False Pretences (20 page)

Bea mused, ‘I wonder what Honoria made of it.'

Oliver shrugged. ‘If she knew how he'd disguised the files. She might have thought they were all pretty pictures of girls in their underwear, which a lot of them are.'

The front doorbell rang, and Zander – who was nearest the door – went to collect their food, and pay for it.

Bea said they shouldn't discuss Trust affairs in the garden, so they ate round the kitchen table, with Maggie perched on a typing chair brought up from below.

Silence ruled for a while. Even from Chris, who Bea imagined might be making notes of everything for future use. The boys had seconds, but Bea refused.

She said, ‘The more I think about it, the more I believe Honoria was the brains behind the scam. Oh, of course it was Denzil's idea to use girlie pictures as a front for his secrets, but that grubby little soul of his was surely not intelligent enough to devise the systematic fleecing of the Trust over such a long period of time. The fifty pounds he gave away every month is not sufficiently large a bribe to attract anyone at director level, so I think Mr Cambridge was right in suspecting it went to the office manageress. That would be Denzil's little secret. But for the rest . . . Did Mr Cambridge find anything he could use in the deleted files, or in the HP Gallery?'

Zander eyed the last spring roll as it was transferred to Chris's plate. ‘He said he needed to have a go at the hard drive on the original machine, so we switched computers over. The one now sitting in Denzil's office contains a record of his current files, transferred via the memory stick, while Mr Cambridge took Denzil's original computer back to his place to spend more time on it.'

‘I'd like to see him working on that,' said Oliver. ‘I asked if he'd let me help him, and he said “maybe”. Only then it was time to break for the night, we took a taxi back to Zander's, and the sky fell on us.'

Bea switched the kettle on to make some tea while Maggie gathered up all the empty plates and dishes. Winston the cat leaped on to the table, scenting food. Oliver picked him up to give him a cuddle. For an eighteen-year-old, Oliver had survived the day wonderfully well, but suddenly he looked exhausted. Had he slept at all the previous night? Probably not.

Bea distributed mugs of tea all round. ‘Do you two want to talk about what you saw at Mrs Perrot's?'

Oliver buried his face in the cat's fur. Winston blinked but allowed himself to be caressed.

Zander shook himself back from whatever hell he'd been looking into. ‘When we finished at the Trust, we helped Mr Cambridge into a taxi with his laptop, and I locked up. Oliver and I waited for another taxi. When we got to my place – to Mrs Perrot's place – we saw there were fire engines outside, two of them. And police cars. So we both got out. I said who I was, and they asked if there was anyone else living there, and I said yes, and was Mrs Perrot all right.'

He cleared his throat. ‘I was really fond of her, you know? She always had a smile, could always find time to talk to people, in the shops, everywhere. She used to do the flowers at church once a month, and in her younger days she taught in the Sunday school, though they call it Junior Church nowadays. She ran the Women's Hour midweek and collected for Christian Aid. I was going to trim her privet hedge this weekend and tie back a climbing rose which had come away from its trellis.

‘Her daughter went to live in Australia twenty years ago, and she's only seen her grandchildren once in all that time. There's a nephew comes around occasionally, but she told me he was a bit of a cad – that's the way she put it. “A bit of a cad.” He's been three times through the divorce courts and tries to get out of paying maintenance. She doesn't – didn't – like him much. Said he was just like her brother, who apparently . . . Oh well, what's the use! I'm going to miss her enormously.'

He shuddered. ‘I can't bear to think of her last few minutes. If only we'd finished earlier . . . but the police said it looked as if she died about nine o'clock when we were still working.'

‘What do you think happened?' asked Chris.

‘I don't know. A burglary that went wrong? She had some nice pieces of jewellery, and it was a big old house. Perhaps it was some passer-by, some drug addict, who thought she'd have money in the house?'

They were all quiet. Oliver yawned, cavernously.

Zander tried to smile. ‘Well, it was lucky for us that Mr Cambridge could give us an alibi. We'll let the police sort it.' He looked at his watch. ‘I thought they'd have contacted me by now to say when I can fetch my things. I'm desperate for a shower.'

