False Money

by Veronica Heley

  Hermia took up the story. ‘So I rang my flatmate, got her out of bed, asked if she’d found any bottled water lurking outside our front door, and she had. She’d got back home before me last night, you see. Knowing no better, she’d picked it up and popped it in the fridge. I told her some joker had been leaving doctored drinks around and that Alan had drunk some and was terribly ill, so would she put it on one side till I could get home and explain. She was going to ring the police, but I said I’d do it.’

  Claudine said, ‘We knew that if we told the police before we got our money, we’d lose it. I said I didn’t care, and Hermia said she didn’t care, either. We agreed that if Alan didn’t come round soon, we’d tell. Only, he did come round. The relief! I cried and cried. Couldn’t stop crying. It was only then I realized I’d forgotten my handbag with my keys and hankies and everything, and the doctors had been asking if we knew what Alan had taken, and of course we didn’t know, except that it was probably something in the bottled water that had appeared just like magic on my doorstep.

  ‘So we thought we didn’t need to tell the police, but would wait till Tuesday – tomorrow – when we’d all agreed we’d have to tell, anyway. Only then the doctor came out to talk to us, and he said . . . he said . . .’

  She gulped, and Hermia carried on.

  ‘The doctor said that they’d pumped out Alan’s stomach, that he was conscious, but hadn’t a clue what it was that had sent him to sleep. The doctor said they really ought to know, because different poisons needed different treatment. I thought it would only have been barbiturates because that what was used before, so he ought to be all right—’

  Claudine shook her head. ‘But I was terrified. I said we had to get one of those doctored bottles to the hospital, fast. That’s when Hermia thought of Chris and rang him.’

  Chris put the cat down on to the floor and took up the tale. ‘I found a taxi and met them at the hospital. Hermia made the hospital staff get Alan’s keys out of his trousers, so I took them and drove her car to Claudine’s flat and let myself in. I got some rubber gloves from the kitchen and found a paper bag and put the bottle in it. I looked for Claudine’s handbag, but couldn’t find it.’

  Typical, thought Bea, that Chris hadn’t been able to find it.

  ‘Then I went back to the hospital to deliver the bottle and see what else I could do to help. Claudine was allowed in to see Alan for five minutes. The doctor said they’d keep him under observation for a few hours and, if all went well, we could fetch him early this afternoon. But Claudine was afraid to go back to her flat by herself.’

  ‘That bottled water was meant for me. Whoever it is that’s doing this knows where I live.’

  ‘Whoever it is,’ said Hermia, ‘knows where all of us live. We didn’t know what to do or where to go. Then Chris suggested that you, Mrs Abbot, might let us stay here till this evening. Tomorrow we can go to the police.’

  Bea said, ‘Did you warn the others?’

  ‘Gregor knows, yes. I also rang Duncan and told him, but he hasn’t had a suspect bottle delivered to him. Jamie’s phone was switched off, but I left a message. I don’t think – I hope – they’re not being targeted, too.’

  Claudine reached for another tissue and blew her nose. ‘The awful thing is, it’s made me realize I don’t love Alan as I should. I feel wretched that he’s been poisoned instead of me, but I’m not agonizing over him. I know I ought to be, but I’m not. That makes me feel guilty, too.’

  Really? She’d been giving a good imitation of a woman deeply in love.

  ‘Cheer up,’ said Chris, patting her arm. ‘It could have been a lot worse. You said he was a heavy sleeper. Suppose it had been you who’d drunk the stuff, and he hadn’t woken in the night. You’d be dead by now, I suppose.’

  Claudine gave a muffled shriek, but Hermia threw back her head and laughed.

  ‘You are awful, Chris.’

  ‘No, what’s awful,’ said Chris, ‘is that the nurse I gave the bottle to lifted it out of the paper bag with ungloved hands, shoving her dainty mitts all over it and destroying any fingerprints.’

  Hermia wasn’t having that. ‘The person who’s doing this is far too clever to leave fingerprints.’

  Bea stirred herself. ‘You know who’s doing this, don’t you, Hermia?’

