Elizabeth nods. ‘They do, to be fair.’
‘Flattered, I’m sure,’ says Chris.
‘I think I’ve got it,’ says Joyce. ‘I think I know what happened.’
‘You’re on a roll, Joyce,’ says Ibrahim.
‘It’s simple. Siobhan doesn’t find the diamonds, and tells Poppy so. Poppy is frustrated, of course, and so spills all to Douglas. “Where are the diamonds, I know you have them?” Douglas is enraged. Poppy has found his letter, she’s told her mum, who else might she tell? So he has to get rid of her. He shoots Poppy, he fakes his death, we wander in and see them both, and Douglas is in a taxi over to wherever the diamonds really are.’
‘Oh, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth.
‘What?’ asks Joyce.
‘This really is an object lesson in quitting while you’re ahead.’
‘Oh,’ says Joyce.
Elizabeth takes out her phone and opens the photos of the house in Hove. ‘I knew something didn’t look right about the crime scene.’
‘I see you found your phone, then?’ says Sue.
Elizabeth gives a happy shrug. ‘Back of the sofa. The whole thing looked too staged. Too perfect. Which is why I thought Douglas had set the whole thing up. Shot Poppy, but faked his own death, and substituted another corpse for his own.’
‘But now?’ asks Donna.
‘Well, now I wonder if it wasn’t the other way around. What if Poppy faked her own death?’
‘Not Poppy,’ says Joyce.
‘Who told us that the body in the morgue was Poppy’s?’ asks Elizabeth.
They all know the answer, but Sue is the first to say it out loud.
‘Siobhan.’
And it all falls into place. For the spies, for the police officers, for the psychiatrist and the nurse. Even for Ron. The mother and the daughter and the diamonds. What did they really know about Poppy? What did they really know about Siobhan? Nothing. They knew nothing at all.
Part Three
* * *
SO MANY DAY TRIPS FOR YOU TO ENJOY
64
Joyce
Well, guess who has just been on the Eurostar? Yours truly, Joyce Meadowcroft.
I tried to get Ibrahim to drive us to Ashford International, but he wasn’t having it. He blamed his ribs, but you can tell they’re a lot better. I saw him get a teapot from a high shelf yesterday. I’ll tempt him out at some point though, you see if I don’t.
There is a theory afoot, Elizabeth’s theory, but everyone seems to have bought into it, that Poppy is behind the murders. She found out that Douglas had stolen the diamonds and she wanted them for herself. So she hatched an elaborate plan, too elaborate if you want my opinion, to get them for herself.
It doesn’t seem right to me. Poppy was so gentle. Have I really got that wrong? Perhaps I have, I am quite trusting. There was a nurse at the hospital once who kept stealing morphine. And she wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Also there’s an actor in Emmerdale who I love. I follow him on Instagram, and there are always pictures of his wife and his baby and his dog, and I always like them. Anyway, Jason was on Celebrity Tipping Point with him, and said he was a nasty piece of work. He didn’t go into details but he said he knew one when he saw one, and that’s true with Jason, so I took his word for it. I still follow him on Instagram, but it’s not the same. He really does have a gorgeous kitchen though.
So maybe I was wrong about Poppy too. Maybe she did it. Twenty million pounds is a lot of money after all.
The idea is that she got Siobhan involved. Got her mum to identify the wrong body, and throw us off the scent. Which is possible. If Joanna asked me to pretend a dead body was hers I probably would. When it’s your child, you act first and ask questions later, don’t you? She once asked me to tell a boyfriend of hers that she’d moved to Guernsey, so I have some form. He was one of my favourites too. I follow him on Instagram now, and he has two lovely kids with a doctor. I think they are in Norwich, but don’t quote me. Also, don’t tell Joanna I follow him.
Where was I?
Eurostar! Yes. The seats are very comfortable, there is free tea, and you can plug your phone in. When we were in the Channel Tunnel I texted Joanna and said Guess where your mum is?, but she didn’t reply until this evening, and by that time I was in the taxi home from Robertsbridge station.
