False Alarm (15 page)

‘Bea, I love you.' He gave her a hug and a kiss on her cheekbone. He probably did love her, too. In his own way. Let's call it
affection
, shall we?

Bea retrieved her old mobile, carefully transferred the information on it to her computer and, with Piers at her side, set for the flats. He looked up at the building and whistled his appreciation. ‘Distinctive. Art Deco?'

Bea began to enjoy herself. ‘You should know. Now, who should we annoy first? Lady Ossett should be up and about by this time so we'll ask her to let us in.'

Bea rang the intercom but, instead of operating the door lock, Oliver's voice announced that he'd come down to the foyer to let them in. Which he did, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

‘Hello! Are you all right now? Lady O's been asking where you'd got to. Maggie's gone out to stock up with food for the weekend, and the Professor is sitting with Her Majesty. They're discussing a new and fiendishly difficult crossword.'

The caretaker was mopping the floor in the foyer.

Oliver nodded to the man and led them over to the lift. ‘There's an electrician and some workmen doing something in Lady Ossett's living room, I'm not sure what, so it's a bit crowded. Lady Ossett says we can use Sir Lucas's study if we want to talk.'

Once inside the lift, Oliver pressed the ‘Up' button. Bea looked closely at the floor. Was that a bloodstain? No. The place looked pristine. Did it smell of cleaning fluid? Sniff. Yes. And an air freshener? She said, ‘Can you smell anything, Piers?'

Oliver shook his head at her. ‘Honestly, Mother Hen. You and your imagination. Bodies in the lift, indeed. Whatever next?'

‘You've been talking to the people in the ground floor flat?'

‘Ms Lessbury was kind enough to fill me in. A great friend of Sir Lucas's. Known him from childhood.'

Bea rolled her eyes, but forbore to comment. ‘You think it's all right to leave Lady Ossett with the Professor? You've cleared him of any involvement in the dirty tricks department?'

A satisfied nod. A careless tone of voice. ‘I called on him last night and had a look at his computer, nice little job, masses of special apps. He let me play with it for a while. An intelligent man.'

Bea set her teeth at Oliver's patronizing tone. He'd really got above himself, hadn't he?

Oliver said, ‘I told Sir Lucas that the Professor's squeaky clean. One less to worry about. Sir Lucas directed me to look up Tariq next, so I saw him last night. Odd little chap. Quite bright in his own way, I suppose. But limited. Ah, here we are at the top.'

Bea missed a step on leaving the lift. What? Oliver had called on Tariq last night? Tariq was alive? Piers pressed Bea's arm, warning her not to show surprise.

Oliver led the way up the stairs, still talking, oblivious to Bea's reaction. ‘I had a good look at his computer when Tariq went out this morning, but there's nothing of any importance on it, more's the pity. Sir Lucas will be disappointed, but there it is.'

Bea controlled her voice with an effort. ‘What's he like, this Tariq?'

‘Oh, you know. Pakistani origin. Born and brought up here, well educated, but got a chip on his shoulder. His family ought to have got him married off ages ago which would have settled him down, but for some reason he doesn't seem to be in contact with them.' He reached out to touch the doorbell of the penthouse.

Bea stopped him. ‘Oliver, did you say that you saw Tariq last night?'

‘Mm? He wasn't feeling too good, got an upset tummy or something, so he put me off then. But he was OK this morning. He lent me his spare key while he went to the gym so that I could have a look at his computer without him breathing down my neck.'

‘He left the building this morning? Perhaps with a sports bag? How did he get past the caretaker?'

‘What do you mean? Why on earth shouldn't he go out if he wants to? I told you, I've had a look at his computer and there's nothing suspicious on it. As for the caretaker, I don't understand what you're getting at. A bit of a thug, of course, but he gave me a list of the tenants this morning and said he'd go round with me when he's got a minute, let me into the different flats, introduce me, that sort of thing.'

‘Oliver, did you talk to the caretaker down in his flat? Could Tariq have left the building while you were there?'

Oliver reddened. ‘Tariq's not a criminal.'

‘Some of the other tenants think it was he who keyed Sir Lucas's car. I don't say that he did, but that's what is being said. Plus he's lost his job and seems to be in arrears with his rent. I suspect the caretaker was given orders by Sir Lucas to keep an eye on Tariq and not let him leave the building till he's paid up what he owes.'

