Fakes and Lies

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘We ought to find somewhere with a safe,’ Annie said. ‘What did Derek say?’

  ‘Not a lot, but then I didn’t tell him a lot. He was sympathetic, asked if anything was stolen and I told him no. I didn’t want to get into talking about Patrick’s painting, especially as it’s still part of a police investigation. I don’t know, Annie, I feel as if I don’t know who to trust at the moment. Is that just paranoia?’

  Annie was investigating the breakfast tray. ‘No, just good sense,’ she said. ‘I think the more we keep to ourselves at the moment, the better. Friends aside, of course. You know how I feel about Derek, and most of the rest of them. Out for themselves and I wouldn’t trust them an inch. Even if they are good customers.’ She smiled at her husband.

  ‘Now, eat. And then, treat today like we’ve got the day off.’

  When he got off the phone to Bob, Derek Bartholomew’s next thought was to phone Graham Harcourt. Bob’s was not the only odd news he’d had that morning; he’d had an early morning visit from a couple of police officers, and that troubled him immensely.

  Graham listened, without comment, as he explained the situation. ‘They were asking about any dealings I’d had with Toby Elden. You know, over the years I dealt with him quite a lot, we all have. But have you heard about poor old Toby? Seems somebody beat seven shades out of him; the poor bugger is now in hospital and they don’t expect him to survive. Who the hell would want to kill Toby?’

  Graham laughed softly. ‘I think there’s quite a list. All of Toby’s deals sounded good on the surface, but he always made sure that he came out ahead of everybody else. I suspect you’re going to find a few people he pissed off.’

  ‘Pissed off, yes. Not bad enough to want him dead, surely. Have you had a visit?’

  ‘Yes, they left about twenty minutes ago. Two officers. But I reckon they always travel in pairs. Look, don’t worry about it. From what I understand this is part of a broader investigation and they’re interviewing everybody who’s ever had any dealings, or might have had any dealings, with him. They’ll be checking everything in Toby’s background; the police have to be thorough, after all.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. But then just after they’d gone Bob Taylor phoned me. There was a break-in at his place; did you hear about that?’

  ‘Bob Taylor’s place? No, heard nothing about that. Was much taken?’

  ‘Bob reckons not. He’d had a new alarm system installed about six months ago and the police were on the scene very quickly. But apparently forensics have been round and it’s a bit of a mess, so they’ve moved out for a day or two.’

  ‘Oh, that’s unfortunate for them. Where have they had to move to?’

  ‘Actually, I didn’t ask. Didn’t think to. A hotel, at any rate. Bob reckons everything will be back to normal in a day or two. Anyway, I’d best get on with the day. Not the start I expected, that’s for sure. Let me know if you hear anything about poor Toby, won’t you? And I’ll do the same.’

  Graham Harcourt was smiling as he put the phone down. ‘Poor Toby,’ he said. ‘Oh yes indeed, poor Toby.’

  There was a patrol car outside what was left of the Prices’ house, though there wasn’t much left to guard. There were also two scientific support vans and Karen could see CSIs combing through the garden. The house, one of the officers told her, was still too hot to touch and they were waiting for the fire expert. Not that there was much mystery about how it had been started. Binnie’s now empty crate sat neatly in the middle of the lawn.

  Vin took some photographs of his own, knowing that Mr and Mrs Price would want to know what had happened to their house. There wasn’t much left for them to see. The fire had burned fiercely and it had taken the fire brigade several hours to bring it under control; after that it had more or less collapsed in on itself.

  Following directions, they continued on down to the family home of Kevin Binns. Police officers and forensic teams were already there and Karen and Vin were surplus to requirements and basically just being nosy. Karen wanted to get a look at the place, to see what it told her about Kevin Binns, and the crime scene manager took them around, directing them along the common pathway.

  ‘From the look of it,’ he said, ‘only the kitchen, downstairs bathroom and one of the bedrooms were in use.’ He showed them the other rooms, piled high with boxes and junk.

  ‘Any idea what he’s storing in here?’

