False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery (8 page)

She shook her head. ‘Kind sir, you do me too much honour.'

‘Nonsense.' The lines of his face hardened and for the first time she caught a glimpse of an acute businessman behind the carefree exterior. ‘You've studied the man, as I have. He's a braggart, a con man. He's taken over Holland and Butcher by convincing my brother he's the bee's knees but, either because of previous bad management, or his own inability to keep the ship sailing merrily along, he's heading for the chop unless, perhaps, he can manage to refinance H & B. Excuse mixed metaphors. So, what will he do next?'

Bea responded with caution. ‘If he's stripped her of all she has, he might be on the lookout for another meal ticket?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘You've heard something?'

‘No, no.' Crossing fingers and toes.

He thought about it. ‘Is there nothing we can do to stop him? I shall probably regret saying so tomorrow, but I'd like to take a hand in the game. Only, I can't make bricks without straw. Give me something to go on, Mrs Abbot.'

She thought through what she'd learned about Benton. ‘I'm told he had a previous entanglement which might be worth following up. Dilys says he sold her diamond to pay off his previous girlfriend, who subsequently met with a fatal road accident.'

‘Bless you, my dear,' he said, laying a platinum card on the bill. ‘I knew you'd come up trumps. I'll get the details from Dilys tomorrow. Now, are you going to invite me back for a brandy?'

B
ack at the house, Leon lingered on the front doorstep, clearly hoping that Bea would change her mind. ‘Are you sure you won't invite me in for a nightcap?'

‘No, Leon. You knew I wouldn't. I paid for my supper with information and, as a working woman, I don't invite strange men into my house for a nightcap or for any other purpose.'

He raised his hands in the air. ‘You can't blame me for trying.'

Without giving it much thought, she said, ‘It's too soon, too raw, for you to be thinking of replacing your partner.'

In the light of the street lamp, his face turned into a mask.

She put her hand on his arm for a moment and pressed it. For comfort. Then she let herself into the house and closed the door in his face. Once inside, she dealt with the alarm and reset it. Then stood, trying to work out whether Maggie was in or not.

Yes, the girl had left a pair of boots under the hall table. There were no lights on in the kitchen. Winston the cat appeared, to do some stretching exercises and inform Bea that he hadn't eaten for a week and would perish if she didn't feed him immediately. A lie, of course.

Bea fed the cat and turned off all the lights downstairs. Maggie and Oliver had a two-bedroom flat upstairs, complete with living room, kitchen and bathroom. There was no reason why Maggie should not have eaten upstairs by herself. She was not obliged to wait up for Bea, or to maintain constant contact.

The fact that she usually did was neither here nor there. Wasn't it?

Bea climbed the stairs, with Winston at her heels. He would sometimes condescend to sleep on her bed. Sometimes he'd go up to sleep with Maggie. It depended on his mood.

The house lay quiet around her, but there was a leak of light from the top floor. No music. There was definitely something wrong if Maggie were at home but sitting in silence.

Bea tapped on the door to Maggie's living room and waited for permission to enter. There was a scramble of sound and Maggie called out, ‘Come.'

The girl was sitting hunched up on the settee, with her arms around her knees. Had she been crying? Possibly. The television was on, but the sound had been muted. Maggie was a good housekeeper and normally kept her rooms tidy. Today there was a certain disarrangement of newspapers and empty coffee cups which hinted at distress.

Maggie was not a beauty in conventional terms. Her hair could be sprayed any colour from magenta to strawberry blonde according to the way she felt when she woke up in the morning. Her clothes were sometimes outrageous and always colourful. Maggie dressed to reassure herself that she existed.

Today her hair seemed to have resumed its normal mouse colour and she was dressed in black.

This was bad. Handle with care.

Bea said, ‘I haven't seen you for a couple of days. Missed you. Want to share a late-night cuppa?'

Maggie shook her head, not taking her eyes off the muted television. ‘I'm all right. Just a bit … Work, you know. January blues.'

Unasked, Bea took a seat. ‘I usually buy a bunch of daffodils when the dark days get me down.'

‘Good idea.' A dull tone of voice.

Bea was seriously concerned. ‘What's wrong, Maggie?'

