She turned and stared hard at Laura.
‘Does this child know the difference between right and wrong?’
‘Not completely, but I think we can get there. She just needs a bit of time now.’
‘Understood. What the hell did a girl like you marry a swine like Hugo for? You don’t look the avaricious type? You’re pretty enough, and you don’t appear to be thick - although I accept that appearances can be deceptive?’
Laura couldn’t help but smile. She thought that Beatrice deserved the truth. She tried to explain how she was bowled over by a man that gave so much of his life to a charity that supported women in such an overt way. She knew she had put him on a pedestal, and had either failed to see his flaws or had tried to excuse them. Hugo had been unlike anybody she had ever met before. He was sophisticated, charming, and he lived a life that somebody like Laura had only ever dreamed of. She had often wondered how much she’d been influenced by his money and power, and hated the thought that either had played a part in her obsession with him. And she hadn’t recognised for a long time that the thin line between consideration and control had been crossed.
Beatrice listened attentively, one arm resting on the balustrade. They still hadn’t moved from the hall.
‘I thought I loved him, Beatrice. I really did. ‘
‘But you were wrong, weren’t you?’ Beatrice responded, not without sympathy.
‘Yes. I was wrong. But it took me a long time to work that out, and by then it was too late.’
‘What do you mean, too late? It’s never too late. What stopped you from leaving?’
Laura was prevented from answering the question by the peal of the doorbell. It had to be the police as she knew the front gate was closed. Sure enough, when she opened the door an anxious looking Tom Douglas was standing there with Becky Robinson. Tom smiled at her with genuine apology, but when her eyes met his she had to admit to herself that she was oddly pleased to see him.
‘I’m really sorry to disturb you so late, Laura. But I do need to talk to you again. Is it okay if we come in?’
Tom stepped into the hall, and stopped when he saw Beatrice.
‘I’m sorry, Laura. I didn’t realise that you had a guest.’
‘It’s okay, Tom. This is Beatrice. Hugo’s sister. Beatrice, this is Detective Chief Inspector Tom Douglas.’
Tom looked intrigued.
‘How long have you been in the country, Mrs…?’
‘Lekkas. And I’ve just arrived today, so if you’re wondering if I killed him, the answer’s no - although whoever did probably deserves a hearty round of applause!’
Laura had to smile at Tom’s startled look. Beatrice’s outspoken and forthright manner took a bit of getting used to, but she was liking her more by the minute. He recovered quickly.
‘You might be able to help,’ Tom said. ‘Look, do you mind if we go and sit down. We desperately need to pick your brains.’ He gave Laura another contrite smile.
‘Glad to be of help, if I can,’ Beatrice responded. ‘Where to, Laura? The dreadful drawing room?’
Without waiting for an answer she marched off, her shoes making that strange squelching noise peculiar to cheap trainers. Tom looked at Laura and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Laura gave him a brief grin, then turned to follow Beatrice. She had certainly lightened the atmosphere.
*
As Tom took his seat in the drawing room, he thought about what Mrs Lekkas has said about killing Hugo. Apparently it seemed impossible for
anybody
to have killed him. And everybody close to him, with the exception of Alexa, seemed delighted by his demise. But the arrival of Hugo’s sister might be the stroke of luck they needed. He realised that he might have to handle this lady with care, though. She may be in for a shock when she found out what they were investigating as part of Hugo’s murder enquiry.
‘Mrs Lekkas I’d…’
‘Stick to Beatrice. I lost all sense of formality years ago.’
‘Beatrice. I don’t want to alarm you or upset you unnecessarily, but we have some suspicions about your brother’s behaviour. We’re not making sufficient progress, though. Laura, how do you feel about sharing this with Beatrice?’
It was Beatrice that answered. She may have lost all sense of formality, but she certainly had an ingrained view of her own importance.
‘She won’t have a problem, will you Laura? Tom, is it? I think that’s what Laura called you?’ Without waiting for Tom to confirm or otherwise, she carried on.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised at anything you tell me about my brother’s behaviour. A chip off the old block, if you ask me. How he could emulate somebody he so clearly hated is beyond me. But ours not to reason why. What do you want to know, Chief Inspector?’
