Alfie felt suddenly uneasy. “They’ve gone?”
“Back to London at the crack of dawn, even though they’d booked the room for another night.”
Alongside the unease was profound irritation. He had spent the day sneaking around to avoid them when they weren’t even there.
“I really think you should interview them,” he said.
“I can’t,” said Emma. “The sarge has got his man. I can’t do anything else unless he tells me to. In any case, can you imagine the conversation?”
She adopted her timid persona again. “Sarge, I’d like to go to London to interview a couple of potential witnesses.”
Then the sergeant’s gruff voice: “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Hollis. You fancy a trip to the Big Smoke just so’s you can have a wander round the shops. You can forget it. We’ll get the boys in the Met to interview them.”
The timid voice: “Boys and girls, Sarge.”
Gruff: “Oh, God, save me from bloody women’s libbers.”
“Has he ever actually said that?” demanded Liz.
“Oh, only about half a dozen times a day.”
“He needs his consciousness raised. Forcibly if necessary.”
Alfie kept quiet. He found that was often the safest strategy when gender politics came under discussion.
Emma glanced at her watch. “I’ll need to make tracks soon to start baby-sitting.”
“Time for a coffee?”
She sighed. “Not really, but I suppose it will help me to stay awake.”
“Ladies?”
“Yes, please,” said Liz.
“No, thank you,” said Marge. “I’ll have another gin – don’t worry, I know where the bottle is.”
Alfie grimaced in apology. “I’m so sorry, Marge, that bottle’s practically finished, and I completely forgot to get more. You’ll have to make do with coffee. Have a seat in the parlour, it’s more comfortable.”
He was just spooning coffee into the cafetière when he heard Emma give loud yelp. He ran to see what was wrong.
She was standing beside the sofa. “That thing just attacked me!” she said accusingly. “I sat down and I think one of the springs has come adrift.”
“It doesn’t have springs,” said Alfie. He ran his hand over the black leather cushion to investigate and gave a yelp of his own as something scratched his palm.
A moment later, he held up the culprit between finger and thumb. A gaudy brooch of a cockatoo.
“That’s Sasha’s,” said Liz. “She can’t have fastened it back on properly after she showed it to us. Poor girl, she must be frantic to have lost it.”
Emma came over to Alfie to look at it. “Whoa, that’s naff,” she said.
“It’s worth five thousand pounds,” said Marge.
“Really? I wouldn’t give you a fiver for it.” Emma looked at her watch again. “Sorry, I really have to go. The sarge will be livid that I’m so late – he’s got a whisky bottle and a sports channel waiting for him at home.”
“Take the brooch with you,” said Liz. “It’s lost property.”
“Seriously? You want me to have more paperwork to do? Are you in league with the sarge? Anyway, it’s not lost property. You know whose it is.” She picked up her bag and left.
Alfie was left holding the brooch.
“What a pity Sasha and Sebastian have gone,” said Liz. “I was looking forward to hearing about how to monetise the fudge.”
“Clarissa, you wouldn’t have understood even if they’d told you,” said Marge. “The fudge is perfectly well monetised, thanks to me. You just stick to making the stuff, and I’ll deal with the complicated matters.”
“Making consistently good fudge in large quantities can be quite complicated, dear,” said Liz mildly.
“Nonsense. You’ve been at it so long that you could make it standing on your head.”
“I really don’t think I could, dear.”
“I’ll get the coffee,” said Alfie.
“No!” Marge’s eyes glinted behind the oversized spectacles. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Oh dear,” said Liz.
“No, listen. Emma can’t conduct an official investigation because that fool of a sergeant thinks he’s solved the case. But who knows what evidence might be out there? There’s nothing stopping an investigation by the Bunburry Triangle.”
“I really do wish you wouldn’t call us that, dear.”
“If you don’t like it, you know what you can do,” said Marge. “Clarissa, you and I are going to The Horse and we’re going to interview everyone who was there last night. And this is where my plan is sheer genius. They don’t know they’re being interviewed because we pretend we’re just gossiping.”
Liz turned to Alfie. “You do realise she’s only suggesting going to The Horse because you’ve run out of gin?”
“I’m just hurt because apparently I’m not invited,” he said.
“You, my boy, have other work to do.” Marge nodded at the brooch in his hand. “You said Sasha and Sebastian should be interviewed. You phone them, tell them you’ve found the brooch, and with cunning and guile, get every last bit of information out of them. Now come along, Clarissa, before The Horse runs out of gin as well.”
Left alone, Alfie started clearing up, feeling even more unsettled. The dinner party that was supposed to be sorting everything out had sorted nothing at all. The case against William seemed even more damning. But how damning was Sasha and Sebastian’s unexpected departure? They hadn’t even checked whether he had had a Damascene conversion and was desperate to hand over a quarter of a million pounds.
They had recognised Mario, he was in no doubt of that. And now that he went over the events of the evening, when Sebastian went to the gents, Mario was no longer sitting at the bar. Had there been a meeting between them?
