Shifting Sands

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Steve admitted. ‘Same applies to Maddy, I suppose, though obviously I’m not as involved as you are. We’d better get our story straight before we see them.’

  Jonathan took out his mobile, but as he switched it on, the phone bleeped, indicating receipt of a text, and the next instant he startled Steve by exclaiming forcefully, ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s from Elise! Sent this morning at eight forty-one. Dare not keep item any longer, so am posting it to you. Will explain later. E.’ He spun to face Steve. ‘So the killer didn’t get the envelope, and he doesn’t know my name! God, that’s a relief!’

  ‘But if she sent that at eight forty-one, why the hell didn’t you get it sooner?’ Steve demanded explosively, overtaking a pantechnicon.

  Jonathan thought back. ‘It would have been around the time we were arriving at Perceval’s. I’d have turned the phone off ready for the meeting, and what with the rush to pack our things and dash out again, I never switched it back on. It would have had to be off for the flight anyway, and it wasn’t as though I was expecting anything.’

  ‘You do realize you could have saved yourself all that trauma?’

  Jonathan nodded soberly. ‘She must have sent it to the paper. Come to think of it, it could have travelled in a mailbag on our plane!’

  ‘Well, at least we’ll find out what it was all about,’ Steve said philosophically.

  That evening, Anna had another phone call from Lewis.

  ‘Anna, I’m so very sorry but I might not be able to make tomorrow. Something pretty ghastly has happened, and for the moment I’m stuck in Manchester.’

  She felt a shaft of alarm. ‘What is it, Lewis? What’s happened?’

  ‘A member of our staff has been found dead, and the police want to speak to us.’

  She struggled to understand. ‘That’s terrible, of course, but . . . why the police? How did he die?’

  There was a pause, then Lewis said flatly, ‘It was a she, and she was murdered.’

  ‘Murdered?’ Horror rang in Anna’s voice. ‘How?’

  ‘She was stabbed in her hotel room.’ And, at her gasp, he added, ‘I know, it’s . . . unbelievable. None of us can quite take it in. I can’t go into it all now, but obviously we have to account for our movements, and so on. Fortunately, we were together most of the time.’

  ‘But I don’t understand! Was it a robbery gone wrong?’

  ‘At this stage, no one knows. Look, sweetheart, I have to go – they’re waiting for me. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.’ And he rang off.

  Anna stood stock-still, the phone in her hand. Murdered? Someone who worked for Lewis? And an unwelcome memory came of the conversation she’d overheard in the game park. It could be that Lewis Masters was a dangerous man to know.

  The two detectives settled themselves and regarded him blandly. Then the more senior – Pringle, was it? – cleared his throat.

  ‘Now, Mr Masters, what position did you say Ms du Pré held in your organization?’

  ‘She was my son’s personal assistant.’

  ‘And could you explain again what brought you and your colleagues to Manchester?’

  Lewis bit back his irritation. He’d done nothing but explain for the last two hours, but it was unwise to antagonize the police.

  ‘My Group is hoping to purchase a new health resort, and we’ve been looking over some possibilities.’

  ‘What was the victim’s role in the process?’

  ‘In the early stages, we aim to obtain as wide a view as possible of the assets or otherwise of the resorts we’re considering. Women, as you’ll appreciate, have different values and notice details a man might miss. Their opinions are an important part of our deliberations.’

  Pringle studied some notes in front of him. ‘She accompanied you on these expeditions earlier in the week?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And how did she seem, sir?’

  Lewis wished to hell he’d discussed this with Cameron, but they’d had little privacy since the girl’s body was found. He thought back. ‘With hindsight, a little tense,’ he said slowly.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Hard to put a finger on it. A bit jumpy, perhaps. Nothing dramatic.’

  ‘Did she get on well with other members of the team?’

  ‘As far as I know. You’d have to ask them.’

  ‘I’m asking you, Mr Masters.’

  Again, Lewis held himself in check. ‘Then if I have to express an opinion, it would be a qualified yes.’

