“Wait, she did that?” I asked, my mouth dropping open.
“You will have to ask her,” Violet replied. No wonder Mrs. Michaels could afford that amazing Kensington townhouse! “Now, I believe with this we are finished here. We will go back downstairs, we will get back the laptop, and we will go back home.”
In all the excitement of actually finding a clue, for a moment I’d completely forgotten that we were still definitely not supposed to be here.
“Ok,” I replied, and we put everything back in the filing cabinets as we found it—or as close to it as possible, anyway. Five minutes later we were back downstairs, unplugging Violet’s laptop from the computer it was plugged into.
“The information I have here is likely worth millions of pounds,” she told me. “And yet they still think a simple security system is completely fine. Ils sont des idiots. If I were a criminal, London would be the easiest target ever.”
“You seem to have done all right for yourself on the side of the angels,” I told her.
“It is true. Besides, I do not care about the money, for me it is the art of the problem,” she replied, slipping the laptop back into her bag. Still, I saw her shake her head in disgust slightly as she locked the door back up after her. Evidently the computer genius in Violet wasn’t content with the lack of adequate security in their server room.
We were walking back toward the door we had entered from next to the receptionist’s desk when suddenly Violet grabbed me and pulled me down behind the receptionist’s desk. I fell to the ground with a thud and was about to ask her what the hell she was doing when I saw Violet crouching next to me with a finger on her lips. I was obviously supposed to be quiet. I nodded my understanding. My heart pounded in my chest. Violet wasn’t the type of person to scare someone just for the hell of it, I didn’t think.
She motioned for me to look carefully out from the side of the desk with her, and I did. Looking at the door that led to the stairwell, a face suddenly passed by the small rectangular window in the door. It was the guard from downstairs. He peered through the window into the offices quickly, then kept going.
“Oh my God,” I whispered about a minute later, when I finally dared to speak again. “He would have looked right at us.” My heart pounded in my chest. I had never considered that I might die of a heart attack so young before tonight. “How on earth did you know he was coming?” I asked. Violet pointed to her ears.
“When you are in the habit of breaking into places, you learn to keep your senses on high alert.”
“Remind me to bring you along whenever I commit felonies,” I told her. “Can we go out the other stairwell, the one with the door that leads right outside?”
Violet shook her head. “No, the door we came in from is the only door exiting the building that isn’t alarmed, other than the front door, which is out for obvious reasons. We will wait for ten minutes, for the guard to finish his rounds, and then we will go back downstairs.”
Those ten minutes were the longest of my life. I huddled under the desk, constantly terrified that the guard would come in, or notice the green light of the alarm system, and that we’d be caught. You know how people always use the phrase worst case scenario? Well, that phrase is a lie, because after that night, I was well aware that there was not simply one worst case scenario, there were dozens of them. And they all ran through my head while we waited.
After what felt like an eternity, Violet tapped my arm.
“I think we are probably safe to go now,” she said.
“I don’t like that use of the word ‘probably’,” I mumbled in reply, getting up. My legs were cramped from being stuck under that desk for so long, and I silently cursed my unfit, aging body. Two minutes later, however, Violet had re-armed the alarm system and we were both in the stairwell. This time around I was all too aware of just how much noise my feet made. To my ears, I sounded like an elephant pounding down the stairs. Surely the guard could hear, and would come flying back up the stairs to arrest us.
But, much to my surprise, we actually made it to the basement level fine, and a few minutes later had reversed our route around the security cameras and were back out in the street.
Believe me, I had never been so happy to feel the cool breeze of two am on my face.
“Come on,” Violet said, leading me away. “We have done good work tonight.”
“I hope so, because I think it cost me about ten years of my life,” I replied, and Violet laughed.
“You are the one who wanted adventure.”
“I always considered adventure to be more along the lines of not knowing what I ordered in a restaurant because it was in a foreign language, or getting on the wrong bus. Not breaking into a major insurance company in the middle of the night and stealing all of their financial data.”
“You say tomato, I say to-mah-to,” Violet said, and this time it was my turn to laugh. Laughing was a lot easier when you were fairly certain you weren’t about to be thrown in jail for the rest of your life.
We took a taxi back to Kensington, where Violet bade me goodnight.
I slipped back into my new apartment, where Biscuit had happily settled himself to sleep on top of the covers on my bed. I watched him for a moment, then had a quick shower. By the time I got out, the adrenaline of the night was beginning to wear off, and I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Chapter 13
I woke up the next morning to what felt like a massage. A massage with a lot of howling involved.
“Urrrggh,” I said as I realized what was happening: Biscuit was kneading my back and making a racket. I was lying on my stomach, still half asleep, as my cat kneaded and howled at me to get up.
“Whaddayawann?” I asked, rolling over and looking at Biscuit. He reached up with a paw and booped me on the nose, then leapt deftly off the bed and stood in the doorway, looking back at me.
I had a sneaking suspicion I was late in serving breakfast. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I had a look at the time. It was just after eight, which meant I had been asleep for a little under five hours. Great. If there was one thing being an invalid with no job had led to, it was copious amounts of sleeping. I was definitely going to need a nap later on today.