  ‘We’re working through it methodically. We’ve found a dozen petrol cans so far, two empty but the rest with fuel inside. We had those taken out and put at the far end of the field. We found a shotgun and cartridges and we’ve also discovered stacks of vintage motorcycle magazines, make of that what you will.’

  ‘A hoarder?’ Vin asked.

  ‘Maybe, but not in the usual sense. It’s going to take us a few days. The only thing we can make any sense of is the usual letters, bills and the odd postcard in the kitchen. And the only thing that is of direct interest to you … well, I’ll show you, come on down.’

  He led them back downstairs and into the kitchen where evidence boxes were stacked on the table. The crime scene manager removed two or three evidence bags and handed them over to Karen and Vin.

  ‘What am I looking at?’ Karen asked. ‘Polaroid photographs of a room. Whose room, do we know?’

  ‘Well, I’m guessing,’ the CSI told her, ‘but if you look closely at the bookshelf, there is a photograph of two girls. One of them looks like that Beatrix Jones. I wouldn’t have known, but one of the PCs had seen her picture in the briefing room. He thinks it’s her.’

  ‘It’s hard to make out, but I’m inclined to agree,’ Vin said. The Polaroid was small, but one of the girls in the image certainly looked like Bee.

  ‘He broke into her room?’ Karen speculated. ‘We know he followed her. Anything else like this?’

  The crime scene manager indicated the boxes. ‘Take a look,’ he said. ‘I figure he’s been a busy boy.’

  A quick perusal of the boxes backed up the statement. ‘I’m guessing this is Sian’s place,’ Karen said. ‘And this,’ – suddenly excited, she took out her phone – ‘Vin, look at this. This is Graham Harcourt’s house, I’m sure of it.’

  Vin took the plastic bag from her and shuffled it around so that he could see the photographs inside. He compared the images to the ones Karen had managed to snatch on her phone and also to his own memory of the place.

  ‘That’s definitely the window at the top of the stairs. And that looks like the stable block, you remember we caught a glimpse of it as we came down the drive?’

  He went and found the crime scene manager again and the evidence bag was signed over to them.

  This was the first clear link they had between Bee and Binnie and Graham Harcourt. As they drove away, Vin was back on the phone, adding to the weight of evidence that he hoped would get him a warrant and the surveillance teams he needed.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Vin dropped Karen off to make her report to her own team and he carried on to the safe house to see the Price family.

  They were understandably subdued and the mood was not lightened when he showed them the photographs of what was left of their home.

  He had also brought with him the evidence bag from the Binnses’ house and the images Karen had managed to snatch on her phone.

  Sian stared at them for so long that Vin thought he must have it all wrong; Graham Harcourt’s place was not, after all, the place they were looking for.

  ‘Sian,’ he asked, ‘anything you recognize? If it’s not the place, just say. No one is going to be upset with you.’

  She lifted her head and he could see that she was crying, her face red and congested with emotion. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I recognize the front of the house, and the window and the staircase look just the way Bee described them to me. She said there was a door she was brought through under the staircase and this, like, maintenance passage to the servants’ quarters. Bee said that she read about there being p
assages in some old houses so the owners didn’t have to see the servants. And that’ – she jabbed a finger at the picture of the side of the house and the glimpse of what Vin assumed was a stable block – ‘that’s where they took us. I’m sure of it. I remember the way the walls looked. There’s a yard with cobblestones and then a door that leads to the kitchen and another one that goes up some stairs, and that’s where they kept us.’

  Vin nodded. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Totally.’ She looked hopeful now. ‘Does that mean you can go and get Bee?’

  ‘I hope so, Sian. I really do.’

  He went out to his car and made some more calls. This was it. They could get the warrant, surely?

  His boss thought so too. ‘Get the girl to put it in writing. Get that to me. I’m working on the rest and we’ve got a surveillance team heading over to the farm.’

  ‘Already? That was fast.’ Vin was exultant. ‘Right, I’ll get a written statement and head back. Be with you in less than an hour.’

