't party to a murder but on the other, he was still party to an attempted murder and subject to the great weight of legal penalty that implied. There was still a possibility that Jonathan wouldn't make it out of intensive care of course but until his brother went one way or the other, he to was stuck in this limbo.

The smell of the roses crept up on him and his stomach did a slow revolution. Like one of Pavlov's hounds, his mind associated the scent with the fear and disquiet of his first meeting with Rhodes.

The silhouette of a bulky male figure began drifting towards him and so he picked up his pace, making it clear he had a destination and wasn't one of those men who was looking to feed his appetite with a stranger.

The Huntress Fountain was in sight now and he hurried towards it, keeping his hands in his pockets and his head down low.

That Rhodes was making him wait deliberately he had no doubt. He must have been laughing to himself, watching Robert checking his watch with such agitation every thirty seconds or so.

But at two minutes after eleven, Rhodes appeared at his side, seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Evening," he said cordially into his ear, making Robert flinch. "Looks like those cold feet of yours have been given the chance to warm up a bit, doesn't it?"

It didn't register immediately but when Robert cottoned onto the fact that Rhodes already knew Jonathan was still alive, it galled him somewhat. He'd hoped to have ruffled his feathers a bit, given himself an advantage by revealing the news of his failure. But instead, Rhodes was twisting it to make out he'd done him a favour almost, given him the opportunity to back out of this predicament.

"So what happens now?" asked Robert, forcing a stern confidence into the response.

"Well now, that's up to you isn't it…" A characteristic sniff and Rhodes left it there, goading him.

"What are my options?" He stole a look at him in the murky darkness and found a slyly smiling effigy of the devil himself, deep shadows creating the illusion of grey flesh hanging from hollowed cheeks, sharp black eyes mocking him mercilessly.

If you want the job finishing then I'll finish it as soon as you want but if you don't then I take my final payment tonight and we'll call it a day. Either way, a fee was agreed."

The cost of the whole thing was irrelevant at this stage which was ironic really, given that he had done it all for the money.

When he'd found out four years ago that his father had changed his will, the white-hot anger had broiled and bubbled for many months until it had rendered down into a plan to eliminate the now sole beneficiary, namely Jonathan. Always the favourite with both parents, the good son, the one who always did the right thing, the selfless one, the bloody martyr.

Patrick Makepeace had made no secret of the fact that he was pulling the plug on his inheritance – an extremely substantial amount of something in the region of five million all told. His personal wealth alone, amassed through years of hard work as a top surgeon in his field was more than the average man could hope to achieve in half a dozen lifetimes. Numerous assets included a portfolio of properties; several within the U.K and a large estate in the South of France which had been a holiday destination for many years when Robert and Jonathan were children.

With stock market investments and an assortment of business interests, one of which was a major player within the pharmaceutical industry, his father was a very wealthy man. But Robert was to see none of this; the simple reason being that effectively, his father didn't like his attitude.

He'd told him he was lacking in humanity, that this deficiency when combined with the kind of wealth he stood to inherit, had the potential for disaster. And of course, the fact that he had found out about the reasons for the breakdown of his marriage. The old goat had actually had the temerity to nosey around in his private affairs, gone to the extreme of hiring someone even. He'd even discovered how his wife had killed his unborn child and yet blamed him for punishing her. He'd never raised a hand to her before but on this occasion, she'd deserved it. And he'd have carried on punishing her until she'd understood and admitted she was a murdering bitch if she hadn't done a disappearing act.

The kid would be three now. He'd have quite liked a son.

There had been talk of redemption. If he could mend his ways so to speak then his father might reconsider.

That had only served to incense Robert further.

What did he want from him, for him to become some kind of saint, building orphanages in Africa, rallying for world peace and saving the planet? Did he want him to give over his weekends to rehabilitating wayward hedgehogs? Welcome drug addicts and stinking tramps into his home to watch the match with a few cans of Special Brew?

And that was what had given him the idea. What if Jonnie were to lose his crown?

