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

by Ormerod, Roger

  ‘In any event,’ I said firmly, ‘the papers I was looking for…’

  ‘Which were in the loft?’

  ‘Yes. Those papers, which I was certain would be in a hiding place I knew in the loft, were really ones my solicitor would need for that probating you mentioned.’

  ‘Ah yes. You could always fall back on that,’ he agreed, quite seeing my point, understanding my philosophy so closely that I could have hit him. ‘But you haven’t yet delivered them to Mr Remington?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Never mind. Oh… I nearly forgot. I did forget.’ He glanced sideways at Oliver, who seemed to jerk awake. ‘Why don’t you keep an eye on me, Inspector! Here I am, forgetting to tell Miss Lowe that she can have her solicitor here, if she wishes.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said coldly.

  ‘Of course not. We’re a long way from that. Where were we? Oh yes, you’d got the papers in your briefcase and…’

  ‘The light was on downstairs, and I thought it was Anna, so I dropped the briefcase through the bedroom window and found it wasn’t her after all.’ He’d got me jabbering, trying to get it out before he said it for me.

  ‘Ha!’ He threw back his head, laughing. ‘A new offence: breaking and exiting. You broke the window and exited the briefcase. Oh yes, I like that.’ Then, with no change of expression, he went on, ‘But what I can’t understand is why, when you saw it was Inspector Simpson, you didn’t tell him what you’d done. I’m sure he’d have helped you to retrieve it. Isn’t that so, Inspector?’

  Oliver cleared his throat. ‘I’d have been pleased to.’ He still hadn’t looked me directly in the eyes.

  ‘Can you explain that, Miss Lowe?’

  ‘I suppose I was embarrassed,’ I snapped back. ‘I suppose I felt guilty. I suppose I didn’t…didn’t really trust him to let me keep it.’

  Then I got Oliver’s direct and startled gaze. For only a second, though.

  Nel said, ‘Heh! Easy on, chicko.’

  I ignored him, and swept on. ‘So I had to go back for it, like a damned fool — to save you the trouble of saying it — and I got trapped by the Treadgold and Tonkin lot, and they were pickled to the gills and quite unpredictable, so I had to keep running, until I finished up you-know-where.’

  ‘Admirable!’ said Grossman, leaning back. ‘Short and sharp and to the point. We are considering whether charges shall be made against them.’

  ‘So…’ I said. ‘As that’s my statement, perhaps I can leave.’ Though not with much hope.

  ‘Let me see.’ He appeared to think, though I knew he’d already worked out what he was going to say next. ‘Ah yes. There’re just one or two points I’d like to discuss with you. I’d like your comments, and this is nothing to do with what we’ve been discussing, by the way, your comments on a few things.’

  If it was only comments, why did he not switch off the tape deck? Poor absent-minded old chap!

  ‘Always ready to help,’ I said.

  ‘Good. Now, I understand you already know that the dead man in the car was called Costello. There was identification in the car he’d left up at the farmhouse. Ephraim Benjamin Costello. He was a PI. A private investigator, that is, working out of New York, which is how they put it. Did you know that? That’s where his dingy office is, anyway. I had a word with a Captain of the NYPD. Very helpful chap. He said Costello had been one of their men, but he was dismissed for various offences. Apparently, accepting more than his fair share of bribes, and shooting more than the usual quota of civilians. And calling his Commissioner a filthy name. New to me.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve got it written down somewhere. Strange. I never guessed such things could go on. Anyway…where was I? Oh yes, he was a New York PI, but working over here. Any comments on that?’ he asked blandly.

  He had been speaking with a hint of dry humour in his voice, his blue eyes twinkling. He was smooth, so very smooth, and he was ironing me flat. His information had assured that. Oliver had told me no more than that Costello was a PI. Not where, not from where…and heavens, that was the really important bit. I felt as though somebody had jumped on my stomach.

  I shook my head. No comment.