I forced myself to roll out of bed and wandered into the kitchen area, where Biscuit was politely sitting next to his food bowl, waiting for breakfast.
“Sure, you look all nice and polite now,” I muttered groggily to the cat as I got out a container of his food. I poured it into the bowl and he happily began eating it. I quietly bemoaned my lack of foresight in not buying any food for myself the day before. All I wanted to do was crawl back into my bed and sleep for another three hours, at least. Food could wait; if I was sleeping, I wouldn’t be able to feel my hunger.
Just then, my phone buzzed. Great. If it was Violet, I was half tempted to pretend I was still asleep.
It was her, but luckily, she wasn’t asking for anything.
Have given the info on the routing number to DCI Williams. Will text when I get information back.
Perfect! This meant I could absolutely crawl back into bed and get a few more hours in before there was anything to do. I made my way back to bed, and Biscuit followed me, content now that he was fed. Ten minutes later we were both dead to the world.
* * *
When I woke up again, just after noon, I forced myself to get out of bed, put some decent clothes on, and finally go find some food. I ended up at the McDonalds across the street from the High Street Kensington underground station. What? After a night like the one I’d just had, quite frankly, I deserved a cheeseburger combo.
I had finished eating my meal and was sitting at the table, just beginning to regret my life choices when I got a text from Violet. She’d gotten the info from DCI Williams. I told her I could meet her at the police station, and she agreed. Since the Edgware Road underground station was just four stops away from Kensington, I crossed the street and hopped onto the next train heading
northeast. Ten minutes later I was standing outside the police station where all this had started when Violet got out of a cab that pulled up in front of the station.
She looked so perfectly made up, like she’d gotten a great night’s sleep—it was absolutely amazing. I was sure I was standing there with patches of hair still sticking out from when I rushed to brush it before leaving. I was wearing sunglasses to hide the dark circles under my eyes, and I hadn’t realized until I left the apartment that I wasn’t even wearing matching socks. How Violet managed to look that perfect after the night we had was beyond me completely.
Violet smiled a hello and we went into the police station. Going back up to the second floor, I saw DCI Williams sitting at a desk about halfway down the room. Cops milled around; everyone was obviously busy with work. DCI Williams saw us and waved us over; he was on the phone and he didn’t look happy. As we got to the edge of the desk, he hung up, and handed a folder over to Violet.
“There’s the information you asked for,” he told her. “I don’t think you’ll get what you wanted out of it though. She had money in the house, sure, but not too much apart from that. We looked into it; apparently there was a will, her sister-in-law’s son is the sole beneficiary. He’s a bit of a loser, one of those kids who never really figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Lives in a council flat out in the east end, and by all accounts spends his dole cheque on video games. He’s certainly not paying his rent with it. Anyway, we think he killed her for the house. We’re going to bring him in later today.”
“Congratulations,” Violet told him. “You took the information I gave you and came to the wrong conclusion completely.”
DCI Williams’ face turned a little bit irritable. “So you think you know better who did it, then?” he asked.
“Of course. In fact, seeing this list, I know exactly who it was.”
“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me straight up.”
“Seeing as you believe it was the nephew, it is obvious to me that you need your criminals handed to you on a platter, as you say in English. I will bring you your murderer, and it will be with a solid enough case that even you police will not be able to mess it up.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe we’re right and you’re wrong?” DCI Williams asked.
“No,” Violet replied confidently, and I raised my hand to my mouth to hide a smile.
“Well, we will see. I think you might find that your lack of faith in the Metropolitan Police is perhaps misplaced.”
“Assuming the worst of the police force’s detective skills has never led me astray yet. Thank you for the information,” Violet said, holding up the folders.
“Yes, I can tell you’re incredibly grateful,” DCI Williams replied, shaking his head. I gave him a sympathetic smile and he nodded at me as I followed Violet back out of the police station. Violet was already reading through the file she’d been given. She started walking down the street, and a part of me wondered where we were headed, until we got to a little park next to a church about a block away from the police station. Violet settled herself on the bench and finished reading the pieces of paper in the file, passing them over to me when she was done.
The first few pieces of paper were a list of banks. It seemed it was all the banks with a sort code that started with the numbers 08-6. There were about forty of them. Great. It seemed every bank in England used a sort code that started with those three digits.
Unity Trust. The Co-Operative Bank. Citibank. Northern Rock. Investec. Chelsea Building Society. The list went on and on.
The next sheet was a list of the various bank accounts Elizabeth Dalton had held. She certainly did have a lot of them, that was for sure. Four credit cards, with Visa, MasterCard and Amex, a savings account with Barclays, an investment account with Lloyds, checking accounts with Barclays and Virgin Money, a small mortgage with Barclays and a small personal loan with Citibank. For a woman who only really had one asset and not a ton of money otherwise, she certainly had a number of accounts. I wondered if perhaps the number of credit lines had gotten to her, and that was the reason for the blackmailing.
