False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery (10 page)

‘Maggie says she'll be with you in half an hour to collect her worksheets for the day, and that she's bringing Bernice with her. Says the girl can follow her around. I suppose it's better than letting her stay here in the house by herself. Her father certainly won't trouble himself to look after her. I'll see if Sybil will take the girl in for a few days.'

‘You've got everything organized. Brilliant.'

‘And you? What were you up to with your little phone last night?'

‘Recording evidence. Did you know that Bernice's arms and legs are a mass of bruises?'

‘What! You mean he's attacked his own daughter?'

‘Looks like it. I don't see Dilys doing it, do you?'

A painful silence. Eventually he said, ‘What do you propose to do with the evidence you've collected?'

‘I suppose it depends whether Dilys lives or dies.'

‘Yes.' Heavily. He disconnected.

Well, that was a good point. What did she intend to do with the photos she'd taken?

Breakfast. Good coffee to wake her up. The toaster had developed a mind of its own. It had put itself on Fast Forward and ejected bread at high speed when it was done. Bother!

Fridays were always busy, but she had a good staff and could leave the usual flood of enquiries to them. She checked what food she had in the freezer, found and dialled the mobile number of Detective Inspector Durrell. He answered with a grunt. Not in a good mood.

‘Bea Abbot here. Do you fancy a home-cooked lunch?'

‘I'm up to my eyes in—'

‘Home-made soup; courgette and Stilton. Spaghetti Bolognese. An almond croissant and good coffee.'

‘Bribery and corruption.'

‘Twelve noon? You've got to eat at some point.'

‘You have an ulterior motive, of course. I'm in the middle of—'

‘Olives stuffed with garlic to start with.'

He sighed deeply and cut the connection. She retrieved the ingredients for the promised lunch from the freezer and cupboard, put them where Winston couldn't get at them, and took her first cup of coffee downstairs to get a start on the day's work. First job: to print off the photos she'd taken the previous night.

She was soon immersed in her work.

Maggie arrived and called out, ‘Hello!' Bernice was holding on to Maggie's sweater as if it were a lifebelt, which was probably what it felt like. Maggie whisked into her office, collected some paperwork and removed herself and Bernice.

Bea reflected that no harm would come to the child in Maggie's care, and it would take the older girl's mind off her upset with Zander.

‘Half an hour, that's all I can spare.' He meant it, too. Of medium height and mixed race, Detective Inspector Durrell was devoted to his family, and he was a good friend to those he respected, which included Bea.

‘You eat, I'll talk,' said Bea, putting olives and a bowl of hot soup in front of him.

‘I'm not wasting your time. I know the police usually can't interfere until a crime has actually been committed. In this case I'd like you to be forearmed.'

‘Crime?'

‘Murder. She's still alive as of ten minutes ago when I checked at the hospital, but the prognosis is not good and the evidence I gathered last night will have been washed away by now.'

He grunted. Reached for some bread to go with the soup, while keeping an eye on the spaghetti she was popping in to some boiling water. ‘As you say, until a crime is committed—'

‘I know. Let me fill you in on the background.'

He ate, she talked. When he pushed his empty spaghetti plate away, she brought out her photographs. ‘This is the bathroom. When we arrived, Leon was working on the girl. Then Maggie took over, helped by Dilys's daughter. Here is the message on the mirror. Note the bright colour.'

‘Her writing?'

‘Block capitals?' She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Here is the photo of the wine glass which we found on the edge of the bath, empty. I put it in a clean bag and brought it away with me.'

‘You said “murder”. I don't investigate suicides.'

‘Bear with me. This is the picture I took of a similar message on the mirror in the master bedroom. The same bright red.'

‘So, what's wrong with that? A suicide note, as plain as a pikestaff.'

‘Dilys was a mouse, but she kept her house clean and tidy. She wouldn't scrawl on mirrors if she were thinking of suicide. She'd write a neat little note, put it in an envelope and address it to her husband, because she wouldn't want the children to see it.'

‘So?' He reached for the almond croissant, keeping his eye on Bea the while.

‘And she didn't have a bright-red lipstick.'

