Death at Beacon Cottage

by Betty Rowlands

  For the moment, Jim avoided a direct answer. ‘Can you remember someone shouting “Pepita”?’

  ‘Yes, as it happens I do. I didn’t take much notice. Was it this Roddy character?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘But what’s that got to do with me?’

  Jim got up and fetched his jacket from the hall and pulled out his wallet. He took out a photograph and handed it to Sukey. She stared in blank amazement at what seemed to be her own face looking back at her.

  ‘Who is this?’ she asked in bewilderment.

  ‘That’s “Josephine”. Roddy calls her Pepita – it’s a Spanish diminutive of the name.’

  ‘And when he saw me, he thought I was her. So now he knows, in a back-door sort of way, that his Pepita works for the police. No wonder he got hot under the collar.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  She handed the photograph back and Jim returned it to his wallet. Then he reached across the table and took both her hands in his. ‘Sook, I’m worried about what he might do… I’m afraid for you.’

  ‘What on earth are you suggesting?’

  For once, Jim’s customary sang-froid seemed to have deserted him. He got up and began prowling restlessly round the little kitchen. ‘I’ve just got this gut feeling that there’s more to this case than meets the eye. I’ve already told you I think there’s a bigger fish in the background calling the shots and that Roddy is just someone with a skill that’s useful to whoever it is. By an unlucky chance, even though it’s a case of mistaken identity, he now knows that he’s been having an affair with an undercover policewoman, and this information is bound to be fed back.’

  ‘And he thinks that policewoman is me. Well, too bad – but I don’t see what he can do about it.’

  ‘You’re not being very bright this evening, Sook. Don’t you understand? You represent – or they’re likely to see you as – a potential threat to a key operative in a very lucrative scam.’

  Sukey gaped in disbelief. ‘You’re saying I’m in danger? This is all a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’d like you to think about disappearing for a few days until we’ve got this case sewn up.’

  ‘Disappear? Where to, for heavens’ sake?’

  ‘We’ll find you a safehouse—’

  ‘But this is crazy! It might be weeks, months even, before—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. Just the same, I want you to think about it very seriously.’

  ‘I’ve already thought, and the answer’s no. I’m not going to be driven out of my home like a frightened rabbit.’

  ‘Then at least let me see about putting some security system in place here.’

  ‘Like the kind that Roddy can penetrate in thirty seconds flat? That’s a laugh for a start.’ She picked up the cafetière. ‘More coffee?’

  ‘No thanks. Sook, I wish you’d take this more seriously—’

  At that moment, Jim’s mobile phone rang and he broke off to answer. He listened to the caller in silence for a few moments, then said, ‘Right, go ahead and get a warrant. I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’ He put the phone back in his pocket and put on his jacket. ‘I’m sorry, Sook, I’ve got to go. We’ve just had an anonymous tip-off. Someone’s fingered Roddy for the Bussell Manor job.’

  ‘Brilliant! Does that mean I can sleep easy in my bed tonight?’

  ‘Probably, but it’s not over yet, you know. Just be on your guard, make sure all your doors and windows are locked.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you again soon.’

  As they parted at the front door, she felt a sharp stab of anxiety, not for herself, but for him. She clung to him, savouring his warmth and his strength, realising how much she depended on him, how vital he was to her happiness.

  ‘Jim, you will be careful, won’t you?’ she begged. ‘If what you say is right, there could be some pretty ruthless people behind this.’

  ‘Isn’t that just what I’ve been telling you?’

  Two hours later, just as Sukey was dropping off to sleep, her bedside telephone rang. A disconsolate Jim informed her that the evening’s mission had been a failure. ‘He’s done a runner,’ he said gloomily. ‘And there’s worse to come. Mrs Frampton had a heart attack and died at eight o’clock this evening.’

