Homicide in Herne Hill

by Alice Castle

  Nevertheless, she wasn’t much looking forward to the morning. And if she was honest, she was a bit uncomfortable. Unless she was much mistaken, she’d just lied to Harry. Maybe it was a white lie, but her very well brought up conscience told her that a lie was a lie, whatever the shade it came in. She bit her lip guiltily.

  ‘Beth? Beth, are you ok? I said I’ve got to go. I’ll sneak out, hope I don’t wake Ben. What have you got on today? Just pottering, enjoying the holidays together?’ He looked across at her, his blue, blue eyes merry and just a bit wistful at the thought of missing the fun. She knew there was nothing he’d love more than to be out and about with them, at the park, kicking a ball to Ben, sneaking the odd kiss when a kick went semi-deliberately wide…

  Well, she’d be pottering, all right. Paul Potter-ing. And the closest they’d get to the park would be on the way back from Herne Hill tonight, when Ben would make his ritual demand to take a detour down Court Lane, and Beth would have to point out, for the umpteenth time, that not only was the park shut (as twilight would have long passed at this stage) but also that Charlie wasn’t around to pop in on either, being either halfway up, or halfway down, a mountain.

  Beth’s colour rose at the thought of the deception.

  ‘You look so pretty, those pink cheeks,’ Harry said, leaning in for one last, long, lingering kiss, before leaping up decisively. He’d brought his coat upstairs with him last night, and his big biker boots, too. He was always so considerate, in case Ben wandered down for a glass of water, saw the clobber taking up the hall, and wondered what on earth was going on.

  Beth didn’t want to let on that Harry’s tiptoe down the stairs was much more like the hippo from Fantasia than the Tinkerbell tread he seemed fondly to imagine. Luckily, Ben was capable of sleeping through even that.

  But as soon as she heard the discreet click of the front door, Beth threw off the covers and went along to get Ben up. Time was already ticking on and, little though she felt like confronting whatever might be waiting for her at the solicitor’s office, there was no point putting it off. Delay wasn’t going to make things any better.

  Ben wasn’t exactly reluctant to troop off to Nina’s, but she could tell that the delights of unfettered access to rubbish telly were definitely wearing off. It looked as though one great side effect of this little experiment might be that she’d performed aversion therapy on her son. Mind you, she might not be able to enjoy the consequences of it. If Potter spotted her snooping – as he was pretty much bound to do – she might well be spending the next few years behind bars. What was the penalty for breaking and entering, anyway? She would have asked Harry, but knowing him, he would only have flipped out. There’d be time enough for that when she’d been officially caught.

  She arrived at the office, not quite creeping like a snail as Shakespeare’s schoolboy did, but certainly plodding like someone approaching their own scaffold. So intent was she on keeping going, when all her instincts were telling her to run away, that she didn’t notice Potter coming up behind her until she was unlocking the street door.

  ‘Ah, great timing, Beth! We might as well get straight down to it. Bring your notebook through when you’re ready.’

  Beth, slinging her coat on her chair and grabbing some paper from the printer, made a mental note to chivvy the stationery suppliers… if she made it through this morning, that was. Suddenly, she had a brainwave. Potter had just about got his own office door unlocked when she bustled rudely past him with the wodge of paper, made for his desk, spotted the key lying where she’d left it, shining brightly right in the centre of the pale blond wood, and dropped the sheets of blank A4 accidentally-on-purpose all over the surface of the desk.

  ‘Oh my goodness, how silly! Oh, I’m such a butterfingers,’ she trilled, hoping she wasn’t over-playing her hand. She started to gather up the papers, just about to snatch up the key with them, when Potter came over and joined in. This wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  ‘Tell you what, Paul,’ she said, leaning forward and splaying her hands over the mess of paper. ‘You don’t want to bother with this mess. Just pop the kettle on, and when I’ve tidied this lot up, I’ll make the tea and we can start the dictation in style!’

  Potter hesitated for a moment. It was the first time Beth had been so decisive. She’d been content, over the last few days, to do exactly what she was told and keep her head down. She’d shown as little personality as possible, tried to be an office fixture, with as much definition as a smoothly functioning photocopier. But she had noticed, over the years, that men sometimes quite liked a bossy woman. Particularly men like Potter, who’d probably had a nanny, or at least a cleaner or housekeeper, who’d looked after him at some point.

