False Picture (24 page)

By now Herman was on his mobile, frowning, watching her every move. Perhaps he'd hoped to snatch the code from her as soon as she'd deposited the bag in the locker?

Jan and Dirk escorted her to a post box outside the station. Herman followed, still on his mobile. Bea dropped her letter into the box, checking that mail was collected at frequent intervals. Mr Van should have the letter tomorrow morning. As she walked back through the station to the taxi, the two men kept pace with her, one at either shoulder. She wondered if film stars with bodyguards felt like this. She rather enjoyed the feeling. Herman trailed after them, still on his mobile, no doubt reporting to his boss.

Bea settled into the back of the taxi, but couldn't feel relief as yet. She was still wound up, on a high. She couldn't relax till she and the girls were all safely through Customs, and – oh dear – there was that long drive ahead.

Jan was enjoying this. ‘Where to now, then? You want us to take you around the beauties of our wonderful city?'

Bea laughed. ‘I wish I had the time. But yes, come to think of it … would you drop me off at Rubica's on the corner of Simon Stevinplein before returning me to the hotel? I need to pick up an outfit I tried on yesterday.' The diversion would give her an opportunity to check if Mr Van were still following her or not. If he'd been fooled, he'd now disappear. But if he had worked out what she'd done … she shuddered. She didn't like to think what he might do next.

Both men laughed. ‘You are one wild dame!' said Jan, who obviously watched too many old films.

‘I am that,' said Bea. ‘Indulge me. I'm very happy to pay whatever you ask for the pleasure of your company.'

The two men conferred, delighted to sink themselves into the role of James Bond, rescuing a damsel in distress. What a wonderful change this made from the daily routine!

Jan decided he would go into the shop with Bea, while Dirk circled the block. Would it be possible for the lady to buy an outfit within ten minutes? They understood it usually took longer. Bea said that they could rely on her.

Jan ushered her into the shop, while Bea sought out Jeannine, explaining that she was in a great rush, had to get back to London unexpectedly early, but would love to take the outfit that she'd tried on yesterday with her, and here was her card.

When she had completed her transaction, Jan told her to wait inside the shop until he saw Dirk's car arrive and when it did, he rushed her across the pavement into it.

Jan had regained his smile. ‘There is no more sign of that car. I would have seen them, if they had still been on our tail.'

Dirk wondered, ‘Perhaps we should have called the police, no?'

‘No,' said Bea, perhaps a little too quickly. She calmed down to say, in reasoned tones, ‘Thanks to you, there's no harm done and calling the police would delay our departure and cost you both time off work. One of my girls is really quite poorly and I want to get her home as quickly as possible. Take me back to the hotel. I'm sure they won't follow me any longer.'

And indeed there was no large dark car on the way back to the hotel, or lurking under the trees beside the canal.

‘You are two wonderful men,' said Bea. ‘I'll remember you both in my prayers tonight …' Now why had she said that? It wasn't a thought that would normally occur to her. ‘How much do I owe you?'

‘Two taxi fares from the hotel to the station and back,' said Jan.

Bea paid him treble what he'd asked for, and thanked them both.

Tuesday early afternoon

Bea's wrist was aching like mad by the time they reached London again. She drew up outside the girls' flat and got herself out of the car, moving stiffened joints one by one. She didn't expect Charlotte to thank her for driving them home, and she wasn't disappointed.

Although Maggie had much the longer legs, Charlotte had insisted on sitting in the front seat, because she said she was always car sick if she sat in the back. Bea believed her. The girl had revived a little once they were back in England, but she hadn't exactly been a sparkling companion. Maggie had, predictably, hooked herself into her iPod and passed the journey by listening to some of her favourite tunes. The crackle of her music had nearly driven Bea to distraction. But there … Maggie had had something to complain about. Bea supposed.

Charlotte humped her case – the one she'd borrowed from Bea – out of the car and left it on the pavement, saying that she was too ill to carry it indoors, and that if Maggie would care to bring it up, she could pack her own things and get out of the flat. Maggie shrugged, but said she didn't mind if she did.

