False Money (17 page)

There was good background heating, but also a fake gas-fire in the Adam-style fireplace. The lighting was courtesy of huge side lamps with brocaded and tasselled shades. Everything that wasn't ancient had probably been purchased from Harrods.

CJ and Bea waited, patiently. The carpet was old and had lost most of its colour, but there was a silky Chinese rug before the fireplace.

‘The thing is,' said Duncan, ‘that I've had to ask everyone's permission to break silence. Some of them are not happy about it. They want me to extract a promise from you that you won't pass on anything I tell you until next Tuesday.'

CJ shook his head. ‘You know better than that. More than one crime has been committed.'

‘The police don't seem interested, so what harm would it do to keep quiet for a few more days? After that, I promise you, we will all cooperate. It would be a tragedy if the secret got out now.'

CJ said, ‘You'll have to trust us. If you can give us a good enough reason to keep quiet for five days, then we will.'

‘Very well.' Duncan drained the rest of his glass. He shot his cuffs – gold cufflinks, of course – and sighed. ‘You must understand that we weren't drunk exactly, but we had been drinking. It was Harry's birthday. We'd eaten out at a restaurant in the Brompton Road, and then came back here for coffee and liqueurs.

‘The birthday boy had drunk more than most and was maudlin. He kept saying his life was a failure because he'd expected to be a partner in his firm by the time he was thirty, and it didn't look like happening. Someone asked what he'd like to happen to improve his life, and he said “to have a big win on the lottery”. We all laughed, because none of us played the lottery. Then Hermia said . . .'

Bea blinked. Was Hermia involved in this, too?

‘. . . that it was hope that kept us going every day, and why shouldn't we all put some money into a kitty and play the lottery for him? That way he'd have something to look forward to each week. It seemed a brilliant idea at the time. We all clapped and laughed. He cheered up no end.'

He took his empty tumbler to the drinks cabinet and gestured to them, ‘Will you?' They shook their heads. He poured more whisky, drank half, returned to his seat.

‘Someone suggested – I can't remember who, but it may have been Nick. Yes, I think it was Nick – that we should form a syndicate and arrange to play the lottery for six months. We'd each put in a pound a week, which wasn't going to break any of us, and it would add spice to life. Of course, we didn't really expect to win anything. It was all a bit of a joke. Someone said, “Suppose we do win. It's not likely, but suppose we do?” And someone else said, “Then we share it out, equal shares.” You can imagine that by this time we were all practically hysterical. It was a right laugh.

‘Julian said he wouldn't play because he had a premonition that his next tour of duty would be his last. He was off to Afghanistan the following week. We tried to jolly him along, you know? “Of course you must play, we all must play. Don't be a wet blanket.” So he said he'd play but, if we won anything and he didn't come back, he didn't want his share of the winnings to go to his elder brother, whom he's never liked; with reason, believe me. I suggested that if someone died, his or her share would be put back in the kitty. To which we all agreed.

‘Nick said he didn't want it to come out that he'd won anything before his divorce was through, or his wife would grab the lot. He asked us to promise that, if we did win anything, we hold back on distribution till the end of six months, by which time he'd be a free man. Again we all laughed ourselves silly and agreed. We swore ourselves to secrecy, on pain of losing our share of whatever winnings we might have.

‘We didn't think anything through, you see? Harry and I drew up a form of agreement there and then.' He gestured to an antique bureau which held an up-to-date laptop and a printer beside it. ‘We put everyone's real names down on it and signed it. Then I got everyone to sign a note promising to give so much per week. I ran off copies and gave out one each, to put in a safe place. It was all terribly hush-hush and, well, fantasy.

‘We gave ourselves nicknames – mostly from the zodiac. If anything went wrong, if anyone had to change their address or leave the country or something, they had to contact either me or Hermia. She's Sagittarius, by the way. Her birth sign.

‘I knew I'd have to be away on business a lot, so I arranged to buy and pay for lottery tickets using random numbers in advance. After two of us died unexpectedly, I reduced the number of tickets I bought each week. I checked the “No Publicity” box, of course. Some paid me the whole lot straight away; some paid monthly. Julian paid me for one month, I remember . . .' He stared into space, then caught himself up.

