Trouble on the Heath: A Comedy of Russian Gangsters, Town Planners and a Dog Called Nigel

Chapter Sixteen

When Cynthia heard the news her heart seemed to freeze over. She had been hoping against hope that she would not have to go to the police, but now she knew she had to. She knew her duty and she refused to shirk it, even when it meant destroying her own future.

Ever since she had picked up the scrap of paper that had fallen out of Trevor’s trouser pocket in the restaurant, her world had started to fall apart. Or rather the world she had hoped for had started to fall apart even before she possessed it.

She had never actually spoken to Trevor about getting married or even about how much she loved him, but every minute of every day at work had been filled by those thoughts. Every piece of filing she did was guided by whether or not she would catch a glimpse of Trevor, or whether it would involve asking Trevor a question or not.

She and Trevor had had sex, of course, but that was what you would expect in an office, wasn’t it? Cynthia really didn’t know, but Trevor seemed to assume that’s what you did and that was good enough for her.

Somehow the sex had made it more difficult to bring up the question of how much she loved him. Nevertheless, she had seen her future as Trevor’s wife and as the mother of Trevor’s children. Now she was going to have to destroy that dream.

It was all the fault of those wretched Highgrove Residents. They’d started it, by objecting to some planning application. She knew how worried Trevor had been by them poking their noses into council business, and stirring up trouble. It was enough to drive anyone insane.

And that, it seemed, was what had happened to Trevor. It was the only explanation.

When she’d found the threatening note in the restaurant, she knew he had been intending to send it, but she had persuaded herself it was just a one-off. It was probably of no importance. But then she had searched the wastepaper basket after office hours, and even looked in Trevor’s desk.

She had found a dozen similar notes, all threatening someone with something if they didn’t stop protesting or objecting.

She felt sad that Trevor had been driven to such desperation, but she could understand how he felt. Perhaps he was just getting something off his chest. She was sure he didn’t really mean any of those threats.

But now she knew he did. It was all over the newspapers and the TV.

“A wave of violence erupted last night in a quiet area of Hampstead,” the newsreader had said. “During 10 minutes of mayhem, two people were killed, many wounded and one house was blown up. Police have cordoned off the area, and are appealing for witnesses to come forward.”

Cynthia’s heart had sunk lower with every word the newsreader spoke. How could she ignore the appeal for witnesses? She could not.

She would have to step forward and hand over all Trevor’s notes. Trevor would be arrested. He would be tried and sent to prison and her future would be destroyed.

Perhaps she should ask Trevor first? Perhaps she should check if he had done all those things last night? Perhaps he hadn’t? Perhaps it was just a coincidence?

But Trevor was not at work that morning. He was missing. She rang his home, but there was no answer. No one knew where he was.

If she had had any reason for excusing him, she would have held back, but she could not delude herself. She had to hand over to the police all the evidence she had.