  ‘Now let’s look at another aspect of it shall we,’ he invited, though it had not been a question. ‘I think I’m correct in believing your firm in New York…your partnership…and how convenient it is that we have both of you here! Anyway, I believe you are finding yourself, at this time, in need of finance. In fact, my understanding is that you, Miss Lowe, have been in and around Europe for a month or more, trying to raise money —’

  ‘No,’ I cut in. Something he’d got wrong. I couldn’t help but pounce on it.

  ‘No? I must have it all wrong, then.’

  ‘I’ve been scouting out the background situation on the prospects of opening a branch or two on the continent and in the UK,’ I said stiffly.

  ‘Well then. That’s fine. Which was why, I assumed, you’d need the finance. And your partner?’ He looked past me, raising his eyebrows at Nel. I held my breath.

  ‘I bin out an’ around the States,’ Nel said stoutly, as though defending my honour.

  ‘For locations of branches?’ Grossman asked gently. ‘Or for finance?’

  ‘The rotten lotta bastards!’ Nel burst out. ‘Some of ’em, we got ’em the bleedin’ jobs!’

  And thank you, Nel, I thought. It was about all I had time for, because those twinkling eyes were on me again. I flashed a glance at Oliver. He was staring at me in distress, his greyness now spreading to his cheeks and around his nose.

  ‘So you needed finance,’ murmured Grossman to his tented fingers. ‘What a very embarrassing situation. Sometimes, you know, I find myself regretting I entered such a tiresome profession as this. So exhausting. But it’s revitalizing to realize how much more of stress and strain it can be in business, in an open and competitive market. I mean, the pressures could lead…well, anywhere. Desperation and all that sort of thing. But I’m wandering again. You should really pick me up on this, Inspector, when I wander from my point.’

  And Oliver spoke. I’d thought he’d been struck dumb. ‘I didn’t know what point you’re trying to make, sir.’ Oliver could be just as dry when he tried.

  ‘My point is that Miss Lowe knew exactly where to find the money they needed.’

  ‘I knew nothing about any money until Harvey — Mr Remington — told me.’

  ‘Well yes. I’d expect you to say that. But you can’t expect me to believe you’d be so naïve! The daughter of your so-excellent father. Come now. Be honest with yourself. Your husband resigned from his position when the embezzlement scandal at Fellowes and Simple broke out and started to shout itself from the rooftops.’

  ‘Other people resigned, too.’

  ‘Yes. Two others. One committed suicide. The other is living, I believe, in Brazil. Strange. I’d rather go to prison, myself. Anyway…where were we? …yes. Your husband was the only one who sat it out, quietly in the country, apparently completely dependent on his wife. That’s you. And you wish me to believe you didn’t know, Miss Lowe?’

  ‘I didn’t know. I still don’t know.’

  ‘Then why did you go to such lengths to obtain your husband’s secret accounts from the cottage —’

  ‘Because I didn’t know!’ I said sharply.

  ‘And why, then, go to some trouble to hide what you were doing from Inspector Simpson? Why — if you didn’t know the money was illegal?’

  My mind hunted round for an answer to that one, and from behind me Nel pounced in, ‘Don’tcha say another word, sweetheart. Get y’r lawyer here.’

  Impatiently, I waved him to silence. I was staring down at my shoulder bag on my lap. It was something neutral, so as not to blunt my thoughts. I raised my head.

  ‘Mr Grossman, if I’d known about the money then — before I went to America, which was nearly four years ago — I certainly wouldn’t have known about the situation now. Anything could’ve happened to the money in th
at time.’

  ‘Well of course, of course,’ he said soothingly. ‘And that, I suppose, would have been the reason you hired a New York PI to find out.’

  Yumph! I thought. A trap. ‘I did not do that.’

  ‘But suppose you had…’

  ‘And if I had,’ I shot at him, seeing a sliver of light ahead, ‘he’d have reported back that Graham was living with another woman. Damn it all — he could’ve married her, for all I knew.’

  He was smiling, smiling, so very delighted to have it thrown at him. Thrown to him. ‘But in any event,’ he agreed, quite seeing my point, ‘you could expect he’d have left any money he possessed to her, and so his death wouldn’t have benefited you at all. That is perfectly logical.’ He turned to Oliver. ‘Don’t you think so, Inspector?’