  Hermia gave her a bland look. ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Oh yes, you have. You’ve all discussed it ad infinitum. You all know who it is, and none of you will tell because you don’t want your fellow conspirator to lose his share of the jackpot.’

  Hermia shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter now that Alan’s recovering. On Tuesday we’ll tell all. Until then, we keep shtum.’

  Claudine pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘Mrs Abbot, do you think we could stay here till it’s time to go to Duncan’s?’

  Hermia shook her head. ‘I’m not going to a champagne rave-up in these clothes, my dear. Either we risk going back to my place to change, or we go shopping for something decent to wear.’

  ‘We have to collect Alan from the hospital this afternoon.’

  ‘I gave them my mobile number, so he can contact us when he’s ready to leave.’

  Chris started putting the dirty plates in the dishwasher. ‘I can fetch him in a taxi and bring him here, if you like. Is he invited to the party? I know I am. I’ll have to go back home, anyway, to fetch my equipment.’ He arched his back, yawning hugely.

  Claudine’s eyes had sunk into her head. She, too, yawned, jaw-breakingly, covering her mouth with one hand. Hermia looked at Claudine and Chris with a degree of disillusion. Hermia could probably keep going all day, if she put her mind to it. Bea could see her computing the odds and guessed what she’d say next.

  ‘Mrs Abbot.’ A nice smile. ‘Do you have a settee on which Claudine could crash out for a while? Chris can go home for a couple of hours, but perhaps I can help you with some filing or cleaning or something?’

  Bea allowed herself to entertain the idea of Miss Brook permitting Hermia to work in her domain and wondered who would come out top dog. Miss Brook had the advantage of age and experience; Hermia, on the other hand, was a human bulldozer. It might have been fun to let it happen, but no; unkind to animals.

  ‘Better still,’ said Bea, ‘Claudine will undress and take a shower and go to sleep in our spare bedroom. Hermia, you will doss down on the settee next door with one of our spare duvets. If you’ll leave your mobile phone with me, I promise to wake you if it rings. That should give you both a couple of hours’ sleep before it’s time to fetch Alan from the hospital and get into your glad rags. Chris; you’re to go home and do the same thing. Right?’

  ‘You’re very kind, Mrs Abbot,’ said Hermia, and they could all hear she was trying to mean it.

  ‘Mrs A, you’re brilliant,’ said Chris, yawning again. ‘I’d better take a taxi home, because Hermia will need her car later.’

  Oliver emerged from his quiet corner to ask a question of Bea without words. On receiving a nod he said, ‘I’ll run you home, Chris.’

  Hermia frowned. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s best. But Chris; not a word to your father, understand?’

  At which point Claudine almost fell off her stool. She jerked herself upright and tried to laugh. ‘Did I fall asleep?’

  Bea tossed her car keys to Oliver and took Claudine’s arm to lead her out of the kitchen. ‘Let me see you safely upstairs.’ She led the girl to the spare room, drew the blinds down, found fresh towels, and showed her the bathroom next door. ‘Do you need anything else?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m asleep on my feet.’ She sank on to the bed and chucked off her shoes.

  Bea left her to it and went to rummage for a spare duvet and pillow. She heard the front door open and shut as Chris and Oliver left the house.

  She found Hermia sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring wide-eyed into space. Her face had lost all its colour. She began to weep, silently at first, and then with great gasping sobs. Now that the need for action
had passed, Hermia was suffering a reaction.

  Bea steered the girl into the sitting room, lowered the blinds at the windows and arranged pillow and duvet on the settee. She made Hermia sit down, slipped off her shoes and helped her to struggle out of her jeans.

  As Bea covered the girl with the duvet, Hermia’s hand shot out to grasp Bea’s wrist. ‘I didn’t think there’d be any more attempts on our lives, I really didn’t. You think we’re just being greedy, but you don’t know, you can’t know. Duncan’s being made redundant and daren’t tell Mandy because he thinks she wouldn’t marry him if she knew how skint he was, and Jamie’s deep in debt though he puts a good face on it. As for Gregor, I daren’t think what’s going to happen to him if he can’t square the tax man. I gambled there wouldn’t be any more murders, and I was wrong, wasn’t I?’

