Briefly, DC Fleet laid a comforting hand on her arm. The idea that Brent himself might be more involved had occurred to him once or twice in odd moments but until now he had never seriously considered him as anything other than a victim and Mrs Rider’s story was fairly thin . . . Plus it was all hearsay and she would be regarded as an unsatisfactory witness if she ever ended up on the stand. Still, he would bear it in mind. Might even talk to this Robbie.
He frowned, wondering why he had never seriously fingered Brent for the murder. Abruptly, his face cleared. Of course. Brent had been kidnapped before Jem disappeared.
He looked at Mrs Rider. Somehow her frazzled appearance and the tears for her dead son touched him unexpectedly. Poor woman. Would she ever recover from this loss? Impulsively, he pulled a clean, folded handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. Without unfolding it, she dabbed carefully at her face, then put it into her pocket undisturbed. She stood up unsteadily and straightened her clothes. ‘I’ll be off then, Mr Fleet,’ she said, with a belated attempt at dignity.
‘I promise to be in touch, Mrs Rider.’
EIGHT
Detective Constable Fleet heard about Maude’s outburst in the bank and went round immediately to speak with the bank manager.
‘You can’t blame me!’ cried Franks, the moment they entered his office. ‘I was only following your orders. “Hedge”, you said. “We have to play for time.” Those were your exact words! “She stands to lose a huge amount of money.” That’s what you advised and that’s what I did. She flew into a rage and was nearly hysterical.’ He closed the door carefully so they should not be overheard. ‘You, Detective Constable Fleet, are certainly out of favour with Mrs Brent – but so are we, and that dreadful Hemmings fellow has been in, as pleased as punch, hoping to have another titbit for his wretched article!’
Franks had decided not to allow the policeman to sit down. That would punish him for the grief he had caused the bank. Head Office had been most censorious when they had received an account of Mrs Brent’s behaviour. They had refused to listen to Mr Franks’ explanation that he was merely complying with the wishes of the police in an attempt to prevent a crime. He sat down in his chair and shuffled a few papers, refusing to make eye contact.
‘I’m sorry, naturally, Mr Franks, that she saw fit to make a scene. Very unpleasant for you and your staff.’
DC Fleet glanced towards a chair but the manager ignored his unspoken request. Let the blighter stand up, he thought venomously.
‘Unpleasant?’ he echoed. ‘It certainly was. A shocking outburst. I would describe it as humiliating. Our clients were astonished and no doubt offended by the accusation she made – telling them we refused to support her in an emergency! Can you imagine that? Worse, it will now be repeated all over the town and our reputation will suffer. Even if they didn’t take her seriously it made us all look utter fools!’ He blinked rapidly. ‘And who is going to be blamed? Me, of course!’
The policeman began to improve on his earlier apology but Franks took his watch from his waistcoat pocket and glared at it. ‘I’m a very busy man, DC Fleet,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ve plenty to do with my time and I’ve told you what happened.’ He remembered suddenly that he had more to say. ‘I do, however, have a suggestion to make. I have talked at length with Head Office since the unpleasantness and they think there may be a way out of the dilemma. They suggested we might release half the money as a show of goodwill. Another meeting could then be arranged which would be an exchange – the rest of the money for the handover of the hostage – when hopefully an arrest could be made.’
Still smarting from the disrespect the manager had shown him, DC Fleet tried to hide his satisfaction. The bank, fearful for its good reputation, was trying to redeem itself. But was it a serious possibility? At this stage he felt willing to clutch at any straw and cursed inwardly for not thinking of it himself. Of course, it would all depend on the kidnappers’ patience, but he certainly must raise the suggestion with his superiors and also with Mrs Brent.
‘Well,’ he said, trying not to sound too excited. ‘I’ll pass on the suggestion. Please thank your Head Office.’
Franks nodded without much enthusiasm. He had the air of a disillusioned man, thought the detective, but it was understandable in the circumstances.
Without more ado, Franks rang his bell and asked his secretary to show the detective out and, after a moment’s hesitation, DC Fleet nodded and followed the young man out of the manager’s office.
Turning to the detective he asked excitedly, ‘Are you going to get the kidnappers, sir?’
