‘And that was?’ asked Falconer, recovering his aplomb.
‘It was just that Colin Twentymen; he hardly spoke to a soul. Even at the party, he kept popping outside for a smoke of his pipe, but just before he left to go home, I saw him shaking hands in a rather – furtive, I’d have to describe it – way with Mr Lattimer from Coopers Lane. It probably meant nothing at all. It was just so odd to see him shake hands with anyone, let alone look secretive when he did it.’
‘Over-active imagination!’ exclaimed her husband scornfully, pouring cold water on her big moment.
‘Don’t be so swift to judge, Mr Haygarth,’ Falconer reproved him. ‘It could prove to be very important in solving these murders, including Mr Twelvetrees’ own demise.’
Toby led an already amazed Gwen into the second bedroom, where not a space remained on the walls, these being completely covered with oil paintings and water-colours, eighteenth and nineteenth century in the main. ‘Bloody hell!’ she blurted out, an unexpected lapse into profane language for her, she had been so surprised. ‘It’s like a gallery in here.’
‘And that’s not all,’ Toby encouraged her. ‘In the middle – look!’
A sixteenth-century table dominated the middle of the room, its top covered in pieces of Lalique glass. ‘All pre-war,’ he crowed. ‘Wouldn’t have a piece post-René’s death in the house.’ It was a rather boastful and snobbish statement, but he didn’t care: this was the first time he’d really shown off the result of all the years he had devoted to his obsession.
‘I’m just blown away,’ Gwen said in an awed voice. ‘It’s a wonder you haven’t been battered to death by burglars, desperate to get their hands on such an eclectic mix of collections,’ then blushed at the thoughtlessness of what she had just said, in the light of what had happened to Lettice.
But Toby didn’t even notice her gaffe. ‘You’re the first ever to see it.’ He spoke softly, with a little smirk. ‘I’ve not bought much since I retired, but I have been putting a bit by, so I hope to be buying just a few more bits and pieces in the near future. Now, let’s go to my room.’
Uh-oh! Was this the pay-off, where he made a grab for her? thought Gwen, suspicious, once again, of his motives. If he was showing her his, would he expect her to show him hers?
Although it was hardly worth driving to Sweet Dreams, Falconer did so, for he couldn’t leave the car on the road outside Three-Ways House, it being all corners, and nowhere being safe but the drive, and that seemed a bit of an imposition considering he was visiting neighbours and had finished his business with the Haygarths.
Today, Krystal Yaxley had a smile on her face, which was adorned with skilfully applied make-up, her clothes were smart, her hair tidy and sprayed mercilessly into place. This was a different woman to the one they had interviewed so recently, whose world had appeared to be in tatters.
‘Good morning, Inspector. Good morning, Sergeant. Isn’t it a lovely day?’ she greeted them.
‘Good morning, Mrs Yaxley. You look like you’ve had some good news,’ Falconer countered.
‘Just the simple joys of approaching spring, Inspector, and the fact that I’ve picked up some work in the village – just part-time for now, but I’m hopeful of finding something better, once I’ve got used to going out to work again. Would you like to come through, and I’ll make a brew – oh, that rhymes, doesn’t it? How clever of me!’
Her estranged husband had also put some money into the bank account – no doubt guilt money, but she didn’t care. Money was money! He’d paid in the exact amount to cover all the household expenses. The only monies not presently resting in the bank account were her personal petrol and spending money allowances, but she’d be able to cover those herself now, with the bit of work she’d picked up, and that would still leave her time to look for something better paid.
Once settled in the kitchen, Krystal put on the kettle – something she seemed to have been doing endlessly since she was deserted. That, and tipping the gin bottle, she supposed. Falconer let his cynical eye rest on three bottles of good champagne, which sat on top of the fridge, waiting to be put away. She’d evidently had some ecstatic news, if those labels were to be believed.
When the tea was brewed – stewed, in Falconer’s opinion – she poured. Carmichael wasn’t bothered about the state of the tea, just happy to have a mug in his hands, and not some tiddly china cup. Krystal took hers, and sat down at the table with them, giving the inspector an interrogative look, as if to say, ‘So, what do you want, now, then?’
