False Report (33 page)

Bea set the printer going and found some plastic folders to put the evidence in.

She played the tape. Recognizable voices, Ms Butt's taking enquiries about framing a woman's husband for divorce. The other woman on the tape must be Eunice Barrow. Good.

DI Durrell would be pleased.

She walked out into the garden. A slight breeze stirred the air. Perhaps it would not be quite so hot tomorrow . . . today.

Five o'clock and the birds were singing their hearts out. Fly away, Nance or Annie or whatever your name may be. Fly away. And hopefully start a new life in another country in some profession which doesn't involve entrapment and blackmail.

At six o'clock Bea left her bedroom, having showered, made herself up and put on clean clothes.

Max was still snoring. She could hear him from the landing. She didn't disturb him. She woke Jeremy and told him to report downstairs in ten minutes.

Oliver, who slept as lightly as a cat, joined them in the kitchen, where Bea was making some strong black coffee. ‘What's up?'

She handed Jeremy the folders containing the information Ms Butt had left for him. He looked at its contents and winced.

She said, ‘If you can find your house keys, Jeremy, we're going to pay a visit to Eunice now, before breakfast. With any luck we'll catch her off balance. I'm taking my little recorder and a camera along, just in case. I don't suppose she's at her best much before nine in the morning, is she?'

Jeremy was hollow-eyed. ‘Neither am I. I'm not sure I can do this.'

‘Celia would like to live in your house, wouldn't she?' It was a master stroke, because he knew, and Bea knew, that Celia would love it.

Oliver said, ‘I'll drive.'

At seven o'clock Oliver turned the car into the driveway of a spacious, five-bedroomed house in a quiet, leafy street less than a mile away. Jeremy used his keys to let them into a large, square hall.

A clock ticked. A man's jacket hung over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. An alarm clock went off upstairs. A radio came on. A man who looked to be in his late thirties – someone who worked out a lot to judge by his physique – came out of a bedroom on the first floor, yawning. Bea turned her little recorder on and got her camera ready. Goodie, goodie. She hadn't expected the lover to be on the premises, so this was a bonus.

‘Good morning,' said Jeremy. ‘Remember me?'

The man gaped. ‘What . . .? How did you . . .?'

A dishevelled fortyish blonde wearing a hip-length nightie came out on to the landing and drew in her breath. ‘But you're supposed to be . . . How come you're not . . .?'

‘Dead?' said Jeremy. ‘Not everyone's wishes come true. Does your new lover there know what you've been up to?'

Bea gleefully snapped the pair of them with her little camera.

The toy boy – well, he looked too young to be a match for Eunice – didn't know what to make of this. ‘What? Who . . . Eunice? What's going on? You told me Jeremy was wanted by the police for murder.'

‘Far from it,' said Jeremy. ‘I have been helping them solve a couple of murders, though. Eunice is implicated in at least one of them.'

‘No!' Eunice wasn't going to cave in without a fight. ‘It's not true. He's making it all up. He was sacked by his school for interfering with an under-age girl, here, under my very roof !'

‘I've been cleared of all that. And it's under
my
very roof,' said Jeremy. ‘Not yours. Remember our prenuptial agreement? You didn't want me making any claims on you, and I'm not going to do so. Likewise you can't make any claims on me. I'm back now, and I'm staying. So take your lover and your daughter, pack what you can and get out. I'll send the rest on.'

‘Don't be ridiculous! The law is on my side and—'

‘Mr Butcher, Sir Charles and Mr Jason are now in custody and will be charged today with various offences, including murder. Sir Charles is not talking, but Mr Butcher is very vocal, especially about how he met you at a society function and exchanged confidences about this and that. He doesn't want to go down for murder, you see, whereas Sir Charles definitely will. Besides which, Ms Butt recorded all the details of your attempts to frame me for having sex with Josie.'

‘Eunice, tell me it's not true!'

‘Idiot! Don't you see he's trying to scare you? Well, I don't scare that easily.'

‘I suggest you get some clothes on and start packing. Oh, and while you're at it, you'd better wake Clarissa and tell her to start packing, too. And if she's still got the keys to my car, she'd better let me have them. Now!'

