White Lies

by Rachel Green

  He shook his head. “Why would I? We were all in a hurry to find out what the commotion was about.”

  “Well I saw the hooks he was taking about but there were only two sets of car keys.”

  “So?” Jimmy lit another cigarette.

  “There are three cars here. The Merc in the garage, Joan’s and a Volvo I’m guessing belongs to Susan.”

  “So if Richard comes back and says they were there...”

  “Then he had them all the time.”

  “Or Catherine had them and put them back when we all rushed out.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She bit her lip.

  “Where are you going with this? What does it matter who had the keys to the car?”

  “I don’t know.” Meinwen half laughed. “But the crossbow must have been put there after Richard and Catherine’s visit to my house, when Dafydd phoned the sergeant. If Richard left the keys on the hook it could have been anybody in the house setting the trap, but it does rule out the mysterious person who wanted the rights to his stepfather’s erotica.”

  “Unless the buyer is someone from here.” Jimmy cocked his head. “See? Not as daft as I look, am I?”

  Meinwen smiled. “I never thought you looked daft.” She watched the path for Richard’s return, mentally reviewing the events in the garage. “What was that about with Peter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You thought you’d met before.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Was he ever in prison? When your mate Richard was talking to him he looked familiar, somehow. I was sure I’ve seen him before.” He shook his head. “It’ll come to me.”

  Richard reappeared. “The keys are on the hook, just where I left them this morning but Catherine’s not in the house at all.”

  Jimmy finished his cigarette and ground out the butt under his heel just as they heard a car pull onto the gravel drive. He raised an eyebrow. “Here come the fuzz at last. They’d be late to a funeral.”

  Chapter 34

  Meinwen got an appointment with Catherine without paying for the privilege this time, though she was almost sorry Andrew wasn’t on the desk. She was checked in by a woman who in her younger days probably made a lot more money on the other side of the bedroom doors. Was it the destiny of over-the-hill dominatrices to become maids and madams?

  She let herself into the suite and called out. “Catherine? Mrs. Godwin?”

  “That’s enough of that.” Catherine appeared at the end of the passage, as she’d done before. “No more ‘Mrs. Godwin.’ I was right to leave him the first time. I should never have let him wheedle his way back in.”

  Catherine was dressed casually. She looked so ordinary in everyday clothes that Meinwen wondered what people saw in her. Was it really just the clothes that made the woman? Despite the leather furniture in the room, the silk sheets on the bed and the padded coffee table with all the bondage rings screwed to the underside, in a baggy jumper and jeans she looked like a secretary on her day off. The spectacles didn’t help. She hadn’t even been aware Catherine wore them.

  She caught Meinwen looking. “I’m off duty. Contact lenses go better with the leather catsuit.”

  “Sorry. Was I that obvious?”

  “A bit.” She picked up a crystal decanter. “Drink?”

  “Not for me, thanks.”

  “Your loss.” She poured herself one and returned to her seat, dangling the glass of whiskey from her thumb and forefinger. “So what can I do for you this time? Please don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”

  “No, fortunately not, though Peter was injured at the house earlier.”

  “How?”

  “He was shot with a crossbow left as a trap for Richard.”

  “Dear God.” Catherine took a gulp of whiskey. “How badly injured was he?”

  “It went into his thigh. He’ll be fine. I doubt the hospital will even admit him, though he’ll limp for a little while.”

  “Good.” She looked up. “Good that he’ll be all right, I mean. He was always quite sweet to me. Devoted to Richard, of course, so anything good for Richard...”

  “He always was very loyal to the Markhews.”

  “Yes. Even to the old witch. No offense.”

  “None taken. I had a run-in with Joan the day after Richard...I mean, who they thought was Richard...was killed.”

  “Kevin, his name was. Nice lad. He’d do anything for you.” She looked across at the empty cage.

  “Yes, that’s a point. I meant to ask you about that. When I came to tell you of Kevin’s death there was a man in the cage. You said earlier it was Kevin that played the gimp for you, but if Kevin was already dead who was in the cage when I was here?”

  Catherine frowned. “I don’t know. I just assumed...I wasn’t really paying attention, was I? You told me Richard was dead so I canceled all my appointments and sent Kevin away. Only you’re right. It couldn’t have been Kevin.” She frowned. That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “The gimp suit. The seams were split. I thought Kevin must be putting on weight but it wasn’t him wearing it, was it? It was someone bigger than him in his suit.” Her face paled. “Only Richard and I knew about Kevin. It must have been his killer. What was he doing here?”

  “I can only think he was after you.”

  “Or you. Weren’t you mugged when you left here?”

  “Yes, but no-one knew I was coming here. I’d only traced you an hour before.”

  “I can’t believe he was after me. I was alone with him for several hours.” Catherine put her drink down and opened another door. She went through, with Meinwen following. Behind the door was another hotel room, this one catering to the nonkinky guests. She opened the wardrobe and began pulling out clothes and stuffing them into a case. “I’m getting out of here until he’s caught. I don’t want to be next.”

  “Sensible. Where will you go? The police won’t like it if you leave town.”

  “They can like it or lump it. I’m off. Salisbury. Maybe even London.”