‘Just a quick call, to see if you’ve remembered anything at all that might prove useful, no matter how trivial the incident may seem to you,’ he explained, as Carmichael spooned sugar into his mug, adding a seventh spoonful for luck, as it was quite a large mug.
‘Oh!’ She exclaimed. ‘There was something that the boys said. Now, what was it? No, it’s gone. Sorry. I’ll have to give you a ring if it comes back to me.’
‘I’d be grateful, Mrs Yaxley. Try to think, and let us know as soon as possible. I’ll give you my card and write my mobile number on the back, and the sergeant’s, just so you can get through without any bother. Belt and braces, eh? Better safe than sorry.’
Carmichael wasn’t listening, however, as Mrs Yaxley had just got out a cake tin and three plates, and was rummaging in the cutlery drawer for a knife.
It was in trepidation that Gwen entered Toby’s master bedroom, uncomfortably aware that she had entered first, and that her host was in prime pouncing position behind her. Her fears, however, were unfounded, yet again. The man really did have nothing on his mind but his collections.
The bedroom contained only the bare minimum of furniture necessary for everyday function. A single bed was set against one wall, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, side by side, against another. All three items were, of course, antique, and French by the look of it. The rest of the space was taken up with several tilt-top tables, and valuable in their own right, all in their upright positions, and holding substantial pieces of silver.
‘Toby!’ was all she could say, her breath having been taken away by the sheer size of the pieces, and their multiplicity. ‘No wonder you call your house Tresore. It is a veritable treasure house.’
‘Pretty good, huh?’ he smirked, smug as it was possible for a man to be. ‘And after this, we’ll go back downstairs, and I’ll show you my collection of ivory. I keep it in a cupboard, out of the sunlight, and away from prying eyes.’
‘I hope you’re well insured.’
‘I am. The premium is my major household expense, but I daren’t let the policy lapse. Sometimes I resent the fact that, if I didn’t have to hand over such large sums every month, I’d be able to collect a lot more.’
‘But you bought from me, and said you’d like to make future purchases. You can’t be flat broke,’ Gwen challenged him.
‘I told you, I’ve been saving my pennies,’ he replied with a wide grin.
In the car on the short journey to Coopers Lane, Falconer was given furiously to think. The absence of the knife in Julius Twelvetrees’ cottage had been constantly playing on his mind, and he kept coming back to why it had not been left at the scene. As they pulled up outside their next port of call, he had a blinding flash of illumination that made him realise that he had been totally blind. He was about to make a leap of faith in the darkness, and only hoped it paid off.
A fruitless attempt to gain admission at Carpe Diem drove the two detectives, next, to Tresore, but before they went up the front path, Falconer told Carmichael to go on ahead. He’d left something in the car and would join him as soon as he could. The sergeant watched as the inspector got into the driver’s seat, opened the glove compartment, and appeared to fumble inside, then bend down, as if he were searching for something.
He’d already joined Carmichael by the time he had reached the door, and announced their arrival with a lively tattoo on the knocker. ‘All sorted, sir?’ he asked.
‘No worries,’ replied
Falconer, a grim smile on his face. He thought he could see the picture on the jigsaw now, and he was determined to see whether the last piece fitted or not.
Toby answered the summons swiftly, and soon they were being shown into the sitting room, where the reason they had attracted no attention at Carpe Diem was explained. Gwen Galton was seated in an armchair in front of the fireplace, examining with a jewellers’ loupe, a number of small, carved ivory objects, enthralled in her task.
‘We’ve just had afternoon tea,’ Toby informed his visitors. ‘Would you care for any refreshment?’
‘No, thank you, sir,’ Falconer refused. ‘We’ve got a few questions we’d like to ask you, but it would be better if we interviewed you in private, if you don’t mind.’
