The Man Who Vanished

by Roz Goldie

  “Olivia, my dearest, what do you think? This is a foreign country and we speak so little English.”

  “You are still here to speak, thank God! I thought I was going to lose you, Mario.” Her voice was firm but warm. “Here, we have Nico and could learn enough English to get by. In Italy, we will be alone.” A practical countrywoman and in better health than her husband, she had accepted that she might well be literally alone in Italy in time to come. The idea of living with Nico made this a much less frightening prospect.

  Sensing that his wife had just such an eventuality in mind, Mario spoke, “This time, I was lucky and the hospital here is very good – better than at home – but I won’t live forever, Olivia. I would like you to have Nico to look after you. Of course, we should make sure that Nico did not make the offer because I was in hospital.”

  “Yes, he is young and when he gets a wife, she may not want us in her home. We must remind him of that.”

  “Perhaps, you can wash dishes at Alberto’s!” He teased his wife.

  Nico would put their minds at rest. He wanted to have them near him if they could bear to leave their homeland.

  “We are leaving the only home we have ever had – to move to an apartment, Nico,” Mario reassured him. “However, if we do come to your home, you must accept money from the sale of the farm. We have our pride!” Mario was embarrassed at the speed with which he had accepted his grandson’s offer – old age and heart problems made him sentimental and sensitive.

  “Of course, Nonno!” Nico suddenly feared that pride might be a real obstacle to his plans. “Still, you must remember that I owe you and Nonna so much. You have given me a home and an education,” he spoke with great emotion.

  “Your grandfather will set the sale of the farm in motion. He knows a developer who wants our land.” Olivia asserted so that the conversation came to an end.

  * * *

  Margaret Beightin had written down the names of the men Colliers had been dealing with and was now impatient to hear news of the authentication of the le Brocquy painting. She had no excuse for going to the Stewart Gallery until that had been obtained. In the meantime, she kept in constant touch with Cressida.

  As a longstanding friend, Margaret was reluctant to share Cressida’s confidences, even with Veronica. Instead, they discussed the mystery of the missing Nicola Tebaldi and the murdered Eliza Taunter.

  “I find it hard to believe that there is nothing linking the two events.” Veronica was frustrated that no leads had been found. “Both crimes were committed in the same house. Obviously, the murder is much more serious, but Nico could have starved to death in that dungeon of a basement.”

  “And you say that he is buying the house? I find that most peculiar. Anyone else would never want to step into that place again!”

  “Indeed, I still think it’s a bit creepy. The police could not trace Eliza’s ex-husband.” Veronica wondered how Leo Richards had just disappeared into thin air. “No one knows why he was here since he lives in Manchester. Oh, where are you, Leo Richards?”

  “Did you say ‘Leo Richards’? I’ve heard that name before!” Margaret was startled, but also cautious and a dutiful friend. Could she mention what she knew without betraying Cressida’s undisclosed secret?

  “Where and in what connection?” Veronica lit on this fact. It was a tiny spark of light in the darkness of the mystery. “Leo Richards was the man who abducted Nico!”

  “Really?” Margaret was shocked. “But he was the man who negotiated the sale of paintings with that pig Colliers!” She could not disguise her noticeable hatred of the man.

  “What? He was in Eliza’s house and shut Nico into the basement.” Veronica Pilchard was thinking, computing every detail she could recall. “Perhaps, he was the stranger I saw coming out of Eliza’s with a bundle – after the murder!”

  “What bundle?” Margaret shook her head. “No, Veronica, it could not have been Leo Richards. He was not the man who actually delivered the paintings. The man who brought them to Colliers was Peter Saunders.”

  “That seems an odd arrangement – I mean to deal with one person and then have another do the delivery. It’s not as if these are photographs or books. Why would Leo Richards entrust a real le Brocquy – about which, by the way, I am quite certain – to someone else?”

