Zander behaved beautifully. Apart from slightly darker shadows under his eyes, he seemed to have come through his ordeal better than Oliver. He apologized to Bea for presenting himself in yesterday’s shirt and thanked her for offering supper. He said he was supposed to collect some of his stuff from Mrs Perrot’s later that evening, was waiting for a phone call to say when the police had finished with his room. He gave Maggie one long, considering look, and seeing that she didn’t wish to acknowledge his presence, asked Bea if there was anything he could do for her.
Bea turned away from an almost empty freezer. ‘Can you magic food out of thin air? The cupboard is bare. Shall we get a takeaway?’
‘Chinese?’ said Oliver, his usually well-brushed hair falling over his forehead, giving him a rakish, devil-may-care look.
‘Chinese will do me,’ said Chris, suspending his questioning of Oliver long enough to state a preference. ‘Now, tell me in detail, don’t miss anything out . . .’
‘I hate junk food,’ said Maggie, close to tears.
Bea put her arm around Maggie and held her tight. She spoke softly into her ear. ‘It won’t do us any harm to eat junk food for once. Oliver’s safe now. One other thing; Zander had to give the police an address where he could stay tonight, so I said he could come here. Can you cope?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘The bed’s always made up.’
Zander found the fast-food menus they kept by Maggie’s cookery books and said he’d take orders. Did they deliver? Yes, they did. Fine.
Bea started counting seats round the central table-cum-work surface in the kitchen. They had four high stools. They’d have to bring in a chair from the sitting room – or could they perhaps take everything down into the garden and eat there al fresco?
With a start, Bea remembered that she’d left Cynthia all by herself in the agency rooms, and she rushed down to see how she’d been getting on.
Cynthia was packing up for the day. ‘I’ve done what I could. Maggie came down for a while to show me how to access the computer, but I’m afraid there was so much going on that I only had time to take messages from everybody. I said you’d ring back tomorrow.’
‘Bless you. You couldn’t by any chance help us out tomorrow as well, or even for the rest of the week? We’re all at sixes and sevens. I hope we’ll be able to get back to routine tomorrow, but we’ve lost so much time I don’t know how we’re going to manage. We’ll pay you well.’
‘Why not? I’ve got a couple of interviews on Friday, but I’m pretty free till then. Nine thirty tomorrow?’ She departed, smiling.
Bea decided not to look at the stack of messages which had been left for her and went back up the stairs to find Zander on the phone, placing his takeaway order, while Chris was still bombarding Oliver with questions. Maggie, pretending she wasn’t interested, was buffing up some cutlery.
‘So what did you discover on the bad man’s computer?’
Oliver exchanged glances with Zander and shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s all right to talk about it to you lot, but if one word of this gets out, I’m dead, understood? Mr Cambridge told us to report to the Trust office at half past seven, by which time the cleaners should have gone. In fact, we had to wait for them to leave, and it was nearer quarter to eight before we got in. Mr Cambridge then joined us, bringing his own laptop and memory sticks. Zander had his keys, of course, so we could get into the Dishonourable’s room.
‘Mr Cambridge sat me down at Denzil’s computer and asked me to transfer all the files on to a couple of memory sticks. He gave me the password, “Kylie”, which is the name of that girl in the village pub, isn’t it? Anyway, it worked. I downloaded everything on to the memory sticks and started to open up the folders. At first it looked like just a whole load of porn. The folders had titles like “Maids in Waiting” and “Skirts Ahoy!” I didn’t particularly want to enquire any further, but Zander insisted that he’d seen Denzil working on his computer with the screen showing spreadsheets, emails and business letters. Only there weren’t any folders marked “Business” or “Staff”. Every single folder had a soft porn title. Mr Cambridge said this showed Denzil’s puerile sense of humour.
‘He took one of the memory sticks and transferred everything to his laptop. Zander did the same, using one of the office computers which is not currently in use. I stayed on Denzil’s original computer.
‘Mr Cambridge divided up the tasks. I was to look at the top twenty folders, Zander the bottom, while he poked around to see what had been deleted or put in the HP Gallery, was on emails and so on.
