The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  'Semaphore Trust - a subsidiary company of the Oxbridge Agency, according to Companies House -was paying nearly thirty thousand pounds per month into a Swiss franc account held with Zurich Landesbanken. Then the money was transferred to a Santander branch in Madrid, from where it ended up with Rosalind Holdings, a company registered in Guernsey.'

  'What of it,' she said, her tone defiant. 'We're not doing anything illegal. It's tax-efficient, that's all.'

  Frank smiled to himself. Got her. 'Perhaps it is, but I do find it interesting why there was the need for such a complicated arrangement just to pay a wee girl her salary. Oh aye, and there was something else too. DC French, maybe you can update Mrs Fitzwilliam on what our fine wee colleague Eleanor Campbell discovered yesterday?'

  He nodded. 'Yeah sure guv. So as well as paying six grand a month to Chardonnay Clarke, a sum of thirty-two thousand eight hundred and fifty pounds and sixteen pence was paid to the Student Loans company for the benefit of a Mr Luke Brown.'

  'Really?' Frank said, feigning surprise. 'The lad who supposedly took his own life? The other lad placed by your agency Mrs Fitzwilliam. The other lad on your scholarship scheme. Interesting that.' Now his voice took on a serious tone. 'Frenchie, I think this would be a good time to read this lady her rights.'

  French smiled. 'Sure guv, my pleasure. Sophie Fitzwilliam, I am charging you with conspiracy to murder, you are not obliged...' He shouldn't have done it, he knew that, and the CPS would throw a hissy fit if they found out, but right now he didn't give a shit about them.

  'Wait, wait,' she said, her voice raised in blind panic. 'Christ inspector, I didn't know they would be killed.' Result.

  'But you knew they were killed, didn't you?' Frank said. 'You knew all along they weren't suicides. Come on Sophie, you can tell me all about it. Best for everyone if you did. Especially you. Because it wouldn't be fair if you were to take the rap for something you didn't do.'

  So she did tell them all about it. Of course, she continued to deny knowing anything about the murders, and chatting with Frenchie afterwards, they agreed that she was probably telling the truth as far as that aspect of the affair was concerned. But for a while she asserted that it had all been her idea, a misplaced display of loyalty that quickly crumbled when Frank pointed out that as sole conspirator she was facing at least thirty years in Holloway. So then she told them everything, including who was ultimately behind it all.

  Which caused him to ask Ronnie French for his tenner back. Because he knew he'd been right all along.

  Chapter 25

  Maggie hadn't recognised the voice on the end of the phone, but she'd instantly recognised the name.

  'Maggie, Maggie Bainbridge? The investigator? This is Rosie.'

  'Rosie Morgan? Hugo's daughter?'

  'That's right.' Her voice sounded nervous, uncertain. 'I think I need to see you. It's about mum and Lotti and stuff.'

  They agreed to meet at a little cafe nestled alongside the Regents canal. Arriving early, Maggie found an outside table conveniently located next to a patio heater which bathed her in a welcome curtain of warm air. She remembered Hugo telling her his daughter was studying fashion at nearby Central Saint Martin's, which explained the choice of venue, but other than her vague explanation on the phone, Maggie had no idea what she wanted to talk about. Jimmy had told her about the scene at the Park Lane Hilton of course, and she wondered if it had anything to do with that. But to Rosie, Jimmy wasn't Jimmy, he was James McDuff, cuckolded lover of rich old Magdalene Slattery, so it couldn't have been that. Curious.

  She spotted her from a hundred metres away as she made her way down the quayside. You won't be able to miss her, Jimmy had said, and he wasn't wrong. Dressed like that, it wasn't hard to see why Miss Morgan had chosen to make her career in the fashion industry. But as it turned out, Maggie didn't need Jimmy's vivid description, because she had someone with her. Someone she instantly recognised. Maggie stood up and waved to get her attention.

  'Hi, it's Rosie isn't it?' she said. 'I'm Maggie, it's lovely to meet you.'

  'This is Jasmine,' she said fondly. 'My little sister. We call her Yazz.'

  'We've met,' Maggie said, beaming the younger girl a smile. 'Hello again Yazz.'

