The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  He must have known that the police could check for alcohol in Rebecca’s system, so the window dressing was just that, a red herring. But why? To give him time to run away? To leave the country? Was that what had happened? I pondered the enigma of Edward, who travelled frequently and didn’t seem to exist except in a few mentions of his name. No photos, little evidence of his presence in the apartment. I wished I’d been more pushy, got more details from Rebecca.

  I thought back to my conversation with the Williamses. There was something nagging at me, little tugs at the edges of my brain, trying to attract my attention. But I couldn’t pin it down.

  Thoughts of Rebecca and the boyfriend dissolved when the doorbell rang. It was Josh. “Can I come up? It’s tipping down out here.”

  I buzzed him in and heard him bounding up the stairs. He was earlier than I expected, but that was fine with me. “I heard about Alan putting you on leave,” he said before he’d taken his coat off. “Everyone wants you to come back. We’re missing you.”

  “Even Ben?” I asked with a smile.

  “Okay, everyone except Ben. He’s so insecure that nothing would make him happier than being the last one left on the payroll. Then he could be confident he’s the best.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Poor Ben.”

  I told him about the call from Jack while we made dinner together and drank some wine. I lit some candles and set them on the kitchen island. We’d just sat down when the doorbell rang.

  “Now what?” I said, not moving to answer it.

  Josh looked at me inquiringly. “Shall I get it?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I’ll do it.” I didn’t tell him that my first thought had been that it was the sandy-haired man in the black wool coat. In fact, it was Inspector Clarke.

  “I just wanted to check on you,” he said, when I opened the door. “I didn’t want you to think I was dismissing your concerns about being followed.”

  “Thank you. I’m fine, though.” There was an awkward silence and then I stepped aside to let him in. I saw him take in the scene: Josh, the bottle of wine, the candles. His shoulders stiffened and I could feel a coolness fill the air between us.

  “I didn’t realize I was interrupting your dinner,” he said, taking a step back towards the door. “I’ll see you at the police station tomorrow.”

  “Would you like to stay for a glass of wine?”

  His mouth twitched as though he were trying to force a smile and failing. “No, that’s very kind, but I’ll be going.”

  I closed the door and leaned against it, feeling guilty for no reason I could explain, as though I’d been caught cheating.

  “Who was that?” asked Josh.

  “Inspector Clarke. He’s investigating Rebecca’s death.” I sat down and took another bite of food.

  “I didn’t know detectives made house calls,” Josh said drily.

  “He’s just doing his job,” I said. I put my hand on his arm. “I didn’t tell you before, but he’s worried that Rebecca’s boyfriend might come after me. So he was just checking up on me to make sure I’m all right.”

  His look of concern touched my heart. “Are you in danger?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but Clarke is being cautious. Because Rebecca was so secretive about who she was seeing, the police haven’t been able to track him down yet. The Inspector is worried that if the boyfriend thinks I know who he is, he’ll consider me a threat. I know, it all sounds a bit melodramatic.”

  “Maybe, but if there’s any risk at all, you have to take it seriously.”

  “Perhaps that’s what the threat to Nick is as well?”

  “What?”

  “If the boyfriend thinks you might expose who he is, then it’s possible he thinks Nick might know enough to identify him as well.”

  “But why Nick and not Gary? Gary doesn’t have an aura.”

  “You said that Nick claims to have seen the boyfriend on the stairs a few times? Maybe Gary wasn’t there, and didn’t ever see him. So he’s not a threat.”

  I put my fork down. “Josh, if that’s the case, and Nick’s aura means he’s in danger from this man, then maybe I was right about being followed. Perhaps I have an aura too?”

  Sliding down from the counter stool, I hurried to the bathroom and stared into the mirror, turning my head slowly trying to catch a glimpse of moving air. I’d checked before, of course, but this time I did it with intent. Josh came in and stood behind me. “Can you see anything?”

  “No, but that might not mean it’s not there.”

  Turning around, I leaned into Josh. I felt better for having his arms around me. “What did you mean about being followed?” he asked.

