False Charity

by Veronica Heley

  Sunday, early hours of the morning, continued

  Someone was waiting for Noel on the first-floor landing outside his flat.

  ‘Remember me?’

  At first Noel couldn’t place the little man, taking him for a beggar who had somehow managed to gain entrance to the flats when another resident had gone in or out of the front door. ‘Out of my way, old man.’

  ‘I am making a citizen’s arrest,’ the pompous old prick said, grasping Noel’s sleeve.

  ‘What the …!’ Noel shook him off. ‘Go home and sleep it off, do you hear?’

  ‘I want my money and I’m not leaving till I get it.’

  Noel laughed, short and sharp. ‘If you don’t get out of my way immediately, it’ll be on your head.’

  The little man drew himself up to his inconsiderable height – Noel topped him by six inches – and ran his forefinger left and right over his almost non-existent moustache. ‘My name is—’

  ‘Wait a minute. I remember you. At the Country Club? Weren’t you the waiter in charge of the wine or something?’

  ‘I provided all the wines for that evening,’ said Leo, with dignity, ‘for which I have not yet been paid. It’s taken me some time to track you down, Mr Noel Briggs – or whatever your name is – but now I’ve found you, I’m not leaving till I get my money.’

  ‘My name is not Briggs,’ said Noel, automatically. ‘You have the wrong man.’

  Leo produced a bundle of soiled and torn bills. ‘Once I’m on the trail, I never let up. I watched outside your accommodation address this afternoon till I saw you leave, and I followed you all the way here. To make sure I’d got the right person, I’ve spent hours going through all the rubbish downstairs in the various bins till I found the proof I needed. Your mother rents flat number four under the name of Briggs and we are outside flat number four at this very minute.’

  ‘Mistaken identity. Come back tomorrow afternoon when my mother’s here, and you can talk to her about … whatever.’

  Leo flourished the papers. ‘By tomorrow afternoon you may well have flitted. I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to return for hours, and I’m not leaving till this is settled. Look, here’s a pile of envelopes addressed to Mrs Somers-Briggs at the accommodation address which we know you’ve been using, and some spoiled tickets for the affair tonight at the hotel. That ties you and your mother into the false charity. Here are some letters from people you’ve cheated out of their pay-packets; this one is from a singer, and another here from a car rental company. They give the licence number of that red car you’ve been driving, Mr Briggs, and say your first cheque has unfortunately not been honoured. Oh, I’ve got the right person all right.’

  Noel drew his mouth back into a rictus. ‘Old man, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop right there. I’m in no mood to listen to your whinging. And there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. You’re on private premises which means you’re trespassing, and I can throw you out at any time I like.’

  ‘Fisticuffs, eh?’ Leo thrust his papers back into his pocket and put his hands up in a boxing stance. ‘Well, come on, then. I used to box a bit, you know.’

  Noel laughed, but his anger grew. ‘As if …! I could swat you as easily as I kill a fly.’

  Leo danced up and down on his toes. ‘Go on, then! It looks as if you’ve been fighting already this evening. Been beating up a girl? That’s about your weight, isn’t it?’

  Noel reddened. ‘I’ve killed before, and if you know what’s good for you …’

  Leo knew the truth when he heard it. His mouth gaped in shock.

  Noel realized he’d said too much.

  Leo turned to run, but before he could reach the first stair, Noel caught him a blow on the back of his shoulder. Leo tumbled down the stairs and lay still, arms flung up above his head. Eyes closed.

  Noel hung on to the railing, breathing hard, listening. Had anyone else heard?

  Silence. Nobody had heard, or perhaps the other people on this floor were out for the evening and hadn’t returned yet.

  Noel pulled his sleeve across his mouth. He hadn’t intended to kill the little man, but if he had … well, it wasn’t his fault, was it? Noel had warned him, not once but twice.

  Now what was he to do? His mother would know, but she wasn’t back yet. She ought to be back. She oughtn’t to have left him all alone. She was probably out celebrating somewhere with Richie, which was most unfair.