He hadn't really taken that long to topple. Getting him to plough the company assets into the bogus mutual fund scheme had been the trickiest part because Jonnie liked to play it safe but with the help of one rather unscrupulous acquaintance, he had bought into it. Timing had been paramount so he'd made a play for his wife, Sabrina right before the deal had been finalised. By the time it had become apparent that the investment had turned sour, Robert was bedding her on a regular basis.

Double whammy!

He had carefully engineered the discovery of Sabrina's infidelity. Less than forty-eight hours after the first bombshell he had made sure they had been caught flagrante delicto. Timing. The sordidly degrading act Jonathan had witnessed created an image that would remain seared upon his retinas for a lifetime. Sabrina had proved just as malleable and weak as her husband and it had been hard not to laugh out loud at the horrified expression on his pathetic face.

He had been pretty confident that he wouldn't go to their father for the cash to bail him out; not only was he too proud but he'd seen Robert do it too many times in their youth and didn't want to incur that bitter disappointment which would be magnified a hundred-fold by his skewed halo.

He knew Jonathan. They were two sides of the same coin, after all. As a teenager he had been prone to terrible anxiety if things got on top of him. He'd bottle things up until he was ready to explode before he would ask for help simply because he didn't want to burden others. His was the sort of character that didn't allow for self-pity and recrimination therefore there was no outlet for the emotions he wasn't happy about feeling.

A few other misfortunes had befallen him over the weeks of course. The slow drip, drip, drip of bad karma had eaten away at him. The smashed headlight, the mugging, numerous other little things that had eventually all become too much and as Robert had hoped, his brother had imploded, taking to the streets after the landlord of the rented flat he had moved to had suddenly and inexplicably declared that an infestation of termites had rendered the property uninhabitable.

Ad then it seemed that fate had intervened and Harriet had come across him, plucking him from the gutter as it were. Even having him roughed up a bit hadn't had the desired effect, instead of fleeing London, he'd sought her out and it was at that point that Robert had become desperate enough to hire Rhodes…

"It's make your mind up time."

The voice of the hired killer, so deceptively quiet and gentle in his ear startled him from his reverie.

He couldn't risk losing that five million now.

The eyes of The Huntress were ever watchful, fixed on her prey, determined and strong.

"Do it," he instructed with calm clarity.

He hadn't stayed.

Spikings was calling for her this morning, bright and early and Dempsey being around might have looked like they were rubbing his nose in it. Plus, they'd both been in desperate need of a good nights' sleep, something which might have been stymied by sharing a bed despite the impromptu chair activities early in the evening. So they'd finished their tea and called it a day.

She'd hurt him – physically, she remembered, gripping his shoulders and rocking all of her weight against him whilst in the throes and the fact was that in a perverse sort of way she was glad that it had caused him pain. He didn't want to talk about it but maybe this was a way of forcing his hand. It was bothering her more and more. She didn't know to what extent the pills had become a problem but she was ninety-nine percent sure he had developed some kind of addiction to them. She didn't even know what type of pills he was taking. Initially it had been Codeine, little white tablets but recently she'd spotted a flash of pink, sometimes blue as he surreptitiously fed the things into his mouth.

Harry couldn't bear to think of him beholden to something as insidious as this prescription medication. He was such a strong personality, a true force of nature… how could he let himself be ruled by chemicals… by drugs?

But Harry kept pushing these thoughts to the back of her mind. She couldn't deal with Dempsey's problems as well as her own, it was simply too much. And it was so easy to brush under the carpet, wasn't it, when on the surface everything appeared to be normal.

Once she'd been cleared of this preposterous accusation of attempted murder, then she would confront him and find out exactly how serious a hold on him this thing had.

"You ready, girl?" asked Spikings in frighteningly cheery fashion. But actually, he came over as being quite fatherly and Harry was touched.

"As I'll ever be, Sir."

"That's the spirit."

Opening the passenger side door of his pale blue Ford Granada for her, Spikings received a coolly amused nod in conjunction with the formal, "Thank you, Sir."

She wondered if he'd deliberated over the action. Spikings was old-school and opening a door for a lady would come naturally. But he was also her boss and as a rule, treated her in the same way he did his male subordinates. She supposed she should accept the blip with a good grace though – extenuating circumstances and all that.

