***
‘The food isn’t as bad as I remember,’ said Amiss. He chewed his last mouthful of Chicken Biryani and put his knife and fork together on his plate.
‘Probably because you’re still grateful for anything that isn’t lettuce,’ said Milton, who had stopped eating five minutes before. ‘It’s pretty bad. All right, Ellis. Have you had enough of our joint autobiography by now? Can we get down to business?’
‘Yes, sure. Thanks. I’ve enjoyed the story. Eventful times you’ve had together.’
‘It gets a bit tiresome always having to meet like illicit lovers. When this is over we must dine flamboyantly wherever the smartest people go,’ said Amiss.
‘Then we’d be certain of not being recognised.’
‘Touché. OK. To business. What’s happened today?’
‘Hang on a moment.’ The coffee and brandy were served and the waiter melted away. ‘Let’s start with you two. Ellis?’
‘Mrs Cowley-Bawdon and three of the staff remembered a bit about the Bjorgssons. The consensus is that they were tall, blonde, handsome and kept themselves to themselves. Jogged and played a lot of tennis à deux.’
‘Identikit Swedes, in other words,’ said Amiss.
‘You’re wrong there,’ said Milton. ‘At least about her. She wasn’t Swedish. Which meant she wasn’t Mrs Bjorgsson.’
‘Stop being mysterious, Jim.’
‘It’s quite simple. I took away with me the list of patients at Marriners the week the Bjorgssons were there and set someone to tracking down anyone who remembered them. Got one who had chatted to the female Bjorgsson and who swears she was English.’
‘Swedes have wonderful English.’
‘This woman said she admitted being English.’
‘Oh, all right,’ said Amiss. ‘Let’s assume she’s right. Why can’t she be Mrs Bjorgsson?’
‘I asked the Stockholm police to check up on his two addresses: the one he had given Marriners and the one he had given the school. The first was false: the second was accurate and is known also to be that of a Swedish Mrs Bjorgsson.’
‘He hasn’t had time to get divorced and remarried since January, I suppose?’ asked Amiss. ‘Swedes do get around, I understand.’
Milton ignored him. ‘I asked them to double-check by finding out where the Bjorgssons were in early January. I must say the Swedish police handled it very well. Asked some questions about a mythical car crash in January and elicited the information that he was away but she was at home.’
‘Aha. Back to the impostor. Did the fellow guest have any more gen?’
‘No. She said they had only the smallest of small talk. Like your witnesses, Ellis, she remembered them because of their tallness and blondeness. Said the so-called Mrs B reminded her of the young Princess Grace.’
‘Anything interesting on Bjorgsson?’ asked Pooley.
‘Well, I’m afraid he isn’t known as an international white-slave trafficker or anything useful like that. But his occupation doesn’t rule him out of consideration: he’s in import-export, which can cover a multitude. I’ve got people checking him out in depth.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I talked to the people at the school about him. They didn’t have much to add. Confirmed the general impression of reserve. Rich and Cath said he didn’t join in social activities much.’
‘Doesn’t give us much to go on,’ said Pooley despondently.
‘No. But the Swedes and Interpol are pressing on. What’s the matter with you, Robert? Got a toothache?’
Amiss was supporting his head in his hands and gently rocking backwards and forwards. He shook his head.
Milton dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I’ve seen this performance before. It denotes serious thought. Ssh for a minute.’
They sipped their coffee and brandy and watched their companion’s gyrations. After a couple of minutes he looked up. ‘It’s got to be Cath.’
They both started forward. In unison they said, ‘Cath?’
‘Snap,’ said Amiss automatically. ‘Yes, Cath. The first time I saw her I thought of Hitchcock heroines.’
‘You mean the Grace Kelly comparison. Yes, I see that. Anything else?’
‘Yes. When I had lunch with Gavs after Ned’s funeral, he said something about thinking she’d been involved with someone for several months.’
‘Excellent, Robert. Now, how do we discreetly check she was free to be at Marriners?’
‘She certainly wasn’t working. The school was shut until the tenth. I noticed that on the holiday chart in Rich’s office.’
‘Right. For the purposes of this conversation we’ll assume she’s the impostor.’
