False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery

by Veronica Heley

  No, I’m being uncharitable. Ginevra may have a top-flight job and be able to afford her own private jet for all I know.

  The vision swung the door open. ‘Oh, it’s you. I’d forgotten you were coming.’ A throaty, Lauren Bacall voice. Fake sexy? ‘You wanted some memory stick or other of Benton’s, right? Something he ought to have left at the office? Well, I haven’t found anything like that and the police have taken all his paperwork away. What’s more, I don’t want you poking around and stealing anything that was his, right?’

  ‘Would we?’ Leon’s look of sorrow was superb.

  Ginevra was calmed by his manner. ‘I’ve heard that people descend on the family of a murdered person looking for mementoes, so they can sell their story to the press. I don’t want any of that, either.’

  Bea revised Ginevra’s age upwards. Thirty if she was a day.

  ‘Promise,’ said Leon, lifting both hands. ‘No press.’

  ‘Well, now you’re here, I suppose it will save me a phone call. I need to know what insurance the firm might have had on Ben’s life.’

  Leon was avuncular. ‘I’ll find out for you, shall I? Anything to help. In the meantime, perhaps I could have a look, see if I can find the missing memory stick?’

  Ginevra managed a smile – at Leon. ‘Oh, all right. Fancy a coffee? Drop your coat here.’

  Bea looked to see if Leon was impressed by their hostess. He was smiling at her. Warmly. So perhaps he was impressed? Bea thought Ginevra was overdoing it slightly, then chided herself for being a jealous cat. She dropped her own coat on top of his on a chair in the hall. The house was warm enough to do without.

  ‘And you are?’ Ginevra looked at Bea without interest. Too old to be any competition for her?

  ‘Mrs Abbot,’ said Leon.

  ‘What?’ The girl’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You’re the woman who—’

  Bea cut in: ‘I didn’t kill your brother. I had people with me all day, so I can prove it.’

  Leon added oil. ‘Benton was having talks with her about merging his Training College with her domestic agency. A Holland and Butcher matter. Nothing for you to concern yourself about.’

  Ginevra shrugged. She was not interested in H & B, nor in Bea. A washing machine in the kitchen went into whine mode. ‘You catch me in the middle of clearing up, or trying to.’ She gestured to a pile of black plastic sacks. ‘The boys’ games and toys. It’s heart-rending but I thought I’d better make a start. They’ll have to go to the charity shop, I suppose.’ Her lower lip quivered, tears rose to her eyes.

  Leon said, in a deeply caring voice, ‘Could you bear to tell us what happened?’

  Ginevra wrung her hands. ‘At first the police thought someone must have had it in for him, perhaps someone he’d upset at work. I said from the beginning that there was no getting away from it, he must have killed himself and the boys. I know he was depressed about work, things not going well. Dilys’s trying to commit suicide must have tipped him over the edge.’

  With tears in her big blue eyes, she looked helplessly up at Leon. ‘I can’t bear to think of it, but there’s no other explanation, is there? He took the boys out for the day with sandwiches and a flask of tomato soup, and there were enough sleeping tablets in the soup to finish them all off!’

  Either she was sincerely mourning the boys’ death, or she was an excellent actress. Bea withheld judgement, while Leon patted the woman on her shoulder, peering down her cleavage.

  Shoulder pads. And she’s had a boob job, too. Possibly Botox around the chin?

  Leon put his arm around Ginevra. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock. Be kind to yourself. You shouldn’t try to do too much, too quickly. I’ll take the bags to the charity shop for you, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ginevra rested her head on Leon’s shoulder for a moment, then rubbed her eyes with a man’s handkerchief. One with the initial ‘B’ in one corner. ‘It’s just so awful. I keep thinking, what if I hadn’t left them alone that day? When he said he was going to take the kids out for a run in the car I took the opportunity to zip back to the shop. I have a boutique in Wandsworth, and though we don’t normally open on a Sunday we’d decided to do a stocktake, so I wasn’t here when he … I keep thinking that if only I hadn’t decided to go in to work, if only he’d confided in me … But he didn’t. Every time I think, what if I hadn’t gone? I start to shiver and … The policewoman was so understanding, she said he might have tried to take me with them, too, if I’d stayed around. Oh, how could he have done such a dreadful thing?’ Hankie to eyes.

