The Haunted Lady (13 page)

I returned his smile politely. Before leaving, Cooper took a business card from his pocket and passed it to me. ‘In case you have any queries or need more information you can call me on that number There is little more to be revealed, so I would be happy if you can restrain your journalistic instinct and contact me. I can’t promise to answer your questions in full, because there are certain areas of activity that still remain the province of Her Majesty’s Government.’

After he’d gone, Eve returned to the study to find me opening one of the windows. ‘What did you make of all that?’

By way of an answer I thrust the window wide. ‘I thought I ought to do this in case the aroma of bullshit lingers,’ I explained.

Eve gave me a look of mock surprise. ‘You mean you don’t believe what Mr Cooper told us?’

‘I’m not even certain his real name is Cooper. If that’s the case, it was the only truthful thing he said.’

‘Yes, I didn’t think he was being totally honest. Was there anything in it you found particularly suspicious?’

‘All of it, from start to finish, and even the fact that Cooper appeared here, is significant. Why bother to come all the way from London when he could ask the same questions over the phone? Then there was his insistence that Kershaw was nothing more than a courier. That was nonsense. For one thing they have diplomatic bags to put sensitive information inside, so there’s no need for couriers, except to carry the bags. And Cooper more or less contradicted himself by giving me his card and asking me to phone him before running to the press. That almost certainly means he believes there
is
something to discover.’

‘I got that point too; was there anything else?’

‘His protestation that he knew nothing of Kershaw’s personal life, and particularly his marriage, was enlightening, although he didn’t intend it to be. In fact, it was what he didn’t say that was the most illuminating.’

‘What do you mean about Kershaw’s private life?’

‘The fact that Cooper told us that he knew nothing of Kershaw’s marriage, because it happened after he returned to England. That can’t be true, because Chloe and Michael checked with Somerset House. The record of Kershaw’s marriage might not contain the correct details for Chloe’s mother, but the fact that nobody by the name of Andrew Kershaw was registered as having got married suggests that either there was no wedding, which would render Chloe illegitimate, or that the marriage took place abroad.’

‘Perhaps Cooper was telling the truth, and he really didn’t know anything about Kershaw’s personal life?’

I shook my head. ‘If that statement was correct, how come he knew Chloe’s mother’s name was Deborah? We didn’t mention it.’

‘Oh, of course. I didn’t twig that.’

‘Going back to what was omitted from the conversation leads me to wonder whose phone line has been tapped – Simon’s or ours.’

Eve stared at me in disbelief. ‘What on earth makes you think our phone might be tapped?’

‘Cooper said it wouldn’t be worth me phoning Baines if I found out anything regarding Kershaw’s past.’

‘Yes, I remember that, what of it?’

‘How did Cooper know that I’d promised Baines I’d let him know if we discovered anything? Cooper couldn’t have known I’d said that, unless ...’

‘... someone was listening in on that conversation.’

‘Absolutely correct, Eve, and why would anyone go to so much trouble to overhear a conversation about a low-level courier, nothing more than a messenger boy, and moreover one who has been dead for nearly twenty years?’

‘Is that it?’

‘Not quite, because he left out other salient details, probably deliberately. He didn’t explain why Kershaw was whisked away from his National Service. Possibly he thought we didn’t know that. But because we do know, it highlights another weakness in his tale. A courier wouldn’t be seconded so dramatically. Neither would a courier need Kershaw’s extensive linguistic skills. Someone of his ability would be wasted in such a menial role. And of course Cooper’s protestation of ignorance about Kershaw’s personal life was a lie. He said he knew nothing of what happened after Kershaw returned home, but his eyes told a different story. Cooper’s story was about as full of holes as a Swiss cheese.’

‘The way you describe it makes it all sound like something from a James Bond film. All this business about spies, secrets and phone tapping.’

‘Speaking of phones, I also found Cooper’s business card interesting.’

‘Why, does it show which government department he works for?’

‘No, Eve, it doesn’t show anything except the phone number. Not even Cooper’s name.’

‘Let’s have a look.’

