The Lady Vanished (19 page)

Nora’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She thinks we’re going to buy that story?’

Swift stood. He felt suddenly drained. ‘When she came up with her version of events she didn’t know about Ronnie’s death or her letter or that Ronnie had informed Rupert last night about his father’s activities. Her instinct was to protect her reputation and maybe there was some concern too for her stepchildren. She dismissed me; after all, I’m low in the food chain. I’m sure you’ll have more success.’

Nora gave him a tiny smile. ‘I’ll be going round to see her once I check-in here. It wasn’t Rupert, then, with a body in the lake or concealed on the estate?’

‘No need to be nasty. I did crack the case, after all. And, yes, I believe it was Rupert Langborne.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I think he killed Ronnie.’ He explained about the heather and Ronnie’s disclosure that she had phoned Rupert.

Nora rubbed her nose. ‘A bit tenuous. When did you see him wearing this buttonhole?’

‘A couple of weeks back; the first time I met him. Like father, like son; the father was ultimately responsible for Liam Farley’s death and Langborne has seen off his mother.’

Nora flexed her shoulders, flicked her string tie; today it was pale blue with one thin green stripe. ‘Okay, we’ll see. Don’t go jumping to conclusions. I’m sorry about Ronnie Farley, despite her criminal activity. DI Waring gave me the gist of her letter; she was a considerate kidnapper, providing materials for pastimes.’

‘More sinned against than sinning?’

‘Not sure a jury would think that if she was alive to go on trial. Looking on the bright side, Langborne’s probably not going to be in a position to complain about you.’

The policewoman was drinking it all in, pretending to examine a rose bush. Nora turned away.

‘Well, time’s a-wastin’.’

‘And you’re busy and understaffed.’

She waved a dismissive hand at him and headed for Ronnie’s flat. Swift walked away towards the main road, feeling hungry and nauseous at the same time. The rain had stopped, leaving a washed-out, soapy-coloured sky. He stopped to buy a flapjack and coffee and walked to Notting Hill, looking at his phone as he heard a text arriving. It was from Ruth:
I miscarried yesterday. Can I ring you later this evening?

He stared at the screen for a few moments, then replied:
So sorry to hear that. Of course. I’m working but will text you when I get home.

He hailed a taxi; he had one more visit to make before he went home. He gave the driver Langborne’s address and sat back, drinking his coffee, listening to the hiss of surface water against the wheels. Three distressed women in one day; he suspected that Carmen would prove the most redoubtable.

CHAPTER 14

When Langborne opened the door, Swift pushed against it and stepped in, quickly crossing the room and standing by a marble fireplace. There was an empty Chinese takeaway container on a coffee table, pungent traces of spare ribs still on the air.

‘Has murder given you an appetite?’ Swift asked.

Langborne stared at him, then closed the door. He sat on the sofa and turned down the radio, muting Handel. He was wearing chinos, a short-sleeved linen shirt and leather slippers.

‘Sit down, Mr Swift, and explain yourself. I spoke to Florence a while ago; I understand you found my stepmother and for that I thank you.’

‘Very gracious of you.’ Swift sat in a chair opposite him.

The light, from two standard lamps, was dim. The place was furnished in heavy oak and mahogany; Swift found it oppressive, like the man. Langborne sounded tired.

‘Is Mrs Langborne still refusing to see you?’

‘That’s correct. She is very upset about the cats and, of course, she’s in shock. Florence offered to stay the night but she declined.’ He reached for a glass of whisky on the table and sipped. ‘I won’t ask if you want a drink; I’ve no wish to detain you.’

Swift gestured at a small suitcase on wheels standing just inside the front door. ‘Are you planning to go somewhere?’

‘Yes, tomorrow. I have a meeting in Brussels.’

‘Is that so? I’m not sure you’re going to make it. I found Ronnie Farley’s body this afternoon.’

A strange expression crossed Langborne’s face; in most circumstances, Swift would have read it as shock. He took another slug of whisky and cradled the glass in his hands.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped to see that dreadful woman on trial for what she put my stepmother through. I understand that she kidnapped Carmen, although I don’t have any details yet.

‘Ronnie was murdered and I believe the finger points at you, Mr Langborne. Do you want to tell me about it before the police contact you?’

Langborne finished the whisky and placed the glass carefully on the table, straightening the coaster beneath it. The amber glow of the lamp behind the sofa gave his face a jaundiced hue.

‘You do like to make allegations about me, don’t you? Perhaps I wronged you in another life. I know nothing about a murder. If the police want to speak to me they are welcome. Do you have a weapon with my fingerprints on it?’ His voice was steady but his eyes signalled anxiety.

Swift left a silence. A tall grandfather clock by the window counted the slow minutes. There was the softest of thuds as a door closed along the corridor.

