Still Death (A Lexie Wyatt murder mystery Book 1)

by Shauna Bickley

  ‘But you know what the story was about?’

  ‘Like I said, Patrick didn’t give anything away until it was absolutely necessary. He’d tell me about the story once we were on our way.’

  ‘So he could get you into a war zone without you knowing?’

  Michael laughed without any apparent humour. ‘I’d already been in war zones with Patrick in our early work together. I never went in entirely blind. Patrick would give me the guts of where we were going and what he was after, but not the details. That was the way he worked. We trusted each other. We had to. There were any number of occasions when we had each other’s backs. He never led me anywhere I didn’t want to go.’

  ‘Why do you do it? I can’t imagine ever wanting to do something that dangerous.’

  ‘Patrick’s stories needed to be told. They helped people.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’m on my pet subject now, so don’t say I didn’t warn you. People buy the Sunday paper and tut-tut over the latest story of corruption, but they’re safe in their own little world and never think about the individuals being killed or maimed or abused. Patrick never considered it as bringing down the bad guy. To him it was about helping the victims, except he never thought about them as victims. They were people who needed help.’

  ‘So what was this story about?’ It seemed that everyone she talked to had a gift for evading her questions.

  Michael looked her up and down and then lowered his voice. It felt as though they were the only people in the room. ‘I’d be careful asking too many questions.’

  ‘Alexandra.’ Lexie turned as she recognised Veronica’s voice. ‘I need a word.’

  Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘Good luck.’

  Lexie joined Veronica and brought her up-to-date with the progress she’d made. Veronica was pleased and Lexie felt her lips move into a smile at Veronica’s use of “they” in her reply.

  Once she’d found out how Lexie was getting on, Veronica moved to another group to talk. Lexie left the lounge to find the bathroom. She popped her head around a door. A group of five people huddled near a table of drinks. Their voices were pitched low, but from the snatch of conversation it sounded like a strategy meeting for one of the magazines. The man opposite her glanced up. Lexie mouthed an apology and withdrew.

  The hallway turned left and Lexie wandered along hoping there was a bathroom close by. The next door was ajar. She stopped but couldn’t hear any voices and peered round the door into the room. Against the opposite wall was a comfortable couch, but the filing cabinet and desk meant business. Lexie glanced back at the hallway. There was no one around and so she slipped into the room. This must be Peter’s office.

  She crossed the room to the filing cabinet, but it was locked. The desk was clear except for a small notepad and pen, and the desk drawers were also locked. She came out from behind the desk and looked around. The filing cabinet and desk drawers were the only places to hide anything, but she didn’t have a clue about picking locks.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Lexie jumped at the voice and spun around. Sean was even taller than she remembered. He moved from the doorway and stood a couple of feet away from her.

  Honesty, or at least partial honesty, was a better option than the ridiculous lie that she’d mistaken this room for where the party was being held.

  ‘I needed the bathroom and looked into the room to see if this was it. Then I couldn’t resist a closer look at…’ The word paintings hung on her tongue. Not a good idea. ‘The furnishings.’ She gestured at the sofa and cushions. ‘I wanted to see if they were silk. I love the painted print look.’

  Sean’s eyes narrowed as he moved a step closer. Lexie was more aware than ever that the well-made suit didn’t disguise the fact he worked out. He was about six-four and extremely fit. Even knowing there were other people eating and drinking nearby didn’t ease the vulnerability that swept through her.

  ‘A word of advice,’ said Sean. ‘Mr Webber doesn’t take kindly to people wandering around his house, whether or not they’re interested in furniture or art.’ His expression was neutral and the tone matter-of-fact, but he was the second person in the space of an hour to warn her.

  Lexie felt like saying media was a funny business to be in if he liked his privacy, but she wasn’t sure if Sean had a sense of humour.

  ‘You passed the bathroom when you came out from the main lounge.’

  ‘Sorry, I must have missed it.’ That sounded really lame even though it was the truth.

  ‘There’s another, next door on your right.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She tried a smile and hurried out, expecting to feel his hand on her shoulder, or dragging at her bag to inspect the contents.

  Lexie found the toilet and gratefully locked herself away from the world. She leaned against the door for several minutes, and once her heart stopped thumping hard against her chest she turned on the tap and let the cool water run over her wrists. How stupid to go poking around in Peter Webber’s office.

  After what seemed like a lifetime but could only have been about five minutes she unlocked the door and peered out. There was no one in the hallway. She wanted to speak to Michael again, but she wasn’t sure now whether that was a good idea. Had Sean and Michael warned her, or were they simply giving her some good advice?

  She hurried past the now-closed door of Peter’s office and heard him shouting at someone. The doors and walls in this house must be good as she couldn’t make out any of the words, just his tone. Hopefully Sean hadn’t told him about finding her in the office.

  Lexie rushed around the corner and into the room that had previously held the small group of people talking business. The celebrations had spread from the larger front room, and Lexie was relieved to see Anita chatting with several other people. She joined the group, expecting Sean to come and find her at any minute. There was no sign of Michael. A man introduced himself and Lexie turned to answer him. Across the room was a waist-high table with a flower display in a large, distinctive patterned vase. Above the table was the painting she’d seen in the magazine cutting and which she was sure was the same as the one at Alec’s house. What was it called? Autumn Leaves by James Jackson, or Jackson James, something like that.

