False Impression

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Dilys,’ she said, reminding him. ‘Orlando.’

  His phone rang. ‘Yes,’ he said, answering it. ‘I’m coming.’ A last gulp of coffee. ‘Lucas is outside. I’ll leave it to you to deal with Dilys. Ask her to come out to supper with us tonight. As for Orlando: don’t let him move in. You’ll never get rid of him.’

  He was off, collecting his travel bag and overcoat in the hall as he went. He’d taken her newspaper as well. Bother.

  Dilys drifted in, smiling. She’d actually got some colour in her cheeks for once. ‘Keith’s nice, isn’t he? I told him about being married to Benton and how awful it had all been, and about losing my two boys. Keith was so lovely that I cried, but only a bit. He thinks he’s too old for me, but I told him he’s only got into that way of thinking about himself because he hasn’t had anyone to look after him since his wife died. He said he thought I was as pretty as a spring flower, and that made me laugh, because no one has ever said that to me before. And I told him so, and he said …’

  Bea tuned the rest out as she cleared the table, only to take notice when Dilys concluded, ‘… and he’s promised to have his hair cut before we go out to lunch.’

  Bea reminded her: ‘Did you ask him to check this phone for a bug?’

  Dilys reddened. ‘I forgot. I’ll ask him at lunchtime. You don’t mind my having a few hours off, do you?’

  Bea fought back an impulse to slap the girl. ‘Sit down, Dilys. This is important.’

  Her sharp tone reduced the girl to a dither. Her colour fled, and she bit her lip, ready to cry.

  ‘It’s all right, Dilys,’ said Bea, trying to reassure. ‘It’s just that you need to know that you don’t have to go out with anyone you don’t like—’

  The lower lip quivered. ‘But I do like him.’

  ‘Yes, yes. He’s a nice man. But you need to know something else too. Your Uncle Leon has made a considerable sacrifice to ensure you a decent income in future. You will be able to rent and furnish a home for yourself and Bernice. You won’t be a millionaire, but—’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Hands clasped, eyes shining. ‘Then I can set Keith up in business, he can take on someone to help him, and …’

  Bea groaned, but Dilys wasn’t listening. The girl jumped up, pulling out her mobile. ‘Just wait till I tell him!’

  ‘Dilys!’

  The girl was off.

  Bea sat down and closed her eyes. You just couldn’t help some people, could you? Give them a sack of gold, and they fritter it away. Dilys had signed everything she possessed away to that toad Benton who’d gone through a pretence of marriage with her. Now she was going to part with all that Leon had given her.

  There was only one possible bright spot on the horizon, which was that Keith was a very different sort of man from Benton. If it were explained to him properly, Keith might well decline to take what the girl was offering. Well, he might. But it would take a man of iron rectitude to look a gift horse in the mouth, wouldn’t it?

  Bea said, ‘May the good Lord preserve me from idiots.’

  And, talking of idiots, it was more than time for her to go downstairs and see what other problems the agency had to face that day.

  Thursday afternoon

  Keith had done his job well. All the phones were back on. All the computers were in working order. All the girls, including Jennifer, were back on schedule. And what was Bea supposed to be doing about her? The inspector had said it wasn’t his department and she was supposed to take the bug into the local police station. Hmph. And when was she supposed to do that, may she ask? It would have to be after she’d shut the agency down for the day.

  Carrie flitted to and fro, checking on this, commending that. Bea was too busy to leave her office in order to make lunch upstairs, and sent out for sandwiches instead. She did spend a minute worrying about what she’d got in the fridge or freezer for supper until she remembered that Leon was supposed to be taking them out.

  Dilys was nowhere to be seen. Bea was grateful for that at first. And then she worried what the girl might be up to. The phone rang. For her. A customer wanting the moon. The moon and sixpence. Wasn’t that a film? She couldn’t remember. A demanding customer, anyway. Bea forgot about Dilys for the time being.

  Keith didn’t appear. She thought about phoning him direct. Her phone rang. Another query. She let Keith slide out of her mind.