DC Fleet nodded. ‘Of course we are! It’s our job!’ he said but as he returned to the sunlit pavement, he wished he felt as confident as he sounded. The truth was that he felt out of his depth, never having dealt with such a complex case, and terrified that he might put a foot wrong and compromise the investigation. A good result might mean promotion but a failure to apprehend the kidnappers would quite definitely minimize his chances.
Some time later, when Biddy opened the door to DC Fleet, she looked at him with mixed emotions. She accepted that he was doing his job according to police policy and that they had their strategies, but wondered if they were handling Lionel’s kidnapping in the best way possible. Obviously Maude did not think so and Biddy, influenced by her niece, also had her doubts.
She said, ‘Oh! Not more trouble! If you want Mrs Brent, you’ve missed her. She’s taken some paintings to Hastings for tonight’s rendezvous. Mr Jayson from the Romilees took her in his motor car. She was so grateful.’ Should she invite him in, she wondered, in Maude’s absence? Was it appropriate? ‘He’s a really kind man, is Mr Jayson.’
‘I’ll speak to Mrs Brent when I get back to Hastings but now I’d like to speak with Alice Crewe.’
Biddy hesitated. She didn’t fancy admitting that Alice was refusing to leave her room and had gone into the mother of all sulks.
‘She’s resting. She’s not at all well.’
‘In that case I’d like to talk to you about her. May I come in, please?’
Sensing that he was not likely to take no for an answer, she opened the door reluctantly and led him into the sitting room. Once ensconced in an armchair he said, ‘I’d like to know a little more about Miss Crewe. How did you meet her?’
Biddy explained about the surprise interview that Lionel had arranged. She smiled. ‘Maude was determined she wasn’t going to agree because she has me and didn’t need a companion, but when they met they got along like a house on fire. Once she’d moved in, it seemed she’d always belonged here. The three of us get along very well.’ Except for the past day or two, she thought somewhat guiltily, but there was no need to mention that.
‘So where did Mr Brent meet her?’
Biddy leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. She frowned. ‘Well, I can’t say. Either I never knew or I’ve forgotten. Funny . . .’
‘But Mrs Brent saw her references, I take it.’
‘Oh yes! At least, I suppose so.’ Her memory was playing tricks again, she thought nervously. At the time it hadn’t seemed important for Biddy to know everything that happened before Alice had been with the old lady. ‘I’m sure Lionel would have checked references.’
‘I wonder . . . Perhaps I could see one or two.’ He looked at her hopefully. ‘Just to satisfy my curiosity.’
‘We–ell, you can if I can find them. It means looking through Lionel’s desk and I don’t really care to do that.’
He said firmly, ‘I’m afraid it’s necessary.’
‘But why?’
‘We can’t ignore any possible leads, Miss Cope. You see, someone from Miss Crewe’s past might have traced her here and decided there was money to be made from kidnapping her current employer.’ Seeing her expression change, he went on hurriedly. ‘I’m not suggesting Miss Crewe is involved in any way. I’m sure she isn’t, but if we could contact some of her earlier employers . . . She may have had a
young man, a male admirer, perhaps, who was taking advantage of the situation.’
‘Oh dear! She wouldn’t like that!’ Biddy hesitated. ‘I’ll look in Lionel’s desk, then. It’s in a good cause, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly. It might lead to his release.’
She returned five minutes later looking uneasy. ‘I can’t find anything, but maybe he returned the references to her after he’d read them.’ She sat down. ‘I’m sure we must know all about her.’
‘She has a family, I take it?’
‘Er . . . yes, she must have family.’ Had she ever mentioned them?
‘Does she get many letters?’
Biddy’s anxiety increased with a jolt. ‘Not really. No.’
‘But she goes away sometimes to visit them?’
‘No, but . . .’
‘Is she an orphan? Does she have a young man?’
Before the kidnap, Biddy would have flown to Alice’s defence, but the last few days had thrown up doubts on another aspect of her life and now, the more she thought about it, the more she became uncomfortably aware that they knew very little about Alice Crewe’s background.