  I told him about seeing the sandy-haired man at the Tube station.

  “I’m going to keep an eye on you until the police work out who this boyfriend is,” he said. He hesitated. “If that’s okay with you, of course? I came prepared this time and brought a toothbrush. And a clean shirt.”

  That made me laugh. It felt good to be happy. Memories of the man in the black coat evaporated. We picked a movie, sat together on the couch, Josh’s arms around me. Watching it, I was able to forget, for a couple of hours, about the aura, even about Rebecca. We brushed our teeth in the bathroom together while Josh related snippets of the day’s activity at the office. Later, in bed, he turned off the lamp. Within minutes, I was asleep.

  I woke to see the clock’s red numbers showing that it was three in the morning. I’d been dreaming of Rebecca again, and Toby, and Sophie, weird dreams where they were all together. My heart pounded; the adrenalin had thoroughly wakened me. I lay on my back, listening to Josh’s soft breathing, thankful he was there. I slid closer to nestle up against him. He smelled good, like fresh air in the mountains on a clear spring morning. A thought traversed my brain; something to do with scent. I couldn’t quite grasp it. Then I remembered. It was the scent of aftershave. The smell of Amouage, the aftershave I’d seen in Rebecca’s bathroom cabinet.

  32

  The person who’d been wearing the aftershave was Peter Montgomery. I gently turned back the bed covers and padded across the carpeted floor to find my purse. I hadn’t cleaned it out for days, so I was sure Montgomery’s business card was still in there somewhere. Clutching the bag, I tiptoed along the dark hall to the living room. The moon was still blanketed by cloud, and only a faint glow from a streetlight bled into the room. Fumbling in the darkness, I pulled out the card and sniffed it. Yes, there was the faintest hint of the scent. I used my cellphone to illuminate the card, which read Peter E. Montgomery, CEO, followed by a list of qualifications that indicated a lifetime of achievement and showed no lack of ego.

  I flipped the card over in my fingers several times and then looked at it again. The middle initial stopped my breath. E. Could that stand for Edward? It was possible. Montgomery was attractive, powerful, wealthy, a magnet for a young woman like Rebecca. And it would explain why she’d been so careful to keep it quiet. An affair with the CEO wouldn’t be something she’d want to broadcast. Neither would he. I knew he was married. His wife appeared regularly in the society pages that reported on fundraisers and charity events.

  I leaned back against the cushions and hugged my knees, still clutching the card in my hand, trying to recall anything Rebecca might have said that would point to Montgomery. Nothing came to mind. I thought yet again how incredibly discreet she had been. What had Montgomery said about Rebecca? She was a valuable asset. Could he really be dispassionate enough to say such a thing or was it just his way of covering up real grief?

  But, if it were Montgomery, then I had only been imagining that the man in the black coat was following me. That thought, at least, was comforting. I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders relax a little. I glanced at the time. I couldn’t call Clarke at this time of night. I’d do it first thing in the morning. Wishing Josh was awake so I could share my discovery with him, I slipped the card back into my purse and crept back to bed. I pulled
the duvet over Josh, stretched out on my side of the bed and drifted off to sleep.

  A sound woke me. I bolted upright in alarm before remembering that Josh was in the apartment. It was still dark outside, and the clock showed that it was just after seven. Josh must be getting ready to leave for work, and the least I could do was make him some breakfast. I could tell him about my suspicions while I made tea. Pulling on my bathrobe, I went into the hall. The bathroom door was slightly ajar and the light was on.

  The fist came out of nowhere, slamming into my abdomen and knocking me off my feet. Gasping for breath, I flailed at my attacker in the semi-darkness, swinging my arms, trying to land a blow, then grabbed at a sleeve, feeling the rough wool cloth. It was him, the man from the Underground, I was sure of it. The fist came at me again and I rolled to my side, pulling my knees up to my chest, swallowing against the nausea rising in my throat. Seeing the flash of a blade, I rolled away from it. He lifted the knife again.

