The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  After finishing what I needed to do for the meeting, I walked to the conference room, hoping I might have a chance to chat with Josh, but he arrived with Alan just seconds before the Montgomery team came in.

  Soon, the conference room was crowded, full of stale air and an undercurrent of despondency, at least on the Bradley Cohen side. Montgomery behaved as usual, asking questions, checking that his assistants were taking notes, and occasionally looking at his cell phone and sending texts. I wondered if he felt guilty about his lack of concern when Rebecca first no-showed for work, but no one talked about her, and there was no empty chair at the table. Alan had brought in Laura and Jim for extra input.

  As soon as the meeting drew to a close, I gathered up my sketches and pens, and followed Montgomery to the elevator.

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  He swung around. “Yes?”

  “I was friends with Rebecca. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. There’s no date for the funeral yet, but I could let you know when I hear something.”

  “Why would I need to know that?” he asked, jabbing at the elevator button.

  “I thought you would want to go,” I said, surprised by his attitude. “Or at least perhaps some of her colleagues would.”

  His shoulders seemed to relax. “Of course, of course,” he said. “Please let me know what you find out. I remember now that Rebecca mentioned you two were friends. Very sad. She was a valued asset.”

  Valued asset? It sounded cold. I wondered what Alan would say about me.

  “Do you have a card?” Montgomery asked. “I’m sure we all exchanged cards at our first meeting, but here’s mine. Feel free to call me if you need anything.”

  I fumbled in my purse for my wallet, where I always kept a few business cards, but couldn’t find one.

  “Here,” he said, handing me a second card of his own. “Write your cell number on this.” He took it back, looked at my number scrawled on it. “That way we can coordinate for the funeral.”

  When the elevator arrived, he got in. “You coming?”

  I shook my head. I was shocked by his indifference to Rebecca’s death and didn’t want to talk to him more than necessary. I took the stairs.

  19

  My cell phone rang just as I reached the bottom stair; I moved to a quieter corner of the lobby to take the call. It was Inspector Clarke. He began with an apology.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” he said. “Do you have time to grab a coffee?”

  After agreeing to meet at a small cafe just a few blocks away, I hurried back upstairs to get my coat and scarf. I had a sinking feeling that I was pushing Alan to the limit by leaving the office yet again. Clarke was already at a table when I got there.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” I said.

  “Not a problem. I got you a coffee. I hope it’s what you wanted. How are you doing?”

  How was I doing? I couldn’t begin to answer that question. Every night, I dreamed about Rebecca, strange disjointed dreams that left me sweating and breathless. We’d been together in a car, driving in circles around the Campanile in Florence. Swimming in a deep blue pool with eerie black shapes lurking at the bottom. Climbing an infinite number of stairs to the top of a massive building that looked out over a city that wasn’t London. In all of them, Rebecca was smiling, laughing, talking. Every time I woke up, I lay still for a minute, waiting for the images to fade, bracing myself for reality to seep back in.

  But Rebecca’s death was just one layer in my own personal Russian nesting doll of misery. The auras, Francesca, Sophie, the conflict at the office. There was no respite.

  Clarke said, “So, you left me a message and said you had some questions?”

  “Yes, I was drawing some pictures of the scene at her flat, the way I remembered it. There were a couple of things I noticed that I wanted to check with you. The main anomaly was the wineglass.”

  Clarke’s eyes narrowed, green lasers pointing at me. “Go on.”

  “There was a broken glass in Rebecca’s hand,” I said. “If you’re falling, you wouldn’t keep hold of something in your hand would you? You’d let go of it. Or if not during the fall, then afterwards. If she was trying to get up, she wouldn’t hold on to the glass.”

  The detective leaned back in his chair. “What makes you think she was trying to get up?”

  “The bloody handprint on the front of the sofa,” I said. “As though she’d tried to grab at the sofa to pull herself up. That means she didn’t die instantly when she hit the table.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Only that I truly believe someone else was there with Rebecca. I don’t believe it was an accident.”

  Clarke was quiet for a long time. “I’m going to bring you up to date with the details we know,” he said. “First of all, you may be right. It’s possible that the wineglass and the bottle were placed there after she fell.”

  His words fell like stones into the surging torrent of my thoughts, adding to the tumult of emotions eddying around in my head. Edward, if he was the killer, was a cold-blooded bastard.

  “So you do believe it was murder,” I said. I was relieved that the police were starting to investigate. At the same time, I was horrified. Accidents happen, and it would have been impossible for me to protect Rebecca twenty-four hours a day. But murder should have been preventable. I’d known enough to fear that the boyfriend was a danger, but not enough to stop him from killing Rebecca. I really hadn’t taken the aura prediction seriously enough. My hand shook when I picked up my coffee, so I put the cup back down on the red formica table.

  “What else did you find out?” I asked.

  “The autopsy…” he stopped when he saw me flinch. “The examination showed that Rebecca had bruises on both wrists as though someone had held them tightly – very tightly, in fact.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed. “Her boyfriend? They must have had a fight.”

