Jack of All Trades Box Set: books 1 to 3

by DH Smith

  ‘Jack!’ she exclaimed when he came in. ‘They think I killed Mr Ward.’

  He sat down opposite her.

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ she sighed, wiping her brow, ‘I’m glad someone believes me.’

  ‘Has the solicitor come?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I don’t know whether he believes me either. But he’s good. He doesn’t let them shout at me.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Eric?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m scared to. What can I say to him? We’re just getting to know each other again.’ She started weeping. ‘I don’t want him to think I’m a murderer.’

  ‘I’ll go and see him. I know you didn’t do it. I’ll impress on him that you’re innocent.’

  ‘Oh, would you, Jack. My phone’s in my flat, in the drawer in the table. His number’s on it. I can’t remember it. I’m all befuddled.’

  ‘I’ll phone him. Joanna’s got a key to your place. We haven’t got long, so let’s get to the nitty gritty. What evidence have they got on you?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Oh Jack, it looks bad. You see, I went into Mr Ward’s room after the party. I couldn’t sleep, I was so upset and angry. I was going to have it out with him. I didn’t care if I lost my job. He was paying off that social worker…’

  ‘Were you thinking of killing him?’

  ‘No, no – but I was going to shout and scream. Tell him how awful he was. That it had to stop, that I had to see my son. I might have hit him. But when I got in his room, I turned on the light, and he was already dead. I didn’t realise at first. He was lying on his bed still dressed. His sofa becomes a bed. I’d made it up earlier for him. There he was on top of the duvet, I thought he was drunk. Then when I got up close, and was standing over him, I could see his head had been smashed in. And then the hammer fell to the floor. I got such a shock, I was in an awful state. And then I did something stupid. I don’t know what came over me. I picked up the hammer. Not to hit him. It was just like second nature, the mess. Clearing up. Isn’t that silly? At once I realised that was such an idiotic thing to do. I put it back on the bed and I ran out of the room, and back home.’ She put a hand on his and half whispered. ‘Are they listening to us?’

  ‘I should think so,’ said Jack, looking about him for microphones. ‘Does it matter?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s only what I’ve already told them. And they don’t believe me anyway.’

  ‘So let’s forget about them and concentrate on you.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Your fingerprints are on the weapon,’ said Jack thinking aloud. ‘And probably splatterings of blood on your clothing… What were you wearing?’

  ‘A nightdress and dressing gown, slippers.’

  ‘Have they got them?’

  ‘Yes. I would have washed them, but I use the Wards’ machines for my laundry. And I couldn’t because the police had it as a crime scene. And you were all in my flat, so I couldn’t even do a handwash.’

  ‘Blood is hard to get out anyway,’ said Jack. ‘None of that matters. You didn’t do it. He was dead when you got into his room. What time was it?’

  ‘About three in the morning.’ She was biting her thumb. ‘It doesn’t look good, does it?’

  ‘Except someone was there before you. Someone who killed Mr Ward.’

  ‘But who can that be?’

  ‘I have a good idea.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I need to make sure before I say. So don’t push me, please, Donna.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do your best. You will see Eric?’

  ‘Promise. Tomorrow.’

  ‘He might already be worried. I said I’d phone him today.’

  ‘I don’t think one day will bother him. He’ll just think your phone battery is low, something like that.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to make the most of today. Just remember we’re working on it. And I’ll be in touch.’

  He rose, went round to the other side of the table and kissed her on the cheek. She gripped his arms.

  ‘Please do what you can, Jack.’

  Joanna was sketching. Fashion stuff, possibilities for a line. She wasn’t good at heads, so left them off. She’d have to learn how to do them. Copy some over and over. Hers looked like cartoon characters, when she wanted a feel of confidence, glamour.

  She was outside on the lawn, on a folding chair, with a small table at her side which had on it a glass and jug of spa water with sliced lemon in, made up by Carol. Her pad was on her knee, as she drew quickly, young women in trousers mostly, though a few dresses, scarves in the breeze. She drew hats and wished she could put them on heads, but heads were beyond her. How irritating. Hands she could manage, sort of pointy, long fingers, mannequin style.

