False Alarm (32 page)

‘“Oh, goody, goody,” thinks our killer. “Now Lady O is upset. More!” She attends the next bridge party and makes an excuse to go out to the kitchen. Momi the cat is prowling around, so she puts poison on the meat which had been intended for Lady O's supper and feeds it to the cat. It's a premeditated act. She'd brought the poison with her. Whether she'd actually intended to kill Lady O is another matter. I'm inclined to think not. The aim was to distress, not to kill.

‘She might have stopped right there, but when Harvey is locked into his flat by the caretaker, she has a fit of righteous indignation. She knows Harvey wasn't responsible for the wire across the landing and has been wrongfully imprisoned, so in a fit of public duty she takes it on herself to confront the caretaker. He's gone out on to the balcony where he's dealing with the junk left by Tariq. She follows him by going out through her friend's kitchen door on to the balcony, and in the ensuing argument she uses her stick to poke at him – and he goes over the edge. What she didn't realize was that there was a witness to the caretaker's death.'

‘What? Who?' He peered at the chart.

Bea made a tired gesture. ‘She's no good to you. She won't testify. But I can tell you what she saw, which was a woman using a stick to push the caretaker off balance and over the edge of the balcony. And yes, it might be a different stick. For all I know, Carrie Kempton has a dozen such sticks in her flat.'

He snatched the chart up again. ‘If your witness – who I assume lives opposite Mrs Emerson but directly under Tariq – heard a door close, then surely it was Mrs Kempton whom she heard returning to her own flat.'

‘From what the witness said, I don't think there'd have been time enough for the killer to go down another flight of stairs before going back into the building and closing the door behind her, so yes; I think the killer went back into the building through Carrie Kempton's flat. But remember that Lucy is in and out of Carrie's flat all the time.'

‘The witness is a member of the Muslim family?'

‘Wild horses wouldn't get them into court to testify.'

The inspector threw up his arms. ‘This is all hearsay. I can't act on hearsay.' He took a turn around the kitchen. ‘What about Harvey's death? It's been put down as misadventure. You're not going to tell me that was murder, too? Why would one of the old dears want to kill him?'

‘Harvey had worked out what she was doing, and he tried to warn me. He talked about fearing people who bring you gifts, and he showed me a picture of Lavinia leaning on her stick. He'd taken a photo of Lucy with what looks like the same stick. I don't think he'd have turned her in to the police, but I do think he warned her to be careful, and that made him a threat to her. I think she used her stick to pull the typewriter off the shelf above his head. It might not have killed him. It would certainly have frightened him, and maybe that's all she intended to do. Unfortunately, the typewriter hit him fair and square. Exit Harvey.'

‘But . . .' The inspector shook his head. ‘There's nothing to be done about . . . well, anything. Is there?'

Bea drooped. ‘I suppose not. But it doesn't half go against the grain, and I'll be worried sick about Maggie and Oliver till I can get them back home.'

The inspector was the one to get roused now. ‘If what you say is correct then, having got away with so many “incidents”, I can't see why she would stop now. The moment someone crosses her, they'll be for the chop, too. She must think she's invincible.'

‘If you tell her you've got your beady eye on her, perhaps she'll stop?'

Someone rang the doorbell. Hard.

The inspector sighed, consulted his watch. ‘Well, I suppose I must be on my way.'

‘Let's hope it's no one important. I'm not up to visitors.' Bea led the way to the hall and looked through the peephole in the front door.

Her breathing quickened, and she put her hand to her throat. ‘It's Lucy Emerson.'

The inspector said, ‘You're afraid of her?'

‘She gives me the willies.'

The doorbell rang again. Impatiently.

Bea said, ‘I don't want to let her in.'

‘If I stay . . .?'

Bea braced herself. ‘I'm being silly. What could she do to me in broad daylight?' She opened the door. ‘Lucy? Do come in. My visitor is just leaving.'

Mrs Emerson beamed. She was carrying a covered basket and using a stick.
The
stick. ‘Well, just for a moment, then. I heard you'd been poorly, and I thought you might welcome a visit. Also, I have something to tell you.'