  “We don’t know who was there,” said Clarke. “And we can’t jump to conclusions that it was this boyfriend.”

  “But who else could it have been? There was no sign of forced entry at the door. Rebecca must have known the person and let him in.”

  “Or her.”

  “Her?”

  “We have to look at all the options,” he said. “But for now, let’s pursue the idea of this boyfriend. I have a question for you. Is there any chance that the boyfriend knows who you are?”

  I was confused. “We’ve never met, I told you that.”

  “But would Rebecca have talked to him about you?”

  A feeling like cold water sloshed around in my stomach. “I don’t know. Why? Am I in danger?”

  Clarke shook his head. “I don’t think so, to be honest, but I’d rather address the possibility than ignore it. If he has any reason to think that you know who he is, he might conceivably consider you as a threat.”

  I took a minute to digest that.

  “I see,” was all I managed to say. “So this changes everything? You’re officially looking for a murderer now?”

  “Possibly. There are shades of grey, especially with a situation like this one. She wasn’t stabbed or strangled, so it’s not a clear-cut case of unlawful killing. No evidence of premeditation. We have a long way to go before we know what we’re looking at.”

  “And you’re heading the investigation?”

  He nodded. “I am.”

  “Good.”

  He grinned. “Good?”

  “Well, first, I’m glad that you’re in charge. I mean, I trust you, you know. And secondly, I’ve thought all along that this wasn’t an accident, so I’m relieved that it’s going to be properly investigated. Whoever did this to her needs to be found and punished.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said. “I was wondering about her job at the Montgomery Group. What did that entail?”

  “Her title was Financial Director. She was really good at math, so it makes sense she’d end up doing something with finance.”

/>   “It sounds like a high-level job for a young woman just a few years out of college,” Clarke said, spinning his empty cup on the table in front of him.

  “I think she was director for just one unit of the Montgomery Group,” I said. “The New Development Group, or something like that. Still a good position for her, but perhaps not quite as high level as it sounds. I’m sure someone at the company could give you more details.”

  “Do you want another coffee?” Clarke stood up. “I’m going for a refill.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t even tasted the first one, hadn’t realized I’d finished it.

  When he came back, Clarke was silent for a while. I heard the clink of cups from the counter and a radio spitting out rap music. The cafe was empty apart from us.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said about watching out for Rebecca,” he said finally. “Did you have a reason to think she was in danger? I know you said not, but in the light of our new findings, I’d really like to know what it was that made you believe there was a threat of some kind.”

  I was aware of him watching me closely. His green eyes rested on my face and his body was motionless. His stillness was calming, and seemed to invite my confidence. I wanted to tell him about the aura, about the deaths, about the danger to Nick. I ran my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. I felt my lips part, the words starting to form and then I closed my mouth. I couldn’t tell him any of it.

  “I can’t really remember what I said. I was upset, you know, about finding her body. I didn’t have any reason to think that she was in danger. The only thing that ever crossed my mind was that she was secretive about the boyfriend. Also, that when she talked about him, she didn’t seem happy.”

  Clarke took a swallow of his coffee, his eyes still on mine as he drank.

  “I wish you could tell me the truth, Kate,” he said, putting the cup back in its saucer. “It might help me work out what happened to your friend.”

  It’s not fair, I thought. Even if I were to tell him about the aura, and even if he believed me, which he wouldn’t, what good would it do? I had a useless ability to see that someone would die, but had no idea of where, when, or how. What was the point? Anger welled inside me. I felt my hands curl into fists. Clarke noticed, his eyes flicking from my hands to my face and back again. What did he see? Guilt? Did he think I was involved somehow? I felt the rage ebb away, replaced by fatigue and despair. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t do that under the scrutiny of those inquisitive green eyes.

  “Tell me again what time you left the restaurant,” he said. “What was it? Indian?”

  “Chinese. I left at about two o clock.”

  “And where did you go after that?”

  “Back home.”

  “Did anyone see you? Was anyone with you?”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  He seemed to take forever to answer. “I’m just doing my job,” he said. “And you are hiding something, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not,” I said, even though it wasn’t true. “And I want to find whoever did this just as much as you. In fact, I went to the Montgomery Group building to see if I could find Edward, the boyfriend.”

  Clarke’s eyebrows shot up.

  “And?”

  “Well, I thought it was possible that Rebecca would have met her boyfriend through work. I knew it was a long shot, but worth a try. She said he works in technology. I found one employee who works in the IT department. His name is Ted Stevens. But there’s no way he’s Rebecca’s boyfriend, believe me.”

  Clarke leaned forward across the table. “Kate, it’s not your job to go looking for people. Leave that to me. You have no idea how this man might react if you do find him.”

  Chastened, I nodded, loosening the scarf around my neck. Either the little cafe was overheated or I was.

  He pushed his cup away, leaned forward, palms flat on the table.