She came to a sudden decision. ‘You must ask her these things yourself. I’ll go and wake her up. Or perhaps you’d come up with me. She seems unwilling to come downstairs today and won’t tell me why – but she would have to talk to you if you tell her you’re the police.’
Ignoring his confusion, she led him upstairs and Biddy knocked on the door. ‘Alice, DC Fleet is here and wants a word or two with you. DC Fleet from the police in Hastings. I think you’d better come out now and talk to him . . . Please, Alice.’ She waited but they heard nothing.
DC Fleet narrowed his eyes. ‘Alice Crewe, this is Detective Constable Fleet. I need to talk to you. There is no point in refusing to come out. If you do you might be charged with refusing to cooperate with the police and that is a felony.’
Silence. Biddy waited, unaware that she was holding her breath. Surely Alice was not going to defy the police. ‘Alice love, you’re not in any trouble,’ she said loudly. ‘The policeman wants you to help him, that’s all!’
DC Fleet said, ‘I don’t like the sound of this. It’s too quiet. Is she the type who might take her own life?’
Biddy’s mouth fell open. ‘Take her own . . .? Good Lord! I should think not! At least, I hope not. Take her own life?’ She banged on the door with her clenched fist. ‘Alice. Come out this minute!’
Another silence.
‘I may have to break into the room.’ The policeman looked at her grimly.
‘No! Wait!’ cried Biddy. ‘There’s a ladder we bought when the painters did the windows!’
Five minutes later, after a short search, the ladder was found propped against the back of the garden shed, which made the detective shake his head.
‘The number of people who do that! An open invitation to any passing burglar looking for an easy entry!’
‘Don’t blame me!’ Biddy replied indignantly. ‘I didn’t leave it there.’
They carried it to the house and propped it against the wall below Alice’s bedroom and Biddy leaned against the bottom of it to hold it securely in place. DC Fleet climbed up while Biddy prayed that Alice was still alive. Her heart was thumping and she felt weak with dread.
He stared in for a moment or two then turned. ‘I don’t see her and the window is slightly open at the bottom. I think Miss Crewe has gone!’
He pushed up the window and climbed in while Biddy returned to the house and hurried upstairs. He unlocked the bedroom door and together they surveyed the room. To Biddy’s eyes it was neater than usual. The bed had been made and there were no odd clothes draped over chairs and no shoes tucked under the bed. There was an unnatural stillness about it, which further affected Biddy’s heart.
The detective looked in the wardrobe and found it half empty. ‘Ah! She couldn’t carry everything!’ he said. ‘My guess is she put the ladder in place when no-one was looking, packed her things, threw out her bag, climbed out . . .’
‘And then she must have returned the ladder to the shed!’
They regarded each other speechlessly.
Biddy said, ‘Her clock’s missing from the bedside table and her dressing gown gone from the back of the door. She has gone!’ Still only half convinced, she searched for another reason for her disappearance. ‘She can’t be gone unless . . . She wouldn’t just leave like this.’ She turned to the policeman. ‘D’you think they’ve kidnapped her, too?’
DC Fleet hesitated for a moment but then shook his head. ‘Hardly. I can’t imagine kidnappers allowing her to tidy the room and choose a few clothes and personal objects . . . nor can I imagine how they could force her to climb out of the window.’
Biddy noted his expression and realized that this was a blow to him personally. He was in charge of the case and now it appeared that he had misread the signs. Or rather he had been too willing to take matters at face value. He would be hauled over the coals, she thought, and that would do his career no good at all. She felt a moment’s pity for him but then reminded herself that if he had been cleverer, maybe . . . But no. She shook her head, unable to work it out. Thank heavens women were not allowed to become detectives, she thought. Solving crimes must be a nightmare.
He said slowly, ‘I think she ran while she still could. I think she was involved. In other words, Miss Cope, Alice Crewe was a co-conspirator!’ He sighed heavily – a sigh of failure, of helplessness.
‘Alice . . . involved? That’s nonsense.’ Biddy, totally bewildered, refused even to consider the idea. All she could think of was poor Alice alone and desperate. ‘But where has she gone? This is her home.’
