‘I’m so sorry,’ she said gently.
‘Yes, well, I just wanted you to know that I don’t bear you any grudge, Miss Best. When Scott needed his freedom, I gave it to him. I even pretended it was on account of his bullying, but my Scott never hurt me, and he still kept in touch. I would have done anything for him, like most of his other ladies.’
She gave an almost beatific smile before she hurried away along the street, leaving Alex stunned for a moment.
Stunned, and feeling normal, and healthy, and glad beyond measure that a normal, healthy man was taking her out for dinner that evening, and she could put all thoughts of weirdos, psychics, stalkers, and every other damn crackpot, out of her mind for a few blissful hours.
Chapter 7
Before Alex left London she looked up the Happy Days Retirement Home at Beckingham in the Yellow Pages. There was an impressive and wordy advertisement describing it as a retirement home for gentlefolk, and of particular interest to those who sought a more refined establishment for the care of their elderly loved ones. She wondered which of those categories Bessie Unwin came into.
She didn’t intend getting to Beckingham too early in the day. She stopped for lunch at an olde-worlde pub that was overpriced to pay for its tourist-attracting decor, and arrived at Happy Days in mid-afternoon.
Alex’s first impression of Graham Johnson was that he resembled a middle-aged cherub. He was nearly as wide as he was tall, and he had a shiny moon-face with a smile that split it in two. He had a busy-busy walk that was clearly meant to imply efficiency, and although she realized that she towered above him, the warmth of his handshake dispelled any thought that it might embarrass him. And he was clearly more at ease talking to people in the flesh — the ample flesh — than he was on the phone.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Best, and you come highly recommended, of course. Now what’ll it be? Tea or coffee?’ he said, when they were seated in his south-facing office.
From the spacious window, the lawns stretched away into the distance and some of the elderly people were strolling about the fragrant grounds, with watchful attendants nearby.
There seemed to be as many attendants as patients, Alex thought, though presumably some of them would be house-bound. Even bed-bound, which was something to make her shiver and resolve to take more exercise.
‘Coffee would be lovely,’ she replied now, wondering what it would cost to place a relative here for an endless number of months or years. It certainly didn’t look cheap, and presumably was intended to provide a final home for those who could afford it.
Which made the connection between Trevor Unwin, loner, murderer, visiting here by bicycle — and his long-term Alzheimer’s mother — all the more intriguing.
‘So what do you think of our little establishment?’ Johnson said conversationally, when a young girl in a blue helper’s overall had brought in coffee and biscuits on a tray and disappeared again.
‘Very impressive,’ Alex said. ‘I’m sure the people here are very comfortable.’
‘Oh, more than that. We give them the very best of care, and we live up to our title,’ he beamed. ‘We aim to relieve relatives of every small anxiety—’
‘And this applies to those with a severe medical problem, such as Mrs Unwin, does it?’ she broke in, before he could launch into more self-praise of his ‘little establishment’.
‘Of course! Her doctor is one of our regular visiting GPs, and we have living-in. fully trained, medical staff. Nothing is too much trouble—’
Alex flipped open her notebook, after asking if he minded if she took notes. She could have taped the interview, but a notebook was useful in two respects. As well as reminding her of the important aspects of the entire conversation, while her eyes were lowered she could keep her expression as bland as she needed to. And sometimes it was advisable not to express her personal feelings…
‘You mentioned that you had taken some of your people to pay their condolences to Miss Wolstenholme, Mr Johnson,’ Alex reminded him, realizing that she would have to focus his thoughts on the reason she was here, or she would never get to know what it actually was.
‘Ah yes,’ he answered, his smile slipping. The sudden frown between his eyebrows altered his face completely, Alex thought in amazement.
Seconds before, it had been round and cherubic. Now, with those dark eyebrows winging upwards at either side of his temple, it was almost satanic. How weird.
‘What was the reason for the visit? Did they know Miss Wolstenholme?’ she asked, sipping the scalding coffee.
