As for Becks, she spent her time in an increasing tizzy of rising irritation. This was because, as far as she was concerned, she’d just had an amazing adventure, and yet no one in her house seemed at all interested in hearing about it. Colin had listened carefully as she’d explained about seeing Imam Latif, and how he’d told her the story of Iqbal Kassam possibly being cheated out of an inheritance from his neighbour. Once she’d finished, Colin told Becks she shouldn’t gossip when she was out and about in a way that made Becks realise that he hadn’t really been listening at all. As for her son Sam, he was so wrapped up in his own fourteen-year-old life that Becks didn’t even bother telling him. And while she knew her daughter Chloe would have loved to hear about her escapades, they were currently refusing to talk to each other. This was because, the night before the funeral, Becks had caught Chloe slipping out of the house to visit her boyfriend, a nice boy called Jack, but what put Becks on the warpath was the discovery that her daughter had a bottle of gin in her bag. Becks had shouted at Chloe at the time, what sort of sixteen-year-old girl goes to see her boyfriend late at night with a bottle of gin?
The answer, of course, was: Becks. After all, Chloe got her transgressive side from someone, and it certainly wasn’t Colin. In fact, Becks had a memory of stealing an old bottle of Cointreau from her mother when she was eleven years old, drinking it in a field with her best friend while smoking her mum’s cigarettes. But that was the childhood version of Becks. The one who was daring, who didn’t give a stuff about rules.
What perhaps spiked Becks’ irritation the most was the realisation that she was as culpable as anyone else for her lack of status within her family. When she married, she couldn’t wait to put on her wedding ring and take her husband’s name. But all these years later, without even her own name to cling to, she felt rudderless, cast adrift.
When Becks’ phone rang, she was in the process of making mayonnaise with a hand whisk. She had a perfectly good food mixer that could have done the job in seconds. In fact, she lived next to any number of shops that would have sold her organic artisanal mayonnaise over the counter. But, in the absence of knowing quite what she was doing with her life, Becks clung to the only truth she knew: she was a housewife, and as such, her only sanity was to be the best housewife there’d ever been. Ergo, the hand whisk.
Her heart jumped as she saw the display name on her phone, and she answered the call gladly.
It was the same for Suzie, a few minutes later, when her phone rang. She was down by the river with Emma, two whippets called Wally and Evie, and a pug called Crackers, when she saw that Judith was calling her.
‘Ezra Harrington’s will has arrived,’ Judith said breathlessly. ‘It came in the post.’
‘Who inherits?’ Suzie said, cutting to the chase.
‘His whole estate was inherited by a man called Andy Bishop.’
‘Who?’
‘According to the will, Andy Bishop was Ezra’s solicitor.’
‘Hold on, are you saying that Iqbal’s neighbour ended up leaving his whole estate to his solicitor?’
‘And his solicitor is also the sole executor. So the same man drew up the will, was in charge of dispensing it once Ezra had died, and was also the sole beneficiary.’
‘Is that even legal?’
‘I looked it up. It’s legal. But it’s very definitely not ethical.’
‘We need to meet up, don’t we?’
‘I think we need to meet up as a matter of some urgency.’
Chapter 21
Marlow wasn’t short of places for three women to meet. In fact, it sometimes felt that every other business in the town was a coffee shop or drinks bar that had been expressly set up so women could meet. Judith, Suzie and Becks were able to take a window seat in a small coffee shop in the High Street that was directly opposite Andy Bishop’s office. They knew where he worked because he’d listed his company address in Ezra’s will.
The building was a pretty Georgian townhouse with bay windows, and there was a discreet brass plaque by the shiny black door. According to the company website, there were a dozen or so lawyers in the practice and Andy Bishop was listed as a senior partner.
But what should their next step be? Suzie believed they should spy on him somehow, Becks was keen they didn’t go near him at all, but Judith overruled them both. As far as she was concerned, there was only one way to find out how Andy Bishop was involved in Iqbal’s death.