‘There is clear evidence, including evidence of your motive, and the police have it. The thing is, Mr Langborne, you needn’t have gone to the bother. Ronnie Farley had planned to kill herself today, she had the tablets lined up in her kitchen and you interrupted her arrangements. She left me a letter explaining a great deal. I’m sure you’ve been fitting the pieces of the story together, you’re a smart man. Was it a terrible shock when she phoned you last night and told you what your father had done to her son and to other boys?’

Langborne ran his tongue across his lips. ‘I was shocked, yes, but only up to a point; you see, Mr Swift, he started with me, when I was six. It was my birthday present.’

Swift nodded. He had never imagined he could feel the slightest glimmer of pity for Langborne, but he did now.

‘You seem unsurprised?’

‘I’m not surprised. Many abusers start within the home. And Florence? Did he abuse her too or did he just want boys?’

‘I don’t know. I believe that there’s usually a gender preference. Florence has never indicated that she was abused in any way, but then again, I had never mentioned my own experiences to her. We are that kind of family. Although I suppose most families where such things occur maintain their silences.’ He sat for a while without speaking, then roused himself. ‘I suspected that my father might have abused other boys; I understand that pederasts rarely limit their enjoyment to one experience. When he died, I was relieved but also wary, wondering if the reports of his death would trigger memories and cause people to come forward.’

‘You felt safer as the years went by, after his death?’

‘Oh no; you never feel safe, Mr Swift, once you have experienced such things. However, that is another matter, and I won’t satisfy you with a tale of woe on my own behalf.’

‘What Ronnie Farley knew was dynamite, wasn’t it? It certainly cast the issue of who your real father was into comparative insignificance.’

Langborne shook his head. ‘I didn’t see Mrs Farley today or harm her. You’ll be disappointed, I know, but I was taking part in a mind-numbing team building exercise all day in Islington; hence the casual mufti.’ He gestured at his clothing. ‘At least twenty people can vouch for me, from nine thirty until six p.m. when we were blessedly released from the toils of anticipating future challenges and the like.’

He was smiling his practised smile, but there was still a wary apprehension in his eyes and he was edging the coaster backwards and forwards with the sides of his thumbs.

‘I suppose you contacted Florence last night, to tell her about Mrs Farley? She would need to know that such information was going to be made public.’

Swift was rewarded by a rapid flicker of Langborne’s eyelids.

‘I’ve had a long day, Mr Swift. You can leave now.’

Swift kept his expression neutral as he rose. ‘You should call the police and tell them what you have told me, Mr Langborne.’ At the door he turned. ‘William Pennington didn’t strike me as an abuser, if that’s any small comfort to you.’

* * *

In the street, Swift stopped outside the railings and moved the jigsaw pieces around in his head, unable to resolve the conundrum of the heather. Langborne seemed to be off the hook but for some reason the knowledge wasn’t affording the man the relief it should have done. He looked around and crossed the road, walking to the corner of another tall block of flats and standing under an awning that covered the doors. He had a feeling that Langborne would be on the move soon and had an idea of his destination. It was nearly nine o’clock; he knew that Ruth would be waiting for him to contact her but he tucked that guilt away for now and focused on the door to Langborne’s block.

Fifteen minutes later, Langborne emerged, dressed in the same clothes and wearing a blazer. No luggage, which was reassuring. Within moments, a taxi pulled up and he climbed in. Swift followed as it drove off towards the Brompton road. He ran then, looking for a taxi, flagging one after a couple of minutes, by which time Langborne’s had disappeared. He went with his gut instinct, giving the driver Florence’s address. He asked for the taxi to stop at the end of the street, then walked to Florence’s house. The lights were on in the hall and living room and the front window was open. Swift stood by the front door and listened; he could just hear Langborne’s voice and the lighter tone of Florence’s and gauged that they were in the downstairs room at the back. He looked around; the street was empty, nearby curtains closed with TV screens flickering within.

Swift set to work with his lock pick, taking just two minutes to open the Yale and step softly into the hallway. As he did he heard his name.

‘Oh, that bloody Swift!’ Florence said. ‘What does he know? He’s just a troublemaker. He’s taken against us and you haven’t helped with your attitude.’

‘Calm down! What’s the matter with you? You’re doing that thing of rubbing your eyebrow. I haven’t seen you do that since dad died.’

She half laughed, half sobbed. ‘More than my eyebrow will be worn away now, there’ll be plenty to grieve over; the family name, for starters.’

‘Flo, you need to level with me. I believe Swift when he said Farley left a letter with her allegations about dad. Did you go there today to see her? Did something happen? I need to know;
we
need to know what we’re going to tell the police.’

