‘Not me,’ Julie says. ‘He completely blanked me.’
‘Dex Challoner’s editor was the man Peggy helped,’ says Edwin. ‘It seems such a coincidence.’
‘Not really,’ says Harbinder. ‘I think Miles wanted to work with Dex because of the link with Peggy. Remember we found that thank you card from him in one of Peggy’s books? It was sent before Miles became Dex’s editor.’
‘How did you guess about Miles?’ Benedict asks Harbinder. ‘You seemed to know immediately.’
‘Peggy’s daughter-in-law told us about the students she had helped,’ says Harbinder. ‘And we found some letters from Joan that mentioned meeting one of “the boys”, as she called them. But, when I saw Andriy pointing a gun at Miles, something else suddenly came into my head. I went to see Joan, Peggy’s friend, in her care home. She’s got Alzheimer’s and wasn’t making such sense. But, when I asked her about the students, she said, “Miles from home.” Miles.’ She looks round the table.
‘That’s very clever,’ says Edwin.
Harbinder makes a self-deprecating noise but Benedict thinks that she looks rather pleased with herself. Remembering the way Harbinder had tackled the gunman, calmly taking the bullets from the lethal-looking weapon, he thinks she has every right to feel smug.
‘Joan also said that Nigel wasn’t a good son and that he’d taken all Peggy’s money,” said Harbinder. “She said that Peggy liked to gamble.’
‘That’s not true,’ says Edwin. ‘In all the years I knew her Peggy only made one yearly bet on the Grand National.’
‘Joan said that she liked horse-racing,’ says Harbinder. ‘Or that someone did. And, just before we left, Joan woke up—she’d been dozing—and said “Red Rum”. Then she went back to sleep.’
Everyone laughs but Benedict is thinking of old films, of a spooky hotel, of Jack Nicholson, his eyes wild. The Shining. Here’s Johnny. He says, ‘Red Rum is an anagram for murder. It’s murder backwards, actually.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ says Harbinder.
‘I’m terrible at anagrams,’ says Edwin. ‘I wouldn’t have thought of it either.’
‘All Dex’s books had the word “murder” in their titles,’ says Natalka.
‘Maybe Joan was trying to send us a message,’ says Harbinder.
‘Maybe,’ says Julie, slowly. She hasn’t spoken much during the meal and Benedict wonders whether her wrist is hurting. It’s her right hand so maybe she’s worrying about her writing. Now Julie says, ‘My mum had Alzheimer’s and sometimes she seemed to speak in code, saying things that seemed weird and disconnected but made sense later.’
‘Peggy liked codes,’ says Natalka. ‘Mysteries too.’
‘I wish she was here to solve this one,’ says Edwin.
* * *
NO ONE STAYS up late that night. After supper Natalka and Dmytro shut themselves in the bunk-bed room to telephone their mother but Dmytro reappears at ten and announces his intention of sleeping on the sofa. This encourages everyone to go to bed. Miles still hasn’t emerged from his room.
Benedict has only exchanged a few words with Natalka since the scene with the gun. It’s as if she’s a different person now that Dmytro has appeared. She is glowing, so incandescent that, a couple of times, when they were eating fish and chips, Benedict had to look away from her. It’s as if, like the sun, it’s dangerous to look at her for too long. They say goodnight on the landing and Benedict hears Natalka’s door shut. There’s a gentle snore from Miles’s room and the faint bleep of an electronic game from Harbinder’s.
Benedict should be exhausted but, when he gets into bed, he finds he can’t sleep. This room was obviously once a study, with IKEA desk and chairs and a corkboard on the wall. There’s no bedside light so he lies in the darkness, listening to the wind and the sound of the sea on the shore.
This is my brother.
Murder backwards.
Thank heaven fasting for a good man’s love.
I once knew an old lady who was just like Miss Marple.
Thanks for the murders.
He must have closed his eyes because, when he opens them, his door is open and a sliver of light falls across the bed. He can smell Natalka’s perfume.
She drifts across the room like a dream and sits on the end of his bed.
‘You saved my life.’
