by Iris Gower
‘Still here?’ he said.
She nodded but did not look up from her computer. She might have an excellent flair for business but she was the most dour of women, with no social graces. But then he had not employed her because of her charm. He had employed her because she seemed the type to get on with her work and keep her nose out of anyone else’s business.
‘Right then, you’d better get off home.’ He forced a smile. ‘You don’t get medals in this life for working yourself to a standstill, you know.’ He opened the door of his room and went inside. The smell of old books and lavender furniture polish enfolded him.
He sank down into his chair and looked at his watch. Seven minutes past five, hardly worth the effort of coming to the office. He waited patiently until he heard Mrs Jenkins leave the building and then he went into the reception area and locked the front door.
Systematically, he began to go through the files, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He searched Mrs Jenkins’s desk. It smelt of her deodorant, and half hidden beneath a pile of papers was a packet of cigarettes. So she was not as flawless as he had thought.
He could find nothing. He stared at the blank screen of the computer; no doubt anything Mrs Jenkins wanted to conceal would be on there. He shrugged. He had no chance of finding it, he knew very little about computers.
On an impulse, he played back the tape on the answerphone. The first message was from a customer with a complaint. The man was anxious about the time it was taking to complete on a house purchase. There was a silence after that, and Terence reached out to switch the machine off. Then a masculine voice came over the line, the words softly spoken.
‘Report to me ASAP. I’ll be waiting in the usual place.’
The machine clicked off and Terence replayed the message several times. It told him very little. Mrs Jenkins might have a husband somewhere or even a lover, unlikely though that seemed, but then the word ‘report’ sounded more like an instruction than an invitation.
He admitted defeat and sat down on the upright chair. Perhaps there was nothing to find. Perhaps Mrs Jenkins was playing a straight bat. He looked at the pile of letters waiting to be signed, and when he picked them up a small scrap of paper fluttered to the floor.
He retrieved it and saw some scribbled digits, presumably a phone number, in what looked like Mrs Jenkins’s handwriting. Terence picked up the telephone and pressed out the numbers and, to his satisfaction, a phone began to ring.
Lowri climbed into the taxi and glanced at her watch. She would have been at the office by now but for the fact that Lainey was having her watched. She had not failed to notice the figures outside her house and the intermittent glow of a cigarette. It had been simple enough to leave her car parked at the front of the house and let herself out of the back door. She had walked around to the main road and picked up a taxi almost straight away.
She gave the address of the office to the driver and sank back in the cold leather seat with a sigh of relief. Soon she would be safely there, and then Mr Watson would explain everything to her. She slipped her hand inside her bag and felt the edge of the CD. Whatever was on it must be very important for Mr Watson to ask her to bring it round so late at night.
She looked out of the window and frowned. ‘Driver, aren’t we going the wrong way?’
‘I’ve been paid to carry out instructions and that’s what I’m doing,’ he said, without turning round.
The road narrowed down to a small lane and Lowri leaned forward in her seat, rapping on the window.
‘Where are you taking me?’ But she knew where: the taxi was heading coastward in the direction of the Swan Hotel.
‘I want to get out, stop the cab!’ she shouted, but the driver took no notice. He manoeuvred through the lanes at breakneck speed and Lowri held her breath. She felt a sense of relief when the cab drew up a short distance from the Swan’s main entrance.
Lowri climbed out of the taxi and before she could open her bag to pay him, he had pressed the accelerator and roared away into the night.
She looked towards the lights of the hotel and her heart rate slowed a little. Mr Watson must have changed his mind about the meeting-place. No doubt he had his reasons.
She swung her bag over her shoulder and began to walk towards the foyer. She shivered a little, the breeze from the sea cutting through her coat. What on earth did Mr Watson want with Sally’s CD?
So suddenly that she had no time to react, someone cannoned into her from behind. Lowri fell, hitting the gravel of the drive with a thud that knocked the breath from her body. As she lay gasping, her bag was dragged from her shoulder. She tried to struggle but a fist caught her at the side of her head. Slowly, Lowri sank against the ground, her senses reeling.
