by Frank Smith
‘I see. So Mrs Smallwood was at work yesterday?’
‘Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, she was promoted yesterday. She will be taking over Mr Beecham’s duties.’ Gresham unclasped his hands and leaned forward. ‘In fact,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that might have something to do with what happened. She was quite overcome when I told her the good news. She actually broke down and cried. She wasn’t expecting it, you see.’ He sat back. ‘My fault, of course,’ he went on. ‘I should have given her more warning. Beth Smallwood is an excellent worker, but she is inclined to become emotional at times. Quite high strung. Probably still had her head in the clouds when she got off the bus and missed a step. But why do you ask? She is all right, isn’t she?’
‘I’m afraid I have to tell you that Mrs Smallwood died last night,’ Paget said quietly.
‘Died?’ The surprise in Gresham’s eyes appeared to be genuine, but it was the flicker of another emotion across the manager’s face that interested Paget. Was it panic? Fear? Or had he imagined it? ‘How? What happened? I mean, I had no idea her injuries were all that serious.’
‘She was attacked and killed during an apparent robbery,’ Paget told him.
‘Good God!’ Arthur Gresham appeared dazed. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said at last. ‘I find it hard to believe. It’s…’ He shrugged helplessly and fell silent.
‘You say that Mrs Smallwood rang your secretary at home last night. Do you happen to know what time that was?’
‘No, but I can call Miss Fairmont in and you can ask her if you think it’s important.’ Gresham reached for the phone.
Rachel Fairmont entered the room and closed the door carefully behind her. She seemed nervous, and kept glancing uncertainly at Gresham. He motioned impatiently for her to come forward. ‘Sit down,’ he told her brusquely. ‘Chief Inspector Paget would like to know what time it was when Beth Smallwood rang you last night.’
The secretary took her seat, smoothed her skirt carefully and turned sideways to face Paget.
‘It must have been about eight o’clock,’ she said. She looked anxiously from one to the other. ‘Why? Is there something wrong?’
Before Paget could reply, Gresham spoke. ‘Beth was killed last night,’ he said quickly. ‘Apparently, someone tried to rob her.’
‘Killed? Beth? Oh, no!’ Rachel pressed her hands to her face, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘What happened? Did someone break in?’
But Paget side-stepped the questions. ‘Can you recall exactly what Mrs Smallwood said when she rang?’
Rachel Fairmont closed her eyes and breathed deeply. ‘I didn’t know it was Beth at first,’ she said slowly. ‘You see, she said she’d fallen getting off the bus, and she’d bitten her tongue, and it was quite swollen. She said she wouldn’t be in this morning because she was going…’ Her voice caught in her throat and died. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that I still can’t believe that Beth is dead.’
‘Just take your time, Miss Fairmont,’ Paget told her. ‘Perhaps a glass of water…?’
‘No, thank you. I shall be all right,’ she assured him. A wan smile touched her face. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what I was saying, Chief Inspector.’
‘You said Beth Smallwood told you she was going somewhere.’
‘Oh, yes. She said she was going to see the doctor this morning.’
‘She rang you from home?’
‘Yes.’ Rachel hesitated. ‘At least, I assumed she was at home.’
‘Did she say anything about going out?’
‘You mean last night? No.’
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘No. Well, actually she did but I’m afraid I had trouble understanding her. As I said, her tongue was swollen and it was hard for her to talk. It was all a bit muddled, I’m afraid.’
‘I see. You and she were close friends, I take it?’
Rachel seemed surprised by the question. ‘Well, no, not exactly. I mean, not close friends. We’ve worked together for several years, of course, but we rarely saw each other outside work, and to be honest, I know almost nothing of her private life.’
Paget regarded the woman quizzically. ‘I’m wondering why it was that she rang you,’ he said. ‘I should have thought she would ring Mr Gresham, especially as she had just been promoted yesterday.’
‘I expect she did try to get hold of me,’ Gresham interjected, ‘but I was out last night. I suppose she thought it best to ring Miss Fairmont, under the circumstances.’
