by Iris Gower
‘You skinny horrible bitch!’ Sally screamed. ‘I hate you, all you want to do is make more money. No wonder Jon doesn’t want to sleep with you! You’re nothing but an old harridan!’
Sally lashed out again and, incensed, Sarah struggled with her. She felt the hot breeze from the balcony as she wrestled with the girl, finally pushing her away. Sarah felt blood running along her cheek.
‘You no-good tart!’ she said in disbelief. ‘You’ve marked me!’
Sarah was taller than Sally but she was not able to keep her at bay as the girl lunged forward, her fists beating into Sarah’s face.
‘I’ll kill you!’ Sally was spitting in her fury. ‘I’ll bloody kill you!’
‘Jon!’ Sarah called. ‘Get this tart off me!’ Jon did not move. There was a strange look on his face as he watched the women fight. Sarah would get no help from him. She was on her own against a madwoman.
Sarah leaned away from Sally and picked up the pot of flowers from the balcony table. ‘Get away from me!’ she said fiercely, ‘or you will be the one lying dead.’
She raised her hand and Sally cowered away, suddenly frightened. Jon came to life, rushing at Sarah, his fists raised. Sarah screamed – she knew she had little chance of defending herself against him. He was a big man, a strong man, and right now he was more angry than she had ever seen him.
As he came towards her Sarah instinctively moved away from the balcony. Unable to stop himself, Jon collided with the table. The momentum carried him over the balcony rail as if taking a dive into a swimming-pool. Sarah watched in disbelief as he plummeted to the ground four storeys below.
For a moment there was silence and Sarah slumped against the wall, her heart beating so fast she felt she would choke.
‘You’ve killed him,’ Sally whispered in disbelief. She began to cry. ‘What am I going to do without him, I loved him!’
Sarah made an effort to pull herself together. She looked over the balcony and saw a group of people gathering around Jon’s prostrate body. She must get her story in first. She hurried across the room and picked up the phone. It was Errol who answered.
‘Sorry, mam, the manager is attending an accident to one of the guests.’
‘Then you must come. The guest you are talking about fell from my balcony.’ She replaced the phone. Errol answered her call swiftly, knowing there would be a generous tip on offer.
‘Come in, please.’ Sarah opened the door and leaned weakly against him. ‘Something terrible has happened,’ she gasped. She pointed to Sally. ‘This woman is my husband’s mistress.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘She came here with my husband trying to get money from me. When I refused this woman attacked me.’ She pointed to the blood running down her face. ‘My husband was going to join in, he raised his fists to me, he wanted to kill me.’ She paused for effect.
‘I have to be fair to this woman,’ she said shakily. ‘She saw my husband’s fury and tried to stop him hitting me. In the fray she accidentally pushed Jon over the balcony. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.’
‘You liar!’ Sally was white-faced. ‘He just fell, Jon just fell.’ She appealed to Errol. ‘This woman is lying, can’t you see that?’
Errol took Sarah’s arm and guided her to a chair. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Brandon,’ he said softly, ‘anyone can see this woman is no good and I for one believe everything you’ve said.’
‘It’s a lie!’ Sally protested. ‘I didn’t push Jon over, it was an accident.’ She began to sob. Errol shook his head.
‘I know that you came here with Mrs Brandon’s husband. I can see from the scratches on Mrs Brandon’s cheek that you have attacked her. It’s pointless trying to cover up. When the police come you’d best tell them the truth.’
‘Police?’ Sally said.
Errol ignored her and turned to Sarah. ‘Two English policemen have come from your country to see you. They are outside with the security guard looking at the, excuse me, the body of your husband.’
‘Oh dear, this is all so awful!’ Sarah said. ‘Will you pour me a brandy, Errol, I need something to give me strength to deal with all this.’
She covered her face with her hands and tried to clear her mind. The police had come a long way to talk to her; they were clearly suspicious of her. It seemed that Jon’s arrival had been timed just right, after all. Now Sarah could claim that she knew nothing at all about his business or his associates and reiterate her story that he had come to Jamaica to demand money from her.
