I shuddered. “How cold-blooded.”
“He’d watched you for days; earlier he’d broken the chain on your bike and forced Pippa to ride it past the showroom with a can of petrol, then park it nearby. He thought he would set you up, get her to pay money into your bank account.”
“Watched me for days? What a nerve!”
“You do it all the time.”
“It’s called surveillance. I’m paid to do it. Are you going to charge him?”
“Of course. We have on both counts of murder. We don’t know how Mrs Fairbrother found out about him locking Adrian into the fire, but she did and that was enough to make her a problem. A problem that Leslie Fairbrother had to remove.”
“I’m emotionally involved in this,” I groaned. “Get me out, please, James. Do you know what Leroy Anderson was doing in Pippa Shaw’s flat?”
“She doesn’t really know herself. She knew that Pippa Shaw was involved with Adrian Fenwick and that he was involved with her brother-in-law. She thought there might be some link with her sister’s death and as she had a key to number five Horizon Views, she went along to have a look. She admitted it straightaway, took nothing, found nothing. She left when she heard someone opening the front door.”
“Me.”
“And panicked. She tipped a drawer of things on the floor and hoped Pippa would think a burglar had got in.”
“She was very convincing,” I said.
“By the way, Jordan,” James leaned back easily as if he was made for my chair; he was made for my chair, every inch of him, my flat, my car, my bed. “We arrested two Italians earlier today. They were going to blow up a Latching garage. An observant attendant saw them setting the fuses, called us immediately. We had to evacuate the area and get the bomb squad in.”
“They were looking for Al Lubliganio,” I sighed. I had told the brothers that Al Lubliganio worked at a local garage. People could have been killed… and I would have been responsible.
“So they said, once we’d got an interpreter in. I thought you might be relieved to know that they are being sent back to Italy, pronto. They are wanted for a string of offences. They’ll be put away for a long, long time. Unless, of course, you want me to detain them here on charges of abduction and threatening behavior?”
“No, thank you. Send them back,” I said firmly. “The further, the better.”
“I thought you might say that. Thanks for the soup, strange though it was. I’ll let you get some rest.” James got up, stretching, searched around for his jacket. He’d left it hanging on the back of the door.
I didn’t want any rest. I wanted him to stay and talk about other things. You know, anything, state of the world, UK economics, foreign policy, flower-arranging.
“I got an invitation from Pippa Shaw today.” I said. “To the party after her wedding. A sort of knees-up following the reception. It said to bring a friend. Do you want to come?”
“Might as well,” he said.
Twenty-Four
In the days before the wedding, I sorted out a few things that had been troubling me. I removed the cardboard boxes from the Grecian temple in Mrs Drury’s garden and threw them in the sea. After checking the contents, of course.
Another irksome enigma was that Lancaster bomber and the skeleton of a woman found aboard, a silver bracelet around her wrist. I wanted to know who she was. Not exactly a crime and no one was paying me.
I went round to Pippa Shaw to thank her for clearing me in her statement and for the invitation. I had accepted the invitation, not believing that I would ever get there.
It was all very strange because I had always thought of her as unapproachable. But this time she was amiable and offered me a glass of wine and to sit down on her white leather sofa. My jeans were clean. The whole episode had obviously knocked some corners off her and she was more human, less sharp-edged. Being blackmailed had been a nasty experience.
“It’s been a really harrowing time for us all,” I said, the wine loosening my tongue. I’ve never been framed before and I don’t suppose you’ve been blackmailed before.”
“It was a nightmare,” she agreed with a deep sigh. “And then I had my grandmother to think of as well.”
“Your grandmother?” I blanked out. I tried to draw her back on track. But she wanted to tell me.
“I was trying to protect her. Linda Keates was my grandmother,” she said after another gin and tonic. I could see a certain problem on its way here. “That’s why Adrian was so against the raising of the wreck. He knew I would be upset.”
“That was your grandmother, found on the bomber?”
“Yes, I knew she was down there. Hoped she would stay there but they found incendiaries on the beach and thought the wreck had become dangerous.”
“But why object? Then you could have a proper funeral for your grandmother. It can’t be much fun being at the end of the pier, all those kids being sick after brawls at the nightclub.”
Tacky but true. Pippa offered me another glass of wine so it showed she did not mind.
