‘I’m not sure Alex would find that very relaxing!’ laughed Nick. ‘You’d get all the local people expecting him to declare them winners of whatever section they’d entered! You know what small-town politics is like!’

  ‘They asked me too,’ she smiled. ‘They must think I’m important!’

  ‘Of course you’re important! You’re a key personality in Aidensfield - and district - and your fame has reached Ashfordly. You rank alongside the vicar and the squire. Did you say you’d do it?’

  ‘I said I’d think about it. They are short of judges, they said. But I’m not sure I’m the world’s finest authority on little girls whose mummies think they can sing, or on men who tell jokes that are as old as the hills!’

  ‘I think you should do it. You need to get involved with events beyond the edge of this village.’

  Kate shook her head doubtfully. ‘I still think Alex is a better suggestion for a judge. He does need something to occupy him, something that’s not connected with his work or the locality.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve his best interests at heart, luv,’ he said. The telephone rang. ‘I’ll get it.’ Nick left the table and reached for the telephone. ‘Aidensfield Police,’ he announced.

  ‘Is that PC Rowan?’ It was a man’s voice with a distinct southern accent. ‘Yes, PC Rowan speaking.’

  ‘It’s Peter Hughes,’ responded the caller. ‘I was at university with Kate. Remember - we met at the graduation dance?’

  ‘Oh, yes, vaguely.’

  ‘Look, I can’t hang on long, I’m in a kiosk, but I’m in the area on a walking holiday, staying at Elsinby, and thought I might call in to see you both. For old times’ sake.’

  ‘Yes, sure,’ and the money ran out. The telephone died and Nick replaced his handset. ‘Who was that?’ asked Kate.

  ‘An old flame of yours.’ Nick wasn’t smiling. ‘That Peter Hughes chap who was at university with you. He never liked me, did he, for stealing you from under his nose?’

  ‘Nick, it wasn’t like that! He was just a colleague on the same course as me, that’s all. There was no romance between us, you know that. Anyway, he’s married now. I think it’s nice of him to remember us, good of him to spare the time to pop in.’

  Nick made some noncommittal noise in reply and Kate smiled.

  ‘You’re jealous, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m not! I just don’t like him. He’s smarmy, he gets too close to you, he can’t take his eyes off you…’

  ‘I like that!’ she grinned mischievously. ‘I like it when you’re jealous and all protective!’

  ‘If he starts chatting you up when he’s here, I’ll lock him up, so help me!’

  ‘Nick, don’t be silly. There’s no law against a girl having an admirer! He’s just an old friend from the past, nothing more.’

  ‘I’m going back on duty,’ he said gruffly, plonking his helmet on his head. ‘I’ve got to patrol Maddleskirk and Elsinby this afternoon and I’ve also got to keep my eye on our suspected bank raiders’ accomplice! See you later.’

  She kissed him with an overenthusiastic show of affection. ‘I love you, darling,’ she said as she waved him off, ‘not Peter Hughes.’

  Later that afternoon, George Ward was stocking the bar of the Aidensfield Arms when Miss Smith, dressed in tweedy clothes and heavy walking shoes, approached him.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Ward,’ she said, ‘but do you have a public telephone in the hotel? I need to make a private call, a very private one.’

  ‘There’s a kiosk up the village, but if it’s very personal, you could use my phone.’

  “Thank you, that would be very useful. I will pay, of course; you must put it on my bill.’

  George took her into the back room of the hotel and showed her the telephone, closing the door firmly behind him to allow her privacy and returning to his chores. He counted his stock, moved the older bottles to the front of the shelves and made sure there were sufficient supplies of all his most popular lines.

  After a couple of minutes, though, he realised he needed a duster to clean the higher shelves and went towards the living quarters. As he approached the back room, he heard Miss Smith’s voice; she was shouting down the phone and even though the door was closed, he could hear every word.

  ‘I tell you it’s not the robbery that’s the problem, it’s the getaway! It simply doesn’t work. I need more time to work on it. Unless I can get that sorted out, there’s no point in going through with it. And if I don’t, it means weeks of wasted time, weeks of useless observation.’