  ‘Qualified?’

  ‘Being French set her slightly apart; I sensed reserve on both sides.’

  Pringle exchanged a glance with his colleague, the significance of which was lost on Lewis. ‘There were six of you engaged in this – exploratory visit?’

  ‘That’s right: myself, my son, our Managing Director, and our three PAs, the women, as I’ve explained, for their different perspective.’

  ‘And you visited one of these places yesterday?’

  Lewis nodded.

  ‘Where would that have been?’

  ‘The Forest of Bowland. We’re also looking at possibilities in Cheshire and Derbyshire, which is why Manchester seemed a good base.’

  ‘And during yesterday’s trip, did Ms du Pré seem in good spirits?’

  Lewis considered. ‘On reflection, she was slightly on edge. We were running late, and I had the impression she was anxious to get back to Manchester.’

  ‘For a date, possibly?’

  Lewis looked surprised. ‘I can’t think with whom, and she was with us at dinner.’

  ‘What did you all do, when you arrived back at your hotel?’

  ‘As I said, it was rather later than we’d envisaged – about six fifteen, I believe. I can only speak for myself, but I imagine we all went to our rooms, to relax for a while before dinner.’

  ‘Where, you say, Ms du Pré joined you.’

  ‘Correct.’

  Pringle pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘And how did she seem then?’

  ‘A little flushed, but otherwise much as usual.’

  ‘She was also at breakfast this morning?’

  ‘Only briefly. It was a buffet, and as we were all at separate tables, I didn’t see her myself. My PA told me later she had only a cup of coffee and left before finishing it. Consequently, she wasn’t surprised by the text.’

  ‘Ah yes, the text. Received by your son, I believe?’

  ‘That’s right. Asking to be excused from today’s visit, due to not feeling well.’

  ‘And you thought no more of it?’

  Lewis frowned. ‘Why should I? She’d been flushed and a little overwrought; this offered an explanation.’

  ‘Right.’ Pringle toyed with his ballpoint, upending and righting it in a monotonous rhythm. ‘So Ms du Pré left the dining room at about what time?’

  ‘You’d have to check with Mrs Standish, my PA.’

  ‘Who were you yourself sitting with?’

  ‘My son briefly, but none of us lingered; we all had things to do before setting off for the day.’

  ‘What time did you leave the dining room, Mr Masters?’

  Lewis pursed his lips. ‘Probably around eight forty-five. We were leaving for Chester at nine fifteen.’

  ‘You went straight to your room?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lewis’s tone was clipped.

  ‘Did you see or speak to any of your group before you all assembled in the lobby at nine fifteen?’

  ‘No, but that’s hardly surprising; our rooms are on different floors.’ Lewis paused, and added with heavy irony, ‘The chambermaid will vouch for me; she was finishing my room as I arrived.’

  Pringle nodded, and Lewis had the uneasy suspicion this had already been checked. Fair enough; in a hotel of strangers, those who knew the girl were obvious suspects.

  ‘The text, then: were you with your son when he received it?’

  ‘No; he told us abou
t it when he joined us.’ Lewis stirred. ‘Look, Sergeant, I appreciate you have to go into all this, but surely it’s obvious that someone went to her room after we’d left? We know she was alive at ten past nine, the time on the text, and we left the hotel at quarter past. It doesn’t leave us much time to do the deed!’ He gave a crooked smile.

  Pringle didn’t return it. ‘You’re assuming, sir, that it was Ms du Pré who sent it.’

  Lewis was taken aback. ‘But surely . . .?’

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been more usual in the circumstances to have telephoned, apologized personally? More polite, even, considering she was addressing her employer?’ He let Lewis take in the implications before adding, ‘A text, though, is nice and anonymous, isn’t it, sir?’

  Lewis said incredulously, ‘You’re saying her killer sent it? That she was already dead at ten past nine?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing of the sort, sir,’ Pringle contradicted smoothly. ‘Merely that at this stage, nothing can be ruled out. Now, let us move on to your return to the hotel this evening. What was the first you heard of her death?’

