False Picture (12 page)

‘Is he being dunned? Threatened?'

Bea remembered the correspondence she'd seen in Philip's room. ‘There was a letter in his room from a club whose name I didn't recognize, and he had a notebook with pages of numbers in it. The letter didn't seem threatening, but it did remind him of club rules about paying his debts.'

‘The notebook might be his way of recording winning numbers at roulette or something. Lots of people think they can work out a system for beating the wheel. They can't, of course. But they try. Do you think he's the gambling type?'

‘A gambling club … hmm. He'd lose, of course. Suppose it was that, and the club sent some heavies after him to make him pay his debts and he hadn't the wherewithal to do so—'

‘Then he might easily want to disappear, taking with him his one saleable asset—'

‘Which turns out not to be as saleable as he'd hoped. So where would he take refuge? I wondered if he'd go up to his mother's in Scotland, but he hasn't got a car or enough money for the train fare, and there's no credit left on his cards. Besides, going to Scotland won't help him cash in on the picture, which I assume is his priority. He's tried to sell it down here and been told it's a fake. He's been told he could sell the frame and I've got feelers out for anyone trying to sell that, but where is he, and what is he doing for food?'

Oliver sipped coffee, one eye on the clock. ‘My friend said he'd pick me up in fifteen minutes. I didn't think you'd need me today.'

Bea made an effort to think of this from Oliver's point of view. ‘Of course you must have time off. It's Sunday, after all.'

‘Mm. About Philip. All I can think of is that when I was at my wits' end and thinking of doing away with myself, Maggie picked me up, dusted me down, and brought me here. She looked after me like a broody hen.'

‘Ah.' Bea thought back to what she'd seen in Philip's room. ‘He had a
couple of photographs of girls there. You think he might have gone to one of them? But, how can I find out who and where? Velma's more or less incommunicado, and Sandy's too sick for visitors.'

‘You can't,' said Oliver, chucking his dirty plates into the sink. ‘You'll have to wait till tonight when we find out what numbers are on his mobile phone. I won't be late, promise. And then we can suss it out together, right? I'll put the phone on charge before I go.' He went out with it, and Bea took the dirty dishes out of the sink and put them in the dishwasher. She really must start house-training him.

She thought how pleasant it would be to have the house to herself, to have time off just to exist, and not to be busy about anything. Then she heard Maggie's voice in the hall, greeting Oliver as he was leaving. Several thuds later, Maggie appeared in the kitchen.

‘Whatever are you doing here?' said Bea. ‘It's Sunday.'

‘You said to report every morning, and I need to borrow one of your suitcases on wheels. Is there any proper coffee? My head! I didn't get to bed till five.' Maggie turned on the radio as she passed it, and reached for some black coffee. ‘Wow, that was some party and Zander certainly knows how to sweet talk a girl. I told him I'd met his sort before but, well, he is gorgeous!'

Bea turned the radio off, and told herself that patience nearly always paid off. ‘Did Philip turn up?'

‘Oh, him. No, he didn't.' Maggie frowned. ‘They're ticked off with him actually, wondering how they can get him to pay up what he owes, and get rid of him. Charlotte said they've got to go carefully because their landlady put him in the flat, and they don't want to get on the wrong side of her. Liam says that in that case, the landlady ought to pay Philip's share of the rent. He's got a point, hasn't he?'

‘Liam. That's the third man. What's he like?'

Maggie shrugged. ‘Not my type, but he must be nicer than he looks because he's going to Bruges on business this week and he's asked Charlotte to go with him. He's promised her a boat ride on the canals, and a night-time tour of the town in a horse and buggy. She's over the moon, dreaming of a white wedding, though to tell the truth, I don't think he means to go that far. He's a bit … dunno … one minute he's all over her, and the next he cuts her off in mid-flow. But she thinks the sun shines, so it's up to her, isn't it?'

‘Can she take time off work, just like that?'

‘Says she's got leave owing and anyway she'll only be away two days. Says she might just claim she's got a tummy bug, not bad enough to get a doctor's certificate, but enough to get her time off. Anyway, that's why I wanted to borrow one of your big suitcases on wheels. Charlotte's only got a small one, and her big one is a soft top. She needs a solid case because Liam's taking over a Royal Worcester coffee set as a present for this friend he's doing business with and it won't fit into either of his bags. I said you'd got one that might do, which would save her buying another tomorrow, but she has to see it first. That's all right, isn't it?'

