Found Guilty at Five (15 page)

T
HIRTY

“L
OIS, MY DEAR?
H
OW ARE YOU?
A
NY NEWS?
A
S ALWAYS,
lovely to hear from you. And how are our newlyweds? Matthew is positively bouncy, in spite of the usual teasing in the canteen.”

“Never mind the newlyweds, Cowgill,” said Lois. “We need to see you on a very important matter. Will you come here, or shall we come into town?”

Inspector Cowgill’s tone changed immediately. “I’ll be in Farnden in twenty minutes. Or less. Don’t go out before I arrive. Bye, Lois.”

Lois put down her phone and leafed through a pile of New Brooms papers on her desk, but could not concentrate. After a second breakfast, when they had all exchanged commonplace conversation, Jamie and Akiko had come into her study and told her the whole story.

It had clearly been very difficult for Akiko to describe the sounds of violence between her father and Parsons. She explained again that there was some kind of secret that gave Parsons a hold over her father. She had repeatedly tried to get him dismissed, but her father would not even discuss it. She suspected there was something so appalling about her father’s past that he would do anything to keep it from her. It must have been something Parsons had discovered and had for years used as blackmail. Since then, his constant presence in their life had become routine, and Parsons had maintained a comfortable, if subservient, life for himself as a result.

Lois had thought again of Japan’s past history in the Second World War. Was that anything to do with Nakamasa’s secret? She had thought all this over before, and had decided it was too long ago. But only this morning she had heard an old man, a surviver from a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp, talking on the radio about a book just published recounting his bitter experiences.

Now in her office, waiting for Cowgill, she turned over the next week’s cleaning schedules without reading them, hardly knowing what she was doing. All she could think of was a convent in London, where for years nuns had spent their lives in prayer, and where now it was an ex-convent occupied by criminal and possibly murderous characters, with her precious Jamie in their sights.

When the knock came at the door, and she opened it to see the reassuring bulk of Inspector Cowgill, she felt she could kiss him for being there. So, to his extreme delight, she did. Fortunately, since Gran was close behind her with her usual offer of coffee and an unofficial listening ear, she then collected herself sufficiently to ask him in and show him to her office.

“Shall I bring in Jamie and Akiko?” Lois was struck by Cowgill’s concerned expression. He probably knew some of what she had to say already. There was now a legitimate channel of communication to him through Josie and Matthew. Whatever she said to Josie stood a good chance of being passed on to Cowgill. But that was fine. She would never dream of asking Josie to keep anything from her husband.

“No, I’d just like to hear what you have to tell me, and then we can get the other two in. Are they staying long?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Lois said. “It was such a relief to see them turn up safe, and then to hear them out, that I haven’t really had time to take it all in. All I knew for sure was that we needed to get you here. They know you’re here, and seem quite willing to talk.”

“As I am always saying, Lois, we have not been idle. A certain amount of interesting information has emerged on the disappearance of musical instruments. These have led us to an unlikely connection with an underground organisation operating worldwide. Valuable instruments and paintings are stolen to order. These are passed on to customers, but the victim is led to believe they will be returned on payment of a large amount of money. In this way, thieves double their money. Clients pay up for the genuine instrument, and when the original owners pay the ransom asked, they then receive a fake violin, or cello, a replica of their own. Obviously the organisation has very skilled craftsmen, as nine out of ten of the musicians are convinced.”

“And, as you said awhile ago,” said Lois, “some violence, even one death, has been associated with all this?”

Cowgill nodded. “Yes. It seems that if the victim argues, or threatens retribution for being deceived, other methods of keeping him quiet are used, namely threats of violence to him or his family, and once or twice a threat has been carried out.”

“And you have no idea who the villains are?”

“Oh yes. And we have one or two doing time and unwilling to talk. But they are the tip of a large iceberg. When Akiko’s cello is found, it will, we hope, lead us to more discoveries, and it is important that she lets me know at once if she is approached with a ransom demand. Of course, it may be that all this is quite coincidental and has nothing to do with Jamie and Akiko being held prisoner. The theft could have been merely opportunistic.”

Lois sighed. “Though I couldn’t say it to them, I personally think they left the car unlocked,” she said. “How easy it would have been for the thief!”

“We’ll see, my dear. Would you like to ask them in? Gran could bring us all coffee to warm things up.”

“Watch me,” said Lois, with a smile. She opened the door suddenly, and there stood Gran, a guilty expression on her face, bearing a tray loaded with coffee things.

“Ah,” said Cowgill, “there you are, Mrs. Weedon. What wonderful service! Let me help you with the tray.”