  “I have no idea. All I know is that Richards did the negotiation, providing the documentation, and Saunders did the delivery.”

  “And as we know, Leo Richards has disappeared.” Veronica rubbed her chin in thought. “Okay, we know the names of the two involved in the art deal. We know that Richards was Nico’s kidnapper. There just has to be a link between the art deal and Eliza Taunter’s house.”

  “Veronica, if the police cannot trace Leo Richards, do you think they could trace Peter Saunders?”

  “Of course! As ever, my dear Lady Beightin, you have got to the nub of the issue. Surely Saunders cannot have disappeared as well?”

  Had it been anyone other than Margaret, she would have slapped her on the back. “Good thinking!” Veronica’s recent umbrage against Margaret evaporated in her enthusiasm for investigating.

  “Now, all we have to do is get the police to find Peter Saunders.”

  Veronica was now less than wholehearted about keeping her promise to DI Emily Brown. She had offered to come back with any recollection or information that might help, but she had the bit between her teeth – Veronica Pilchard was in full sleuthing mode.

  * * *

  Cressida consulted a solicitor, who’d advised her to get medical evidence confirming the gravity of the beating Colliers had inflicted on her. Armed with this, she returned to Jessica Joyce and asked that divorce proceeding be put on hold until she had left the family home.

  “I do not wish to have any dramatics, so I will find somewhere first and then come back to you,” Cressida sighed. “I understand that you know my husband’s solicitor, but I rely on your professional confidence.”

  “Lady Colliers, wild horses could not drag a single word out of me!” Jessica Joyce declared. “I deal with a lot of cases in which the partner has been at fault – and with one exception over the past 20 years: the husband is the violent one. I should tell you that I detest both the offenders and their counsel. I would never do business with their legal advisers!” She smiled reassuringly at Cressida.

  “Please, call me Cressida. And thank you, Jessica. This is new territory for me.” Cressida was growing slightly more confident as the consultation continued.

  “Its territory that will take you to a much better place, Cressida,” the solicitor said with conviction and the certainty of long practice. “You will need to put some thought into the settlement – and take a strong negotiating position from the start. We can back down if need be, but I advise my clients to go in prepared to be ruthless – sadly, that is the way these cases go.”

  “I am rather nervous about creating any unnecessary animosity, to be honest.” Although she was determined to get the legal separation, she knew her husband was a very sore loser and would be furious at the social consequences of divorce. Her face expressed that fear – very clearly.

  “By the expression on your face, I take that you anticipate antagonism, Cressida?” Jessica Joyce had seen that haunted look too many times to misinterpret its source. “That is what I am here to do – I have the task of being objective, making your case and protecting you and your interests.” Seeing that she was not convincing her intimidated client, she continued, “I have known cases where the husband has tried to have his wife certified as insane.”

  Cressida flinched. That was precisely the sort of action that she expected from Colliers. She had seen his attempts at ruining the reputation of social rivals – but she could be sure he would be more ferocious than that towards her.

  “So he is, in fact, a nasty piece of work?” Jessica pouted and shrugged. “That will make my job a good deal easier. Vindictive partners, male or female, lose the judge’s sympathy fair
ly quickly. I will draw out the poison and anger in him – have no fear! I realise that this is completely new ground for you, but I have been in practice for so long that I know every turn of the game. And be assured when the legal people start, it is a game but one that I have never lost in cases such as yours.”

  Jessica Joyce could see that Cressida had taken enough on board and suggested that they talk again before serving any papers. She made it clear that if she had concerns or wanted to defer – or even change her mind – that Cressida was calling the shots. “I am here do take your instructions – to use the formal language – so remember that. You tell me what you want and I follow orders.” She gave Cressida her card – writing her personal phone number on the back. “If you are worried about anything, just give me a call, even out of office hours.”

