False Money (18 page)

‘Meaning me?' CJ frowned. ‘I'm up to my neck in a big case at the Old Bailey at the moment. Fraud in a big way. I can spare an hour or two now and then, but I can't give you the amount of time you need to sort this out. On the other hand, Mrs Abbot here has an eye for detail and a knowledge of human nature which is unrivalled.'

Bea rose from her chair. ‘I run a domestic agency. I don't “do” murder.'

CJ grinned. ‘That's what you always say. Then you realize that you've spotted something no one else has seen and—'

‘No,' said Bea, reaching for her handbag. ‘I've enough on my plate already. Where's my coat?'

CJ was grinning like a basking shark. ‘What will you feel like tomorrow when you hear Duncan's been killed in the night?'

‘What?' That was Duncan. ‘I hope not.' He tried on a smile for size. It didn't fit.

‘Oh no, you don't,' said Bea to CJ. ‘I'm out of here.'

‘Or . . . Hermia?' said CJ.

Bea glared at him. Hermia was a different matter. Bea had met the girl and liked her. Chris liked her, too. It made a difference. She hesitated, but didn't resume her seat.

CJ produced a notepad in a leather holder and a silver pen. ‘Duncan, suppose you start by giving us a copy of the original agreement with a list of all those who signed it, complete with telephone, email and street addresses.'

‘I'm not at all happy about—'

‘How else do you think we're going to prevent any more deaths?'

‘But –' a wild gesture with both hands – ‘it can't be one of us. We've all known one another for ever, come from the same neck of the woods—'

‘So you're prepared for another old friend to drop dead tomorrow? No? Then give us something to work on.'

No reply.

CJ said, ‘All right. Start by telling us who was at the birthday party.'

Another wide gesture, but this time one of defeat. ‘Myself, of course. I'd only just started to go out with my girlfriend, who's a spot younger than the rest of us, so I didn't invite her. Julian, of course, who was just about to go off to Afghanistan. Then there was Hermia and her on-and-off boyfriend, Lord Fairley.'

Bea sat down again, frowning.

‘Harry. He was seeing Tomi at the time and brought her. Nick had various girls after his wife walked out on him, but he was with Shirley that night, though I don't think she thought much of him as a long-term prospect. So the ones who've survived so far are: Hermia and Jamie – that's Lord Fairley – and one of Hermia's friends, called Claudine. She's the deputy head of a big state school, a tough nut, very polished.'

‘And one more,' said CJ, who didn't need to use his fingers to do mental arithmetic. ‘That would be the old school friend whose probity you don't wish to vouch for?'

‘Gregor.' A sigh. ‘Married a Greek princess, divorced. Has had live-in partners but . . . Oh, I don't know. Gregor is probably the only one of us who's desperate for money, but this is not like him.'

‘Six men, four women. And of those, Hermia and his lordship, Gregor and Claudine survive. And you, who've been out of the country for most if not all of the period during which your fellow conspirators died.'

Duncan reddened, but kept his temper in check.

‘So, do you want us to investigate, or not?'

A mutter. ‘I suppose so.'

‘Good. Then if you'll give me a full list, we'll see what we can do to find whoever it is who's killing you off. Meanwhile, I suggest you take all reasonable precautions to avoid being alone. Mrs Abbot will start work tomorrow.'

Duncan lifted his hands, admitting defeat. He crossed to his bureau, activated a laptop, and ran off some sheets of paper on his printer. These he handed to CJ, who glanced at them and gave them to Bea. Names, addresses, and a copy of the original agreement. All present and correct.

It had started to snow again while they'd been in Duncan's flat. CJ turned on the heater in the car, and drove off. Smooth and easy. Like his car. Like himself.

He said, ‘You didn't mind being asked to look into the matter, did you? I would do it myself, if my time were not totally taken up with this case at the moment.'

Bea was annoyed. Like Macavity the cat, CJ had a nose for trouble, but when alarm bells rang, he was conspicuous by his absence. ‘You don't think I ought to be worried about going after a five times murderer? I notice you weren't offering me a bodyguard.'

‘Oh, not five. Surely. Maybe two or three. I think we can discount Julian and the girl who drove her car into a traffic accident.'

‘I wouldn't discount anyone at this point in time. Are you sure Julian was really killed in Afghanistan? Or were the rumours of his death exaggerated, and he's now back in London, disguised as a civilian, tracking down all the other members of the birthday party?'

His mouth twitched, which could be annoyance or amusement. ‘You want me to check?'

She flounced in her seat. ‘I think someone should, yes. And the car accident, too. Shirley something. That's something you could find out about with your police connections, isn't it?'

‘Aren't you intrigued by the set-up? I thought you would be, or I'd never have involved you.'

‘Humph! Pull the other one. You deliberately involved me in this because . . .'

‘Yes?' A bland look of enquiry.

‘Because,' said Bea, thinking hard, ‘you like solving puzzles. People aren't real to you. Numbers are. You don't get emotionally involved, except perhaps if Chris or one of your old friends is involved. You didn't know any of these people or their families before, did you? Ah, except for Hermia and Lord Fairley. So how well did you know them?'

