Roots of Evil(116)

‘Well, I’m not sure,’ said Edmund doubtfully, and added in a reluctant voice, ‘I daresay I could ask my cleaning lady to make up a bed in my spare room, only it isn’t very—’

The speed at which Sallis refused this offer indicated very strongly that he had no more liking for Edmund than Edmund had for him. But he was perfectly courteous about it. He said, ‘Please don’t go to that trouble. I really don’t want to disrupt you, and I think I’m beyond phoning local hotels to find a room. I’m quite happy to stay at the house. It’s warm and comfortable, and the gas and electricity are still on.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Edmund, his eyes on the road as they drove along. ‘The phone’s been disconnected, but everything else is on.’

‘And I can get a taxi to the station tomorrow morning – I’ll phone British Rail presently and find out the times.’

‘What? Oh, there’s a train around eleven. Straight through to Euston.’

‘Good. The car can be collected later – if I still can’t drive by the weekend I can probably get the AA to help out.’

‘I suppose it would be all right,’ said Edmund, still sounding reluctant.

‘Believe me, I’ve slept in worse places than that house,’ said Michael smiling. ‘Or are you forgetting I work with homeless teenagers for most of the week?’

‘I was forgetting that for the moment,’ said Edmund.

‘But if it’s not a nuisance, could you just stop off in the town so that I could pick up some bread and milk – oh, and a toothbrush and a razor—’

‘Of course I can,’ said Edmund. ‘And I’ll come into the house with you to make sure you’ve got everything you’re likely to need.’



Edmund bought the bread and milk and other things himself from the local supermarket, waving aside Michael’s attempts both to come into the shop, and also his attempts to pay. He felt entirely responsible for what had happened, he said; Sallis must at least allow him to make this small reparation. Was he really sure about staying at the house? Why not let him try a couple of hotels in the adjoining town?

‘There’s no need,’ said Michael. ‘I’ll be absolutely fine here. Food, drink and shelter. All I need.’

To the modest provisions, Edmund had added a half pound of butter, some cooked chicken from the delicatessen which he had asked them to slice up, some crisp eating apples, a wedge of cheese, and half a bottle of Scotch. Scotch was as good a painkiller as he had ever found, he said.

‘That’s very generous of you.’

‘And you’ll be warm enough? The central heating’s been on the “Frost” setting, so the house hasn’t got really cold or damp since my aunt died. But you can turn the thermostat up, of course. It’s in the kitchen, on the side of the—’

‘I know where it is. I’ll turn it up if I need it. You’ve been very kind,’ said Michael, with an obvious effort.

‘Not at all. But at least once you’re in the house you won’t need to go out again,’ said Edmund. ‘I expect you’ll take the hospital’s pills and just crash out.’

‘I expect I will,’ said Michael.



Edmund had enjoyed that last remark to Sallis – ‘Once you’re in the house you won’t need to go out again,’ he had said. In fact, once Sallis was in the house, he never would go out again, not alive, not if Edmund’s plan worked.

It would work, of course. He had thought it all out carefully and logically, paying attention to every tiny detail. Crispin had always said that was the essence of a good plan. Never neglect the details, Crispin said.

As well as not neglecting the details, Edmund had made sure that if anything did go wrong he could not himself be implicated. Michael Sallis had been successfully isolated – cut off from all methods of communicating with anyone, including his mobile phone; Edmund had been very cunning about that phone, and he was rather pleased with himself. Everything that was going to happen tonight would afterwards be put down to unfortunate accident. Misadventure.

In a way it was a pity that Alraune’s ghost would not be around for Michael’s murder; Edmund would have quite enjoyed the irony of that. But since the afternoon at Quondam Films, he was accepting that Alraune might not be a ghost at all; Alraune might be alive and living a normal life somewhere in the world.

But Crispin would be there, and that was really all that mattered. As he drove home, Edmund knew that Crispin would enjoy watching Alraune’s son die.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR




Michael had spoken honestly when he told Edmund Fane he was used to far worse sleeping quarters than Deborah Fane’s empty house; his work had frequently taken him into the squats and the hostels of London’s East End, and from there into deeper, sadder worlds where people lived in shop doorways and tube stations.

But after Fane left, Michael felt vaguely uneasy. There was no logic to this feeling: he had been in this house several times already – once after Deborah Fane’s funeral, and two or three times after that, stage-managing the various surveys and reports that had to be prepared for CHARTH. It had in fact been at this house that he had met Francesca. Francesca. Even with his hand a grinding mass of agony Michael felt a smile curve his lips at the thought of Francesca. In a moment he would phone her; he was furious and disappointed at not being able to get back to London tonight for their dinner, but hopefully they could meet tomorrow evening. It would be good to hear her voice – thank goodness for mobile phones.