‘I suppose it has to be,' said Bea, half amused and half annoyed. ‘Take the one with the red stripe round it; it's easier to spot in a crowd.'

‘Romantic Bruges.' Maggie was going all day-dreamy. ‘A trip on the canal. A ride in a horse-drawn buggy. Wow. I wish Zander would take me, but he says he's not got any reason to go over there at the moment. I said wouldn't giving me a holiday be reason enough, but he just laughed. Well, I must be off. Zander's taking me to feed the ducks at Kew this afternoon, maybe have a picnic. I told him he was a cheapskate, but he talked me into it.'

‘See if you can get him talking about Philip,' said Bea, sounding sharp and not regretting it. ‘That's why you're there, after all.'

Maggie gave Bea a darkling look, but said, ‘Right. I'll just fetch the case and be off then. See you tomorrow.'

She banged the case down the stairs and slammed the front door on her way out. Bea tried not to wince. That case had been round the world with her, she was attached to it and didn't want it scuffed. Then she laughed at herself for being so pernickety. What did it matter, anyway?

At some point she would have to get Maggie to understand that all this borrowing must stop, but not today. Today was Sunday. It was a day for relaxing, for being quiet, for not having to work.

The church bells had stopped. She looked at her watch. Too late for the nine thirty service. Should she make an effort to go later on that morning? Or relax in the garden? The sun was shining, the sky was blue, she could pick something light to read out of the bookcases in the living room and treat herself to a lazy day.

Or, she could go down to the hospital and chivvy Velma out for a walk. Velma wouldn't want to leave her husband's bedside, but it wasn't good for her to be cooped up with him day after day. When had she last eaten properly, for instance?

She ought to warn Velma about the police, too.

Actually, there was a list of questions she could ask Velma. Her friend must know a lot more about Philip and Lady Farne's death and Sandy's part in it, than she had said.

Grilling Velma would take a lot of energy and put a strain on their friendship, but was that a good enough reason for ducking out? Bea told herself that at her age she had earned a Sunday off.

But if she did nothing and the police jumped on Velma before she'd been briefed, before Bea could extract enough information to take the case further …? Hamilton had said once ‘All that's necessary for evil to prevail, is for good men to do nothing.'

She could easily convince herself that she should do nothing. After all, she didn't really
know
how much Sandy had been involved with Lady Farne, did she? Her mind skittered away from the effort that confrontation with Velma would involve. She thought of Maggie yearning for a boat trip on a canal in Bruges; little did the girl know how noisy such things could be, crammed in with tourists galore, battered by a loud-speaker commentary in different languages. And the horse and carriage trips finished at dusk, didn't they?

But there were quiet walks by the less well-known canals, serene squares with trees in them, swans on the canals and gorgeous sunsets. Hamilton had spotted some rare bird or other last time they'd been there … ah well. Perhaps some day she'd go again.

In the meantime, she'd better make a plan to get Velma out of the hospital and into an interrogation unit.

Extracting Velma was easier than Bea had anticipated, for her friend was so listless from lack of sleep, snatched meals and no exercise, that she accompanied Bea out of the hospital without too much in the way of argument.

‘Only, I can't be away long,' she said, shading her eyes from the bright sunlight in the street. ‘I assume you haven't found Philip yet? Of course not, or you'd have said straight away. Oh dear, I'd forgotten how noisy Fulham Palace Road is.'

‘It's a Sunday, remember. It's quiet by comparison.'

‘Is it?' Velma was dazed.

Bea steered her across the road and into a quiet back street, where she knew of a good vegetarian restaurant. Once seated, Velma pushed the menu aside. ‘You choose, something simple. And quick.'

Bea chose and ordered for them both. She considered suggesting a glass of wine and discarded the idea. Velma probably hadn't eaten properly for days. Luckily the starter came quickly, and though Velma took only small bites at first, she soon picked up speed and cleared her plate as quickly as Bea did. ‘I needed that. I'm glad you made me come out with you. You're a good friend, Bea.'

