by Anne Baker
Chloe straightened up in her chair. ‘They were on holiday, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he was working up till then? Where was that?’
Benton consulted his notebook. ‘He was in Liverpool, employed as chief accountant at the Exchange Hotel.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ Walter said. ‘That could be how this man knew so much about Francis Clitheroe.’
‘Yes, Inspector Halyard has gone there to make further inquiries.’
They both started firing questions at him, but Benton’s manner was officious. ‘We’ll keep you fully informed about what transpires. I wish we knew more about this man. It would help us trace him.’
Chloe met Benton’s gaze. ‘He dictated letters to you, Miss Redwood. Did he seem used to doing that?’
She tried to think back. ‘He didn’t seem comfortable doing it. I think you should ask Lydia Tomlin about that, she was his secretary. Actually, she’s told me that he didn’t let her near his files. That’s unusual; the previous accountant here left all that to her.’
‘Thank you, I think we have spoken to her. Mr Bristow, did you believe that he was a qualified accountant?’
‘Yes,’ Walter said. ‘But I was convinced by the certificates and references he showed me.’
‘He knew a great deal about accounting,’ Chloe added. ‘But there were times when he did things I’ve never been taught. Things that struck me as odd.’
‘Give us an example,’ the constable said. Chloe had to rack her brains. The questioning seemed to go on for ages.
All that day at work, Chloe kept eyeing the telephone, expecting Adam to ring her. At lunchtime, during a break in Constable Benton’s questions; she dialled Adam’s number, but he didn’t lift the phone. Five o’clock came and she’d not heard from him; she tried again to ring him but he wasn’t there.
She caught the bus home. When she came to get off, it had started to drizzle and she still had a five-minute walk. She quickened her step. As she turned into Carberry Road, the drizzle was growing heavier. A parked car hooted as she hurried past it. She turned to see why, and did a double-take. Adam was getting out; he waved and called her back.
Her knees turned to water. She couldn’t trust herself with him; she’d always given in and let him have exactly what he wanted. Slowly she went back. ‘You’ve got that name I wanted?’
‘Ugh, it’s raining,’ Adam said. ‘Come and sit in the car for a moment.’
Chloe cringed. She didn’t want to, but he was retreating. She followed him and climbed into the passenger seat beside him.
‘No point in getting soaked,’ he said.
‘You’re doing well, I see.’ He had a new Jaguar, which was why she hadn’t recognised it.
‘Not too badly. Well, I suppose business is looking up. How are you?’
‘I’m tired, Adam, I’ve been at work all day. I just want that name.’
‘It wouldn’t harm to pass the time of day with me.’
‘Sorry, I’m not at my most sociable. What is it?’
‘Do you want to come back?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘To live with me?’
Chloe was taken aback at the suggestion. ‘No thank you.’ Her tone was icy.
‘It would make sense. We could run the business together and you’d have more time to spend with the children.’
‘Thank you, no. We tried it and it didn’t work out. Nothing would drag me back. Have you brought me that name and address?’
‘Yes.’ He patted his pocket. ‘Since I’m this close, I’d like to see the children and say hello.’
She was shocked and angry. He’d treated both her and them badly. ‘No,’ she said.
‘For heaven’s sake, Chloe, why not?’
‘Lucy cried for you, she kept asking when her daddy was coming back. She was upset, she missed you. I don’t want to put her through that again. What happened to the new girlfriend?’
‘It didn’t work out. She didn’t stay.’
Chloe smiled. ‘Then she had more sense than I had, good for her.’
‘Come on, Chloe, we had some good times. Let’s give it another go, why not?’
‘Absolutely no, no, no. I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to ask. Nothing would persuade me.’
‘No hard feelings. Just let me see the kids. They are my flesh and blood.’
‘No. How do I tell a toddler that her father doesn’t want her any more? That you found someone you thought you liked better than her mother? That you pitched us out on our necks? No, you cannot see the children. Just give me that name and address so I can go.’