  * * *

  The residents of Wild Fern Alley gathered for an autumn clear-up, under the guidance of the bird woman, as they called the ornithologist. Seed heads and scrub was to be left in large part to encourage insects – and hedgehogs if they were very lucky – and provide winter forage for the birds.

  Not everyone was as devoted to the survival of the swift population as the bird-woman. The work put in over the past six months had resulted in an accumulation of tub, pots and containers bursting with annual flowers, shrubs, young fruit trees and herbs as well as ferns, the hanging baskets now past their best and in need of renewal.

  Adam and Steve were eager to comply – although not keen on the increasing numbers of squirrels. Desmond said nothing, but his pursed lips expressed a certain scepticism – he like things to be tidy.

  Marianne asked for assurances that these measures would not encourage rodents. The elderly Mrs Wilson offered to put out bird food.

  Underlying concerns, however, were about the possibility that rodents in the form of property magnates would reappear.

  * * *

  Veronica Pilchard was full of energy and sleeping well in her new flat in Mrs Wilson’s home. She was spending a lot of her time producing investigative features for the Barry Doyle Show – and some snatched hours with Mitchell. However, she was still engrossed by the mysterious events in Seven Montague Road.

  Central to her preoccupation was the question of how to trace Peter Saunders. Could she push Jack Summers into helping her? Veronica should, of course, have gone back to DCI Emily Brown, but she had a strong sense that she could solve these crimes without further official help.

  She called Jack on the off-chance that he was available for a chat and was delighted to discover he was on leave. She did not ask why. She was too selfish to do that. “Jack, I need some advice. How do you go about tracing someone? Can you check air travel?”

  Jack sighed, “Veronica Pilchard, you are back sleuthing again!” He laughed, which took her by surprise. “Come over for a coffee and tell me what you know – or should I say ‘suspect’.”

  This was not the Jack Summers she had known before. He would have cautioned her severely. Veronica determined to take full advantage of the change – even if it was to be short-lived. “I’m in town now. I could be with you in half an hour.”

  “Now, Veronica, you will have to be completely honest with me if you expect any help!” His tone was sharp. Perhaps, he was not so changed as she’d thought.

  * * *

  Wild Fern Alley was ablaze with autumnal colour. Desmond Charles was on his knees weeding out thistles – surreptitiously as it had been agreed that seeds should be left for the declining population of swifts. He preferred to keep the patch behind his house tidy. As it was early morning, he was not expecting any company and, therefore, jumped when he heard the lock of a yard door being opened. He looked around to see Nico at the far end of the alley. He waved and pushed the trough of weeds behind him.

  “Good morning, Desmond!” A smiling Nico approached.

  “Good Morning, Nico.” Desmond’s face reddened.

  Nico approached still smiling, wholly ignorant of the collective agreements made about Wild Fern Alley. “How diligent you are – and so early!”

  “Actually, Nico, we are supposed to leave all the weeds for birds, but I can’t bear the mess. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention this.” Desmond was visibly embarrassed.

  “Why of course not!” Nico nodded to seal their complicity. “As I am to be a permanent neighbour, I would not dream of it.”

  “Please tell me all your news.” Desmond smiled and relaxed, but was unable to contain his curiosity.

  “I have bought Seven Montague Road and my grandparents are going to come and live with me.”

  “After all that has happened there? Are you not superstitious about the murder – and your own experience there?”

  “That has worked to my advantage. I negotiated a very good price.” Nico saw Desmond’s face crease in disbelief. “In Poggiduomo, where I grew up with my grandparents, there are many houses with such gruesome history. After the war, there were many grisly murders – as we Italians changed sides and fought each other. We take no notice – it is only bricks and mortar,” He laughed. “Of course, I didn’t tell Mr Sells that!”

  “I hear the place was in a ghastly state.” Desmond was still curious and hoped to draw out the conversation. “It used to be a lovely place. My mother knew Mrs Stock, the woman Eliza bought the house from.”

  “And is Mrs Stock still alive?”