He glanced at his watch, then turned to his secretary. ‘Which reminds me: with both Beecham and Beth gone, we will have to make some adjustments in that department.’ He pushed his moist lips out to the point of pouting and scowled. ‘I suppose there’s nothing for it but to have Ling take over pro tem.’ The words were said so grudgingly that Paget wondered what it was that ‘Ling’ had done to earn the manager’s displeasure.
Gresham turned back to Paget. ‘I do apologize, Chief Inspector,’ he said earnestly, ‘but I’m sure you understand. In spite of what’s happened, we still have clients to serve, and arrangements must be made.’ He shook his head sadly.
‘Have you noticed any change in Beth Smallwood’s behaviour recently?’ Paget asked him. ‘Was she worried about anything? Or had she quarrelled with anyone, for example?’
Gresham and Rachel Fairmont exchanged mystified glances, and the manager slowly shook his head. ‘Beth was such a quiet person,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine her quarrelling with anyone.’ His voice hardened. ‘And I really do not understand why you seem to be concentrating your efforts here, Chief Inspector. I can’t see how there could possibly be a connection. You did say she was attacked and robbed, I believe?’
‘I said the attack was made to appear that way,’ Paget told him, ‘but that may or may not prove to be the case. In the meantime, we have to explore every possibility. I’m simply looking to you for background information. Tell me,’ he went on before Gresham could speak, ‘how did Mrs Smallwood seem to you when she left here yesterday?’
Gresham glanced across at his secretary. ‘Quite excited at the prospect of her new job, I’d say – wouldn’t you say so, Miss Fairmont?’
‘She was certainly excited when I saw her last,’ Rachel agreed.
‘And when was that?’
‘It would be about a quarter past five. Beth was tidying herself up in the Ladies when I left.’
‘So you didn’t see her leave?’
‘No, but I’m sure she would have left within minutes. Since Harry wasn’t there to take her home, she would have to make sure she caught the bus at five thirty. After that they only run out her way every hour, I believe.’
Paget turned back to Gresham. ‘I’d like to take a look at Mrs Smallwood’s desk and her file,’ he told him. ‘I’m told she has a teenage son, but we haven’t been able to contact him yet. Do you happen to know if she had any other relatives?’
Offhand, Gresham said he didn’t know. Neither he nor his secretary could recall hearing Beth Smallwood mention anyone. Rachel left the room and returned with a file labelled ‘Smallwood, E.’, but apart from the usual standard forms and job history, there was little in the file of interest. The original application form showed mother and father as deceased, and Leonard Smallwood was named as next of kin. No other relatives were mentioned. Beth’s annual ratings, signed by H. Beecham, had in the last two years moved from ‘Satisfactory’ to ‘Very Satisfactory’, and that was the reason, Gresham said, why he had given Beth the opportunity to prove herself as a manager.
Paget closed the file. ‘What about Mr Beecham?’ he said. ‘How did he take the news that he was to be replaced by a subordinate?’
Gresham looked down at the desk. ‘He was upset, of course, as you might expect, but on the other hand he had known for some time that someone in his department would have to go. It’s unfortunate, but I didn’t have a choice. My budget has been cut and I must take whatever steps I deem necessary to live
with that. Believe me, Chief Inspector, I thought long and hard before I decided to let Harry go. Especially with his wife the way she is.’
‘And what way is that, sir?’
Gresham looked uncomfortable. ‘She’s been ill for several years, I understand. Mentally ill, that is. Harry has always insisted on looking after her at home, but now…’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose it will depend on how soon he can get another job.’
‘What do you think his chances are?’
Gresham took off his glasses and began to polish them. ‘He’s a good man,’ he said carefully. ‘Knows his job. Very reliable. I gave him a good reference.’
‘But his chances can’t be very good,’ Paget persisted.
Gresham’s fingers drummed on the desk. He wasn’t used to being challenged. ‘It all depends,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I’m sure he’ll find something.’
