He stood, looking down on her, noting with a pang of anguish that she had painted her toenails a frosted pink. He went through to the kitchen where all the surfaces sparkled. By the sink were half a dozen packets and bottles of tranquilisers, enough to ensure several deaths. She had planned to end her own life and being Ronnie, had made thorough preparations, but someone had pre-empted her. There was another St Brigid’s cross on the wall by the gleaming cooker, this one woven in a frame.
He went back through to the hallway and found her bedroom. It was small, allowing only a single bed, a melamine wardrobe and chest of drawers. There wasn’t a speck of dust. On her bedside table was an envelope saying TYRONE. It was heavy and he could feel the shape of more keys inside. He tucked it in his pocket as he heard an ambulance siren whining, then running footsteps. He told the two paramedics her name, that she had planned to commit suicide but had been killed first and that he had called the police. He left them with the body and went back into her bedroom where he sat on the bed and opened the envelope she had left him, taking out three brass keys. The letter was one page, double-sided.
Ty, I’m writing this early in the morning so I’m sober and only a bit heavy headed. I’m going to my morning job when I’ve finished this. That might seem odd to some when I’m planning to take a heap of tablets later but I don’t like letting people down. Sorry for giving you the run around. I have Mrs L locked in a house near High Street Ken. These are the keys to the front door; 41 Tavistock Avenue. She’s in a room off the kitchen. Mr Sydney Bailey owns the place and he’s been away since January, due back in June. I’ve been caretaking for him. His details are in my address book, by the phone.
You’re a smart one so I know you’ll have discovered by now that my son killed himself. When Liam was in his late teens and on tablets for depression he told me that Neville Langborne sexually abused him for about a year when he was fourteen and took him to houses where other men did too. Liam helped out on Saturdays at a car valeting place in Notting Hill where Langborne used to take his car. Langborne got talking to him and that’s how it started. I won’t go into details, you’ll know the picture. Liam told me that once, Langborne took him back to the house in Holland Park. Carmen came home early, as Liam was leaving. Liam said that Langborne made up some story about losing his wallet at the car place and Liam returning it. Liam reckoned she suspected what was going on.
Liam went to the police but was told there wasn’t any evidence – this was around 1986. Toffs get away with murder even now and they certainly did back then. He was a shy boy and didn’t have the confidence to press his case. I rang social services but nobody ever came back to me.
Liam was never right afterwards. He said to me once that he always felt as if the sky above him was made of ice. Then he hanged himself. I always felt that I should have done more to help him. When my friend Kate told me who she was working for and that Langborne had died, I decided to try and get a job there. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I just wanted to see how Mrs L lived and be in a place where my Liam was harmed and suffered. Maybe I was doing some kind of penance.
I had no plan to harm Mrs L. I stole a few things from her, odd bits of money she left around but mainly drink. She had so much there she never noticed and anyway I was her reliable Farley. I’ve never taken anything from any of my other clients, I want you to know that. And by the way, Florence removed a couple of expensive bits from her house a week ago; I told Rupert that when he accused me, but of course he wouldn’t listen. The more I got to know Mrs L, the more I hated her snobbery and her banging on about what was wrong with the world. She used to talk about her husband sometimes, saying what an honest, straightforward man he’d been, that everyone looked up to him because with the Lord Justice, as many people used to remark, ‘what you see is what you get.’ I nearly laughed in her face when she said that.
I hope this is making sense. One day in January, I heard her talking to Rupert on the phone and got the gist of her having found out something that she was going to tell Daphne and Florence about if he didn’t. I could tell that Rupert was arguing with her but she was being high and mighty. That same morning, she was looking at the newspaper, something about Rolf Harris and those other men who’d been raping and molesting and she said they should all be locked up and the key thrown away.
After that I couldn’t stop thinking about what her husband had done and the cushioned life she was living and the way she thought she could preach about what other people should do and have done to them when she maybe knew what her own husband had been doing. I mean, they say that the wives usually know, don’t they? I brooded on it and I felt a terrible anger. I had this idea to teach her a lesson. She was so big on her animal charities and all. I spun her a story about this lady I worked for in Kensington. I said she was the widow of an Earl – I knew that would appeal to Mrs L. I told her this Lady Hargreave wanted to start a new animal charity and she was thinking of calling it Haven. She was looking for someone to help her with it but wanted to keep it all top secret until it was properly planned. Anyway, I got Mrs L interested and we agreed that I’d go with her to Kensington at five o’clock on the 31 and introduce her so that she could spend an hour with Lady Hargreave before going to her bridge. She was loving the hush bit, agreed not to breathe a word to anyone.
So as you know, I was round there at half past four that evening. We went down to the main road and hailed a taxi. (Mrs L was going to call one to the house but of course I didn’t want that because it would be logged so I told her I needed to get something from the chemist on the way.) I took her to Mr Bailey’s and once we were in I led her to a utility room off the kitchen and locked her in. It’s easy to manipulate someone when they trust you, as her husband had found. I’d put a bolt on the door so her little prison was all ready for her. It’s small but has a wee window so she’s had light and there’s a washbasin and toilet off it. I’d put a mattress, bedding and food and water in there. I told her what her husband had done to my Liam. She said she knew nothing about it but I could tell she was lying. I said she’d have to stay there until she apologised to me for what her husband had done, told the police and agreed to set up a charity in Liam’s name.