‘I’m here to see Mr Bishop,’ Judith said to the receptionist a few minutes later.
Judith’s friends had tried to suggest that barrelling into Andy’s office was possibly foolhardy, but Judith had pooh-poohed their concerns. Unlike when she visited Elliot Howard, this time she had a plan. Or believed she had a plan, which was practically the same thing as far as she was concerned.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ the receptionist asked.
‘I don’t. But could you tell him my name is Mrs Judith Potts, and I’d like to talk to him about Ezra Harrington’s will.’
The receptionist was puzzled.
‘Mr Harrington’s will? We dealt with that last year, didn’t we?’
‘Don’t worry, Mr Bishop will know what I’m talking about.’
With a polite smile, Judith went and sat down in a chair by an empty fireplace. The receptionist, seeing that Judith wasn’t going anywhere, got up and went through a nearby door.
She was back less than a minute later.
‘Mrs Potts?’ she said, clearly puzzled. ‘Mr Bishop will see you now.’
‘Thank you.’
Judith allowed herself to be led into a tastefully decorated office. There were two leather armchairs by a coffee table and faded oil paintings of hunting scenes on the walls. But Judith couldn’t help noticing that although the room was on the ground floor and had a lovely sash window with views of the bustling High Street, it also had a window on the other side that overlooked a tatty piece of tarmac and the office car park.
Andy Bishop was sitting behind a desk covered in papers, and, as he stood up to greet her, Judith was thrilled to see that he wasn’t very tall at all. Maybe less than five feet five inches. And what he lacked in height he made up in girth. In fact, he was so round that the fabric of his waistcoat was stretched tight, the buttons seemingly about to burst at the seam.
There was no doubting it in her mind. This was the ‘very short, very fat man’ Iqbal had pointed out to his imam. The man who had apparently stolen Iqbal’s inheritance. Judith felt a thrill at the danger of it all as she introduced herself. Andy indicated that they should sit down in the leather armchairs.
‘You wanted to see me about Mr Harrington’s will?’ he asked.
‘That’s right. He was a friend of mine.’
‘Yes, and mine as well. He was a rather splendid gentleman, wasn’t he? Sorry about the heat,’ he said, getting out a handkerchief and mopping his shiny forehead before indicating the windows. ‘We don’t have any air conditioning, all I can do is open the windows.’
‘That’s no problem.’
‘Anyway, how can I help you?’
‘I just wanted to check, you’re the same Andy Bishop who drew up Ezra’s will.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Or rather, changed it.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Only I know that originally Ezra left his estate to his neighbour, Iqbal Kassam.’
Andy looked slightly embarrassed.
‘I’m afraid I’m not allowed to comment on a client’s private financial affairs.’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it? Ezra told me yonks ago that he was leaving his estate to his neighbour, Iqbal. Because Iqbal was being so helpful, you see. When Ezra got ill. Taking him to the hospital in his taxi for his tests. And so on.’
‘I’m sure he did. I don’t much remember Iqbal. But, and I wouldn’t want to stress the point too much, Iqbal wasn’t the only one who helped Ezra.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘As it ha
ppens, I was visiting Ezra every day towards the end. Taking him to hospital as well, making sure he was getting the right prescriptions. And I can tell you, he had a lot of prescriptions. He’d never been the healthiest of men, had he?’ Andy smiled fondly at the memory. ‘Judith Potts?’ he added as an afterthought. ‘You know, now I think about it, I don’t remember Ezra ever mentioning a Judith to me.’
‘Well, I hadn’t seen him for a while. Not until he got in touch again when he fell ill.’
‘Tell me, how did you know each other?’
Judith smiled. She’d been expecting the question.
‘We’re both Marlow residents. We’ve known each other simply ages.’
‘But how did you meet?’
‘Was it a mutual friend? I don’t remember, it must have been forty years ago.’