‘No, but several of them had consulted her mother on a number of occasions. Perhaps I forgot to tell you that.’
‘Perhaps you did,’ she agreed, his words confirming her suspicions about Leanora and her well-heeled clientele. ‘And after you had seen Miss Wolstenholme you called me because you were worried about something concerning Trevor Unwin.’
Good God, at this rate it was going to take forever to get any-thing out of him, she fumed.
‘That’s the oddest thing, Miss Best,’ he said, leaning forward conspiratorially now. ‘I felt I had to tell someone about the circumstances, and when Miss Wolstenholme mentioned that she had a private investigator helping her on a little private matter, I thought you were the one I should contact. It always pays to have a professional who’s been personally recommended in these circumstances, doesn’t it?’
‘Absolutely right, Mr Johnson,’ she said, trying not to wince as he visibly preened himself on his own daring at employing a private investigator at all.
And although she would hardly describe the stalking threats as a little matter, that was no concern of his, and she had no intention of enlightening him on why Moira was employing her.
‘So what is it that’s worrying you, Mr Johnson?’
‘I mentioned that Trevor Unwin had a terminal illness, didn’t I? Cancer. He only had a few months to live, and he knew that. Apparently he had always been a saver, proper little Scrooge by all accounts, and when he was invalided out of the army some years ago, he put all his savings and his pension into his mother’s care here. An admirable thing for a devoted son to do, wouldn’t you say?’
Alex murmured that she would. Especially when it put the coffers straight into Graham Johnson’s pudgy hands.
‘Which made it all the more unbelievable that he should have made that dreadful attack on the poor defenceless lady in Worthing,’ Johnson continued. ‘He was a strange one, of course. Kept himself to himself — well, you know the type but we all liked him well enough. It was obvious that he lived very frugally, but eventually the money was going to run out, and I know he was worried about what would happen to Bessie after he passed on. That was what made it so unexpected.’
‘What was that?’
‘Well, he called it his little windfall. More like a lottery win, if you ask me, though if it was that, he wasn’t telling. And he was never a gambler anyway, not even a pound for one line, though some of our ladies do like to have a little flutter and have formed a little syndicate. Nothing serious, you understand—’
‘So what can you tell me about Trevor’s little windfall?’ Alex said, biting her lip as she realized she was falling into little-Johnson-mode... and at this rate, she’d be checking into Mrs Dooley’s guest ho after dark.
Johnson leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his fingers laced together. His piggy eyes sparkled with the fussy pleasure of imparting gossip, and his breath emanated across the desk, reminding anyone within breathing distance that he had had curry for lunch.
Alex sat well back in her chair, and waited. But something was stirring in her mind now. And her sixth sense told her it could be something big.
‘That’s just it. Nobody knows where it came from. But some weeks ago when he visited his mother, he brought a large amount of money with him and said there would be a similar amount to come later. It was to cover her expenses as long as possible, and if she passed on before it was used up, it was to be used f
or the ben-efit of the home. Also, if I thought it advisable to do so, I should invest it so that there would be interest to draw on. Well, I ask you! He wasn’t the type to know about investments and interests and suchlike. He was a simple man, not a city whizz-kid!’
‘And the second amount of money, Mr Johnson,’ Alex said carefully as he paused for breath. ‘Did he deliver that too?’
‘Oh yes, all in fifty pound notes, like the first lot. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he robbed a bank, but I tell you, Miss Best, he didn’t have the gumption for that. So what do you make of it? Should I inform somebody, do you think? I mean now that he’s gone to his grave, I suppose it’s all legal for me to do as he asked? There was no will, I understand, and the money is still sitting in my safe.’
‘How much money are we talking about, Mr Johnson?’
‘Twenty-five thousand pounds each time. I mean, where did a simpleton like that — and may God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead — but where would he have got such a huge amount of money? I don’t imagine he could have accumulated that much from an army pension, do you?’
