She fetched some more yogurt and fruit out of the fridge for him, plus the container holding several different wedges of cheese. The inspector liked to eat cheese in chunks, without biscuits. There wasn’t as much cheese as she’d expected. Had Orlando been having a go at it? Dilys had said something about Orlando having been a mouse in a previous incarnation. She sighed. As if …
The inspector drained his glass and set it down with a deep sigh.
She got out another bottle of beer for him, cleared away the dirty plates.
In tidying the table, she picked up the piece of paper Leon had left for her and thought she’d better put it somewhere safe. He’d written some gobbledegook at the bottom of the page after his telephone numbers. Letters and numbers. He was good with numbers. Could remember them better than most people. She tucked the paper under her telephone.
‘Don’t talk,’ said the inspector, round a mouthful of cheese. ‘I’m thawing rapidly, but I’m not there yet.’
She picked up the shoe he’d thrown across the room and took it to the sink. Yes, there was indeed dog poo on it. She donned rubber gloves and dealt with it.
‘Aaargh.’ He stretched. Sipped beer. Cut another wedge of cheese. ‘As for the case I’m on, I can see I’m not going to get a result there. Black mark, Durrell. Conspiracy? Probably. But how to prove it?’
She angled an eyebrow at him. An invitation to confide.
‘A beauty parlour, so called, with hairdressing at the front and cubicles for tanning, electrolysis and how’s your father at the back and downstairs. It’s got a high-sounding name, but I’ve got a sensitive nose and my nose tells me it’s a hotbed of intrigue, not to mention a knocking shop after hours. Heavy breathing and soft music. Coloratura arias from staff and customers. I know who killed the stylist in the middle of a busy afternoon – or at least it has to be one of two people – but can I break their alibi? They’ve all got alibis, you see. Every single person was otherwise engaged when Lavender Lou got shafted with a pair of scissors.’
She filled and switched the kettle, preparing to make some coffee.
‘The suspect was having her nails done, right? Next door to where Lavender Lou was supposed to be taking time out after a heavy massage session with a client. There was coming and going galore. Up the stairs with this, and down the stairs with that. The receptionist was trying to deal with a woman who’d been complaining about a recent hair-colouring session, and Kitty Kitten, who’d been spending a serious amount of time recently with Lavender Lou … yes, that sort of time … was giving an old client a manicure.
‘Kitty Kitten says she heard nothing. Client agrees. They heard nothing, saw nothing, and will say nothing except how devastated they both are that lovely Lavender has stopped breathing and will no longer be playing false and loose with pretty Kitty Kitten. I got there in record time, by the way, with my new DC. She’s not a bad driver, though a trifle sharp on the brakes. I thought it would be a doddle to work out who’d done it. My instincts started twanging as soon as I saw the layout, but can I break the alibi? No way, Jose. And thanks but no thanks. No coffee or I won’t sleep tonight. Not that I’ll get much sleep, with my wife and the kids out on the coast, which is where I ought to be.’
Bea said, ‘Was it a good manicure?’
‘Mm? How should I know? It looked all right to me. She took off her gloves to show me. One of those with dots and stripes in different colours. My wife treated herself to a special manicure like that for her last birthday. Very expensive it was, too.’
Bea put her chin on her hands. ‘Describe it. Give me lots of detail.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘Indulge me.’
‘Well …’ He concentrated. ‘White tips with a black edge. Stripes in different colours with glitter on them. How am I doing?’
‘She took off her gloves to show you?’
A nod. ‘One more piece of cheese, then I must go.’
Bea teased the piece of paper out from under the phone. Leon had written two telephone numbers, followed by the registration number of a car. Adamsson’s car? How like him not to tell her outright what he wanted her to do. ‘If I tell you how to break that alibi, will you trace a car for me?’
‘Consider me incapable of speech. What have I missed?’
‘It’s what your DC has missed. I take it she doesn’t normally get her nails done professionally?’
‘Lord, no. She bites them. Urgh. So?’
‘The sort of manicure you describe takes ages to do. You have to let each layer dry before the next is put on. You don’t put your gloves on for hours and hours afterwards because the varnish might still be tacky and you would worry about smudging the design. Anyway, if you look around you, you’ll see that very few women actually wear gloves nowadays. I’m wondering why the client wore them … perhaps to avoid getting blood on her hands when she killed Lavender Lou? You see, if the manicure had been completed just before you arrived, then it is most unlikely that she would have put her gloves on straight away. I don’t know if the client killed Lavender Lou because she wanted to please Kitty Kitten, or if she was covering up for the girl herself, but if you can—’
‘—get the receptionist to tell me when the manicure was supposed to have started—’
‘And how long such a design should have taken?’
‘You think the manicure had been finished some time before—?’
‘Perhaps the day before. Or that morning at some other establishment? I don’t know which of them actually did the deed, but you should be able to play one of them off against the other.’
He leaned back in his chair. Burped. ‘Mrs Abbot, I kiss your hands and feet. Metaphorically speaking.’
‘Yes, here’s your shoe. I’ll just puff some air-freshener on it—’
‘And what do I have to do in return? You said, find a car?’