A shrug. ‘Nothing for you to worry about. Honest. I must have picked up some sort of bug. I'll be all right soon.'

‘If it's that bad, I'll make an appointment for you to see the doctor in the morning.'

‘Don't do that.' A sharper tone. Maggie reached for the remote and clicked the television off. ‘If you must know, I had a row with Zander, and we've broken up.'

This was serious. Zander – short for Alexander – was a serious young man with a good job, who'd been Maggie's loving and understanding boyfriend for some time now. Bea didn't know whether the relationship had moved on from boy/girl, to man/woman, but she rather thought not. Zander was old-fashioned. He believed in respecting and loving his woman. He believed in commitment. He'd been very patient with Maggie, waiting for her to … to grow up? To realize that she was worthy of love?

‘I'm sorry,' said Bea, trying to pick the right words. ‘I thought he was right for you.'

Another shrug. ‘He assumed I was his for the taking.'

‘Nonsense!'

Maggie uncurled. ‘He wants to own me.'

Bea rolled her eyes. ‘Come off it, Maggie. Zander wouldn't.'

‘He … I said, why didn't he move in here with me? There's plenty of room, and it would save him the rent of his place. He acted like I'd insulted him.'

‘So you had. Maggie, this is ridiculous. What really happened? Did he ask you to marry him?'

Maggie raised both fists in the air. ‘Why shouldn't he move in with me? You wouldn't object, would you?'

‘He wants you to make a commitment to him?'

Maggie spun herself off the settee and switched on the main lights. She turned on the radio and began to dance to it. ‘Boom, tiddle tiddle … Boom!'

Bea reached over to switch the radio off. ‘Maggie, take five! Ask him for time to consider. Don't—'

‘Don't panic, Mr Mainwaring!' she said, quoting a well-known oldie of a television show. ‘Don't panic!' She twirled round and round, putting on an act. Then, just as suddenly, collapsed back on to the settee. ‘So, yes. I panicked. Told him to get lost. Said I was never going to …' She caught her breath. Sobbed. ‘I told him I didn't want to see him again.'

‘Silly girl,' said Bea. She moved over to the settee and put her arm around the girl. ‘You know you love him to distraction. He's a gem of the first water and you don't want to lose him. Why don't you phone him, say you were taken by surprise—'

‘I wasn't. I've seen it coming for weeks.'

‘Ask him to forgive what you said because you need to think things through.'

‘I asked him to move in with me, and he said he wouldn't. He said that if I respected him—' Again she broke off with a sob.

Bea picked Maggie's mobile from the mess on the table and handed it to her. ‘Ring him. If you don't, I will.'

Maggie struck the mobile out of Bea's hand. ‘It's too late for that. I'm not going to let him get me down. He didn't love me enough, and it's good that I realized it before I wasted any more time on him.'

‘Maggie!'

Maggie sprang up and made for the kitchen. Then froze. ‘That's your phone ringing downstairs.'

There is something about a phone ringing late in the evening which tells you that this is not a sales call. This is urgent.

Bea had an extension of the phone in her bedroom. She had turned the voicemail on, hadn't she? Yes, she had. The voice clicked in as she was halfway down the stairs. She could hear her own voice asking the caller to leave a message and then … Leon's voice, almost shouting, ‘Bea, for God's sake!'

She picked up the phone. ‘Yes?'

‘Thank God. Can you come? Dilys was in the bath, unconscious. I'm doing CPR. I've called the ambulance, but the boys … and I've no idea where Benton is!'

‘Address?' Bea reached for something to write on. Her Bible flyleaf would do. She took the address down and tore out the page. ‘I'll be right there.'

Maggie was at her side, her own problems forgotten. ‘Trouble? Can I help?'

‘Desperate. Do you know where this terrace is?'

Maggie had an encyclopedic knowledge of this part of town. ‘Not far. Near Earls Court Road. Will we take a cab, or the car?' Parking in this area was limited, very. Bea's car was nearby but it was unlikely they'd find a parking space at the other end.

Bea dialled. ‘I'll get a cab. You get your coat. It's cold outside.'

They got there in record time. Traffic lights turned to amber and green as they approached, and there seemed to be fewer cars on the road than usual.