‘And a good night's sleep,' said Oliver, yawning again. ‘Sorry, everyone. I'm bushed.'

Zander stood up and stretched. ‘Chris, I forgot to tell your father, what with everything else that's been happening. My predecessor at the office rang me yesterday afternoon, asking me to go out to see her, somewhere in Uxbridge, I think. Said she had some information for me, wouldn't give any details. I thought she might have something useful to tell us about Denzil's little habits so I said I'd go, but then of course your father wanted us to do a spot of detective work, so I rang her back to make another appointment. She was out, so I left a message. I don't know whether it's worth following up now. With what we've found on the computer, I don't suppose it matters.'

The doorbell rang. Bea was nearest. Two plain-clothes policemen, calling for Zander. He came out of the kitchen, unafraid, looking at his watch. ‘You mean I get an escort to pick up my things? Have you found out who did it yet?'

They arrested him. Formally. For the theft of Mrs Perrot's jewellery, which they'd found hidden in his toilet bag and under his mattress.

‘What!' Zander blinked, took half a step back. ‘But I didn't! I wouldn't!'

Bea believed him.

The police didn't. ‘Come along now.'

‘Mrs Abbot, believe me, I didn't!'

‘I believe you,' said Bea, trying to think what this might mean.

‘I've been framed!' said Zander, reaching the truth.

‘Don't try that on with us, lad,' said the larger of the policemen. ‘We don't go round planting jewellery. We just find it where you've hidden it.'

Bea said, ‘Zander, say “no comment” to everything. I'll see what I can do about getting you a good solicitor.'

‘Save your money, love,' said the larger policeman. ‘He can't wriggle out of this one, no matter who he gets to give him an alibi.'

Zander gave one despairing look around and went with the policemen. Bea closed the door and leaned against it.

Excitable Chris was already on his mobile phone. ‘Dad; you'll never guess what . . .!'

Oliver subsided on to his stool, eyes wild. Suddenly he looked ten years old, a small boy wanting his mother.

Maggie mopped up tears, sniffing, urging Oliver to his feet. ‘Come on; bed for you. Things will look better in the morning.'

Would they? wondered Bea.

Oliver shuffled past her to the stairs, Maggie's arm around him. He stopped on the first step, looked back at Bea. ‘He was framed, wasn't he? By Honoria?'

‘I don't know,' said Bea, holding back misery. ‘She wouldn't kill Mrs Perrot just to get back at Zander, would she? I mean . . . Surely not.' The idea settled into Bea's mind, and suddenly she was convinced that this was exactly what Honoria would do.

Oliver shook his head. He held on to the banister to help him climb the stairs. Maggie encouraged him along, saying, ‘There, now. You can do it.'

Chris held his phone out to Bea. ‘The man wants a word.'

She took it from him. ‘Yes?'

‘They say women are better judges of other women than men can ever be. Is Honoria capable of killing an old lady and framing Zander for it?'

‘Yes.'

‘You seem very sure of it.'

‘I am now. Remember that she tried to frame him for stealing the statuette? Suppose I hadn't been able to prove he was innocent, and she insisted on calling the police? He'd have gone to prison.'

‘So he would. Luckily I could provide them with an alibi for last night, though I had to go against Tommy's wishes to do so. He really doesn't want the problems at the Trust splashed all over the tabloids, but when it comes to murder . . . I did hope we'd got over that piece of rough ground successfully.'

‘I agree that, between you and Oliver, you can clear Zander of Mrs Perrot's murder. The theft of the jewellery is another matter because they can say he could have taken it earlier. They could even say she discovered what he was doing so he got an accomplice to kill her at a time when he had a good alibi. I need to get him a good solicitor.'

‘I'll do that for you. Tell me, where do you stand on this?'

‘I'm not bound to respect Lord Murchison's feelings. If it looks as if Zander is to go to prison for theft, I'll tell the police what I know.'

‘Which might not help Zander.'

‘It would muddy the waters – and it would make you concentrate on clearing him.'