She blacked out for a moment and when consciousness returned, she tried to sit up. She could feel blood trickling down her cheek and it took her a few minutes to rise to her feet. Her head was still spinning as she limped into the foyer of the Swan. With a sense of relief she saw Trish was on reception.
The girl noticed her at once and came rushing from behind the counter. ‘Oh my lord what’s happened, have you been mugged?’
Lowri nodded. ‘Get the police, Trish, will you?’ She staggered, the darkness pressed down on her and she slumped to the floor.
21
Lowri sat still as the police doctor cleaned up the scratches on her cheek. She was trembling and Lainey could see through her efforts to appear unruffled.
‘There, no harm done,’ the doctor said. ‘You won’t have any scars, Miss Richards, so don’t worry about that.’
‘Thank you, doctor, you’ve been very kind.’
‘No problem.’ The doctor snapped shut his bag. ‘If that’s all, Mr Lainey, I’ll get back to my dinner party.’
Lainey nodded. Ken Major opened the door and the doctor departed. ‘Are you up to answering questions, Lowri?’ Lainey’s voice was gentle and Lowri felt tears come to her eyes. She shook them away impatiently.
‘Yes, of course I am,’ she said. ‘Though there’s not a lot I can tell you, I’m afraid.’
He leaned forward. ‘If you hadn’t given my man the slip none of this would have happened. Lowri, you do realize you could have been seriously injured, even killed?’
‘I know, it wasn’t very clever of me to pick a taxi up in the street and get into it. I should have realized that seeing a taxi around my place at that time of night was one hell of a coincidence.’
‘What did the driver look like?’
Lowri sighed. ‘I don’t know, I just saw the back of his head and it was dark. I heard his voice though, he sounded more like a Londoner than a local man.’
Lainey got to his feet. ‘I don’t suppose you noticed what taxi company the cab was from? Was there a leaflet stuck up inside, a card with a number on, anything?’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ Lowri said. ‘Once I realized we were going the wrong way I think I panicked.’
‘And why the Swan?’ Lainey said. ‘Why would the driver take you to the Swan – it’s rather far out, isn’t it?’
‘I know,’ Lowri said. ‘I intended to go to the office, I needed to see Mr Watson but the driver had other ideas.’
Lainey sat down again and leaned back in his chair. ‘Right, Lowri, what was in your bag?’
‘The usual stuff, make-up, purse, that sort of thing.’
‘Come on, Lowri, don’t treat me like a fool! What else did you have in your bag?’
‘A disc, that’s all.’
‘What sort of a disc?’
‘The sort you put in a CD-ROM drive in a computer.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He sounded impatient. ‘Was there anything different about it, anything that was out of the ordinary?’
‘Well yes, there was funny writing on it, foreign but not like any language I’ve ever seen.’
‘And where were you taking it?’
‘I told you, to my boss, Mr Watson.’
‘What you said was that you
needed to see Mr Watson. Now, why would Mr Watson want this disc?’ His eyes narrowed and he looked as if he could see inside her skull.
Lowri shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. Mr Watson just asked did I have it and if so would I take it over to the office.’
Lainey nodded. ‘Right, we’d better talk to Mr Watson then. Now, Lowri, where did you get the disc? It’s most important that I know.’
‘Timmy Perkins, you know, Sally’s boyfriend. He asked me to take care of Sal’s belongings, make-up and stuff, and the disc was in the bag with the rest.’
‘Ah!’ Lainey sighed heavily. ‘That’s the one part of your story we can’t corroborate.’
‘Why, what do you mean?’
Lainey sat forward. ‘I mean that Mr Perkins has met with an unfortunate traffic accident. He’s in Morriston Hospital with burns and serious head injuries.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ Lowri suddenly felt ill. It was as if the world was closing in on her. ‘Poor Timmy, how did it happen?’