*   *   *

W
HEN ALL WERE SETTLED,
L
OIS INTRODUCED
A
KIKO, AND
explained that Inspector Cowgill was an old colleague, and completely trustworthy.

“I’ve told him some of what we are here to talk about, but not all. For one thing, I don’t know all. But there is no doubt that the two of you could be in danger, because of what you may know. I’m blowed if I know what that is, but Akiko particularly may have been a target because of her cello. We need the inspector’s help, and must tell him all we know.”

“Perhaps a question or two from me would be a good start,” said Cowgill. “So, Jamie, how long have you known Akiko, and how did you meet?”

The conversation proceeded on these formal lines for quite a while, until the inspector suddenly interrupted Jamie’s description of the kind of music they played, and said with force, “Is your father living in London, Akiko? In a converted convent in the city?”

She turned and looked at Jamie for help. He began to speak, but was interrupted.

“No, Jamie,” Cowgill said. “Let Akiko answer for herself, please.”

“My father does occasionally live in London in an apartment in his offices, which are in a converted convent. But possibly not at the moment. He has a house in Scotland and, of course, his main offices in Japan. But he has been in London, with his assistant and chauffeur Parsons. We heard them quarrelling and shouting violently whilst we were shut up in the turret, and they were not around when we escaped. My father may have wanted to go back to Scotland for some reason, and does not drive, so perhaps he was ordering Parsons to take him. Why do you ask?”

“I am very sorry, Akiko, but your father has been found in an abandoned Bentley on a slip road from the M1 going north.”

“Cowgill!” Lois interrupted fiercely. “What on earth are you saying?”

“The truth, Lois. My chaps have found Mr. Nakamasa. And I believe it has nothing at all to do with a cello.”

“But is he—?”

“No, he is not dead. He had apparently suffered a severe heart attack, was left to recover, or not, and has now been brought back to a hospital in London.”

Akiko was trembling violently. Jamie took her hand, and said that perhaps it would be best if they had a break, whilst Akiko recovered herself. Cowgill nodded agreement. “Your father is not allowed visitors at the moment, but the prognosis is good,” he added.

Lois quietly poured more coffee, and pushed a box of tissues towards the now-weeping Akiko. “These two have had a grim time, Cowgill, so go easy, please,” she said.

“Of course,” he answered. “My apologies. I should stress that Mr. Nakamasa has been very poorly, but is receiving the best possible attention.”

“What about the other man, Parsons, who guarded us and probably attacked my father?” said Akiko. “I think he was blackmailing Papa, demanding much money for my release. He knew I was persuading my father to get rid of him, and he no doubt thought he would take a good chunk of money with him when he left. As we told you, he hid me in the convent building, in a cell almost never entered, and as far as I know, Papa was unaware of this.”

She shuddered at the thought of it. “Papa would not have believed the blackmail threats. He would think I had run off to join Jamie, I am sure,” she continued. “Poor Jamie was coming to look for me, and he too was imprisoned. I think this unnerved Parsons, and he did not know what to do next. He was so bemused—is that right?—that he left our cell door open! Perhaps Papa had realised that Parsons was his blackmailer, and faced him with it. They were both shouting so loudly. You must find Parsons, please. I shall be happy to identify him. Very happy.”

“The search has begun already to find him. It will not take long, we hope. He is known to us, and known to be ruthless. Perhaps it would be best if you returned to London, to be near your father for when he improves? Do you have a friend you could stay with?”

He looked at Jamie Meade, and recognised in his face his mother’s stubborn expression.

“Akiko will stay here with me,” Jamie said. “I can look after her, and we will see what happens next.”

“Very well.” Cowgill frowned, and added, “You must report to me immediately if there are any developments here in Farnden. In the meantime, it would be advisable to keep a close eye on Akiko, in case Parsons should make an approach. He will undoubtedly need to know whether your father is dead or alive. I presume you mean to stay here with your mother, Jamie? Please let me know at once if you intend to leave. I need not stress how important this is. And one more thing. When we found your father, Akiko, he was handcuffed.”

*   *   *

E
ZEKIEL
P
ARSONS HAD WITNESSED
N
AKAMASA HAVING HIS
first small heart attack in Scotland, but this time it was different. His face had been a terrible colour, and he had clutched his chest. Then he seemed to pass out completely, moaning and writhing with what was obviously a very severe pain.

