Death at Beacon Cottage

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘And that was enough to make Roddy a suspect?’

  ‘Not immediately. That happened when Stuart bumped into him again, this time at the home of a client in Warwickshire. He happened to notice Roddy apparently taking an interest in the security system. He commented on it and Roddy passed it off by saying something about the number of different systems on the market and wondering which were the most effective. He gave out that he was thinking of having his own home protected and Lockyer thought no more about it, but when that same client was robbed a couple of weeks later, it occurred to him that Roddy might be the ‘Phantom Robber’ as the media had dubbed him. By this time the police were getting a lot of flak because of the total lack of progress in tracking him down.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Sukey with a grin. ‘This is fascinating background stuff,’ she went on, ‘but you still haven’t explained how Lockyer and Fiona knew that the Bussell Manor collection was on the gang’s shopping list.’

  ‘They didn’t know for certain; like I said, it was a piece of inspired guesswork. By coincidence – this case is full of them, isn’t it? – Lockyer had recently bumped into Roddy again during a visit to Wilbur Patterson and they both knew Patterson would be away playing golf the following weekend. It seemed an obvious opportunity for the Phantom Robber to do the place over.’

  ‘And all Stuart and Fiona stood to lose, if their guess was wrong, was a few hours’ sleep,’ Sukey observed. ‘When they realised they had the entire collection to choose from, they must have thought their ship had come in.’

  ‘Instead of which, the Grim Reaper was lying in wait for poor old Stuart,’ said Castle sombrely.

  ‘You said you had a bad feeling about this case,’ Sukey reminded him with a sigh. ‘And you were right, weren’t you… three deaths and one unexplained disappearance.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I? Come to think of it, I still have. There’s a long way to go before we wrap it up.’

  ‘At least, you’ve got a positive lead,’ Fergus pointed out. ‘You’ve got Greenleaf – has he been singing?’

  Jim smiled at the lad’s slightly self-conscious use of jargon. ‘We arrested Greenleaf on the spot, of course, once we found the painting. He’s at this moment in the cells, insisting that it was his intention to inform us about it at the earliest opportunity and denying all knowledge of the robbery.’

  ‘What about Wallis?’

  ‘He swears he never saw the man before – claims it was Smith who set up the meeting.’

  ‘That’s a lie for a start,’ said Sukey. ‘Wallis is a regular visitor – ask Gladys, his assistant. She has to buy special biscuits for him.’

  ‘We already have a statement from Gladys. We’ve told Greenleaf we know he’s lying, but he’s still sticking to his story. We’ve also pointed out to him that he’s mixed up in at least one very nasty murder, but he seems to be more scared of Wallis than of going to prison. Does that remind you of anything?’

  ‘What Donna Hoskins heard Crowson saying about Wallis in the pub?’

  ‘Exactly. He’s our next target… if we can get a lead on him. You saw him, Sook, so we’ll be wanting a detailed statement from you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Of course… but in the meantime, let’s go and eat.’

  Twenty-Two

  ‘Everything about him looked prosperous,’ Sukey said reflectively. ‘The camel coat, the Jag – if he’d been sporting a pair of binoculars round his neck you’d have taken him for a wealthy racehorse owner down for Gold Cup Week in Cheltenham.’

  ‘Height? Build? Any distinguishing features?’ Sukey frowned and played with the handle of her coffee mug. The meal was over and the washing-up done, Fergus had slipped out to spend an hour or two at Anita’s house and she and Jim were sitting at the kitchen table, their attention once more focused on the robbery at Henry Greenleaf Antiques and the possible connection with the killing of Stuart Lockyer at Beacon Cottage.

  ‘About five-ten, I suppose,’ she said after a few moments’ thought, ‘and fairly solidly built – not exactly fat, but sleek-looking, someone who enjoys good food and wine.’ Slowly, the image of the man took shape in her mind’s eye.

  ‘Did you catch any hint of an accent?’

  ‘I never heard his voice – he spoke to his driver when he got out of the car, but of course I couldn’t hear because I was inside the shop, looking out of the window. He never said a word when he came in, but he didn’t need to – Gladys recognised him immediately and did everything but curtsey when he arrived so he’s obviously a VIP. No manners,’ she added as she recalled the way he had so rudely pushed past the woman, ignoring her greeting.