  “I’d ask you to keep in touch but I lost my phone when I got mugged.”

  “Sorry. I could email you, if you like. You can tell me what’s going on. Talking of which, who was the bloke you were with earlier? He looked like John.”

  “Yes, his brother Jimmy. I’m investigating John’s death, too.”

  “I liked John when I first met him. He used to come to the Larches a lot. Then he and Richard became lovers and the brown stuff hit the fan.”

  “But isn’t the Larches all about polyamory? I thought you were supposed to be able to love more than one person at a time?”

  “Richard can. He does. He loves everybody in the house, but I couldn’t. I love him...loved him...exclusively. That may be a failing on my part but I just can’t do it and to find out this French apartment was originally for him and John?” She shook her head. “That really was the last straw. Now he can get stuffed as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You’re just angry. Sleep on it. I promise you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “You bet I’m angry.” Catherine poured herself another scotch and brought the bottle back to her seat. “And yes, the heat of anger will fade but by morning it’ll be ice cold.”

  “If you say so.” Meinwen shifted position; her ribs were beginning to ache again. “Where did you go after that row with Richard this afternoon? Did you stay at the house or come back here?”

  “You’ll laugh at this. I went to the park. Where the rose beds are? That’s where Richard proposed to me.”

  “Sweet.” Meinwen smiled. “Why didn’t you take the car?”

  “I wanted to clear my head. Besides, I saw Peter heading to the garage with a bucket and I really didn’t want to explain why I was going back without Richard. I walked until I calmed down then got a taxi back here.” She leaned forward. “I had an hour in the bath with bubbles and a rabbit. A good orgasm or five does wonders to relax the mind.”

  “So you di
dn’t have the car keys?”

  “No. Why do you keep asking about the car? Do you think I set up the crossbow?”

  “Well...you were a bit cross with Richard.”

  She shook her head. “I still love him. I might wish the arsehole dead but I wouldn’t want to see him hurt.”

  Chapter 35

  Jean knotted the rope again, the final hitch in a series connecting Peter’s injured leg to a bamboo pole from his crotch to six inches past his foot. She ran her hand along them, testing each one by slipping a finger between the knot and the flesh. All were just right. Tight enough to leave marks on his skin but not so tight as to reduce blood circulation. Satisfied, she attached the end of the pole to a rope hanging from the ceiling and hoisted the leg into the air.

  Peter lost his balance and tipped forward, his weight held by three similar ropes. Two were attached to a pole bound to his outstretched arms and the third to the small of his back, where an intricate spider’s web of rope twisted around his torso and groin, leaving his genitals exposed.

  Peter hopped on his good leg in an attempt to steady his gyrating body but Jean slipped a loop of rope around his ankle and pulled, leaving him suspended awkwardly from four points. She attached the free rope to a wall anchor.

  “The only way that bloody woman will leave us alone is if she solves her little puzzle.” She walked a half circle to cup his chin, raising his head to look in his eyes. “So tell me. What really happened to John Fenstone? He didn’t commit suicide at all, did he?”

  “It was an accident, Mistress. Breath play taken too far.”

  “By whom?”

  Peter shook his head. “I can’t say, ma’am. I’m bound by a promise.”

  “Very well.” She crossed to the door where she’d left her handbag and withdrew a small, thin tin of miniature cigars and a lighter. She strolled back, peeling off the cellophane wrapper. “If you’ve made a promise you won’t break even when your mistress asks, the promise is either to the crown or to Richard and I’m pretty sure you’re not a civil servant.” She lit the cigar and brought the lighter down to his groin.

  Despite clenched teeth, Peter’s wail of agony reverberated around the room. “Jimmy Fenstone.” His breath was ragged when she removed the flame. “John’s brother. I swore I wouldn’t tell for Richard’s sake.”

  “I thought as much.” Jean inhaled cigar smoke and smiled. “Where is Richard now?”

  “In...in the study, I think.”

  “Good.” She trailed her fingers down his cheek and began to free the knots. “Good boy for telling me.” She loosened the ropes, their task completed. “You have an hour before I call the police. Whatever your reason for keeping it secret you’d better resolve it now.”

  Chapter 36

  “Where are we going?” Richard clicked the remote for the garage door, now mercifully lacking the lethality of a mounted crossbow.

  “John’s old house.” Peter limped around to the passenger door on the Mercedes, supporting himself against the car and easing into the seat. “There’s evidence there that points to the murderer. I know who it is.”

  “Who?” Richard slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “I thought it was suicide until Inspector White mentioned they’d reopened the case. I’d love to get my hands on the bastard who killed John.”

  “I can’t say yet, but I swear there’s evidence in that loft. Evidence the police missed.”

  Richard pulled out of the garage, the wheels crunching on the gravel drive. “How is that possible? The police never miss anything.”

  “You’ve been watching too many crime dramas. They miss evidence all the time but don’t let on. I mean, think about it. If the police spent their resources searching crime scenes, they wouldn’t have enough to put coppers on the streets. They farm out all the lab work to whatever private contractors offer the lowest bid. Most crime scenes are examined by speccy little twats straight out of school or on leave from college. They miss evidence all the time.”