I passed her the strip of card. Eve stared at it for a moment and then looked at me. ‘I think this’ – she tapped the card – ‘is the final proof not only that Andrew Kershaw was a spy, but also that our recent visitor is one as well.’

Eve was right, but it was a long time later before we realised exactly how accurate her summary of the situation was. Once we did, I could even put a title to which of the Bond films it resembled.

––––––––

L
ess than half an hour after Cooper had gone, the doorbell rang again. I put my pen down with weary resignation. Any idea I had of trying to work that day was already crumbling. Eve, protective as always, had answered the door and when I emerged from the study I found her in conversation with the caller. To say I was surprised by the identity of the visitor would be a huge understatement. Had I been asked to gamble on who it might be, Susan Bennett would have been a rank outsider.

She apologised for having disturbed us. I told her she wasn’t interrupting, which earned me a disbelieving stare from Eve as she ushered her into the lounge.

Susan went on to explain the background for her call, and why she had chosen to come to us. ‘I was talking to Tom Fox after the funeral,’ she began, ‘and he told me you were the best detectives around here. He said he wished he’d had you on his team when he was in the force. Then, when he told me about some of the cases you’d been involved with, I thought that you might be the best ones to consult about a book Mark left with me. I’ve brought it along, but before I show you it, I want you to promise to keep it confidential.’

‘We can do that,’ Eve replied.

‘As long as it doesn’t contain his confession to a dozen unsolved murders,’ I added.

Susan smiled politely at my joke. ‘I don’t think there’s anything as bad as that in it.’

‘Then you can trust in our discretion. What is it you’ve brought us?’

‘I’m not quite certain, because I can’t make head or tail of the entries, but I’m scared to hold on to it any longer.’

‘Scared? Why?’ Eve asked.

‘Because I had a visit yesterday from someone asking lots of questions about Mark and his business dealings. He was rather threatening, especially when I told him I had no idea what he was talking about. I certainly don’t know anything about how Mark and Casper Harfleur were involved with Andrew Kershaw.’

‘Who was this man? Was he someone local?’ I asked.

Susan shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen him before and he certainly isn’t from around here. He said his name was Lumsden and that he was a private investigator, based in London. He’d been asked to make enquiries on behalf of a client who wanted to check the provenance of an item he’d acquired. I asked who the client was, but he wouldn’t tell me. Nor would he tell me what the item was. I didn’t like to pursue it any further, because to be honest, I found him really scary. That’s why I didn’t want to hold on to this any longer.’ She pointed to a carrier bag she’d deposited on the floor by her feet.

‘Did this man Lumsden tell you where to contact him in case you found anything?’ Eve asked.

‘Oh yes, I forgot. He gave me a business card with an address and phone number on. It’s inside the book.’ She handed me the bag.

The book was of the type used by businesses to record their financial transactions. I opened the ledger and removed a small card from inside. One glance at the details rang alarm bells. ‘I don’t know about the phone number, but this address is phony,’ I told Susan.

‘Why, Adam?’ Eve asked.

I stared at the card. ‘I know this place. It’s a rather nice hotel. It’s certainly not an office building. I’ve actually stayed there.’

Susan continued, ‘It was after the man had gone that I remembered Mark giving this book to me, and what he told me at the time. That, along with this Lumsden’s visit, really frightened me, and then I recalled what Tom had said about you and I decided you might be able to help.’

‘What did Mark say to you?’ I asked.

‘It was several years ago, but I can still recall his exact words. He said, “I want you to take care of this. You mustn’t tell anyone you have it, it could prove very dangerous – for both of us!”. I thought he was being over dramatic, Mark did have a tendency to exaggerate. I never thought his life would be in danger. Do you think he might have been murdered because of something in this book?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

Susan’s distress brimmed over into tears. Eve consoled her, giving me chance to have a quick glance at the ledger. A brief scrutiny of a couple of pages at random told me the book would require careful study, if only to decipher Bennett’s spidery handwriting, let alone the text.

When Susan had recovered her composure, I promised that we would keep the book secure and would not involve the authorities, whether the contents pointed to illicit activities or not. ‘Furthermore,’ I added, ‘if there is anything in here that shows Mark in a bad light we promise to keep it to ourselves.’