  “Oh, yes! She is alive and well, and moving out of the nursing home.” Desmond’s eyes narrowed. “I always thought Eliza bamboozled her – she wasn’t all that confused. Eliza went to visit her a lot of times before she bought the house – and every time, Mrs Stock seemed more confused and forgetful. I had my suspicions; I can tell you.” Desmond threw his hands up in the air in affectation.

  “I would like to meet her because there are books and photographs that must be hers, and I would like to return them.” Nico looked into Desmond’s face. “Do you know how I could contact her?”

  “Yes. I will get you the number of the home. She is still there.”

  “Good. I will not be keeping these things, but if there is a rightful owner, I feel strongly I should return them.”

  Nico’s kind-heartedness would bring him into contact with the woman, who would unlock the secrets of Seven Montague Road.

  * * *

  Sir John Colliers was quite unaware of the fact that his wife was about to leave home and divorce him. Cressida Colliers had finally reached snapping point. She had tolerated his bullying and contempt for years. Now, she was signing a short-term lease for a riverside apartment in South Belfast and unobtrusively moving personal possessions into Margaret’s home. Fortunately, Cressida did not depend on the meagre housekeeping that he put into her account each month. She had always been financially independent and now that she was taking steps towards personal independence, her confidence increased slowly, but noticeably. One of the first things she did was to visit Curl up and Dye and have her hairstyle changed.

  “I do believe a subtle hint of colour would suit you very well, Lady Colliers,” Desmond suggested gently. “Here are a few pictures of the look I recommend. What do you think?”

  “Are you sure that would be a touch young for me?” Cressida felt every year of her age.

  “Not at all, Lady Colliers! You have such good bone structure and the style you have at the moment doesn’t do it justice.” Desmond chatted away, ignoring the traces of bruising under cosmetics on her neck, and cursing his own gender. Why did some men have to be such brutes? He went on, “It’s a classic style. My mother had something similar – and such fine features! As you can see I have not taken after her – nature was not that kind.”

  “Please call me Cressida.” She was considering a future under her maiden name, and therefore without the honorary title. “If you think so. You are the professional!” she smiled.

  “I will work my magic, and you will leave here feeling like a million dollars!” Desmond felt a stab of deep sympathy for the downtrodden woman. He would
transform her appearance within a couple of hours.

  As she prepared to pay and leave, feeling a boost of confidence far exceeding any rational explanation, Desmond disappeared into the staff room and reappeared with a sky-blue silk scarf. It was his, but he lied, “Cressida, if you will excuse me being so pass-remarkable, I think this would suit you a good deal more than that camel colour. This scarf has been here for positively eons and whoever left it has never come back for it. Would you?” He handed her the fine fabric scarf. As she put it around her neck, he squealed, “My dear goodness – I had not noticed how very blue your eyes are! Lovely! Health to wear.”

  Unused to such complimentary attention, Cressida shone with pleasure. She donned her coat, left with a confident gait and made her way to Margaret Beightin’s home.

  * * *

  Jack Summers was his own man now. He was still formally a policeman, but he knew he would not return to his post again. In the meantime, Veronica Pilchard was urging him into what he knew would be risky ground.

  “Who is it that you are so keen to trace – and why?” His tone was abrupt, but not hostile.

  “Peter Saunders. It’s a long story, but he and Leo Richards were the two men who did an art deal with Sir John Colliers, which Margaret thinks is suspicious. Remember, Leo Richards was the one who abducted Nico? He appears to have vanished from the surface of the earth. It was Saunders who handed over the paintings to Colliers and we estimate that he made the delivery around the time of Eliza Taunter’s murder.” She made the case, succinctly hoping Jack’s affection for the young Italian might add to its weight. “Unless Saunders lives here, he must have travelled. How can I find out?”

  “You can’t, and you must know that. What you mean is how can I find out?” He looked her straight in the eye, moved his head sideways and pursed his lips.