  With difficulty, Lewis wrenched his mind from unconsidered possibilities. ‘As soon as we arrived back, the manager called me into his office and broke the news. A chambermaid had found her, when she went to turn down the bed. But you know all that – your men were already there.’

  ‘Indeed.’ There was a moment’s pause. ‘The safe was open and empty, so it would seem her killer was looking for something. Have you any idea what that might be?’

  Lewis said drily, ‘No, but the empty safe seems to indicate that he found it.’

  The detective looked up, and for a long moment the men held each other’s eyes. Then, abruptly, Pringle changed tack. ‘The name and address of her next of kin, Mr Masters; presumably you can supply them?’

  ‘Not personally, but they’ll be on file at head office.’

  ‘Had she any relatives in this country?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d arrange for her details to be sent to me as soon as possible. In the meantime, there’s one further thing I must ask of you.’

  Lewis waited.

  ‘Due to the lack of relatives, it will be necessary for you to identify the body.’

  Lewis stared at him. ‘But there’s no doubt, surely? I mean, she was found in her own room, and—’

  ‘It’s a legal requirement, Mr Masters. It won’t take long: the mortuary’s just next door. DC Smith will accompany you. After that, you’ll be free to leave, though I shall need to see you again in the morning.’

  At his cue, the constable, who’d remained silent throughout the interview, rose and opened the door for him, and Lewis, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, had no option but to go through it.

  It was on the news that night. Anna, hands clasped tightly in her lap, gazed at the screen, unable to relate the only-too-familiar sight of police tapes and men in white suits with Lewis and his colleagues. At least his name wasn’t mentioned; if he’d not phoned her, she’d have had no idea of his involvement. For that matter, the girl’s name, which he’d not told her, had also been withheld, presumably to give the police time to contact her family, poor souls.

  A woman of twenty-five. Whoever could have wanted to kill her? And in view of her death, Anna told herself, it was unforgivably selfish of her to mind so much about not seeing Lewis tomorrow.

  With a sigh, she switched off the set and went up to bed. It would have astonished her to know that her son had been watching the same report with an even more personal interest.

  It was eleven o’clock, and the five of them were in Lewis’s suite. While the others discussed their interviews with the police, Lewis himself was trying to dispel the image of the girl in the morgue, which had burned itself on to his retinas.

  Forcing it to the back of his mind, he rose to refill their glasses. ‘The police wondered if she met someone when we got back last night,’ he said. ‘Did anyone see her before dinner?’

  Everyone shook their heads.

  ‘It would make sense,’ Mike Chadwick, the Managing Director, put in. ‘If it was a date of some kind, the guy might even have come back and spent the night with her.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why she cried off today – to be with him,’ his PA, Tina Martin, suggested. ‘Then things could have turned nasty, and he killed her.’

  ‘And perhaps we should rein in our imaginations,’ Lewis said drily. He returned to his chair and took a sip of his drink. ‘When the police asked for details, I realized how little I know about the girl. Did she ever mention a boyfriend, Cameron?’

  ‘Not to me; we didn’t discuss personal matters.’

  ‘So what do you know about her?’

  ‘Only that she was a damn good PA. Her home was near Paris – or at least, her parents still live there. She came over shortly before joining us, two years ago.’

  ‘And lived near the resort, I presume?’

  ‘Yes, she rented a bungalow in the village.’

  ‘Did she share it with anyone?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. No one from the Group, anyway. God, Father, I’ve been through all this with the police!’

  ‘Sorry.’ Lewis turned from his son’s drawn face to the two PAs. ‘Anything you can add?’

  They both shook their heads, and he suddenly hit the arm of his chair, startling them.

  ‘What bloody timing! If she had to get herself killed, why now, for God’s sake? We’ll be lumbered with just the sort of publicity we don’t need, and the negotiations could be seriously jeopardized. Not to mention casting a cloud over the anniversary weekend.’