After the list was a printout of the statements of all her accounts. The chequing accounts were virtually empty, the credit cards maxed out, and the personal loan nowhere near being paid off. It seemed Elizabeth Dalton lived very much paycheck to paycheck. She didn’t exactly have the day-to-day finances of a person able to afford all the pretty toys she was buying. I had a feeling Violet was right about the blackmail.
“So how do we figure out who she was blackmailing?” I asked. “I mean, she had to have something on someone at the bank. The question is, who. We find that out, we find the murderer.”
Violet smiled at me. “That’s the more difficult way to get around it. After all, think of the people we have already met or know of at Enderby Insurance. You have Edgar Enderby, for one. She could have been blackmailing his father; telling him that if he didn’t pay her off, she would go to the police.”
“So he must be the prime suspect!” I said. Violet just smiled, then continued.
“But you also have her boss, Leo Browning. He’s cheating on his wife.”
“What? How could you possibly know that?” I asked.
“The first time we met him, Leo Browning was wearing a navy blue suit with a pastel pink shirt underneath. The head of marketing of a major insurance firm would know better than to color co-ordinate that badly, which meant he had no other choice. That meant he did not go home the previous night, and had to change into an extra shirt that he would keep at work, as do most executives.”
“But maybe he just stayed late at the office the night before?”
“Maybe, but his hands were covered in the lotion that they use at the Ritz Hotel, I could smell it when he shook my hand. And just in case that doesn’t fully convince you, did you notice him in the background of one of the Christmas party photos? No? Well, if you look closely, he has his hand resting on the bottom of a long-haired blonde woman. There were a few long blonde hairs on his jacket. She is the woman he’s having an affair with.”
“So then it’s between Browning and Enderby’s father.”
“You’re forgetting Browning’s head of advertising that we met, Jennifer Ashton. She’s a high functioning alcoholic.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask how you could possibly know that.”
“You noticed the half-empty container of mints and the antacids on her desk? She eats the mints like candy, and takes the antacid for the stomach pains she’s getting from taking in that much alcohol. Did you notice the spider angioma on her neck?”
“Yes, of course. I assumed it was simply because of birth control pills, since she didn’t look pregnant. But I suppose you’re right, it can be a sign of overconsumption of alcohol. I guess I just assumed that someone that high up in a major corporation wouldn’t be a high-functioning alcoholic. I know, I know, never assume anything,” I said as Violet opened her mouth. I hadn’t realized just how much I assumed about people.
“Fine, so we have a few suspects,” I said.
“I’m not finished, either. The receptionist, Michaela, has been stealing things from the office, probably to resell.”
At this point, I just trusted that Violet was telling the truth. My heart sunk at the realization that there were a lot of people in that office with secrets. “Great. So basically we’re no closer to finding out who Elizabeth Dalton blackmailed than before.”
“That’s not true at all. I know exactly who she was blackmailing, and who the most likely murderer is.”
“What? How? Who is it?”
“Leo Browning, her boss.”
“You’re making that up. Surely you have to be making that up.”
“Did you look at the list of bank codes I gave you? And at the bank accounts Elizabeth Dalton owned?”
“Yes.”
“Did any of them match?”
I had to admit, I hadn’t thought of that. I sca
nned through both lists again quickly.
“Well there’s the loan with Citibank but she wouldn’t get a blackmailer to pay her loan directly… Oh!” I cried, seeing it. “There! Virgin Money.”
“Exactement. She was getting the blackmailer to pay into her Virgin Money account. There are only a few pounds in the account right now, because she had spent nearly all of the money, but if you go back you can see deposits of thousands of pounds at a time. And some of the dates and numbers correspond with what was found on the post-it note.”
“Ok, I get that. But none of that explains why Leo Browning is the one responsible.”
Violet smiled. “Ah, but the thing you do not realize is that you are the reason I know. Do you not remember when you asked to borrow his pen?”
Realization dawned upon me. The Virgin Money pen.
“The pen!”
“Yes, the pen. Virgin Money is a bank of the working class. And besides, they have only six branches in London, they are not a large bank. It is highly unlikely that a man in Browning’s position would come about having a pen of that sort unless he was in one of the branches and took it back with him inadvertently. The only reason he would be in such a bank would be to pay Dalton’s ransom, as he would be the type of man to do private banking. He would have wanted to make a cash deposit so as to leave no paper trail for his wife to find.”
I nodded slowly as the realization dawned upon me. “So now we know who the murderer is!”
“We do.”
“So we have to go back and tell DCI Williams, before he brings in the nephew.”
Violet shook her head. “No, not yet. After all, there is evidence of blackmail here. There is no evidence of murder. I suggest we go and speak with Mr. Browning once again. We are only a few minutes from the office, after all.”
Chapter 14
My heart raced as we approached the Enderby Insurance offices. For one thing, around twelve hours ago I’d broken into this building and stolen super secret information. The memory of that was still way too fresh in my brain to be perfectly calm about it. And for another, I knew we were going up to confront a murderer.
Poison in Paddington (A Cozy Mystery) (Cassie Coburn Mysteries Book 1) Page 9