Susan sighed, a sad expression on her face. ‘I suppose even if it was something criminal, the police couldn’t arrest him now.’

Quite naturally, once Susan had left, our first task was to examine the book. Whereas we might have expected a diary, or some other form of journal, what we looked at seemed at first sight little more than a jumbled mass of letters and numbers. ‘He’s used some form of code, but at the moment I’ve no clue as to what these characters represent.’

‘Hang on, Adam, let me try something.’ Eve took hold of the book and walked across the hallway with it. I followed, curious as to what she was going to do. She held the open volume up in front of the mirror. ‘Got it!’ she exclaimed triumphantly.

She had indeed. Bennett had transposed each entry by reversing the order. At the very end was the date. I should have guessed that, even though the characters were not separated. Having lived in America, I ought to have spotted the way they write the date, with the month coming before the day. Similarly, the description of the article and the price were also inverted. A table was thus described by the letters E L B A T and so on. Prices looked odd, written in one instance as K V L. After checking others I pointed to it. ‘This is the price,’ I told Eve.

‘How do you work that out?’

‘By comparing it to other ones. That table is priced or valued at £5,000. The L represents a pound sign, the V is the Roman five, and K is the symbol for a thousand. The amount he paid for it is coded similarly, but written in red instead of blue.’

I pointed to another entry lower down the same page. ‘It looks as if that item was sold to someone in America. Instead of the pound there’s a dollar sign.’

‘I can see that now. Mark Bennett was far more than simply a museum curator. He seems to have been a highly active antiques and art dealer.’

‘Quite a successful one too, by the look of it. No wonder his house was mortgage-free.’

‘I don’t think Susan should have been too worried about the police getting hold of this book.’

‘Not unless some of the paintings were creations of Casper Harfleur, rather than the famous artists whose alleged signature is on them. If I were Susan, I’d be more concerned to ensure that it didn’t fall into the hands of the Inland Revenue.’

‘Would they still be able to claim tax even though Bennett is dead?’

‘I’m damned sure they would. They certainly can in America. Over there they have a joke. The question is, “What’s the difference between a taxman and a hooker”? To which the reply is, “A hooker stops screwing you after you’ve died”. By the look of this’ – I tapped the book – ‘Bennett owed the taxman well into five figures, possibly more, but luckily the taxman didn’t know it.’

‘Shouldn’t we do something about it?’

‘Certainly not. The question of a dead man’s possible tax evasion has nothing to do with us. Besides which, if locals got to hear about it, we’d probably be run out of town on a rail. They’re not fond of the Inland Revenue round here. And tax evasion has been a popular sport in Britain since the days of Robin Hood, possibly even earlier.’

‘I still can’t see this book holding a clue to Bennett’s murder though.’

I had this strange mental image of a man in pinstripe suit with briefcase and umbrella stalking his prey with murder in mind. ‘No,’ I agreed, reluctantly relinquishing the image, ‘even I can’t imagine a thwarted tax inspector as the killer.’

Having worked out Bennett’s code, we checked the entries closely, looking for some connection to either Andrew Kershaw or Casper Harfleur, but there seemed to be nothing linking either of them to any purchase or sale.

In our search, we concentrated on the sale transactions, which is why we missed the one set of numbers and letters that would have given us the clue.

Later that afternoon, driven by frustration rather than any real inspiration, I checked the book again. ‘Eve, come and look at this and see what you can make of it. I might be mistaken, but it could refer to Andrew Kershaw and possibly Casper Harfleur too.’

I pointed to their initials. ‘Yes, you could be right, Adam, but what does the rest of the entry refer to?’

‘Search me, I haven’t the remotest clue.’

The full entry, which read H C H T I W D E R O T S K A P P D M M 1, was still as much of a mystery to us when we retired to bed that night. Solution to the puzzle was to come from the most unlikely source. For the meantime, we lodged the book in the wall safe in the study.

‘We could do worse than try to find out more about Andrew Kershaw,’ Eve suggested over breakfast the next morning. ‘He sounds to have been a popular, well liked sort of bloke, so he must have had a lot of friends round here. Perhaps we should ask the locals.’