  ‘There, there,’ said Leon, pulling her closer to him.

  She sniffed. ‘The police asked if I had anyone who could be with me, but I said “no” because my partner is needed at the shop if I’m not there. I’ll be all right. Only, sometimes I find that I’m not.’ She looked up at Leon with her blue, blue eyes, leaning towards him till she was pressing herself against his broad chest.

  Poor ickle me. And if you believe that …!

  Leon seemed to do so, but he released Ginevra long enough to say, ‘I’ll start shifting the bags now if you like.’

  Hang on a minute. I’d like to see what she’s throwing away.

  Bea said, ‘We’ll take them in a taxi when we’re finished. Which charity shop were you thinking of, Ginevra?’

  Ginevra gave Bea a millisecond of a glance and turned her eyes up to Leon again. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never lived around here. I only came because Benton wanted …’ Her lips quivered and twisted, and she put her handkerchief to her eyes again. ‘Sorry,’ she said in a muffled tone. ‘He wanted me to look after the children and keep them safe, and now they’re … Oh!’

  ‘There, there,’ said Leon, pulling her back to him again. ‘There, there.’

  ‘It’s just so …’ She gulped, prettily.

  Was she going to burst into tears? A rather heavy perfume.

  ‘The thing is …’ Ginevra looked up confidingly to Leon. ‘I don’t know what to think, what to do. I mean, is the house mine? Can I put it on the market, because I wouldn’t want to live here. I have my own sweet little flat in Wandsworth, which is so convenient for work, but … what am I supposed to do?’

  Leon was looking down her cleavage again. ‘Surely you can’t do anything much except clear up a bit, because when Dilys comes back—’

  ‘I think –’ another gulp – ‘I think he must have killed her, too, because she’s disappeared off the face of the earth.’

  ‘She may still be alive. You’ll have to ask your solicitors what the position may be. Do you have a solicitor yourself? Would you like me to come with you to see them?’

  Hm. Overplaying your hand, aren’t you, Leon? Because everything depends on who died first, Dilys or Benton. If Dilys died first, Benton inherited all her worldly goods, and yes, Ginevra might well inherit the lot. It all depends on what has happened to Dilys.

  Ginevra held on to Leon’s arm with both hands. ‘The police took his address book because at first, until they’d worked it out that it was suicide, they thought he must have annoyed someone …’ And she cast the quickest of glances in Bea’s direction. Yes, it was definitely Ginevra who had primed Inspector Robins to suspect Bea of Benton’s death. ‘And then they tried to find Dilys and could only contact her father …’

  ‘Which is where I came in,’ said Leon, smiling down at her. ‘I’m her uncle.’

  Bea kept her face wooden. ‘Do you mind if I just …?’ She gestured to the stairs.

  Ginevra’s eyes sharpened again. ‘Perhaps you’d care to leave that big handbag of yours down here? We don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about removing saleable items from my house, do we?’

  Bea meekly laid her handbag down on her coat. Ginevra dried her eyes, looking up at Leon. ‘I do feel so alone. Would you like a coffee or something? Or some food? I think there’s some in the freezer which … Mostly fish fingers, I’m afraid. Dilys wasn’t much of a cook, was she?’

  Leon followed Ginevra
into the living room, while Bea went up the stairs to see what had been happening there.

  The small bedroom – Bernice’s – was more or less as Bea had seen it last. An empty black plastic bag had been draped over the door of the cupboard containing the child’s scanty wardrobe. No doubt those clothes would be next to go, but that wasn’t important because Bernice was being given a whole new wardrobe now. Perhaps there might be a stuffed toy or two which the child might want to keep? Yes, there was a cardboard box in the corner containing some aged children’s books and a few toys.

  The bed had been stripped. Was Ginevra sleeping here? If so, where were her clothes and, more importantly, her make-up and haircare items?

  The boys’ bedroom at the back looked stark, the beds stripped, the cupboard doors hanging open, the shelves inside empty. Some posters had been pulled off the wall, torn up and stuffed into a black plastic bag. No clothing or toys remained. A cardboard box contained a stack of comics and a few annuals.