Carmichael was confused. They’d got no answer from the house next door but one, then found the occupant here. Why wasn’t the inspector questioning her first? And why did he want to speak to Mr Lattimer in private? A dark thought rose in his mind, and he wondered whether Falconer would be embarrassed about him, Carmichael, asking the man to view his Smurf collection. He didn’t see it as different from any other collection, but the inspector, perhaps, wasn’t so open-minded.
‘I have nothing to hide from Gwen,’ Lattimer declared. ‘Ask whatever you like.’
‘As you wish, sir,’ Falconer replied, then surprised everybody by suddenly diving below a piecrust table, where something under the legs had caught his eye, glinting in the light. He emerged with a diamond ring in his hand, the stone approximately three carats in weight. ‘My first question,’ he said, ‘is where did you get this ring?’
Quick as a flash, Toby had made a lightning grasp for an ivory-handled fruit-knife which he always carried about his person, grabbed Gwen tightly so that she couldn’t wriggle free, and placed the knife at her throat. ‘Don’t think this is a bluff,’ he spat out, ‘for I will go through with it. It won’t be the first time this knife has taken a life. It may be small, but it is exceedingly sharp.’
Something went ‘ping’ in Falconer’s mind as he saw the knife. So he had been right, then. No wonder the weapon had not been left behind. ‘How very clever of you, sir, to use part of your collection to kill the one person who could give you away, when he discovered that every piece of jewellery you had murdered to obtain was only paste.’
‘What?’ cried Gwen, real panic in her voice, with the sudden change in atmosphere and circumstances. ‘Are you saying that Toby raided that safe and killed both people? For God’s sake help me. I don’t want to die. Toby, what the hell are you playing at? Let me go!’
‘I’m afraid he can’t risk that, Ms Galton. You see, if he does, we shall place him immediately under arrest for exactly what you’ve just asked about. Mr Lattimer did indeed commit both the murders, and the robbery. Has he seemed suddenly rather better off? According to Violet Bingham, there was between four and five thousand pounds in that safe, in cash.’
‘The lying cow! There was only three thousand eight hundred,’ yelled Toby in disgust, then realised that he’d fallen right into the trap set for him.
‘That’s why you were so flush, buying that tortoiseshell and silver box from me, and then saying you were interested in further purchases. You even looked over my stock yesterday.’ Gwen was now sounding very indignant, distracted from the danger of her situation by this sudden revelation of why her neighbour had had a sudden change in his fortunes.
‘Peanuts!’ Lattimer unexpectedly yelled. ‘If those gems had been real, I’d have been made for life; been able to collect whatever I wanted, and bought somewhere a lot grander than this pathetic hole in which to display what I had obtained.’
‘And you were going to use Colin Twentymen’s contacts in the underworld to fence the stuff, even though you’d have to break it up to sell it, because the items were too well-documented ever to appear on the open market. Before doing that, though, you wanted to run them past Julius Twelvetrees’ experienced loupe, just to get an estimate of their real market value. You had no intention of being cheated, even though it meant you’d have to share the spoils.’ The volume of Falconer’s voice had reduced now, alerting Carmichael that he was now at his most dangerous and determined.
‘And you bullied that old woman to give you the combination of her safe, didn’t you? Maybe you should have been more wary of its contents, given that you didn’t have to beat it out of her,’ the inspector taunted him.
‘I threatened to torture the cat, right in front of her, then kill it and throw it on the fire, for her to watch it burn. That made her give up the combination damn quick.’
‘What a filthy, disgusting man you are,’ croaked Gwen, shocked to her roots.
‘Did you really think it would be that easy?’ asked Falconer, a hint of contempt in his voice. ‘Oh, and just for your information, the real gems were those bracelets and that necklace she wore. You know the ones? Looked like they were made out of pebbles?’
Bob Bryant had just received a very unsatisfactory call, in that he could react to what he had been told, but had not the least idea how to explain the actions he now had to carry out. He wasn’t used to being spoken to in that tone of voice and, although he knew there would be a good reason for it, it nonetheless unsettled him.
This was certainly not conventional procedure, but the situation that had prompted such a call was, at this very moment, unravelling before him. It had been the right thing to do, making the call. He couldn’t argue with that, and now he’d carried out his side of the bargain, he’d check up on what he’d unleashed, to pass on what information he had gleaned.
