by Sabina Manea
Chapter 23
The invitation sat on the kitchen table, a pithy text handwritten in spidery looped cursive on a thick, orange-bordered card – “Walter and Nina, At Home, Thursday 1st October at 7pm”. It came in the morning post. Nina had never been one for advance planning, not that Lucia had any other plans. She had meant to arrange a catch-up with her old friend ever since Carliss’s Home Office connections had failed to shed any light on the Professor. The party was something to look forward to in the midst of all the unhappiness. Lucia briefly entertained the idea of the inspector as a plus one but decided against it. She had important business that could only be discussed in private. If her plan worked, she could come clean to Carliss in due time.
Lucia reprimanded herself at the distraction. Now was not the time to indulge in thoughts about how an evening in Belgravia might be spent. The chance sighting of Adam in a very compromising position at the Red Lion had given her fresh ammunition. She drained the rest of her coffee cup and got up to go. She had taken a leaf out of Frieda Alexander’s book and bought herself a cross-back apron on the way back from Holland Park. It made a welcome change from the overalls. She wore it with a pair of nurse’s slacks from the army surplus shop – a pleasingly pioneer woman ensemble.
At Beatrice Hall, Lucia was taken aback to find Mrs Byrne polishing the doorknobs. It smacked of displacement activity, given the state of the rest of the house.
‘Mrs Byrne, I need to talk to you.’ Lucia put on her best fraught face. She had turned over in her mind what approach to take. It was unlikely the housekeeper would make a voluntary disclosure this time, so whatever knowledge she was holding on to would have to be somehow prized out of her.
‘Yes, of course.’ There was noticeable panic in her voice. ‘Are you OK, child? You don’t look too well.’
‘Let’s go down to the kitchen if you don’t mind. I don’t want us to be overheard.’
They descended the stairs into the kitchen. Mrs Byrne sat down, and Lucia could almost smell her fear, as if she were waiting for the skies to open up.
‘I don’t know if I should be telling you this.’ Lucia frowned and fidgeted with the hem of her apron. The outfit gave her an air of efficient innocence that was well suited to the occasion.
Mrs Byrne’s eyes widened. ‘What is it?’
Tears welled up and were suppressed.
‘Just get it off your chest, love. I’m here to listen.’ The tension in the room had palpably decreased, as intended, so as to maximize the shock value of what was about to come.
‘It’s Adam. The police think he’s killed the Professor.’
If there ever was any blood in Mrs Byrne’s face, it was gone now. She looked like she couldn’t make her mind up whether to faint or vomit. She sat motionless, like an animal hunted out of its hiding place that knew it stood no chance.
‘They found out about the new will. That makes him the main suspect.’
This fresh blow broke the housekeeper. She started panting heavily and held her head with violently shaking hands. Lucia thought she might be foaming at the mouth but couldn’t be sure. She waited. After a few minutes that felt as long as hours, the panic attack started to subside. Mrs Byrne stood up to fetch herself a glass of water, which she downed with white-knuckled fingers.
‘How do you know all this?’ The question brimmed with fear and suspicion.
‘I overheard that inspector on the phone – you know, when he was hanging around the other day. He said they’re planning to take him in for questioning. I don’t understand. What’s the new will? And what’s that got to do with Adam?’ The room had suddenly become very hot, and Lucia realised she was genuinely anxious as to whether the gamble would pay off.
The housekeeper stared at the sink, which was as neglected as it had always been. Her breathing had steadied, and she had an air of downtrodden resignation about her.
‘The Professor was going to cut him out of the will. He was supposed to inherit the house. She wanted to leave everything to that godforsaken institution of hers.’
‘But if she changed her will, that puts him in the clear. There’d be no point killing her if he was already disinherited.’ Lucia surmised what the retort would be and hoped that Mrs Byrne would continue to play ball.
