A Conspiracy of Aunts

by Sally Spencer

  Fliques scowled. Then the scowl became a grin, and he shook his head with what could only be called admiration.

  ‘Brilliant!’ he said. ‘Your best yet.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘No, you never do, do you? Well, I’ll explain it to you. I get this call on the radio that you’re about to kill your fiancée, and naturally I want to be the one to collar you.’

  ‘Naturally,’ I agreed.

  ‘So I tell my driver to get his clog down. Now we’re doing a fair lick when we turn into this road, but we’ve got the old blue light flashing and the siren blaring away, so anybody who’s not blind and stone deaf can tell that we’re coming from a mile away. You following me so far, Rob?’

  ‘I’m following you.’

  ‘As I said, anybody could hear us coming from a mile away. But this young woman seems to have something very important on her mind, and doesn’t even notice us. She dashes straight out into the road, as if she’s running for her life. Well, we have no chance, do we? We slam straight into her. Flying into the air, she goes. Must have travelled twenty feet before she came crashing down again.’ Fliques took another nibble of his biscuit. ‘Well, there wasn’t much I could do for her personally, and since my main aim was to either save your fiancée or to arrest you for murder, I left it to the local lads, and came straight here.’ He paused again. ‘Only now you tell me that Rosalyn was wearing a white blouse and a grey skirt—’

  ‘Is she … is she dead?’ I asked.

  ‘She wasn’t when I left the scene, but I’d be surprised if she makes it through the day.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  And I was – although I wouldn’t have been human if I hadn’t felt a small prick of satisfaction that now Mother’s tragic story would never be told.

  ‘Getting her knocked down by my driver,’ Fliques said. ‘Absolutely brilliant! How the hell did you manage it?’

  ‘It had nothing to do with me. It was an accident.’

  ‘An accident,’ Fliques scoffed. ‘When people around you die, it’s never an accident.’

  ‘It was,’ I protested. ‘This time it really was.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you. It was definitely an accident.’ Fliques looked longingly at the packet on the coffee table. ‘Is there any chance of another of them biscuits, Rob?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. Feel free.’

  He picked up the packet and took out a biscuit.

  ‘If there were Oscars for the perfect crime, you’d win them all,’ he said. ‘Best Forward Planning: Rob Bates – for somehow persuading the victim to call the police herself. Most Imaginative Murder Weapon: Rob Bates – for using a police Rover as his blunt instrument. Best Alibi: Rob Bates – who can actually produce a police superintendent to swear he was nowhere near the scene of the crime. Best Appearance of Innocence after the Event: Rob Bates. Oh, you’d sweep the bloody board.’

  A sudden look of sadness came to his face. ‘It’s all over, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘What’s all over?’

  ‘Our … err … encounters … me popping up unexpectedly, and explaining how you killed your Auntie Peggy or your Auntie Catherine. We’ve been doing it for fourteen years or more, and now we’ve finally reached the end of the road.’

  ‘Why should you think that?’ I asked.

  ‘Because you’re an artist, Rob, and you know when you’ve painted your masterpiece. Anything after this would only be an anti-climax for you.’ He took another half-hearted bite out of his biscuit. ‘I shall miss you, Rob.’

  ‘Perhaps we could meet for a drink now and again,’ I suggested.

  Fliques shook his head. ‘Without the possibility of my feeling your collar, it wouldn’t be the same for either of us.’

  ‘There’s still a chance you can catch me,’ I said. ‘Who knows, in a few years I might feel like making a come-back.’

  Fliques shook his head again. ‘You’re being very kind, but I’m a long way yet from wanting charity.’

  He took another chocolate biscuit, wrapped it neatly in his handkerchief, and walked towards the door.

  I waited patiently for him to do his famous turning around trick.

  He did not disappoint me.

  Just on the threshold, he whirled so he was facing me again.

  There was a reproachful expression on his face.

  ‘I can’t even nick you for riding with no lights, can I?’ he asked. ‘Now you’re so rich and famous, you don’t even have a bike anymore.’

  17

  Rosalyn died soon after that. I had expected that, with my fiancée’s demise, Mother would return to me stronger than ever … yet somehow she never did.

  And strange as it may seem, I didn’t find her absence as frightening as I’d thought I would. In fact, for the first time in my life, I felt really free.

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