She took her hands away from her face as the police came into the room. She looked up and recognized DI Lainey. She dabbed at her eyes and fingered the drying blood on her cheek.
‘Thank God you are here!’ she said. ‘My husband and this woman have just tried to kill me.’ She was aware of Sally’s shocked face, and a feeling of triumph welled up inside her. Revenge, she found, was very sweet indeed.
Lowri looked at Mrs Jenkins with narrowed eyes. ‘You’ve been in there with Mr Watson for an awfully long time. You’ve kept him well after the normal closing time – what’s going on?’
‘I’m leaving.’ Mrs Jenkins began clearing her desk. ‘I’ve been offered a better position. You said it yourself, I’m overqualified for this job.’ She paused and for once looked almost human. ‘I tried to talk to Mr Watson, I waited a long time while he was on the phone but he seemed very upset and didn’t even look at me.’
‘Oh? Who was he speaking to?’ Lowri asked.
Mrs Jenkins did not reply. She picked up her belongings and without saying another word left the office. Lowri watched her with a frown. She really was an odd woman. She strode along the street flat-footed. Like a policeman. Was she working for Lainey? Was he having Lowri spied on even when she was at work?
Lowri switched on the computer on Mrs Jenkins’s desk but when she attempted to locate documents, unless the correct password was used, access was denied.
She looked through the drawers of the desk: they were bare. Nothing remained to show that Mrs Jenkins had ever been there, not even a paper-clip. Lowri picked up the waste-paper bin. It was empty.
The intercom buzzed, startling her, and she heard Mr Watson’s voice coming over the line.
‘Come in here please, Lowri.’
She knocked on the door of his office and went in without waiting for a reply. Mr Watson was sitting with his head in his hands.
‘What is it?’ Lowri said at once. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’
He looked up and his face was grey. ‘I’m all right. It’s your mother, I’m afraid. She’s been taken into hospital. I have to go. Close the office, Lowri, and follow me over to Singleton in your car, will you?’
Lowri bit her lip. ‘What’s wrong with Mother?’
Mr Watson got awkwardly to his feet. ‘There’s no other way to put this, Lowri, my dear. Your mother is dying.’
‘No!’ Lowri watched as the solicitor picked up his glasses and pushed them onto his nose. ‘Who has said so?’
Mr Watson shook his head. ‘Just get over to the hospital as quickly as you can, Lowri, there’s a good girl.’
‘Should I phone Justin . . . and Charles?’
Mr Watson shrugged. ‘That’s up to you, but I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want Charles there.’
He left the office, his shoulders slumped. He looked like a beaten man. Lowri hesitated for a moment and then dialled her home number. To her relief, Justin answered.
Lowri told him quickly what the situation was. ‘I’ll be there as quickly as I can, Lowri,’ he said. ‘In the meantime try not to worry too much.’
‘Right, I’ll see you at the hospital then.’ She hurriedly picked up her bag and the keys and let herself out of the door, locking it behind her.
The drive to the hospital did not take long. Lowri parked her car and walked briskly towards the main entrance. She rang for the lift and it seemed an interminably long time coming.
Her mother was in a side room and Mr Watson was already sitting next to the bed, holding her h
and.
‘Mummy, are you worse?’ Lowri asked, closing her mind to the prospect of her mother dying. She bent to kiss her cheek, noticing the drip which was feeding liquid into Rhian’s arm.
Rhian tried to smile. ‘I’m ready, Lowri, I’ve had enough now and I want to go.’ She held out a thin hand. ‘But I’m happy to have the people I love most in all the world with me right now.’
Lowri fought back her tears. ‘Don’t talk like that, Mum, you’ll get better, you’ll see.’
Rhian shook her head without replying. Mr Watson moved his chair so that Lowri could sit near her.
‘Rhian is being transferred to the hospice at Morriston,’ he said in a subdued voice, and Lowri felt her spirits plummet. Everyone knew that the hospice, wonderful though it was, was the end of the road for most patients.