  ‘Perfectly logical,’ said Oliver thickly, as though his lips had stuck together.

  ‘But in practice, Costello would have reported to you that Graham had not married her.’ Grossman had not for one moment lost the scent.

  ‘I did not hire the man,’ I said tersely.

  ‘Be that as it may.’ He was ridiculously complacent. ‘Yet it would be very valuable information to you if you already knew he’d obtained a divorce —’

  ‘I knew nothing of that until Mr Remington told me.’

  ‘So you say, so you say. But if you were already in a position to know that he’d obtained a divorce…’

  ‘I did not know!’

  ‘Obtained a divorce,’ he ploughed on stolidly, ‘under circumstances which could be challenged for their legal competence…’

  ‘What the hell d’you mean?’ I demanded.

  ‘Hush, hush,’ he said, showing me a pink, clean palm. ‘We must discuss this politely and quietly. Your husband inserted an advertisement — or rather, his solicitor did — in the English Times and Daily Telegraph for six consecutive days in June last year. Your records at your New York office — my captain friend in the NYPD kindly sent someone round there — these records show that during three of those days you were in London, staying at the Regent Palace hotel.’

  ‘But, but…this is ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it though? I mean, put yourself in my place. I have to make guesses and stretch ideas around. My guess is that you could have read those advertisements, and realized you had no defence, the marriage having broken down because of your own desertion of him. You might even have had sufficient knowledge to realize that adverts in British papers, when you were known to be residing in New York, might later be used to challenge the legality of such a divorce. Oh dear me, I’m getting to sound so stuffy and formal. You must forgive me.’

  He tried to look ashamed. I’ll swear he did. There was amusement behind his eyes. He attempted a pout, then he flapped a hand on his desk surface.

  ‘I was quite forgetting. There’s something else I should have mentioned, something your office revealed. They lost touch with you in Europe for six days, which include the day Graham Tonkin died.’

  ‘I was not in this country,’ I gasped out.

  ‘But…imagine…if you were?’

  ‘Do you want to see my passport?’

  He waved away the suggestion. ‘I believe you, of course. Besides, in these days of tourists’ passes and passports it’s so easy. But I believe you.’

  ‘Then why are we wasting time?’

  ‘Wasting? By no means. You’re being an immense help. For instance. I’ll give you an example of the way my thoughts have been heading. Shall I do that?’

  ‘Oh do. Please do.’

  ‘Then I will. I just thought — had you been here on the day Anna Treadgold said the car wouldn’t start, you might have gone to the cottage, by bus and by foot, because Graham was expecting you. And there — now it’s naughty of me, I know — but there you could have struck him with something hard and heavy, then driven him up to the farmhouse, which you’d know about, in order to fake his suicide there.’

  ‘But it’s always been I who’ve claimed — shouted it out — that he couldn’t drive…couldn’t have driven himself there.’

  I stopped. His raised hand did that. ‘We’ll come back to that, if you don’t mind. To other people, if his body was not discovered until a long time in the future, it could well be accepted that he had managed to drive. Just that once. But, there’s this Costello person you would then have to deal with. Suppose he wants paying off? And you haven’t got the money…yet. And then, after some thought, you get this marvellous idea. You phone him at the pub in Mattock where he was staying — we’ve checked that he was — and ask him to drive up to the farmhouse to bring down the Volvo to the cottage. Some specious reason given. But you tell him it must be at night — and he’s never driven down that lane at night. He’s driving from Mattock, remember, so he’d take the back lane up to the farm. Then, having switched to the Volvo, he’d be coming down the lane to the cottage — you’ve told him to turn right when he sees an open gate. He does that — bingo! You’re home and dry.’

  I was bursting to break in, panting to. When my chance came I was so breathless I could barely speak.

  ‘But you’ve made this up!’ I shouted. ‘Out of your head.’

  ‘Of course I have,’ he told me gently. ‘It’s what you might call an imaginative scenario, to fit the facts as we have them.’

  ‘But what could I expect to gain?’ I demanded.