  She had a chat with Carol and then a rethink on her own. Times had changed. Whatever was wrong with Leon, he had filled a chunk of her life. Mostly argument and conflict lately, but it had kept her busy, resentful maybe, self righteous sure – but not these lonely gaps. There were things she was good at, things she was bad at. Crap at making friends, too bossy, too sexually grasping. She was good though at organising, at running things. So she had to run enough things to fill her hours.

  The house was big, so make a hive of it. Get the fairy girls in, have them writing here. And the fashion side. She had this idea for a range. She’d get in a co-designer, maybe a couple of interns once the project was underway. This would be an ideas factory, all abuzz, and she could queen it.

  And then too, her housing office. A smart office, modern furniture, with proper housing people. And why not go upmarket with some of the houses? Then with the rented stuff running smoothly, she’d move in to further acquisitions. She would be here and there, rushing – how she enjoyed that, constantly in demand. Meeting to meeting, making decisions. Being needed.

  That just left evenings. But busyness created opportunity, new people, lunches, dinners. Her time would fill. And she could get very rich. Well, she was already that. Very very rich then.

  She considered the summerhouse. It was extra space, project space, bedding space to stay out of Leon’s ken. But he was gone. And she had all his rooms now: his office, his snooker room, the music and film room, the two guest bedrooms. On top of that, there was Donna’s flat. And Donna could easily be six to nine months in jail before her trial began. There was no question of her coming back, even if she was found innocent. So her flat could have a connecting door into the hallway, so it wouldn’t be separate from the house. Then knock all the internals of her flat into one room, maybe leave the kitchen and bathroom. Maybe not.

  With all that space, why have a summerhouse? She wanted this house busy, people interacting. Creativity. The kitchen could be a canteen. After all, she had an office upstairs, her bedroom with its en suite and adjoining dressing room. The sitting room downstairs was huge. She’d have to think how to use it best. She would still need home rooms. But she was awash with space. And if she needed more, say five years down the line, bring in one of those Scandinavian prefabricated packages, set up in two days on the back of the lawn.

  ‘It’s too much hassle, that summerhouse,’ she said to Jack when he arrived. ‘I don’t need dry rot. And it’s so old fashioned. Demolish it.’

  He didn’t argue. Though it didn’t seem too much hassle to him. There was no one living there. All he had to do was get the floorboards out and bring in a wood treatment firm. He couldn’t though argue with old fashioned, that was a matter of opinion. He’d be more than happy to live there. But she had rooms popping out of her ears. One woman in this whole house.

  He switched her off and came to Donna. Much more important than summerhouse business. And he told her about the conversation at the police station.

  ‘Are you convinced she’s innocent?’

  ‘I am, absolutely,’ he said.

  She thought a little while. ‘She might get found guilty anyway.’

  ‘She might.’

 
‘There’s nothing more we can do for her.’ She’d lost interest in Donna. ‘What do you think of my sketches?’

  He looked them over, with not much confidence in his own opinion.

  ‘You draw quite well,’ he said. ‘Stylish stuff.’

  ‘It’s my next venture. Now that I’m free of the fairies. Well, Editor-in-Chief, with Carol calling the shots. This,’ she indicated the sketches, ‘I am going to call Nouveau Vagabonde. Chic and trampy. Like me,’ she chuckled.

  ‘I’m not sure which I prefer, the chic or the tramp.’

  ‘You liked the tramp the other night.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with the chic,’ he said.

  ‘Try taking her clothes off,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘There are times I quite like you,’ he said. ‘But now I need to speak to Carol.’

  Joanna was exhausting. He felt if he stayed with her much longer he’d be yelling at her. Or making love, and that really wasn’t the way to go.

  ‘She’s not here,’ she said. ‘She’s visiting a couple of housing trusts. Researching how we might makeover my housing office.’ She bit her index finger. ‘Might I consider you two an item?’

  ‘I don’t know what we are,’ he said.