"Manage to get some shut-eye last night?" he asked. "Might have another long day ahead of you I'm afraid."

Harry buckled up. "I got a few hours which was more than I'd expected to be honest."

"Good girl. Excellent. Always pays to recharge the batteries if you can." He fell silent as he pulled out into the road and seemed to hunker down inside his light brown car coat, hands high on the steering wheel.

"It was very good of you to pick me up, Sir. I appreciate it."

"Yes, well, you're in my custody. It looks better if I deliver you to the door so to speak." A little tweak of the moustache. "I expect that Yank of yours would have volunteered his services anyway."

"He did," Harry confirmed.

"See him, did you?"

"He popped in for a cup of tea not long after you'd dropped me off."

Harry realised what was coming.

"Just remind him next time he 'pops in' that I'm in receipt of neither his badge nor that bloody cannon he insists on toting around everywhere."

"Sir," she acknowledged.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him frowning fiercely.

"To be quite honest with you, Harry, it concerns me greatly that Dempsey is running around with that paraphernalia. He's liable to do something stupid – even more stupid than usual when there is personal involvement."

"I'll have words."

Although she'd warned him off last night, she hadn't actually insisted he hand his badge and his gun in, had she? Was that because she wanted him fighting for her, needed to know he was out there chasing down the truth?

After a rather pregnant pause, Spikings asked, "Has anything come to light? Anything significant? I imagine he's been digging around somewhat rigorously."

An instant denial was on the tip of her tongue but then she realised this could be the perfect opportunity to convey the information Dempsey had uncovered concerning Robert's connection to Jonathan's business failing so dramatically. Maybe Spikings would be able to whisper in the right ear.

"There was something…"

Spikings glanced at her, a self-satisfied half smile lighting his eyes. "Yeeeeees, I thought there might be."

Robert Makepeace would be receiving a visit at his place of work pretty soon decided Dempsey.

He'd be cool.

Harry wanted him to be a good boy so he'd maintain a professionalism what would keep her happy but no doubt stress him' out to the max.

Had to be done. If he was going to nail someone for this, he had to play smart. Would there be anyone in Harry's social circle, he wondered, who might know who her ex was currently dating? Some malleable, sweet thang with a sexy, mussed up blonde do, maybe? He could ask around, anyhow.

But first, a trip to the Met Lab in Lambeth where he was hoping the scarily authoritative yet handsomely attractive older lady known as Mrs Sherwood would be prepared to help him out.

He didn't use the main entrance, instead walking along the back of the building and taking the fire escape steps.

His reasons for taking this circuitous route were two-fold. For one thing, he didn't want to be seen but also, he hoped his covert behaviour might amuse the lady he was anxious to see.

Armed with an unimpressive looking bunch of Michaelmas Daisies and a cheeky grin, he levered himself up onto the handrail at the top of the fire escape and in an awkward sitting position, managed to peer through the bottom of the high windows.

Peggy Sherwood sat in her white lab coat with her back to him, oblivious until the gentle rapping reached her ears.

Startled, she turned away from the microscope and looked up to find him steadily waving the flowers in greeting.

She frowned at the intrusion but got up to wrestle with the panic bar on the fire exit door all the same.

"Yo, Mrs S!" he beamed, jumping down from the rail.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she asked crossly. "This is an emergency exit, Lieutenant Dempsey, for 'emergency' use only."

"Like when you need that emergency cigarette?"

It had been an educated guess but the lack of a denial and the rolling eyes told him he was on the money.

"Is there some particular reason for your using the 'tradesman's entrance' other than to deliver what I can only assume to be evidence of some kind."

She looked down her nose at the small bunch of daisies.

"Just a token of my affection, Mrs S."

"Well in that case…" she took them from his hand with what was almost an enticing smile, "you'd better come in."

He'd guessed her to be fifteen years his senior but that didn't stop her being extremely easy on the eye. Her brown hair was cut into soft layers that were fashionably flicked back and her grey eyes radiated a pleasant warmth when she wanted them to. Dempsey had only met her a handful of times but each time she had worn a skirt and heels beneath that pristine white coat and he had found himself speculating as to whether her preference was for panty hose or nylons.