‘Nonsense. You've got a bee in your bonnet about Sir Lucas. As he says, this is a perfectly straightforward case of commercial espionage and—'

‘I doubt if there's been any such thing.'

Oliver's temper was rising. ‘It's clear to me that you are jealous of Sir Lucas because he's made a success of his life, and that you resent his interest in me. He warned me this might happen and I didn't believe him, but I can see he's right. You're way out of your depth on this one. Instead of encouraging me to take advantage of this fantastic career opportunity, you've made up your mind that Sir Lucas is a villain, which is—'

Piers said, mildly enough, ‘Steady on, Oliver. You forget who you're talking to.'

Oliver was pale with fury. ‘I don't know what you think you're doing here, either. I think you'd better leave, both of you.'

Piers put his hand on Bea's arm, but she'd got herself under control. ‘Oliver,
you
didn't ask me for help. Lady Ossett did. And, later on, Sir Lucas. I think perhaps there are two separate mysteries here, so suppose you get on with your industrial espionage – or whatever it is – while I deal with the other problems in the building.'

‘What problems? What are you talking about?'

‘Have you solved the mystery of the cat's death, and of the marks where nails were driven into the side of the stairs?'

‘Cat? What cat? And I don't know anything about nails on the stairs.'

Bea reached past him to press the doorbell. ‘Exactly. Let's each of us stick to our own line of enquiry, shall we? Why don't you get on with your search for the rogue computer buff? I expect you can keep Tariq's key because I don't think he'll be coming back. And, for your information, the reason his family's not keen to keep in touch is that he's gay and it's not approved of in their culture.'

The door opened, and Bea marched into the penthouse, followed by Piers who looked amused . . . only to be brought up short by a procession of workmen coming towards them down the hallway, carrying a large, swaddled package between them.

The Lucian Freud picture? So Sir Lucas had sent for it, after all.

Bea and Piers stood aside to let the workmen pass. Bea hesitated. Ought they to intrude on Lady O at this delicate moment?

Bea had underestimated the lady, who appeared in the doorway to the living room, smiling brightly. ‘Come in. How good of you to call. You find me all at sixes and sevens. My dear husband finds he can't be parted from my precious gift to him and has asked for it to be removed to his office, where he is staying at the moment, the dear boy, so inconvenient for him, but there; in such an important job, one has to make sacrifices, don't you think? But what, I ask myself, can I put in place of what has been taken from me?'

She indicated the bare space on the wall. ‘Perhaps the Picasso sketch from the spare bedroom? Though it will hardly be big enough to . . . Oh dear. I'm forgetting my manners. Professor, this is—'

‘I've already met Mrs Abbot,' said the Professor, rising from a chair by the far window. He was still casually dressed, but there was a spruceness about him which had been lacking the previous day. His hair had been well brushed, his eyebrows trimmed. A hint of aftershave mingled with Lady O's perfume.

‘And this is . . .?' Lady O raised her eyebrows and fluttered her eyelashes at Piers, who was so accustomed to that sort of attention that he took it for granted.

‘My first husband, Piers, the portrait painter,' said Bea.

Piers was modesty itself. ‘Not in the same league as . . .' He indicated the space where the Freud had been. ‘Bea and I are just good friends nowadays. I am so sorry to hear of your loss.' He might have been referring to the loss of the picture, or of the husband.

Bea gave him an old-fashioned look before turning back to their hostess. ‘We dropped in to see how you were getting on, but I understand Maggie is looking after you this weekend?'

‘The dear child,' said Lady O, her thoughts obviously elsewhere. ‘I am so fortunate, so well looked after. This afternoon the Professor and I are going to inspect a litter of exceptionally beautiful pedigree kittens to see if he would like to have one to replace dear Momi, after which he has tickets for a perfectly splendid concert at the South Bank this evening. I am so looking forward to that. You'll excuse me for a moment . . .?' She made a rapid retreat to her bedroom, hankie to eyes.

The Professor, ungainly but purposeful, came towards them. ‘Brave little thing, isn't she?' His tone was half mocking and half indulgent. ‘Reminds me of my second wife, who passed away two years ago, greatly missed. Lady Ossett will come out smiling in a little while to rearrange the furniture and make an appointment to see her solicitor about the divorce. I'm sure Sir Lucas will be generous in his arrangements, so she ought to come out of this pretty well.'