  ‘What about colouring?’ asked Jim, busy making notes between mouthfuls of coffee.

  ‘Short dark hair, and a slightly swarthy complexion, possibly Mediterranean. Or maybe he was tanned from a trip to the Bahamas – he certainly looked as if he could afford it.’

  ‘You said you thought you’d recognise him again.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’m not sure… I mean, if I saw him in the street on his own I might, but I doubt if I could pick him out in a line-up. There wasn’t anything particularly distinguishing about his features – he was clean-shaven with a slightly dark jowl and plumpish cheeks, but… I’m sorry, Jim, I really can’t be more precise than that… no, there’s one other thing. He uses a very distinctive after-shave or body lotion, sort of musky. I remember it because it reminded me of when Paul and I spent a holiday in Spain, years ago before Fergus was born. All the waiters in the hotel seemed to use it… Paul said the smell put him off his food, but I thought it was rather sexy.’

  ‘Oh, so you think Wallis is sexy, do you?’ Jim demanded, feigning jealousy.

  Sukey giggled and nestled against him. ‘Very, but since he’s not available I’ll have to make do with you.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m prepared to play second fiddle to the mysterious Mr Wallis,’ he joked back, then turned serious again. ‘Mediterranean colouring and after-shave that reminds you of Spain. I’ll make a note of that for what it’s worth. Let’s go back to the driver for a moment – you haven’t mentioned him before.’

  ‘Haven’t I?’ she said evasively. It was true; knowing instinctively that Jim was likely to read something sinister into the man’s motives in making that small, mocking gesture, she had deliberately kept it to herself. In any case, despite her momentary flash of unease at the time, she had all but dismissed the episode from her mind.

  Jim gave her a searching look. ‘Sook, have you been keeping something from me?’

  ‘Not really. It was just that he made a sort of pass at me and I didn’t want you to be jealous,’ she said demurely. ‘It was nothing, really.’

  ‘I dare say it was, but that’s not what I’m concerned about.’

  ‘Really?’ It was her turn to pretend to take offence.

  He slipped an arm round her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘You know what I mean.

  Would you recognise this chap again?’

  ‘I doubt it. He looked like lots of other young men nowadays… cropped hair, dark glasses, black sweatshirt, earring. You know the type.’

  ‘Mm, it’s not much to go on,’ Castle agreed reluctantly. ‘You said he made “a sort of pass” at you. What exactly did he do?’

  ‘He was staring at me quite hard while I was putting my stuff away in the van. Then, when I looked in my mirror before pulling away, I noticed him looking at something in his hand. As I drove off I saw him give a funny sort of smile and wave whatever it was… it looked like a piece of paper or card.’

  ‘Could it have been a photograph?’

  ‘It might have been, I suppose. What of it?’

  ‘Just a thought. I think we’ll see if we can get a lead on this character as well. When you come in tomorrow I’ll get you to look through some mug-shots to see if you can pick either of them out. I don’t somehow think we’ll find anything on Wallis – the name certainly doesn’t mean anything, although the
people at TRACE might possibly have heard of him – but the driver might be on our books.’

  ‘What about the personal number plate on the car? Have you done a check on that?’

  ‘That was one of the first things we did, but it didn’t help much. The vehicle’s registered in the name of some obscure finance company with an accommodation address, which makes us suspect there might be something not quite legit about Wallis. I’m beginning to think Scully could be right and there’s drug money involved in this.’ Jim glanced at his watch. ‘Look, love, I know it’s only ten o’clock but I’ve had a heavy day and tomorrow’s not going to be much easier, so if you don’t mind…’ He drained his mug and took it to the sink to rinse it, then returned to the table and pulled her gently to her feet. She slid happily into his embrace, her body tingling at the touch of his hands along her spine, her mouth responding eagerly, to his. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he murmured as he released her.

  ‘Sure.’