  He broke off, aware of their shocked faces, and wiped a hand across his own.

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Put it down to stress. Obviously, I didn’t mean that.’

  But he had, and they knew it. Stress might account for his blurting it out, but it had been in his mind ever since the discovery of the body. He looked up, catching Yvonne Standish’s eye, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

  Dear Yvonne! he thought fondly; in her fifties and divorced, she’d been his PA for over ten years, and her loyalty and efficiency were second to none. Lewis was aware she was in love with him, and the idea of sleeping with her had crossed his mind more than once. But now he’d met Anna; it was sheer bad luck that tonight, when sex would have been the ideal antidote, she was two hundred miles away.

  He glanced back at Yvonne. Temptation was strong, but he suppressed it. Had Anna been one of his passing liaisons, he might have succumbed; but his relationship with her was on another plane, and he wasn’t going to compromise it.

  Cameron was saying, ‘How long do you think they’ll keep us here?’

  ‘It’s my son’s school concert tomorrow,’ Mike added. ‘I’ll be for it if I’m not home in time.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think it’ll be much longer,’ Yvonne said in her quiet voice. ‘They’ve taken our addresses, so they can contact us at home if they need to. With luck, we should get away tomorrow.’

  In which case, he could still meet Anna. Feeling slightly more cheerful, Lewis stood up. ‘In the meantime, I think we should try to get some sleep. I’ll see you all in the morning. Goodnight, everyone.’

  As he closed the door behind them, he glanced at his watch. Eleven thirty. Too late to phone her. He’d ring first thing in the morning, ask her to hold the weekend after all. Despite the traumas of the day, something might yet be salvaged.

  EIGHT

  After a restless night, Jonathan came awake to the ringing of his mobile, and, befuddled with sleep, fumbled to locate it before it woke Vicky. The bedside clock pointed to six thirty. Who the hell . . .?

  ‘Yes? . . . Hello? . . . This is Jonathan Farrell; who’s calling? Do you know what time it is?’

  There was silence, then a click as the line was disconnected.

  ‘Well, thanks a bunch!’ he muttered.

  ‘Who was it?’ Vicky asked sleepily from the bed
.

  ‘Some insomniac, dialling the wrong number.’

  ‘Come back to bed, then.’

  And, still grumbling, he did so.

  Two hours later, he phoned the paper from Steve’s flat.

  ‘Hi. Jonathan Farrell here. Did a letter arrive for me this morning, by any chance?’

  ‘If it did, it’ll be forwarded,’ a laconic voice told him.

  ‘I know that; I just want to confirm it’s actually arrived?’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll put you through.’

  Jonathan glanced over his shoulder at Steve, standing rigidly behind him. ‘They’re checking,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, mate.’ Another voice. ‘Nothing here for Farrell.’

  Jonathan frowned. ‘But there must be! It was posted yesterday morning, in Manchester.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the voice repeated.

  ‘The post has arrived, I take it?’

  ‘Yep, been sorted.’ A pause. ‘Perhaps it was sent second class?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. Look, could you check again? It might be a package rather than a letter.’

  A heavy sigh came over the wire, followed by a brief pause, then: ‘Still nothing. Give us a call tomorrow.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  He put down the phone and stared wordlessly at his friend.

  ‘Let’s just think this through, before we panic,’ Steve said. ‘She wouldn’t have had time to go out and find a postbox, so either there was one in the hotel lobby or she handed it to the receptionist.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Did she say she was going to post it, or already had?’

  Jonathan clicked on Messages. ‘Her actual words were “am posting it to you”, which could mean either. Why?’

  ‘Just wondering if something – or someone – prevented her from doing so.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Jonathan said tonelessly. ‘So we’re back to the killer possibly having it.’

  ‘On the other hand, the hotel mail mightn’t have been collected, or the receptionist forgot to post it, in which case it’ll turn up eventually. What’s clear, though, is that without it, our hands are tied and there’s absolutely nothing we can do.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t turn up, she’ll have died for nothing.’