  So, Noel would have to manage things by himself. He crept down the stairs and bent over the body in an effort to find a pulse. He was nervous, couldn’t find one. Perhaps wasn’t doing it right. He shrugged. Surely the man was dead. It was just so easy to kill, wasn’t it?

  Furious with everyone but himself, cursing the evil fate that dogged him this evening, Noel went through Leo’s pockets, removed his mobile phone, some twenty-pound notes from his wallet, and the paperwork he’d so painstakingly disinterred from the bin. He hoisted Leo on to his shoulder and took him down the stairs into the basement, dumping him with the rubbish bins at the back of the garage area. The bins wouldn’t be emptied till the following Thursday, by which time Noel would be long gone.

  Noel went back up the stairs, got out his keyring and let himself into the flat. Time to pack.

  Twenty

  Sunday, early hours of the morning

  What Noel had no way of knowing was that it had been a point of honour for Leo to keep himself fit. Yes, he looked rickety, but his heart and lungs were sound.

  Leo had been stunned by the fall, but not killed. He came back to consciousness slowly. It took him some time to work out where he was, and then to check that his arms and legs were still functioning. He rather thought he’d cracked a rib and he was bruised all over, but good heavens, he’d suffered worse than that in his time, hadn’t he?

  He staggered up the slope from the garage to the street, only to find a large car bearing down upon him. He was caught in the headlights. There was no escape. It would be just his luck to be trapped on the ramp by the rest of the gang!

  In fact, the car was occupied by a middle-aged couple from one of the top flats, returning from a late night out. And they had a mobile phone on them.

  Richie was a careful driver, sometimes a little slow for Lena’s taste. Tonight there was hardly any traffic on the roads, but he still slowed for intersections and stopped for red lights.

  Lena wept a little, and then began to make plans.

  ‘We’d better shift from the flat tomorrow morning. Once we’re away, they won’t know how to lay hands on us. The air tickets and the new passports are in the desk. On Monday I can use my laptop to tell the bank to cancel the transaction. It could be worse. We’ve lost the cheques and that cash … and my diamonds. I can soon replace them.’

  Richie said, ‘I told you Noel was bad news. I think he ought to see a doctor.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with him bar high spirits. He’s so attractive to women, it’s not surprising that they fall over themselves to … and if he does lash out occasionally, well, it’s just that he doesn’t know his own strength.’

  ‘I don’t blame you for sticking up for him, Lena, but this is where I bow out. I’ll change my air ticket tomorrow for another destination, and let you know where to send my cut.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose you, Richie.’ And perhaps she meant it, in a way.

  He was silent. He was sorry for her, a little. He didn’t think Noel was ever going to be anything but trouble with a capital T.

  He turned into the road in which their block of flats lay, and put on the brakes.

  ‘What …!’

  For a count of five, he stared at a police car parked slightly askew outside the front door of the flats.

  She whispered, ‘What?’

  Richie took his foot off the brakes and drove on past the flats and round the corner. He found a space and parked. ‘Ring Noel on his mobile. You’ve got yours on you, haven’t you?’

  She delved into her bag
with shaking hands. ‘The police … it can’t be anything to do with Noel. Can it?’ She pressed numbers, swore with vexation. ‘I can’t, my fingers are slippery.’

  He took out his own mobile, and pressed numbers. They could hear the phone ringing at the other end. An ambulance, lights flashing, crossed the road behind them, followed by another. The phone at the other end went unanswered.

  Richie said, ‘Can you think of any reason why Noel isn’t answering his mobile phone? Unless he’s been prevented from doing so.’

  ‘He might be with a girl. I don’t understand why the police should want to home in on Noel now. The hotel people wouldn’t have called them in, would they?’ She answered her own question. ‘No, of course not. They don’t know where to find him and anyway, they stand to lose too much. That Abbot woman is not the sort to double-cross us. No, the presence of the police is nothing to do with Noel.’

  ‘I don’t believe that and neither do you, really. As the man said, Noel’s running out of control. We know he’s killed before. Suppose he’s killed again?’