‘You have too much faith in my abilities.'

‘Don't give up. I've just remembered something. Zander said he'd had a call from the previous office manageress yesterday afternoon, asking him to pay her a visit last night. He agreed, but then you asked him to help with Denzil's computer so he couldn't go. He rang her back to make his apologies, but she was out, so he left a message. I wonder now if that phone call to him was a decoy, intended to take him out on a false errand. Because if he'd gone and not found her at home, he wouldn't have had an alibi for the murder, would he?'

‘This takes some thinking about. Mrs Abbot—'

‘I think you might call me “Bea”, don't you?'

‘Very well. And I'm CJ. Tommy said he'd never seen anyone cope with Honoria as you did. I wonder if you could think yourself into her shoes, tell us what she's likely to do next.'

Bea snorted. ‘As in, flattery will get you everywhere? I should hate to think myself into Honoria's mind. I don't want to get suicidally depressed.'

‘You think she's suicidal? Now that's interesting. I hadn't thought of her that way.'

‘Of course not. It's me who might get suicidal – oh, leave it, will you? It's been a long day, and I've got other important things on my mind apart from you and your Trust.'

He sounded amused. ‘Most women retreat from confrontation, I find. Sleep on it. I'll ring you tomorrow, early.' The phone went dead.

Chris's eyes gleamed. ‘Isn't this exciting? Oh, and awful, too, of course.'

Bea couldn't help laughing. Painful laughter. With tears. ‘Oh, Chris! How could you?'

He patted her awkwardly on her shoulder. ‘I know, I know. I'm terrible. But if I'm going to make good films one day, I need to understand how people cope with life. Cheer up. Dad'll sort it.'

Bea blew her nose. ‘Of course. Thank you, Chris. You've been great.'

‘Anything else I can do?'

She shook her head, saw him out into the dusk. Was it really that late? She cleared up in the kitchen, closed and locked the grilles over the windows, fed Winston, who had laid himself fatly out on the work surface. Thought over the conversation with CJ – what was his name? Was he another Christopher, perhaps?

One thing for sure: she was not, definitely not, going to try to get into Honoria's mind. That way madness lay. She went up to bed.

She prayed a bit. Was too tired to read her Bible. And against all the odds, for she hadn't thought she could, she slept.

She fought herself out of a nightmare. Daylight. Birds singing. Another blue sky day.

Maggie put a cup of tea on the bedside table. Maggie was dressed but hadn't put on her war paint yet. ‘Oliver won't get out of bed.'

Bea yawned, leaned on one elbow to grab her tea. ‘Exhausted emotionally, I expect. He's only eighteen, after all.'

‘Nearly nineteen. Should I let him be?'

Bea sipped tea. Maggie had put sugar in it. Ugh. Maybe Maggie thought sugared tea was good for shock, but Bea was shockproof after all that had happened, wasn't she? ‘Yes, let him be. Did he sleep all right?'

‘I could hear him tossing around every time I woke. His bed creaks.'

Bea nodded. The girl's eyes were deeply shadowed, but she'd shown her quality by getting up and getting going. Maggie wasn't eighteen any more. Maggie was five years older than Oliver and had learned a thing or two about getting through the hot spots of life. She didn't mention Zander.

Bea swallowed sugary tea and tried not to make a face at it. ‘Mr Cambridge is going to get Zander a good solicitor. He wants me to think myself into Honoria's mind, find out what she'll do next.'

‘Yuk,' said Maggie and went away to start breakfast. ‘Sooner you than me.'

Bea got herself ready for the day while making lists in her mind as to what needed doing first, second and third. And if this or that were to happen, what she might do about it.

Oliver didn't appear at breakfast. The house seemed unusually quiet. Bea thought they were waiting for something to happen. But what could happen now?

Maggie was listless but agreed to resume her normal activities. The electrician must be appeased for having been stood up the day before, and she had to chase up some kitchen units which ought to have been delivered and hadn't. Unsmiling, Maggie took some breakfast up to Oliver, and she reported to Bea that he was awake but pretending to be asleep when she went in.