‘I didn’t,’ says Benedict. ‘He wasn’t trying to kill you.’
‘You didn’t know that,’ says Natalka. ‘I think you’re the bravest person I have ever met.’
Benedict tries to speak, to remonstrate, but Natalka leans over and silences him with a kiss.
32
Harbinder
Miles from Home
WHEN HARBINDER COMES down to breakfast she finds Edwin and Dmytro having a lively conversation about Dynamo Kyiv. She is impressed by Edwin’s knowledge of football; she thought that he only knew about classical music and P. G. Wodehouse.
Dmytro stands up when she comes in. He’s very polite. It’s rather exhausting.
‘Can I get you some coffee?’
‘Thank you.’
Harbinder makes herself some toast and sits opposite Edwin.
‘Do you think we’ll go home today?’ says Edwin, spreading marmalade with a careful hand. Harbinder has noticed before that it irritates Edwin when Natalka uses the same knife for marmalade and for butter, and when Benedict eats too slowly. That’s what living on your own does for you, she thinks. That’ll be her in a few years’ time.
‘I hope so,’ says Harbinder. ‘I can’t see that there’s any point in keeping us here. If Julie needs police protection, that can happen just as easily in Brighton. And safe houses and surveillance teams are expensive. Jim must be wanting to get rid of us.’
‘Do you think DI Harris will charge Andriy?’ says Dmytro.
‘He’ll charge him with something,’ says Harbinder. ‘After all, he had a gun. And he fired it, even if the bullet did hit the wall.’ Was he aiming for Miles, she wonders, or was the first shot simply a warning? She thinks that Jim could still charge Andriy with attempted murder even if Miles doesn’t want to press charges.
‘I don’t think Andriy would have hurt Miles,’ says Dmytro.
Harbinder isn’t so sure. The gun had been loaded. She took the bullets out herself.
Just as they are finishing breakfast, DI Jim Harris himself appears.
‘Bit of a mad night last night,’ he says. ‘Is there any coffee going?’
Edwin pours some out. Jim looks totally at ease, leaning back in his chair enjoying his coffee, but Harbinder thinks that the presence of the police officer makes Dmytro feel nervous. He gets up, muttering about needing a shower. Jim drains his mug and Edwin fills it up.
Jim turns to Harbinder. ‘Good work yesterday. I’ve written up my report. You could be in for a commendation.’
Harbinder tries to look modest. She’d love to receive a commendation.
‘How did you guess that Miles Taylor was the target?’ says Jim.
Harbinder tells him the story about Joan and ‘miles from home’. It had gone down well last night and she expected Jim to be similarly impressed but he smiles, rather irritatingly. ‘So it was just a hunch then.’
‘Maybe not,’ says Edwin. ‘Maybe Joan was also thinking about Miles. She also said “red rum” which is an anagram for murder.’
Now Jim laughs aloud. ‘We need to have a quick chat, Harbinder,’ he says.
Edwin stands up. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘No, stay,’ says Jim, unexpectedly. ‘You’ve been involved with this thing from the start and I’d like your input.’
Edwin sits down, looking immensely gratified.
‘We’ve charged Andriy Avramenko with possession of a lethal weapon,’ says Jim, ‘but I’d like to add attempted murder to that. By his own admission, he came here to kill Miles Taylor until he was disarmed by DS Kaur here.’ He makes a mock bow in Harbinder’s direction. It does sound rather heroic, pu
t like that.
‘Avramenko must have followed us on Thursday evening and been hanging around ever since. I’ll have a word with the uniforms about that.’
He sounds very grim. Harbinder can’t believe how quickly time is moving all of a sudden. Lance was killed on Wednesday night, they moved to the safe house on Thursday. Today is Saturday, a busy day for her parents in the shop. She must go home and help them.
‘Harbinder and I thought that we heard someone prowling round the house on Thursday night,’ says Edwin.
‘Yes. DS Kaur mentioned that.’ Jim pauses for a moment to finish his second cup of coffee. When he looks up, his face has changed. It’s as if he has made up his mind up about something. ‘The thing is,’ he says, ‘I don’t think there is a link between the murder of Lance Foster and that of Dex Challoner.’