  She made a move to get out of the car. ‘He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The police, the ambulances, they’re nothing to do with him. Someone’s been taken ill, that’s all.’

  He reached out and held on to her arm. ‘Hold it right there. We don’t want to walk into an ambush, do we? You stay here. Take off your wig and make-up, put on one of the jackets I keep in the back of the car. I’ll see if I can find out what’s happening.’ He took off his dinner jacket, fished a dark sweater out from the back of the car, and pulled it on. Then he set off down the street, hands in pockets, a man out taking a stroll in the dark.

  Lena did as she was bid, transforming herself from glamorous party-goer to elderly frump. Her own hair was pepper and salt, fading from red. The jacket she huddled into was too large, but covered her evening dress. She sat on in the car, fidgeting, her iron control breaking up.

  Ten minutes. She kept looking at her watch. Fifteen. She’d give Richie one more minute and then go looking for him.

  Richie slid back into the car. ‘The ambulances stopped outside the flats. A man was being helped into the first one when I arrived. I couldn’t see his face. A small man, elderly. A policeman went with him. That ambulance was driven off straight away. Then after a few minutes, Noel was brought down in handcuffs, between two policemen. It looked as if they’d been in a fight.’

  ‘Oh, no! Poor Noel! What have they done to him?’

  ‘You’d best ask what he did to the policeman who went in the ambulance with him. Cracked his jaw, I think. There’s not just one but three police cars outside now. There’s not enough cover around for me to stick around, but I spotted a couple we know slightly, they live in one of the top floor flats, looks as if they’ve just come back from an evening out. They’re talking to another couple of policemen.’

  ‘Which means …?’

  ‘It means Noel’s been losing his temper again. First the elderly man, and then a policeman. You might be able to talk the police out of charging Noel for attacking an old man, but not out of assaulting one of their own.’

  ‘Noel’s hurt?’

  ‘Walking wounded. Whatever he’s done or not done, he’s in police custody, and that means the flat’s out of bounds.’

  As the truth of this sank in, Lena ground her teeth. ‘My clothes, my jewellery, my laptop.’ At this she stifled a cry. ‘My laptop! If I can’t get at that … no, I have the passwords in my notebook, don’t I? I can still cancel the payment, and then we can get a good lawyer to represent Noel, and replace everything we’ve lost.’

  She scrabbled in her evening bag, upending it on her lap. With nervous fingers she sought for that all-important notebook, but it was not there. As the truth sunk in, she whimpered. ‘I must have dropped it at the hotel!’

  ‘Surely, you can go to the bank on Monday and—’

  She was becoming hysterical. ‘Idiot! I’d have to prove my identity, show them bills, credit cards, chequebooks, all that sort of thing, and that’s all back at the flat. I haven’t even got my credit cards on me.’

  He fished a wallet out of his pocket. ‘I’ve some.’

  ‘Yes, but they don’t identify me, do they? If they’ve got Noel … we don’t know for what or if it’s safe to … those dreadful people at the hotel said that if he did anything else … they’ll testify against him and I’m sure those women egged him on and …’

  He scratched a bristly chin. ‘There’s the small matter of the barman as well. You can’t deny that Noel killed him.’

  ‘It wasn’t murder, it was manslaughter, it was a mistake.’ She was feverish. ‘Anyway, there’s no way the police can connect the barman with us. I’m sure it’s safe to go back to the flat.’

  ‘You know it isn’t. Sorry, Lena, but I’m overruling you on this. We’ll go out to my brother in Greenwich for the rest of the night. I’ve got a bag of my things out there already, remember? His wife can lend you some clothes, and tomorrow you can find out what’s happened to Noel, what they’ve got him for. Then you can get him a brief, who’ll see if he can get Noel out on bail, right? Only then can you judge whether it’s safe to go back to the flat or not.’

  ‘But our flights are for tomorrow.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said, starting up the car again. ‘Passports, tickets, access to the money, everything’s out of reach.’

  She whispered to herself, rather than to him, ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘There’s Noel’s camera in the back, and the money he took for the photographs.’