I’ve no idea how long I was going to keep it up. I think I’ve been half mad for a long time. Mrs L never buckled. I went in every day, took her a few clothes, kept her fed. I took her some wool and knitting needles too and books of crossword puzzles. I could see I was going to get nowhere but in the end I just wanted her to know what it was like to feel alone and helpless and hurt by someone, just like my Liam did.
I was a bit surprised that the police and then you accepted my word about everything; the cats were never left unfed of course but I made a big fuss about that because it added to the confusion and made me sound like reliable, caring Farley.
I’ve been collecting the pills for a while. When you work for wealthy people, you always find sleeping stuff in their bedrooms and bathrooms. I knew once you came to see me yesterday that it was over. I’m glad it is. I wanted to stop it but I couldn’t think of a way. When you turned up, I was hoping that you’d find me out so that it could all end and now it has it’s a relief.
I did lead you up the garden path and I told you porkies but I hope you can understand. I think maybe you will.
When I knew last night that this all had to end, I rang Rupert and told him about what his father had done to my Liam and other boys. I said it would all come out. It gave me some small satisfaction, doing that; he’s been horrible to me and I could hear the panic in his voice. I didn’t tell him anything about Mrs L or where she was, I wasn’t going to show all my cards.
I don’t care what anyone says about me. I’ve cared about nothing and nobody since Liam died.
Ronnie
When the police arrived, he gave them his details and said they could ring Nora Morrow to check him out. A duty inspector called Waring turned up soon after and Swift gave him both the notes Ronnie had written. He read
them standing in her bedroom and was told by a constable that DI Morrow had confirmed who Swift was.
‘So who’s this Mrs L?’ Waring asked.
‘Carmen Langborne. She went missing in January. Nora Morrow’s in charge of the case. The stepdaughter employed me. I found Mrs Langborne earlier today; she’s at home now and I asked her stepdaughter to let the police know. You’d better check that Nora Morrow is up to speed about her. I can make a statement about Ronnie Farley later. Rupert Langborne is mentioned in the long letter; underneath Ronnie’s head you’ll see some pieces of heather. Langborne wears a buttonhole of thistles and heather. He had a strong motive to silence Ronnie.’
Waring nodded, said he would look into it, and went into the living room to speak to forensics. Swift didn’t look through as he left. Some neighbours were clustering outside, asking each other for information. Ronnie might have known that they would end up gawping anyway. Swift sat on the wall he had used that morning and emailed Nora Morrow, telling her what had happened. He sat, looking up at the drawn curtains; she had been dead, then, when he had called there in the late afternoon. He could hear the melody Ronnie had sung to him, see her strained eyes and that final image of her lying with her son’s photo just a few feet away.
A police car pulled up and Nora Morrow got out, accompanied by a uniformed woman constable. She looked around, saw Swift, crossed over and stood in front of him, hands in her jacket pockets, her expression hard to read.
‘Mrs Langborne is home, then?’
‘Yes. Florence is with her. She’s explaining away the last months by saying that she was troubled and staying at a friend’s house.’
Nora’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She thinks we’re going to buy that story?’
Swift stood. He felt suddenly drained. ‘When she came up with her version of events she didn’t know about Ronnie’s death or her letter or that Ronnie had informed Rupert last night about his father’s activities. Her instinct was to protect her reputation and maybe there was some concern too for her stepchildren. She dismissed me; after all, I’m low in the food chain. I’m sure you’ll have more success.’
Nora gave him a tiny smile. ‘I’ll be going round to see her once I check-in here. It wasn’t Rupert, then, with a body in the lake or concealed on the estate?’
‘No need to be nasty. I did crack the case, after all. And, yes, I believe it was Rupert Langborne.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I think he killed Ronnie.’ He explained about the heather and Ronnie’s disclosure that she had phoned Rupert.
Nora rubbed her nose. ‘A bit tenuous. When did you see him wearing this buttonhole?’
‘A couple of weeks back; the first time I met him. Like father, like son; the father was ultimately responsible for Liam Farley’s death and Langborne has seen off his mother.’
Nora flexed her shoulders, flicked her string tie; today it was pale blue with one thin green stripe. ‘Okay, we’ll see. Don’t go jumping to conclusions. I’m sorry about Ronnie Farley, despite her criminal activity. DI Waring gave me the gist of her letter; she was a considerate kidnapper, providing materials for pastimes.’
‘More sinned against than sinning?’
‘Not sure a jury would think that if she was alive to go on trial. Looking on the bright side, Langborne’s probably not going to be in a position to complain about you.’
The policewoman was drinking it all in, pretending to examine a rose bush. Nora turned away.
‘Well, time’s a-wastin’.’
‘And you’re busy and understaffed.’
She waved a dismissive hand at him and headed for Ronnie’s flat. Swift walked away towards the main road, feeling hungry and nauseous at the same time. The rain had stopped, leaving a washed-out, soapy-coloured sky. He stopped to buy a flapjack and coffee and walked to Notting Hill, looking at his phone as he heard a text arriving. It was from Ruth: I miscarried yesterday. Can I ring you later this evening?