‘I hold no brief for either. I know them slightly, as one knows perhaps a hundred people who trundle along in the charity and business circuits.'

‘Give me a thumbnail sketch of Hermia.'

He lifted one eyebrow. ‘You've met her. She's been seen around with this and that man in her circle, but always goes back to his lordship. Their families hope they'll walk down the aisle some time this year. It's true that I don't particularly want her playing around with Chris. She's out of his league; too old for him and too experienced.'

‘Too rich. If she's won all that money, she might do worse than finance Chris's next film.'

Silence. Bea sighed. ‘All right, what about his lordship?'

‘Known to his friends as “Jamie”. He's from an ancient line which he doesn't seem eager to perpetuate. Not exactly Brain of Britain material, but masses of boyish charm. An estate in the Shires, a house in Chelsea. Likes to shoot; birds, the winged variety. Part-time job finding country locations for a film company. Too lazy to have a career, though to do him justice, he's said to look after his estate well enough. He and Hermia go back a long way.'

‘She's twice the man he is?'

‘She has more energy, I suppose.'

Bea thought back over the evening. ‘What did you make of Duncan?'

CJ drew up outside her house and parked. ‘What did you make of him?'

‘I'm not sure. At first I thought he might be gay, but fighting it. Then I thought he wasn't. He's bright enough to have given considerable thought to the problem of who wants to bump who off, but he's not frightened enough to tell us his conclusions. All that guff about Gregor Whatsit was a red herring. I assume you'll be responsible for investigating Gregor?'

‘You think so?' He kept the engine running. ‘Do you mind if I don't come in? I rather think I've a cold coming.'

She got out and restrained herself from slamming the car door. Just.

What on earth had she let herself in for now?

Mrs explained that when she'd taken the baby to the clinic to be weighed they'd been most unpleasant. It was no fun being an elderly primate
,
as they called older women having their first babies, and how was it her fault that Pippin refused to thrive no matter how carefully she followed the routine which had been worked out for him? And her mother-in-law was being most unhelpful about giving her a helping hand about the flat and was such an interfering old bitch that Mrs had been driven to distraction.

ELEVEN

B
ea walked in on a scene of chaos. Had she been descended upon by a crowd of locusts? Every seat in the sitting room was occupied, every inch of table space covered with sheets of paper. There were empty and half empty mugs of coffee everywhere, crumbs from biscuits on the carpet and a pair of trainers, untenanted, just inside the door.

It occurred to her that if she were to continue housing her two young assistants, they must be provided with their own sitting room, preferably soundproof. Tomorrow morning first thing she would investigate how to turn the large junk room in the eaves over to youth.

Her arrival caused heads to turn.

‘Oh, sorry!' said a scratty looking youth, removing the trainers and stuffing his feet back into them. ‘I think better with bare feet.'

‘Um?' said Oliver, who was lying prone on the floor for some reason. Scrutinizing a script? ‘You're back, then?'

‘Sorry,' said Maggie, trying to sweep the papers on the table into a manageable pile. ‘The kitchen table wasn't big enough.'

Chris got to his feet, with one of his most charming grins. ‘We were trying to work on a storyboard. Hermia's a genius, but she's also a slave driver.' Bea looked hard at him and realized he knew nothing about lottery wins, nor that Hermia was – on paper at least – a millionairess.

Hermia had been standing at the back window, staring up at the picture of Bea's husband, but now returned to where she'd left her laptop open on the settee. She'd fluffed out her hair and was wearing a touch of blusher as well as lipstick today.

A girl with blazing red hair and high cheekbones had a sketch pad on her knee and was working on it with a soft pencil. Not an actress, but an artist, sketching in possible backgrounds?

Hermia was playing at being a film producer. ‘So sorry, Mrs Abbot. We have rather taken over, haven't we?'

Bea wanted to hit Hermia, but refrained. There were other people in the room who hadn't been introduced, but the two women might have been alone. Messages passed from one to the other.

Hermia communicated, without words, that she'd staked her claim to work on Chris's next film.

Also without words, Bea made it clear to Hermia that she was not a happy bunny at this invasion of her territory, and that she objected to Hermia's taking Chris over.

Bea smiled at everyone. ‘Carry on, children. Don't worry about me. I'm for a cup of cocoa and early bed. Hermia; a word?'

Hermia snapped off her laptop and followed Bea out to the kitchen.

What Bea wanted to ask Hermia was whether she was serious about Chris or not, but she didn't. Hermia would tell her to take a running jump. Politely, of course.

Bea opened fire from a different angle. ‘CJ and I have just been talking to Duncan. He's told us all about the lottery. I understand you gave your permission for us to see what we could do to help.'

Hermia was wearing brown and cream, a cowl-necked jumper over well-cut trousers; cashmere and silk. With a pair of the most beautiful leather boots Bea had ever seen. Bea liked boots and yearned for a pair like them. Before she could stop herself, she said, ‘Beautiful boots. Where did you get them?'

‘Milan. I do a lot of my clothes shopping there.'

Of course. How parochial Hermia made Bea feel. She mixed cocoa and milk in a mug and put it in the microwave. ‘Do you agree with Duncan that someone has been knocking you off, one by one?'