Hung in the Balance (Simpson & Lowe Detective series Book 1)

by Ormerod, Roger

  ‘All right. If you’re going to be sticky.’

  I inclined my head. Sticky I intended to be.

  ‘You know that poppa committed suicide? Of course you do — you were there then. At Fellowes and Simple. A quarter of a million pounds went missing out of the accounts, and of course poppa, being Chief Cashier…oh, he was so stupid. Momma’s told me. I was only thirteen. She told me he had to accept responsibility. Stupid, stupid.’ She thumped her little fist on her shapely thigh. ‘It wasn’t as though he’d taken it himself. I mean, a measly quarter of a million. He’d have made a better job of it than that, poppa would. But he went and took an overdose, and left me and momma on our own. And other people resigned, in sympathy they said. Now isn’t that really ridiculous! How can resigning express anything? But anyway, Graham was one of them, and nobody, nobody at all, has ever traced that money. So I thought I would. I mean, when you look at it, Graham was the one who controlled the cash-flow, with those machines of his. So I thought I’d have a go.’

  This she had poured out in a steady stream, almost without pausing for breath. In fact, she was breathing heavily now, her neat little bosom rising and falling.

  ‘Are you really expecting me to believe,’ I asked quietly, ‘that you thought you could succeed, when there must’ve been dozens of experts on it?’

  ‘Why not?’ The confidence bounced forward again, strong enough to be challenging. ‘When I grew up…’ She smiled a tiny, complacent smile. ‘…I found I’d got better qualifications than any of them.’

  ‘How silly of me. Of course. So how did you come to meet Graham in Leicester Square? Coincidence?’

  ‘Not really. I’d been following him.’

  ‘You’d been following Graham — I suppose you mean from Penley? Yes? All the way to London? Graham? We’re talking about two different people,’ I decided.

  She laughed lightly, delicate scorn in it. ‘Of course we’re not…silly.’

  I can call myself silly. I don’t particularly like other people doing it. Perhaps a hint of impatience crept into my voice.

  ‘Graham rarely left the cottage. Not in my time. Anna says the same. How could he possibly —’

  ‘You don’t have to believe what she says. Lying cow. The last year — eighteen months — he was out and about, all over the place.’

  ‘So you followed him to London and to Leicester Square, and didn’t speak to him until then? Why wait? A train journey’s an ideal time for that sort of contact.’

  ‘I wanted to see where he was going.’

  ‘Ah yes. Some hidden hideaway, where he’d go to count his secret hoard of money?’

  ‘You can be difficult, can’t you! I followed him to see which bank he might go to. I was going to try to hear what name he was using.’

  ‘And did he? Go to a bank and use a name?’

  ‘No. He went to an art place off Bond Street.’

  I was beginning to understand. Anna had mentioned he’d been selling his paintings. ‘And what did he do there?’

  ‘He bought a painting.’

  ‘Bought one?’ Now I was completely confused.

  ‘Yes. He’d got it under his arm when I spoke to him in Leicester Square.’

  ‘Did he show it to you?’

  ‘No. It was wrapped. Well, it would be.’

  ‘All right.’ I shook my head, unable to make sense of it. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘It happened. Everything. He looked at me and spoke to me, and everything changed. My whole life turned over, and I knew it’d happened — to me. To me! When I’d thought it’d never…’

  I let the rest of it stream over me like warm treacle. She’d been nineteen. She’d thought she’d missed out on romance, being so obsessed with rectifying a wrong. Then the two aspects of it had come together, and hit her smack between the eyes. She’d fallen for her chief suspect. And suddenly, what had surely been nothing more complex than a game became very serious. Its objective was the same. Graham. His significance in her life changed — that was all there was to it.

  ‘And after that?’ I encouraged her.

  ‘Every time he left the cottage, wherever he went — all over the country — he’d let me know. And we’d meet. And he’d stay the night at a hotel, me with him. He used another name. Other names,’ she corrected.