‘Unfortunately I lost my phone somewhere, I don't know where. Probably left it in the pub, just as I was about to go abroad the first time – I've been away three times since we set this thing up. The business hasn't been doing too well, but – enough of that. I got another mobile, but of course the number was different. I emailed everyone my new number, but I suppose Tomi didn't bother to change the number she had on her sheet.'

Bea said, ‘Her laptop batteries ran out, and she couldn't access anything for some time before she died. I've seen what emails she received since then. I think there was one from you giving a new mobile number, but she didn't get it and I didn't understand the significance of your message.'

He nodded. ‘Ah, I remember: Harry gave her his old laptop, didn't he? He's a bit of a cheapskate. Was.'

Silence. Bea shifted in her seat. ‘So, you won?'

‘Yes. I was amazed that we'd won anything at all, never mind . . . It was a shock, I can tell you. Anyway, I collected the money, told everyone how much it was and put it in a separate account to wait till the time was up.'

‘How did you tell them? By email?'

‘No, no. Not secure enough. Hermia had half the telephone numbers, and I had the other half. We spoke to each one personally, when we were sure they were alone.'

‘How much did you win?'

He told her. Bea breathed out gently, slowly. Awestruck.

CJ said, ‘Hic!'

Bea shot him a look. Had he got the hiccups? Surely not.

‘How many of you have died since then?'

‘Julian died within a month of returning to duty.' His eyes lost their focus, and he looked tired. ‘I'd known him since primary school. I used to help him with his maths homework, and he used to pick me for his football team. He was always so cheerful. He loved being a soldier, was made for it. Survived impossible odds several times. On that last leave of his he was subdued, said he knew he wasn't coming back.'

He straightened his shoulders. ‘Shirley; a different kettle of fish. She died in a car accident a month after Julian was killed. Her own fault. She'd had too much to drink, shouldn't have got into her car at all, but she did. She crossed a red light into the path of a juggernaut that was going too fast.

‘Tomi; I didn't hear about her or Harry till I was on my way home early this week and my mobile phone started ringing. Everyone rang everyone else. Then Nick died as well. That's five of us gone. The odds have changed, what?'

‘Hic!'

‘Five? Out of how many?' said Bea.

‘Ten.'

Bea breathed out, very slowly. ‘Five, out of ten?'

‘It makes me wish we'd never thought of it.'

‘Hic!'

‘CJ, have you got the hiccups?'

He rubbed his chest. ‘Sorry, sorry. A weakness of mine. Hic!'

‘Water?' Duncan got to his feet. ‘Hold your breath. How about a slap on the back?'

‘No, no. Hic! I'm so sorry. Absurd thing—'

‘A cold key?'

‘No, no!' CJ stumbled to his feet, reddening. ‘I do apologize. Hic!'

‘If you bend over, put your head between your knees—'

‘Sugar,' said Bea, looking around. ‘A spoonful of sugar. I don't know why, but it always worked when Max got hiccups as a small boy.'

‘Sugar?' Both men looked blank.

Bea got to her feet as another spasm struck CJ. He was really suffering. ‘Duncan, which way to your kitchen?'

‘I'll show you.' Duncan shot out of the door, across a hall and into a modern kitchen, all black marble surfaces and built-in fitments. He opened a cupboard, found a sugar bowl and a teaspoon. ‘Would this do?'

Bea took them from him and hastened back to CJ, whose eyes were watering and who was holding on to his chest.

‘Get this down you.'

‘I d–don't th–think it will d–do any good to—'

‘Don't think. Just try it. There.'

Duncan hovered. ‘I've heard one can die of—'

‘Don't be absurd. Get him some water now.'

Duncan obeyed. Another cut-glass tumbler. Of course. He handed it to CJ, who gulped the water down. Bea and Duncan held their breaths.

So did CJ. Slowly, his colour returned to normal. No more spasms convulsed him. Bea and Duncan relaxed.