Have you ever been to Antwerp? I doubt it, but you never know. It is very pleasant. It has a cathedral, and we must have walked past eight or nine Starbucks. We had an appointment at two, with a man called Franco. Franco is a diamond dealer, and his workshop is in a long row of houses beside a canal, with steps leading up to them. There are small brass plaques by the doors. I thought there would be windows and windows full of diamonds, but no such luck. There was a cat in one window, but nothing more exciting than that.
Franco was gorgeous. I don’t think I really had an idea what Belgian people looked like before today, but if Franco is anything to go by I will keep my eye out in future. White-haired, tanned, blue eyes and half-moon glasses. I asked him if his wife worked with him and he said he was a widower. I put my hand on his, purely for comfort, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
Perhaps Poppy was murdered, perhaps Douglas was murdered, perhaps they both were? No one knows for sure, and that’s the point. But this is where the killer would have come to cash the diamonds in. Either to Franco, or to someone Franco knew.
He offered us both a glass of milk. I said yes, because I don’t remember the last time I had a glass of milk. Do you? As I drank it I was thinking, well, this might be the last glass of milk I ever drink, mightn’t it? I can’t see another situation where I will be offered one. Unless I were to marry a handsome Belgian. Which I am refusing to rule out.
Imagine if I married Franco? Imagine the ring! Imagine Joanna’s face. She is currently dating the chairman of a football club. He is always in the gym, and she has a spring in her step. I would walk down to the market and buy food for tea. Franco would be sitting there, glass of milk in hand, and I would ask how many diamonds he’d sold today (or something more technical once I’d got used to it all) and he would look down over those glasses and say something in Belgian. Yes, please. I wouldn’t mind that one bit.
I was glad I was wearing my new green coat from ASOS.
I’m waffling on, aren’t I? Though you would be too if you’d met him. Elizabeth asked him if Douglas had been to visit him, and Franco said he’d had a call about a month ago, telling him to expect a visit, but he hadn’t heard from him since. They are all obviously old pals from some escapade or other.
Then Elizabeth asked if anyone else had been to see him, with twenty million pounds’ worth of diamonds. He said no again.
To be on the safe side we described everyone we could think of. We described Poppy, we described Siobhan, we described Sue and Lance, we described Martin Lomax, we mentioned the mafia and the Colombian cartel, but nothing doing. No one like that had come to see him in the last two weeks.
I had another glass of milk, just to eke things out, but eventually we had to say goodbye. Franco kissed me three times, and I thought well, here we go, but then he kissed Elizabeth three times too, so that must just be what they do in Belgium.
We had to head back to the station, but, on the way, I bought some chocolate for Ibrahim and some beer for Ron. The shop even wrapped them nicely.
I thought we might sleep on the train back, but honestly we were talking. If Poppy was behind all this, then she would have come to Franco. There are very few places in Europe where you can cash in twenty million in diamonds with no questions asked. If Poppy has the diamonds, then perhaps she is lying low? And if she doesn’t have the diamonds, then she will still be looking for them. But where are they? Somewhere in Douglas’s letter is the answer. But we’ve read the letter, and Poppy has read the letter. Who will be the first to work it out?
It was quite a long journey back, so somewhere in northern France I unwrapped Ibrahim’s chocolates and we ate them, and then I unwrapped Ron�
�s beers and we drank them.
So, we need to find Poppy before she finds the diamonds. Elizabeth says she has a plan to flush her out.
I can see in the distance that her light is still on. That means she is thinking about Poppy.
May your light always be on, Elizabeth.
We are not telling Ibrahim for now that Ryan Baird has disappeared. We’re just saying the case is delayed. I hate to lie, but I can see the point.
Ron says Chris is in love with Patrice. Well, I should think so, too. I predict a happy ending there.
I am going to bed now. I know I should be thinking about Poppy and the diamonds. But instead I’m going to think about a big house by a canal, with stone steps, and brass plaques by the door.
You have to keep dreaming. Elizabeth knows that. Douglas knew it, too. Ibrahim has forgotten, but I’m here to remind him when the time is right.
65
The game of chess has finished, and the real work of the evening has begun.
Elizabeth still feels a little woozy from the Belgian beers on the train. And the glass of wine at the station as they waited for their taxi. And the gin and tonic Bogdan had waiting for her when she walked through the door. And the second gin and tonic she is currently drinking.