  There was a further pause and then her voice resumed.

  ‘Look, give me a few more days. I’ll check the getaway again, minute by minute. That’s all I ask for - a little more time to make sure it’s right.’

  The handset was replaced on the rest with a resounding crash, and George moved around the corner out of sight as Miss Smith stormed out of the room and out of the hotel. He slipped back into the bar and watched her stalk angrily along the main street of Aidensfield. Then he grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down all her words before he forgot them. Next he rang the police house.

  ‘I’m sorry, George.’ It was Kate who answered his call. ‘Nick’s out, he had to go over to Maddleskirk and Elsinby.’

  ‘I need to see him,’ George sounded anxious. ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘If it’s urgent, I can ring Ashfordly and they’ll contact him by radio. They’ll send him here. He could be with you in quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Well, yes, if that’s possible, Kate. It is important.’

  Kate did as she had suggested and Alf Ventress said he would call Nick on the radio and divert him to the Aidensfield Arms. Within twenty minutes, Nick was entering the pub to find George sitting with a glass of whisky in his hands. He looked quite pale and shocked.

  ‘What’s up, George?’ Nick asked. ‘Ashfordly said it was urgent.’

  ‘Sit down, Nick, fancy a whisky?’

  ‘Not me, George, not when I’m on duty. I wouldn’t say no to a cuppa, though.’

  George produced a cup of hot tea for Nick and explained what he’d overheard.

  ‘You could be right, George,’ Nick said when he’d finished. ‘She could be planning a robbery. We know it’s the same woman who’s been keeping one of the Ashfordly banks under observation, watching the times of cash deliveries and so on. She called herself Miss Smith when she booked into the Crown in Ashfordly. I followed her to Aidensfield. She left the Crown yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, that’s when she came here. Remember I told you I’d got a paying guest! Bloody hell!’ sighed George. ‘Don’t say I’m harbouring a felon!’

  ‘Look,’ Nick remained calm, ‘we need to keep this woman under observation. Where is she now?’

  ‘She went out, very angry she was after her call, stomping down the street. Somebody’s putting pressure on her, that’s obvious, I lost sight of her, but her room’s still booked and her things are still there, so she’ll be back, I reckon.’

  ‘Well, if she’s walking, she can’t be far. There’s no bus for an hour or so. We’re interested in who she might be meeting; car numbers of contacts, that sort of thing. I think I’d better call Blaketon out to this.’

  From the radio on his motorcycle, Nick called Ashfordly Police Station and explained to Alf what had happened, enlightening him as to the morning’s discussion with Sergeant Blaketon.

  Suddenly the line crackled as Blaketon interrupted the call. ‘Wait there, Rowan!’ he barked. ‘I’ll come straight away. I’ll see you in the village street. In the meantime, you have a look around and if you see this woman, keep your eyes on her but don’t let her know she’s under observation. We don’t want to scare her off; we want to nail her and her accomplices.’

  ‘Very good, Sarge, she can’t be far away.’

  ‘Keep her under discreet observation, make a note of any contacts, numbers of any vehicles she gets involved with, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Very good, Sergeant,’ Nick repeated obediently.

  Trying to make his perambulations look as normal as possible, Nick began his patrol of the village street. He quickly spotted Miss Smith, walking from the direction of the railway station and heading for the shops. Nick proceeded at a slow pace in the same direction as Miss Smith, pretending not to be interested. He turned off the main street so that he could stand back and observe from a distance, and was in time to see her enter the village stores-cum-post office. At that moment, Sergeant Blaketon’s small black car came into view and Nick waved to indicate his whereabouts. To his relief, Blaketon spotted him and turned off the main street to rendezvous with him. Nick climbed into the little vehicle and Blaketon returned to the main street to park and watch.

  ‘Where is she, Rowan?’ Sergeant Blaketon was scrutinising the street.

  ‘She went into the post office, Sarge, about five minutes ago. She’s still in there. She came from the railway station.’

  ‘Checking train times for a getaway, I’ll bet. Was she armed?’