‘What?' He nearly dropped the pastry.

‘Here is a photograph of the dressing table. From my own observation of her, she wore very little make-up: a dab of crème powder, a trace of eyeshadow, badly applied, and a pale-pink lipstick. Her skin was slightly greasy, and she would never have bought an oily lipstick which would write so easily on a mirror. Here is a second photo, taken of the only lipstick on show – you see the make and name? It is, believe me, neither cherry red nor scarlet, but a pale-rose colour. Not terribly becoming, but that's by the way.'

He looked at the photos. Got out a magnifying glass and scrutinized the evidence. ‘The red lipstick wasn't something she'd bought and discarded? Perhaps in a drawer?'

‘After using it for a suicide message? I looked. No other lipstick. Lipsalve, yes. Colourless. She wouldn't have been seen dead in a lipstick of that colour. I'm sure she thinks it would brand her as a loose woman.'

He took a deep breath. Scowled at her. ‘I really don't have the time to—'

‘There's more. I took the liberty of opening their clothes closet. They've got a big, built-in one across one wall. It looks a bit odd in a Victorian villa, but that's not my affair. This is a picture of the contents. As you can see, his expensive clothes take up two thirds of the space. Her stuff is … Well, the term “charity shop” leaps to mind. When I first met her, she was wearing a black silk dress which she probably thought made her look sophisticated and in fact didn't suit her at all. That was there, and it was the only evening wear she possesses.'

‘Which doesn't mean—'

‘It means he spends money on himself, but not on her. Oh, and this is a photo of her jewellery, which she keeps in an old chocolate box in her top drawer. The “diamond” in her engagement ring is a zircon. There's a couple of dated pieces of costume jewellery which probably belonged to her mother, and a thin string of cultured pearls. Benton is reputed to be tired of her; he's got her to sign over her shares in the company to him. He's failed as a businessman and is about to lose his position in the firm unless he can bring in fresh capital. I suppose he could mortgage the house, but she'd have to agree to it.'

‘Why wouldn't she agree?'

‘She might. Or maybe he's mortgaged it already, in which case … I'm told he's looking to be rid of her. I know, I know! That's just gossip, but this isn't the first time she's had a near miss with death. She had a nasty accident with a defective toaster the other day.'

‘You think he planned that as well?' He was not amused. ‘What would he do with his children, if he got rid of her?'

A gesture of frustration. ‘I don't honestly know. He does seem to value the boys, but the girl's arms and legs are a mass of bruises. She wouldn't let me photograph them because she said they were a secret. You could at least get someone to look into that.'

He was the doting father of a young family. ‘Yes, I can alert the Child Protection Services. But that's about it. You don't really think he staged his wife's suicide attempt, do you? How, when he wasn't even in the house at the time?'

‘I've been thinking about that. We don't know when he left the house but I don't think she was long under water or Leon wouldn't have been able to rescue her. Benton could have poured her out a drink with a sedative in it and told her to freshen up and take a bath because he was going out and the boys were playing games downstairs. She'd have done whatever he told her to do, got in the bath, drunk whatever it was he'd given her. He wrote on the mirrors and left the house, while she was still alive but sleepy. If it weren't for the lipstick being the wrong colour, I'd not be bothering you with this.'

He shook his head. ‘You're overreacting. She might have wanted to make sure he'd see the message so went out and bought a bright lipstick especially for that purpose. No, no. It must have been an accident. For a start, she might well have gone to sleep in the bath but not slipped down into the water.'

‘Agreed. Maybe he isn't aiming to kill her, but to stage a number of such incidents to give everyone the idea that she's unstable. Perhaps he's just gathering evidence for a divorce.'

‘Come on! Without her, he'd have to pay someone to housekeep and look after the children. He'd be far worse off financially.'

‘I know. I've been going round and round in my head, trying to work out what he stands to gain by all this, and why he invited Leon to stay when it's obviously not a suitable house for guests. I thought it was so that he'd have an impartial witness to his wife's mental frailty, but if so, that's backfired, since Leon saved her life.'

