Guilt Edged

by Judith Cutler

  The bell rang – Griff needed to be let out. But it was clear Toby wasn’t going to leave me alone this time. He slammed the door on me, and I heard the bolt shoot home. And no matter how long and how hard I rang the bell, nothing happened.

  I could pretend that I gave calm thought to my situation and made a rational response to it. Or I could admit to spending a few minutes howling in terror and banging on the implacable door. Gradually, it dawned on me that he wouldn’t keep me there for ever – just until the police or his security people arrived.

  A few minutes of the breathing my therapist had taught me brought a few more ideas. Since I was locked in with things I wanted to look at, I might as well look at them. So, drying my eyes, I did. Drawer by beautiful drawer. Each drawer responded to being opened by supplying extra light. What a good system.

  And what marvellous works – and what dodgy ones – were mine alone, for a few minutes at least. No wonder people became obsessive collectors – paintings, matchboxes, whatever. I was so absorbed with them at first that I didn’t register the vibration in my jeans pocket. Bloody hell, I’d still got my mobile on me! And a signal in the middle of nowhere, while we struggled for coverage at home.

  The caller was Rob Sampson, of all people, with news that he’d been offered a white Beswick horse. He was inclined to chat, but since I was getting low battery warnings, I cut him off short. First I called Griff: voicemail. Who next? I was just about to call the police and ask them to arrest me, when I thought of our security system. It was a long shot, but what if Toby was his client? He’d know if there was a hidden exit button, just in case Toby ever locked himself in by accident.

  By some miracle it was Geoff who was on duty. I rattled off my password. ‘Is Toby Byrne, who lives at a place called Valleys, one of your clients? Quick, Geoff – running out of battery.’

  ‘Oxfordshire?’

  ‘Yep. I’m stuck in his strong room. Help me!’

  ‘I shouldn’t tell you this.’

  ‘I know. Battery’s almost dead.’

  ‘Bottom drawer – those long shallow ones. Right-hand side …’ And the voice faded.

  Finding the drawer and indeed the right-hand side – hardly rocket science. But what was I looking for? There were no hidden catches, no secret buttons.

  There was only one thing to do. Sit still and listen. I’d done it before, with tricky furniture that didn’t want to be examined. How about I do it now to save my skin?

  No ideas at all.

  So I’d do the obvious thing and look at the miniatures before me. I was comfortable enough, after all, and they had their bonus light. Why not make a virtue of necessity – again?

  But by now I was really worried about Griff. Why wasn’t he riding to the rescue, as I knew he’d want to? What if he was having a long row with Toby – no good at all for his health? Why had I brought him to this out of the way place, miles from ambulances and hospitals and defibrillators and all the other things on which his life depended?

  Bottom drawer. Right-hand side. What if I tried to lift it out? It wasn’t moving. There wasn’t room for even my small hands to get between the side of the drawer and the wall of the cabinet.

  I tried the panic button again. Nothing.

  Bottom drawer. Right-hand side … What if I lifted out the not very exciting miniature? Would I get an electric shock or be squirted with permanent dye, both weapons in Geoff’s armoury?

  Shielding myself as much as possible, and braced for the worst, I reached for the miniature and lifted. And the door opened as sweetly as a nut.

  What I didn’t expect was to step into the arms of two policemen.

  I think they were as surprised as I was. Which gave me the chance to ask, ‘Have you arrested an elderly man? Because he’s just had heart surgery. Serious.’

  ‘And I’m the Pope’s grandma,’ said the younger one.

  ‘He dies on your watch, you’ll look good, won’t you?’ I might have sounded cool, but I could hardly stop the tears. ‘Please, just check he’s all right. Then I’ll cooperate in every way I can.’ Which may not be in the way you expect, I added under my breath.

  While the younger one, seriously overreacting, handcuffed me, the older one spoke into his radio, edging away so I couldn’t hear the response.

  ‘Police informant? You don’t seem to be registered.’

  This wasn’t going quite as I’d hoped. I’d not been allowed to speak to Griff, who’d been taken in for questioning, apparently, but at least a spotty young man who introduced himself as an FME, whatever that might be, popped his head round the door of the interview room in which I was trapped with two hostile officers. One was the officer who’d used his radio earlier; the other was an overweight young woman in plain clothes. All three of us stared.