‘Better than you think. I've been obstructing the police in their enquiries on your behalf.'

Velma's beautiful eyes went blank. ‘You've what?'

The waitress brought their main course. Velma looked at it as if she'd never seen food before. ‘I'm glad you didn't choose seafood. That calamari really put the lid on it.' She asked the waitress for some mineral water.

Bea lifted her fork. ‘Eat. It will give you strength. It's time I gave you a full report, and then it's your turn to fill me in on the bits you've left out. Mm, this is good.'

Velma picked up her fork and took a tiny bite. ‘I don't think I'm going to enjoy hearing this, am I?' But she attacked her plateful steadily if without relish.

‘Maybe not. But you need to eat and you need to know. Now this is what we have discovered …' Bea told of her undercover foray to the flat and what she'd discovered in Philip's room.

Velma gaped. ‘He got the sack? He's in debt? That club you mentioned … I've heard of it. Gambling for high stakes never did appeal to me. If he's in trouble with them … why didn't he say?'

‘You'd said you wouldn't give him money, hadn't you?'

‘Yes, but … I didn't realize … I had no idea!' She took a gulp of water. ‘Sandy will be horrified.'

‘Philip's drinking heavily and taking antidepressants, so he's probably not thinking clearly. He took the Millais out of the flat, wrapped in a bed sheet. You did set him up with some clean bed linen when you put him in the flat, didn't you? Yes, I thought so. Anyway, Philip arrived at a reputable gallery looking and smelling like a man who'd been sleeping on the streets …' She went on to describe what had happened there, and how the Goldstones had inadvertently put the word around that the picture was a fake, thus ending any hopes that Philip might have had of raising money from the picture. Bea fished the photocopy out of her handbag. ‘Do you recognize the picture?'

Velma's hand trembled as she took the paper. ‘I think so. It hung in the hall. Her walls were covered with pictures and the lighting was bad. Sandy would know, but …' Her face contracted, fighting tears. Finally she said, ‘I could kill Philip, upsetting Sandy this way.'

Bea also pushed her plate aside. ‘Sandy's the key to this puzzle, isn't he? Your turn to talk, Velma.'

‘I'm exhausted. This is all too much. Why don't I just lie down and die?'

Bea grinned. ‘You're a survivor, Velma. Remember how you used to flannel your way out of trouble at school? So let's hear it.'

Velma signalled to the waitress for coffee. ‘I've got to keep awake somehow. We just have to get through today, you see. They'll operate tomorrow, although I'm having conscience-stricken pangs about pushing some other poor soul off the list, who might need the operation just as much as Sandy does.'

‘No more diversions,' said Bea. ‘Start with Lady Farne making a will. Sandy was one of the few people Lady Farne trusted. I'm guessing that she made him one of the executors.'

Velma nodded. ‘We-e-ll, yes. It's true. He'd been on at her for ages about making a will, and finally she did so. She told him he was one of the executors and the other was a solicitor recommended by her bank. She said she'd left the bulk of her estate to charity, but that Philip would come in for a good bit if he behaved himself.'

‘Philip knew?'

‘He talked about it quite openly, but I don't think he'd have the guts – pardon me, but I really don't think he has – to kill her.'

‘So how do you think he came by the picture?'

‘It all makes sense now you've told me about his debts. He was desperate for money, so he visited his godmother and asked for help. She gave him the picture instead of money.'

‘And he tries unsuccessfully to sell it. Next question. Was it Sandy who found the body and reported the murder to the police?'

The coffee came, and Velma drank it black, without milk or sugar. ‘Yes. He was dreadfully upset because he'd known her such a long time and although she was pretty odd towards the end, he was fond of her. When he got home afterwards he cried, and I didn't think any the less of him for that.'

‘Did the police say when she died?'

‘Late on the Monday or perhaps early on the Tuesday morning before he found her. They asked him to look around, see if anything were missing, and of course as soon as he went into the sitting room he saw that her collection of gold boxes had gone. It was in a display cabinet, all rather dusty and not even locked up, can you imagine? It didn't look as if anything else had been disturbed and of course he didn't think to look in the cupboard to see if the picture were still there. He was very shaken.'