  I thought perhaps I knew those other names. All five of them. To my amusement, she was now glowing with the memory, becoming altogether a softer and more friendly young woman. Graham, clearly, had deflected her offensive. I knew exactly how she’d felt about him. With an abrupt stab that nearly took my breath away, I felt it again.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said, to disperse the image, ‘and this is purely personal, woman to woman, how did you manage to conduct this strangely schizophrenic relationship?’

  At first, being appealed to, she had leaned forward attentively, but then she drew back. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Well…there was your main objective, to discover whether he’d got the money and how you could get your hands on it, and at the same time you were in love with him. You say.’

  ‘I was, and he was,’ she claimed fiercely, her eyes snapping ice cold. ‘And I still don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Now come along, Catriona. Did you whisper financial secrets during those long hot nights in hotel beds? Before, during or after? Or did love triumph, and all mundane matters —’

  ‘It wasn’t like that! You’re not to say such things! All you want to do is destroy it for me, because you’re jealous of our happiness. I loved him. He naturally talked to me. About everything. We’d got no secrets. You want to destroy all I’ve got left of him…’

  Her lower lip quivered, but I couldn’t, really, find much sympathy for her.

  ‘If it’s all you’ve got left,’ I pointed out gently, ‘why spoil it yourself, with this sordid quest for the money?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I want to prove,’ she said, no louder than an angry hiss, ‘that it wasn’t Graham who had the money. Then the memory will be safe.’

  Lord love us, I thought. The poor misguided romantic little fool. Was she going to base her life on such idealistic claptrap? And did she expect me to believe it?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, not wishing to snatch her away from her dreams. ‘Clearly, you never took time out to ask him. Didn’t he say? Didn’t he hint that he’d got money hidden away? And where.’

  The answer suddenly meant a lot to me. How could I believe Graham had left messages for me, had given me clues that he was waiting for me to come to him, if he’d planned to share it with this emotional and beautiful young creature. Or was it I who was the poor, misguided romantic fool?

  She said flatly, ‘I’m telling you nothing.’

  ‘You must have gained an impression. You’d need that proof you mentioned, if only for yourself. To frame his memory, as you suggested.’

  ‘How beautifully you phrase your snide remarks.’

  ‘Did he promise you anything?’ I had to know that.

  ‘He promised me the world, if you want to know. Anything I wanted. Give him another year, he said. I didn’t want to wait another year. He was already a wealthy man. You could tell. The best hotels. Taxis everywhere. Things…things I might fancy, he gave me. I could’ve taken what I wanted, but I could wait. I could wait, but not too long. And I waited and waited, because I loved him, and left it too late. Somebody killed him, and I’ve lost everything. And you…all you can do is tease me and taunt me, because you don’t know what it’s like. You can’t ever understand. And I wish I’d never said a word to you.’

  With that she got to her feet and walked away rapidly. I was still taking in the fact that she’d said ‘killed’. So I wasn’t the only one who queried that inquest verdict. I was also cursing myself for having been so indelicate with her. She must have known the answer to the mystery of his buying paintings, when he was intent on selling them. Now, perhaps, I would never know that answer.

  I then realized
that she had been unintentionally hiding the fact that a man was sitting on the bench seat opposite, beneath a reproduction of The Fighting Temeraire. I had no doubt he’d come in quietly and arranged his positioning. He smiled as he saw I’d recognized him, that cherubic and placid smile I recalled so well. I’d had a few contacts with him at Fellowes and Simple, when I’d had to ask him to vet rather complex employment contracts. Rupert Maguire. Company solicitor.

  He rose to his feet, not very high because he was a short, plump man, always dressed in three-piece suits, which were tailored around his pot. The smile could be deceptive. It enveloped his pink, round face in a mask of amiability. He was, I’d found, as amiable as an anaconda, plump with the ingestion of yet another incautious victim.

  ‘Ms Lowe…’ He extended a hand, palm downwards. ‘How convenient. I did want a word with you.’

  I hesitated. They were waiting in ambush all around me. ‘I really…’

  ‘An impetuous young woman, that Catriona Steele, don’t you think. And foolish, to think she could succeed where the best accountants have failed.’