  Yazz gave her a shy look. 'Hi.' She was dressed in school uniform, a grey pinafore with navy blazer and brimmed felt hat, with a leather satchel slung over her shoulder. 'Rosie's taking me to the dentist,' she said in way of explanation. 'To get my braces adjusted.'

  Maggie smiled. 'Yes, I had them when I was your age. They're quite annoying for a while but you soon forget about them.' But when she had gone to have hers fitted, nearly thirty years earlier, it was her mum who had taken her. She didn't have older siblings, but she was quite certain if she had, her parents wouldn't have palmed her off on one of them.

  'Dad was busy today,' Rosie said, as if reading her mind. 'And I don't have any classes this afternoon. It's only down in Harley Street.' Of course, it would be. The expensive private school, the pursuit of a career in the precarious fashion industry, the up-market private dentistry. Maggie wondered if they appreciated how lucky they were.

  'By the way, I love your look,' she said to Rosie, 'It's amazing.'

  'Thanks. It's retro.' She didn't smile, but Maggie guessed that was because of the effect it would have on her makeup rather than any coldness in her mood.

  'Yes, but it's great, really great. That fashion scene was a little before my time first time around, but not by much I'm afraid. Anyway, it's nearly lunchtime, do you want to eat?'

  'I don't,' Rosie said. 'Do lunch I mean. I'll just have a water please. Sparkling.' Maggie remembered the old Kate Moss maxim and smiled. Nothing tastes as good as thin feels. The supermodel had long since apologised for saying it, but the suspicion was it was still close to a religious tract as far as the fashion industry was concerned.

  'Can I have a cheeseburger please,' Yazz asked. 'With cola and fries. Double fries please.'

  With obvious reluctance, Rosie nodded her agreement. Maggie ordered and then said, 'So Rosie, how can I help you?'

  'I saw that guy yesterday. Your guy. Meeting with mum. I know who he is.'

  'Ah,' Maggie said slowly. 'It's quite a long story.'

  'You and that guy, you're investigating Lotti. My dad told me. I saw your pictures on your website.' So she knew. That would make this a whole lot easier. 'And don't worry, Yazz knows too. Maggie smiled. 'Well, investigating makes it sound more serious than it really is.' Especially since to all intents and purposes the investigation was over, all cut and dried and neatly tidied away. But now at least there was the opportunity to ask the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. And one day she would google it to find out where that ancient phrase came from.

  'So what do you think about it Rosie? Your dad and Lotti I mean?'

  She gave her an impassive look. 'I want him to be happy.'

  'And do you think Lotti will make him happy?'

  Rosie shrugged. 'Suppose. She's quite nice.'

  'I like her too,' Yazz said, temporarily suspending the demolishment of her lunch. 'She's quite nice and I like the way she speaks.'

  'Yes, she has got a nice accent, hasn't she?' Maggie said, smiling.

  'Although Rosie, isn't it a little awkward for you? I'm meaning the age difference. Lotti's only thirty and your dad is what, fifty?'

  'You think?'

  Maggie felt her heart skip a beat. Lowering her voice she asked, 'What do you mean?'

  'Like there's no way she's thirty. Twenty more like.'

  'How do you know that Rosie?'

  'I don't know, not for defo at least. I searched her handbag one day, hoping to find something to prove it, but I didn't. But whatever, I don't care, it's like nothing to do with me, is it?'

  'And have you told your dad? About your suspicions, I mean?'

  She shrugged again. 'There not suspicions, it's not like some sort of big conspiracy is it? And anyway why should I tell him? It doesn't bother me what age she is.'
Maggie could tell by the way she said it that the exact opposite was true.

  'So do you think he knows?'

  'Maybe. I don't care.' She took a sip of water and turned her head, staring into the distance. Maggie wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the hint of a tear begin to form.

  'You said on the phone you wanted to talk about her. About Lotti.'

  Rosie nodded. 'Yeah, it's mum. I think she's found out about Lotti and dad. She's seeing that guy from the gallery you see, you know, the one where Lotti works. He must have found out and told her.' That guy from the gallery. Robert Trelawney, the guy whom in a moment of complete madness she had slept with.

  'And she's mental. I'm worried she might do something crazy.'

  'Mum's not mental,' Yazz said.

  'Eat your lunch,' her sister said in a kindly tone, 'and stop listening in to what the grown- ups are saying.'