  ‘If he gets bail, he’ll need his camera.’

  ‘If he’s assaulted a policeman, he won’t get bail.’

  Silence. She didn’t want to believe him.

  He said, ‘Whether he gets bail or not, I think I’ll go back up north. I can always get gigs in the working men’s clubs. Come with me?’

  Her brain was starting to work again. ‘What would I do up there? I need to stay down here to see what I can do for Noel. I’ll get myself some decent clothes from second-hand boutiques or charity shops. I know someone who runs an escort agency and would be glad to have me work for her. That’s more in my line.’

  He nodded but he was thinking that she was probably getting a bit long in the tooth for that kind of work. Once or twice over the years, he’d thought of offering to marry her, but he knew – deep down – that it would never work.

  Sunday, morning

  Bea slept late, showered, pulled on some casual clothes, brushed her hair but didn’t bother with make-up. She yawned her way down to the kitchen in a bemused state. She could hardly believe what had happened the previous night. Had they really faced down a gang of con men and come out on the winning side? Perhaps she’d dreamed it. But if she hadn’t dreamed it, any credit due must go to Oliver.

  And oh, poor Maggie. When they’d got back from the hotel, Bea had helped the girl in and out of a hot shower, and then put her to bed with some painkillers and a glass of hot milk. Presumably the girl was still asleep, for there was no sign of her in the kitchen.

  Piers followed Bea into the kitchen, also yawning. He’d had to resume his evening dress, and hadn’t bothered to shave or brush his hair. He didn’t even say Good morning, but stumbled on to a stool at the table while she made a cafetière of coffee, strong and black. She thought of offering to lend him some of Hamilton’s clothes, but didn’t bother, for they’d never have fitted him.

  She rather thought the phone had been ringing on and off while she’d been on her way downstairs, but presumably somebody – Oliver? – had attended to it. Nobody in their senses could expect her to attend to business this morning. Anyway, it was Sunday, wasn’t it? Her day off.

  She found a tin of frozen croissants in the freezer and stumbled around, preparing them for the oven. Piers looked as leaden-eyed as she felt.

  Oliver came running up the stairs from the basement, all excitement. Good Lord, all that energy! How did he do it? ‘You’ll never guess,’ he s
aid, his voice too loud for her ears, his gestures too wide. ‘It took some time but I’ve been working on her little book, and I’ve got into all the accounts she’s still got running. There’s not all that much in the other accounts, a couple of hundred here and there, but we’d be justified in taking that for charity too, wouldn’t we?’

  Piers yawned, pouring coffee into mugs. ‘Cut the volume, will you, youngster?’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. But it’s so exciting, isn’t it? I’ve been up for hours, you see, and it seemed like, well, meant that she forgot her book. Oh, I took a cuppa up to Maggie about an hour ago, but she was still asleep so I didn’t disturb her. She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?’

  Bea nodded. Speech was still beyond her. She put the croissants into the oven, and took the first sip from the mug of coffee that Piers pushed in her direction.

  Nothing was going to dampen Oliver’s enthusiasm. ‘What I think is that we ought to set aside a fair amount for bills we haven’t got in yet. Leo’s isn’t in yet, is it? I suppose he’ll surface some time today. He said he’d struck pay dirt yesterday. I wonder what he found out.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Bea, not really caring, thinking that after they’d eaten, she might go back to bed for a while with a trashy novel and some Belgian chocolates.

  Oliver looked at his watch. ‘Oh, and Ms McNeice just phoned and is coming round straight away.’

  Bea groaned, and closed her eyes.

  Piers said, ‘Couldn’t you have put her off? Bea, the croissants are burning.’

  Oliver looked uncertain. ‘She said it was urgent.’ The front doorbell rang, and he went to answer it. Bea concentrated on putting plates, knives, butter and jam on the table, while Piers reached for the first hot croissant, burned his fingers, and blew on them. Serve him right if he did get his fingers burned.

  Oliver ushered Ms McNeice into the room. The hotel manageress was as point-device as ever, flashing black earrings and all. She was smiling and very wide awake.