Bea was full of admiration. She hadn't thought the little man had so much steel in him. Then she remembered that he'd risen to the occasion surprisingly well on various occasions recently.

She wondered if there was plenty of food in the house, because he'd undoubtedly need feeding when he was through with his display as Master of the House.

She'd better remind him to get a locksmith to change the locks on his doors, too, before Eunice thought of it. And to change the locks at her place, too. A woman's work was never done . . .

TWENTY

Tuesday morning

D
I Durrell wandered in, saying, ‘I understand you've been collecting criminal cases for me to look at, but I'm not to ask how you came by them?'

‘Ask me no questions,' said Bea, beyond exhaustion, ‘and I'll tell you no lies. Or rather, I'll tell you in confidence if you like, but I'm not doing so officially.'

‘Annie Kelly, I assume?'

‘Who? What . . .? Is that the name of the woman who masterminded the Badgers? I've never known what to call her.'

‘You told me the actor was killed in the foyer of her flats. Under the circumstances it was easy to find a body which matched. It was the man you called Mr Toupee. Shocked residents identified him as one Philip Kelly, who lived in a flat on the top floor with his sister Annie and their niece Josie. Annie Kelly was supposed to be some kind of businesswoman, as she seems to have kept office hours and held the lease to the flat. Neighbours say she occasionally invited one of her numerous family to live with them for a while. The place has been swept clean, no paperwork, no computers, no cameras. No sign of any pretty young girl, either. Presumably Annie Kelly told their latest protégée to make herself scarce when “uncle” was found dead.'

‘Not real relations, were they?'

‘It seems Annie and Philip were brother and sister, yes. Josie was their niece, or second cousin, can't be sure which as yet. The other girl . . . probably not.'

‘Annie Kelly.' Bea tested the name out. ‘It suits her.'

‘So what have you got for me?'

‘The files Annie left for me. They're downstairs in my office, under lock and key. Care for some coffee? And I think there's still some biscuits in the tin now Jeremy's left us.'

‘No, I'm all right for the moment, thank you.'

She led the way down the stairs, past the carpenters who were even now installing a stout door at the foot of the interior staircase, and into the agency rooms, where Celia presided over a reduced, and somewhat subdued, team.

Once in her office, she handed over the four files.

‘That first one is for Howard Butcher; there's a photocopy of an article about him in a trade journal, featuring his wife and four children. Photographs of him in bed with Josie, showing him enjoying himself. Apparently, he liked to be spanked before he was able to perform. Here's a photo of him handing over a packet to Mr Toupee in a pub. Photographs of crisp new fifty-pound notes with consecutive serial numbers. I think they must have photographed the notes so that the serial numbers could be traced back to him. A perfect way of making sure their victim could be identified. She – Annie – must have had some method of laundering the cash later.'

The DI grunted. ‘Howard Butcher's got himself a good lawyer and is cooperating with us to avoid a murder charge.'

‘I don't think he did actually commit any of the murders, do you?'

‘He says he's as much of a victim as Snow White. Puts everything on Sir Charles, who, according to him, enticed him off the straight and narrow. Oh, and he was totally led astray, he says, by your ex-manageress Ianthe who is a snake in woman's clothing. It seems she approached him when she first got the job with you, with a scheme to enrich herself. She knew Holland and Butcher were going to be looking for a partnership with another domestic employment agency, and she came up with the idea that she'd persuade you to sell to them, in exchange for her job and a nice lump sum. He says he thought she was joking, only to find out Ianthe was serious.'

‘And if you believe that . . .'

‘Quite. Mr Butcher says Ianthe kept ringing him up with progress reports on how she was easing your path to leave the agency. He says he was beginning to take her seriously and wondering what to do about it, when she rang to say you'd taken Jeremy Waite in, and wasn't that a terrible thing to do, him being a murderer and all. She seemed to think that if the police found out you'd got Jeremy Waite, that they'd arrest you for conspiracy, which meant you'd sell quickly, and at any price.'

‘What nonsense.'