  'Ok.' She took a noisy slurp on her straw then returned to the fast-disappearing cheeseburger.

  'What do you mean Rosie,' Maggie said, 'something crazy?'

  'I don't know. Just crazy. Harm Lotti in some way. She's a complete nightmare my mum. She always has been, ever since we were little.' So now it began to make a little sense, why she and her sister had chosen to stay with her dad. Although Maggie was conscious that she would only be hearing one side of the story.

  'I'm a mum too and it can be the most difficult job in the world. But have you told your dad about this?'

  Suddenly Rosie looked sad in a way only a child can. 'I don't want to. It would just make everything worse than ever between them.' With what she knew about the Morgan's shattered relationship, Maggie doubted it would make the slightest difference. But that was the thing with divorces, whether bitter or amicable. The kids always wanted the parents to get back together.

  'So what is it you want me to do?' Maggie asked. 'Because I'm not sure if I can help you.'

  'Your guy...'

  'Jimmy.'

  'Yeah Jimmy. I think my mum likes him. Even though she's got Robert now. I can always tell. She's pathetic.'

  Maggie laughed, immediately regretting it. 'Yes, I really don't understand it at all. It's not as if he's terribly good-looking or anything.'

  She seemed unimpressed. 'Yeah whatever. But maybe he could talk to her. Something like that. I don't know. It might help, that's all.' Maggie very much doubted that, given what she knew about Mrs Morgan's feelings towards her ex-husband. But she didn't mean to disappoint this vulnerable young woman.

  'We'll try,' she said. 'That's a promise.'

  'Thank you. And please don't tell my dad.'

  'I won't. Promise.'

  Rosie gave a half-smile. 'Thank you then. Come on Yazz, we need to go, or we'll miss your appointment.'

  The schoolgirl stood up, stuffing the last of the fries into her mouth.

  'Ok,' she said politely. 'That was nice. Thank you Maggie.'

  'Yeah, thanks Maggie,' Rosie said. 'I'll hear from you then?'

  Maggie nodded. 'We'll do what we can.'

  Reflecting on it as she sipped her coffee, she was still not exactly sure what the meeting had been all about. Was Felicity Morgan really a threat to Lotti, and even if she was, could she and Jimmy really do anything about it? And just because she might have been right all along about Lotti's age, she realised that it didn't pass that crucial test that she had learned to apply to situations like this one - the so what test. So what if Lotti was lying about her age? Other than the fact it was a deception, it probably didn't mean anything at all. And if Hugo Morgan already knew, then it wasn't even that. Anyway her job was to find out the facts, not pass judgement. She'd let Hugo Morgan worry about what to do with it.

  But then suddenly she noticed it. Hanging over the back of the vacated plastic chair was Yazz's satchel. Bugger. Tossing her unfinished coffee into the waste bin, she set off along the quayside in pursuit, fumbling in her bag for her Oyster card. She wasn't sure how billionaires' daughters travelled in London, but it had to be at least an each-way bet that they would be heading for the tube. Kings Cross St Pancras, the busiest station in the capital, where you could take your choice of the Northern, Victoria, District, Piccadilly, Metropolitan, Circle and Hammersmith lines. Harley Street, that's where she said she was heading. Where was that exactly? She wracked her brain and then remembered. Yes, somewhere between Marylebone Road and Oxford Street, she was pretty sure that's where it was. But which tube line would they take? The Piccadilly, or maybe the Circle or Metropolitan westbound to Great Portland Street. Either would do, but she had to decide. Piccadilly, southbound.