Bea enquired where she was to leave the hired car, and Charlotte came up with an address in North Kensington. They were all too tired to observe the usual pleasantries.

Maggie asked if it would be all right if Bea took Maggie's case on to her house, and Bea said she'd do that, particularly since – as she no longer had the use of Hamilton's overnight bag – she'd packed her own things at the bottom of Maggie's case early that morning.

Maggie disappeared into the flats, telling Bea that she'd be home soon. Bea tucked herself back into the car with a groan, for her wrist really did ache abominably and however often she'd adjusted it, the seat was all wrong for her. She got out her phone and alerted Oliver to expect her in an hour. She still had one more job to do before she could relax.

Tuesday early afternoon

Rafael could hardly believe it. He'd had a key to Liam's flat for ever because Charlotte had got locked out one day and so arranged for the people in the flat upstairs to keep a spare key, and vice versa. But when he'd kept his appointment with the scumbag, he found the bird had flown. Well, Rafael would catch up with him at work and wouldn't there half be a reckoning then!

Meanwhile, he'd been keeping an eye on the Weston house. From a neighbour, Rafael had learned that Philip's father was seriously ill in hospital, with his wife at his bedside. But, someone was still taking in the milk and newspapers.

Obviously, Philip was hiding out in the family home. Rafael couldn't think why it hadn't occurred to him before. He'd rung the bell but no one had answered, though he'd thought a curtain had moved at an upstairs window. Philip might not want to open the door to Rafael, but he'd have opened it for Liam, wouldn't he? Now Rafael would have to think of another way to get in.

Van called from Bruges to say the old woman travelling with the girls had pulled a fast one, shoving the goods in a locker at the station, and posting the code to him. Van would have to stay another night in an expensive hotel, till he could get the key and retrieve the goods. He was not best pleased.

Rafael found that amusing. As if Van couldn't afford it!

Now to phone Liam at work.

Tuesday afternoon

B
y the time Bea got back home, Oliver was shifting from one foot to the other on the doorstep, on the lookout for her.

‘Mrs Abbot, Maggie's been on the phone, in something of a state. Can you get back down to the flat straight away?'

Bea closed her eyes. She'd been dreaming of a cup of tea and a rest in her own bedroom, with the blinds drawn against the sun. Various bits of her were feeling unhappy, including her temper. It wasn't Oliver's fault, but if he didn't help her out with the luggage, she'd kill him or give him the sack or run him through with a bread knife or something!

She curbed her rage with an effort. ‘I need to get this hired car back to the garage first.'

‘Shall I drive it for you? Oh, and there's tons of messages, lots been happening.' He swung Maggie's case out of the car, and ran up the steps with it.

‘I don't want to know,' said Bea, retrieving the bag from Rubica. ‘What's Maggie on about? Can't it wait?'

‘She said it was urgent. Go on, let me drive the car. I can, you know.'

‘No, you can't,' said Bea, weary to the bone. ‘Not till you've passed your test, and we can't leave it here or it'll get clamped. You take my stuff inside, I'll drive the car round to the garage and take a taxi down to the flats. You can give me all the news later.'

‘Are you all right, Mrs Abbot? You look sort of, I don't know, not quite as usual.'

‘I don't feel it, either,' said Bea, inserting herself with an effort back into the driving seat. ‘But at least the girls are safely back home, and that's the main thing.'

The girls were safely back home, and so were the goods. Tired as she was, she smiled, remembering Mr Goldstone's excitement when she handed the fabulous treasures over to him. He'd hummed with pleasure, touching each miniature, caressing each gold box even while he complained fretfully that there were still only nineteen in the consignment and not twenty. He said he knew exactly how to get the lot to the insurance people without any questions being asked, and volunteered that he'd split any reward money fifty-fifty.

Tired as she was, Bea had informed him that he must be in his second childhood if he thought she'd accept his offer. Ninety-ten, she said, with the larger amount to the agency. Her expenses on this trip had been enormous, and although Velma had said she'd pay, Bea couldn't really bill her because the trip hadn't produced anything to help them find or clear Philip. Bea felt really bad about that, because she could have spent the time searching for him, instead of rushing off to the Continent.