  The truth at last. ‘If there’s any blame going, then CJ and I are also to blame because we both agreed to keep quiet. We didn’t know how badly off you all were, but—’

  ‘Claudine’s fine. Or she was till she discovered Alan isn’t the love of her life.’

  ‘She discussed her plan to buy a school with him, of course?’

  ‘She says not.’

  ‘The others talked, though?’

  ‘Gregor? Don’t be daft. Of course not. I don’t think Duncan did, either. He was scared of what Mandy would say. She’s Julian’s sister, you see, and they’ve had more than enough of gambling in that family.’

  Yes, it made sense that Duncan would be wary of discussing it with Mandy.

  ‘You’ve told your father?’

  Hermia settled herself more comfortably. ‘I recorded a message and left it on the hall table to be given to him tomorrow. If I die he’ll see I’m avenged.’

  Was she lying? Did it matter? ‘Let me have your mobile phone. I’ll wake you as soon as the hospital rings.’

  Hermia shook her head. ‘Chris told me all about you and your detective work. You’d check to see who else I’ve been ringing on my phone, and it’s none of your business.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how.’ But Bea grinned, because she knew someone who might just know how to trace calls, or to get them traced. Which reminded her that she hadn’t heard Oliver come back in yet.

  She left the darkened room and stood in the hallway, thinking hard. What if she was wrong and it wasn’t Claire who was the murderer after all? Could it be Gregor? No. He might well ruin someone financially – yes, Bea could see him doing that – but to slip barbiturates into someone’s drink? No.

  Duncan. CJ and Hermia had confirmed that he did indeed have a motive, for if he really was being made redundant, then he needed that cash more than ever. Bea tried to imagine Duncan killing someone. Would he use barbiturates? Bea shook her head. No.

  Mandy, now. Hermia believed the girl didn’t know about the lottery money, and she’d given a good enough reason why. But that was only Hermia’s reading of the situation and might not be correct. If Mandy had known about the lottery money, would she really have recoiled in horror? It didn’t sound at all likely. Who rejects so many millions on a point of principle?

  On the other hand, would Mandy have wanted to improve her fiancé’s chances of a bigger share of the pool by killing off his friends? Not enough information. What sort of girl was she? Well, perhaps she’d be at the party tonight.

  Jamie. Difficult to read. Smoo–oth, boyish and charming on the surface. What went on underneath? Laziness? Inertia? Hermia said he was deep in debt. But how would he kill, if driven to it? Not with poison.

  Which left Jamie’s new girlfriend Claire Stourton, who may or may not have owned a white Mini, to which Tomi may or may not have been lured on the day of her death. A girl who had been described in venomous terms by Gregor, and who might well have felt her position threatened vis-à-vis Jamie if he’d started to ask Tomi out. If – and it was a big ‘if’ – Jamie had talked to Claire, had told her about his debts and said that the lottery money would take care of everything, then Claire would have a motive to see if his share could be increased. Claire, who had been put in charge of Bea’s little grandson . . .

  At which thought Bea ground her teeth. Too many ‘ifs’.

  Oliver returned from his errand and tossed the car keys on to the hall table. He used his softest voice. ‘Safely delivered.’

  Bea nodded and replied as quietly. ‘Safely put to bed.’ She led the way to the kitchen. ‘Can you count the number of lies we’ve been told over this past week? The truth’s only just beginning to come out now. Hermia says the men all need money, but didn’t mention herself.’

  Oliver checked that the door to the hall was closed. ‘Chris just told me that Hermia beggared herself to lend Jamie the money to redo the ancestral leaden roof. If he receives his share this afternoon, he’ll repay her. If he doesn’t, and she misses out on her share of the jackpot, she’ll have to sell the shares which give her a comfortable income and compete in the job market to earn her living. He swore me to secrecy, but you’ve choked it out of me, right?’

  ‘So she has a motive, after all, and an even bigger reason to defend Jamie. No wonder she wants us to hold off till tomorrow.’