Bea stifled a giggle. ‘It is splendid of her to want to replace your cat, when they're not exactly her favourite animals.'

A grin. ‘Nor mine. Momi was a gift from my daughter. We rubbed along well enough, he and I. I do miss him in a way, but remembering to feed him and cleaning out his toilet tray was a bit of a bind.'

‘So you're happy to play along with what the lady wants?'

He adopted a melancholy tone, but his eyes were bright with mischief. ‘I am a lonely old man now that Momi is no more, and she is a delightful woman, recently deserted by her husband. What harm is there in offering her companionship?'

‘In that case,' said Bea, somewhat at a loss, ‘perhaps we should be on our way.'

Out they went. Piers lent against the wall on the landing and gave way to laughter. Bea eyed him with disfavour. Eventually, he blew his nose, with gusto. ‘The Professor may be on the lookout for a cushy berth and someone to soothe his brow in his declining years, but she's no fool and won't accept him unless it suits her to do so. I don't think he was responsible for setting Sir Lucas tumbling down the stairs, do you?'

‘Or for poisoning his own cat. Even if he'd disliked Momi and wanted to get rid of him, he wouldn't have risked someone else eating poisoned meat, but have taken him to the vet to be put down. Which reminds me, Lady O still hasn't given me a list of the guests at her bridge party. We know the Professor and the two biddies were there; I wonder who else?'

‘Not Tariq, presumably. It appears he's not dead, either.'

She led the way down the stairs and summoned the lift. ‘Let's go and talk to the caretaker about Resurrection Man, shall we?'

The lift worked just as it should. The caretaker was still in the foyer, using an industrial polisher to buff up the tiles on the floor. He didn't give them a second look till Bea marched right up to him and said, ‘You can turn that off, now. Tariq escaped while you were giving Oliver the list of residents.'

‘What!' The big man glowered at Bea but turned off the machine. ‘What you mean?'

‘You did your best, but you can't be everywhere all the time. Am I right in thinking Sir Lucas told you not to let Tariq leave?'

The big man produced a rag from his pocket and began to dust the top of his machine. Was he going to ignore Bea's question? Finally, ‘Sir Lucas, he boss man. Man from his office tell Tariq, “You stay. Not go away.” His man say to me, “You watch Tariq.” So; I watch.'

‘You didn't just watch him. You prevented him from leaving yesterday, didn't you?'

The big man mumbled, ‘Tariq stay put till Sir Lucas say he can go.'

‘He's innocent . . . of plotting to kill Sir Lucas, anyway. Oh, believe me; Oliver would have spotted anything dicey on his computer.'

‘Then why he try to go?'

‘Because he was scared of what a powerful man like Sir Lucas might do to him. Or of what you might do to him, come to think of it. What did you do to him, anyway?'

A shrug. ‘Nothing. He try fire escape; I put two wheelie bins against bottom door. I hear him, bang bang, clang clang, try to get out.' He laughed. ‘No go. Back up he go. I laugh. He try again. Three times he try. Same no go.'

Piers was outraged. ‘You blocked the exit from the fire escape? That's illegal.'

‘Tariq, he stupid. I put my chair out back, with radio on. He think I sit there, on my break. He think it OK to come down in lift. I wait for him, he opens door, he sees me, and back up he goes again! Hah! Then is trouble with visitor. I listen. I watch. No need to interfere.

‘When all is quiet, the two ladies come down. They go out. So I think, Mr Tariq he will try again. How to stop him? I put notice on door, turn off electricity. Now he cannot use lift, must walk down. I hear him coming. I wait here in the foyer. Cat and mouse, as you say. Down he come. He runs for the door and woosh! He fall over my mop with his big feet. Bang! His eyes roll round in his head. He sleep. Accident.' He grinned, displaying inadequately brushed teeth.

Bea sighed. ‘Let me guess what happened next. You had only meant to scare him into staying put, but now you had an unconscious man on your hands, and you didn't know what to do with him. To gain time, you shoved him back in the lift, leaving your mop handle stuck in the door so he wouldn't die from lack of air, and went to phone Sir Lucas to tell him what had happened, and to ask for instructions. While you were away, I returned with Ms Lessbury, and we tried to force the door open. I spotted Tariq lying in the lift and announced I was calling the police; you panicked, attacked me and destroyed my phone.'