Paget rose to his feet and thanked the manager and his secretary. ‘And now, if I could have a look at Mrs Smallwood’s desk, I won’t take up any more of your time,’ he continued. ‘But I will need statements from your staff within the next day or two.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘Routine stuff, of course, sir, but it has to be done. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Gresham curtly, but he looked less than happy at the prospect as Paget and Miss Fairmont left the room.
* * *
The cottage was small, a reverse plan of the one next door where Paget and Tregalles had spoken to Mrs Turvey the night before. Two rooms up and two rooms down. Plus a tiny bathroom off the kitchen.
Tregalles moved slowly through the rooms, not quite sure what he was looking for. The two people Charlie had assigned to the job, Rob North and Grace Lovett, had been through all the rooms on a preliminary search, and were now engaged in examining every scrap of paper: bills, bank-book, even notes on calendars. Oddly, there were no letters.
‘Find something?’ the sergeant asked, peering over Grace’s shoulder. The young woman was looking thoughtful as she perused a set of legal documents.
‘I think I have,’ she said slowly. Tregalles waited. He had a lot of respect for Grace’s work. Not only was she thorough, but she seemed to possess a sixth sense when it came to analysing evidence.
The sergeant, who had an eye for the ladies, thought Grace was beautiful. She was tall, slender, blonde, and her eyes were the most expressive Tregalles had ever seen. Blue – well, not exactly; perhaps more green than blue – it depended on the light, and when she looked at you …
He sighed inwardly. It was pleasant to fantasize, but that was as far as it went. Besides, if he’d read the signs correctly, she rather fancied Paget.
‘Take a look at this,’ Grace said, passing over the papers she’d been studying. ‘I think our Mrs Smallwood has been fiddling the books.’
Tregalles scanned the papers. ‘Looks like a lien against some property in Tenborough,’ he said. ‘What about it?’
‘It is,’ said Grace. ‘Now take a look at this one.’
Tregalles studied the second document. ‘They look the same to me,’ he said.
‘They are. Except for one thing. Look at the signatures.’
‘J.L. Perriton,’ Tregalles read out, then turned to the second set of papers. ‘L. R. Smallwood.’ He frowned. ‘What are you saying, Grace?’
‘The liens are against the same property, but a loan was made to two different people under two different account numbers,’ Grace explained. ‘Perriton is a small building contractor in Tenborough. I looked him up in the telephone book. He took out a loan amounting to £4300 in February of this year. A second loan of £5000 was paid out less than a month ago, using the same property as collateral. But it was paid to L. R. Smallwood.’
Tregalles scratched his head. ‘But wouldn’t the bank realize the two were the same? And Smallwood. I mean, it’s a dead giveaway.’
‘Not necessarily. Once the originals were filed away – these are copies, of course, probably brought home to practise on – they would never be looked at together. And as long as regular payments were made on both accounts, no one would be the wiser. Presumably Perriton would pay off his loan in the usual manner, so that takes care of the original loan, but the one made out to Smallwood is different. All that’s required here is that he pay the interest each month. The bank has the right to call for the principle at any time, but as long as the interest is paid and the rates don’t rise significantly, why should they? And the “bank” in this case is, or was, since she was handling the account, Beth Smallwood. As for making the loan payable to her son, the name Smallwood is not uncommon in these parts. It was a calculated risk, but a necessary one if Lenny was using his own ID. Attempting to set up an account under a false name could be done but it’s much more difficult.’
‘But even paying the interest would use up the entire amount eventually,’ Tregalles said, ‘so I don’t quite see the point.’
‘Unless Beth Smallwood intended to float yet another loan to sustain the first one, and so on,’ said Grace. ‘What she was doing is a mug’s game, but if she were desperate enough, who knows? By the look of things around here, I would say she’s been living from hand to mouth, but Lenny’s doing all right. Have you seen the load of high-tech gear he has upstairs? There must be a few thousand tied up in that. Unless, of course it fell off the back of a lorry.’
‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ Tregalles said. ‘Which reminds me, have you come across anything that might give us a clue as to where he is?’