Bogdan and Stephen had ground out an attritional draw. Bogdan had called Stephen all the names under the sun and Stephen had smiled and said, ‘Let it out, old boy, let it out.’
The three of them now sit in the living room. Elizabeth and Stephen on the sofa, hand in hand, and Bogdan on the armchair, legs spread wide. It is 1 a.m. But no one much minds. Bogdan is drinking Red Bull and Elizabeth wonders, once again, what time he normally goes to bed.
Bogdan has filled her in on the trial. Ryan Baird has done a disappearing act. Don’t tell Ibrahim. They will soon find him, though; they still have the file that Poppy put together.
Poppy? Now, what was happening there? What signs had Elizabeth missed?
Everyone was capable of stealing. She once knew a vicar who had stolen, and melted down, a crucifix from his own church because he had lost money on the horses. But not everyone was capable of killing. Was Poppy? It seemed so unlikely, but Elizabeth has been fooled before, not often, but she has. She watches Bogdan, pouring himself an energy drink, looking as innocent as the day is long.
And Poppy had shot Andrew Hastings. She had been shaking afterwards for sure, but anyone could fake that. Involuntarily, Elizabeth starts to shake.
‘You cold, dear?’ asks Stephen.
You see, it was easy. Stephen puts his arm around her and she settles her head on his shoulder. What a man. Also, Poppy’s generation were used to generating fake emotion, weren’t they? A whole generation, outraged at the slightest thing, sensitive to the slightest criticism, honestly, whatever happened to … wait a minute, she realizes she doesn’t really believe that, she had just read a Daily Express someone had left on the train. Most young people were like Donna, fighting new fights. Good luck to them.
She nestles further onto Stephen’s shoulder. The thought crosses her mind briefly, what if neither of them is dead? What if they’re in it together?
What if Poppy and Douglas were lovers?
Elizabeth wouldn’t put it past Douglas. He liked nothing more than a woman he couldn’t have. Or shouldn’t have. Would move heaven and earth to get her, promise the world.
But Poppy? Honestly, she found it more likely that Poppy would kill Douglas than would fall in love with him. Though it was often a fine line, wasn’t it? Especially with Douglas.
Bogdan has just polished off another Red Bull. ‘So Poppy says, “I kill you, Douglas, unless you tells me where the diamonds really are.”’
‘The nerve,’ says Stephen.
‘Mmmm,’ says Elizabeth. She is sleepy and comfortable. There is no way Poppy and Douglas were lovers.
Bogdan continues the theory. ‘Then Douglas tells her, “I buried them under a tree, by a fence, don’t kill me,” but she shoots him anyway.’
‘Joyce any nearer buying that dog?’ asks Stephen.
‘What, darling?’ says Elizabeth.
‘Your pal, Joyce. She was after buying a dog?’
The things Stephen remembered.
‘No, dear, on hold while everyone’s being shot, I think.’
‘Time and a place,’ agrees Stephen.
‘Douglas would lie, of course,’ says Elizabeth. ‘He wouldn’t tell Poppy where the diamonds were in a month of Sundays.’
‘I should think not,’ says Stephen. ‘Pointing a gun in his face, asking him about diamonds? The cheek of the girl.’
‘So Poppy is out there still,’ says Bogdan. ‘Looking for the diamonds.’
‘Furious, no doubt,’ says Stephen. ‘Would anyone like dinner, by the way? There’s a lasagne?’
‘Maybe later, not now,’ says Bogdan.
‘So what would you do, if you were Poppy?’ asks Stephen. ‘What are the options?’
‘Is obvious,’ says Bogdan.
‘Oh, good,’ says Elizabeth, deciding she should probably rouse herself from Stephen’s shoulder. There was work to do.
‘I would just keep an eye on Elizabeth,’ says Bogdan. ‘Sooner or later she knows you find the diamonds.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth will find them all right,’ says Stephen. ‘She’ll waltz back in, pockets jingling with them.’
‘And when Elizabeth finds them, Poppy will be watching and waiting,’ says Bogdan.
‘So to find Poppy I need to find the diamonds?’ says Elizabeth. ‘Which is proving impossible.’