‘The first three folders I opened contained soft porn, and nothing but. The next was titled “Distaff Disturbances” and bingo! It was a file for staff addresses, salaries, wages, holiday times, etcetera, both for the city office and for the one in Kensington.’
‘That might be useful,’ said Bea. ‘I’d like a copy of that sometime.’
‘Will do. “Bossy Boots!” contained a list of dates and payments to someone unknown. Not large amounts. Fifty pounds roughly once a month. Mr Cambridge guessed the payments might have been for the previous office manageress, who’d been very thick with the dead man. Then there were more folders of soft porn. I don’t like to think,’ he said, virtuously, ‘of the sort of man who needs a shot of porn before he starts work in the morning.’
Bea said, ‘Yes, but did you find anything for Corcorans?’
Zander nodded. ‘I found it under “Shrinking Violets”. I don’t know why he named it that. Mr Cambridge didn’t know, either. Dates and invoices covering a period of ten years. But it looks straightforward till you realize how inflated the figures were.’
‘But I,’ said Oliver, ‘found the record he’d made of kickbacks under a file marked “Discount Debs”, cross-referenced to “Shrinking Violets”.’
Bea mused, ‘I wonder what Honoria made of it.’
Oliver shrugged. ‘If she knew how he’d disguised the files. She might have thought they were all pretty pictures of girls in their underwear, which a lot of them are.’
The front doorbell rang, and Zander – who was nearest the door – went to collect their food, and pay for it.
Bea said they shouldn’t discuss Trust affairs in the garden, so they ate round the kitchen table, with Maggie perched on a typing chair brought up from below.
Silence ruled for a while. Even from Chris, who Bea imagined might be making notes of everything for future use. The boys had seconds, but Bea refused.
She said, ‘The more I think about it, the more I believe Honoria was the brains behind the scam. Oh, of course it was Denzil’s idea to use girlie pictures as a front for his secrets, but that grubby little soul of his was surely not intelligent enough to devise the systematic fleecing of the Trust over such a long period of time. The fifty pounds he gave away every month is not sufficiently large a bribe to attract anyone at director level, so I think Mr Cambridge was right in suspecting it went to the office manageress. That would be Denzil’s little secret. But for the rest . . . Did Mr Cambridge find anything he could use in the deleted files, or in the HP Gallery?’
Zander eyed the last spring roll as it was transferred to Chris’s plate. ‘He said he needed to have a go at the hard drive on the original machine, so we switched computers over. The one now sitting in Denzil’s office contains a record of his current files, transferred via the memory stick, while Mr Cambridge took Denzil’s original computer back to his place to spend more time on it.’
‘I’d like to see him working on that,’ said Oliver. ‘I asked if he’d let me help him, and he said “maybe”. Only then it was time to break for the night, we took a taxi back to Zander’s, and the sky fell on us.’
Bea switched the kettle on to make some tea while Maggie gathered up all the empty plates and dishes. Winston the cat leaped on to the table, scenting food. Oliver picked him up to give him a cuddle. For an eighteen-year-old, Oliver had survived the day wonderfully well, but suddenly he looked exhausted. Had he slept at all the previous nigh
t? Probably not.
Bea distributed mugs of tea all round. ‘Do you two want to talk about what you saw at Mrs Perrot’s?’
Oliver buried his face in the cat’s fur. Winston blinked but allowed himself to be caressed.
Zander shook himself back from whatever hell he’d been looking into. ‘When we finished at the Trust, we helped Mr Cambridge into a taxi with his laptop, and I locked up. Oliver and I waited for another taxi. When we got to my place – to Mrs Perrot’s place – we saw there were fire engines outside, two of them. And police cars. So we both got out. I said who I was, and they asked if there was anyone else living there, and I said yes, and was Mrs Perrot all right.’
He cleared his throat. ‘I was really fond of her, you know? She always had a smile, could always find time to talk to people, in the shops, everywhere. She used to do the flowers at church once a month, and in her younger days she taught in the Sunday school, though they call it Junior Church nowadays. She ran the Women’s Hour midweek and collected for Christian Aid. I was going to trim her privet hedge this weekend and tie back a climbing rose which had come away from its trellis.