‘It could all be quite innocent,’ said Amiss. ‘Innocent from our point of view, I mean, not from the real Mrs Bjorgsson’s.’
‘Of course. But it’s intriguing that Cath kept it so quiet. It’s hardly as if she thought her colleagues would disapprove. Anyway that’s as far as we can go now on her.’
‘Have you heard anything on our unknown Arab?’ asked Pooley.
‘’Fraid not. We’ve pulled out all the stops—nationwide alert, bombardment of the media with his description and of course the ports and airports are on the qui vive. So far no reliable sighting since the car-park. However, there is more on Ahmed, who turns out with every new revelation to be an ever nastier piece of work.’
‘I don’t see where there was much room for disimprovement,’ observed Amiss, ‘but then I’ve lived a sheltered life.’
‘He was nasty enough to have the Saudi police cooperating,’ said Milton, ‘and they’re usually pretty reluctant to spill the beans on their citizens. Feel they lose face and all that. But they really disliked Ahmed. Delighted he was dead. Just wished they’d been able to execute him themselves.’
‘Yeech,’ said Amiss. ‘What did he do? And can I bear to hear it?’
‘Not a lot of hard evidence, but lots of suspicion of very nasty stuff with young girls. And boys. And drugs. And murders. Versatile chap. Bit of rape, bit of corruption, bit of killing, bit of fraud. He was a small-time villain working freelance for bigger-time villains and doing his own thing on the side.’
‘Sounds pretty big-time to me,’ said Amiss.
‘I take your point, but I mean small-time in the sense of professional success. Apparently the criminal fraternity didn’t rate his efficiency highly.’
‘But he wasn’t caught.’
‘You’re sounding positively defensive about him,’ said Milton.
‘Well of course I’d prefer to have been involved with a master criminal. More of an ego boost.’
‘I’ll give you that he had a good sense of self-preservation. He disappeared at the crucial time. Probably helped by a corrupt policeman, but they’re obviously not going to suggest that.’
‘And the revenge killing angle?’
‘They’ve no ideas. Think lots of people could well have had reason to kill him but have no information on who might have done it.’
‘When did he leave and how has he made a living since?’ asked Pooley.
‘They lost track of him about eighteen months ago. And someone like him is never short of work. He’d have plugged easily enough into the international criminal grapevine.’
‘Who was financing him in London?’
‘No one knows as yet, but it was someone sufficiently well-informed to know that he could get a visa through the school.’
‘So his involvement with the school might merely have been a matter of getting his visa and keeping his cover while he got on with whatever he’d been given to do,’ said Pooley.
‘But equally he might have come specifically to kill Ned,’ said Amiss.
‘Hired by Rich Rogers or A N Other,’ said Pooley.
‘Possibly,’ said Milton.
‘Could there be a tie-up with Bjorgsson?’ asked Pooley.
‘There could be a tie-up with the Queen Mother for all I know.’ Milton sounded desperate. ‘I’m wilting under the n
umber of “maybes” and “possiblys”. Every bloody piece of information that comes in seems to increase the number of variables.’
‘Cheer up, Jim,’ said Amiss. ‘Imagine how much more confused you’d be if the Saudis had declared Ahmed to be a well-known philanthropist and religious leader.’
‘Oh, I know, I know. I’m over-reacting. But it has been a long, busy and inconclusive day. I haven’t even mentioned Wally. That lad in Central, Doug Layton, has been beavering away and has come up with some evidence that Wally was in an odd mood on the night before he died.’
‘What sort of odd?’
‘Talking about heavy responsibilities and difficult decisions.’
‘From what I’ve heard about Wally,’ said Amiss, ‘that meant that he couldn’t decide which shirt to wear the next day.’
‘Doug thinks there was more to it than that. It came from his son, and Doug thinks he’s no fool.’
The three of them sat without speaking for a couple of minutes. Then Pooley asked, ‘Where now?’
‘Cath, I suppose,’ said Milton. ‘Though I don’t see where it’ll get us. If she admits it, what then? Lighted matches between her toes?’