‘Do come in.' Bea opened the door wide and ushered Mrs Emerson in. ‘The sitting room is the door on the left. And –' to the inspector – ‘nice of you to call. See you again sometime.'

He said, ‘Thanks,' and took the door from her.

As she followed her guest along the hall, Bea heard the front door close behind her. She shivered. ‘I'm feeling the cold today. May I take your coat? Go on through while I turn the central heating up in the hall.' She hung up the coat and adjusted the thermostat, pleased to hear the central heating respond. She'd leave the door open, to let the warm air circulate. ‘Will there be a frost tonight, do you think?'

‘What a lovely house.' Lucy twitched the cover off her basket and brought out a plastic container holding a huge chunk of chocolate cake, oozing with cherry jam. ‘I hope you like chocolate cake.'

‘Delicious. How kind of you. I'll save it for later, if you don't mind. I've had a nasty stomach upset and am not eating much at the moment. Do sit down.'

‘Did you eat some of Carrie's biscuits? She's losing the plot, you know. I don't know what she put in the last lot she baked, but they gave me a most unpleasant night.'

Yes, of course. Carrie's biscuits. Bea had eaten two, and she'd begun to feel queasy even before she got to the restaurant and the lobster had done its work . . . and that explained why Oliver and Maggie had had tummy upsets, too.

Lucy sat, four-square. ‘This is so difficult . . . I don't know where to begin.'

Bea suppressed the impulse to tell the woman to begin at the beginning.

Lucy fiddled with the silk scarf she was wearing. ‘I need to ask you for your understanding; not for me, you understand, but . . . I thought that you of all people might be able to help her. You see, we've been friends for so many years, Carrie and I. I ought to have seen it coming, the paranoia or whatever they call it nowadays. But I didn't. Perhaps I didn't want to see it? I've hardly slept these last few nights . . . I couldn't make up my mind what to do, and then it occurred to me, that dear girl Maggie told me you had a friend in the police force . . .? Am I right?'

Bea nodded.

Lucy leaned forward. ‘Then you'll know what's best to be done. I can't do it. It would be a betrayal of everything I hold dear, but she needs help, you see. Psychiatric attention, perhaps? I've heard of such things, but I've never, most fortunately, had to . . . But if you can see to it, perhaps the doctors can save her from . . . You understand?'

‘Not exactly, no.'

‘I left her in tears. I keep telling her the courts will be most understanding when she explains, a series of unfortunate accidents, no more, but . . . in the wrong hands, if they decided to prosecute . . . They'd hardly want to send her to prison at her age, would they? It would be such a waste of taxpayers' money. However, something must be done, I realize that, because there's no denying she is very depressed. I thought that you might be able to put her in touch with someone, get the doctors involved.'

‘I don't understand.' And indeed, Bea did not understand. She'd thought Lucy was the guilty party. Was it Carrie, after all?

‘Such a silly girl she is.' Lucy produced a hankie, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘We've known one another for ever, you know. Since we were at school together, although parted by fate for many years. But once we'd met up again, on a visit to Kew Gardens it was, almost fifteen years ago, how time flies . . . And my husband was still alive then, but oh dear; it hardly bears thinking about, does it?'

‘No, no,' said Bea, her brain whirling, trying to consider two opposing theories at once. ‘Take your time.'

Lucy gasped out a sigh. ‘What you must think of me, letting her carry on like that, but of course at first I couldn't believe it. I mean, you wouldn't, would you? Everyone knew what Lavinia was like, and really she'd long outstayed her welcome, hadn't she?'

‘Carrie Kempton killed Lavinia?'

‘Oh, no! No, no, no! Of course not. Nothing like that. It was all Lavinia's fault. She wanted someone to run to the chemist for her there and then, and we were on our way back from a long day out and were both very tired, but did that stop her? Oh, no. She started shouting, and then she lifted her stick to hit me, and dear Carrie got hold of it and twisted and Lavinia lost her balance, you see, and fell. And died right there, before our very eyes!'

‘How awful.' Bea's eyes were on the stick Lucy had kept at her side. It was a very stout, solid stick. It could do a lot of damage if you were hit with it.