‘Her daughter went to live in Australia twenty years ago, and she’s only seen her grandchildren once in all that time. There’s a nephew comes around occasionally, but she told me he was a bit of a cad – that’s the way she put it. “A bit of a cad.” He’s been three times through the divorce courts and tries to get out of paying maintenance. She doesn’t – didn’t – like him much. Said he was just like her brother, who apparently . . . Oh well, what’s the use! I’m going to miss her enormously.’
He shuddered. ‘I can’t bear to think of her last few minutes. If only we’d finished earlier . . . but the police said it looked as if she died about nine o’clock when we were still working.’
‘What do you think happened?’ asked Chris.
‘I don’t know. A burglary that went wrong? She had some nice pieces of jewellery, and it was a big old house. Perhaps it was some passer-by, some drug addict, who thought she’d have money in the house?’
They were all quiet. Oliver yawned, cavernously.
Zander tried to smile. ‘Well, it was lucky for us that Mr Cambridge could give us an alibi. We’ll let the police sort it.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I thought they’d have contacted me by now to say when I can fetch my things. I’m desperate for a shower.’
‘And a good night’s sleep,’ said Oliver, yawning again. ‘Sorry, everyone. I’m bushed.’
Zander stood up and stretched. ‘Chris, I forgot to tell your father, what with everything else that’s been happening. My predecessor at the office rang me yesterday afternoon, asking me to go out to see her, somewhere in Uxbridge, I think. Said she had some information for me, wouldn’t give any details. I thought she might have something useful to tell us about Denzil’s little habits so I said I’d go, but then of course your father wanted us to do a spot of detective work, so I rang her back to make another appointment. She was out, so I left a message. I don’t know whether it’s worth following up now. With what we’ve found on the computer, I don’t suppose it matters.’
The doorbell rang. Bea was nearest. Two plain-clothes policemen, calling for Zander. He came out of the kitchen, unafraid, looking at his watch. ‘You mean I get an escort to pick up my things? Have you found out who did it yet?’
They arrested him. Formally. For the theft of Mrs Perrot’s jewellery, which they’d found hidden in his toilet bag and under his mattress.
‘What!’ Zander blinked, took half a step back. ‘But I didn’t! I wouldn’t!’
Bea believed him.
The police didn’t. ‘Come along now.’
‘Mrs Abbot, believe me, I didn’t!’
‘I believe you,’ said Bea, trying to think what this might mean.
‘I’ve been framed!’ said Zander, reaching the truth.
‘Don’t try that on with us, lad,’ said the larger of the policemen. ‘We don’t go round planting jewellery. We just find it where you’ve hidden it.’
Bea said, ‘Zander, say “no comment” to everything. I’ll see what I can do about getting you a good solicitor.’
‘Save your money, love,’ said the larger policeman. ‘He can’t wriggle out of this one, no matter who he gets to give him an alibi.’
Zander gave one despairing look around and went with the policemen. Bea closed the door and leaned against it.
Excitable Chris was already on his mobile phone. ‘Dad; you’ll never guess what . . .!’
Oliver subsided on to his stool, eyes wild. Suddenly he looked ten years old, a small boy wanting his mother.
Maggie mopped up tears, sniffing, urging Oliver to his feet. ‘Come on; bed for you. Things will look better in the morning.’
Would they? wondered Bea.
Oliver shuffled past her to the stairs, Maggie’s arm around him. He stopped on the first step, looked back at Bea. ‘He was framed, wasn’t he? By Honoria?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bea, holding back misery. ‘She wouldn’t kill Mrs Perrot just to get back at Zander, would she? I mean . . . Surely not.’ The idea settled into Bea’s mind, and suddenly she was convinced that this was exactly what Honoria would do.
Oliver shook his head. He held on to the banister to help him climb the stairs. Maggie encouraged him along, saying, ‘There, now. You can do it.’
Chris held his phone out to Bea. ‘The man wants a word.’
She took it from him. ‘Yes?’
‘They say women are better judges of other women than men can ever be. Is Honoria capable of killing an old lady and framing Zander for it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You seem very sure of it.’