‘Maybe I should see if I can get anything relevant out of Rich tomorrow,’ offered Amiss. ‘I rang him from the car-hire place to clarify a point about the school’s liability, and he invited me to Sunday lunch.’
‘Relevant about Cath?’
‘And Wally. In the light of Wally Jnr’s evidence, it might be worth trying to find out what mood Wally was in at school the day before he died?’
‘He wasn’t at school the day before. He was electrocuted on Monday morning.’
Pooley stared into the middle-distance. ‘He wouldn’t have been to one of your picnics, I suppose?’
‘Christ, no. Only a madman would invite him. Oh, look. I’ll see if there’s anything to be got from Rich about anything and then I’ll ring you, Jim.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll be at home. Now let’s talk about cricket.’
Chapter 33
Plutarch lay sunbathing on a white silk Chinese rug in front of the long window overlooking Rich’s garden. Beside her were two small bowls: one was half-full of milk; the other, Rich told Amiss, contained chopped cooked chicken, her especial favourite. Close by, on the highly-polished parquet, was a spotless white plastic tray of cat-litter.
‘Was she very ill?’
‘Absolute miracle that she pulled through, poor old love. If I hadn’t found her when I did, she’d have been a goner. In fact I thought she was. She was lying there without moving, but I held a mirror over her nose and saw the tiniest bit of mist on it. I rushed her to the nearest vet and a couple of days later I was able to bring her home.’
‘What had happened?’
‘Someone tried to kill her by lassoing her with a piece of string and pulling it tight. I don’t know why he didn’t finish the job: maybe he was interrupted or maybe he thought she was dead. The vet says she’s a real toughie—especially since it seems as if she’d been out there for ages. I hadn’t seen her for twenty-four hours, so God knows when she was attacked. Poor old thing.’ He smiled foolishly, squatted on the floor and stroked Plutarch’s back very gently. ‘Who’s a clever girl, then?’
‘She certainly seems to be enjoying her convalescence.’
‘Well, I’m doing everything I can to make it up to her, of course.’ He started guiltily. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, dear boy. I haven’t even offered you a drink. Would you care to join me in a little champagne to celebrate Plutarch’s survival?’
‘Delighted.’
‘I’ve got a half-bottle of a rather nice vintage Moët. We’ll have to drink her portion: I haven’t managed to persuade her to drink alcohol yet, har…har…har.’
‘I brought you a few flowers. I didn’t dare bring wine.’
‘Oh, how very kind of you, Bob.’ He darted into the kitchen with the yellow roses and emerged with them in a crystal vase a minute later. ‘Now let’s see. Yes, I think they should go over there on the chiffonier.’ It took him a couple of minutes to place the vase, rearrange the flowers, move the vase to the right, take a few paces backwards to consider the effect critically, advance and move the vase a couple more inches, retreat, advance again to tease one rose upwards about half an inch, then nod and return to Amiss. ‘Awful old woman, aren’t I? Now let’s have that champagne.’
He sped back into the kitchen and this time emerged carrying a bottle, an ice-bucket and two champagne flutes. ‘Would you like to open it, Bob?’
‘No thanks,’ said Amiss, shuddering as he looked around him at all the breakables. ‘I hate to think what I’d hit with the cork.’ Then, remembering his man-of-the-world image, he added, ‘I usually open champagne on the balcony or in the garden.’
Rich undid the wire, pushed the cork gently upwards and before it could pop out, pulled it sharply and filled up the glasses without spilling a drop.
‘Very neat,’ said Amiss, taking his.
‘I’m an old hand, dear boy.’ He picked up his own glass. ‘To Plutarch.’
‘Plutarch,’ said Amiss gravely. He sat down in an armchair beside her and tickled her ear. ‘You two are really getting on well together, aren’t you?’
‘After a rather shaky start. She was a rather fierce old thing that evening, wasn’t she?’
‘Is she generally friendly, now?’
‘I haven’t introduced her to anyone else yet.’
‘You mean no one’s been round to visit her sickbed?’
‘Only you, dear boy. In fact I didn’t tell anyone she was ill—too superstitious.’ He topped up their glasses. ‘Sorry, Bob. Remiss of me. We should also have toasted your safe return from Marriners. What a time you’ve had; I’m sorry to have been the indirect cause of it. Now tell me all about your week. You sounded a bit het-up when you phoned me from the car-hire place.’