He'd debated over asking her out on a date but Makepeace had been with him on each occasion and it would have been awkward getting her to wait in the car. Last time he saw her he had been on his own only by that point he'd started to become hung up on his annoying partner and so he'd let the opportunity to make a move on Mrs Sherwood slide.

As he followed her inside, he regarded her trim figure appraisingly. Yep, there was definitely something about an older woman.

"So how's it goin'?" he asked, his head tilting slightly to watch her bend down and retrieve a glass conical flask from a cupboard.

"Busy. I've been here since 7:00am. I've got a particular job that's being pushed through – one of those 'pull out all the stops' ones." She crossed to a large stainless-steel sink and filled the flask with cold water before returning to unceremoniously drop the flowers into it. "So, I can't spare you very long I'm afraid."

She leaned back with her hands on the counter top, arms splayed and legs crossed at the ankles. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Steady now, Mrs Robinson!

The invitation was right there on a plate and it was some serious temptation. She probably figured this second solo visit was him going in for the kill.

"You might already be doin' it…"

Shit! That sounded like a line, Dempsey realised when her mouth hitched up at one corner. He tried again.

"That 'pull out all the stops' thing… that wouldn't involve a white Ford Escort 1.6i Cabriolet would it?"

The arms folded against her chest. "It might very well. I didn't get this one via SI-10 though. What's your involvement?"

"Vehicle belongs to a cop."

She winced. "I see. That explains the urgency then. A hit and run wouldn't normally require me to put everything else on the back burner like this has. One of your department presumably?"

"You got it. Was kinda wonderin'…"

"This wouldn't be Sergeant Makepeace we're talking about, would it?" Mrs Sherwood cut in, sounding a bit shocked by her own deduction. After all, knowing Makepeace was the only female in SI-10, how likely was it that the sporty little white number would belong to one of the male officers?

"She's in real need of a break right now. Figured you'd of been given this one aaaaand…"

"And you think you can by-pass all the appropriate channels to get the forensic results first," she finished for him. "Straight from the horse's mouth, as it were?"

"A heads up, maybe."

"I can't do that, Lieutenant Dempsey and you know it."

Dempsey ran his hand through his dark brown hair. "Okay, yeah. I got it. But we really, really could use some help with this, ya know? When d'you expect to be through? What time do they want the report?"

"It isn't a case of what they want, it's a case of when I'm good and ready," she said matter of factly. "I don't rush my analysis for anyone, that's when things get overlooked and mistakes made and that might lead to an injustice being served. So in answer to your question, I honestly couldn't say what time my report will be complete."

Dempsey was exasperated. "They're sayin' she tried to kill her ex-brother-in-law… the guy's on the critical list… like Harry could do somethin' like that…"

"My 'incomplete' report is on that desk over there," she talked over him, "but obviously I can't let you see that and I think you should probably go. I'm going to get myself a coffee. I'd appreciate it if you shut that door firmly behind you on your way out, Lieutenant, I can't have just anybody wandering in here."

He broke into a wide grin. "You're a doll! I owe you big time."

"Yes, you do," Mrs Sherwood agreed as she turned away to leave him to it.

When he'd first arrived, she had fully expected to be writing a dinner date into her diary but as the reason for his visit had been brought to light, she had got the distinct impression that the lovely Sergeant Makepeace had taken on a far greater significance in his life since they had last met.

Was it, she wondered, this current event that had opened his eyes to her charms or had it been a more gradual recognition? But more likely, Sergeant Makepeace had decided to finally succumb to his advances. She couldn't imagine a man like James Dempsey hadn't 'had a crack at her' a few times over the time they'd been partnered together.

They made a handsome couple, there was no denying. A bit of a shame though; she could definitely have had some fun with him.

The drive to Harrington Manor gave Dempsey plenty of time to run through in his mind what he'd just read in Mrs Sherwood's notes.

And boy was there some food for thought within that incomplete report.