  ‘A doctor,’ he explained, seeing my blank face. ‘Is it you who’s ill?’

  ‘No. My business partner, Griff Tripp.’ I explained how recently Griff had had surgery and rattled off the names of the pills he relied on. ‘You can check for yourself – they’re in his overnight bag. Except that’s in our van, isn’t it? He’s also got one of those little puffer-sprays for if his angina returns. He might just have that on him. But look at his scars if you’re not convinced.’

  He nodded cautiously and withdrew.

  ‘So what’s this story about being an informant? Not very helpful for a young woman caught in the act of removing someone’s property. Come on.’

  I wouldn’t be rushed. ‘I’m not going to be awkward and demand to have a solicitor before I answer any of your questions. First up, I didn’t say I was an informant. I said I was working with the police on a fraud issue.’ Griff would hate me for using such a grey word, but maybe they’d think it sounded professional. ‘And,’ I continued, ‘I’m about to give evidence in a major trial. I’ll be in the witness box, not the dock.’ My smile was bleak. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to.

  The woman regarded me coldly. ‘Does that prove anything? Didn’t Blunt work for the Queen herself while all the time betraying his country?’

  Who? No point in shouting my ignorance. ‘I’m not an informant, but I repeat, I am working with Kent police. At DCI Freya Webb’s suggestion, I’m liaising with one of her colleagues.’ Whose name I’d forgotten. Bloody stress. Often if I kept talking the missing word – or name – would come of its own accord. ‘Why don’t you fish my mobile out of the evidence bag it’s no doubt lurking in and charge it up? You’ll find the name of Carwyn Morgan. He’ll tell you what I’ve been up to.’ Like he’d tried to get me to finger Titus, and I’d refused. I ground my teeth. No, better to keep talking. ‘I told him some time ago that I believe someone is engaged in fraud. They take an ordinary cheap model horse and repaint and reglaze it so that it fetches at auction ten times its worth. And maybe the same person, maybe someone else, is doing the same for some art pottery called Ruskin ware. I’ve kept DC Morgan informed and was due to join him in a video conference alerting auction houses to the scam. He’s been too busy,’ I added bitterly.

  ‘And what’s a slip of a kid doing playing with the big boys?’

  It was out before I could stop it. ‘That’s remarkably sexist language!’ That got them on my side, I don’t think. Since I’d lost them, I continued in what I hoped was assertive, not aggressive mode: ‘I really think you and Toby Byrne have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. He panicked when he discovered one of his miniatures was missing. He trapped me in his strong room and probably locked Griff in the loo. But the painting was missing when he – not I – opened the drawer. I don’t know what’s become of it. I wish I did. A Hilliard.’

  ‘You had another one in your hand when you exited the room.’

  ‘So I did. A really poor one. I was wondering why it was in there with others that were so much better. I picked it up and the door flew open.’ I’d better keep Geoff out of this, hadn’t I? ‘As for the Hilliard, to speed things up you can search me. Strip search me if you insist.’

/>   ‘I presume that’s because you handed it to your accomplice,’ said the stout young woman.

  ‘Couldn’t have done. He was in the loo. And Toby had locked my bag away when I went into the house. Officers, I’m as puzzled as you are. It’s like an old-fashioned locked room mystery.’

  There was a tap on the door. The stout female DC left – or exited, of course, to use their jargon. She was replaced by someone else who slid silently into the corner just behind me. It wasn’t reassuring to see the uniformed guy mouthing something – it looked like a question – and getting a response I couldn’t see, which he acknowledged with a flick of the eyebrows.

  It was no use getting rattled, however. Not if keeping calm would get me back to Griff more quickly. I concentrated on breathing: I’d always got stressed out of my mind when I was in a situation like this. It had been better when I’d had Morris as back-up, but I’d have to be on my way to the Old Bailey before I’d ask him to vouch for me.

  The stout DC returned, looking scornful. ‘Seems she’s got friends in high places,’ she said. It was either the cat’s mother she was talking about or me. She opened the door and gestured with her head. I was to leave. Exit.