‘Perhaps you knew his sister?’
Judith’s smile didn’t falter, but her mind was racing. Sister? What sister? And then she realised the truth that was implied by Ezra’s will.
‘What an odd thing to say. He didn’t have a sister.’
After a moment, Andy’s face lit up.
‘Oh that’s right, he didn’t,’ he said. ‘For some reason, I always thought he had one. More fool me. Anyway, how can I help you?’
‘Well,’ Judith said, hoping her relief at passing Andy’s test wasn’t showing on her face, ‘the thing is, I’ve got a great aunt who’s very ill. Cancer of the oesophagus.’ Judith didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt at using her great aunt’s terminal illness to bamboozle Andy. She knew Betty would have thoroughly approved. ‘And she’s not got long left to be with us. But she’s appointed her solicitor as executor of her will.’
‘I see. That seems entirely sensible.’
‘Indeed. But the thing is, she’s also asked her solicitor to draw up her will.’
‘That also makes sense.’
‘In what way?’
‘It saves on cost, for one thing. And the difficulty of administration. Have the person who draws up the will also execute it. It’s neater all round.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. But this is what I don’t understand. And perhaps this is where you can help. You see, my aunt, as well as getting her solicitor to draw up her new will, and be her executor, also wants to leave a substantial bequest to the same man.’
Andy looked puzzled.
‘I see. So what exactly is it that you’re asking me?’
‘It’s just that I know that Ezra did the same with you. Shortly before he died, he got you to draw up a new will, made you executor, and also named you as the sole beneficiary.’
‘And how on earth do you know that?’
‘Ezra told me. It’s like I said. He was my friend.’
‘He spoke to you about this?’
‘Oh yes. Not long before he died. And I hope you don’t mind me saying, but the whole thing sounded rum to me. Which is why I wanted to see you. Because it also feels rum to me that my great aunt’s doing the same. So perhaps what I’m asking is, can you reassure me that what my great aunt’s solicitor is doing is ethical?’
‘You mean, drawing up a will to which he’s also a beneficiary?’
‘Yes, that’s it in a nutshell.’
Andy looked at Judith for a few moments, and then he sighed as though he was disappointed in her.
‘I think I know what’s going on here,’ he said. ‘You’re checking up on me, aren’t you?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Don’t worry, I get it,’ he said, almost kindly. ‘I take it you live on your own? I’ve been doing this job a long time, I know the type. But you’ve got nothing to occupy you, so you’ve got a bee in your bonnet that there was something not quite right about your friend Ezra’s will.’ Andy got up, went over to the door and opened it. ‘Whereas the far more prosaic truth is, Ezra’s will was entirely above board. Of course it was or it wouldn’t have cleared probate, would it? Now, believe it or not, I do actually have some work to do. So if you don’t mind …?’
Andy stood at the open doorway, a smile on his face, as though he knew that Judith had no comeback. Frustratingly, Judith knew he was right. She couldn’t think of another card to play. Not without revealing her hand. So she got up, thanked Andy for taking the time to see her and left.
But as Judith returned to the reception area, she started chastising herself. Even if it was technically legal, what Andy Bishop had done with Ezra’s will was still sharp practice at the very least, so who was he to start lecturing her? And if everything about Ezra’s will was so above board, how come he’d seen her so quickly without an appointment?
Judith stopped by the front door.
What had he said? She lived on her own and had nothing to occupy her? Well, he couldn’t have been more wrong there. She had a job setting crosswords, which wasn’t bad for a woman who was seventy-seven years old, was it? And as she thought this, Judith realised that no man had the right to speak to her so condescendingly. Especially not some jumped-up local solicitor.
Judith turned on her heel, strode back towards Andy’s office and pushed the door open without knocking.
‘I do have a job, you know,’ she pronounced grandly.
Andy was standing by the window that overlooked the High Street, and he turned in surprise at Judith’s sudden reappearance.