  The man spoke again and Lexie dragged her attention away from the painting. She apologised and forced herself to concentrate. After what she felt was a decent interlude, Lexie quietly excused herself and wandered over to the table.

  She studied the painting for a few minutes. It was exactly like the one Alec owned.

  ‘Are you an art expert?’

  Lexie turned as Peter Webber’s voice broke into her musings on how little she knew about art.

  ‘No, until I met Dominique Santos a few weeks ago, I hadn’t really considered art in any great detail.’ Lexie hoped her voice sounded steady and she gripped her hands together to stop them shaking.

  Veronica pushed her way through the small groups and joined them.

  Lexie ignored her and addressed her question to Peter. ‘How about you?’ She indicated the room in general. ‘The house is stunning.’ Hopefully this general remark would move the conversation away from paintings.

  ‘I know what I like, but I’m certainly not a fan of the stuck-up elitist art establishment if that’s what you’re asking.’

  For the first time, Lexie heard the undertone of an accent that had been softened by years of trying to lose or change it. So he wasn’t entirely immune to what people thought of him. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at several other large paintings in the room.

  ‘You certainly have a great collection.’ She wouldn’t know a good painting from an average one and didn’t particularly like any she could see.

  ‘You’re the one I met at Veronica’s, aren’t you?’

  Lexie nodded, surprised he remembered.

  ‘Come with me.’ It was certainly a command and Lexie followed him out of the room, Veronica at her side. He strode along the hallway, past his office and the bathroom she’d
visited earlier, and into another room. This one was furnished with softer, more inviting looking couches. Peter nodded towards the wall opposite the largest couch and Lexie gasped when she saw the painting.

  She looked between him and Veronica then back to the Mona Lisa. ‘It’s not real, is it? I mean it’s not the original?’

  Peter laughed, the sound was unpleasant. Veronica’s mouth turned upwards into a sycophantic smile, but at least she didn’t try to match his amusement.

  ‘Of course it’s not the original. It’s an excellent fake.’ He seemed inordinately proud of this. ‘Heard of Jeff Archer?’

  Lexie assumed he didn’t mean the author and one-time MP and shook her head.

  ‘He did time for art forgeries, now he makes a good living by painting genuine fakes. He’s very talented and is able to reproduce a variety of artists and styles. I’ve got a couple of Monet’s and Matisse’s, and a Renoir, and that obviously,’ he said, pointing at the Mona Lisa. ‘He’s turned his hand to some modern artists, but I’m not so keen on that rubbish. The one you were looking at is the most modern in terms of when the original was painted.’

  He seemed as proud of his genuine fakes as Alec had been of his originals. Except that Alec owned the paintings because he loved them, that much was obvious. Peter’s motives were not as sincere.

  ‘I can afford the originals, but I like sticking my middle finger up at the art snobs and people who are impressed by all that.’ He turned and strode out of the room as if he was now tired of her company.

  Lexie wanted to admire the audacity of flaunting fakes and not caring about people’s opinions, but she didn’t like the man. He made her want to shudder although she didn’t know why.

  Veronica studied her highly polished nails. ‘I can’t quite make out whether Peter likes you or not.’ Her gaze moved from her nails to Lexie.

  It wasn’t a question, but the answer to her statement might matter a lot to Veronica.

  ‘I don’t care either way.’

  Veronica didn’t seem unduly shocked at the reply.

  One thing puzzled Lexie. Well, there were lots of puzzles, but only one she could ask Veronica. ‘If he’s not into authentic art, why the piece on Dominique Santos in Icon?’

  ‘The newspaper and magazines do have editors and other staff,’ said Veronica, in her “don’t you know anything” voice. ‘I can’t remember who had the original idea. I was asked if we’d host the exhibition at Longcross. Jed didn’t mind. I thought it might be a good introduction into the more serious items I want to cover.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s how it goes.’

  Veronica turned to leave the room and Lexie followed her. She took more notice of the paintings in the hall as they walked back.

  She joined Anita and tried to keep her attention on the conversation as she glanced around the room. There were at least three paintings in Peter’s house that she now recognised from the document she’d copied from his laptop. Unfortunately there was still no sign of Michael. About ten minutes later, Anita nudged her arm. ‘I’m off now, meeting a friend.’

  Leaving was a good idea.

  They said a general goodbye to the group and left the house. Lexie was relieved to feel a breeze on her face, even if it was pollution-filled London air. Peter had appeared pleasant, by his own standards, when he talked to her. Presumably Sean hadn’t mentioned finding her in his office, yet. It had been an interesting, if stressful visit, but she was glad to be out of the house.

  ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’ she asked Anita.

  ‘If you could drop me off at the underground that would be great.’

  There were now different cars parked either side of her VW Golf and neither had given her much space. She muttered and swore as she inched out of the parking space.

  ‘I hate it when they do that,’ said Anita. ‘You’ll need to turn right at the end of the road then left.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How are you getting on with Veronica?’

