False Pretences (17 page)

Time passed.

‘Mrs Abbot? If you'll come this way.' She was led to a square room without any windows, dimly lit, furnished with a basic table and four chairs. Plus recording equipment. A chunkily built man in plain clothes introduced himself as DI Deltoid – at least that was what it sounded like, though surely she'd heard wrongly.

The door opened and in came Oliver. He'd lost his tie and hadn't shaved. She held out her arms, and he wrapped his around her. They'd never hugged so closely before. ‘Let's look at you,' she said, registering that he'd lost weight since the day before. He looked fierce, proud, bewildered and – yes, at the bottom there was fear. She said, ‘Your guru has been alerted and said to tell you he was working on it.'

Oliver's face softened, and he nodded.

The policeman said, ‘And this is the duty solicitor who will represent Mr Ingram.' A brown man with a brown briefcase. They all sat down, Bea next to Oliver and with her hand fast over one of his. The policeman switched on the recording equipment and recited the names of those present, with time and date of interview.

The solicitor said, ‘My client has already made a full statement with regard to his movements yesterday evening. He denies all involvement in the murder of Mrs Perrot, and there is nothing to link him to those events. However, he is anxious to help the police solve the murder and has agreed to answer questions.'

Oliver said, ‘I don't know what I can add to the statement I made last night. I met Zander yesterday about seven, we had a pizza in the High Street, and I was with him all evening, working on a computer problem until about ten fifteen. At that time we took a taxi to Zander's place. I was going to take the taxi on home, but when we saw the fire engines and the police, we both got out. And that's it.'

The policeman sighed. ‘Let's start again. Where did you go to work on this computer, and can you prove it?'

‘I was asked to be discreet about the where and why. It should be sufficient that we were together all evening.'

‘No break for coffee or going to the loo?'

‘Yes. We stopped for ten minutes, made some coffee, had it together. Time? About nine, I suppose. Talked over what we'd done. Planned what to do next. Didn't leave the office.'

‘And you won't tell me where this was?'

‘No. We were asked not to, and we won't.'

‘Zander says he works for a Trust but won't say which one, or where it is. Do you know where he works?'

Oliver's fingers twitched beneath Bea's, but he shook his head. The policeman insisted. ‘You must see that we need to know. Were you involved in some dicey activity last night, perhaps? That's the only reason I can think of why you'd need to hide your whereabouts.'

Oliver thought about that. ‘One of the directors of the Trust had died, leaving his business affairs in some disorder. The Managing Director knew I had a gift with computers. He asked me to see what I could rescue from the dead man's records. He arranged for us to be on the premises and asked us not to talk about it. We promised we wouldn't, and unless he gives permission, I won't break that promise.'

‘Name of firm? Name of Managing Director? Location of premises? You must see we need to know, so that we can check your story out. No? Let's talk about you and Zander. You are eighteen, and Zander is a good deal older. What is your relationship to him?'

The solicitor frowned, but Oliver answered straight away. ‘You can't mean what I think you are implying. Neither of us is that way inclined. I met him when he was going out with a great friend of mine. They subsequently drifted apart, but Zander and I discovered we had a lot in common, kept in touch.'

‘But you don't come from – ah – his part of Africa.'

Oliver didn't deign to reply, but rolled his eyes.

Bea pressed his hand gently. She said, ‘Oliver was born here in Britain and adopted at birth. He doesn't know who his parents were. I don't know where Zander's people came from, do you, Oliver?'

‘His father was a doctor. He was originally from Sierra Leone but practised in a hospital over here, quite legally. He married a British woman, and they produced Zander. But he made the mistake – Zander's father, I mean – of going back home, was caught up in the troubles, and killed.'

‘Two lads with chips on their shoulders, eh?'

‘No,' said Oliver. ‘Is that all you see when you look at us? The colour of our skins? I'd thought better of the police nowadays.'

‘It's still odd, though, don't you think, that a schoolboy should be friends with a man so much older?'

Oliver grinned. ‘The man I spend most of my leisure time with is in his sixties.'

‘So what do you and this man of sixty have in common?'

‘Computers. As for Zander, he knows a lot about jazz and I've begun to get interested in it. I go to a pub with him sometimes where they have live jazz. And of course, we're both into computers.'

‘So he taught you a lot?'

Oliver shrugged. ‘About jazz, yes.'

‘You'd say then, that he was the dominant character in the relationship? That, as an older man, you looked up to him?'

Oliver stared at him. ‘Fifty-fifty. I know more about computers than he does. He knows more about jazz. So what?'

‘I'm trying to work out how he got you into this mess. I can see that a schoolboy would be flattered by the attentions of an older man and willingly allow himself to be drawn into things he wouldn't otherwise consider.'

Oliver frowned. ‘Are you trying to make out that I'd happily commit a crime if Zander wanted me to? Rubbish.'

‘What I'm trying to say is that you're only a lad, who seems to have been led into crime by an older man. I'm sure the courts would see it that way.'