He stacked the last of the crockery in the dishwasher and picked up the brooch from the kitchen table. Sasha’s spirit animal, representing enthusiasm, alertness and happiness. He felt distinctly lacking in all three. He closed his fingers over the brooch, wondering whether its attributes would transfer themselves to him.
Marge’s instructions had been quite clear. Phone them up on the pretext of finding the brooch and get all the relevant information out of them. Or should he leave that to the boys and girls of the Met? He inadvertently tightened his grasp on the brooch and the pin, not yet in its safety catch, pierced his palm. He dropped the brooch back on the table and sucked the wound.
Then he went into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and dialled.
8. Two Phone Calls
“De Linnet household, Lane the butler speaking.”
“Oscar, I’m afraid I’ve got some very bad news. Mario Bellini is dead.”
“Oh no,” sighed Oscar. “I’m so very sorry to hear that. I had no idea things were so bad. But he never said anything to me. I wish I could have helped. You never know what people are going through.”
Alfie was flabbergasted. “You think he killed himself?”
“You mean it wasn’t obvious? It looked like an accident?”
“He was found with fatal head injuries at the bottom of marble steps in the park,” said Alfie slowly.
“Awful,” said Oscar.
“Yes, but quite an uncertain way of killing yourself, surely.”
“Perhaps he took an overdose first.”
“Oscar, I was having a drink with him a few hours before he was found dead, and he seemed perfectly cheerful – there was absolutely no hint that he was planning to take his own life.”
“That’s sometimes the case,” said Oscar sombrely. “Don’t blame yourself. Wait a minute, what do you mean you were having a drink with him? You’re in London? Back in your flat?”
“I’m in Bunburry. That’s where Mario was. He was th
inking of opening one of his parlours here. That scarcely suggests he was going to kill himself.”
“It could have been the last throw of the dice. Perhaps it was his final attempt to keep the business afloat, and when he discovered it wasn’t going to work, he gave up hope.”
“Oscar, we’re talking at complete cross-purposes here. Mario Bellini came to Bunburry because he was expanding the business. He was chatting up Carlotta in The Horse to persuade her to put his ice cream on her menu.”
“Alfie, the man was careering towards bankruptcy.”
Alfie wondered whether Oscar had had one absinthe too many. He spotted the Oscar Wilde biography on the bedside table and with sudden clarity remembered what the original Oscar had said: “After the first glass of absinthe you see things as you wish they were. After the second you see them as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world.”
Could it be that Oscar was the only person who was being clear-sighted about Mario’s death, seeing it as it really was?
But he still didn’t understand why he was only now hearing about Mario’s difficulties.
“Just the other day you were telling me about taking Rebecca and Kathrin to the Islington Bellini’s and there was no hint of trouble then.”
“Exactly,” said Oscar. “I only found out about it because of your call.”
Wearily, Alfie eased off his shoes and lay down on the bed. “I’m not following this, Oscar.”
“You told me that the ghastly Sasha and Sebastian turned up on your doorstep. I mentioned this to some of the crowd whose opinion of them is much the same as mine, and that’s when it all came out.” He ended on a triumphant tone suggesting that he had now explained everything satisfactorily.
“Back up a bit,” said Alfie. “We were talking about Mario a moment ago, but now we seem to have moved on to Sasha and Sebastian.”
“Of course. Because Mario got involved in investing with them in order to get the money to expand his business. Except, as you would expect from the involvement of Sasha and Sebastian, these were extremely risky and uncertain projects. They persuaded him to invest more and more – he thought it was because the schemes were doing so well, but in fact it was a bid to recoup their losses. According to Justin, Mario was almost bankrupt.”
“Sasha and Sebastian were pestering me to invest a quarter of a million,” said Alfie.
“Well, with all these deals going wrong, they must be in as bad a state as Mario, if not worse.”
“No,” Alfie protested. “They’re doing very well. Sasha showed us a brooch she had just bought herself in celebration – it cost five thousand pounds. I’ve got it right here. She dropped it down the back of the sofa. It’s not my taste, but it’s spectacular – gold, diamonds, rubies and sapphires.”
“Really?” said Oscar drily. “It’s probably paste. If there’s such a thing as a jeweller in your benighted village, take it in for a valuation. If it’s really worth five thousand pounds, I’ll buy you a bottle of the 1996 Mouton-Rothschild.”
Alfie rubbed his eyes. “Oscar, this is all a horrendous mess. You think Mario might have killed himself. But William’s in the cells on suspicion of murdering him.”
“The landlord of The Horse?” said Oscar in disbelief. “Why, did he sell him a bad pint?”
“It was Mario’s fatal charm, which may have been fatal for himself. It turned out that Carlotta once had an affair with an Italian, and William thought history was repeating itself. It didn’t help that Carlotta and Mario spent the evening whispering sweet nothings to one another in her native language.”
“Impossible,” said Oscar. “Mario didn’t speak a word of Italian. The only Italian he knew was ‘pizza margherita’.”
“I heard them,” said Alfie. “They were definitely talking Italian.”
“Really? What did you hear him say?”