  At the door, he became suddenly serious. ‘I don’t want to frighten you, but I think you should be particularly watchful for the next few days, or until we nail these unpleasant characters.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘What am I supposed to look out for?’ she asked.

  ‘Anything unusual, and especially any sighting of that driver. All right,’ he added, forestalling the dismissive retort she was about to make, ‘I know you think I’m over cautious, but maybe you’ve forgotten that little episode down at the nick when Roddy shouted “Pepita!” at you.’

  ‘No, I haven’t forgotten, but surely I don’t represent any kind of threat to these people, whoever they are. They’ve taken Roddy out of your reach – at least, we presume that’s what’s happened. I take it there’s no further news?’

  ‘That’s something I forgot to tell you. His cousin phoned to say they’ve had another fax, purporting to be from him and saying he’s taking extended leave to recuperate from a nervous breakdown. Tomas is still not convinced it’s genuine and neither are we. We’d all give a lot to know where that blighter has hidden himself – or been hidden.’

  ‘Just the same, I still don’t see why Wallis and his gang should come after me,’ Sukey protested. ‘What harm can I do them?’

  ‘It could be out of revenge. They think you’re the woman who shopped Roddy, remember?’

  ‘So what? The damage is done as far as they’re concerned. And surely, if they were going to target me, they’d have made some sort of move by now.’

  ‘That all sounds very logical, but I still have this uneasy feeling.’ Jim’s arms tightened around Sukey and he pressed his cheek against hers. ‘Please, my love, be extra vigilant and let me know if anything unusual happens, no matter how trivial. Promise?’

  She lifted her face for one more kiss.

  ‘Promise,’ she whispered.

  By the time Fergus came home and mother and son had shared a nightcap of hot chocolate, it was gone midnight when Sukey got to bed. She read for a short time before switching out her light and settling down under the covers. She was just drifting off to sleep when the phone rang.

  ‘Hullo!’ she said, making no attempt to disguise the irritation she felt at being so rudely disturbed.

  ‘Sorry, did I wake you up?’ It was a man’s voice, unfamiliar, with an unmistakable Home Counties accent.

  ‘Who is this?’ she demanded, wide awake now, her pulse quickening slightly.

  ‘It’s Susan Reynolds, isn’t it? Or Sukey – I believe that’s what your friends call you.’

  ‘I’ve a feeling you don’t number among my friends,’ she said tartly. ‘And if this is some kind of practical joke, I’m not laughing.’

  ‘No joke, Sukey… or should I say… no, we’ll discuss your other name next time I call. Sleep well.’

  A click followed by the dull drone of dialling tone told her the man had hung up. She immediately dialled 1471 and made a note of the number. It was almost certainly a public call-box and the nearest one was the best part of a mile away. Just the same, she got out of bed and peered out of the window; the little cul-de-sac was well lit and there was no sign of anyone lurking in the shadows. It was probably a waste of time reporting it, but remembering what Jim had said… she was on the point of calling him there and then, but decided that tomorrow would do. She assured herself that there was no immediate danger… the man had said he’d call again. She settled down once more, pulling the duvet closely around her because she was feeling suddenly cold. It was a long time before sleep eventually came.

  A couple of hours or so after DI Castle expressed an interest in his whereabouts, Miguel Rodriguez was sipping a long cool drink as he reclined on a wide canopied day-bed after his evening swim. Consuela was still in the pool and his eyes followed her, his mind dwelling pleasurably on the lustful thoughts aroused by the sight of her supple body in its scanty bikini as it cut through the water, her black hair streaming behind her. She swam as she made love, with total dedication, giving meaning to each smooth, rhythmical, apparently effortless movement of her bronzed limbs.

  After a couple more lengths of the pool she swam to the side immediately below where he was lying. Ignoring the steps a short distance away, she hoisted herself out of the water in one swift, athletic movement, dropped to her knees before him and kissed him with parted lips, her fingers knotted in his hair, her tongue exploring his mouth, water dripping from her body on to his own warm, responsive flesh. In response he seized her in his arms, unhooked the top of her bikini and flung it aside before pulling her on to the bed beside him and rolling on top of her. She gave a squeal of mingled protest and delight.