  Six

  By the time DC Hill reached the fourth floor of the exclusive block where Miguel Rodriguez occupied a penthouse apartment, he had become resigned to having to report a fruitless couple of hours of door-to-door enquiries on returning to the station. The occupants of Langland Tower were, almost without exception, business people who were out all day on their lawful dealings and were never on more than nodding terms with their neighbours. A retired couple at number six proudly informed him that they kept themselves to themselves and were not interested in the comings and goings of the other tenants so long as they were quiet and caused no disturbance around the place. Yes, they confirmed on being shown Roddy’s picture, they supposed he lived in the building because they had encountered him occasionally in the lift and exchanged a polite ‘Good morning’ or ‘Good afternoon’ as the case might be, but beyond the fact that he stayed in the lift when they left it and was therefore presumably on his way to an upper floor, they had no idea whether he lived in the building or was merely a regular visitor. Apart from the fact that they vaguely remembered hearing the lift go up a couple of times during the previous afternoon at around four o’clock, which was unusual because normally people did not begin returning from work until well after five, virtually no useful information was forthcoming. So it was without a great deal of optimism that the young detective pressed the bell at number eight.

  The sound was greeted by an outburst of excited yapping, followed by a querulous female voice saying, ‘Quiet, Lucy darling, the house isn’t on fire,’ before demanding to know who was there. Hill felt himself being inspected through the spy hole in the door; he held up his identification card and after a few seconds he heard a rattling of chains and the sound of two locks being undone before the door opened to reveal a woman of indeterminate years with unnaturally blond hair and round, soft, carefully made-up features. She was wearing a shapeless Paisley-patterned dress reaching almost to her ankles and beaded velvet slippers, and under one arm she cradled a Yorkshire terrier sporting a scarlet bow on its head.

  ‘Mrs Prendergast?’

  ‘That’s right. Miriam Prendergast.’ She stood aside for Hill to enter and when she spoke again it was to the dog. ‘It’s all right, Lucy, it’s a nice policeman come to see us. Remember your manners and say Hullo to him, there’s a good girl.’

  As if in response, the little creature wriggled in the woman’s embrace and thrust a damp nose in Hill’s direction. He was not particularly fond of small breeds, but sensing that this woman’s creed probably included the tenet, ‘Love me, love my dog,’ he prudently put out a hand and allowed Lucy to lick his fingers. Mrs Prendergast nodded approval. ‘There, she likes you,’ she informed him, smiling for the first time and exposing rather large, uneven teeth. ‘Come along in.’

  Since his previous enquiries had been summarily dealt with at the front door, it was the first time he had been invited into one of the apartments and he exclaimed in admiration at the view from the wide picture window in the spacious sitting room. ‘Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ the woman said. She sat down in an armchair, placed the dog in a basket at her feet and motioned her visitor to a chair on the opposite side of an elaborate gas fire which was switched on despite the warmth of the afternoon. ‘Now, tell me what I can do for you.’

  ‘First of all, could I ask if you were at home yesterday afternoon and evening?’

  ‘I was for part of the time, except when took Lucy for her afternoon walkies. We can’t miss that, can we, my love?’ She bent down to caress the dog, which raised its tiny muzzle and licked her hand.

  ‘While you were at home, did you notice anything unusual?’

  ‘Unusual?�
� Mrs Prendergast puckered her pale forehead and pursed her cherry-red lips. ‘Well, there was the ambulance that took poor Mr Rodriguez to hospital, but I expect you already know about that. Have you any up-to-date news, by the way? I’ve been quite anxious – such a charming young gentleman, and so good-looking. I’ve been looking out for his girlfriend, hoping to find out how he’s going on, but there’s been no sign of her. I expect she’s at the hospital, the poor girl must be so worried…’

  In her impassioned concern for the fate of her neighbour, Mrs Prendergast appeared not to notice DC Hill’s start of surprise at this first – and unexpectedly dramatic – lead to the disappearance of Miguel Rodriguez. By the time she had paused for breath he had collected his wits and managed to reply calmly that whilst the police had no details of Mr Rodriguez’ condition, so far as they knew he was not in any immediate danger. ‘You actually saw him being taken away in the ambulance?’ he went on. ‘About what time would that have been?’