‘I wonder if you can remember the exact date that Trevor brought you each of the payments?’ Alex said, ignoring the question, while she wrote down the figures and tried not to show her growing excitement.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘My records are all in order, and I have it in my ledger.’
He opened a large book and ran his finger down several pages until he found the entries.
‘Is this important, by the way?’ he asked, glancing up.
‘It may just help to find out whether or not he did indeed have a lottery win, or maybe a large insurance policy matured,’ she said. ‘I agree it sounds improbable, but in my job you learn to examine everything, however unlikely.’
‘So what do you think I should do about the money?’ he said anxiously.
His longing to keep it for Bessie Unwin and his little establishment was so obvious that Alex could have puked. She tried not to dislike him so much.
‘Do you have anything in writing from Trevor regarding the gift for his mother’s care?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes. I requested that he stated exactly what he intended. There were also invoices and proper receipts. It’s all here in Bessie’s file.’
He went to a wall cabinet and brought out the file, and Alex certainly couldn’t fault his attention to detail. Bessie Unwin had clearly been here for some time if the wad of notes inside the folder was anything to go by. No wonder Trevor needed money for her upkeep. She checked the authorization letter from Trevor, and the two delivery dates of the money confirmed her suspicions.
‘Well, I would say that as far as Mrs Unwin is concerned, she had a very caring son,’ she said, pushing aside the memory of her disgust at the graphic newspaper report detailing the murder of Leanora.
Superficially, the two things didn’t add up. On the one hand, there was the caring, devoted son; and on the other, a frenzied murderer. But if the motive was strong enough... and if a man already doomed to die could be persuaded by a slick con man that there was one sure way in which he could give his mother comfort for the rest of her days. A way that ensured that the hit man himself never got involved.
‘Mr Johnson, I would say that as far as the transaction between yourself and Trevor Unwin are concerned, everything here is above board,’ she told him. ‘I see no reason why you can’t do exactly as he wanted, and there is no need to inform anyone else. Presumably your books are regularly inspected by the Inland Revenue and the VAT inspector—’
‘Oh, my Lord, yes! We have to be very scrupulous in all our dealings—’
‘And you have Trevor’s letter and the invoices and receipts to prove that as far as you are aware the sudden influx of money into your accounts was come by legitimately,’ she said, knowing it was against all her instincts to believe it. ‘There would be no reflection on you, Mr Johnson. I would suggest that you take some financial advice and invest the money to provide a regular income for Mrs Unwin’s care.’
He beamed at her. ‘You’ve been an enormous help, Miss Best, and of course you must give me your fee for this consultation.’
‘Naturally,’ she said drily, having no intention of doing otherwise. ‘And before I go, I’d like to have a few words with Mrs Unwin. and also to speak with one or two of the ladies who consulted Mrs Wolstenholme. I did know her slightly, as it happens, and it always helps to share memories with other people.’
And that was talking tongue-in-cheek if anything was. The only memories of Leanora she had were freaky ones, but Graham Johnson clearly believed her, and pressed her hand in a pseudo-comforting manner. She made a huge effort not to snatch her hand away from his. Slimy little man, she thought, with his mind more likely on just how he was going to manipulate Trevor’s little windfall than anything else right now.
***
Graham Johnson took her along to the day lounge, which was full of inmates in various stages of head-on-chest dozing, or struggling with craft work or jigsaw puzzles, or just gazing out of the windows, reliving the past.
Bessie Unwin greeted Alex with a delighted smile and called her Dolly. Johnson explained that she was in a world of her own now, and that Dolly was her sister, long deceased.
‘Humour her,’ he advised. ‘No matter what you reply to her questions, she’ll repeat them over and over, and she’ll probably fall asleep in the middle of it, I’m afraid.’
Alex knew he must be right, but she hated the way he spoke so glibly about the elderly woman with the thin grey hair and the constantly twisting fingers.
‘How are you today, Dolly?’ she mumbled to Alex.