She copied out the number. ‘This car was spotted in the car park where the multiple homicides took place.’
‘Oh, no! Not my case.’
‘Certainly not. You are enquiring about an entirely different matter. A stolen car. It’s no longer in the car park. It could be anywhere. In a breakers’ yard, perhaps. Or at one of the airports. I think it’s been dumped somewhere. But I may be wrong.’
‘Why hasn’t the owner reported it stolen?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Because he’s missing, too. Adamsson by name. Head accountant to Holland Holdings (Overseas). Supposedly on holiday in France. But if he went to France, what was his car doing at the swimming pool?’
‘Who says it was?’
‘Leon Holland.’
The inspector had met Leon and formed a favourable opinion of him. He took out his notebook, sighing heavily. ‘Start at the beginning …’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Not sure how far back to go. One thing you might also like to think about is that the outside line in my office has been bugged. I’ve a report here from the engineer who dealt with it. Also, I suspect someone’s watching the comings and goings in this house.’
Bea paced the floor. Eleven o’clock, and no sign of Dilys, Orlando or Leon.
She was physically tired but unable to rest. Round and round in her head went the events of the day; the things that had gone wrong, that could go wrong, and what she might be able to do about them.
In the past it had been amusing to try to work out what Leon was up to. Today he’d been more open with her than usual … or had he? She ought to be able to guess how he was dealing with the situation at Holland Holdings. He could be a Tricky Dicky. He didn’t care much about making money for himself. He’d made a fortune of his own before he was dragged back into the Holland family business. Since then he’d put his money into the companies he’d been allocated in the carve-up of Briscoe’s empire.
He didn’t believe Briscoe was trying to kill him.
No, that wasn’t right. He suspected Briscoe was trying to kill him, but he was trying not to believe it.
He’d quarrelled w
ith his brother over making provision for Dilys.
He’d been thrown out of his suite of rooms and his office at Briscoe Holland’s headquarters in his big house in the country.
He’d set himself up in another office … where? She must remember to ask him.
Now, one of Leon’s companies was still situated in the grounds of the Holland estate: the Holland Training College for domestic staff. Although Leon had taken it over along with the other UK companies, the college maintained the big house and grounds by supplying Briscoe with housekeepers, nurses, cooks, maids, cleaners, security guards, chauffeurs, gardeners and handymen. Etcetera.
Briscoe required a constant supply of personnel to keep himself in the manner to which he had become accustomed. It must be a constant source of irritation to him that control of the training college had passed to Leon, particularly since his younger brother had appointed a new head, sacked some of the old staff, and reorganized the schedule.
Conclusion: the training college would be the first of Leon’s companies to be targeted. Leon would have understood that. So what precautions was he taking?
Bea pressed both hands to her forehead. She couldn’t think straight. What if Leon had been followed when he left her house and been run down in the street? What if he were lying in a hospital bed somewhere?
She stopped that line of thought. Worrying about far-fetched possibilities wouldn’t help.
Thinking constructively might.
Sybil. His sister. She’d shot off to the States at short notice, taking Bernice with her. Why? Had she taken herself out of the firing line because, although she sympathized with Leon, she wouldn’t want an altercation with her brother? Sybil had wanted to take Dilys, too, but the girl had refused, partly out of fear of the unknown, partly from inertia, partly because her daddy had told her to stay.
But, Dilys had been rubbing Briscoe up the wrong way, trying to interfere with his domestic arrangements. So what had Sybil done? She’d arranged to get the girl out of the house, to stay with Bea Abbot.
Oh dear, what was Sybil going to say about Keith?
Stop worrying! Keith may not have impressed Dilys. Dilys may not see anything in him. They may never see one another again.
Bea twitched the curtain over one of the windows at the front. She couldn’t see anything amiss, but she was beginning to wonder if there might be a CCTV camera in the street, monitoring whoever called at her house. There was no other explanation she could think of, to explain how Briscoe knew when Leon was, or was not, visiting her. It was rubbish to say that Jennifer or one of the other agency girls might have been feeding the information back to Briscoe, because they’d long since left the premises. Yet, as soon as Leon had arrived for his supper, Briscoe had known about it and made sure Bea knew that he knew.
Perhaps another bug had been placed somewhere in the house on the ground floor? A bug which might pick up their conversations?
But who could have planted one in the main body of the house? Had there been any callers that Bea didn’t know about? Bea made a mental note to ask Dilys if she’d let anyone in without telling her.
It was clear that Briscoe thought Bea was helping Leon. Well, she was.
And that Briscoe resented that fact? It sounded like it.
If so, was Bea herself in danger? Mm. Not proven.
What could he do to attack her?
Ah. Well. Yes. He could attack her through her only and much-loved son, Max.
Bea checked the calendar. Max, his wife and delightful children were out of town until Friday. Max was a hard-working politician, a member of the House of Commons, who thought he knew best about everything. Max thought it was his responsibility to guide his fragile mama through life’s turbulent waters. Max could, on occasion, be a right pain.
Max had been made a director of the Holland Training College some time previously. On the basis of this one appointment Max fancied himself as an entrepreneur who could speak with authority on all aspects of business in the House.