  “So how do you know all this?” Richard turned right out of Cherry Tree Road. “Come to that, how do you know there’s evidence in the loft at his house?”

  “I got talking to the paramedic in the ambulance. It turns out he was on call the night John was killed and went up to the loft to cut him down. He says there are letters scratched in the beams that you can only see when you’re level with the trapdoor. He hadn’t got time to look at them and assumed the police would but they haven’t.”

  “So you reckon they might have been John pointing the finger?”

  “I’m sure of it.” Peter gripped Richard’s arm. “I know we’ll find the answer in the loft, sir, I just know it. Then we can put this whole sorry episode behind us and get on with living again. There are too many skeletons haunting the family. We need to bury them all once and for all.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.” Richard glanced at his passenger. “What do you mean, ‘bury the skeletons’? What skeletons?”

  “You know, sir. Your father’s murder. John’s. Kevin’s”

  “Kevin’s? What do you know about Kevin’s murder? We should go to the police if you know anything about that.”

  “And we will, sir, just as soon as I’ve confirmed my suspicions.”

  Richard signaled left and pulled in to the side of the road. “What suspicions? Tell me, Peter, or I swear I’m going straight to the police.”

  “Jimmy Fenstone, sir. He’s the killer. I mean, think about it. He gets out of prison to find his brother doing amazingly well. Good looks, good lifestyle, rich, happy, plenty of sex and with no other living relatives. Meanwhile he’s having it off, begging your pardon, with the rich son of a famous fetish photographer who’s just split up from his amazingly attractive wife.”

  Richard nodded. It made sense. He’d seen the way Jimmy Fenstone looked at Catherine for himself. “Okay, go on.”

  “So, having scouted out the situation with his brother he scarpers back to Hull...”

  “Huddersfield, I think it was.”

  “As you say, sir. So he goes back and sends you those letters about buying the rights to Sir Robert’s life work. He knows that with a divorce coming up you’ll be desperate for a few readies which will give him the chance to get close to you.”

  Richard frowned. “But why? What does he want with me?”

  “Curiosity, sir. He’s spent ten years in prison and comes out to find his brother’s gay and in love with you. As far as he’s concerned, you took his brother away from him so he wants to find out just what manner of man can do that.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “It does, sir. Now, and here’s where he’s really clever, he comes back to Laverstone, kills his brother and makes it all look like suicide, buggers off again while all the hullabaloo dies down then comes back and pretends to be all ‘oh, I’ve just got out of prison and my brother’s dead.’”

  “But why would he go to the police about it?”

  “He found out about his brother’s insurance policy. You can’t get a payout from suicide, can you? So now he has to get the police to reopen the case and say it was murder after all. For that he needs a scapegoat.”

  “So why did he go to Meinwen Jones?”

  “Because of her connections with the police and with you.” Peter lifted his leg into a more comfortable position. “Then he’s all ‘Please help me prove he was murdered, Meinwen. Then I can get the insurance money too.’ And while he’s at it who better for a scapegoat than you?”

  “God. I think you may be onto something. We should tell Meinwen. She might be in danger too.”

  “I doubt it, sir. Not unless he finds out we know the truth.”

  “Good point.” Richard put the car back into drive and continued the journey. “But why kill Kevin?”

  “Because Kevin claimed to be you, sir. The poor lad thought he was doing you a favor and went to the meeting. By the time he realized Kevin wasn’t you the lad could recognize him so he had to die.” Peter
pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one.

  Richard frowned and cracked open a window. He would normally have stopped Peter smoking but with his injured leg... “So he killed Kevin too. Where did he get the knife from? And the crossbow, come to that. They were stolen from the manor.”

  “After you, Mary and I had gone for dinner, yes. He must have been watching you and saw an opportunity. He’s already setting you up for John’s murder. Better still to set you up for Kevin’s as well.”

  “You’re right. I’ve been blind, haven’t I?”

  “Not your fault, sir. We all missed it. I only suspected myself after I got shot by that crossbow bolt. Funny timing that, eh? He turns up at the house, finds you’re back with your beautiful wife and bang! There’s a trap designed to kill you right where you stand.”

  “But who would have got the blame for that? If I was killed, it makes it obvious I wasn’t the killer.”

  “But you had a row with Catherine, sir.” Peter finished the cigarette and tossed the butt out of the window. “She stormed off and you expected her to take the car and go back to her hotel. The trap was meant for her, he’ll say, but it backfired when you forgot about it. I bet he was asking you to go after her just before I got shot.”

  “I don’t think...” Richard thought back to that afternoon. “Actually, Meinwen asked where Catherine was.”

  “He’ll have put her up to asking.”

  “You mean Meinwen’s in on this?”

  “Maybe. They do seem quite close. I’d give her the benefit of the doubt for now.”

  “Good. I’ve always trusted her.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s the point, really.”

  “Good God. I hope she’s not in on it.” He pulled into Ashgate Road. “How will we get into John’s? I don’t have a key.”

  “There’s one in the shed, sir.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s my job to know, sir. I’ve looked after you ever since your father died, haven’t I?”

  Richard smiled. “You have. Where would I be without you?”