“My grandmother was separated from her husband, and my mother, only a child then, was staying with relatives while Linda worked at Patcham House. She saw a chance of making money for them both. There was a burglary one night and a lot of valuable silver was taken. In the confusion afterwards, she took this rare ivory group from the Tokyo School from the Patcham House collection. Okay, it was stealing but she was desperate. It was quite small, illustrating Japanese life, but superbly carved with great sensitivity, and something for which a German collector would pay a great deal of money.”
“How do you know this?”
“She left a letter for my mother, explaining everything. That’s how I know. In case something happened to her.”
“And something did happen.”
“She was going to be dropped over occupied France, parachute down with the ivory, contact a German dealer who was willing to buy, get back somehow. It was a crazy plan. I think the pilot must have been sweet on her. But the Lancaster developed engine trouble and crashed into the beach at Latching instead.”
“And the ivory group?”
“The police divers found the bundle in the wreck and it has been returned to the owners of Patcham House. It’s still in reasonable condition despite being wrapped in sacking and under water for fifty years. It’s worth a lot of money now. The sale of it will solve a lot of their financial problems. They are very happy and not taking any action. Just glad to have it back.”
“And Linda Keates?”
“I’m going to have her funeral the day before my wedding. It seems right, a private service. My mother is still alive, quite old but spritely, runs her own business. I’m glad you can come to the party. I feel I owe you a lot. You’ve sorted out my life. Have you got something nice to wear?”
“Not yet. As you can see. I’m not into dresses.”
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Ask away.”
“All that money. The cash that Leslie Fairbrother made me pay into your account, impersonating you. What happens to that?”
I was thrown. Did she want it back? But it wasn’t hers. Leslie Fairbrother had drawn it from his own account and had had it put into mine.
“It was a problem,” I said. “You see, the bank manager told me that the only way to get rid of it was for me to draw it out. And only I could withdraw it.”
“And…?” Her face had gone a shade pale.
“So I did. I sent half of it to the Children of Chernobyl fund and half to a Save the Seals sanctuary in the Orkneys. I’m sure Leslie Fairbrother would approve of this charitable distribution of his money. Anyway, it’s too late now. I’ve sent it.”
*
Leroy Anderson came to my rescue. She lent me her blue chiffon dress. It had a swirling skirt, draped bodice and shoe-lace shoulder straps. I had to buy sheer tights and a pair of strappy sandals. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror and I couldn’t walk. I looked like a lampsha
de on stilts. She also did my hair and make-up.
“You deserve a party,” she said, pinning my hair up into a bird’s nest. “Forget everything and have fun.”
She and Blackie had moved in with the friends who had been giving her shelter. No 12 was waiting to be sold. Leroy was practically running FFH and Mrs Fenwick was delighted with the ways things were going. They had become friends, more like mother and daughter, good for each other. They shared grief and that was bonding.
Pippa’s wedding was pretty posh, women in fancy clothes and men in brocade waistcoats. The evening party was in Latching’s top hotel. They had taken over the whole of the ground floor and a band was playing in the ballroom. I could hear the subdued beat. There were white (lowers everywhere, lilies and carnations and roses. The scent was heady.
“I don’t know anyone here,” I said as we went into the crowded reception hall. Pippa and her new husband were standing in line to greet their guests. She was in white parchment satin, stiff and reed-slim, elegant as a lily herself. She had an old silver bracelet dangling on her wrist. But she was radiant, smiling and laughing.
“You know me,” said James.
He was in a dark gray suit, a black shirt and ice-blue tie. Mafia gear, Latching style. Our blues toned. He was so good-looking, I didn’t want Pippa to see him in case she changed her mind. The man lit a sunshine window in my heart.
But I wished I was at home or on the beach or walking the pier, wanting fresh air and pounding waves, anywhere but here in this overheated crowd. A waiter offered me a glass of champagne, golden bubbles spilling like temptation. James also took a glass. He toasted me and smiled gravely.
“We might as well enjoy the party,” he said. “At least we’re not working. It beats paperwork.”
I had to ask. “Do I look all right?”
He surveyed my appearance. “I didn’t know you had legs,” he said.
If you enjoyed Wave and Die check out Endeavour Press’s other books here: Endeavour Press - the UK’s leading independent publisher of digital books.
For weekly updates on our free and discounted eBooks sign up to our newsletter.
Follow us on Twitter and Goodreads.
Wave and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 2) Page 24