  The guy reunited me with my phone and bag, sneering at my scribbled signature, and escorted me at breakneck speed through to the reception area – reception indeed! Griff was there, looking grim but healthy, and so were Sir Richard and Charles. Sitting down behind the others was Toby Byrne, grey-faced and looking far worse than Griff had ever done. I went and joined him, taking his icy hands between my warm ones.

  ‘It wasn’t me who stole your Hilliard. I promise. I also promise I’ll do everything I can to help you get it back.’ Less dramatically, I continued, ‘But you’ll have to trust me. And so will the police, I’m afraid.’

  He said something I didn’t hear. If anyone needed the spotty young FME – it now dawned on me that the initials stood for forensic medical examiner – surely it was him. Moving away as unobtrusively as I could, I said as much to Richard, who responded prosaically by suggesting we all get some fresh air. It seemed he and Charles had arrived in his Merc – the same model as Aidan’s, only more recent – and I deduced from the bewildered way Toby was looking about him that the police might have brought him along, though I couldn’t see why. Come to think of it, it was more likely that Richard had picked him up en route. Our van was still at Valleys, unless the police had impounded it. So it seemed logical for us all to pile into the Merc and head there. Richard drove, and Charles, sitting beside him, made a lot of phone calls. The rest of us sat like three shocked monkeys in the rear. I couldn’t be sure whether either of the others was hearing or seeing evil; none of us was speaking it.

  But I was sure as hell thinking it.

  TWENTY-THREE

  At last Sir Richard turned the car on to the Valley’s track with a convincing spurt of gravel. Boy racer, eh?

  Although it was Toby’s house, Sir Richard took charge at once. Because the place was still swarming with purposeful-looking people in white suits, he didn’t need the alarm code, so he strode straight in, herding us into what was presumably Toby’s sitting room, complete with sagging sofas and a TV Noah probably chucked out of his Ark. At least it had a digibox in attendance. Longing to take a duster and hoover to the place, I drifted to the window. The curtains, rotting where the sun had faded them, smelt of age-old dirt. At one time Toby must have smoked cigars.

  ‘Charles: see if you can find some clean cups in the tip he calls his kitchen,’ Richard ordered. ‘Toby: do you have any medication you should be taking? For God’s sake, sit down, man. And you, Tripp.’ He pointed to the sofa.

  They both sat. ‘Bedside table,’ Toby muttered.

  ‘What are you waiting for, Charles? Be off, man, and find it.’ Charles did as he was told. ‘Tripp: that medic said you were OK, but do you need a second opinion?’

  ‘And spend hours mouldering in A and E when all I want to do, to be blunt, is go home? No, thank you, Richard.’

  Charles reappeared, clutching a packet of tablets and a glass of water. He selected one of a nest of tables, which he moved one-handed to Toby’s side. Toby popped two pills and sipped, nodding his thanks.

  ‘Good man,’ Richard declared – to Charles, I think. ‘Coffee all round? Tripp?’

  ‘Coffee would be good. Unless Lina’s secreted some green tea in that bag of hers, in which case, Charles, a mug of boiling water would be better. Thanks.’

  I produced a tea bag. Silently. Charles nodded, and was off.

  Meanwhile, I braced myself for Richard’s next utterance – to me. Except he was very much Sir Richard, now, with no hint of informality about him. I hoped he wouldn’t speak to me as I expect he wanted to, or my self-control might just disappear with an almighty bang.

  ‘And Lina – ah, Lina … I absolutely believe that you are completely innocent. But that was an extraordinary comment you made back at the police station. Am I wrong to deduce that you know who did take the precious miniature? And if so, why, in heavens name, did you not warn Toby – and preferably the police?’

  ‘Because I know nothing. Nothing at all. But I feel as if I ought. Griff always says that I have a pair of antennae to pick up the vibes that objects are sending my way. Like when I said that stuff about your coins.’

  ‘Your antennae …?’ Sir Richard prompted, as if angry to be reminded of his moment of vulnerability.