  Anna rang, asked if she could drop in to see Bea that evening some time to discuss the future of Holland Training College. Agreed. Perhaps she could join them for supper?

  A bottle of wine was placed on her desk. The inspector. Smiling, for a change.

  Bea swivelled round in her chair. ‘You cracked the mystery of the lovelorn manicurist?’

  ‘When the gloves came off, tears followed. Kitty Kitten done it. Her client was her very own older sister, who’d had a manicure that morning at another salon but was prepared to provide an alibi. They’re both in custody as we speak.’ He seated himself, leaned back, and gave a long, long sigh. ‘I suppose I ought to apologize. My wife says so, anyway. She says I make scandalous use of your brains and that, whenever she’s out of town, I impose on your good nature to cook for me. She’s right, of course.’

  Bea narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Apology accepted. So what brings you here today? Don’t tell me. Adamsson’s turned up. Dead.’

  A tinge of colour came into the inspector’s cheeks. ‘He’s touring in France. And it’s not my case.’

  Bea ignored that. ‘Let me guess. The dead woman’s husband – what’s his name? Walford? He’s got a good solicitor, and he’s produced an alibi for the time of Margrete’s death? He wants out of custody. The powers that be are uneasy. They thought they’d got an open and shut case. Husband kills cheating wife, and then goes on to get rid of the unfortunate Lord Lethbury who happened to be a witness. All other theories were discounted because, bingo! They’d got the husband bang to rights.’

  ‘He probably used a hit man.’

  Her face must have expressed amused doubt, because he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I’m sure they’ll find a connection.’

  ‘You’ve come to see me, which means that you aren’t convinced. You remember only too well that first impressions might be misleading. Lord Lethbury might have been the intended victim, and Margrete Walford the inconvenient witness. You’ve remembered that the peer’s son, who was at odds with his father, was the one who discovered the body but didn’t report it, and that Leon Holland had also been lured to the car park under false pretences.’

  ‘It’s not my case.’

  Carrie put her head around the door. ‘Everything all right? Do you want me to stay late tonight?’

  ‘Come in for a moment, Carrie. Inspector, I told you last night that we found a bug had been placed on my telephone yesterday and you told me to take it to the local police station today – which I haven’t yet had a chance to do. We also have a report from the engineer who found it for us. Do you have a minute to interview the girl who made the bugging possible?’

  ‘Not my scene. You know perfectly well you have to go through the usual channels.’

  Carrie said, ‘I could ask Jennifer to stay behind, and you could have a word.’

  ‘No, no. I—’

  Carrie wasn’t letting him get away with it. She stepped back into the main office. ‘Where’s Jennifer? She hasn’t gone already, has she?’

  Voices were raised. ‘She said she’d got a tummy ache and went off a few minutes ago.’

  Carrie relayed the bad news to Bea and the inspector. ‘Shall I check to see if she’s cleared her things out of her desk?’

  Bea’s phone rang.

  Leon. ‘Is that twenty-nine something?’

  ‘Eleven. Yes.’ She wasn’t sure she wanted the inspector to overhear whatever Leon had to say.

  ‘You’ve got someone with you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She turned to her diary, flipping pages, making out that she was speaking to a client. ‘Go ahead.’r />
  ‘Something someone … It’s been bothering me. I tried to check it out. Adamsson. You know I said I tried his mobile and it didn’t ring or go to voicemail? I’ve tried again. There’s no service on his mobile. It’s dead. Today is Thursday. A week ago today I met Adamsson at my office in town. We arranged to meet up again when I got back from Birmingham and pencilled an appointment in for today. A week on. He said nothing about meeting on Tuesday, or about going away on holiday. So—’

  ‘Someone is lying. I have an interested party here. The inspector. Leon, I think it’s time you reported Adamsson junior as missing.’ She handed the phone to the inspector. ‘Leon Holland saw Adamsson last Thursday and arranged to meet up again today. He spotted Adamsson’s car, unattended, in the swimming pool car park. His mobile is not in service. His car has turned up, burned out. Leon wants to report the man missing.’