  ‘Armed?’ Nick laughed. ‘No, I bet she’s gone in for some stamps!’

  ‘Just joking, Rowan, just joking. Ah, here she comes now … So this is Miss Smith, eh?’

  The two policemen sat in the tiny car and observed the progress of the woman along the street.

  She was munching a bar of chocolate and carrying a paper bag.

  ‘I’ve seen her before, Rowan, I’d know that face anywhere! She must have been mentioned on our crime circulars, in the Police Gazette mebbe, or the West Riding Police Reports.’

  ‘You’re very observant, Sergeant!’ Nick was impressed.

  ‘It comes with years of training, Rowan, but if her mug shot’s been circulated, it means she’s wanted all over England. If we can prove who she is and why she’s here, it’ll mean a feather in our caps, a commendation apiece even. Now, where have I seen that photo? I need to find out all about her, her accomplices, her background, that sort of thing.’

  ‘She’s heading back to George’s pub, Sarge.’

  ‘We need to keep an eye on this woman, Rowan, a very close eye. Now I know what she looks like, I’m going back to Ashfordly to check our circulars for that photo. I need to know what she’s suspected of doing, right? And where she’s been operating. We can’t arrest her, there’s no evidence of any crime at this stage, but she could lead us to the real villains. And that’s what we want. Real villains.’

  ‘Big-time crime comes to Ashfordly, eh?’ grinned Nick.

  ‘Aye, and if big-time criminals come to Ashfordly, they’ve got me to contend with, Rowan. We’ll set a trap, we’ll nail every one of them. Now, I’ve checked the timing of the next delivery of cash to the Northern and Provincial in Ashfordly. It’s next Tuesday.’

  ‘So that’s when we’ll get our bank raided, eh?’

  “There’s every chance, Rowan. I’ll alert Divisional CID and we’ll set up a welcoming committee for her and her henchmen.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to catch a bank raider red-handed, Sergeant!’

  ‘Me too, Rowan, me too. So if you keep tabs on her while she’s here, I’ll look after the Ashfordly end of things.’

  ‘As you say, Sarge.’

  And so Constable Nick found himself hanging around Aidensfield village street trying to look invisible while Miss Smith pottered backwards and forwards between the shops. When she returned to the Aidensfield Arms, Nick waited for a few minutes and then slipped in via the rear door to see George.

  ‘She’s gone up to her room,’ George whispered conspiratorially. ‘She said she had some notes to write up and wouldn’t be down until dinnertime.’

  ‘Did she say what she intends doing later?’ Nick asked hopefully.

  ‘She’s booked a table in the dining room for seven thirty.’ ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes, a table for one.’

  ‘Right, well I’m not hanging around all that time, George. Can you give me a ring if she leaves for any reason? I’ll be in my office at home, writing up my notes about all this.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be around all afternoon.’

  As Nick approached his police house, he noticed a distinctive royal blue car parked outside. There was a man at the wheel but the engine was silent. As he walked past, he looked inside. It was Peter Hughes, Kate’s admirer.

  Nick was tempted to ignore the fellow, but Hughes spotted him and leapt out. ‘Nick, hi, good to see you.’

  He offered his hand and Nick shook it. After some small talk, Nick said, ‘Have you been to the house? Is Kate not in?’

  ‘No, I knocked,’ said Hughes. ‘Look, I can see you’re on duty. I’ll come back later. How about a drink tonight, all three of us? For old times’ sake?’

  ‘Sure,’ agreed Nick. ‘I’m off duty this evening. How about the Aidensfield Arms, just down the road?’ and he pointed to the pub.

  ‘Fine. Eight o’clock?’ suggested Hughes.

  ‘See you there,’ said Nick, as he turned towards his front door.

  When Kate returned at teatime, Nick told her about Hughes and explained the arrangements for the evening, it was good of you, Nick. Yes, it’ll be nice to have a drink together.’

  But at six o’clock, Sergeant Blaketon rang.

  ‘Stay on duty tonight, Rowan, to keep an eye on that Miss Smith. I can’t find her picture anywhere, but I know I’ve seen it. We’re short-handed and Division’s taking it seriously.’