‘You might try his girlfriend.’
‘I would if I knew who she was,’ Tregalles told her.
‘Tania. Tania Costello,’ Grace said with a grin. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Detective Tregalles.’
Tregalles sighed. ‘Point to you,’ he conceded. ‘How did you find out?’
‘I went through his tapes upstairs. Tania loaned him some and her name’s on them.’ Her grin grew wider. ‘Dead easy, Tregalles, when you know what to look for.’
Rob North, who had been listening, came over and dropped two video cassettes on the table. ‘You should have tried these,’ he said laconically. ‘They’re empty now, but they’ve been used to hide cocaine.’
Chapter 7
Lenny Smallwood sat on the edge of the bed, knees pressed tightly together to make sure the magazine on them didn’t move. He tapped the packet gently, carefully emptying the white powder into a tiny mound, then rolled a piece of paper into a thin tube and bent low over the magazine. With infinite care, he guided one end of the tube into his right nostril, closed the left with his finger, and sniffed. The powder vanished.
His eyes watered as he lay back on the bed and waited for the rush. Everything would be all right in a minute, he told himself. It would sort itself out. He’d just had a run of bad luck, that was all. He wouldn’t be in this mess if his mother had done her job properly. It was all her fault. Christ! She’d got away with it once; what was to stop her from doing it again? But why bugger about with five thousand quid at a time when the bank had millions?
But no. She had to go and get cold feet. Stupid cow never did have any guts. Always giving in. Always trying to please. He’d played her like a bloody fiddle since he was four years old. Pitiful. Even when he’d banged up her car, she’d been so concerned about him that she hadn’t even questioned his version of the crash. Not that it had been much of a car to begin with, but the insurance should have paid her something for it. Thieving sods. Which meant she couldn’t afford another. And the way she was going on she never would have anything. And gullible! Christ, she’d even believed him when he’d insisted the accident wasn’t his fault, despite what the police and the insurance company said.
Like she had in court last year. And that stupid magistrate had believed her! Lenny giggled, then laughed. He laughed so hard that he couldn’t get his breath. He began to choke. He pulled himself upright, coughing and laughing; laughing and coughing, tears streaming down his face.
He wiped his
eyes. He felt good! He wished Tan were here. He looked at his watch. It was time she was back. Job interview, she’d said. Yeah. Sure. She was probably being ‘interviewed’ all right. On some plush office carpet. She kept saying she was off the game, but she always had money.
Lenny got off the bed and moved restlessly around the room. Money. That’s what it was all about. He fingered the remaining packets in his pocket. His supply had almost run out. The thought chilled him. How was he going to get more when he couldn’t pay back what he’d taken? If only he hadn’t blown that first £5000. But he’d been so sure there would be more. There would have been more if his mother hadn’t been so bloody stupid.
Christ! he was thirsty. He flung open the door and clattered down the narrow stairs. Tania’s mum was at work, so he didn’t have to worry about her. He went to the fridge and looked inside. It was a mess. Bits of this and bits of that; open tins with God knows what inside. But no beer. He slammed the door shut.
The raspy doorbell rang. Twice. He stood there in the kitchen, irresolute. It wouldn’t be Tania or her mum. They would have let themselves in. He’d just stay quiet and whoever it was would go away. The bell rang again. He waited, counting off the seconds in his head.
They should be gone by now. He turned back to the fridge. There had to be something in there.
A shadow passed the window. Lenny slid around the side of the fridge and pressed himself against the wall. Someone knocked on the back door. He held his breath. It might just be some neighbour. It might be all right, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Someone was peering in the window. He drew back. They wouldn’t be able to see him through the lace curtain if he stayed absolutely still. The shadow disappeared, and he heard footsteps moving off. He listened intently. They were going back through the entryway to the street.
Lenny slipped out of the kitchen and into the front room. Moving cautiously, he approached the curtained window and looked out. A man was standing beside a car; a stocky, dark-haired man he’d seen before. The man paused to take one last sweeping look at the house, then got into the car and slowly drove away.