  To her dismay she saw there was a queue building up behind the barriers, which was being caused by a bunch of foreign tourists trying to figure out what to do with their tickets. Ignoring a squawk of complaints, she forced herself to the front and snatched a ticket from a confused-looking elderly man, maybe Japanese or Chinese, she wasn't sure which. Shooting him a forced smile, she slotted his ticket into the machine and pushed him through the opening gates, squeezing through behind him and ignoring his profuse thank-you’s. The down escalator was busy but she was able to take the left hand side like a stairway, pushing aside the few travellers who were not aware of the convention that that side should be kept clear for those in a rush. Then a one-hundred an eighty degree turn where she descended the second escalator in the same fashion. A few seconds later, she was on the platform, which was unexpectedly heaving. Businessmen, shop girls, students, tourists, school kids, tradesmen, the usual rich mix of London life, packed cheek to jowl and speaking every language under the sun. Then she vaguely remembered an item on that morning's radio travel news. Industrial action by the RMT union meaning a reduced service on the Piccadilly and Victoria lines. Expect delays and some disruption throughout the day. She scanned along the platform, figuring that even with the crowds, a purple-haired punk-goth wouldn't be hard to pick out, but all she could see was a sea of heads. Glancing up she saw the indicator board predicting the first arrival in one minute, the next not for another fifteen. If they were only running four trains an hour, it was odds-on the approaching one would be already jam-packed and only those brave enough to have staked a claim at the platform edge would have any chance of getting on. That made her realise she might get a better view up and down the platform if she herself was at the front. She started to push her way through, muttering perfunctory excuse me's under her breath.

  She could feel the pattering of cool air on her face as the train approached, acting like a tightly-fitting piston in the confined tunnel. And then she was enveloped in a haze of confusion as in perfect slow-motion she saw Rosie Morgan standing at the far end of the platform. Then spinning round, watched in horror as the young woman tumbled off it in front of the arriving tube train. The girl was able to stumble to her knees before it smashed full into her, tossing her like a grotesque rag-doll against the far wall of the station, then striking her again as she fell, catapulting her already-limp body onto the platform. The echoey station was filled with a cacophony of devilish noise, the screech of steel wheel on steel rail as the driver slammed on the emergency brakes all but drowned out by the screams of the horrified onlookers. And then, as the train finally came to a stop, there was an eerie silence. A few metres back from Maggie, someone was shouting, 'I'm a doctor, let me through please,' but everybody knew it was already too late. The crowd on the platform stood motionless, stunned into inaction, not knowing quite how to react. Except for a hooded figure that Maggie just caught a glimpse of, pushing its way towards the exit. A figure who was leading Yazz Morgan by the hand.

  Desperately, Maggie elbowed her way through the crowd of paralysed bystanders. 'Let me through, let me through. Yazz, Yazz!' She was screaming at the top of her voice but the sound dissipated inaudibly as the mass of humanity absorbed her cry. 'Yazz!' They were no more than twenty-five metres ahead of her and still some way from the up escalator, but new passengers were still arriving, packing the platform ever tighter. But then miraculously, a gap opene
d up. At the bottom of the down escalator, a young mother, clutching a tiny baby to her chest, was struggling to re-erect her push chair, causing a tail-back of irritated travellers. And blocking the entrance to the up escalator too. The hooded figure ran up to her, picked up the pushchair and threw it to one side, then pushed the young woman in the chest, causing her to fall over, still holding her baby tightly.

  A shaven-headed man wearing a hi-viz vest tried to intervene. 'Oi mate, what the fuck are you doing?' but he was caught unawares by a punch that left him staggering and bleeding.

  'Yazz!' Maggie had now reached them and was able to grab the schoolgirl's free arm. The girl looked round, her face wearing a dazed expression, but her other hand was still tightly in the grasp of her abductor. Who had now decided to turn his attentions to this new threat to his escape, and for the first time, Maggie was able to get a proper look at the figure. A man, definitely, squat but powerfully-built. He was wearing shades, a hat and dark scarf covering the lower half of his face which, as was no doubt his intention, would make identification impossible. And he was in no mood to give up his quarry. She saw it coming, but was in no position to avoid it, as a huge fist smashed into her face, sending her sprawling. Confused, she tried to get back on her feet but then an overwhelming nausea hit her and she collapsed onto the platform, dead to the world.

  But just before the lights went out, it came to her. There was someone else. A face on that crowded platform that shouldn't have been there. A face she knew, but right at this moment, as she lost the fight for consciousness, could not quite place.

  ◆◆◆

  Hugo Morgan was stewing in an interview room at Paddington Green Police Station awaiting the arrival of his lawyer when a message pinged into the inbox of his phone. Had it not at that moment been lying in the small plastic tray into which he had been forced to empty the contents of his pockets, he would have been able to read the news that would shatter his gilded life forever.

  Didn't we tell you actions have consequences?