‘We were ever so upset, as you can imagine. Carrie was so pale, I thought she'd fainted, but luckily she came round and I got her upstairs to her flat to have a little brandy and a lie down before I called the paramedics.'

‘And you took the stick yourself?'

‘Oh no, dear. She took the stick, feeling a bit tottery, you understand. She's been using it ever since, and very useful it is, too.'

‘I thought I saw it in your hallstand.'

‘Yes, of course. Sometimes she leaves it there for days on end. But she gets bouts of, what do you call it, labyrinthitis? When her head swims? And then she uses it. But her short-term memory is going, and she doesn't always remember . . . so I brought it with me, to give it to you. Out of harm's way.'

How clever the woman was. She would have an answer for everything, no doubt. So let's test her out. ‘So it was Carrie who stretched the wire across the landing to trap Lady Ossett? Why did she do that?'

Lucy shifted uncomfortably. ‘I'm afraid dear Lady Ossett hasn't always been the soul of tact. She has often treated us like poor relations, and we have our pride, you know. Also, she kept making remarks about how convenient it was that Carrie should have managed to acquire such a good stick when everyone knew that Lavinia's relations wouldn't let anyone have so much as a cup and saucer by way of a memento. Not tactful if you have such a thin skin as my dear Carrie.'

‘You think Carrie wanted to get back at Lady Ossett by making her tumble down the stairs? Rather a dangerous prank, don't you think?'

‘Yes, well; that's what I said to her, too. But it was Sir Lucas who fell, and when Carrie told me what she'd done, I went upstairs straight away and did away with the wire.'

‘And filled in the tack holes later?'

‘As you say. I thought that would be the end of it. I was horrified when Carrie told me she'd given the caretaker a little push . . .' Lucy put her hankie to her mouth again.

Bea didn't know what to think. Was this woman really concerned for her friend or was she a monster, entirely without remorse for what she had done?

Lucy set aside her hankie and lifted a portion of cake out of the box, looking for somewhere to put it. ‘You're looking rather pale, Mrs Abbot. Can't I coax you to try a piece? It'll do you good.'

‘Yes, I'm sure it will. But not yet. Why do you think Harvey had to die?'

‘What a silly boy! He told Carrie to keep away from him or he'd tell on her, so of course she had to kill him.'

‘Not an accident, then?'

‘No, no. She pulled the typewriter down on top of him with her stick! Now you can understand why I couldn't leave it with her, can't you? Is there a plate I can put this cake on for you? And perhaps find you a fork to eat it with?'

‘Not at the moment, thank you.' Bea noticed it was getting dark outside. The nights were getting longer, and the days shorter . . . and she couldn't tell for the life of her whether Lucy was lying or not. She put on the side lamps and drew the curtains over the windows. ‘So, you want me to phone the police for you?'

Lucy had returned the cake to its box in order to dab at her eyes with her hankie again. ‘We've been such friends for so long, it makes me feel like a traitor, but I suppose you must. I tell myself that she would do the same for me, if things were different, but . . . she needs help, doesn't she? It didn't occur to me till I was on my way here, but she's been so depressed, I felt I had to do something, even if it was the wrong thing, before she . . . You understand?'

‘Not exactly, no.'

‘Her sleeping pills!' Lucy clapped her hand over her mouth and looked up at Bea with wide eyes.

Bea said, ‘You think she might commit suicide?'

‘Oh, don't say that! No, no!' The woman began to rock to and fro. ‘Not suicide! Not my dear, dear friend!'

Bea stared at Lucy, and then reached for the landline phone.

‘Who are you ringing? The police?' Mrs Emerson could move quickly when she wished. She was on her feet and at Bea's side in a trice. ‘The doctor?'

Bea said, ‘Oliver. He's nearest. He can check on her.'

Lucy laid a square hand over Bea's, preventing her from completing the number she was calling. She glanced at the clock. ‘Not yet. Give her time to . . . Give her time.'

‘Time to commit suicide? Hasn't she the right to speak for herself? Only after that can the doctors decide whether or not she's fit to stand trial.'

Lucy continued to hang on to Bea's hand. ‘No, no. You mustn't!'

‘You want her to die?'

‘Isn't that the best thing that could happen? She wants to go out with dignity. We've got to give her time.'