Tom glanced at Laura, who gave a brief nod.
‘You’re right, it is Tom, and before I go on Beatrice, can I just explore that comment with you? The one about Hugo hating his father? We’ve looked through the information regarding your father’s death and whilst the general view was suicide, there was quite a lot of evidence that suggested foul play, hence the open verdict. Do you think that Hugo could have killed him?’
‘No. He didn’t. He hated him, but he didn’t kill him. Next question.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Tom persisted.
‘Absolutely. If you want my cooperation I would be grateful if we could move on.’
Fascinating as it might be, Tom realised the past could wait.
‘Right. Not only are we investigating your brother’s murder, but we are also looking into the possibility that he was using some of the prostitutes rescued by his charity for his own purposes. Several are missing, and there has to be a link. Maybe a scorned woman is at the root of his murder.’
Beatrice’s smile was entirely without humour.
‘If I were you, I would assume the worst where Hugo is concerned. I think that he would have been using the prostitutes in any way that he saw fit - probably for as long as the charity has been going. My father ran a similar effort, although on a much smaller scale and with local girls only, but it was entirely for his amusement.’ Beatrice paused. Her eyes narrowed as if she were recalling events from her past, and wasn’t enjoying the moment.
‘He used to insist on being present at the physical examination of each ‘saved’ girl,’ she continued. ‘It’s a long time ago, and back then it was generally thought acceptable for some bizarre reason. Same, no doubt, as teachers caning small boys on their bare bottoms. Father said that he should be considered as a doctor, and nobody should worry about his presence. Actually he was just a pervert. So if Hugo’s been playing, I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. I’m just amazed he hasn’t been found out.’
She looked at Tom, and he could sense a trace of shame in the glance, as though the sins of the fathers were the responsibility of their offspring.
‘If he took them as his mistress,’ Tom said, ‘it looks as if he had a pretty high turnover with a new one every few months. What do you think would happen to them when he’s finished with them, Beatrice?’
She thought for a moment.
‘If you’re asking for a bet, I’d say that he paid them off. He probably sent them as far away as possible too - so that they couldn’t bump into any of their old friends. If he was anything like his father, he would do whatever he had to in order to avoid a scandal.’ She shook her head. Tom thought she probably regretted being dragged into this. He looked at both the women sitting opposite him. He was so close, but the final puzzle piece was still missing.
‘The problem is, we’re having enormous trouble proving any of this, or tracing any of the girls. We need to know where he’s been taking them. We might find some evidence there that will point us in the right direction. Can you think of any place from your childhood that he might have taken them, Beatrice, because we’ve explored every other option?’
Tom was literally sitting on the edge of his seat, impatient and desperate for any sort of clue and hoping that his sense of urgency would communicate itself to everybody in the room.
But Beatrice didn’t appear to have anything of significance to contribute.
‘I only knew him until he was about ten, but if he’s anything like his parents I imagine that his fame and reputation were rather important to him.’ She looked at Laura, who nodded in agreement. ‘Then it wouldn’t be anywhere where he could be caught.’ Beatrice shook her head. ‘Nowhere immediately springs to mind, I’m afraid.’
Tom leaned back in the chair. One step forward, two steps backward was how it seemed to him. It was so bloody frustrating.
‘This whole theory about the missing prostitutes being involved in his murder might be a complete red herring,’ he said. ‘But we’ve nothing else to go on at the moment.’
He turned towards Laura.
‘Becky will have told you, Laura, that we’ve been questioning Jessica, but we checked her phone records, and she can prove conclusively that she was on the phone at the time Hugo was killed. She was speaking - or rather listening - to her aunt at the time, and the aunt has confirmed this. Jessica didn’t tell us because apparently she didn’t see why she should have to account for her movements, if you can believe her arrogance. And of course we’ve failed to get any further with your sister-in-law.’ He knew that was the wrong thing to say as soon as he’d opened his mouth. Laura was quick to respond.