  ‘Not too bad. I ignore her tone and get on with the work. To be honest, I don’t see her much so it’s not a problem.’

  ‘I’m glad I don’t work on the same floor. Although when she’s in the office, she comes up so often she might as well have a desk there.’

  ‘Why does she visit your floor so much?’

  Anita gave her a sideways glance. ‘Peter’s office is on our floor.’

  There was something in Anita’s tone that conveyed more than the words.

  ‘They’re having an affair?’

  ‘Yeah, if you can believe it. I don’t know who’s got the short end of that deal.’

  ‘How long has it been going on?’

  ‘Ages, a couple of years at least. It’s supposed to be secret, but quite a few of the staff know. That’s why they’re polite to Veronica even though they don’t like her. Peter’s divorced but I don’t think he’s in any hurry to make that mistake again. I guess it suits him that Veronica is married, and from what I gather her husband has plenty of money, so presumably she’s happy with the way things are.’

  Lexie nodded and indicated to turn onto the main road. ‘How far along here is it?’

  ‘About a mile. I’ll point it out. After you drop me, take the next left and you’ll be okay on that road for a couple of miles. They had a big blow-up a while back. If anyone didn’t know they were having an affair before the row certainly gave it away.’

  ‘What, a personal argument?’

  ‘No, Veronica overstepping herself. Icon did a piece on that artist woman.’

  ‘Dominique Santos.’

  ‘Yes. I think they did the main shoot down at Veronica’s place in the country. Anyway, Veronica wanted some photos of Dominique but they had to do them in London. Veronica used Peter’s house. He was away at the time. I think she messaged him but went ahead without waiting for him to reply. He was furious when he got back and found out. They had a shouting match in the office and we all thought the affair was over, but I guess they kissed and made up.’

  ‘The mind boggles at that picture.’

  ‘Have to agree with you there. We’re coming up to the turning. You can stop over there.’ Anita jumped out of the car and leaned back in to get her bag. ‘Thanks for the lift. See you next time and just shout out if you need any help.’

  Lexie concentrated on her route out of the city but once she was away from the queues and busier areas her head thumped as thoughts and ideas jostled for space.

  Nothing made sense. If the paintings were legitimate fakes and Peter wasn’t trying to pass them off as originals then there was no reason for him to be implicated in Caroline’s hit and run. Even though she didn’t like the man, she had to admit it had never seemed like a reasonable solution.

  So much of this mystery centred on Patrick’s character and the few things he’d told her. If he had been set up, she was back at the eternal question of why. It appeared the only thing Caroline had seen was a fake painting.

  Lexie thumped her hand on the steering wheel. That was it. No more. Patrick and Evelyn were dead. Nathan was right; she didn’t have a reason to continue this ridiculous crusade.

  21

  The next two days passed in a blur of, not quite domestic bliss, but Lexie didn’t wander far from Cherry Tree Cottage other than the school run and coffee with Helen. She had told Helen about the magazine cutting and the abortive visit to Alec’s in Scotland, and now she was able to tell her that Peter’s paintings were fakes. However, she didn’t say anything about copying the files from Peter’s laptop or checking out his home office.

  Keeping these things from Nathan and Helen made her realise how important truth and honesty were to her. This insane meddling over Patrick and Caroline had made her lose sight of her values.

  She emailed Alec and told him about Peter’s fake painting. It felt like an admission of failure. Alec replied about an hour later. He thanked her for letting him know the probable reason for Caroline wanting to visit him. It was a formal email, but then the
y barely knew each other. He didn’t add any details about his recent travels or if he had any more ideas about Caroline’s death. It should have made her feel a little better about not being able to solve anything, but it didn’t. Perhaps, in spite of everything, Alec did believe Patrick had been the driver.

  Lexie pushed these thoughts away and worked on the arc of the larger story of Women in Business, outlining four individual feature articles, if they were ever allowed to do that many. She was relieved that Max stuck to her like a shadow, although she wasn’t sure what had made her nervous. Obviously, the word of advice from Sean, together with his height and evident strength; there was also the warning from Michael, but what did it all mean?

  In London she’d been far too busy to consider what mood she might be in or how she felt. Max wanted some exercise and so they walked through the trees behind their garden and up the slope to the boundary wall. If Miriam was at home there was no sign of her from here. Why would someone want to hide themselves away from family, okay, it wasn’t Miriam’s family but it was Grace’s grandmother.

  Her phone rang. ‘Hi Mum, how are you?’ She sat on the stone wall and Max settled at her feet.

  They spoke for a few minutes until Lexie heard her father’s voice in the background.

  ‘Could I speak to Dad?’

  Something else she probably shouldn’t do, but it wouldn’t be dangerous.

  Her father was short on small talk and so she launched into her request. She told him about Miriam and that when her mother met Miriam, she thought there was something wrong. Lexie hoped the mention of her mother might persuade her father to help. She explained about the obituary for Richard Dance and the things Grace said. She kept her voice low even though Miriam’s house was too far away for her to be heard.

  ‘So with all this hedging around, what is it you’re actually asking me to do?’