‘No such thing as impossible, dear,’ says Stephen. ‘There’ll be a clue you’ve missed somewhere. Read the letter again.’
‘It’s not in the letter,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We’ve been through the lot.’
‘You’ll figure it out,’ says Stephen. ‘It’ll be that ex-husband playing silly buggers.’
‘We just need a trap,’ says Bogdan.
‘With the diamonds as bait,’ says Stephen. ‘Get the brain in gear, old girl.’
‘I’m afraid my brain has had a long day,’ says Elizabeth. A long day of thinking, a long life full of thinking. So much thinking. Just to find that all she was looking for was this. A Polish man too big for the chair he is sitting in, and a lovely white-haired man who thought he could explore Venice without a map.
Elizabeth rests her head on Stephen’s shoulder once more and shuts her eyes. The last thing she sees before they close is the mirror on her far wall. Who is that old woman looking back at her? Lucky thing, whoever she is. She sees the reflection of her husband, still in his tie and his smart shoes, and the reflection of Bogdan, his shaved head, his muscles, and the NIKE logo on his T-shirt, reading EKIN in the mirror.
She opens her eyes again.
66
‘Well, he’ll kill me,’ says Martin Lomax, as if talking to an idiot. ‘Chop my legs off, you know the mafia.’
‘Agreed,’ says Sue Reardon. ‘That’s why we’re here. To protect you.’
‘Good luck,’ says Lomax, and turns to Lance James standing by the window, looking out over the gardens. ‘Good luck, eh, Lance?’
‘If they want to kill you, they’ll kill you,’ says Lance. ‘We can probably delay them a bit. But you know the mafia.’
‘Don’t I just,’ says Lomax. ‘They don’t even take their shoes off when they come in.’
Lance has taken to visiting Martin Lomax every morning, at around eleven. Staking out a house was boring, especially as Lomax never left it. So they had come to an arrangement.
Lomax lets him charge his phone and use his Wi-Fi. And in return he would ask Lance questions about the Special Boat Service.
Nothing classified, obviously, but Lomax is a military history nut, and Lance has plenty of good stories. Lance had been based down in Poole for fifteen years with the SBS, been on operations that everyone had heard of, and he’d been on operations that nobody would ever hear of. Certainly not from him.
‘Frank An
drade will be landing on Monday, in a private jet, at Farnborough airfield,’ says Sue. ‘I’m guessing he’ll come straight here.’
‘What time does he land?’ Lomax asks.
‘Eleven twenty-five a.m.,’ says Lance.
‘Well, he’ll hit traffic,’ says Lomax. ‘The A3 will be snarled up.’
A lot of the work the Special Boat Service would do came through the Security Service, or the Special Intelligence Service, MI5 and MI6. As he got older, Lance spent a bit less time chasing al-Qaeda and a bit more time at a desk. He would come up to London every now and again to give briefings. He would consult on operations. Before you knew it, he had been taken aside and asked to join MI5 permanently. Keeping his hand in on operations, of course. Overseeing the raid on Martin Lomax’s house, for example. That sort of thing. Lance could break into anything, and kill anyone. The builder who’d slept with his ex didn’t know how lucky he’d been.
‘We will have a team here on that morning,’ says Sue. ‘Commanded by Lance.’
‘SBS?’ asks Lomax.
‘I can’t say,’ says Sue.
‘But yes,’ confirms Lance.
He knows he is still seen as a foot soldier. Looked down on a bit by some of the public-school kids. And he knows he is in danger of getting stuck where he is unless he can make some sort of impact.
This case would be a good place to start. A nice calling-card.
‘We wouldn’t need all this fuss if you simply found the diamonds,’ says Lomax.
‘I guarantee that’s our plan,’ says Sue.
‘Well, it seems you only have a few days left,’ says Lomax.
‘I am confident we’ll find them,’ says Sue.
Lance doesn’t share her confidence. Perhaps Elizabeth Best will find them? That’s the only hope. But, either way, Martin Lomax will never see them again. That’s not how this will work.
How will it work? Lance supposes he will have to wait and see. But Martin Lomax is a dead man.
The Man Who Died Twice (The Thursday Murder Club) Page 24