  For a moment she thought the inspector would decline to take the phone, but then he shrugged and did so. She left him to it. Carrie met her in the doorway, lifting her hands in despair. ‘Jennifer’s cleaned out her drawer. She kept a pair of slippers here to wear at work. They’ve gone, and so has her umbrella. It doesn’t look as if she means to come back.’

  Bea tried to look on the bright side. ‘Well, at least we don’t have to pay her this last week’s wages.’

  NINE

  Thursday evening

  The inspector slammed the phone down. ‘For the umpteenth time, This Is Not My Case!’

  ‘I know that,’ said Bea, dropping into the chair behind her desk. ‘But what am I supposed to do? Leon and that poor creature Orlando were lured out to a car park by false text messages. Orlando was supposed to meet up with his father to discuss a financial deal cooked up by him and Briscoe Holland. Leon was due to meet Mr Adamsson, Briscoe Holland’s chief accountant. Leon spotted Adamsson’s car, unattended. He’d already had someone attempt to run him down. He was on bad terms with his brother, the head of the company. He suspected a trap, so he turned tail and left. Orlando was not so fortunate, or so wary. He didn’t spot Adamsson’s car, but found his father and a woman unknown to him, dead in their cars. He panicked and fled. On his way out he spotted Leon entering the car park, watched him try to make a phone call, and then leave.

  ‘Now, whichever of the two was originally meant to be the victim, doesn’t it seem odd to you that both Leon and Orlando were sent to the car park by text messages with a Holland Holdings connection?’

  The inspector threw up his hands. ‘Someone was playing a practical joke on them.’

  ‘Why were Lethbury and Adamsson present? Were they, too, misdirected, and if so, by whom? Was Lethbury the intended target? Were Leon and Orlando led there to direct suspicion to them?’

  Despite himself, the inspector was drawn into the mystery. ‘You haven’t proved Adamsson was there. His office says he went to France, and they should know.’

  ‘Leon says they were due to meet up, and he should know.’

  The inspector winced. ‘I suppose getting Leon and Orlando there would certainly confuse the issue, if Adamsson wanted to kill Lethbury. In that case, Margrete’s murder is collateral damage.’

  Bea waved that aside. ‘I can’t see that mild little man Adamsson as a double murderer. Why should he want to kill Lethbury, anyway? Nor Orlando. And certainly not Leon who, in any case, is given an alibi by Orlando.’

  ‘Provided you believe Orlando.’

  Bea played with a pencil. ‘I suppose the police have looked at what’s on Lord Lethbury’s phone?’

  ‘I imagine so. It’s NOT MY CASE!’

  Bea went on: ‘Leon is sure someone is trying to kill him.’

  The inspector snorted. ‘I suppose he thinks it’s his brother, the Lord High and Mighty head of Holland International.’

  ‘No,’ said Bea. ‘He’s been given every reason to think so, but he doesn’t. As I told you, my phone here has been bugged. Fortunately, we discovered what had happened before any major damage was done. As soon as Leon returned, the phone rang and I was asked to listen to a recorded message from Leon’s brother, accusing him of this and that, and threatening to destroy him. In spite of this, Leon doesn’t believe his brother wants to kill him, and I trust his judgement. But, how did they know Leon had returned, because we’d already removed the bug on the phone?’

  The inspector threw up his hands again. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  She tried to think clearly. ‘If Margrete’s husband has managed to throw doubt on the original theory that his wife was the main target, the police will go back to thinking it was Lord Lethbury. I imagine whoever is in charge will want to have Orlando in for questioning again.’

  ‘I think you can take that as read.’

  ‘Leon thinks Adamsson is missing. Do you agree with me that there is more to his disappearance than meets the eye?’

  ‘But you don’t think Adamsson is the murderer.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t tell me … You think Adamsson is dead as well!’

  ‘His car is. Very.’

  ‘You are trying to make out that the original target was Adamsson, and that the others were collateral damage?’ Incredulous.