On the table by the window, an office shredder was sucking in a piece of paper, slicing it into the thinnest of strips and spewing them out into a clear cellophane bag attached to the back. Judith couldn’t see what was being shredded, but it was glossy, as if it had come from a magazine, and Andy instinctively moved across so her view of the shredder was blocked.
He looked guilty as hell.
‘What’s that?’ he said, trying to buy himself time.
‘Which is all I wanted to say,’ Judith said, if only so she could make a quick exit. ‘I do have a job. I’m not a busybody, and you should treat your elders and betters with a bit more respect. Good day to you.’
And with that, she turned and left the room. But this time, she knew that Andy was implicated somehow in Iqbal’s death. After all, an innocent man doesn’t immediately start shredding papers the moment he’s accused of wrongdoing, does he?
So what was the document that Andy was shredding? And why was it so important to him to destroy it the moment he’d finished talking to Judith?
Chapter 22
The three women repaired to the vicarage for a council of war, it being only a little way down the High Street from Andy Bishop’s office.
‘We need to find out what Andy was shredding,’ Judith said, as she sat down and was almost entirely engulfed by the puffy Laura Ashley sofa in Becks’ sitting room.
‘There’s no way of finding out,’ Becks said as she entered the room with cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘Tea?’
‘Oo, thanks,’ Suzie said as she grabbed a biscuit.
‘It’s normal builders’ tea,’ Becks said, failing to hide her distaste at the thought. ‘And there’s a ramekin of sugar.’
‘Lovely,’ Suzie said, delighted.
‘If only we could get hold of the shredded paper,’ Judith said, ‘I think I’d be able to work out what was on it.’
‘How?’ Suzie asked. ‘Surely it’s impossible if it’s shredded.’
‘Oh no, I think it’s eminently possible. But it’s something of a moot point if we can’t get hold of the pieces.’
‘Which we won’t be able to do,’ Becks said, pouring out three steaming cups of tea.
‘I’m not sure I agree with you there,’ Suzie said.
‘You don’t?’
‘There’s a way we can get our hands on whatever it was Andy Bishop shredded.’
‘But how?’
‘Well, that’s simple enough. We walk in there and take it.’
‘He won’t let us do that!’
‘Of course not. So we’ll have to take it without him realising.’
‘But,’ Becks said, as she followed through the logi
c of what Suzie had said. ‘That’s theft.’
‘You could call it that.’
Becks was horrified.
Judith leant forward, excitement sparkling her eyes.
‘And how do you think we should get hold of it?’
‘There’s only one thing for it. We’ll have to break in.’
‘Oh no no no,’ Becks said. ‘We can’t break into a solicitor’s office and steal anything!’
‘You make it sound bad,’ Suzie said.
‘That’s because it is bad.’
‘It’s not that bad.’
‘It’s illegal! We could go to prison!’
‘We won’t go to prison.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘That’s easy. We won’t get caught.’
Becks waited for Suzie to continue her explanation. No further explanation was forthcoming.
‘That’s it?’
Suzie shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘I’m sorry, there’s no way I can be involved in something like this,’ Becks said. ‘I’m the vicar’s wife.’
‘You still have free will,’ Judith said.
‘Very funny. And you’re wrong. No vicar’s wife has free will. But what little I have I won’t use to break the law.’
‘It’s hardly even theft,’ Suzie said before taking a sip of her tea.
‘It’s exactly theft. And I won’t have anything to do with it!’
Becks had spoken far louder than she’d intended, and she looked in fear at the door to the sitting room. If anyone else was in they’d possibly have heard her outburst, but the house remained silent.
‘I quite understand,’ Judith said, reaching out and patting Becks on the knee. ‘You have a position to keep up. As you say, you’re the vicar’s wife.’
‘Okay,’ Suzie said. ‘If you don’t want to be involved, that’s your call. But do you have a pen and paper? I think Judith and I need to make a plan.’
The Marlow Murder Club Page 15