‘Or perhaps –' a grin – ‘allowing myself the liberty of using my imagination for once, perhaps he was setting Leon up for the role of murderer?'

‘Oh, you.' She aimed a blow at him and missed. Laughing. Then she sobered. ‘Do you really think that Benton might …? Oh, nonsense.'

He prepared to go. ‘I can't act on what you've given me.'

‘I know that. But if Dilys does die, then you will look into it, won't you? And chase up Social Services to do something about the child? Meanwhile, just in case, could you get someone to look up Benton's past? There's a rumour of a girlfriend whom he paid off with the diamond from his wife's engagement ring. They were married – let me see – in the summer, ten years ago. Apparently, the girlfriend was killed that October, in a hit and run accident in a quiet cul de sac, and no one's been prosecuted for it. I could bear to know more about that, couldn't you?'

‘You're mad, you know that? Completely and utterly mad.'

‘Yes, but you'll do it, won't you?'

He gathered all the photo printouts together, tapped them into a neat pile, and stowed them away in an inner pocket. ‘I'll do something about the child, but women in these situations never turn on their abuser. You know very well that if she survives, she'll refuse to press charges against her husband.'

‘And if she doesn't survive?'

He tapped his pocket. ‘Then I'll take another look at the evidence. And you'd better hand over that wine glass while I'm here. What's the betting it contained whisky?'

‘I'm not a betting woman. Oh, I did check by the way. There were no sleeping pills in the cabinet, but I didn't go through the rubbish to see if he'd discarded an empty packet somewhere.'

‘You are a marvellous cook, Mrs Abbot, but you've given me indigestion.'

Once he'd gone Bea cleared away the remains of the lunch, thinking hard. So far Benton had been making all the running. What would his next step be, and how should she counteract it? She looked at her watch. She had an appointment with her solicitor at four. Should she cancel it?

Her mobile trilled. Leon.

‘I stayed till Benton was up and about, but I'm off in a minute, checking into the Kensington Park Hotel. This call is by nature of a storm warning. He's seeking whom he can devour. There's talk of pictures illicitly taken and children being kidnapped. He's been on the phone for a while, don't know who to, but he looked pleased afterwards which gave me a bad feeling. He says he's got something to sort out and then he's coming over to visit you, with Max in tow. I told him that my sister had agreed to take Bernice in for a while. He couldn't have cared less. I've been told to deliver the child to Sybil in time for tea. I'll pick her up from you later, shall I?'

‘Is Sybil staying at the same hotel as you?'

‘No, she's out at the family mansion near Gerrards Cross. Posh place. Got its own guest wing, and a resident housekeeper who'll probably give notice when Sybil starts interfering with the domestic arrangements, which she is sure to do. As for Benton's boys – wait for it – he might well have been planning an “accident” with his wife, because his sister arrived half an hour ago and is moving in to look after him and them. He told me to give her my keys to the house. She's going to sleep in Bernice's room, apparently.'

‘What about Bernice?'

‘Surplus to requirements? Demoted to the lilo again?'

‘Ugh. What's the sister like?'

‘Very blonde. A man trap. She makes me shiver.'

‘Dilys is not dead yet.'

‘I don't think it matters. As far as he's concerned, Dilys is yesterday's news. “She's let him down,” he says. In sorrow, blowing his nose. He says he's in deep grief for her but he has to think what's best for the boys. About Dilys, have you checked recently? I was going to go to the hospital, but this development—'

‘I'll check in a minute.'

‘You did take some pictures, didn't you? What did you do with them?'

‘They're in a safe place.'

He disconnected.

Well, Benton had got everything planned, hadn't he? Moving his sister in to look after the boys. Well, that answered one of the questions that had been worrying Bea. And he was on his way to see her? So, what should she do now?

First thing: ring Maggie. ‘How are you both doing?'

‘We're fine. Bernice has been a great help to me this morning, haven't you, love? Holding the end of the tape, helping me measure up for a new kitchen at this kind lady's house. We're going to have some hot chocolate in a minute, and then we're going to go for a little walk in the park and decide where to have lunch. We'll be with you about two, I suppose. Is that all right?'