‘OK, have it your way.’ He produced a scrap of paper. Chloe straightened it out. The name Leo Hardman was written on it, together with a Liverpool address.
‘Leo Hardman,’ she said. ‘That’s it.’ The initials on that silver pencil had been LH. ‘Thank you.’ She got out of the car and with a straight back marched on down the road, oblivious of the rain. Her cheeks were burning.
Perhaps she should have given Inspector Halyard Adam’s address and told him he could provide a new lead. She could have indulged herself by taking revenge on him by letting the police investigate what he was doing.
But she hadn’t, she hadn’t needed to. She’d stood up to Adam. After all those times he’d persuaded her to live as he wanted, do as he wanted, she had at last found the guts to refuse. It made her feel victorious. Never again need she fear Adam Livingstone.
She telephoned Inspector Halyard as soon as she walked into the hall and gave him the name and address of Leo Hardman.
‘I can’t guarantee it,’ she said, ‘but I have a gut feeling that this is the man we knew as Francis Clitheroe.’
Walter felt altogether more sprightly when he arrived at his office the next morning. Chloe had rung him last evening with her news, and to celebrate, he and Joan had shared a special bottle of wine with their supper. Joan was convinced Chloe was right about Leo Hardman, and now Inspector Halyard had his name and address, she’d persuaded Walter they’d soon see him charged and have their money back.
When he walked into the office, Chloe and Mrs Parks had their heads together in the accountant’s room, working out the weekly wages. Clarice Parks had rather taken the wind out of his sails by saying, ‘Mr Bristow, I’ve been very happy working here, but I want to tell you I’ll be leaving soon.’
‘Oh no! Not you too?’
‘I’m not giving in my notice at the moment. My brother’s in America, and he wants me and the boys to join him there. He’s looking for a house for us, so it’ll be a while yet, but I wanted to tell you in plenty of time.’
‘That’s thoughtful of you, Clarice, thank you.’
‘Well, I know you’re having awful trouble finding a new accountant. I wouldn’t want to think of Chloe being on her own.’
When his phone rang, he recognised Inspector Halyard’s voice immediately. ‘Have you picked up Leo Hardman?’ Walter asked.
‘We’ve ascertained that he worked as night desk attendant at the Exchange Hotel for a time, and that he left without working out his notice very soon after the hotel were notified of Clitheroe’s death. That would seem to be the place where Hardman picked up the knowledge he needed about Clitheroe. We think this must be a case of identity theft, but it’s very unusual, we haven’t come across it before.’
‘But you’ve found him now?’
‘No, not yet. We’ve been to Hardman’s address, a bedsitter in central Liverpool, and searched it thoroughly. There were signs that he’d left in a hurry, but he’s not been seen there since you reported the fraud.’
Walter felt that his hopes of a quick and satisfactory ending were being dashed. ‘So you still don’t know where he is?’
‘No, but he hasn’t cleared out all his belongings and he’s keeping up payments for the rent. It seems his intention is to return. A watch has been placed on the premises.’
Feeling somewhat deflated, Walter put the phone
down. He wished they’d get a move on.
Leo Hardman had left the private hotel in the back streets of Llandudno after two nights. There were too many families with children there; he didn’t fit in and he’d felt they were watching him. He needed to have a place of his own.
He’d spent some time going round the local estate agents, looking at properties for sale. In one of the windows he’d noticed a holiday let, a two-bedroom flat designed to accommodate four people. It was well away from the promenade in a quiet street and provided more comfort than his Liverpool bedsit. He’d decided to take it for a month and pay weekly from the large amount of cash he carried with him.
He’d bought the Daily Postevery day since he’d been in Llandudno, and been glad to see no further mention of Francis Clitheroe. But the police would certainly be looking for him, because he’d failed to attend his court hearing. It added to his unease that he didn’t know if they had found out any more about Clitheroe since he’d left.