  ‘Halfway between a fling and an item?’ she offered. ‘Or a one night stand?’

  ‘I really don’t know, Joanna,’ he said. ‘That’s why I want to see her. But as she’s not here, I’ll order a skip for tomorrow and get on with the demolition.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like to make a coffee first?’

  ‘Yeh, I’ll do that. How about some toast with it, maybe some marmalade? And I need Donna’s key. Her phone’s in her flat. I said I’d phone her son, Eric.’

  ‘I’ll get the key,’ she said. ‘Instead of marmalade, what about the French cherry preserve?’

  Chapter 57

  Carol let Jack in.

  ‘I’m in the middle of cooking. Come into the kitchen and talk to me.’

  She was wearing a dark green paisley dress. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she was barefoot.

  The kitchen was modern. Big enough for a table and a couple of chairs as well as the units and regular kitchen items. On one side were various chopped vegetables: carrots, onions and broccoli. She was halfway through chopping a red pepper on a board.

  ‘Tell me about your day,’ she said, taking up her large knife.

  ‘What are you cooking, Jane Osaki?’

  Her startled look told him he had hit home. He could see in her eyes she was considering whether to lie or not.

  ‘This is from you,’ he said, deciding to leave her no room for lies. And he handed her an envelope with a footprint over the address and stamp.

  Carol put the knife down and examined the front, before extracting the letter and reading it. As she did so her eyes welled.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘From the floor of number 72.’

  ‘It was the last one I wrote to him,’ she said. ‘I always thought he’d received it.’ She folded the letter and carefully put it back in the envelope. ‘What else do you know?’

  ‘I found pictures of you on the internet,’ he said. ‘You worked in Hong Kong, as the special assistant to the CEO of American Chinese Oil. I’ve seen pictures of you in Thailand, in Indonesia, in Japan. And in Australia too. So why should a globetrotter, her pay up in the stratosphere, come to work for Joanna?’

  She wiped a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Why do you think, Jack?’

  ‘In order to kill Leon Ward,’ he said.

  ‘This rather spoils the party. Let’s go and sit down.’

  He followed her into the sitting room. She sat on the sofa, and indicated the place beside her. He sat down, keeping his distance.

  ‘It was Dan set you off, wasn’t it,’ she said.

  ‘It was,’ he said. ‘He recognised you. Even though you denied it, he knew.’

  ‘Of all the bloody houses,’ she said. ‘It had to be that one. Not that it matters. Things were coming to a head anyway.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have known otherwise,’ he said.

  ‘No one would,’ she said. ‘It was going so well. But for the problem of Donna. How is she?’

  ‘Very upset. Who wouldn’t be? They’ve got quite a case on her. She told me that she went into Ward’s room about 3 am, after you’d done your dirty work. Made the mistake of picking up the hammer, and to top it all – got blood splatters on her dressing gown and slippers. All that and a first class motive to kill Ward.’

  ‘What a mess,’ sighed Carol.

  ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘Too easy,’ she said. ‘I took advantage of the opportunity and stayed until last at the party. I wanted Leon to make a play for me. And true to form he did. Inviting me up to his room. He was pretty drunk. Come up, have a nightcap, he said. I knew more than a nightcap was on offer, but to be alone with him in his room, half cut, I wouldn’t get a better chance. We went up to his room, I went to his bathroom, to wash, to think. And when I came out – he was asleep on the bed, and had shifted the pillows. Under them was a hammer and chisel. I’ve never understood that.’

  ‘He had plans of his own,’ said Jack.

  ‘I had a pair of gloves in my handbag which I put on. Went back for a bathrobe which I’d seen on the bathroom door. Did it up securely. And the rest is history.’

  ‘You then went home,’ he said.

  ‘Taking with me the bathrobe and a towel I’d wiped my hands on.’ She gave him a half smile. ‘I think clearly in a crisis. At home I threw the bathrobe and towel in the washing machine, had a speedy shower, changed and drove too fast to your place.’

  ‘I was your alibi.’

  ‘I figured they couldn’t be that accurate as to the time of his death. So I had to be somewhere else as quickly as possible.’