  ‘You were listening?’

  ‘Of course.’ He indicated the bench seat beside him. The hand was for gesturing with, not shaking, for which I was relieved. I’d shaken it before. Not a pleasant experience.

  I pointedly took the chair facing him. His eyes flickered beneath his bushy, dark eyebrows. He’d realized my choice had been deliberate.

  ‘I have very little time, Mr Maguire.’

  ‘At the office it was Rupert.’

  I shrugged. We were wasting time. ‘If you don’t mind —’

  His lips pursed into a revolting girlish pout. ‘Very well. The nitty-gritty, as we say in the business. You must have realized why I’m here. Graham’s death. I’d already come to the conclusion that he was the operator of the embezzlement, though I still believe it was masterminded by someone else. Most likely Archer Steele. But I’m satisfied the bulk of the missing funds remains in Graham’s hands. Remained, I should say.’

  ‘You’re satisfied? That’s all right, then.’

  His tawny brown eyes fixed themselves on me for one second of pure hatred, then it was gone. His plump cheeks had not for one moment hesitated in their task of grouping themselves round the edges of his smile.

  ‘Let me say right away that I understand your edginess. You’re in a difficult position, Philipa. As I understand it, you’re expecting to rely for your inheritance on a very slim point of law relating to an irregularity in the divorce proceedings.’

  ‘How did you come to understand that?’

  He shrugged, a little shudder disturbing his shoulders. ‘Just accept that I do, then I’ll waste less of your time. I wanted to say that if it came to a dispute, you could rely on the financial backing of Fellowes and Simple — myself, in practice — to put it through smoothly.’

  ‘Smoothly?’

  ‘My understanding is that Anna Treadgold could be persuaded, with a small financial inducement, not to oppose your actions.’

  Could she indeed! This was a further indication that Anna didn’t know the sum of money involved.

  ‘Quite frankly,’ I said, ‘I don’t care what she does.’

  Unmoved by this, he placidly sailed ahead. ‘Equally, of course, if she did wish to oppose you legally, we might be prepared to back her, in which case…no final and specific details have been mentioned, of course…in which case she would accept ten per cent of the complete value of the estate, signing the rest over to Fellowes and Simple.’

  Which, though he didn’t have to enlarge on it, probably meant himself. ‘That would be very foolish of her. Perhaps I’d better warn her…give her a quiet tip. You know, I’ve got an idea that Anna and I would get along much more smoothly without a lot of high-powered legal assistance. Now…if you’ll excuse me.’

  ‘I hadn’t finished.’ He said it like olive oil sliding over a block of ice.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘My suggestion is…’ He twisted his lips at me horridly. ‘…that in order to bypass this high-powered legal assistance you mentioned, we might make a deal. No opposition at all. Anna Treadgold paid to remain silent. Then, on final receipt, you would be allowed to retain twenty per cent of it, without —’

  ‘You must be insane.’

  ‘Without,’ he forced through those harassed lips, ‘any query as to its illegal origin.’

  I got to my feet. ‘I can’t say it’s been nice to meet you —’

  ‘Sit down, please.’

  ‘Go to…’

  He reached forward and rested a hand on a bare portion of my arm. It was as though a leech had clamped itself wetly on me. With an effort I restrained a shudder, looking down at his hand. Then it was gone, and was performing a fandango of joyfulness in the air, before it indicated my chair. ‘Please. The next bit’s for you personally, and — no fee.’

  Heavens, a pleasantry! I sat. ‘Say it then.’

  ‘It may not have occurred to you,’ he went on quietly, his head much too close to mine, ‘that you are flaunting around an expectation of receiving a large amount of money. You may not be concerned about its origin. Be that as it may. But surely you must realize that your expectation rests on the very slim question of the legality of the divorce. No… I’m not going to repeat that we could swamp you with lawyers. This is a friendly warning, Philipa, as former colleagues. Only one single circumstance separates Anna Treadgold from that money. I don’t believe she yet realizes how much could be involved. But if she were to hear this — shall we say from a reliable source? — then that special circumstance could become very important. To you. I hope you realize what I mean, my dear. I’m referring to your continuing existence. A large number of people would prefer Anna to have the money. Oh yes.’