Benton and Dilys lived in a pretty little street not more than a mile away. Late-Victorian villas. Ironwork balconies and bay trees in the forecourt. No garden. Three bedrooms unless a loft conversion had been done, which, in this case, it hadn't. Two receptions, kitchen and bathroom. Lights on downstairs.

Bea paid the taxi off while Maggie rang the doorbell. Insistently.

A commotion in the curtains of the bay window. A boy looked out, made a rude gesture and vanished. Sound thumped. They had the television on with the volume turned up high?

A wisp of a child opened the door, reaching the catch with some difficulty. She was wearing soaking wet pyjamas and had nothing on her feet.

Bernice?

Her eyes were huge but she was controlling herself. Just. She pointed upstairs and led the way, stumbling over the bottom step then scampering up on all fours.

Maggie followed Bea into a nightmare. A small, old-fashioned bathroom, the floor awash with discoloured water slopping over on to the landing. An unpleasant smell.

Leon, still in his overcoat, dripping water, on his knees, working on a man-sized doll.

Not a doll.

He said, ‘Am I doing this right? Do you know how to …?'

He didn't stop pumping.

Maggie said, ‘Let me.' She knelt at Dilys's other side and took over.

Leon sank back on his heels and closed his eyes.

Bea's eyes were drawn to the mirror over the washbasin, on which someone had scrawled the word ‘Sorry'. In lipstick?

Was this another attempt to murder Dilys? Or was it attempted suicide?

Bea delved into her handbag for her mobile phone and began to take pictures. The message on the mirror, the large, claw-footed old bath still half full of water, the wine glass on the side … Leon wet to his armpits, the front of his coat stained, his trousers dark with water. His shoes … Oh dear.

Dilys lying on the floor.

Maggie working on her.

Bernice hovering, in silent anxiety.

Water scurried around Bea's boots. Water with something nasty in it. Vomit?

Leon tried to help himself up by pulling on the washbasin. Failed. Sank back down again. ‘The paramedics say there's been a multiple car crash out near the hospital. They're diverting, soon be here.'

Bea looked at a medicine cabinet on the wall, marked with a red cross and with a child lock on it – a broken child lock. Might there be something in there to explain why Dilys had let herself slip under the water? True, it was a very large, high-sided bath, and she was not a big woman, but …?

Bernice knelt in the water by her mother's head, not touching her, but very close.

Maggie didn't stop working on Dilys but said to the child, ‘What's your name?'

‘Bernice.' A thread of a voice.

‘I'm Maggie. Do you know how to feel for a pulse? Put your fingers on your mother's neck, half way round. Can you feel anything?'

The child did as she was told. Shook her head.

Bea pulled a large towel from the rail and draped it over Dilys's naked body. It was cold in the bathroom. No sense the girl getting hypothermia on top of everything else.

Leon's arms hung at his side. ‘Bernice was in the hall when I got back. She'd found her mother asleep in the bath. Under water. Couldn't lift her out. She told the boys she had to use the landline to call for help. They laughed at her, wouldn't let her in. Playing some video game or other. Her mother's mobile is in her bag in the living room. Also out of reach. Bernice is a star.'

Bernice looked up at him. A trustful look.

Maggie worked on.

Bea moved round the room, opened the medicine cabinet, took a snap of the contents. Well-stocked for minor ailments. Nothing untoward.

Leon managed to get himself off the floor and on to the bathroom stool. ‘I got her out of the bath. No pulse. I tried to get her to sick up, and she did, but …' He made a defeated gesture. He looked older than his years. He pointed to a wine glass on the edge of the bath. ‘Whisky, do you think? Sleeping pills? Someone needs to look at that.'

Bea took the rest of the towels off the rail and began to mop up around Dilys.

Leon said, ‘I got Bernice to take my phone out of my pocket, told her what numbers to press and when she got through she held it up to me so that I could speak to the medics. I tried Benton. Not answering. Then my sister. The same. One of the boys came up, wanted the loo, I told him to get lost.'

Was Leon actually crying?

Bea decided not to notice. She bent over Dilys, whose hair was all over her face. Poor kid. Poor, desperate child.