‘Of course, I bloody didn’t go to see her! I had my hands full with Carmen, didn’t I? The old bat was raging on about you and those cats. I’d have liked to murder
her
all right! And you’ll have to stop calling him
dad
, won’t you? Carmen took great pleasure in telling me about your real father. I’ve suddenly lost half a sibling! There isn’t anything else you’d like to reveal to me, is there? Our mother was our mother, was she? We weren’t selected from orphanages?’

‘Stop being ridiculous and steady yourself. You’re a fine one to talk; you never bothered telling me that you’d been taken in for questioning by the police or the little matter of a substantial loan request to Carmen.’

‘I suppose Swift told you that.’

‘It’s a lesson to learn, isn’t it? Don’t employ a private detective if you want your secrets to stay secret.’

Swift held his breath as he heard the footsteps but Florence paced halfway up the room, her shadow falling on the floorboards, then back to her brother.

‘You should have told me about dad’s disgusting behaviour before yesterday,’ she said sullenly. ‘I had a right to know. I couldn’t sleep last night, after you phoned, I was so upset. I couldn’t stop thinking about what this will do to us. Paul’s been away on business so I had no one to talk to. You know what happens with this kind of allegation, all kinds of low life start coming out of the woodwork.’ Her voice climbed the scale. ‘And now all this today, finding out that Carmen was kidnapped. I can’t believe this is happening, it’s like being in a nightmare you can’t wake up from!’

‘Oh now, are you quite sure you never suspected anything about our father?’ Langborne spoke softly. ‘And would you have believed me? You thought the sun shone from his proverbial. I take it he didn’t meddle with you, then.’

‘Oh, shut up! No, he didn’t. He was the best father to me, until that Spanish cow stole him. God, I need a stiff drink!’

‘Give me one while you’re at it, will you; whisky if you can still afford it these days.’

There was silence as a cupboard was opened, then the chink of glass and Florence cursing.

‘Oh, sit down and let me do it, you’re spilling it everywhere,’ Rupert ordered.

As he waited Swift’s gaze fell on a riding hat and various coats hanging on the hall pegs. On the middle peg was a woman’s jacket made of a thin green cotton and on the lapel was a thistle and heather buttonhole, identical to the one he had seen Rupert wearing. He moved closer to it and saw that the base of the heather was frayed.

He left the house, closing the door softly behind him and walked a few paces away. He rang Nora Morrow, willing her to pick up.

‘Yes?’ she snapped.

‘You need to come to Florence Davenport’s house right now.’

‘Well, I’m trying to raise Rupert at the moment but he doesn’t seem to be in. You know, following your heather clue.’

‘He’s here, at his sister’s. He says he has a watertight alibi for today. She has a buttonhole of the same heather, I’ve just seen it on her jacket and it’s clearly torn on one edge. Must be some kind of family thing.’

‘What the hell? You’ve been talking to Langborne? You do know about interfering with police enquiries?’

‘We can discuss that later. You need to get round here now. I’ll hang on outside the house in case she tries to leave.’

‘Give me strength!’

He took that as an affirmative and paced up and down the street. A car turned in from the opposite end and parked in a tight space with a deal of reversing and positioning. Swift saw Paul Davenport get out and trudge along the pavement, carrying a briefcase in one hand and a small canvas bag in the other. He turned away, holding his phone to his ear until Davenport had disappeared into the house. A woman came towards him with a straining dog on a leash and glanced at him. He nodded, saying it was a lovely evening and his cab was taking ages. She nodded back and strode away, trying to keep up with the dog.

It had started to rain again when Nora arrived with two uniformed officers. She slammed the car door and beckoned to him. She looked hot and cross.

‘I haven’t time for you now. Did you mention the buttonhole to Langborne?’

‘Of course not. I was flushing him out; I just said there was evidence. He came straight here after I left him. He rang Florence last night after Ronnie Farley’s phone call and told her what Ronnie had alleged. If he hadn’t harmed Ronnie that left him to draw an obvious conclusion. The jacket is hanging in the hallway and, no, I didn’t touch it.’

The rain was suddenly tipping down. Nora flicked her hair out of her eyes and gestured to the two officers.

‘Make yourself scarce now.’

He watched as she rang the doorbell and was admitted, then he hunched his shoulders against the downpour and ran to the shelter of the tube station to wait for a taxi.

* * *

Swift heard Oliver Sheridan’s elephant tread on the stairs at just gone eleven as he ate cheese on toast in front of the TV. The forecast was for a heatwave following the rain and he wrote himself a reminder to buy some higher factor sun cream for the river. He had texted Ruth from the taxi and his phone rang as he was washing up and pouring himself a glass of wine.

‘Hi, Ruth, how are you?’

‘Oh, okay. Heart sick now instead of in the stomach.’ She sounded far away, distracted. ‘It all happened very quickly.’