If they had, it might not be safe for him to return to his bedsit. It depended whether they had rumbled that he’d stolen Clitheroe’s identity and worked out how that had been possible. If they’d discovered that both of them had worked at the Exchange Hotel, they might well know his real name. Leo didn’t think that very likely but he wasn’t going to take any risks. That had always been his way.
In the meantime, he had another problem. Being away from Liverpool, he’d been unable to pay the rent on his bedsit. While he’d been in lodgings but coming back each weekend, he’d put the money in an envelope with his rent book and put it through Conor’s letter box. His rent book would be duly made up and pushed under the ill-fitting door of his bedsit.
Leo had spent too long thinking about this, and his rent was becoming overdue. He knew Conor was ruthless with tenants who didn’t pay up. He had master keys and would be likely to get Maisie to pack his stuff up and clean his room out so he could rent it to someone else. He thought about just letting that happen, but he’d left a lot of good stuff there and it might give the police all sorts of clues about him.
He couldn’t send Conor a cheque on his Arthur Worboys account without putting that at risk. A postal order would be stamped with the name of the post office where he’d bought it, and would give a strong clue if the police were looking for him. In the end, he scribbled a note telling Conor he was having a short holiday and would be back soon, then folded some bank notes into it, enough to cover the rent for a few more weeks, and posted it to him.
Leo had looked at several houses for sale in and near Llandudno, but none really appealed to him. Now that the leaves were falling and the hills looked bleak in the rain, he began to think that his plans for a new life in north Wales might be a mistake. It was the end of the holiday season and the weather was worsening. It became blustery, and huge waves thundered down on the beach. The promenade was suddenly cold and rain-swept and the cafés and bars were almost empty.
The thought of spending the winter in a country cottage was not so attractive; Leo liked bars and pubs, and games of darts. He was missing his friends and the Irish pub and began to think he might be happier back in Liverpool. He was a city lad at heart and he knew where to hide himself away there.
Had he worried too much about that photograph in the newspaper? He’d been wearing those heavy-rimmed glasses and his hair had been cut short. It was growing now and he looked more like himself. He’d panicked and run when he discovered how much the police knew about what he’d been up to. He’d been shocked at the time, but now he was thinking logically again.
He’d be perfectly safe renting a more comfortable place in a different area of Liverpool in the name of Arthur Worboys. He was sure they couldn’t have found that bank account, and he had more money there. He thought about it long and hard, but could see no risk in doing that. If he stayed away from Bootle and Bristow’s Pet Foods, he’d be unlikely to have any trouble.
There had been an acute shortage of property to rent in Liverpool, but though it was expensive, it was coming back on the market now. New two-bedroom flats were going up and Leo thought one of those might suit him.
As a temporary measure, he found workman’s lodgings in Upper Parliament Street in his newspaper. He packed his suitcase and took the train back to Liverpool. He immediately felt more at home; he knew his way round the city pubs, cinemas and theatres. Here, he could enjoy life again.
The next day he went round the estate agents looking for a flat to rent. He chose a superior newly built one in Woolton and was asked if he wanted a furnished or unfurnished tenancy.
‘Unfurnished, please.’ This time he meant to make himself comfortable and settle down. He had money in Arthur Worboy’s account; he’d use his own name and turn himself into a solid and law-abiding citizen.
‘Before a tenancy can be granted, you’ll need to fill up this form giving details of your income and present address,’ he was told. ‘And also supply two references.’
That came as something of a surprise. The landlord of his bedsit had needed no such formalities. Leo took the form and agreed to do as he was asked. He’d think up a background for Arthur Worboys and tell a fib or two on the form. He knew he could arrange references by providing letters much as he’d done when he went to work for Mr Bristow. He went back to his lodgings and set about doing it. A personal reference could be hand-written, but the other was supposed to be from his employer or bank manager, and he would need to type that.
He had a typewriter at his bedsit as well as a lot of other things. To be on the safe side, he should go back and clear it out properly.