‘I am now. Remember that she tried to frame him for stealing the statuette? Suppose I hadn’t been able to prove he was innocent, and she insisted on calling the police? He’d have gone to prison.’
‘So he would. Luckily I could provide them with an alibi for last night, though I had to go against Tommy’s wishes to do so. He really doesn’t want the problems at the Trust splashed all over the tabloids, but when it comes to murder . . . I did hope we’d got over that piece of rough ground successfully.’
‘I agree that, between you and Oliver, you can clear Zander of Mrs Perrot’s murder. The theft of the jewellery is another matter because they can say he could have taken it earlier. They could even say she discovered what he was doing so he got an accomplice to kill her at a time when he had a good alibi. I need to get him a good solicitor.’
‘I’ll do that for you. Tell me, where do you stand on this?’
‘I’m not bound to respect Lord Murchison’s feelings. If it looks as if Zander is to go to prison for theft, I’ll tell the police what I know.’
‘Which might not help Zander.’
‘It would muddy the waters – and it would make you concentrate on clearing him.’
‘You have too much faith in my abilities.’
‘Don’t give up. I’ve just remembered something. Zander said he’d had a call from the previous office manageress yesterday afternoon, asking him to pay her a visit last night. He agreed, but then you asked him to help with Denzil’s computer so he couldn’t go. He rang her back to make his apologies, but she was out, so he left a message. I wonder now if that phone call to him was a decoy, intended to take him out on a false errand. Because if he’d gone and not found her at home, he wouldn’t have had an alibi for the murder, would he?’
‘This takes some thinking about. Mrs Abbot—’
‘I think you might call me “Bea”, don’t you?’
‘Very well. And I’m CJ. Tommy said he’d never seen anyone cope with Honoria as you did. I wonder if you could think yourself into her shoes, tell us what she’s likely to do next.’
Bea snorted. ‘As in, flattery will get you everywhere? I should hate to think myself into Honoria’s mind. I don’t want to get suicidally depressed.’
‘You think she’s suicidal? Now that’s i
nteresting. I hadn’t thought of her that way.’
‘Of course not. It’s me who might get suicidal – oh, leave it, will you? It’s been a long day, and I’ve got other important things on my mind apart from you and your Trust.’
He sounded amused. ‘Most women retreat from confrontation, I find. Sleep on it. I’ll ring you tomorrow, early.’ The phone went dead.
Chris’s eyes gleamed. ‘Isn’t this exciting? Oh, and awful, too, of course.’
Bea couldn’t help laughing. Painful laughter. With tears. ‘Oh, Chris! How could you?’
He patted her awkwardly on her shoulder. ‘I know, I know. I’m terrible. But if I’m going to make good films one day, I need to understand how people cope with life. Cheer up. Dad’ll sort it.’
Bea blew her nose. ‘Of course. Thank you, Chris. You’ve been great.’
‘Anything else I can do?’
She shook her head, saw him out into the dusk. Was it really that late? She cleared up in the kitchen, closed and locked the grilles over the windows, fed Winston, who had laid himself fatly out on the work surface. Thought over the conversation with CJ – what was his name? Was he another Christopher, perhaps?
One thing for sure: she was not, definitely not, going to try to get into Honoria’s mind. That way madness lay. She went up to bed.
She prayed a bit. Was too tired to read her Bible. And against all the odds, for she hadn’t thought she could, she slept.
Thursday morning
She fought herself out of a nightmare. Daylight. Birds singing. Another blue sky day.
Maggie put a cup of tea on the bedside table. Maggie was dressed but hadn’t put on her war paint yet. ‘Oliver won’t get out of bed.’
Bea yawned, leaned on one elbow to grab her tea. ‘Exhausted emotionally, I expect. He’s only eighteen, after all.’
‘Nearly nineteen. Should I let him be?’
Bea sipped tea. Maggie had put sugar in it. Ugh. Maybe Maggie thought sugared tea was good for shock, but Bea was shockproof after all that had happened, wasn’t she? ‘Yes, let him be. Did he sleep all right?’
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