Edwin and Harbinder look at each other. ‘What?’ says Harbinder.
‘The two deaths are completely different,’ says Jim. ‘Lance was killed by a lethal injection of insulin, Dex was shot in the head. I don’t think they’re connected.’
‘But what about the threatening notes?’ says Harbinder. ‘What about Peggy Smith? What about the gunman who burst into her flat?’
Jim makes an impatient gesture. ‘I think we’re in danger of complicating things. I’ve got a man killed in a hotel room and now I’ve got a crazed gunman wandering around. I don’t need extra complications. All this stuff about books and anagrams, it’s just conjecture. It doesn’t add up to anything.’
Harbinder thinks that this is very unfair. It was Edwin who mentioned anagrams, not her. The rest is fact. A gunman did burst into Peggy’s flat, Dex Challoner was murdered, three threatening notes have been received, Miles received a manuscript based on Dex’s next book. It all has to connect somehow.
Jim says, in a more conciliatory tone, ‘It certainly looked as if there was a link with the Dex Challoner case. That’s why we got you up here, Harbinder. After all, they were both crime writers. But it’s just as likely that we’re looking at two different killers. Challoner could have been killed by a jealous girlfriend or a literary rival.’
‘What about Lance?’ says Edwin. ‘Who killed him?’
‘You tell me,’ says Jim. He looks at Edwin as if this is a real request but Edwin just stares back at him.
‘I don’t have any suspects,’ says Jim. ‘There’s nothing on the CCTV as yet but we’re hopeful that something will turn up. I’ll be looking into Lance Foster’s private life too. Ten to one he was killed by someone he knew well.’
‘Another jealous girlfriend?’ says Harbinder.
Jim ignores this. Maybe, like Neil, he’s bad at sarcasm. ‘Aye. Maybe. Any road, we’ve got a long day of interviews ahead and you guys must be keen to get home.’
‘Yes we are,’ says Edwin, ‘but—’
Jim stands up. ‘I’ll send a car for DS Kaur and for Miss Monroe. Miss Kolisnyk and Mr Cole can follow behind. Mr Fitzgerald, you can choose.’
‘I’ll go with Harbinder,’ says Edwin. ‘I don’t want to be a gooseberry.’
Right on cue, Benedict and Natalka appear, both looking flushed and slightly sheepish.
* * *
NOW THAT THEY know they’re leaving, it seems a long wait for the police car. Dmytro is coming with them. He wants to spend some time with his sister. ‘I can’t wait to see Shoreham,’ he keeps saying. Harbinder hopes that he isn’t too disappointed.
They sit with their bags around them, Julie tapping with one hand on her laptop, Benedict reading Laocoön by Lance Foster. Natalka stares out of the window and Edwin reads a copy of the Cove Bay News, which came through the letter box that morning.
Harbinder tries to read her emails but can’t concentrate. She is furious with Jim. How dare he dismiss their whole case as ‘conjecture’? Lance’s killer could still be in Aberdeen and now the police are concentrating on a Ukrainian man who, although admittedly rather hot-headed and murderously inclined, had no link with Lance Foster at all. She decides that a game of Panda Pop will calm her down but, before she can help Mama Panda defeat the Badboon, her phone pings. It’s Neil.
‘Hallo,’ says Harbinder. At least this is someone who doesn’t think that her case is pure fantasy.
Neil sounds excited, which means that he thinks he’s made a breakthrough. It’ll be tough to disillusion him but someone has to do it.
‘We’ve had a lucky break with the CCTV at Millionaires’ Row,’ says Neil. ‘One of the neighbours has just got back from holiday and their camera overlooks the patio at the back of Dex’s place. Dex had a visitor at ten past midnight on September the twenty-second.’
According to the coroner, Dex Challoner had been killed some time between midnight and two a.m. on Saturday the twenty-second. Harbinder feels her heart beating faster. Detective fever, Edwin would call it.
‘Who is it?’
‘I’ll send you a screenshot. We’re hoping to get some more pictures from another neighbour.’