‘True. But she seems to have believed it. We've had her in for questioning, and you wouldn't believe the venom that she spat out. She hates you because you found her out. She is not wholly sane, I think. She boasts that she gave her keys to Mr Butcher, so that he could raid your premises to flush Jeremy out.'

Bea shook her head in bewilderment. ‘And did Mr Butcher agree to do that?'

‘He says not. He says he thought she was off her rocker, and it's true that the keys weren't on him when we arrested him.'

‘Because he'd passed them on to Sir Charles?'

‘Precisely. I've brought the keys with me, and with your permission I'll test them on your door here, just to make sure.'

‘No can do. New locks everywhere. And bolts. But I had the foresight to ask the locksmith to let me keep the locks he took off. I've put them in plastic envelopes and tagged them. I've got them here in the safe.'

She handed them over. The inspector tested the old lock. Nodded. ‘That's how Sir Charles managed to get into the house while you were taking Jeremy over to Piers' place.'

‘Did he also pour petrol down the steps and set it alight?'

‘No, that was Ianthe. She's proud of it, by the way. Exorcizing demons, she says. She says she's only sorry she hadn't still got the keys, or she'd have let herself in and poured petrol all over the desks and floor before dropping a match into it.'

Bea shuddered. ‘Well, you'd better have the rest of the evidence. This next one is Jeremy Waite's file. Photos of him in bed with Josie. As you can see, not exactly convincing evidence of adultery. But what
is
convincing is a tape obtained by Ms Kelly of various phone conversations. This bit is of Eunice asking in a roundabout way of Annie – I think it's her, but can't be absolutely sure – if she knew how to obtain evidence for a divorce against someone, not named, but it's obviously Jeremy. Then more photographs of fifty pound notes, which I imagine you will be able to trace back to her. I really don't understand why Eunice didn't just tell Jeremy to get lost. Divorce him on grounds of incompatibility.'

A shrug. ‘She saved herself the cost of a divorce. And, she wanted the house.'

‘Humph. At least he's got that back, and a housekeeper-cum-third-wife-to-be as well. Are you going to proceed against Eunice?'

‘Not sure. The Crown Prosecution people will have to look at the paperwork. My feeling is that even if she never comes to trial, the word will get about and it'll give her reputation a knock or two. And the last file, Mrs Abbot?'

‘Sir Charles. A cutting from a trade paper, wife at Central Office, cuttings of newspaper reports on his failed attempts to get into Parliament. Photographs of him with Josie, which are not for the faint-hearted. He appears to have locked the door and enjoyed beating her, so the photos were taken through a window.'

The DI sighed. ‘Nasty. He won't talk, you know. We've charged him with assaulting the fireman for a start, and with conspiracy to commit murder. He denies everything.'

‘Won't Mr Butcher's testimony send him down?'

‘And that of Mr Jason. He's singing sweetly, too. We found he was carrying a knife on him when he was taken to hospital, which is good for starters. He says he was seduced by Sir Charles, with promises of a hefty bribe, to help trace and deliver Jeremy Waite as and when required. He says he thought Sir Charles was only going to rough the little man up – and you can believe that or not as you choose. He's already asking if it would go easier with him if he told everything he knew about Sir Charles' doings.'

‘Can you get Sir Charles for Josie's murder? And that of the photographer?'

‘Circumstantial evidence only at present. Maybe forensics will come up with something. And if you would like to charge him with assaulting you . . .?'

‘If it will help to keep him off the streets, yes.'

‘And, looking on the bright side, I don't think his dear wife is going to be very understanding about all this, especially when she sees those photographs.'

‘He frightened me. He projects force. A maddened bull, let loose in society. Ugh.'

‘Look on the bright side. It's highly unlikely now that he'll ever be elected to Parliament, isn't it?'

In the autumn

It had been a dry summer, and the leaves were beginning to twist and twirl off the sycamore tree, spiralling down to earth. It was still warm.

The firm of Howard & Butcher had collapsed, but a buyer had been found for it, who was interested in discussing some sort of partnership with Bea.

A new manageress had been installed in her front office, Miss Brook and a part-timer were looking after Maggie, Oliver was back at university and Bea had taken some paperwork into the garden.