  The washing machine must be directly below the boys’ bedroom. It thumped, whined and sighed. Presumably, the children’s bedding would be in that.

  The bathroom. Bea ran the tap and flushed the loo while taking note of what had been removed and what was still there.

  The bathroom cupboard had been cleared of its contents. Yes, it would have been, wouldn’t it? There was a slight taint in the air from the aftermath of Dilys’s near-drowning. One clean towel on the radiator. No beauty products.

  Bea tried to remember what had been done with Leon’s overcoat, shoes and trousers which had been ruined when he’d worked on Dilys’s inert body. Had he taken them to be dry-cleaned? Well, not the shoes, of course.

  So, where was madam sleeping?

  One guess. The master bedroom.

  The king-sized bed had been made up with fresh linen, a peach negligee hung behind the door, and there was an attractive nightdress neatly folded on the bed. Ginevra was here.

  There was a plethora of beauty products on the dressing table and in the en suite, including a phial of expensive perfume. The mirror had been cleansed of the word ‘Sorry!’ and there was no sign of Dilys’s few items of make-up. Ginevra was not expecting Dilys back, was she?

  The built-in cupboard space confirmed Bea’s guess. An expensive holdall had been slotted into the space at the top, replacing two scuffed suitcases which now stood on the floor by the door. The wardrobe space and drawers contained some expensive clothing, far too bright and showy for Dilys. Designer shoes and fashionable boots had been laid out below. Underwear – Bea quickly opened and riffled through the drawers – also expensive. Also not Dilys’s. So where had the previous occupant’s clothes gone?

  Ah, in the bay window were two bulging black plastic bags which proved to contain Dilys’s clothing. Bea recognized the girl’s black winter coat and the unsuitable silk dress she’d worn at their first meeting. Boots and shoes had been included. Also a plastic bag containing her few toiletries. A hurried glance into a cardboard box revealed a few pieces of jewellery in a tangle.

  Ginevra must be very sure that Dilys was not coming back. Which meant that she must know Dilys was dead.

  Bea felt despair close around her. Oh, this was dreadful.

  She told herself not to waste time in crying when she could be searching for a clue as to what Benton had done with his wife.

  She’d looked everywhere except … ah, Benton’s clothes must be in the suitcases.

  Bea crept back to the top of the stairs. The washing machine was still humming away, mingling with the sound of frying chips. Ginevra understood that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, right?

  Bea told herself to hurry. Any minute now Ginevra would realize Bea had been gone too long for a quick visit to the bathroom.

  Bea laid the first suitcase flat on the floor and tried to open it.

  It was locked.

  She thought of cursing, decided it was a waste of breath.

  She laid the second one on top of it and tried to open that. Failed. Where would Benton’s keys be? Probably with the police.

  Ah, but wait a minute. The police had searched the house and taken away what they needed yesterday. Ginevra wouldn’t have started to pack up the house till they’d gone, would she?

  Which meant that the keys must still be somewhere around.

  Bea sat back on her heels. Where would Benton have kept keys which he didn’t need on a day-to-day basis? Probably not on his key ring. Bea herself kept the keys for her luggage items in a small box in the top drawer of her dressing table.

  Bea investigated the dressing table. More items which undoubtedly belonged to Ginevra. Costume jewellery, belts, hair ties. The woman had moved in for the duration, hadn’t she?

  So, if Ginevra had cleared out these top drawers, where would she have put the keys?

  Leon put his head around the door. ‘How are you doing?’

  Bea jumped. ‘You gave me a fright.’

  ‘Found anything?’

  ‘Not yet. Have you?’

  ‘No. I’ve been through dozens of CDs and computer games. Ginevra thinks she can sell them. Maybe she can. She wondered what you were doing. I said I’d see if you were OK.’

  ‘Tell her I’ve got a touch of the runs.’

  ‘You won’t want any food, then.’

  Bea wrinkled her nose. ‘Not fried food, anyway.’

  He laughed and withdrew.

  Think, Bea, think! Was Benton wearing a watch? Yes, but he would have had that on him when he died. Collar studs, no. Cufflinks, yes. A smart businessman wore shirts with cufflinks. And Benton had been well-turned-out. Gold ones? Undoubtedly. But, he wouldn’t have worn those for an outing to the country, so what had Ginevra done with them?