  ‘How do you read him? Could he have done the murders?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought they were his style, but if he got Claire to do the dirty work then yes.’ Bea sighed. ‘I’m told that British justice ensures no one may gain from a crime they’ve committed. If he’s convicted, what will happen to his share?’

  ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself, but it’s an intriguing thought. Does his share go back into the kitty or does the Crown take it, or what? Presumably he’d get what was due to him after Julian and Shirley died. If the police stick to the theory that Harry killed Tomi and then killed himself, then he’d get a larger share—’

  ‘And if, as seems likely, the coroner brings in a verdict of accidental death for Nick, then he’d get his share of Nick’s as well. So unless they can prove something – and I don’t at the moment see how they can – he could get away with it.’

  ‘There’s the attempt to kill Claudine, which has left Alan in hospital.’

  ‘I agree with Hermia; there won’t be any prints on the bottle. Chris says the doctor got to him in time.’

  ‘It’s all most unsatisfactory,’ said Bea. ‘Can you see a loophole, Oliver?’

  ‘No. It’s all circumstantial. Tomi goes to a party in the flat above hers, is spotted by Harry and introduced to his circle. She accepts invitations from Gregor and Jamie; rebuffs Nick. Then she’s killed. Harry is blamed for it. Harry kills himself. Nick, shocked at the tragedies which have befallen his friends, gets sozzled and falls to his death. Alan picks up a bottle of doctored water, which anyone at all might have left outside his door, and drinks from it. Where’s the evidence that we can take to the police? There isn’t any. There’s been no phone call from the hospital yet?’

  They both listened out for a phone ringing. Nothing. Bea looked at the clock. Maggie wasn’t back yet; it would soon be time for lunch. A few hours after that, they must dress for the party that evening. She looked at her calendar. Heavens, she was due to have her hair cut that afternoon. Well, that was good in one way, because it certainly needed attention, and she could have a manicure at the same time – with luck. But she’d wanted to have one last go at Tomi’s emails. How long did she have?

  Another thing. ‘Oliver, do you want to buy yourself an evening rig-out? I’m sure you’ll need one at university some time, won’t you?’

  He grinned. ‘We’re just hired help tonight. Like waiters. Suppose you dress up, though? Be magnificence personified. Bring out the bling. Be the Grand Inquisitor. They’re expecting to make a short film recording the occasion, so with Chris behind the camera and me on sound, you can ask slanted questions which may bring out slightly different versions of the truth. Being on camera often hypnotizes people into tongue-tied silence, but in this case the champagne will be flowing and the relief they all must feel that they’ve surv
ived and won themselves a crashingly good windfall may loosen their tongues.’

  Monday afternoon

  Claire sat on Jamie’s bed. She tipped more champagne into his glass and leaned over to nuzzle his neck. She was a trifle anxious. By now they should have heard of another convenient death, but no; it seemed not. Ah well, she’d done her best, hadn’t she?

  She kissed the base of his throat. Butterfly kisses all the way up to his mouth. He smiled, but there were lines of strain around his eyes and mouth.

  ‘Third time lucky,’ he said and set her aside to access his bank account . . . again. ‘It’s in. Thank God.’ He closed his eyes, relaxing against the pillows. ‘The future’s bright. At last.’

  She slid down beside him. ‘Can’t we skip that dreary party tonight?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Duncan’s champagne’s always good, and Hermia says they’re going to video the occasion. It’s going to be quite a party. They’ve brought in some detective or other to keep us safe. An oddity, Mrs Abbot. I met her the other day. She was asking questions, don’t suppose she got anywhere. She’s going to be there, too.’

  She froze, then relaxed. The friends had all got their money and wouldn’t want to make trouble now, would they? They might suspect, but that was a different matter, and while she held Jamie in thrall she was quite safe.

  As for evidence . . . there was none. Claire put a hand to her mouth. The four mobile phones and Tomi’s diary! What a fool she’d been not to ditch them ages ago. She daren’t drop them all together into the nearest rubbish bin, which might raise suspicion. They would have to be disposed of one by one, in different places. Tomorrow, first thing. And what about the little brown bottle of sleepy juice? There was just one more adult dose left. Could she put it in the garbage here? No, it might be traced back to her.