  ‘About four o’clock. I was sitting by the window having a cup of tea – oh, my goodness!’ She gave an affected little start. ‘I never thought to offer you any refreshment – what must you think of me? Can I get you a cup of tea? Or would you prefer coffee?’

  Sensing that she was a lonely woman, that his visit would probably turn out to be the highlight of her day and that, given encouragement, she might well have some vital information, Hill said politely, ‘That’s very kind of you. A cup of coffee would be very welcome.’

  Mrs Prendergast practically leapt from her chair, beaming. ‘It won’t take a minute. Lucy, you stay here and keep the gentleman company,’ she admonished as the little dog, disturbed by the sudden movement, sat up in its basket. She bustled out of the room and Hill got up and moved over to the window, where a chair and a small table indicated the spot where she had probably been sitting when she saw someone whom she had taken to be Rodriguez being put into an ambulance. He sat down briefly in the chair, noting that it gave him a clear view of the forecourt to the building, where ten numbered parking spaces were marked out, plus an additional half-dozen or so for visitors. It was an ideal vantage point for anyone interested in keeping an eye on the comings and goings of their neighbours and Hill suspected that Mrs Prendergast probably spent a considerable amount of time there.

  He turned away from the window to study the rest of the room. It was large and furnished in a somewhat florid style, with fussy wallpaper and carpets, large, overstuffed armchairs and a glass-fronted cabinet full of an assortment of china and glass ornaments. A heavy mirror hung over the fireplace, flanked by a number of signed photographs in expensive-looking silver frames. He made a detour on his way back to his chair to take a closer look at them and found to his surprise that they were all of well-known male actors, mostly long dead, all taken when they were in their prime. Above the signatures were written affectionate messages: ‘To darling Prendy, with fondest love’; ‘To Prendy, with memories of a wonderful first night’; ‘For Prendy, my most exciting leading lady.’ Among them he recognised Noël Coward, Ralph Richardson and Laurence Olivier. On a shelf below the mirror was a single photograph of a demure young woman, which he judged to have been taken during the same period and was obviously Mrs Prendergast herself.

  ‘Ah, I see you’re admiring my picture gallery.’ Mrs Prendergast had entered silently in her velvet slippers, carrying a tray loaded with delicate china cups and saucers, a small jug of cream and a bowl of sugar. ‘Yes,’ she went on with a nostalgic sigh, ‘They are all I have left now to remind me of my moments of glory. You wouldn’t remember Miriam Prendergast, of course – you’re far too young.’ She beamed at him again as if his youth was a point in his favour and handed him a cup of coffee. ‘Do help yourself to cream and sugar. Those are bourbon biscuits; they’re Lucy’s favourites, aren’t they, my darling?’ She held out a biscuit to the dog, which accepted it eagerly, before settling back in her armchair and putting her own cup down on a small occasional table beside it. ‘Now, what were we talking about?’

  ‘You were telling me how you saw Mr Rodriguez being taken to the ambulance – about four o’clock, you said. Did you see the ambulance arrive? Or did you hear its siren?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that. I noticed it particularly because it wasn’t an ordinary ambulance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean it wasn’t one of the big ones from the regular ambulance service, it was one of those converted private cars. I expect you’ve seen them around. There’s just room for one patient either on a stretcher or in a wheelchair – with a nurse, of course. I was thinking of calling one or two of the private hospitals to see if I could get any news, but of course I’m not a relative so I didn’t think they’d give me any information even if I phoned the right one. I’m sure you’ll be able to check on him, though. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to let me know how the poor young fellow is.’

  ‘I’ll make a note of it,’ Hill promised. Miriam Prendergast beamed again and sipped her coffee. ‘Was Mr Rodriguez in a wheelchair or on a stretcher, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, on a stretcher. He was lying quite still with his eyes closed.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure it was him? It couldn’t have been anyone else?’

  ‘Quite sure. I could see his face clearly. Such a handsome young man – very Spanish-looking of course, even though he’s so English in his manner.’ Miriam gave a wistful little sigh and patted her blond curls. ‘I wonder if he had a heart attack? You’d think he was too young, but you do hear of it happening nowadays to the most unexpected people, don’t you, Lucy darling?’ She bent down and gave her pet another biscuit. ‘He always looks so fit and strong – quite the athletic type, I’ve always thought.’