Alfie thought back. Si, si, bene. And there had been a lot of bellissima signoras. He hadn’t heard Mario say a single full sentence in Italian. That explained why Mario apparently refused to translate what Carlotta was saying – he hadn’t understood a word of it. As with his flirting, he had just been playing along.
“If you want to find out about Mario’s financial situation, I suggest you get your police lady friend to ask Sasha and Sebastian a few pertinent questions,” Oscar said.
“That’s just the problem. They went back to London first thing this morning. My police lady friend isn’t allowed to pursue the matter further.”
“You could come to London and make a citizen’s arrest,” Oscar suggested.
“How does that work?”
“No idea. I suppose you clamp your hand on someone’s shoulder and say ‘I’m a citizen. I arrest you.’”
“Sounds like a quick way to being punched on the nose,” said Alfie.
They both stayed silent for a moment. Then Oscar cried: “I’ve got it! By George, I’ve got it! And you’re the one who gave me the solution.”
“I am?” said Alfie warily.
“Absolutely. Remember that case you were involved in, with the farmer?”
Alfie shuddered. “And the cows. I’m unable to forget it.”
“You actually displayed some unexpected brilliance at one point.”
“I did?” said Alfie even more warily.
“I know, I was surprised as well. Nevertheless, it offers a potential solution to the current dilemma.”
“Go on,” said Alfie.
***
“Is that Sasha? Oh good! I hope I’m not disturbing you. Sorry? Oh, sorry, of course, I’m Liz, Liz Hopkins, the fudge lady, we met at Alfie’s, Alfie McAlister’s.
“I hope you don’t mind, it’s just that you gave me your card with your number. I was so sorry to have missed you in Bunburry, I was hoping to have a chat about monetising my fudge-making business.
“This is a little embarrassing, but you see, I’m calling you privately. My business partner, Marge, she likes to do things her way and she wasn’t keen on me getting in touch with you. No, that’s right, I would say very cautious, what you would call risk-averse. Whereas I was very struck by that phrase you used, that you have to speculate to accumulate. I thought that made a great deal of sense. But I really have no idea about these things, and I feel that what I need is professional expertise like yours.
“Oh dear, I really feel very awkward about this next bit. I know you’re friends of Alfie’s, but I’d really rather that he didn’t know about this either. Oh, I see. Acquaintances. Well, that’s a little easier. It’s just that I get the feeling that he thinks I don’t really know what I’m doing, and that he could be a little, perhaps, over-protective.
“So, it’s a shame that I missed you. I really just wanted to let you know that I was very interested in possible opportunities, and if you’re ever in Bunburry again, please do let me know – although please don’t give your names on the phone until you know it’s me answering and not Marge.
“Oh, I don’t know – I don’t know what would be a suitable amount for an investment. No, I’ve no idea – Marge takes care of all of that, and she doesn’t let me get involved. But I have my own savings account. Oh yes, I know exactly with that. It’s a hundred and twenty-two thousand pounds. No, it’s instant access, I wanted to be sure that I could get the money immediately in an emergency.
“Really? Oh, that would be marvellous. That’s so kind of you. I hope I’m not putting you to any trouble. But yes, I would like to get things sorted as soon as possible. Especially at my age – as I say to Marge, every morning that I wake up and find I’m still alive is a bonus!
“Oh dear, no, it wouldn’t be suitable for you to come to the house, because I can’t guarantee that Marge will be out. She would be furious if she knew I’d got in touch with you and not told her.
“And we can’t meet
at The Horse because I never know when Alfie’s going to come in. But there’s a lovely little tearoom on the High Street – you can’t miss it, it’s got a beautiful bay window with those lovely little panes of glass in it, and they have wonderful scones. There’s a free car park just round the back, and there are always spaces there. Yes, that would be perfect. I’ve got nothing planned for tomorrow at all.
“Oh, I do hope I’m not putting you out – it’s such a long way for you. No, that’s wonderful. It will be lovely to see you again. Till tomorrow. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
9. Return Visit
As Sebastian drove into the car park at the back of the tearoom, Liz suddenly appeared and began signalling frantically to them.
“What’s the stupid woman up to now?” muttered Sasha. She wound down the window as Liz approached.
“Oh dear, it’s all going wrong,” gabbled Liz. “Marge is in the tearoom with Dot. She won’t know your car, but I really can’t risk her seeing you. She would be so cross with me, and she might not let me invest – she can be quite forceful sometimes.”
Sasha gave a small shrill laugh. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
“If you could both get out of the car quite quickly, and follow me along here, we’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed that she doesn’t spot us. We’ll be shielded a bit by the fence once we get to the little path.”
Liz moved remarkably fast for her age to the edge of the car park and disappeared down the path.
“Hurry up,” said Sasha. “We can’t risk the other one putting the kibosh on it.” She and Sebastian got out of the car and darted down the car park to the path where Liz was waiting for them.
“This is still a bit too close for comfort,” Liz said worriedly. “Marge sometimes uses this as a short cut. If you don’t mind, I think the best thing to do is to go to the park.”
“The park?” said Sasha sharply.
Bunburry--Death of a Ladies' Man Page 8