  There was a split second when their eyes met over the desk – his registering surprise, hers steely. Then, to her inestimable relief, he threw up his hands. ‘You win. I’ll go and check the answering machine.’

  Sweat broke out on Beth’s brow as she hastily swept the paper into a pile, the key now safely cutting into her rather damp palm. She straightened the edges of the stack, sat down in the chair facing the desk, and took a deep, slightly ragged breath. She couldn’t quite believe she’d got away with that, especially as checking the answering machine wouldn’t take more than a second. She’d eat her own woolly hat if there was a message on it. As soon as Potter came back in, she’d make an excuse, nip out, and replace the key under its Simpkin mug.

  But what was Potter up to? She could hear him banging around in the kitchenette. That hadn’t been part of the plan. He was only supposed to have filled the kettle, put it on. The last thing she wanted was him poking about there. She could feel a prickle of alarm running along her scalp.

  ‘Paul? Um, that paper’s all sorted now. We’re ready to make a start. Or, er, I’ll get the tea going, shall I? You can, um, gather your thoughts?’

  There was no reply, but she heard the unmistakable sound of someone rooting around in the cup cupboard. Potter was looking for the key.

  She bounded out in time to see him standing with the ‘Dad’ mug in one hand, and a furious expression on his face.

  ‘What the hell is the meaning of this, Beth?’ he said, drawing himself up to his full height. It was a long way up, but when she craned her neck, she could distinctly see the cat’s whiskers of white standing out starkly against his dark tan. There was no trace at all of a smile any more and his eyes were boring down into hers.

  Beth shrank back against the loo door, then edged back towards his office, trying to put clear space between them. Wrong way. Potter turned towards her, and she realised her exit was cut off. Beyond him lay her handbag, coat, and the outer door to the street. Behind her was only his office. There was the tiny patio beyond, but she didn’t know if it led anywhere, and the door was doubtless locked. Potter did seem to have a thing about keys.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Letty Potter was doing what she did best. She was shopping with Belinda MacKenzie and a couple of the other girls. It wasn’t that much of a novelty; they did it often, but they did it well. They drifted, like a flock of exotic birds, from shop to shop, picking things up, putting them down in the wrong places, unfolding jumpers and moving candles from shelf to shelf, driving the shopkeepers mad, though not a word could ever be said or they would all flutter away and alight somewhere else.

  This time, the pretext was a little drinkies that Belinda was hosting. It was a pre-Christmas thing, and would shortly be followed by Letty’s own after-Christmas thing. Both were Dulwich institutions. Everyone knew about them, though of course, not everyone was invited. Being asked was a signal honour, and just because you’d been on the list one year certainly didn’t mean you were guaranteed a place the next. Everyone had to work to be included. You needed charm, witty conversation, hyper-sensitivity to the needs of your hosts and, of course, a hide tougher than ten rhinos as far as personal slights were concerned. Or just shed-loads of money. Or you could be in the position to bestow important fa
vours – governors of Wyatt’s or the College School were always in demand, somehow.

  Belinda had already found a dress to wear to her own do. Letty, to her chagrin, had adored the frock the moment Belinda had picked it up and held it up against her. It was drifty, silvery, and basically screamed Letty in large capital letters, as far as she was concerned. In fact, she was pretty sure Belinda had only picked it up and made a show of loving it because she knew Letty would be bound to want it.

  It was ironic. She knew that Belinda had spent the whole of yesterday teaching her children to share nicely, not to grab each other’s things and to be mature. Belinda had told them all at great length that was her plan during lunch in Jane’s and then a cappuccino or two over the road at Romeo Jones, while the nannies just took the children off their hands to give them a tiny break. Letty suspected that it had been Belinda’s au pair who’d done the teaching, if any in fact had gone on at all, but it was all wasted effort because the biggest culprit in that house was always Belinda herself.