Rhian had closed her eyes and seemed to be drifting into a peaceful sleep. Mr Watson rested his hand on Lowri’s shoulder. ‘Try to be brave, Lowri.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Rhian has suffered enough. Death will be a release from her pain.’
Lowri began to cry. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, running saltily into her mouth.
‘You’re bound to be distressed, Lowri.’ He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘But you’ll feel better for a good cry.’
He was talking platitudes but in his own pain he was doing his best to help her deal with hers, and she was grateful. ‘I’m glad my mother had you with her at last,’ she said quietly. ‘These last months she’s been happier than I’ve ever seen her before.’
‘Thank you for that, Lowri.’
The door opened and Justin entered the small room. He looked at his mother and his face creased into lines of despair. He bent over and kissed her lightly on her forehead and Rhian’s eyes flickered and opened.
She smiled when she saw her son, and touched his hand. ‘You’ve been taken care of in my will,’ she said, her voice a breathless whisper. ‘But Charles has a great deal he can leave to you, and so I’ve given Lowri the bulk of my estate.’
‘That’s all right, Mother,’ Justin said. ‘None of us want to talk about things like that, not now when you are so ill.’
‘I knew you’d understand,’ Rhian said, ‘you’re a good boy.’ She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep again. Her face became even paler, her lips were turning blue. Lowri knew then that her mother would never see the inside of the hospice. She would never see anything again. She had said her goodbyes and now she was going to die. Lowri began to sob and Justin came to her, taking her in his arms, smoothing her hair, holding her close against his shoulder. ‘There, don’t cry, Lowri, it’s for the best, you know it is.’
She nodded and moved away from him, with a feeling of unreality. This could not be happening.
‘Oh God!’ She ran from the room, down the stairs and out across the broad Mumbles Road to the beach beyond. The sea was calm, the beach deserted. Lowri sat down and hunched up her knees, wrapping her arms around herself.
She wept large gulping sobs; she cried as she had never cried before. Everyone was deserting her, even her mother had left her.
After a while she pulled herself to her feet and began to walk down to the water’s edge, her bout of self-pity over. She looked out to sea and made a silent farewell to her dying mother, the mother who even at the last had made sure that Lowri would never want for anything ever again.
27
Lainey sat in his office staring out of the window. It was good to be home.
It had taken a great deal of discussion with the Jamaican police to convince them that Jon Brandon’s death was a tragic accident. He had urged Sarah to take back her story that Jon was pushed to his death by Sally. Sarah saw sense when Lainey pointed out that perjury was a crime, and Jamaican jails were not the most salubrious of places.
Finally he had been allowed to bring Sarah Brandon and Sally White back into the country where the courts could sort out who was to blame for what. At least it was progress of some sort.
His mouth creased into a smile. On the plane, the two women had quarrelled constantly. Sarah denied knowing anything about her husband’s business enterprises while Sally claimed that Sarah was the brains of the operation and was waiting for her accomplice – a man called Snowy – to join her in Jamaica.
The police had apprehended Snowy and found he had in his possession a disc containing all the evidence needed to convict Sarah of taking part in, if not masterminding, a gigantic fraud.
The door opened and Lainey looked up at Mrs Jenkins and smiled, congratulating himself on bringing her into the case. The woman was a specialist, an undercover officer with computer qualifications a yard long. She sat opposite him without waiting for an invitation and placed a thick file on the desk.
‘So, Mrs Jenkins, what have you got?’
She began to talk in computer jargon and Lainey held up his hand.
‘Quite frankly, Mrs Jenkins, I haven’t a clue what you are talking about. Can’t you put it all into plain English?’
She eased off her shoes and settled herself more comfortably into the chair. ‘Very well. To put it simply, a sophisticated form of encryption was used to facilitate the transference of sensitive information. The data was then saved on a CD to be accessed only by one who had the key to the encryption.’
‘Can you explain a little further?’ Lainey asked. Mrs Jenkins was very worthy but she was more than a little pedantic.
She stared at him as if he was a moron. ‘Right then, Justin Richards as well as his father were into the scam up to their necks.’ She heaved a sigh and her large bosom struggled against the buttons on her jacket. ‘They used a computer hacker to access the required data, one Timmy Perkins. You know of him?’