  ‘You know him well?’

  ‘We soon became acquainted.’ She gave a coy simper. ‘Of course, I’ve only lived here a month, and he’s such a busy man, but our paths cross from time to time, in the lift and so on. He actually stopped and introduced himself the very day I moved in.’ It was clear that she was not only willing but eager to talk for as long as her unexpected guest cared to listen. Hill sat back, drank his coffee – which was surprisingly good – and let her talk. Much of what she said would, he knew, be of little value, but there was always the chance that something significant would emerge. It did, just as he took advantage of a lull in her theatrical reminiscences to say that it had been delightful talking to her, but that he really must be going.

  ‘You’ve been most helpful,’ he said on his way to the door. ‘And if you should remember anything else, here’s my number.’

  She took the card he gave her and studied it for a moment before saying, ‘Oh, yes, there was something else unusual about yesterday afternoon, now I come to think of it. I didn’t pay much attention at the time because I was so concerned about Mr Rodriguez.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was about an hour later. Lucy and I were just going out for our afternoon walkies when this van turned up with two men in it. There was a ladder on the roof with the name of a firm of cleaners painted on it, but it wasn’t the firm who do the regular cleaning here and it seemed a funny time for them to come anyway.’

  ‘Can you remember the name of the firm?’

  ‘I can’t be sure, but I think it had the word “daisy” in it?’

  ‘Daisy?’

  ‘I think so. Anyway, I’m sure it said they were cleaners but I thought it was odd because all the flats in this building are cleaned by the same people who have a contract to do the communal parts – the hallway and stairs and so on. Perhaps one of the tenants was dissatisfied and decided to use another firm. I don’t suppose it’s important, but I thought I’d mention it.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I’ll make a note of it.

  Goodbye, and thank you once again.’

  Back at the station, DC Hill checked the Yellow Pages and found a firm called Daisy-Fresh Home Cleaning Services of Andoversford. He telephoned and asked if any of their employees had done a job at Langl
and Tower at around five o’clock the previous afternoon. He was given to understand by an acid-tongued woman that since their only van had been reported to the police barely an hour earlier as having been stolen, he should have known better than to ask such a stupid question.

  ‘It looks very much as if there’s a sizeable organisation at work,’ remarked DS Radcliffe. ‘I had a hunch Rodriguez wasn’t working alone,’ DI Castle agreed. ‘Not counting Crowson and Morris, of course – they’re just a pair of gofers.’

  ‘Are you going to pick them up?’

  ‘I sent a couple of men round to search their places, but they didn’t find anything. Not that I expected them to – the stuff is probably on its way overseas by now. This is big business, Andy, we could be talking about a money-laundering exercise.’

  ‘So what d’you reckon has happened to Rodriguez?’

  ‘He’s quite likely on his way overseas as well. A talent like his would be worth preserving.’

  There was a knock at the door and a young WPC entered and handed a folder to Castle saying, ‘Report from forensics, sir.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Castle opened the folder and glanced at the single sheet of paper it contained. He gave a whistle and rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘At last, a bit of concrete evidence to link Rodriguez with the Bussell Manor job. A tracksuit and trainers we found in his car during last night’s search match the fibres and the shoeprint Sukey picked up. We’re on the right track, Andy.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost one o’clock. Let’s celebrate with a pint and a sandwich.’

  Seven

  ‘She’s quite batty, of course,’ said Jim disconsolately. ‘No earthly good as a witness.’

  Sukey looked up with a raised eyebrow from the vegetables she was chopping for a stir-fry. ‘You mean Miriam Prendergast?

  What makes you say that?’

  ‘Lives in a fantasy world. Out of curiosity I got Hill to check with a couple of London agents and neither of them had ever heard of her. She certainly never starred with any of the actors whose photos he saw in her flat. I’m willing to bet that the nearest she ever got to being a leading lady was in some obscure repertory company half a century ago.’