  ‘No, no, caro, not here. Isabella may be watching.’

  ‘Let her watch. It’s probably the only chance she has of a bit of fun.’

  ‘That is cruel.’ Consuela pretended to be cross. ‘She is old now, but maybe in her day she—’

  ‘—could never have been half the woman you are,’ Roddy murmured with his face buried between her breasts and his hands eagerly tearing at the lower half of her costume.

  ‘No, no,’ she repeated, trying to wriggle out from under him. ‘Not here… suppose Juan should suddenly appear?’ she added as his hand grabbed at her crotch.

  Abruptly, he stood up and scooped her into his arms. ‘All right then, we’ll go indoors if it makes you feel better.’

  ‘Much better,’ she sighed. She wound her arms round his neck as he carried her across the patio towards the villa.

  In the hall they met Isabella. ‘What time shall I serve dinner, señor?’ she asked, her face expressionless.

  ‘What shall we say?’ Roddy whispered in Consuela’s ear. ‘One hour, two hours…’

  ‘Whatever you say, my Roddy,’ she whispered back.

  ‘Two hours then,’ said Isabella without waiting for his instructions. She turned and marched back to the kitchen, muttering – her whole body registering disapproval.

  ‘She’s probably miffed because we didn’t do it where she could watch,’ said Roddy as he carried Consuela into his bedroom.

  ‘You are so naughty, caro mio,’ she giggled as he laid her on the bed, removed the rest of her bikini and took off his trunks. This time she made no attempt to stop him.

  Later, as they lay quietly in the cool, dimly lit room, Consuela reached across and brushed Roddy’s face with her fingers. ‘The scars are healing so fast,’ she said sadly. ‘Soon, you will return to Europe and I shall lose you forever.’

  ‘It makes me sad too,’ he said, grasping her hand and kissing each finger in turn.

  Had he been completely truthful, he would have added that the prospect filled him with dread.

  Twenty-Three

  When Sukey awoke early the following morning after a troubled night’s sleep, the first thing that came into her mind was the anonymous telephone call. She went over it in her mind, trying to remember the details. The precise words eluded her; she should have made a detailed note there and then, but she had been half asleep when the pho
ne rang and it had taken her several seconds to grasp that this was no ordinary nuisance call. At least, she had the number it had originated from. She glanced at her bedside clock; it was barely five. She had promised to let Jim know immediately if anything unusual happened and her hand reached out to grasp the phone, then hesitated at the memory of how tired he had been the previous evening. He badly needed an undisturbed night’s rest – it could wait until she saw him at work in a few hours’ time. She lay back on the pillow, recalling his words of warning and thinking how uncanny, almost prophetic, they seemed in the light of what had happened only a couple of hours or so after they were uttered.

  She closed her eyes and tried without success to doze off again. An hour dragged past while the grey light filtering through the curtains changed gradually to pale gold and the events of the past few days went churning through her head in a ceaseless merry-go-round. Jim had warned her to be vigilant, to watch for anything unusual, particularly any sighting of the Jaguar or its driver. She had no way of telling whether last night’s caller and the laddish-looking character who had scrutinised her so closely and made that half-mocking gesture were one and the same, but her instinct told her that they were. He knew her name and her phone number; almost certainly, he also knew where she lived. She slipped out of bed and peered out through a chink in the curtains, taking what she told herself was quite ridiculous care not to move them in case he should be keeping watch. Outside, everything appeared reassuringly normal; the little cul-de-sac with its ring of neat semis behind their tidy front gardens lay slumbering in the early morning sunlight.

  The sudden hum of an electric motor made her heart leap in her chest and she stepped back in momentary alarm before the rattle of bottles told her that it was only the milkman on his round. Just the same, she waited, holding her breath, until the float drew up outside her house with the familiar whine of brakes and the driver jumped down and ran up to her front door with a bottle of milk in either hand. She let out an audible sigh of relief as she recognised the regular man and realised that she had half feared to see a tanned stranger in dark glasses with cropped hair and a gold earring. She turned away from the window and reached for her dressing-gown. ‘Pull yourself together, girl,’ she muttered and stole downstairs to make a cup of tea.