Mr Goldstone had haggled for a while, saying it would cost him something to set up a deal, no questions asked, with the insurance people. Finally he'd suggested a split of eighty-twenty, keeping her name out of all negotiations, to which she'd agreed.

He'd wanted all the information she could give him about Mr Van and Liam in order to track down the man who'd killed his friend. Bea got it down to a few sentences and, remembering the photograph she'd taken of Mr Van in the restaurant, punched buttons to send it to the old man's mobile. In return she asked him for a description of the twentieth box, in case she came across it anywhere.

About Philip and the missing picture … did Mr Goldstone have any news for her? No? Ah, well.

She spared a thought for Mr Van as she got back into the car. She didn't think he was going to coo with pleasure over the two litre bottles of mineral water which was all he'd find when he opened Hamilton's bag tomorrow. Which reminded her to put an overnight bag down on her expenses sheet.

Now Maggie had called for help again. No time for a cuppa, but she simply must change her shoes before she went out again, and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Oliver followed her around, with a clipboard full of messages.

‘Sorry about this,' said Bea, not listening to what he was saying. ‘Can you hold the fort for another hour or two?'

Question marks were shooting out of his eyebrows, but to do him justice he reined in his tongue.

‘Speak soon,' she said, and dashed out of the house again.

The porter wasn't in his little box in the foyer at the flats and she'd forgotten to pick up her keys to the flat, but when she announced her name into the speaker entry system, Maggie let her in and met her as she got out of the lift on the second floor.

‘What's up?'

‘You'll see.' Maggie was tense, looked worried.

The flat smelt of bleach, mingled with polish. Someone had been cleaning the place. Maggie threw doors open, one after the other. ‘Zander. Liam.'

Their rooms were neat, tidy and bare. All traces of the previous occupants had disappeared. Even the beds had been stripped. It was as if the two men had never existed.

Maggie opened the door to the boys' bathroom. Spotlessly clean and shiny, there wasn't even a crumpled towel to be seen; in fact, there were no towels at all.

The kitchen. Every single shelf had been stripped of its contents except one. ‘That's my food on the shelf, next to Charlotte's. Everything else has gone.'

Bea gaped. ‘What about Philip's room?'

Maggie opened the door. The room looked the same as when Bea had last seen it, down to the black plastic bags that Bea had filled on her first foray into the flat. ‘What remains of his belongings are still here, but his food's gone from the kitchen. I suppose clearing out both bedrooms is Liam's farewell trick. Charlotte disagrees, of course. She thinks Liam's been kidnapped so she's sitting by the phone, waiting for someone to ring and demand a ransom.'

‘Come off it!'

‘Agreed. He knows we've tumbled to his smuggling operation and has scarpered in case we set the police on him. He's covered his tracks by getting in a cleaning firm to expunge all traces of his occupancy, fingerprints and so on.'

‘That makes sense, but why clear out Zander's room as well?'

‘I haven't a clue.' Maggie was close to tears. ‘Guess which cleaning firm he used?'

Bea put a hand to her head. ‘He knew that you worked for a domestic agency, so he asked
our firm
to arrange it?'

‘The bill is on the kitchen table. It was made out to Liam Forbes, but he's crossed his name out and put mine on instead. Oliver must have accepted the job because he knew that I was living here.' Maggie picked the bill off the table and handed it to Bea, who put on her reading glasses to note that Oliver had sent the Green Girls team to do the job. Four women aged forty to sixty, all experienced cleaners. Oliver had chosen well.

Bea supported herself against the nearest wall. She'd just had a horrid thought. ‘Surely there's only one reason why Liam cleared out Zander's room? He knows Zander's not coming back. Was Zander also involved in the smuggling, I wonder?'

‘I can't believe that. I expect Zander came back unexpectedly to claim his things, and Liam saw him and … no, that doesn't make sense. I suppose we could try to contact Zander in the Midlands to see if that's what's happened.' Maggie declined to look into the abyss.