  He went back into the house and rustled up some notepaper and a pen.

  ‘I’m going to write a simple statement for you to sign,’ he said. ‘Just a line or two saying that you recognize the location shown in these pictures as the place you and Bee Jones were held.’

  He was writing as he spoke and Sian nodded eagerly.

  ‘Will this help? That she’s doing everything she can to help you?’ Tracey wanted to know.

  ‘It can’t hurt,’ Vin said cautiously. He handed the page to Sian.

  ‘I, the undersigned,’ she read, ‘agree that I have been shown images of a house and the ancillary buildings of that house and that I recognize said building as the location in which I was held prisoner along with Beatrix Jones.’

  ‘It’s not very formal,’ Vin apologized. ‘But it will do the job.’

  Sian signed and then printed her full name. He photographed it with his phone and sent it to his boss.

  ‘She’s got to be OK,’ Sian fretted. ‘If anything’s happened to Bee, I’m never going to forgive myself.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  On the way back to the office, Vin had a thought pop into his head. Something Bob Taylor had mentioned when he and his wife had come to the station to take a look at the items taken from Freddie Jones’s studio. The drawings and paperwork that the two young people had been bringing back with them when they had been attacked.

  Bob had mentioned a number of blue books in which Freddie recorded his work and commissions. It hadn’t registered at the time, but now, especially after the theft of the wrong artwork from Bob Taylor’s house and what he’d told them about the painting missing from Freddie’s studio, the information about those blue books gained a new imperative.

  As he walked through the door, Karen was coming out. ‘We’ve got it,’ she said. ‘The warrant. Turn yourself about, we’re heading out there now.’

  ‘We need to assemble a team.’

  ‘Already done.’ She spotted Vin’s car parked close by. ‘You driving?’

  He slid back into the driving seat and they set off following a serial van transporting members of the Tactical Support Group. The door kickers, Vin thought of them as. And with scientific support following close behind.

  ‘Going mob handed,’ Karen said. She sounded satisfied.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. You remember when Bob and Annie came to look over the stuff from Freddie’s studio?’

  She nodded and he reminded her what Bob had said about the blue books.

  ‘For all we know it could be just a list of accounts – you know, how much each commission cost in paint and canvas or whatever, but it’s worth a look, and I’m thinking we should call Bob in on this. I mean, he knew the man, he’s most likely to be able to make head or tail.’

  Karen nodded. ‘Good idea. Look, after this bit’s over, I’m going to be like a spare whatsit at a wedding for a while. I’m not even on secondment, officially. I only came up to review evidence, so—’

  ‘So you take Bob over to the studio and pick up anything he thinks is useful. Good idea.’ Vin sighed. ‘Mr and Mrs Price are in bits just now. Harry Jones must be frantic about his boy and Bee’s aunt is sitting in a hotel room, ready to tear up the town if she thinks it will help. No winners here, are there?’

  ‘Depends whether or not you get out alive,’ Karen said quietly. ‘I think most people would see that as a win.’

  The gatehouse came into view and to Vin’s surprise the gates were open.

  ‘That’s not right.’

  The van had paused briefly and then moved on. Vin stopped the car and got out but the gatehouse was unmanned. CCTV cameras showed the house and grounds but nothing moved, no sign of life.

  ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he?’ Karen said as Vin got back into the car.

  ‘Could he have moved that fast?’

  ‘Why not? We did.’

  ‘But what about his collection? You thought he was ready to pack that up.’

  Karen shrugged. ‘Maybe he just wanted to save his own skin. Like I said, do you get out alive?’

  The van was already parked up and the TSG disappeared inside. Vin parked up beside it and they waited on the steps until the commander came and beckoned them forward.

  ‘House is clear,’ he said. ‘Not a soul inside.’

  ‘The stable block?’

  ‘Next on the list.’

  ‘We think that’s where the girl is being held. If she’s here.’

  The unit commander barked an order and moments later Vin and Karen were jogging along in the wake of three of the TSG officers. They paused in the yard.