Krystal Yaxley was royally ticked off. She’d spent the time since the policemen had left racking her brains to remember what it was that the boys had complained about on Saturday night and, finally, it had come to her.
They had both gone off to the gents together – nothing odd in that. They did everything (well, almost everything) together – and one of them had needed the cubicle, but it was locked, and the weird thing was that there were hushed voices coming from behind the locked door.
When he’d rattled the door and urged the occupant to hurry up, as he needed the use of it urgently, there was a short silence, then the sound of a man coughing. Eventually, the door opened, and Mr Lattimer had come out without, the twins noticed, flushing.
Whichever one had been in dire need – her memory was getting worse – had rushed in, expecting to find himself facing a ‘floater’ belonging to the previous occupant, but instead, what he saw was a pair of boots disappearing out through the window; boots which he recognised as belonging to Colin Twentymen, and some very unpleasant thoughts crossed his mind as to what exactly had been going on in that cubicle.
She didn’t think the inspector would be interested in a case of cottaging, but she supposed he was bound to uphold all the laws, not just the ones pertaining to the particular case he was investigating, so she had kept her promise and called his mobile number, only to be informed that he would not be able to take the call.
Not willing to impart the fruits of searching her memory to his answering service, and be deprived of his reaction to what she had to tell him, she dialled the number she had been given for that tall sergeant’s phone, and hoped that he, too, wasn’t engaged in some sort of chat with someone.
Lattimer roared with anger when he realised how close he had been to a real fortune, and just turned his nose up at it, not recognising it for what it was. He’d taken all the risks, committed serious crimes, and then been too blind to see what was right before his eyes.
As he swore at the top of his voice in frustration, pandemonium broke out. Carmichael’s mobile rang, drawing the incandescent man’s attention, and giving Falconer the chance to lash out at the hand holding the knife, knocking it from his grasp, and pull Gwen away.
Toby Lattimer charged like a raging bull, not giving up that easily, thus angering Carmichael, who had ignored the ringing of the phone: the back door suddenly burst open, and through the sitting
room door surged a sea of blue uniforms.
‘Game’s up!’ yelled Falconer, over the hubbub that had broken out, and Carmichael grabbed Lattimer and held him, while Falconer applied the handcuffs, having sent Gwen off to the door, where the newly arrived uniforms waited for instructions. There was enough going on inside the room, without them adding to the chaos.
With Toby immobilised, they were able to take him out to the car, after Falconer had read him his rights and effected the arrest, enumerating the charges, one by one, including one that covered his conspiracy with Colin Twentymen. ‘There will be a similar reception at your co-conspirator’s house simultaneous to this one, inviting him to a guided tour of the cells at the station,’ the inspector told Lattimer with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
Gwen was led away to a second police car, to go to the station to make a statement, muttering as she walked out of the house, ‘I just can’t believe it. I just can’t believe he did all that.’
As silence descended on the house, Falconer produced his mobile phone from his pocket, ended a call Carmichael didn’t know the inspector had been making, and winked at Carmichael.
‘Before we came in here, I had just about got things sorted out in my mind, and I thought we could be in for a rough time, so when I went back to the car for something, that something was a call to Bob Bryant, to alert him that I might be making an arrest imminently, and that there might be trouble, so I asked him to send a bunch of the lads over, to give us a hand, and that there may be two addresses that needed a call.
‘Of course, I couldn’t assure him that there would actually be a rumble. I just had what my mother’s old cleaner would have called ‘a feeling in my water’ that there was trouble in the air.’
Before he could put his phone away, it rang, proving to be Krystal Yaxley, with her tale about what her boys had observed in the gents’ on Saturday night. When he hung up, he retold it to Carmichael, adding that he felt that was the final nail in the coffin. They’d already been observed surreptitiously shaking hands on something. Now, there were two witnesses to the fact that they’d had a conversation in the cubicle of a gents’ lavatory.
Grave Stones (The Falconer Files Book 9) Page 20