  ‘As you say, Sergeant.’

  ‘Be on duty in the street outside the Aidensfield Arms, keep her under constant observation. Got it?’

  ‘Very good, Sergeant,’ said Nick stoically, his heart plummeting.

  It meant that Kate would be alone with Peter Hughes.

  page 101

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nick told George that he would wait outside the inn that evening so that if Miss Smith decided to leave George need take no further action. It would all be down to Nick.

  As he waited in the darkness, with the night growing more chilly by the hour, he saw Peter Hughes drive past in his smart blue car and felt a twinge of jealousy. Hughes was heading towards Nick’s police house and tonight, Kate would be out and drinking alone with that man …

  But, Nick told himself, Kate was to be trusted implicitly and he need not worry about how she behaved with Peter, even though he was an old flame from her past. And yet he felt uneasy … Hughes was here alone. Hadn’t he got married not long ago? Nick felt sure there’d been a note from him, a Christmas card perhaps, or even an invitation to the wedding, but because Hughes was Kate’s friend and not his, the memories were rather blurred. As he walked up and down the street, therefore, rubbing his hands to keep warm and lurking in the shadows to avoid being noticed, Nick felt decidedly ill-disposed to this extra evening of duty. He could be doing far better things than standing around in the cold watching for a woman who might be tipping off bank robbers and worrying about his wife who was being entertained by an old boyfriend.

  At, Nick noted, three minutes to eight, Miss Smith emerged from the Aidensfield Arms. Warmly dressed against the cold evening and carrying a torch, she turned towards the railway station. Keeping behind her at a safe distance in the darkness, Nick followed in the trail of quick footsteps as she hurried along the road, dropping down the steep slope towards the station and leaving tiny clouds of breath on the cool night air. Then she left the road and climbed to the top of a cutting; Nick could see her silhouetted against the night sky -until she suddenly disappeared down the darkened slope, crashing through the gorse bushes and bracken as she went about her mysterious errand. He began to wonder whether she could be meeting some of her fellow conspirators at a secret location; whatever, he had to follow. But he had no means of immediate contact with Ashfordly Police Station, for his radio was on his motorcycle and he’d left that in the village. Was he being led into a trap?

  Knowing the landscape like the back of his hand, he was able to follow without her realising he was there, but by the time he reached the top of the cutting, Miss Smith had disappeared from view. She was somewhere down below, pushing through the undergrowth in the darkness and he could hear her noisy progress. Then she screamed; it sounded like a cry of pain or terror.

  He heard the crashing of a body in the darkness, the sighing and grunting that followed … then a faint cry for help. Someone was whimpering and calling. It was a woman’s voice. His decision made, Nick set off down the dark slope, his eyes growing accustomed to the gloom as he called out. ‘Hello,’ he yelled. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Over here,’ came the faint response. ‘Please, do be careful … it’s loose, some rocks are loose, oh, my ankle … I’ve lost my torch, it’s lying about somewhere … do be careful.’

  Nick was too alert to walk straight into what still might be an ambush and he halted before reaching her, listening in the cool, still air for any indication of other people nearby. There was none. Gingerly he inched forward, calling out to her to indicate her precise whereabouts by answering him. Finally, guided by her voice, he found her lying among the bracken, unable to stand or walk.

  ‘I’m PC Rowan,’ he said, kneeling at her side in the faint light from the railway station. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s my ankle, it was so stupid of me to try and come down here in the dark. I’ve twisted it, sprained it perhaps … I don’t think it’s broken, but I can’t stand up.’

  ‘The station’s just down there.’ He pointed in the direction of the lights. ‘There’s a waiting room. If I can help you down there, I’ll call a doctor.’

  In the dim light, he was able to haul the woman to her feet. He told her to put her left arm around his shoulders while he held her tight about her waist. With that support, he would be able to guide her to the station. As they set off, he kicked something metallic and saw a chrome torch gleaming at his feet; picking it up, he pushed it into his coat pocket. Miss Smith obeyed his careful instructions and was soon limping down the slope guided by his strength.