Dead Man's Footsteps

father – he was a good man. He wasn’t ambitious, but he was a good person. He was a wise man.’
    ‘I know he was.’
    ‘Remember what he used to say? He used to laugh at me doing the competitions and tell me that life wasn’t about getting what you wanted. It was about wanting what you have.’ She looked at her daughter. ‘Do you want what you have?’
    Abby blushed. Then she kissed her mother again on both cheeks. ‘I’m close. I’ll be back with a new phone within the hour. Are you expecting anyone today?’
    Her mother thought for a moment. ‘No.’
    ‘The friend of yours, the neighbour upstairs who pops by sometimes?’
    ‘Doris?’
    ‘Do you think she could come and sit with you until I get back?’
    ‘I may be sick, but I’m not a total invalid,’ her mother said.
    ‘It’s in case he comes.’
    Again her mother gave her a long look. ‘Don’t you think you should tell me the full story?’
    ‘Later, I promise. What flat is she in?’
    ‘Number 4, on the first floor.’
    Abby hurried out and ran up the stairs. Emerging on the first-floor hallway, she found the flat and rang the bell.
    Moments later she heard the clumsy rattle of a safety chain and wished that her mother had one of those right now. Then the door was opened a few inches by a statuesque white-haired woman, with distinguished features that were partly obscured by a pair of dark glasses the size and shape of a snorkelling mask. She was dressed in an elegant knitted two-piece.
    ‘Hello,’ she said in a very posh accent.
    ‘I’m Abby Dawson – Mary’s daughter.’
    ‘Mary’s daughter! She talks so much about you. I thought you were still in Australia.’ She opened the door wider and peered closer, putting her face almost inches from Abby’s. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I have macular degeneration – I can only see well out of one corner of my eye.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Abby said. ‘You poor thing.’ Abby felt she should be more sympathetic but she was anxious to press on. ‘Look, I wonder if you could do me a favour. I have to dash out for an hour and – it’s a long story – but there’s an old boyfriend who’s making my life hell, and I’m worried he might turn up and abuse Mum. Is there any chance you could sit with her until I get back?’
    ‘Of course. Would you prefer she came up here?’
    ‘Well, yes, but she’s expecting the locksmith.’
    ‘OK, don’t worry. I’ll be right down in a couple of minutes. I’ll fetch my stick.’ Then, her voice darkening with good-humoured menace, she added, ‘If this fellow turns up he’ll be sorry!’
    Abby hurried back downstairs and into her mother’s flat. She explained what was happening, then said, ‘Don’t answer the door to anyone until I get back.’
    She then hurried out into the street and climbed into the back of the taxi.
    ‘I need to find a mobile phone shop,’ she told the driver. Then she checked her pocket. She had another hundred and fifty pounds in cash. It should be enough.
    Parked carefully out of sight behind a camper van to the right, on the cross-street, Ricky waited for them to drive off, then started his engine and followed, staying a long way back, curious to know where Abby was heading.
    At the same time, keeping a steadying hand on the GSM 3060 Intercept he had placed on the passenger seat beside him, he replayed her call to Eastbourne Lockworks and memorized the number. He was glad he had the Intercept with him, he hadn’t wanted to risk leaving such a valuable piece of kit in the van.
    He called the locksmith and politely cancelled the appointment, explaining that the lady, his mother, had forgotten she had a hospital appointment this afternoon. He would call back later and arrange a new time for tomorrow.
    Then he rang Abby’s mother, introduced himself as the manager of Eastbourne Lockworks and apologized profuselyfor the delay. His staff were attending an emergency. Someone would be there as soon as possible, but it might not be until early evening, at the earliest. Otherwise it would be first thing tomorrow morning. He hoped that would be all right. She told him that would be fine.
    The taxi driver drove cretinously slowly, which made following at a safe distance easy, the vehicle’s bright turquoise and white livery and the sign on its roof making it easy for Ricky to spot. After ten minutes it started driving even more slowly down a busy shopping street, the brake lights coming on several times before it finally