He stared at the screen for a few moments, then replied: So sorry to hear that. Of course. I’m working but will text you when I get home.
He hailed a taxi; he had one more visit to make before he went home. He gave the driver Langborne’s address and sat back, drinking his coffee, listening to the hiss of surface water against the wheels. Three distressed women in one day; he suspected that Carmen would prove the most redoubtable.
CHAPTER 14
When Langborne opened the door, Swift pushed against it and stepped in, quickly crossing the room and standing by a marble fireplace. There was an empty Chinese takeaway container on a coffee table, pungent traces of spare ribs still on the air.
‘Has murder given you an appetite?’ Swift asked.
Langborne stared at him, then closed the door. He sat on the sofa and turned down the radio, muting Handel. He was wearing chinos, a short-sleeved linen shirt and leather slippers.
‘Sit down, Mr Swift, and explain yourself. I spoke to Florence a while ago; I understand you found my stepmother and for that I thank you.’
‘Very gracious of you.’ Swift sat in a chair opposite him.
The light, from two standard lamps, was dim. The place was furnished in heavy oak and mahogany; Swift found it oppressive, like the man. Langborne sounded tired.
‘Is Mrs Langborne still refusing to see you?’
‘That’s correct. She is very upset about the cats and, of course, she’s in shock. Florence offered to stay the night but she declined.’ He reached for a glass of whisky on the table and sipped. ‘I won’t ask if you want a drink; I’ve no wish to detain you.’
Swift gestured at a small suitcase on wheels standing just inside the front door. ‘Are you planning to go somewhere?’
‘Yes, tomorrow. I have a meeting in Brussels.’
‘Is that so? I’m not sure you’re going to make it. I found Ronnie Farley’s body this afternoon.’
A strange expression crossed Langborne’s face; in most circumstances, Swift would have read it as shock. He took another slug of whisky and cradled the glass in his hands.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped to see that dreadful woman on trial for what she put my stepmother through. I understand that she kidnapped Carmen, although I don’t have any details yet.
‘Ronnie was murdered and I believe the finger points at you, Mr Langborne. Do you want to tell me about it before the police contact you?’
Langborne finished the whisky and placed the glass carefully on the table, straightening the coaster beneath it. The amber glow of the lamp behind the sofa gave his face a jaundiced hue.
‘You do like to make allegations about me, don’t you? Perhaps I wronged you in another life. I know nothing about a murder. If the police want to speak to me they are welcome. Do you have a weapon with my fingerprints on it?’ His voice was steady but his eyes signalled anxiety.
Swift left a silence. A tall grandfather clock by the window counted the slow minutes. There was the softest of thuds as a door closed along the corridor.
‘There is clear evidence, including evidence of your motive, and the police have it. The thing is, Mr Langborne, you needn’t have gone to the bother. Ronnie Farley had planned to kill herself today, she had the tablets lined up in her kitchen and you interrupted her arrangements. She left me a letter explaining a great deal. I’m sure you’ve been fitting the pieces of the story together, you’re a smart man. Was it a terrible shock when she phoned you last night and told you what your father had done to her son and to other boys?’
Langborne ran his tongue across his lips. ‘I was shocked, yes, but only up to a point; you see, Mr Swift, he started with me, when I was six. It was my birthday present.’
Swift nodded. He had never imagined he could feel the slightest glimmer of pity for Langborne, but he did now.
‘You seem unsurprised?’
‘I’m not surprised. Many abusers start within the home. And Florence? Did he abuse her too or did he just want boys?’
‘I don’t know. I believe t
hat there’s usually a gender preference. Florence has never indicated that she was abused in any way, but then again, I had never mentioned my own experiences to her. We are that kind of family. Although I suppose most families where such things occur maintain their silences.’ He sat for a while without speaking, then roused himself. ‘I suspected that my father might have abused other boys; I understand that pederasts rarely limit their enjoyment to one experience. When he died, I was relieved but also wary, wondering if the reports of his death would trigger memories and cause people to come forward.’
‘You felt safer as the years went by, after his death?’
‘Oh no; you never feel safe, Mr Swift, once you have experienced such things. However, that is another matter, and I won’t satisfy you with a tale of woe on my own behalf.’
‘What Ronnie Farley knew was dynamite, wasn’t it? It certainly cast the issue of who your real father was into comparative insignificance.’
Langborne shook his head. ‘I didn’t see Mrs Farley today or harm her. You’ll be disappointed, I know, but I was taking part in a mind-numbing team building exercise all day in Islington; hence the casual mufti.’ He gestured at his clothing. ‘At least twenty people can vouch for me, from nine thirty until six p.m. when we were blessedly released from the toils of anticipating future challenges and the like.’
He was smiling his practised smile, but there was still a wary apprehension in his eyes and he was edging the coaster backwards and forwards with the sides of his thumbs.
‘I suppose you contacted Florence last night, to tell her about Mrs Farley? She would need to know that such information was going to be made public.’
The Lady Vanished Page 19