  Answer: put them aside to sell separately.

  If so, they’d be in her handbag, which must be downstairs where she could keep an eye on it.

  So where had she put the keys to the suitcases? The answer must be staring her in the face. Think, woman!

  She sat on the edge of the bed and studied the cases.

  Presuming Benton’s clothes were in the suitcases, what had Ginevra intended to do with them? If meant for a charity shop, why lock them? The charity shop wouldn’t take locked cases, would they?

  Was she planning to sell them or to give them to a friend? Benton’s clothes had been expensive and worth passing on. But to whom? And if there was such a friend, then he’d have to be able to unlock the cases, wouldn’t he? Or she? A second-hand clothes shop might be glad to take Benton’s clothing.

  Ho, hum. If Bea were Ginevra, planning to pass the cases on to someone else, she would put the keys in an envelope, possibly writing the name of the person on the outside … and put the envelope in her handbag, ready to hand over.

  That wasn’t a very helpful scenario. Bea couldn’t very well ask Ginevra to turn out her handbag. No.

  Start again. Stand in the middle of the room, with the imaginary keys in your hand, and look around. There was no safe in the house, was there? So where would Ginevra leave the keys for the time being?

  This was an elderly house which had originally been provided with fireplaces in the larger bedrooms. The fireplace in this room had been bricked in and wallpapered over, but the mantelpiece still existed. Some of Ginevra’s beauty products had drifted there, and a couple of china ornaments. Bea wondered which of the two women in Benton’s life had chosen them: Ginevra or Dilys? There was a figurine of a lady holding up her skirt with one hand while smiling, unfocused, into the distance. The other was a pottery lamb in pink. Pink! Dilys’s choice.

  The top half of the lamb lifted off. It was, in effect, a small pot, intended to house the odd safety pin.

  There were two small keys inside. Eureka!

  Bea knelt down by the first suitcase and managed to unlock it. Clothing, casual; underwear; shoes. The scent of aftershave. Bea sniffed, half closing her eyes. No, no scent of cigarettes. She hadn’t thought Benson was a smoker, and his clothes c
onfirmed that. She’d noted a trace of cigarette smoke in the hall when they first entered. Presumably, Ginevra was the smoker? Must check.

  No paperwork or diary. Some well-polished shoes. Bea could imagine Dilys polishing her master’s shoes every morning before he went off to work.

  Bea locked the first suitcase again and tried the other one.

  Ah. Business suits. Yes!

  Ginevra had probably gone through the pockets …?

  Trouser pockets: yes, she had. Nothing in the first pair.

  Benton was supposed to have kept a memory stick in the breast pocket of his jacket, wasn’t he? Nothing in this one.

  Time was marching, etcetera. If Ginevra came up to find Bea searching through her brother’s things there would be an unpleasant scene. Ginevra had given Leon permission to look, but she’d wanted to see anything which they might find. Ginevra was capable, in Bea’s estimation, of demanding a king’s ransom for a memory stick which might have a cash value, and Leon needed it to find Dilys and to sort out the affairs of H & B. Maybe more than H & B. Maybe he was really interested in what was happening at Holland Holdings …

  Bea began to sweat. What had Benton been wearing last time she’d seen him? She couldn’t remember. Navy with a pin stripe, perhaps? Might be. Ah. Something small and hard at the bottom of this last pocket.

  She drew out the memory stick with a sigh of relief.

  Now, what to do? Tell Ginevra?

  Um. There arose a question of right and wrong. Ginevra didn’t want anything taken out of the house without her permission, and her brother’s memory stick must be high on her list. Had she the right to make such a demand? Probably not. Of course, if it turned out that Ginevra did indeed inherit the house and its contents, then Bea would have to own up and give it to her. On the other hand, if it had H & B business on it, then Ginevra had no right to it whatever.

  The question was how to get it out of the house without Ginevra seeing it. If she tried to put it in her handbag downstairs, Ginevra would be on to her like a ton of bricks, and she had no pockets in her skirt.

  Possibly, she was overreacting. But instinct screamed not to let Ginevra have it … yet.