‘She hadn’t changed it before she died.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I witnessed a letter to her solicitor. And I overheard her on the phone. She was going to see him on the 7th, the Monday after… after the party, to sign the new will.’ Her voice faltered.
‘And Adam knew this?’
‘I told him everything.’
‘Was that why you were arguing in the kitchen?’
‘Yes. Yes, it was.’ Mrs Byrne gave out a low moan. ‘Oh, what have I done? I’ve lied to the police.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I told them we were arguing about Adam’s drinking.’ A realisation had just dawned, and the housekeeper’s eyes narrowed menacingly. The fear had given way to defensiveness which, coupled with desperation, could jeopardize the whole exercise. ‘Did you tell them about that?’
‘I had to. They really ground me down with their relentless questioning. They made me feel like I was guilty, though I haven’t done anything.’ Lucia’s bottom lip quivered, and she suppressed another tear.
Mrs Byrne’s cornered look mollified a little. The shared experience of police intimidation was something that could alleviate Lucia’s perceived betrayal. ‘Oh, they had no mercy with me either. Talked to me like I was a common criminal. I told them everything I knew, except for the reason behind the row. No good would have come from telling the truth. It would only have made Adam look bad.’ She leaned forward, and Lucia caught a glimpse of the mother grieving for her lost child. ‘He couldn’t have hurt the Professor. They might not have seen eye to eye of late, but he hasn’t got it in him. I know him like I knew my own…’ She stopped abruptly. She couldn’t face bringing up that painful subject again.
‘Why were you arguing, Mrs Byrne?’
‘He asked me to keep an eye on her. She’d been behaving oddly – cold and dismissive – and he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Perhaps she’d had enough of him living here, and his drinking…’ She couldn’t help veering back to the delicate subject. ‘When he told her he’d lost his job, she was livid. Said she didn’t want a layabout moping around the house, leeching off her. Leeching – as if! She barely paid him, for all the running around he did for her. When I told him about the change in the will, he was beside himself. All that time being her slave, and this is how she repays him. Oh, it makes me sick.’ She was properly incensed now, and Lucia calculated she could probe a little further.
‘I can’t believe the Professor didn’t leave you anything. All those years of loyal service. It’s an affront.’
Lucia had barely finished talking when the housekeeper opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. The cogs were turning feverishly.
‘Mrs Byrne, the police will find you out sooner or later. They know you witnessed the Professor’s letter to the solicitor. If you don’t tell the truth, they’ll have you down as a suspect as well. They’ll say you and Adam connived to get rid of her for the inheritance. I’ve seen what they’re like – they want to pin this on someone so they can close the case.’ Lucia’s plea was the last weapon in her arsenal. If that didn’t work, nothing else would.
Mrs Byrne sat motionless, hands crossed on the table, biting the inside of her cheek for comfort. When she finally spoke, it was as if she’d been hypnotized. ‘He said he’d give me some of the money from selling the house if I kept an eye on her. She didn’t leave me a penny, and I gave my best years to this place. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t kill her. I hated her, but I couldn’t take a life.’
Lucia had what she wanted. Trying to squeeze any more out of the woman would have been fruitless.
‘I just want all of this to end.’ It was Mrs Byrne who was crying this time, and t
he tears were very real.
‘I know. They’ll catch whoever did this, and it’ll end.’ The experience had been intense, and even Lucia was worn out. ‘You don’t mind if I go home, Mrs Byrne? I’m done in. I’ve not slept because of this madness.’
‘No, you go home. They’ve put us all through the wringer, and for what?’ She rose slowly. ‘I’d better finish upstairs. Don’t know why I’m bothering, really. Adam’s barely ever here these days.’
Lucia held back from imparting the probable explanation for his absence. It wouldn’t have achieved anything. She suspected the housekeeper didn’t know about his cocaine habit.