‘She’s gone to him. To Lionel Brent.’ Slowly he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Biddy who had one hand to her heart, her face pale, her body trembling. ‘I’m afraid, Miss Cope, that from Mrs Brent’s viewpoint this is even worse than we imagined. Mrs Brent may never see her husband again. I’m beginning to think she’s been the victim of a well-planned fraud.’
Biddy’s legs chose this moment to give way and she half fell on to the bedside chair. DC Fleet put his hands to steady her and she sat up gingerly.
‘This is quite beyond me . . . quite out of my league,’ she whispered, as though talking to herself. ‘Maude . . . I mean Alice, wouldn’t . . . No! She’s not that sort of girl. Why should she, after all we’ve meant to one another? There must be some other explanation.’ Her eyes widened abruptly. ‘Oh! What will Maude think if you’re right about all this? She’ll be devastated when she knows.’ Clapping a hand over her mouth as if to prevent any more awful truths from escaping, she looked at DC Fleet but found no comfort there.
He said, ‘So if what I think is true then there’s no actual kidnap. If they are together they can fade into the landscape – but they won’t have the money they wanted!’ He frowned, trying to assess the changed situation. ‘And Mrs Brent will never see her husband again – if he really is her husband.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe it was a bigamous marriage . . . set up to swindle your niece from a large amount of money!’
‘A bigamous marriage? How dare you suggest such a thing!’ Biddy sat up straight, fired up with indignation. ‘Maude would never do such a thing . . . and I was there! I was at the wedding. It was lovely. A wedding with rose petals and–and the bells were rung and everything. You can ask the vicar. He was real and so was the church!’ For a moment she frowned but then a smile lit up her face. ‘I made the wedding cake! That proves it, doesn’t it? Rich fruit but without the candied peel. Maude doesn’t care for candied peel, bless her, so I substituted a few dates chopped very small.’ She didn’t like the expression on his face. ‘It was a proper marriage!’ she insisted.
‘What do you know about Lionel Brent, Miss Cope? How did he and Mrs Brent meet? Where did he live before he married her?’
Biddy hesitated. ‘I don’t know where he lived but he did have some letters. What I mean is someone wr
ote to him, because letters came occasionally. I do remember that. But his parents had moved to somewhere miles away – it might have been Scotland. I forget why exactly, but they were too old to travel any great distance. He did say that.’
‘But they came to the wedding, surely?’
‘No. I’ve just explained that they were too old.’
‘But somebody came? Friends, other relatives?’
‘No–o, but they all had reasons why they . . . couldn’t be with us.’ Biddy swallowed hard.
They regarded each other soberly until the detective straightened his shoulders. ‘We’d better go downstairs. There’s nothing we can do here.’
Downstairs, in the sitting room, he tried to think it through. ‘I should have seen through it! I should have suspected there was more to it! Nothing in police work is ever straightforward so there must have been clues . . . I should have recognized them. But . . .’ He gave her a look of pure misery. ‘But it’s not too late! Maybe I can still catch him. And her . . .’
Biddy gasped with horror. He meant to arrest them both. Was he mad?
Ignoring her reaction, DC Fleet went on, talking aloud to himself. ‘The question is, what will Brent do now if Alice Crewe has run out before the swindle has been completed? Is she in any danger? If Brent killed Jem Rider then he might kill again . . . God in Heaven!’ He glanced at Biddy. ‘I could do with a stiff drink!’
But Biddy’s mind was spinning, unable to hold any thought for more than a second or two. She felt totally adrift, as if the real world had been replaced with something unfamiliar and darkly threatening. She wanted to cry but her eyes remained dry.
‘Not Alice!’ she muttered. ‘I can’t believe it . . . And Lionel? No, he’s a good man. You must have got it wrong. Not Lionel. Certainly not.’ She peered at him as though through a mist. ‘A stiff drink? Is that all you can think about? Alice is in trouble and Lionel has been kidnapped – or maybe not – and all you can think about is a stiff drink!’ She closed her eyes. ‘I think I’m going to be sick!’ Struggling to her feet she stumbled towards the door and along the passage towards the kitchen. Primmy barked, sensing excitement, and the two of them went out into the garden.
Truth Will Out Page 14