‘Untrue,' said Oliver.

‘I can see how easy it would have been to give your friend an alibi for the evening when he asked you to do so.'

‘We were together all evening, until we got out of the cab outside his place and were told what had happened.'

The policeman sighed. ‘You're making this difficult for yourself, lad. Why can't you see that lying for your friend is only going to get you into worse trouble?'

‘I'm not lying. Check where we had supper. I gave you the bill. Check with the taxi driver who took us back to Zander's place.'

‘Oh, we will. Of course we will. Now, let's turn to another aspect of this case. It is distressing, isn't it, when an elderly lady is bludgeoned to death and set on fire?'

Oliver's hand contracted within Bea's. ‘Is that what happened to her?'

‘It worries you to think about it? Yes, of course it does. I have some photographs here.' He pushed some photographs across the table.

Oliver looked at them, turned his head away. ‘Yes, that's distressing. She was a nice lady.'

‘She was older than your mother here. Perhaps you can imagine the same thing happening to her?'

Oliver smiled at Bea. ‘If anything like that happened to you, I'd hunt down whoever did it.'

‘But you're not bothered about who might have hurt another old lady? Because you know it was your so-called friend who did it?'

‘It wasn't him, that I do know. I suppose it was some passing thief, an opportunist burglar whom she surprised on the job.' Oliver narrowed his eyes, looked at Bea, looked down at the table. Was he too thinking of Lady Honoria? If so, he was not prepared to say so.

The detective sighed. ‘Well, now. Let's look at your friend, Zander. What do you think of him?'

Oliver shrugged. ‘I like him. I'm sorry for him—'

‘Oh. May I ask why?'

‘He's in love with one of my friends, but at the moment she won't look at him. Also, he found a job he really liked but suffered some racial abuse from one of his employers. He may have to look for something else.'

‘So he's short of money?'

Oliver shrugged. ‘We've never discussed money.'

‘Do you pay for the meal when you two go out together?'

‘No, we go Dutch.'

‘You've just left school but can afford to go Dutch with a man so much older than you?'

‘I'm well paid for what I do.'

‘By your, er, next of kin?'

The solicitor spoke up. ‘I don't think we need to go down that road.'

Bea said, ‘Oliver is my chief assistant and the main reason why my agency is so successful. He's worth every penny he gets.'

The detective gave her a dark look. ‘Very well. Now, you've been to Zander's house, how many times?'

‘Twice, I think. Yes. Twice. The first time he needed someone to hold the ladder for him while he dealt with a wasps' nest at the back of the house. Mrs Perrot couldn't climb ladders, so I held one steady while Zander went up to deal with the wasps. The second time I called for him before we went to a concert.'

‘You went into the house on both occasions?'

‘Yes. The first time Zander took me through the house and out into the garden to get the ladder. The second time I stepped into the hall to wait for him.'

‘So you know where his room is?'

‘He opened the door to his room on the ground floor to show me where he lived. A big room, very nice. I didn't go in.'

‘He showed you where the old lady slept?'

Oliver shrugged. ‘She slept upstairs, I suppose. He said she was thinking of getting a stairlift.'

‘He didn't show you where she slept? Wasn't there some little job she asked you to do for her upstairs?'

‘Zander did all her odd jobs.'

‘What I'm getting at here is that your so-called friend is using you. He was short of money, about to lose his job, knew where she kept her jewellery – because she trusted him, didn't she? – and was stealing it bit by bit. When she found out and confronted him, he hit her too hard, perhaps not meaning to kill her, and she died. He panicked, started a fire to cover his crime, and phoned you to give him an alibi . . . unless, of course, you were there with him all the time.'

‘I wasn't,' said Oliver. ‘And he didn't.'

‘You can't have it both ways, lad. Either you were in it with him, in which case you can say goodbye to the outside world for a good few years, or he gulled you into giving him an alibi. Now think about it. If you confess that he made you give him an alibi, you can walk out of here in a little while, go back home, get back to your job. You're causing your mother a lot of grief by being locked up here. So how about telling the truth for once?'

Oliver stared into space, considering the alternatives.

TEN

O
liver looked round the interview room, taking his time. Then he turned to Bea. ‘I'm really sorry to let you down like this. You'll have to get someone else in to help you.' To the detective. ‘Of course I want to be out of here, but I'm not going to lie for you or anyone. I was with Zander from about seven o'clock till about ten thirty.'

Bea squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

He twitched a smile back. His eyes were anxious, but his mouth was firm. He said to her, ‘Can you manage without me for a bit?'

‘It won't be long. Your sixty-year-old computer expert is on the case.'

He nodded. ‘Discretion's the watchword, right?'

He meant that she hadn't mentioned Mr Cambridge's name, and she nodded.

‘What's that you said?' asked the detective.

The solicitor got to his feet. ‘I really think that's it. Under the circumstances, unless you are prepared to charge my client with something, we're finished here.'

‘We've got enough to hold him on giving a false alibi. We can charge him with being an accessory to murder.'