  ‘The money,’ he said simply. ‘My information is that the company embezzlement amounted to around a quarter of a million pounds. A lot of murders have been done for far less. You would — had you done what I’ve suggested — have created a situation in which it would seem that your husband had been killed, and his death then faked as suicide. It was so clearly a fake, you see. And killed by Costello, who died by accident when making good his escape.’

  ‘The watch, the ring!’ I cried. ‘How d’you explain those? Only a complete fool would wear something he’s taken from a man he’s killed.’

  ‘Perhaps he was a fool. In fact, it would be a stupid man who’d call his Commissioner the name I’ve got written down somewhere.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t understand how anybody could do that.’

  ‘You should consult your wife,’ I suggested.

  ‘I am not married,’ he said sadly.

  I caught the movement of Oliver’s hand, warning me. Very soon I’d start getting aggressive, and he could see that. But I ignored it.

  ‘Aren’t you? That is surprising.’

  For a moment something hard sparked behind those eyes. ‘You are not co-operating, Miss Lowe.’

  ‘Can you,’ I asked, because it was about all I had to fall back on, ‘give me an explanation — any sensible explanation — of that watch and that ring?’

  ‘Why do you think I asked you here? I hoped you could.’

  Oh brother! ‘And if I come up with something, you’d use that as proof — in this scenario of yours — that I killed them both?’

  ‘Exactly.’ But he was watching me carefully.

  I didn’t care any more. ‘You come out with a load of specious clap-trap, and you expect me to break down into tears and confess to everything! You must be crazy. And if that’s all you’ve got, I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘There’s more.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’ I was half on my feet.

  ‘Sit down, please.’ His voice was suddenly as cold and chill as a foot of naked steel. I sat.

  ‘Thank you.’ He moistened his lips. ‘Didn’t you come here for the funeral, to find that Graham Tonkin’s death had been taken to be suicide, and Costello’s body accepted as his? How very lucky. But the excellent Costello had already reported to you that there was a suicide clause in the insurance policy, which had been jumped up to a neat hundred thousand. And you were greedy, Miss Lowe. Greedy. So didn’t you go to the ends of the earth to prove it had been murder, this death in the quarry? Graham’s death by murder, that’s what you’d decided you wanted it to look like. Foolish, foolish.’

 
He’d been stringing it together, in politician’s style, breathing in the middle of sentences and not pausing at the ends. Continuous. No chance to break in. And I wanted to shout out that I’d not accepted Graham to be dead. That I’d believed him to be alive, and I’d told Oliver that. But my Oliver had not thought to pass it on. Everything else, yes, but not that. So much he’d told Grossman; so much he’d omitted to tell me! He was staring bleakly at his hands, as Grossman’s bitter voice hammered it home.

  ‘And now we come back to that claim of yours that Graham couldn’t drive, because of lack of co-ordination. It was about all you could think of, to try to make it look and sound like murder. And you kept saying it, until Inspector Simpson here had to prove to you, by your own experience, that it could not have been murder.’

  To remove my eyes from him in order to glance at Oliver required an effort somewhat like a gaze transplant without anaesthetic. Oliver was staring at his senior with big, startled eyes.

  ‘And still you persisted,’ went on Grossman. ‘You produced some trick involving a length of rope. I had to deploy officers to search for something that did not exist. Ironic, isn’t it! You had so neatly disguised a murder as suicide that you couldn’t undo it. But…you would think…if you failed in that — no matter. You’d erected a screen of safety around you. Who would suspect of murder the person who was claiming so persistently that it was? But now, of course, Costello’s body being thought to be your husband’s, you wouldn’t want Graham’s genuine body discovered, not for months, not for years.’

  ‘This is absurd —’

  ‘By which time you would be well clear with that tainted money. But oh dear me, what a rotten bit of luck. You were chased up to the farmhouse, and you had to pretend to discover his body and pretend to collapse. But not for too long. Are you now acting like a recently bereaved young woman, my dear Miss Lowe? One who has had such a nasty experience? Are you distraught? Are you constantly collapsing in tears, are you meekly sitting there, too shattered to protest? No — you bloody well are not!’

  So how could I protest after that? He had me trapped. I couldn’t even afford the luxury of breaking into tears, though they’d be of rage.