  ‘Door to the kitchen.’ Vin pointed. ‘Door that goes up the stairs. Up there, that’s what Sian Price told us. The door is reinforced.’ He looked at the ‘enforcer’, the battering ram that one of the group was holding, and decided that would probably not be an issue.

  The officer in question ran up the stairs, his colleagues following. Vin heard them shout a warning, ‘Police, stand clear of the door.’ And then a loud bang and a scream.

  He followed Karen up the stairs at a run.

  Bee crouched against the furthest wall, screaming at the top of her lungs.

  Beatrix Jones sat in Vin’s car, an old blanket wrapped round her shoulders and a cup of coffee from a flask between her hands, both courtesy of the TSG commander. He had also taken a look at her hand and bandaged it, bracing the broken finger against its neighbour. The paramedics were on their way, even though Bee kept insisting she was fine. Hungry, but fine.

  ‘Is there more coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. A whole flask full. But it might not be a good idea to drink it all.’

  That raised a small smile. ‘Are you sure Sian is OK? Are you sure Aunt Sophie is all right? She’ll be in bits.’

  ‘She’s a lot better now she knows you’re safe. She’ll meet us at the hospital.’

  ‘And Patrick … I thought Binnie had killed him. Sian told me all about Kevin Binns. Have you got him yet?’

  ‘Not yet, but we will,’ Vin told her. He looked up as Karen opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

  ‘Looks like he was packing to leave. We seem to have pre-empted him. The surveillance team had only just got in position when we got the order to move out. Apparently there was a helicopter, landed on the lawn at the back about a half hour before we arrived. Or so the people at the farm are saying.’

  ‘He was just going to leave me there, wasn’t he? He left me to die.’

  ‘But we found you,’ Karen said gently, though she could not deny Bee’s logic. ‘Just hang on to that. You were found.’

  ‘Bee, can I ask you something about your dad?’

  ‘Sure, what?’ Clumsily, she pulled the blanket even more tightly round her shoulders. ‘I’m bloody freezing,’ she said.

  ‘You’re suffering from a bit of shock,’ Karen said. ‘The medics will be here soon.’

  On cue, the sound of a siren echoed down the valley from the road abo
ve.

  ‘The blue books your dad kept. What did he write in them?’

  She smiled. ‘Oh, God, just about everything. Recipes, reminders, orders, copies of receipts. They were like his … day books, he called them. Like journals, only not, if you get what I mean.’

  She paused and handed the coffee cup back to Vin and then fumbled to open the door. ‘Going to be sick,’ she said, and threw up on the gravel just as the paramedics arrived.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Karen went to fetch Bob Taylor and take him over to the warehouse. Vin was up to his ears in reports and the inquest into the abortive raid on the house. The CSI were overstretched, Kevin Binns’s house requiring a team as well as those assisting at the Price house. They’d managed to get a second CSI team from outside the area and, as Vin commented, everyone was just hoping the rest of the criminal fraternity kept their heads down for a day or two.

  ‘At least both girls are safe,’ Bob said. ‘And Patrick’s showing signs of recovery. They’re hoping to try and take him off the ventilator tomorrow. Harry’s exhausted but at least he’s able to share the watch with his ex-wife and her husband now.’

  ‘How’s that working out? I imagine it must be difficult.’

  ‘Thankfully, OK. They seem to have an amicable relationship. And I expect Mari is keeping them all in order.’

  ‘Mari. That’s the grandmother?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t think Patrick has much of a relationship with his mother’s family – birth family, that is. I don’t know the details. But Beth genuinely likes Mari. She’s a nice lady.’

  ‘Do you and Annie have much family? I’ve got a brother who drives me crazy, but if anything happened to him …’

  ‘One brother,’ Bob said. ‘He’s an estate agent, would you believe. I see my parents a couple of times a year. Kenny, my brother, he’s got the wife, kids, dog … all the predictable stuff. He’s the kind of son they understand, I suppose. I was always a bit odd.’