She hesitated, not quite knowing how to reply, and felt Johnson’s fingers pressing her shoulder. She twisted away from him, and he shrugged and left them to it.
‘I’m — much better today, thank you, Bessie—’
‘So how are you today, Dolly?’
She tried again. ‘I think I’ve got over my cold—’
‘How are you today, Dolly?’
‘How are you Bessie?’ she said, trying a different tack.
‘How are you today, Dolly?’
A female voice nearby spoke sympathetically. ‘Give up, dear. It will go on like this for ages until she gets tired. She can’t help it.’
Alex saw an elegantly dressed woman with blue-rinsed hair leaning on a zimmer frame. Bessie’s voice brightened as she registered the newcomer.
‘How are you today, Dolly?’ she said, looking past Alex at the other woman.
‘You see?’ the woman said. ‘I’m Mrs Partridge, by the way. Are you a welfare visitor?’
‘Not exactly,’ Alex said in a strangled voice, thinking how bloody awful it was to have to spend your final days like this. But already Bessie had lost interest in them both and was fiddling with her skirt and muttering Dolly’s name incessantly.
‘Don’t be alarmed. She’ll have forgotten all about her sister when she’s had a little doze,’ Mrs Partridge said. ‘Her son was the only one who got any sense out of her, and that wasn’t much.’
‘What was he like?’ Alex said, thankful for the lead.
‘He was a good boy to his mother, but we all know what he did, of course. Terrible, wasn’t it? And Madame Leanora was such a nice lady.’
‘You knew her then?’ Alex said, with the feeling that she had struck gold.
‘Oh, I was one of her regulars. Several of us saw her once a month, when Mr Johnson took us on our mini-bus trip to Worthing. She prophesied that I’d be able to walk without this old frame one of these days, and I believe her. Well, you have to have hope, or you wonder what it’s all for, don’t you?’
From the look of her frail body Alex doubted that Leanora’s prophesy would come true, but faith and hope did strange things, even if they didn’t always produce miracles.
‘I’m sure it was one of the highlights of your trip, Mrs Partridge, but it must have cost you ladies a fair amount,’ she said careful
ly.
‘Money doesn’t compare with health, dear. You’ll find that out when you get old. Look around you in this place. We all know where we’ll end up, but if Madame Leanora could give us hope and a bit of entertainment into the bargain, then it was worth every penny.’
And I’ll bet you all parted with a good deal more than pennies, Alex thought.
By the time she left she had spoken to several more of Madame Leanora’s ex-clients, and none of them had a bad word to say about her. It seemed they had all adored her, and only one of them was sour-faced about the visit to Moira.
‘I didn’t like the daughter,’ the woman said with a scowl. ‘Stuck-up piece, I thought. I asked if she was psychic too and if she would take over her mother’s business, and she told me nobody could take her mother’s place and that the premises were only on lease and it was already in the estate agent’s hands.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to offend you,’ Alex said.
‘She wanted us out of there,’ the woman said darkly. ‘I fancy she thought we were invading her privacy, when we only wanted to show our respect.’
Alex murmured something appropriate and turned with relief when Graham Johnson said he would see her in his office as soon as she was ready. The whole place was depressing her. Light and airy though it was, it still had an air of decay about it that was unavoidable, she supposed. Not that anyone seemed unhappy here, she admitted. Far from it. And it was obvious that they all got the very best of care.
But she needed to get out of there, and once she was in possession of her fee and had obediently signed the receipt for the Happy Days records, she escaped, feeling as if she had just been released from prison.
***
‘How very nice to see you again, Miss Best,’ Mrs Dooley trilled when she arrived at the guest house. ‘You’ll have heard all about our latest scandal, of course? I really don’t know what Worthing’s coming to, what with murders and suicides. It always used to be such a nice town.’
Alex could hear the underlying excitement in the landlady’s voice, despite the indignity. Scandal or celebrity status always brought business to a town.
Illusions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 2) Page 12