  I heard a shout, saw Josh coming up behind the attacker, who swung around, knife in hand and lunged at him. I screamed, clawing my way towards the living room on my hands and knees. I needed to get to my cellphone to call the police, but the effort was just too much. I felt warm, sticky blood leaking from my head, dripping into my eyes and down my cheek.

  Josh was on the floor, trying to get up. The attacker stood over him. I watched in horror as he raised the blade, watched the sharp point sink into Josh’s leg.

  Shouts clamored from the landing. I wanted to yell back but couldn’t find the energy. I twisted my head around to see Josh leaning up against the hall wall, grasping his leg, and the attacker coming towards me again. The shouting got louder, the attacker aimed a kick at my head, and everything went dark.

  When I came round, I was lying in a hospital bed in a curtained cubicle. I touched my temple, feeling the dressing that covered my stitches. I was aware of white curtains and beige tile floor, the smell of disinfectant, and quiet murmurs from the other cubicles. I thought I remembered Aidan in the hospital, a meeting at work, my evening with Josh. Had it all been a dream? It felt real and yet, at the same time, vague and chimerical. I struggled to sit up, aware of an IV in my arm dragging against my skin. Colored lights danced in front of my eyes, like the illuminations at a fun-fair, bright and whirling. I felt sick and clasped my stomach, trying not to throw up.

  “Nurse!” I called. “Is anyone there?”

  A nurse in blue scrubs pushed through the curtain. “You’re awake. That’s good. You need to lie down, please.” She gently pushed me back down.

  “I feel fine,” I protested. It was almost true; the nausea was subsiding.

  “That’s because you’re on pain meds. Believe me, you need them. You have severe bruising, a couple of cracked ribs, and a wound to your head. Fortunately, no serious damage to the organs. So please lie back. The doctor will be in to see you later. Oh, and there’s a detective here who wants to talk to you about the assault. I’ll send him in.”

  The assault. Now I remembered the man inside my apartment, punching and kicking me, trying to stab me. I felt a sudden rush of fear for Josh.

  “Where’s Josh?” I asked.

  “The young man who came in at the same time as you?”

  “Yes, can I speak to him?”

  The nurse frowned. “Not yet, dear. He’s in surgery.”

  “What?” I sat up again. “Is he badly hurt?”

  “Stab wounds, I believe, but I don’t have the details. Now please lie down. You’ve been through a traumatic attack and your body needs to rest. I’ll be back very soon.”

  I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm my pounding heart. Last night there had been no aura around Josh. That meant he wouldn’t die. But he was hurt, and it was my fault. Tears welled in my eyes. I looked for a box of tissues but couldn’t see one. I wiped them away with my fist, my bathrobe was folded neatly on a chair, and there was no sign of my purse or shoes. I realized I was dressed only in a hospital gown, but I didn’t remember arriving at the hospital. I didn’t remember anything after that last brutal kick. I dabbed at my nose and face with a corner of the bed sheet, waiting for Inspector Clarke to arrive.

  It was hard to swallow my disappointment when my visitor came in. Not Inspector Clarke, but someone called Hopkins from the local police station. He looked around, and moved my clothes to the bottom of the bed so he could drag the chair over closer to me. He was stick thin, with sparse hair combed to one side and a voice that sounded as though he was speaking through a mouthful of sand.

  “When the police responded to an emergency call, we found a young man bleeding and you unconscious in the hallway of your flat. The door was open. Yet there was no sign of forced entry or of a robbery. Do you remember what happened?”

  “Only that I was attacked by someone in my apartment. He kicked me and stabbed Josh in the leg. Can you find Inspector Clarke at Scotland Yard? This is to do with a case he’s investigating, I’m sure of it.”

  Hopkins, not replying, wrote something down in a notebook.

  “Please listen to what I’m saying,” I said. “I need to talk with Inspector Clarke. The man who attacked me had been following me earlier in the day.”

  “Local jurisdiction,” was all he said, still scribbling with his wretched scratchy pencil. “What else do you remember?”