  His eyes twinkled. His bushy eyebrows lifted archly. I got to my feet with difficulty and looked down at him. ‘How very kind of you to consider my welfare, Mr Maguire. I can’t say I have the same feelings for yours.’

  Then, my legs uncertain, shaking through and through and chilled to the bone, I walked steadily out of the lounge and up the stairs to my room.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, not certain whether it was fear or rage that shook me, not far from desperate tears, which would get me nowhere. Eventually, some positive action being the only thing that would jolt me out of it, I ferreted in my bag for its separated sections, and snapped one into the other so that Cornel’s little pop-gun became a distinct and warm comfort, lying there in my palm.

  But Rupert Maguire had served a useful purpose. I had, previous to our meeting, been considering what actions I might take to clarify the mysteries around me, but without vast enthusiasm. That had now revitalized itself. I couldn’t wait to get something moving, and then he could stick his threats.

  I looked out into the street. It seemed no longer to be raining, and my anorak was unfit for use at the moment anyway, so I opened up the suitcase to see what Cornel had brought me and discovered that Marietta had put in a smart black furry jacket I’d got from Fellini’s on Fifth Avenue, and the straight-pleated grey skirt I’d found at Gerhardt’s in Detroit. While I was at it, I unloaded it all into drawers and wardrobe. Quite clever, Marietta is. She’s able to imagine the most impossible of circumstances I might encounter, and cover for them. We’d had this arrangement for the past year. She had a key to my flat, and I’d phone her if I got stuck in the wilds of Kentucky or somewhere.

  Feeling confident in my change of outfit, I went out again into the dark streets, didn’t check to see whether Oliver Simpson was doing his watchdog act, realized I’d left it late and the shops were closing, and just managed to nip into one of those DIY places in time to buy a torch. They locked the doors on my heels. I went back to The Carlton, changed the furry jacket for a patterned blouse to please Cornel, and knocked on his door.

  I’d hoped he would join me for dinner, but there was no response. But of course — where would he be but in the bar?

  It was there
that I found him, amusing a group of locals with a wildly exaggerated picture of New York in the winter. Not too wild, though. New York winters don’t need exaggeration.

  He caught my eye. He signalled, but no I didn’t intend to join him. I jerked my head. In this way does a lady invite a gentleman to dinner.

  We went together into the dining room, me sedately with my hand on his arm. Dear old Nel, he walked upright and, I swear, with pride.

  9

  ‘There,’ I said. ‘That’s Anna Treadgold and her brother.’

  He leaned sideways. ‘Yes. They were in the bar.’

  ‘And the others…’ I paused. Now they had two tables together, and the group had grown. ‘Those two tables over there, her father and mother and I think her two sisters.’

  Every one of them looked as though they would slit your throat for a bag of jelly babies.

  ‘I know. They were in the bar too.’

  ‘Hell! And the others…’

  ‘Graham’s father and brother and a cousin, seemed to me.’

  ‘Yes. I remember now.’ They’d been at the wedding, three huge presences that cast rather a blight. Their Graham had been the pride of the pack, a throw-back, or the result of an adventure with the milkman by Mrs Tonkin. Something had to explain the contrast between Graham’s brains and the empty, beer-sodden heads of the rest of them. And, possibly, explain his mother’s early demise? But Graham had clearly been pleased to get away from them, and we hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them since the wedding.

  ‘I wish they hadn’t seen us together, Nel.’

  ‘Guessed you might. Why d’ya think I sat behind this damned palm thing?’

  ‘Clever Nel.’

  He pounced on that eagerly. ‘You got something in mind?’

  ‘For me, Nel. Something I want to do. You can be back marker for me.’

  ‘Now…that ain’t fair.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry, you’ll be working. And it could turn out to be vitally important.’

  ‘That’s for me, then.’ He canted his head. ‘What? I mean, I ain’t had time to get that topcoat you mentioned.’