Bea considered him a child in such matters, but didn’t say so. She was fond of her son and hoped he reciprocated.
So, if Briscoe wanted to attack Bea, he might try to get at her through Max. Which would be unpleasant, but not necessarily difficult to deal with, because …
Because Leon would have foreseen the problem and dealt with it. He was probably out somewhere, at this very minute, dealing with it.
How? Mm. Mm. She clicked her fingers, threw back her head and laughed.
Oh, Leon. Clever boy. If she were right …
The phone rang, and Leon’s voice, said, ‘Is that twenty-nine something?’
‘Twenty-nine eleven. Have you finished wining and dining her?’
He sounded shocked. ‘Would I? After the meal you gave me? She’d like a word with you.’
On to the phone came the very person Bea had been thinking about.
Anna, the recently appointed head of Holland Training College. An appointment which had been made through the Abbot Agency.
‘Mrs Abbot? I’ve been swept off my feet. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.’
‘He takes me that way sometimes, too.’
Anna was the fortyish, single mother of two teenagers, now away at university. She was maxi-efficient, with a streamlined look; fair hair swept up into a knot, sharply-tailored suits, killer heels. At one time Bea had speculated that Leon might be interested in Anna other than for professional purposes. But, apparently not.
Anna said, ‘He said you knew all about it, otherwise I wouldn’t have accepted, not without checking with you. It is all right, isn’t it?’
‘It’s very much all right,’ said Bea, pleased to find her suspicions verified. ‘Otherwise, we’d have had you back on the agency’s hands looking for another job.’
‘I can’t tell you how much it means to me. I’d been worried sick about what was going to happen. There were grumbling noises from the big house when I first took over, because I’d sacked two of the previous tutors. One was a man we’d found dipping his fingers in the till, and the other had been caught exposing himself in the car park.
‘The gossip was that Mr Briscoe was going to encourage them to take us to employment tribunals, even though they hadn’t a leg to stand on. Mr Leon kept telling me it was going to be all right, that I must hold my nerve, and I trusted him, which was just as well because when I braved the lion in his den – I mean, Mr Briscoe – he couldn’t have been more charming, said he thought I’d done things the way he’d have done them. It’s being so close, you see, we get gossip going both ways, and I must admit I don’t like the sound of what’s going on there now, not at all.’
‘How did you hear, and what did you hear?’
‘One of my girls was working temporarily for Mrs Evans, the housekeeper up at the big house. The one they call the Welsh Dragon, and apt the nickname is, too. Anyway, the girl told me … No, I’ll tell you later, perhaps. Not on the phone.’
‘Right. But the training college is now doing well?’
‘Indeed. We tightened up the rules and did some reorganizing of classes which has made all the difference. I think I might still have to sack one of the kitchen helpers, but that’s a minor matter. The atmosphere used to be so grey and murky, but now it’s positively upbeat. We really had begun to pull together, but I had no idea … When Leon asked me to … Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather!’
Bea was amused. Evidently, Anna wasn’t able to ‘read’ Leon as well as Bea.
Anna gulped. ‘He said, had I a pound coin to give him, and I wondered why he’d need one. So I found one and gave it to him, and he said … he said I’d just bought the bulk of his training college shares! Just like that!’
‘With the proviso that—?’
‘Yes, of course. We’ve to make Dilys a non-executive director so that she gets an income from us. Pour soul. We’ve all been so sorry for her, what she’s been through, and her father wanting shot of her. I was sworn to secrecy unti
l we’d got everything signed and sealed at the solicitors, which we did yesterday. Still I couldn’t tell anyone, but I helped him arrange a finger food and drink celebration for the tutors and the staff tonight with outside catering, everyone to dress up for it, and they all wanted to know what was going on, and I had to be mysterious and say they’d find out in due course. And that’s when Leon announced it. He made a perfectly splendid speech, and there was a formal handover, with the press and photographers and everything. I did wonder if you’d be there as well, seeing as you probably put the idea into his head—’
‘He thought of it all by himself. Selling you the college means you can develop it properly, you can continue to supply staff to the big house where appropriate, and Dilys’s future is secured.’
‘Leon is clever, isn’t he? Not that I … I mean, well, you understand, he’s not exactly my … I’m not exactly up to his weight.’ She was telling Bea she wasn’t interested, romantically.
‘You mean, you’d never know what he was up to?’
Anna laughed, relieved. ‘Mr Briscoe still has some shares, of course, but not many. Not enough to upset any decisions I want to make. One or two other people have a few shares – I think your son does, doesn’t he? Leon’s kept a few, and he’s giving some to Dilys, but I now own the bulk of them. Leon said I could go to him if I ever wanted advice, but that he didn’t think I’d need it. He’d asked me before if I meant to work till I retired, and I said I certainly did. At my age, I’m not likely to put my future into the hands of any man who might leave me stranded, as my first husband did. Not that I mean that Leon would … Sorry. That was out of order. I’ve had too many glasses of champagne.’
‘Make the most of it,’ said Bea. ‘My blessing, for what it’s worth. Some day soon you and I will get together and work out how we can help one another. You will train the staff, and I will find them jobs, right?’
False Impression Page 9