Chapter 24
It wasn’t even midday when Lucia got in. She didn’t normally drink that early, but she felt the circumstances justified it. She poured herself the dregs of the bottle in the fridge door and sat staring out of the window. A woman was pushing a buggy with a dog nearing its expiry date. Joggers in lustrous attire strode purposefully into the coffee shop. There were two suspects with decent motives, and she knew Carliss would be tempted to make an arrest. The doorbell interrupted her concentration. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
‘Afternoon. You’re not busy, are you?’ The detective had walked up and stood expectantly in the corridor, water dripping off his mac. A puddle was starting to form, so Lucia had no choice but to invite him in.
‘Come in.’
He clocked the half empty glass of wine on the counter. ‘A bit early, isn’t it?’
‘It’s been a long morning. What is it you want to talk about?’ She wasn’t in the mood for company. The thinking that needed to be done in preparation for Nina’s party required solitude.
None of this registered with Carliss. He was obliviously bright-eyed in the way that only a recovered invalid could be. ‘I thought we could go through what we’ve got to date. It looks like we’re very close to cracking it.’ She could tell he was looking forward to shelving the whole unfortunate affair – petty crime, or whatever it was that he busied himself with when he wasn’t chasing a murderer, must have never seemed so appealing in comparison.
‘Tea?’
‘Sure, if you’re making it.’ He sank into one of the armchairs at the living room end of the open-plan kitchen. ‘It’s nice, this place. Light.’
Lucia returned a knowing smile. On the rare occasions that she had visitors to her flat, they always had to rack their brains for a more substantial compliment. The best anyone could come up with was ‘minimalist’. The place was empty and soulless. It didn’t match the artistic output at Beatrice Hall. As she handed Carliss the drink, his eyes drifted to the wall of books.
‘Nice bookcase.’ He grasped his tea and stood up to take a closer look. ‘Wallace Stegner. One of my favourite writers. Have you read Angle of Repose?’
Her tired eyes lit up a touch. ‘Too navel-gazing for my taste.’
‘I wouldn’t have had you pegged as a fan of Crossing to Safety,’ he said.
‘“We made plenty of mistakes, but we never tripped anybody to gain an advantage, or took illegal shortcuts when no judge was around. We have all jogged and panted it out the whole way.” Isn’t that something to live by?’ She was running out of steam, and for once felt like she was the one on edge.
‘Sure.’ He smiled, surprised at the revelation. ‘I didn’t realize you’re an idealist.’
‘We all have our flaws.’
Carliss circled the room and settled at the kitchen table. ‘Where are we? Adam’s a penniless cokehead. He gets the housekeeper to spy on the Professor in return for a share of the house sale money. It turns out the old girl’s planning to cut him out of the inheritance. He hasn’t got much time, so he kills her before she can sign the new will. With or without the housekeeper’s help – I can’t quite figure that one out. I’m minded to bring him in for a proper interview.’
‘Aren’t you jumping the gun? You’ve got no proof he poisoned the glass.’
‘You’d be surprised what a little judiciously applied pressure can yield.’
Lucia had no appetite for imagining what judiciously applied pressure could yield. ‘I just don’t think it’s as straightforward as it looks. What about everyone else? Are you discounting them without any further thought?’
‘No, but we can’t ignore the obvious. Adam Corcoran stood to gain substantially from the victim’s death, so we’ve got motive. Dr Glover overheard him threatening the Professor. He may have had an accomplice in Mrs Byrne. The murder wasn’t spontaneous – he planned it to stop the new will being executed. The means pinned suspicion on any of the people at the party but made it impossible to focus on a particular individual. If you’re right about how the poison was administered, once it was in the coupe all Adam had to do was let it run its course.’ He looked very pleased with himself. ‘It all adds up, don’t you think?’
Lucia wasn’t thinking straight anymore, but she certainly wasn’t buying it. ‘As things stand, we’ve still got a lot of blanks on Glover, Emilia, and the Walkers.’
‘But they may be blanks because there’s nothing to fill in,’ the inspector argued. ‘Anyway, I’m not drawing a line under it just yet. You’ve got to bear in mind that sometimes the truth just stares you in the face. I’ll see you around then.’