He nodded, feeling all sorts of a fool. Timmy Perkins had been almost killed in a road accident; only now was it becoming clear that someone had wanted him out of the way. ‘What sort of information was being transferred?’
‘Personal bank records of the rich and famous, mainly. There is a dossier on the targets’ private lives, little “mistakes” that had never been disclosed before.’
‘So it was extortion?’
‘Yes, and I must congratulate you on picking up Sarah Brandon, she expected a massive amount from the scam.’
‘How was the money laundered?’
‘Simple. Justin Richards’s business was a wholesale outlet for wines and spirits. He did a fair bit of legitimate trade and cooked the books to tell a story of far greater sales than he actually made.’
‘So the money was cleaned through Richards’s legitimate business, is that what you are saying?’
‘Precisely.’
Lainey looked up as Ken Major entered the room. ‘I’ve asked one of the girls to make us some coffee.’ He looked down at Mrs Jenkins. ‘You don’t drink coffee, do you, Mrs Jenkins?’
‘Just fetch me hot water and I’ll use one of my own tea bags.’
‘Thank you, Ken.’ Lainey felt a little sorry for the sergeant. The woman had spoken to him as though he was the floor-sweeper, not an experienced police officer.
Ken grimaced and left the room. Lainey leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. The question trembled on his lips, a question he did not really want to ask.
‘And Lowri Richards, was she involved in all this?’ He looked up impatiently as the door opened and Ken returned carrying a tray. He put it down and gave Mrs Jenkins her cup of hot water. By his expression he might well have added arsenic to it.
‘Shall I sit in, guv?’ Ken asked, and Lainey really had no reason to refuse him, although he would have preferred to hear Mrs Jenkins’s answer in private. Instead, he gestured for Ken to take a seat.
Mrs Jenkins was carefully squeezing the tea bag against the side of her cup, determined to extract every bit of goodness from it. Lainey watched, fuming with impatience.
‘Lowri Richards?’ he prompted. She looked up and at last dropped the tea bag into the bin.
‘She is not involved at all,’ Mrs Jenkins sai
d. ‘The foolish girl was set up by her brother, Jon Brandon being the bait.’ She sniffed. ‘Some of these modern girls have no discrimination when it comes to men. Look at Sally, she dropped everything to go away with Brandon.’
Lainey felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Lowri was innocent. ‘You are sure Miss Richards was not involved? She was with Brandon the night he disappeared.’
Mrs Jenkins’s look was frosty. ‘Are you questioning my ability, Mr Lainey? I told you, the girl has no taste in men, she’s simply a fool. As for her brother, he’s a very nasty piece of work.’
‘Apart from the extortion, you mean?’ Lainey wished the woman would just tell him everything. Talking to her was like trying to pull teeth.
‘Well, he and his father intend to get their hands on Rhian Richards’s very considerable wealth.’
‘Why, if they were both making money at the extortion game?’
‘I should have thought that was obvious. Charles Richards hates his stepdaughter. He tried to discredit her by having large sums of money put into her account. You see he’s determined that his son will inherit everything.’ She stared at Lainey for a long moment. ‘All the money in the world won’t satisfy the greed of some crooks.’
He sank back in his chair, his thoughts racing. Mrs Richards was in hospital in a serious condition. In the event of her death almost all her money would go to her daughter, he had learned that much for himself. Did that mean Lowri was in danger?
He got to his feet. ‘I’d better get over to the hospital, speak to Mrs Richards. I’ll bet my bottom dollar that’s where the not-so-loving son is at the moment. Thank you for your help, Mrs Jenkins, you’ve been a real asset to the case.’
He got as far as the door before Mrs Jenkins spoke again. She was on her feet, her handbag clutched close to her ample chest. ‘You’re too late for fond farewells. Rhian Richards died a short while ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. Furthermore, wouldn’t you like to know who was Mr Big in all this?’
Lainey froze, the door half-open. ‘You mean someone else was pulling all the strings?’