  I wanted to tear the notebook from his hands, shred it, and break his pencil into tiny pieces. He looked up with an eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer.

  “Can I borrow your phone? I really need to call Inspector Clarke,” I begged.

  “When I’ve finished asking questions, I will try to contact him for you. So, tell me about this man that you say was following you. What did he look like?”

  I described him. “I think it was the man who attacked me because I saw he was wearing a wool coat. I felt it just before I passed out.”

  “Half the men in London are wearing wool coats. It is winter. Although strictly speaking, it’s autumn, but you know what I mean.” Hopkins scribbled again. “And what do you think this has to do with the other case you mentioned?”

  “It’s complicated. If I could just talk to Inspector Clarke, that would be easier. I have something really important to tell him.”

  Hopkins sighed. “Do you have his number?”

  “No, I don’t have my phone with me.”

  Hopkins stuck his pencil in his pocket and pushed himself to his feet. For such a thin man, he made the action look like hard work, as though he were moving a heavy weight.

  “Give me a few minutes.”

  He pushed his way through the curtain, which caught on his shoulder and trailed after him until he moved out of reach. It fell silently back into place. Alone again, I lay back on the pillows and tried to convince myself that Josh would be all right. It seemed to take a long time before Hopkins returned, cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “Right,” he said. “I see. Yes, sir. I will.” He gave the phone to me. “The Inspector wants to talk to you.”

  “Kate, I’m so sorry.” Clarke’s voice faded in and out on a weak signal. “I’m going to come to the hospital as soon as I can. Do you know how long they plan on keeping you in?”

  “No. I’ll ask the nurse when she comes back. How long will you be? Can you get here soon? I have something I must tell you. It’s important.”

  There was a short silence, as though Clarke were deciding whether to change his plans.

  “Something has come up that may be relevant to Rebecca’s case. I need to deal with it, and then I’ll come.”

  He sounded distracted, and very serious.

  “I want to speak to Hopkins again. Can you pass me over?”

  From Hopkins’ side of the conversation, I gathered that he wasn’t happy. His face flushed red, he answered in monosyllables. Finally he snapped the phone shut.

  “I have to stay with you until DI Clarke gets here,” he said. “For your own protection, in case your alleged attacker comes looking for you.�
�

  I hadn’t thought about the possibility of the man trying again. The thought churned my stomach. “What about Josh? Will he be safe?” I asked.

  “I imagine so, in a surgery room with half a dozen doctors,” Hopkins replied. I caught the sarcastic tone in his voice and glared at him.

  “I’m tired. I’m going to try to sleep,” I said, closing my eyes. In fact, I was wide awake and jittery. I wondered if the pain meds had that effect. But pretending to sleep was better than talking to Hopkins.

  When I opened my eyes again, I had no idea how much time had passed. In the windowless cubicle, the light was the same, but my IV bag was nearly empty so I guessed I must have dozed for a while. Hopkins glanced up from his newspaper when I stirred.

  “You’re awake,” he said, stating the obvious as though declaring the discovery of gravity. He looked at his watch. “It’s been two hours. Inspector Clarke should be here soon.”

  He nodded towards a tray of food on the table next to the bed. “They brought that in a few minutes ago. If you don’t eat it, I will. I’m starving.”

  “Help yourself,” I said, nauseated by the thought of food. Just as Hopkins took his first bite of something white and glutinous from the plate, Inspector Clarke came in through the curtains. He gave Hopkins a dismissive look before moving to my bedside. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Just some bruising and a couple of broken ribs, they say. But Josh was stabbed. Have you heard anything about him?”

  Clarke’s face was impassive. “Yes, I checked. He’s out of surgery. Fortunately no major arteries damaged and he will mend quickly.” He paused. “Lucky for you he stayed the night, from what I heard. He probably saved your life.”

  I nodded.

  “Your neighbors heard a lot of noise so they called emergency services. The suspect ran past them on the stairs and was gone well before the ambulance arrived.”