‘Tom, I know you don’t believe this, but I am one hundred per cent certain that she did not kill Hugo. You’ve told me that it was sex related, and they hated each other. If she offered him sex, he would have turned it down. Will is the only man for her.’
Beatrice interrupted. ‘Excuse me, but who is your sister-in-law, and who is Will?’
‘I’m sorry, Beatrice. Will is my brother. His ex-wife was my best friend for many years, and she’s been here offering me support since Hugo died. Her name’s Imogen.’
‘Thank you, Laura,’ Beatrice paused and her face creased into a puzzled frown.
‘
Imogen
. Why does that name mean something? Quiet, if you please. I need to think.’
Tom and Laura exchanged another look. Becky had been silently taking notes throughout this exchange, but even she looked up at this comment and briefly glanced at Tom and then Laura with raised eyebrows. Two or three minutes passed. Tom was beginning to get restless. He didn’t really have time for this. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Beatrice spoke again.
‘Got it. I knew I would. When I was a child, I had a friend called Imogen. Do you know, I’d forgotten all about her, but when we were on holiday she often saved me from a fate worse than death.’
Beatrice looked extremely pleased with herself, but the rest of the people in the room were entirely underwhelmed by this revelation. She glanced from one to the other.
‘Don’t you see - that’s where he’s taken them. It’s where we used to go on holiday, and it’s only a couple of hours from here at the most, and the ideal private spot.’
Tom was certain that this was going to be important, but at this moment he felt like shaking Beatrice to get the information out of her. He knew he sounded exasperated, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘
Where
Beatrice? You haven’t told us
where
?’
Beatrice turned her face to Tom’s and looked shamefaced.
‘Oh Lord, I’m so sorry! I got a bit carried away with my own cleverness. After my aunt - my mother’s sister, that is - was killed in a car accident along with her husband, their property was left to my mother. We never went there when they were alive, because the husband was a farmer and was considered beneath us.’
Tom thought he was in danger of losing it with Beatrice any minute now. He counted to ten slowly. But she hadn’t yet reached the climax of her story and seemed determined to take her time.
‘We visited the farm a few times after mother inherited it for much over-rated family holidays. Dreadful occasions. That’s when I met Imogen. I knew the name was important.’
Beatrice sat back with a self-satisfied air. Tom, on the other hand, was champing at the bit.
‘Beatrice, forgive me for being rude, but where the hell are we talking about? Where is this farm?’
Beatrice bit her bottom lip and nodded, as if realising that she had missed the crucial point.
‘Ah yes, I imagine that would be helpful. It’s near Lytchett Minster in Dorset. I don’t know what the place is actually called, we always referred to it as Lytchett Minster Farm.’
There was a moment’s silence. Tom’s heart was racing, and with the exception of Beatrice, nobody in the room missed the significance of the name.
The spell was broken as Will and Imogen, closely followed by Stella, appeared in the open doorway - as if the charged atmosphere had permeated the whole house and drawn them like moths to a flame. Tom rudely ignored them and sat forward in his seat, imploring Beatrice to just tell him where in God’s name he should be looking.
‘Beatrice, I need you to tell me as much as you can about the farm. Do you have the address?’ he asked.
‘No. I’m not sure I ever knew it.’
‘Okay. Can you describe it at all, to give the locals something to go on. They might be able to pinpoint it for us. We’ll give them the name Fletcher to check out, but something tells me that might be a waste of time.’
‘Oh Lord, Tom, it was so long ago. Let me think.’
To Tom’s frustration she paused again, but thankfully this time only for a couple of seconds.
‘All I can remember is that it was in the middle of nowhere - at least it was then. No doubt it will be surrounded by identical red brick semi detached boxes now.’
Although that wasn’t particularly helpful, there was a buzz of excitement in the room that was strangely at odds with the seriousness of the occasion. Tom leapt up out of his chair.
‘Right. I need to get to Dorset as quickly as possible. Becky - get on to the local force and see if we can identify the property with them. Beatrice - much as I hate to ask given the fact that you’ve had a long journey already today - it would be extremely useful if you could come with me. You can stay in the car when we arrive, but if there’s any doubt about the location, we might need your help. Would you be prepared to do this?’