‘Come on, Rich. Can you imagine how they reacted when I told them the car had been bashed up by someone uninsured whom they couldn’t proceed against because he was now dead?’
‘Bit short, were they?’
‘Just a bit.’
‘Ahmed really was a horrid nuisance all round, wasn’t he? It’s a naughty thing to say, but I really can’t be sorry he’s dead.’
‘Nor I. I’d have killed him myself if I’d had to put up with much more.’
By the time Amiss had finished his expurgated account, they had finished the champagne and were half-way through the artichoke soup. ‘Funny those policemen going all that way to Marriners,’ said Rich. ‘I really can’t see what Ahmed’s death has to do with poor Ned’s. Or do they think there is a link?’
‘They don’t take me into their confidence. This soup is absolutely superb, Rich.’
‘I’m so glad. I won’t offer you any more, because I expect the soufflé to be ready and we must eat it straightaway.’ For a few minutes there was silence as he fussed around a little. ‘Pour some more Chablis, dear boy, if you’re ready.’
Amiss watched admiringly as a perfect soufflé was placed in the centre of the table. ‘Please help yourself, Bob.’
They chatted for a while in a desultory fashion, both of them being primarily concerned to do justice to the meal. The soufflé was followed by a medium-rare Chateaubriand accompanied by a half-bottle of Château-Latour. ‘I have to say,’ said Amiss, as with regret he finished the last morsel, ‘that I’ve eaten some superb meals since I started working with you, but this is the best yet.’
‘I’m so pleased, Bob. It’s just a small thank you for your great kindness to me when Ned died. Now have some crème caramel and then we’ll take our coffee inside to join Plutarch.’
Amiss was suspended in such a state of well-being after lunch that it took him a few minutes to stop thinking dreamily about food and drink and how nice a nap would be and start looking for opportunities to ask some pertinent questions. He moved in obliquely. ‘By the way, Rich, who have you got lined up for me next week?’
/> ‘The same as before, Bob.’
‘You don’t mean Galina’s still here? I thought she was due to leave last week.’
Rich chuckled. ‘Sorry, old man. Though the good news is that she seems to be struck on someone in Gavs’s group. You might have an easy time.’
‘So it’s Fabrice, Galina, Gunther and Simone again, is that it?’
‘Possibly someone new in place of Fabrice. She’s still pretty shirty with him.’
‘I should think she’s still pretty shirty with me.’
‘You’re forgiven because of what happened last week. She’s dying to hear the details.’
‘No picnic today, then?’
‘Not for the want of trying on her side. The wretched woman is insatiable. But I got out of it by insisting it would be offensive to Ahmed’s memory.’
Amiss laughed: he picked up his port and took an appreciative sniff. ‘The picnics seem like a lot of trouble. Do you have them often?’ He tried to sound only half-interested.
Rich shook his head. ‘Maybe every eight weeks or so.’
‘Aren’t you at all worried about being shopped for providing drugs?’
‘You mean someone telling the police. Who would? Any student would land not just the school but several other students in trouble. They’d be unlikely to do that to rich and influential people.’
‘Staff?’
‘The school would be closed down and they’d lose their jobs.’
‘I suppose it’s pretty watertight. Did Ned mind?’
‘Good Lord, Ned didn’t know. He wouldn’t have been happy with any infringements of the law. Me, I don’t see any harm in what we do. I only ever provide hash or coke, and I’d never offer them to people who weren’t used to them. It’s like the sex. I don’t see anything wrong with a bit of depravity as long as no one gets hurt. I’d never have anything to do with corrupting the innocent.’
‘Do the students ever want you to go further than you do?’
‘Bless you, of course. We get the occasional real degenerate, looking for kids and that sort of thing. Someone who’s picked up the wrong idea about our little operation. And I get some wanting to get us involved in drug smuggling. We’d be a very good front, with all that coming and going. There’s one chap’s been after me for ages. But I’ve been very firm. I won’t tolerate anything I call wrong-doing.’
The English School of Murder Page 20