Lucia was seething. She picked up the now empty wine glass and decided against opening a fresh bottle. They desperately needed some sort of miracle, a breakthrough.
Chapter 25
It was barely light outside when Lucia woke up on the day of Nina’s party. She needed some time away from Beatrice Hall, so she had called in sick. Adam’s response had been one of indifference – he clearly had other more pressing concerns. Margaret Walker had left numerous messages begging her to meet, which so far she had ignored. Perhaps it was time to take up the job, if only for a bit of variety. She was due at their house that morning.
In Belsize Park, Margaret Walker opened the door dressed in another ludicrous outfit – a baggy dress, achingly on trend. Lucia was not in a good mood.
‘Lucia, hello. Come in.’
‘Hi, Margaret. I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls. This business with the Professor has been eating up all of my time. Endless questions from the police – and they haven’t made an ounce of progress, as far as I can tell.’ She reasoned that venting her anger might make her feel better. It wasn’t working.
‘Oh, I know. Absolutely useless. You’d think that with all the resources our taxes pay for, they could do a better job. Don’t even get Johnny started on the public sector.’
They went through to the kitchen, where Margaret busied herself with the daunting coffee machine. Lucia stood by the French windows – beyond their garden lay Beatrice Hall.
And, just like that, something clicked.
‘Margaret, is that fence new?’
Margaret had won the battle and was proudly holding two full cups. ‘What fence?’
‘The one between your garden and the Professor’s.’
‘That old thing? No, it’s been there ever since we moved in.’
‘Did you ever have any trouble with it? Was it leaning over at any point?’
‘No, it’s always been fairly solid. It’s funny, I was just saying to Johnny the other day how lucky we are. My friend from barre class has had no end of trouble with her neighbours. Boundary issues cost a lot of money to fix around here.’ Margaret was bemused. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, just because my fence looks similar, and it’s nowhere near as sturdy. The developer must have put in the cheapest kind,’ Lucia lied. She didn’t even have a garden.
‘Awful. Are you in one of these new builds next to the Heath? I’ve heard terrible things from the other mums at school. Work so shoddy it should be illegal.’ Margaret launched into a tirade about how standards had plummeted since EU enlargement, a view very much in keeping with her stance on the public sector. Lucia nodded sympathetically, not taking any of it in. She needed to let Carliss know.
For the following hal
f hour, Margaret did most of the talking. Lucia showed her various mood boards, hoping that information overload would prevent her new client from reaching a decision on the spot. She realized she didn’t want to start the job any time soon. It would distract her from the murder. As it happened, Margaret was not the decisive type. Half, if not more of the fun lay in equivocating about endless possibilities. The visit ended as it had begun – Lucia was none the wiser as to the substance of her brief, which suited her just fine. Back in the van, she messaged DCI Carliss: “John Walker lied about the fence. It’s not new.”
By the time she got home, she was looking forward to the evening ahead. What was she going to wear to the party? She had never been one for hoarding clothes. The end of her old job was a chance to prune down her wardrobe to a few choice pieces, with the rest relegated to the charity shop bin. She pulled out a black velvet kimono with a silk waist tie. It was short and would have looked vulgar with heels – not that she owned any – so she paired it with suede ballet flats in the same colour. She would have a long, indulgent bath before getting ready, which was a luxury she seldom afforded herself. She simply didn’t have the patience.
When she emerged, it was five fifty-nine – plenty of time left before she had to be on the move. She dressed herself carefully, stood back and admired her handiwork. The light freckles on her nose attenuated the effect of the stridently red lipstick. The get-up had the desired effect – alluring but not ostentatious. Just as she was applying the finishing touches to her face, the doorbell squealed insistently.
‘It’s me. I need to talk to you.’
She heard Carliss’s hurried steps coming up the stairs as soon as she had pressed the buzzer. She opened the door and beckoned him in.