  Bea threw up her hands. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on. If it isn’t Briscoe Holland who’s behind the I Hate Leon brigade, then who is?’

  ‘It’s not unknown for victims of assault to declare that their nearest and dearest couldn’t possibly be behind the attack, even though there is ample evidence to prove that they were. Brothers have been known to fall out before now.’

  ‘Leon grew up away from his family. He doesn’t have any romantic views about them.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said the inspector, getting to his feet, ‘that’s what it will turn out to be. Sibling rivalry. The old buck resenting the young stag who’s challenging his right to rule the herd.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Look, I think I’ve been very patient, but enough is enough. Have you personally witnessed anything to do with the murders? No. You’re feeding me hearsay, and you know perfectly well that That’s Not Admissible As Evidence!’ He almost shouted the last words at Bea.

  Bea suppressed an urge to shout back. She looked down and away from him, thinking that he hadn’t used to be so bad-tempered. They’d always been able to have a laugh about the case in the old days. What had caused this change?

  She said, ‘We’ve known one another for quite some time. Is anything wrong?’

  He thumped her desk. ‘Nothing’s the matter!’

  Bea caught sight of Carrie’s head appearing round the door. Bea signed to Carrie, Not now! Carrie’s head disappeared. Bea tried to remember what appointments she had that afternoon but couldn’t think straight. Well, whoever it was must wait.

  The inspector stayed where he was, head down, leaning on her desk with both hands.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Bea, in her softest voice.

  He turned away from her, reaching for a handkerchief in his pockets and not finding one. He took a tissue from the box on her desk, walked away to the window. With his back to her. ‘I spend my time trying to take criminals off the streets, trying to make everyday life easier for the majority. I deal with the scum of society. I see things, hear things which would scare the living daylights out of the man in the street. I make jokes about my work because otherwise I’d go mad. But sometimes, just sometimes, it gets me down and I think about taking early retirement.’

  Bea drew in her breath. She was shocked and dismayed.

  He said, ‘My wife says I’m heading for a nervous breakdown, and she’s right. I’m going to put in for some leave tomorrow.’

  She was ashamed of herself. The inspector was a good man, on the side of the saints. He’d been showing signs of strain, and she had refused to see them. He was a strong man, up against the forces of evil. He dealt fairly with everyone. He hadn’t complained about his lack of promotion in recent years, but she had understood he was not always fairly dealt with in that respect. He deserved a break.

>   Leon would cope. She thought of him, stoically accepting his family’s rejection of him … and Orlando trying to come to terms with the same thing. They’d cope, because they were innocent.

  A twisty thought entered her head. It isn’t always enough to rely on innocence when evil is at work.

  She set that thought aside. The inspector was her very good friend. They’d been through a lot together. He’d asked her for help, not always in so many words, but implicitly. She must try to comfort him. She couldn’t cuddle him as she would a child. She couldn’t put her arms around him. He wasn’t her husband.

  But somehow she must show that she felt his pain. She went to stand beside him, almost touching. She prayed, Lord, give me the right words to say.

  She didn’t know what she was going to say till she said it. ‘Hold fast.’

  ‘Easier said than done. You say you’re a Christian, but I can’t believe in a God who allows so much evil into the world.’ He was hurting. His fists were clenched. He might hit her, or the window … or leave the building and walk straight under a car.

  She said, ‘It doesn’t matter how little you believe. He said he’d always be there, waiting for you to remember that he loves you. Standing beside you.’

  ‘Don’t tell me that you can see him?’ Angry, trying to joke.

  She didn’t reply. No, she couldn’t see him, but she did believe that he was always beside her, waiting for her to turn to him for guidance, for comfort, for peace. Most of the time she believed that, anyway.

  He blew his nose. ‘Well, I can’t stand here talking all day.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You’ll forget what I said, of course.’

  ‘No. I won’t forget. I’ll remember.’

  He turned a blotchy face on her. He was still angry. But also, perhaps, touched. Calmer. A joking tone, ‘You’ll pray for me? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘You know I will. Get a babysitter and take your wife out for the evening. Make plans for your holiday.’