So did CJ. He took out a pristine white handkerchief. ‘My apologies.' And blew his nose.

Bea laughed from relief.

Duncan smiled. ‘How about that!'

CJ said, ‘How embarrassing. I do apologize.'

They all three sat down again, smiling at one another. The trivial little episode had banished the awkwardness that had been in the air before.

Duncan didn't pour himself another drink, but sat down beside Bea. ‘I must remember that tip.'

‘So must I,' said CJ, wryly smiling.

Bea said, ‘We used to carry one of those little tubes of sugar around with us when Max was little. The sort you get in cafés to put in your coffee, right?'

‘I must do that in future.'

‘The future.' Duncan stopped smiling. ‘Do we have one? That's the question. Have we been jinxed? Or worse?'

‘Worse?'

He interlaced his fingers, in cat's cradle fashion. ‘I'm beginning to wonder if someone isn't knocking us all off, one by one. Because at the end of the six months – which is on Monday next – we're all supposed to meet here again to divvy up the proceeds.'

‘How much did you say?'

Gloom descended on Duncan's brow. ‘We won nearly forty-one million quid during our second month of play. Because I'd bought tickets for six months, we won another couple of hundred the month after that, and you know what they say, “nothing breeds success like success”? I wouldn't be surprised if we had another win before our time is up.

‘I put the lot in a private bank, which is giving us a better interest rate than most. I didn't take risks with it. I didn't play the stock market. It's not my money to play with. Well, a fifth of it is mine at the moment, if I live to collect it. What do you think the odds are?'

CJ and Bea grimaced. Not good.

Duncan said, ‘The stupid thing is that none of us who are left really need the money. Well, of course we'd like it. Naturally. But we don't
need
it.'

Bea looked around. The flat was discreet but opulent. Duncan was discreet and opulent. ‘You inherited the flat?'

‘It was my parents'. Both dead now. It's convenient for work and the shops, but it's always struck me as a trifle on the gloomy side. I'm thinking of getting married; the girl I have in mind daydreams of a detached house in the Home Counties with room to bring up kids. We could sell this place and move out there, while keeping a small flat on for me to be near work; perhaps a bolt-hole in a new block in Docklands, something with lots of space and a view.'

The sale of his highly desirable flat would go a long way towards buying a place in the Home Counties, but if his girlfriend had big ideas, then he'd be looking for a sizeable mortgage, plus the cost of buying a prestigious flat in Docklands. Mm. Yes, he could do with the money to fulfil that dream.

CJ said, ‘You've spoken to the other survivors? What do they think about the death rate?'

Duncan winced at the word ‘survivors'. ‘They're scared witless, like me. They can't think which of us is trying to kill the others off.'

‘You suggested bringing in the police?'

Duncan's eyes lost their focus. ‘Four of us would agree to it. One won't. He reminds us that we all signed a confidentiality clause, which we did. So please no police until after the pay-out next Monday. I'm trusting you to keep quiet till then.'

‘Isn't he afraid he'll be next?'

Duncan cleared his throat, looked down at his fingers. ‘He's – er – very sharp when it comes to finance. He's currently being investigated by the police for something completely different, involving the export of, well, I'm not entirely sure what it is that he's exported, but I strongly suspect, knowing him, that the paperwork may be inaccurate.'

‘Arms to Taiwan, sort of thing?'

‘Not Taiwan. At least, I don't think so. But yes, that's the sort of thing I mean.'

‘He could do with the money?'

A nod. ‘Yes, but I don't think it's him that's killing us off. He's a desk-job man, if you see what I mean. And a very old friend.'

‘Could he be hiring someone else to do the killing for him?'

‘I've thought of that, too. I've thought of nothing else since I heard. It's not him. I've known him since we were at school together, and he doesn't fit the bill.'

‘The others are willing to go to the police?'

A nod. ‘So am I, though none of us want the publicity. I suggested to each of them that if we don't want to get the police involved, we get a private detective to look into the matter. They all agreed to that, including the one who refuses to let the police know what's happening. I said I knew someone who was discreet.'