  Letty shot a venomous glance at her friend, who’d draped the dress over the cash till now, ready to pay for it, and was making the harassed assistant open the glass display case for the jewellery, so she could try everything on and then loudly declare she wouldn’t bother with costume, she actually preferred real diamonds.

  Angrily, Letty sorted through the racks of dresses, clashing the hangers together at a pace which drew curious glances from the other two who’d accompanied them. She slowed herself down deliberately, took a breath, then found the perfect thing. It was severely tailored, knee-length, with a deep décolletage and was in a stunning deep midnight blue. It would not suit her one little bit. But it would look divine on Belinda. She pulled it out with a joyful little cry, and sure enough, Belinda’s eyes swivelled to the dress and then stood out on stalks. She bustled over.

  ‘Oh! It’s just perfect for you,’ Belinda said, through gritted teeth.

  Letty absolutely knew this was a lie, not because Belinda’s smile was rigid – it always was these days – but because the dress might have been made for Belinda herself. And Belinda was staring at it, as if mesmerised, drinking in the lines which would caress her own beautiful curves so well, showing off all that work her personal trainer had been doing on her, while the colour was exactly the foil that her Californian corn-coloured hair needed. Plus, that tiny touch of Christmas sparkle at the neckline. It had it all. Letty smiled like the cat that had got the cream.

  ‘You know what?’ Letty said, holding the dress up against herself, as Belinda had with her dress such a short time ago, ‘I’m beginning to have my doubts. Is it really, really me?’

  Belinda, so mesmerised by the dress that she barely registered Letty’s words, just murmured, ‘Lovely… er, what?’

  ‘I tell you what, Belinda. I have a feeling this would suit you,’ said Letty, as though she’d been hit by the most enormous brainwave.

  ‘No, really? But I mean… you picked it. It’s yours… if you want it?’ The avaricious gleam in Belinda’s eye told Letty her fish was hooked. She just needed to reel her in.

  ‘Feel the material, isn’t it gorgeous? Oh, actually, maybe I will just try it…’ Letty teased, stepping back a pace and taking the dress with her.

  Instantly, Belinda looked bereft. Was that a tear forming in her eye, or was it the result of one syringe of Botox too many? Letty wondered. Time to put her out of her misery.

  ‘I tell you what, Belinda. Why don’t you go and try it on? I think it might be exactly your colour. Really slimming,’ she said, unable to resist a gentle twist of the knife. Belinda’s eyes shot to hers, and Letty kicked herself. She might just have gone too far there. Belinda spent a fortune subduing her body. She would never acknowledge the need to wear something that disguised the pounds. ‘But no, actually, didn’t I read something saying sparkly fabrics are unforgiving? In that case I definitely can’t wear it,’ Letty said, with her best fake regret. It was enough to seal the deal.

  Almost despite herself, Belinda’s hand snaked out and grabbed the hanger. ‘Maybe I’ll just slip it on. Won’t take a second. You won’t mind waiting for me, will you?’ she said over her shoulder, but didn’t wait for an answer. Of course they wouldn’t all mind waiting. People never did.

  Quick as a flash, Letty was at the till, grabbing the silver dress and thrusting her credit card at the surprised assistant. ‘I’ll take it,’ she said. ‘No, I don’t need to try it on. Just stick it in a bag, don’t bother with all the tissue paper and stuff,’ she said, keeping an eye on the changing room. She didn’t hide her actions from the other two. In the grand scheme of things, they didn’t matter, and they knew it.

  The girl ran the card through the machine while Letty drummed her fingers on the counter. There was a nasty bleep. The assistant looked surprised, shook her head. ‘The connection’s playing up today, sorry,’ she said, swiping the card again. Letty, her eye on the back of the shop, merely nodded. Then came another of those nasty beeps. ‘Declined. I’m sorry,’ said the assistant, meeting Letty’s eyes reluctantly.

  Letty’s face flamed. ‘What do you mean, declined? It can’t be. There’s nothing wrong with this card.’

  ‘I’ve tried twice. It says to contact your branch. Do you have another one I could try?’ said the girl. Letty looked in her purse. It was stuffed with cards, as usual, but as she scanned them, there was a flurry of movement from the changing room curtains and Belinda stepped out, dress over her arm, and a very smug smile on her face.