Neil is stringing things out but it’s only a few seconds before the email flashes up on Harbinder’s screen. She clicks on the attachment. It shows a woman looking straight into the lens of what she doesn’t realise is a camera.
Maria.
Maria, who is currently looking after Harbinder’s mother.
Harbinder rings Neil back immediately.
‘It’s Maria. The carer. She knew Peggy too. And Weronika. Natalka might have her contact details. I’ll ask her. In the meantime, get onto Patricia Creeve who runs Care4You. She’ll know for sure. And, Neil, go round to Mum’s. Stop Maria getting anywhere near her.’
‘Will do,’ says Neil. ‘Don’t worry.’
Don’t worry. Jesus.
‘I’ll be home as soon as I can.’
* * *
JIM GETS HER onto a flight at midday. He drives her to the airport himself. Harbinder doesn’t know if the latest lead has blown his two murderers theory out of the water. She hopes so.
‘This Maria,’ says Jim, as they speed over the bridge, ‘what do you know about her?’
‘She’s a carer,’ says Harbinder, ‘originally from Poland. She’s married and has three children. My colleague has just been round to her house and there’s no one there. Apparently they haven’t been seen since Tuesday.’
‘So this Maria could have been in Aberdeen and, in theory, could have killed Lance Foster?’
‘Yes. Remember the receptionist said that the only people on that floor were cleaners? Maria could easily have passed as a cleaner in her carer’s overalls. She could even have worn her old nurse’s outfit. People never notice foreign-looking women. I know that for a fact.’
‘You can’t get a rise out of me on that one,’ says Jim. ‘But why would Maria kill Lance?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe because he knew that she killed Dex.’
Harbinder is leaning forward, willing the car to go faster. Jim drops her outside the airport. That’s the beauty of small airports, you can almost park on the runway.
‘Your plane’s in forty minutes,’ he says. ‘Good luck.’
* * *
HARBINDER FEELS AS if she’s been holding her breath for the whole flight. When she arrives at Shoreham Airport, Neil is waiting for her.
‘Olivia’s with your mum,’ he says. ‘Everything is fine.’
Olivia Grant is one of their best young constables. Harbinder starts to breathe again.
‘Still no sign of Maria?’
‘No. We’ve got a car waiting outside her house. Patricia says that she hasn’t been to work since Tuesday. She’s very put out, what with Natalka and Maria going missing at the same time. She’s had to visit a lot of their clients herself.’
Neil drives quickly and efficiently to Harbinder’s house. She finds Olivia and her mother sitting on the sofa watching Celebrity Antiques Roadshow.
‘Hallo, Heena,’ says her mother, looking round. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
33
Benedict
M
atching Pyjamas
THIS TIME THE drive through the Scottish hills is pure bliss. The sun shines on distant lakes and stone castles, on bosky woods and low-lying villages. Natalka is driving and she and Dmytro sing along to Radio 1. Benedict is in the back, dreamily listening to the lyrics. Maybe pop music is the reason both siblings are so good at English. Dmytro even has a slight American accent.
Benedict still can’t quite believe that last night actually happened. He slept with Natalka. He, who honestly thought that he would die a virgin. He had sex with a beautiful woman and it hadn’t been stressful at all, just miraculously and wonderfully right. Are they now going out together? Surely they’re too old to be called boyfriend and girlfriend? Are they—the very word gives him a distinct thrill—in a relationship? Natalka and Dmytro sing about love and being closer to you. Benedict thinks of the future. Of waking up next to Natalka every morning, of shopping in the open market with her, going on boat-trips, celebrating Christmas together, possibly wearing matching pyjamas . . .
‘Can you see what’s happening in the other car?’ says Natalka.
Benedict turns. The black Nissan Qashqai, driven by a taciturn young man called Duncan, is directly behind them. He can see Julie in the passenger seat. It looks like she’s on her phone.
‘Edwin’s probably asleep in the back,’ says Benedict.
‘Don’t you believe it,’ says Natalka. ‘He only pretends to go to sleep. He’s the sharpest of all of us.’
The Postscript Murders Page 25