Lainey shrugged. ‘Just one of those things, I suppose. Wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?’
‘I’m not saying anything until the matter has been investigated further.’ He looked up at Ken Major. ‘Sergeant, you had better get on the phone to Mr Watson and ask him to come over.’
Ken glanced at his watch. ‘It’s getting a bit late isn’t it, guv?’
Lainey shook his head. ‘Too bad. In any case, I’m sure Mr Watson is wondering where Miss Richards has got to by now.’
Ken left the room and Lainey gently touched the grazes on Lowri’s face. ‘You should be more careful of the company you keep.’
Lowri drew away from him, a hard knot of anger inside her. Lainey clearly thought she knew more than she had told him. He probably imagined her being involved in some complicated plot to rob the Bank of England. She wanted a hot bath and a comfortable bed. She was tired and her bones ached from the fall.
‘I want to go home,’ she said. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong, I’ve just been attacked by some lunatic who probably wanted my credit cards. I don’t know why you’re making an issue of all this.’
Lainey looked up as the door opened and Ken Major came back into the room. He stood beside the desk and looked down at Lowri.
‘Sorry, Miss Richards, your Mr Watson had no idea what you were talking about.’ He shook his head at Lainey. ‘I got him out of bed, guv, he wasn’t even in his office, he was at home.’
‘Well?’ Lainey looked at Lowri and she stared back, with a feeling of hostility.
‘Well, he probably gave up waiting for me and decided to call it a day. He can’t think the damned disc very important if he didn’t wait for me, can he?’ She shook back her hair. ‘What on earth is on the CD anyway? I can’t see it can be of much importance if it’s been hanging around in Sally’s bag all this time.’
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss police matters,’ Lainey said, rubbing his hands wearily through his hair.
Lowri wanted to tell him how pompous he sounded but instead she got up from her chair. ‘If that’s all, Mr Lainey, I’m going home. Could you please get me a taxi?’
‘I would have thought you’d had a bellyful of taxis. The sergeant will run you home.’
Lowri moved to the door and Lainey’s voice seemed to reach out to her. ‘I will want to interview you again in the morning, along with Mr Watson.’
‘Fine.’ Lowri did not turn round. ‘I want to talk to Mr Watson too.’
She was silent on the drive home; she felt tired and dispirited. It was clear Lainey thought she was lying about the disc, lying about everything. Well, to hell with Lainey. He was the cop, let him work it all out. As for her, she would have a large whisky and climb into bed and hopefully get a good night’s sleep.
Sarah Brandon sat on the balcony of the Jamaican Royal, staring out at the Caribbean. It shimmered against the shoreline clear as crystal, sparkling in the sun. The palm trees waved fingers at the soft, warm breeze and Sarah sighed in contentment. She had eaten a delicious meal, been serviced by a vigorous young waiter and now all she had to do was sit in the sun and get richer by the minute.
She had been glad to leave the cold damp climate of Britain behind. But first, she had ransacked the cottage; searched number 4 Plunch Lane from top to bottom but found nothing. It was a pity it had been necessary to burn the place down but she might have missed some piece of evidence that could fall into the wrong hands. That was all over now. All she needed to do was manipulate her underlings from afar and relax in luxury.
Not that she had ever known poverty, of course. Her mother came from an affluent background, while her father had made his way in the world of finance, cutting many corners as he went. They were both dead now and Sarah had inherited their joint fortunes, as well as her father’s financial knowledge.
She glanced at the diamond on her finger. It was clearer than the sea, a dazzling four carats of near-perfect stone. She enjoyed being rich and soon she would be in possession of more wealth than even her father had envisaged.
She glanced up at the discreet knock. ‘Come in,’ she said lazily. The door opened and the waiter stood there, a tray of drinks in his hand. She sat up straight.
‘Where’s Errol?’
‘He’s off sick, mam. Will I do?’ He put down the tray and stretched to his full height. His chest muscles bulged beneath the pristine linen of his shirt. He smiled, his teeth very white against his dark skin. ‘I’m Paul if it pleases you, mam.’