  ‘And that was why you had to stay when Joanna showed up.’

  She shook her head wryly. ‘I’d have been happy to sleep with you. But there she was – and I was staying put, with two witnesses to say so.’

  They were silent for a while. He was looking at her hands, slim with long fingers, that had smashed Leon Ward’s head in. He knew she was lost to him.

  ‘You’ll have to kill me now,’ he said.

  She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, no. Don’t damn me for a serial killer. Leon was a monster. He as good as murdered my father. I went to the inquest. Flew in from Hong Kong. I knew all his tenants were lying in that witness box. I spoke to some of them afterwards. They found it harder to lie to me. I found out about the intimidation, the sheer terror my father had had to live with. And I thought then and there – I am going to get you, Leon Ward.’

  ‘How did you get the job with Joanna?’

  ‘I put in for a transfer back home. And when that came, I found out which agency Joanna used. And got myself on the list for her next assistant. All under my new name, Carol Cole. I gave Jane Osaki as a reference. She gave me a glowing one. Then it was only a few months when Joanna’s assistant walked out – and I walked in.’

  ‘I’d let you get away with it if it weren’t for Donna,’ he said. ‘Leon was scum, no one will miss him. But Donna… She’s in big trouble.’

  ‘It’s been on my mind all day.’

  ‘Even if she gets off,’ said Jack, ‘big if, she’ll be in jail till the trial’s finished.’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘There’s no way round it. It’s down to me. However I’ve argued it, that’s what it’s come back to.’

  She rose from the settee and went to a drawer and took out some papers and a package.

  ‘I’ve written a confession,’ she said indicating the papers. ‘And in this bag are my gloves. The ones I wore when I dashed his brains out.’ She handed them both to Jack. ‘Take them to the police tomorrow – will you?’

  ‘I am so sorry, Carol.’

  ‘Not half as sorry as I am.’ She smiled at him. ‘Now will you stay for dinner and the night?�
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  ‘I’d be glad to,’ he said. ‘One point before you go back to cooking. That fifty thousand in my account. It’s not from Joanna – is it?’

  She shook her head. ‘I thought to muddy the waters. Not frame you. Just add complications to the mix.’

  ‘You did that alright.’

  ‘Keep it. Compensation. I’m going to lose plenty in all this. At least this flat is rented, but the furniture, paintings – a write off. My car will go. A lot of money in my bank account is going to be lost. Though Goldfinch is pretty well hidden. That at least will sustain me a while.’ She paused a second, looking at her possessions as if they would evaporate there and then. She turned to Jack. ‘Give me four hours’ start in the morning before you go to the police.’

  ‘I will. And I’m sure it’ll take them time enough to gear up. And accept they’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘I’ll be well and truly gone. Now let me get back to the kitchen and dinner. And while I’m cooking you can read my confession. Check the spelling and grammar,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ll put a CD on for you. A bit of mood music. Let me think… Gluck’s Orfeo might be apt for this evening. All considered.’ She was searching her tower of CDs, her fingers climbing. ‘It’s about Orpheus, who charms the guardians of Hades with his music, so he can reclaim his Eurydice. They agree she can leave on the condition that he mustn’t look behind to see if she’s following him back to the world of the living.’ Carol withdrew the CD and was searching the tracks on the album cover. ‘But of course, he does look back. And Eurydice is forced back to Hades. Oh, what an exquisitely sad aria, Che faro, expressing Orpheus’ heartbreak as he watches her pulled down to the Underworld.’

  ‘I wish there was another way…’ began Jack, and halted, netted in his own confusion. Tonight he would stay, tomorrow he would go to the police.

  A tear was dripping down her cheek. She wiped it on the back of her hand. ‘I am going to be so alone. Making a new identity, somewhere in the world.’ She sniffed, and wiped her eye with her fingers. ‘But I don’t regret anything. I set it up. I killed Leon Ward.’ She pushed the CD back in the tower and pulled out another. ‘Something a little lighter then. Less hell, more bounce. Let’s have the Modern Jazz Quartet.’