  ‘It’s just right,’ she announced loudly to the whole shop. She strode over to the counter, looking at Letty in surprise. ‘Are you getting something, too?’ she asked.

  ‘Er, no,’ said Letty, fixing the assistant with a hard stare and stepping away from the counter – and her dress. As she turned, her forehead was knotted with a frown. What the hell was going on her with card? What was Paul up to? Why wouldn’t he have paid the bill? It was usually erased, every month, like clockwork, by a direct debit that took her back to zero and gave her a lovely clean slate. Something must have gone wrong.

  This wasn’t in their deal. They’d be having a discussion, as soon as she could get away from prying eyes and ears.

  Her face, as she shoved her purse, hard, back into her bag, was a long way from showing the ethereal snow queen expression she habitually adopted. In fact, only Potter would have recognised her now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Beth, stuck in the office and with Potter towering right over her, his anger leeching out and seeming to colour the very air red, only had a moment or two to think. And in time-honoured fashion, she fell back on the plan that had saved so many women over the centuries. She played dumb. She’d once seen a cushion, in a Dulwich sitting room, embroidered with a little motto. It had been a decade or so ago, when such things were fashionable, at the home of one of her mother’s more annoying friends. It said, ‘Ladies, never underestimate yourselves. You can always get a man to do that for you.’ It was supposed to be hilarious. At the time, she’d merely marvelled at the fact that someone, somewhere, had had the time and patience to work this passive-aggressive slogan in meticulously dainty cross-stitch. Now, in her moment of need, it came back to her in a flash.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean, Paul,’ she said, stretching her eyes as wide as they would go, and trying a small but wobbly smile. ‘Are you cross because I cleaned out the mug cupboard? I had a bit of time to spare yesterday, and thought I’d do something useful, once you’d had to leave early because of the dog thing… I mean, the terribly sad death of poor, erm, Lancelot. I’m so sorry if I’ve done the wrong thing. I was trying to do something nice to cheer you up, you must be really sad about him,’ she simpered.

  If she’d had a lace hankie with her, she would have wrung it artistically in her hands, or maybe even dabbed it to her eye, which was wet with unshed tears. This was more the product of sheer terror than wounded feelings, but Potter was not to know that. Like many a St George before him,
he could have slain a fire-breathing dragon on the spot, but he was no match for a damsel in distress.

  His lance crumpled before her misty eyes. Yet still a dash of lawyerly doubt remained. Potter said nothing but ran a finger swiftly along the interior of the upper shelf, and showed her the dirty, dusty result.

  ‘Well, I didn’t get very far,’ Beth said, lowering her eyes. ‘And that cupboard is very high up for me. But the lower one is lovely and clean,’ she said, crossing her fingers behind her. She hoped that, as it was so much used, it would at least be dustball-free. Potter gave it a cursory glance and grunted.

  ‘That was, er, thoughtful,’ he said at last, visibly seeming to collect himself. Beth breathed, for what seemed like the first time in several minutes. ‘And yes, we had a terrible evening with the, er, children. They’re heartbroken, absolutely devastated.’ He shook his head sadly. Was she imagining it, or were his own eyes growing moist? If they didn’t get a grip, they’d both be bawling in a minute, though for entirely different reasons. But Potter was speaking again. ‘The thing is, Beth, there was, um, something on that upper shelf… I don’t suppose you came across, erm, anything?’

  He was being so cagey. One part of her mind was wondering why, exactly, Potter was so over-protective about his blessed office key. It all strengthened her notion that there really was something in those filing cabinets that it would be worth her getting her hands on. The other part was busily wondering how on earth she was going to extricate herself from this mess.

  Beth thought fast, very fast indeed. She leant forward, awkwardly reaching around Potter, who leapt out of the way like John Cleese being scalded, and reached down a mug from the lower shelf. ‘I did find something, I just put it in here for safekeeping,’ she said, doing a bit of legerdemain that would, she thought smugly, have had the Magic Circle begging for her to join. All that practising with the ridiculously complicated set of tricks her mother had bought Ben for his last birthday had finally paid off.