‘Yes, I think it pleases me very much.’
She slipped out of her robe and took off her glasses. ‘How much time have you got, Paul?’
‘All the time in the world for you, mam.’ He began to disrobe, laying his shirt carefully over the back of the chair. She was pleased to see how neat he was.
When they both lay on the bed naked Sarah touched his bronzed chest and felt the boy shudder. He was very grateful and so he should be, she would pay him well.
‘I’m surprised at you Caribbean boys,’ she said, ‘I understood you were all very religious.’
‘Oh we are, mam, I go to church every Sunday and axe for forgiveness of my sins.’ He smiled a slow smile and touched her breast. ‘But first I have to commit them sins.’
‘I think we understand each other perfectly, Paul.’ She lay back and allowed herself to enjoy his attentions. Funny, when she had been with Jon, she had never climaxed, not once. It was not his fault, he was an ardent lover and he had staying power, but he always wanted to manipulate her and Sarah never enjoyed that.
‘Come on board, Paul.’ She stretched her long legs, her skin startlingly white against his darkness. He obeyed and she smiled. She was the one to do all the manipulating now and she meant to enjoy every minute of it.
Lowri could not sleep. The whisky she had drunk, far from relaxing her, had made her feel anxious. What on earth was going on? Why did Mr Watson, her own father, deny he knew anything about the disc? She could scarcely wait for the morning to confront him about it. And what could be so important about the disc anyway?
She gave up trying to sleep and climbed from the bed. Perhaps a cup of tea would help. Downstairs, she took Sally’s bag out of the closet and carried it into the kitchen.
She tipped the contents of the bag onto the table. They smelt of Sally’s perfume, and she sorted through them. As well as the pop-music CDs, there was a comb, lipstick, nail polish, even spare pants, nothing out of the ordinary for a girl who stayed over at her boyfriend’s at regular intervals.
Lowri felt the bottom of the bag and her fingers touched the plastic-lined card that held it in shape. She prised it up and underneath felt the hard edges of a book. She tipped up the bag and the book fell onto the table with a slap. It was a thin leather-bound diary and between its pages was a credit card. Jon Brandon’s credit card.
Lowri made tea and sat at the table staring at the black cover of the diary, wondering if
she had the right to look inside. But Sally was gone, goodness knew where, and might never come back. What harm could a little prying do her now?
There seemed to be nothing of significance written in the pages. Appointments with the hairdresser were noted along with brief comments about Timmy and his performance, or lack of it.
Lowri drank some tea to wash the stale taste of whisky from her mouth. The taste would always remind her of Jon and the last evening they had spent together. Then her dreams had been intact. She had believed in Jon, believed he loved her. She gave a short laugh. The only one Jon Brandon had ever loved was himself.
Sally, who denied ever knowing Jon, carried his credit card with her and had used it on at least one occasion, according to Lainey.
As if conjured up by her thoughts, Lowri came across Jon’s name pencilled lightly into one of the dates in May. There was no other information. The entry was at the beginning of May, before Jon disappeared.
Sally did know him, then, probably had slept with him as Sarah had claimed all along. According to his wife, Sally was more Jon’s type than Lowri could ever be. So why had he spent so much time, energy and money convincing Lowri that he was in love with her?
She looked through the pages more carefully and to her disappointment found no further references to Jon. Had his name been pencilled in for September or October that would mean that he could still be alive after he disappeared so mysteriously from the Swan Hotel.
Lowri sighed and glanced at the phone; perhaps she should call Lainey. To hell with Lainey, he did not believe a word she said so he could just wait until morning.
Lowri put Sally’s make-up and other belongings, with the exception of the diary and credit card, back into the bag.
The diary she slipped under the carpet and then went back to her bedroom, having left lights on in the kitchen and sitting-room, and climbed into bed. Hoping that the house was still being watched, she fell asleep.