  “I’m sorry about Rebecca. I’m sorry you found her body. I know how traumatic that can be. The best thing I can do now is find out who was with her when she died. If you know anything at all that would help me with that, I’d like to know.” He paused, leaned back. “Remember you told me about Rebecca being a dancer? That was information I couldn’t have known, but it made me understand that an accidental fall was possible, but perhaps less likely. So please think about it and call me if you know anything else that might help.”

  He pushed his chair back and stood up, put on his coat and scarf. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He walked out, jangling the bell over the door.

  20

  The bar Nick had suggested was an upscale cocktail place in Mayfair that specialized in martinis. Mirrors behind the bar reflected shelves of bottles with colorful, arty labels and trays of inverted martini glasses. The crowd was young, around my own age, but I felt old and out of place among the well-dressed, upper class patrons. A brief silence greeted the arrival of a celebrity, a minor Royal who frequently graced the pages of the tabloids, and then the volume immediately rose again.

  Nick arrived, debonair in a long black wool coat unbuttoned over a pink striped shirt. Several women watched admiringly as he walked past. I stared too, but not for the same reason; his aura was still there, moving fast around his dark glossy hair. Taking the stool next to me, he ordered two vodka martinis, and we touched glasses. I drank wine more often than cocktails; the sharp taste of the liquor took my breath away.

  “So, how are you doing?” he asked. “God, it’s been a tough week. I can’t get over finding Rebecca like that. Poor girl.”

  “Have the police been in touch with you? Asking for more information?”

  “Yeah, that detective, what’s his name? Clarke. Good-looking guy.” He laughed. “He called me, said he had some questions and could we meet. But I’ve been swamped with work and haven’t had time yet. Tomorrow I plan to do it, although I can’t work out why. It was obviously an accident.”

  “It wasn’t. At least, that’s not what they think now. Rebecca had a lot of bruising on her wrists, as though someone had held her very tightly. And they think that someone, presumably the boyfriend, put the broken wineglass in her hand after she fell. To make it look as though she’d been drinking.”

  Nick put his glass down and stared at me. “No way. Murder?”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure, but that’s what Inspector Clarke told me. So they are looking for this Edward person. Your picture ID of him will be helpful.”

  Nick groaned. “Oh shit. I completely forgot to do that today. They said it would take a couple of hours. I meant to go, but I’ve been swamped at work. Did I tell you about the shoot I’m setting up for…? never mind. I’ll find time soon.”

  He checked his watch. “I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t stay long. Gary’s waiting for me and we have dinner plans.” He smiled. “And he’d be very jealous if he knew I was out drinking with a pretty girl.”

  “But I thought you were…” I stopped, and he laughed.

  “Bi, sweetheart. Either way works for me.”

  I grinned at him. His laughter was infectious.

  “Ah, I can see how that would make Gary a little insecure.”

  “Gary makes insecurity into a career. If it were an Olympic sport, he’d win the gold medal. But I love him, and mostly I avoid doing anything to feed his anxieties. But he is pretty easy to wind up.”

  He took a swallow of his martini.

  “What about you? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

  I shook my head, feeling the faint buzz of the alcohol. “Not right now.”

  “So what was it you wanted to talk about? I got the impression there was something particular, not just a drink to chat over the lurid details of a murder? Do you think Rebecca’s folks are really happy for me to keep Caspian? I’d give him to them if they want him.”

  “Her mother’s allergic,” I said. “So they’d be grateful if you continued to look after him.”

  Nick looked relieved. It was endearing that he really ca
red about the cat.

  “I’ll thank them when I see them at the funeral. Is there a date yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  I took a big gulp of my martini; it was time to talk to Nick about the aura.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I began. I described the moving air and what I thought it meant.

  “Rebecca had one, before she died.” I said. “And you have one, Nick. Which means that you’re in danger from something. Maybe connected to Rebecca’s murder, maybe something completely different. An accident. perhaps. But I want you to be careful.”

  Nick drained his glass, leaned over and took my hands in his.

  “They say the good-looking guys are always gay, and the beautiful girls are always crazy. Good to see you’re fueling the myth. Really, Kate? Auras that predict death?”

  He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Thank you, I think, for the warning. Now I really have to go.”

  “Nick, I’m sorry.”

  Ignoring me, he stood up, put a couple of banknotes on the bar, and pulled on his coat.

  “I’ll see you at the funeral,” he said. “And I mean Rebecca’s, not mine.”

  I stayed at the bar for awhile after he’d gone, hearing the chatter and laughter of the crowds behind me. When an older man in a business suit took Nick’s vacated stool and leered at me, I finished my drink and left.

  On the way home, I noticed auras over the head of one man on the street and another on the train, but I willed myself to ignore them. I’d seen quite a few in the last week in London, on the Tube and in restaurants. I’d become adept at not noticing them and, after a while, succeeded in passing by without a second thought. Like homeless people. Everyone knew they were there, but didn’t really see them.

  21