Parsons had panicked. He had driven off the motorway into a deserted slip road leading into open country, taken Nakamasa’s gun from his pocket, then got out of the car. He had locked it and run as fast as he could until he had got a lift from a passing lorry going his way. When his own heart had stopped beating wildly, he had considered his position. Pity old Nakky had twigged that the blackmailer was in fact his faithful servant, Parsons himself! Still, he had been able to take him by surprise and get the handcuffs on him before he could reach for his gun. The cuffs that he’d been carrying in his pocket for immobilising Nakky and had seemed so useful! He should have removed them. Idiot! It had been relatively easy at first. He had got him out of the convent and into the Bentley with a bit of pushing and shoving, then on the road to Scotland, where the old man would be out of the way. The offices were deserted, and he was fairly sure no staff heard them leave. Once out of town, he had planned to drive through the night, dump Nakky back at Hightoun House, force him to hand over his cash, and scram. Jump before he was pushed!

Then the heart attack! Should he have tried to resuscitate him? Yes, and risked him blabbing to the police? After all, his threat to destroy Nakamasa in the eyes of his precious daughter still held. It was too late now though, and sitting next to the lorry driver, who was a big, bald man, evil-looking and covered in tattoos, Parsons had decided to spend the shortest possible time in his company. They had slowed down through a village, and Parsons asked to be dropped off. He had made his way to the church and, in the waning light, curled up in the porch and tried to sleep.

Now, next morning, he was awake, stiff and hungry. He looked out across the churchyard to see that the coast was clear. The lorry had driven away after leaving him. He was in vaguely familiar countryside, and had recognised a name on a signpost. He knew he could find his way to the main road and once there, with a bit of luck he could pick up a lift that would take him straight to Waltonby and Last Resort House. It was a shame about his proposed rendezvous with Foster in London, but it was entirely possible that his old friend would still be in the community, where they could talk without interruption.

T
HIRTY-
O
NE

A
FTER
C
OWGILL HAD GONE, AND
J
AMIE AND
A
KIKO SET OFF
for a walk, Lois sat in her office, trying to make sense of notes she had scribbled earlier, but subsequent events had removed all recollections of a conversation with Dot Nimmo. Something about a possible new client, but she had not been clear about the woman’s address, or whether she had definitely decided to hire New Brooms.

She grinned as she remembered Cowgill surreptitiously taking her hand as he left. He was a naughty old thing! She looked at her watch. Dot had a clear morning today and would be at home, so she put in a call. The messaging voice was interrupted by Dot, who yelled, “Hello! Hello! Don’t go! I’m here!”

Holding the receiver away from the bellowing in her ear, Lois’s grin widened. Thank goodness Dot would never change. She was comic relief in dark times. “Hi, Dot,” she said. “I’m just going over my notes from the last meeting and can’t read some of it. You know you told me about a possible new client? Can you go over that again?”

“Yeah, sure. It was a woman I met at the bus stop. She was very respectable, and said her car was in for service so she had to take the bus. We got talking—”

“As you do,” said Lois.

“—And when she heard I worked for New Brooms, she said she was moving house and would need some help, cleanin’ up an’ that. I said I’d tell you, and you’d get in touch.”

“Details?” said Lois.

“A Mrs. Rowntree, from Waltonby. She’s moving to a smaller house.”

“When?”

“Next week. It’s all happened quickly, apparently. The sale of her own house, an’ all of that. She lives at Walnut House, Keats Meadow, in Waltonby. She said she was in the telephone book, so you could look her up. Or would you like me to?”

“No, no, Dot! That’s fine. I’ll give her a ring. Thanks a lot.”

A tap at her office door brought Gran in, with a long face.

“What’s up, Mum?” Lois asked.

“It’s them two. Akiko and Jamie. Jamie’s changed his mind and they’ve decided to go back to London in a couple of days’ time, and I shall never have another minute’s peace until we get all that other thing settled. Akiko told me about her father being very ill, and I reckon she’s behind this new idea to go back. Are you sure you’ve told Cowgill everything?”

“More to the point,” answered Lois, “has he told me everything? Anyway, we’ll all talk about Jamie and Akiko over lunch, see what we can sort out. I’ll get on to this new client now.”

“A new one? Where’s she live? You’d think we’d got the entire area covered by now. Is she in Farnden?”

Lois shook her head. “No, Waltonby. Dot met her at the bus stop, and chatted her up. Might not come to anything, but I’ll give her a ring.”

“Huh! That Dot Nimmo! She’ll land herself in trouble one of these days, talking to all and sundry wherever she happens to be. If you’d listened to me—”

“I know,” said Lois. “If I’d listened to you, I’d never have employed Dot. And then I’d have lost one of my best cleaners and a good friend into the bargain.”

*   *   *

I
N
F
ARNDEN
H
ALL,
M
ELANIE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY OF THEIR
elegant but only half-furnished drawing room, and looked across at Geoff. He was buried behind the newspaper, and she waited for him to appear. “So did you hire him? And did you give him a warning that one more transgression would see him out on the streets?”