Soon he would have a better home than the old bedsit; he need no longer keep that on. Much the safest thing would be to break off all connection with the place, but before he did that he’d empty it of everything that connected him and Francis Clitheroe to it.
Better if he went back when there was nobody much about. He was glad that Conor Kennedy didn’t live on the premises, but he had that woman Maisie on the ground floor keeping an eye on the place, and during daylight hours the students would often be coming and going.
He decided the safest time would be after ten o’clock, when Maisie would have locked the front door and would presumably feel she was off duty and could go to bed. If he went at that time on Saturday night, the students would either be out working or enjoying themselves in the bars and restaurants.
He had more stuff there than he could carry; he’d need a taxi to get it all away. The nearest taxi stand he could think of was outside Lime Street station. He’d pick up his typewriter and bring that and one suitcase away. He could get a taxi and collect the rest later. Anyway, he had no space for all his things in these lodgings. He’d need to put most of it in the left luggage place at the station until he moved into his new flat.
At ten o’clock, he stuffed some bags into his empty suitcase and caught a bus into town. He got off near his bedsit, and as he passed the Irish pub, he could hear sounds of jollity; music and singing. He would have liked to have a last session in there; he’d missed the fun. The pubs in Llandudno hadn’t been anything like so good. But no, the last thing he needed was to be seen by his old mates, so he gave it a wide berth.
His plan was to pack up his belongings, clear his bedsit and disappear for good. As he approached the building, he could see that Maisie’s curtains were drawn and her lights on; he hoped she was in bed. There didn’t seem to be anyone else at home in the front of the house. He let himself in quietly and crept upstairs in the dark, but it was impossible to do without the steps creaking beneath his weight. He flinched but told himself it was a solidly built house and sound didn’t travel much. Once in his own bedsitter, he drew the curtains and put the light on.
It was an untidy mess, the bed unmade, the air fetid. He set about packing everything that was his and found it hard work. He had two zip bags and three big suitcases packed tight, and was wondering whether the detritus that was left would tell an investigator anything when he heard the front doo
r open.
He froze, listening, holding his breath. Heavy footsteps were coming upstairs. It might just be one of the students, but it sounded like his landlord, Conor Kennedy. If it was, he could hardly have missed seeing that Leo’s lights were on. He waited motionless, in a lather of dread and sweat. The steps stopped outside his door.
‘Leo?’ The door shook as a heavy fist drummed on it. ‘My friend, are you in?’
Leo swallowed hard. He knew he’d have to open the door; the landlord had a master key to all the rooms. ‘Hello, is that you, Conor?’
He hurried to push his baggage out of sight behind the bed and opened the door as quickly as he could. What had brought Conor Kennedy here at this time of night? Leo was quaking as he tried to edge his visitor back on to the landing.
A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder. ‘My friend.’ Conor Kennedy’s bald head looked polished under the electric light. ‘Home at last, eh? Have you had a nice holiday?’
‘Excellent,’ Leo said brightly, but inside he was cursing. This was the last thing he needed.
‘Llandudno was good, then?’
That made Leo jump with surprise. ‘How d’you know where I’ve been?’
‘My friend, you sent your rent money and let me know you were coming back. The stamp had been franked.’
Oh God, was that what had done it? ‘Of course!’ What a fool he’d been to forget that. But what was he doing here now? ‘How did you know I was back?’
‘Saw your light on. Come and have a nightcap down in the pub. There’s still time for last orders.’
Was it a trap? Surely not, Conor was his friend. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps? I’m very tired, the train took hours.’
‘Come on, man, a wee snifter will sort you out. Do you good.’
Leo’s nerves were shredding; he was panicking, couldn’t think properly. This was all wrong. Conor had never done this before. Why was he doing it now?
‘Tommy will be glad to see you back.’
‘Thanks, then. It’s Sunday tomorrow, I can have a lie-in.’