  ‘Are working overtime. And it feels as if they’ve tripled in number. People say, “I can’t hear myself think,” and that’s how it feels in my head. I’ve told many people before, Sir Richard, and I dare say I’ll tell a lot more. I just can’t be a divvy to order.’

  ‘That’s regrettable. Because I’m sure we could all do with the benefit of your insights, and sooner rather than later.’

  Charles reappeared, carrying a tray. He flashed me a kind smile. ‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted green tea as well, Lina, so I’ve brought both water and coffee.’

  I pushed forward another of the nest of tables – Edwardian, a nice rosy mahogany – and instinctively reached in my jeans for a tissue to use as a duster. He passed mugs to Sir Richard and to Toby, while I dunked the tea bag for Griff. Usually, we simply shared one, but I had a feeling that such meanness – or greenness, depending on your point of view – wouldn’t go down well at the moment. So I settled for the surprisingly good coffee. None of us touched the plate of biscuits Charles’d dug up from somewhere, even though it was well after our usual lunchtime.

  Toby, not looking much better, said, ‘I thought the system was foolproof. The alarms everywhere … even a watch will set off that system by the front door. I lock up bags and cases and coats.’

  ‘But you didn’t confiscate my phone,’ I murmured.

  ‘I assumed it would be in your bag,’ he countered. ‘I must ask you to delete any photos you took.’

  ‘Did you send photos to anyone?’ Sir Richard piled in, for all his protestations that he believed I was innocent. ‘They must be deleted too, if it’s not too late.’

  ‘I didn’t take any and certainly didn’t transmit any. Why should I?’ I asked reasonably. ‘I don’t know anything about miniatures, let alone deal in them. And since as far as I can see there’s no way of getting the things out even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be about to steal to order, would I? Unless,’ I continued, slapping my face in frustration at my rotten memory, ‘I did what your thief did. Unless I left the frame behind. And it’d be easy to stow a miniature in a pocket, even in your underwear. And no, I didn’t.’

  Toby was blinking in disbelief. ‘I never noticed. You’re sure?’

  ‘Ask him,’ I said, gesturing with a thumb at a white clad and hooded SOCO – or were they privatized these days? – in the hall. ‘You’re entitled – it’s your picture, after all.’

  The polar bear lookalike tapped on the door. ‘Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if you wanted to make sure that the Hilliard was all they took. There was another picture ou
t of place, by the way, but a slot left vacant that it might just fit.’

  Toby heaved himself off the sofa and headed upstairs after him.

  ‘Why in hell did you say nothing about the frame before?’ Sir Richard demanded.

  ‘Because I’d been frogmarched off to a police station, having been forcibly detained? Because I’d been worried sick about Toby, not to mention Griff?’ I went to sit down beside Griff, tucking my hand into his. Maybe this would calm me down. ‘And maybe, just maybe, because I’m an antiques dealer, not a detective?’

  ‘I don’t think our cottage has ever been more inviting,’ Griff declared that evening as he filled the kettle, though he leaned with one arm on the work surface to do it, and I had to pass him the teapot and cups and saucers. Easing himself into his favourite room in the whole cottage, the living room, he said with a deep sigh, ‘I want to hug everything in every last corner. But not necessarily that.’ He pointed to Morris’s last bear, which I’d still not got round to moving up to my bedroom.

  I tucked it under my arm, head first, as if it was a battering ram. It growled, faintly but definitely. I stopped dead and stared in its poor ugly face before tipping it again. This time I’d swear the growl was plaintive.

  ‘You know we were wondering how to ensure you never forgot your pills,’ I said slowly. ‘Well, this chap is the answer. Every day, when you’ve made your bed, you can pop your tablets in his lap, and you can’t get into bed until you’ve taken them.’

  ‘And where do I put it then?’ he asked. ‘It’s not sharing a bed with me, not like your Tim.’ He shuddered with revulsion.

  ‘On that pretty nursing chair that’s too low for you to sit on – or, rather, to get up from,’ I added unkindly. ‘Or you could sell the nursing chair and buy one for you both to share. Why don’t you go and discuss it with him? Him, not it, please note! Yes, have a rest – even a sleep. You look absolutely done in, and who can blame you? Not just the Toby business but that hold-up on the M25.’