“Um, what? What did you say?”

“I said, did you give the gamekeeper his job back, and did you warn him that this was his last chance?”

“No to both questions,” said Geoff. “He was cocky and unrepentant, so I told him to get lost and not turn up here again.”

“What did he say?”

“Muttered something about plenty more fish in the sea, and then he turned on his heel and walked off.”

“Why did you change your mind? I thought you were going to give him another go at it?”

“The minute I started talking to him, I realised it was a bad idea. He offered no apology, and seemed to assume we would take him on again without question. Oh yes, and the woman’s gone. So that’s that. There are limits to my patience, Mel.”

“Oh, don’t think I’m criticising! I never wanted him back in the first place. Thank God you sent him packing. As for empty threats of revenge, I think we can take them for what they are.”

“And what are they? More burglaries? House set on fire?”

Melanie shivered. “Not likely. More the words of a weirdo. He’s probably used to living on his wits. I doubt we’ll see him again. I’ll advertise, and we’ll make sure we get reliable references next time.”

*   *   *

F
OSTER HAD NOT GONE FAR.
H
E HAD CHECKED IN WITH THE
Last Resort community, the group of oddly assorted people living in a large farmhouse in Waltonby. They had been useful to Foster in the past, and he intended to turn to them again. One of the great advantages of the community, as far as he was concerned, was their absolute vow of discretion. They released no names or information of any kind to questioners outside the group, and required equal discretion from members about the community itself. According to reports that occasionally filtered out through the invisible walls of silence, once inside it proved very difficult to get out again. Unless your name was Foster or Parsons.

This community had grown, buying up businesses and accommodation in the area. Among the community’s members were professionals and skilled persons of all kinds, and whatever they undertook was done successfully.

Now, when Ezekiel Parsons arrived after a lucky lift from a sympathetic motorist, he was desperate and exhausted, and received gratefully the usual welcome of a hot bath, clean clothes, a Bible and a bed, and a repeated lecture on loyalty to the community. He was known to those in charge as an unreliable liar, but the more scrupulous of them argued against banning him. “What would Jesus have said?” had been the comment. “He who consorted with thieves and prostitutes?”

Left to himself in his room, Parsons stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, and thought about his options. If Nakamasa was now dead, however you looked at it, he had killed the golden goose. If only Nakky had not finally guessed that Ezekiel himself, his right-hand assistant, was actually his blackmailer, and had not scorched his ears with an angry diatribe about kidnapping Akiko. If he had not then added threats of what would happen to Parsons if he did not turn around on the M1 and take him back to London immediately, the old fool might not have been provoked into a heart attack.

If, if, if. He had made a mess of it all round. Forgetting to lock the turret door was careless, handcuffing Nakamasa was not necessary with the frail old man. Anybody finding him would know it had been a crime. And worse, he should have stayed and made sure that Nakky was either alive or dead. As it was, he was in limbo.

If Nakamasa was dead, he was a murderer. With Nakamasa alive, he was still an abductor and blackmailer. In order to plan what he would do next, he desperately needed to know for sure whether the old boy had survived. He had never wished him dead. Last Resort House was indeed his last resort, and he knew from his close observations of Akiko in the past that the parents of the Meade chap lived close by, in the next village. Through them, he might find out what he needed to know about Nakky.

He had discovered that Foster was still in the community, but at the moment was out. He had been working locally as a gamekeeper, apparently, but that had come to an end and he was back living in the community. Parsons had on arrival talked to Solomon Grundy, the man in charge, and had reminded him of what he knew about violins and cellos, and their agreed terms, and suggested he would do well to abide by them. Anonymity was essential to Parsons’s survival. He was now once again a fugitive from the law.

Grundy’s business on the side, trading in old musical instruments, was shady. One of his residents was a very skilled craftsman. That was all Parsons knew about it, but it was enough for his purposes. He looked forward to seeing Foster again and discussing his own plight. While some of Last Resort’s residents had families anxiously trying to retrieve them, Parsons had no relations of any kind. His father and mother were shadowy figures in his past, and he had much clearer memories of the orphanage where he grew up.

Then, as he settled for a nap on one of the community’s comfortable beds and closed his eyes, all at once he had a subliminal flash of Nakamasa slumped in the car, his old, veined hands still clamped together in his lap. A heavy weight in the pit of his stomach caused him to sit up in fear. For the first time in a life of petty crimes, and some not so petty, he realised there was a strong possibility that he could now be on the run from a charge of murder.