Found Guilty at Five (12 page)

T
WENTY-
T
WO

E
ZEKIEL
P
ARSONS WAS IN A PANIC.
A
KIKO HAD REFUSED TO
eat or drink, and seemed unable to wake up properly whenever he took her food. He realised with dismay that he would be forced to release her if this went on. Nakamasa was still furious, and rejecting all suggestions from Parsons that he should meet the blackmailer’s demands. He persisted in his certainty that Akiko had run off to a secret location with James Meade.

Parsons had placed the latest anonymous message, naming the point where the money should be left. He had thought long and hard about this, and in the end named a hollow behind the statue of William Huskisson, who was killed in the first railway accident, commemorated in Pimlico Gardens on the Thames embankment. He had used this hiding place before, and as far as he knew, nobody else had discovered it.

He had been thinking desperately of some way of dealing with his rapidly declining prisoner. It would be disaster if he had to deliver up a lifeless body to the boss! Then he remembered something Nakamasa had said in his fury. He had blamed “that upstart English pianist,” and had cursed and said he was sure that if they found him, they would find Akiko also.

The old man had searched around in his daughter’s bedroom and found an address book with Meade’s details. “Find him, Parsons,” he had said triumphantly, and now Ezekiel could see a possible solution to his problem. He would find Meade and persuade him that Akiko needed to see him, and offer to take him to find her. If Meade fell for it, and he could get him into the nun’s cell, then lover boy’s presence would surely cheer her up. After that, what? Hand Meade over to Nakky?

He was finding it difficult to think straight. All those years living in comfort at Nakky’s expense had softened his brain. More thinking needed, but for now, immediate action was more important. He must keep a watch on Meade’s flat, and nab him as soon as possible. It could be a matter of life or death.

*   *   *

I
N HIS FLAT,
J
AMIE DOZED IN AN ARMCHAIR, EXHAUSTED FROM
anxiety alternating with optimism, and now was awoken by his telephone ringing.

“Hello? Who is it? Mrs. T-J. Sorry, didn’t recognise your voice. How can I help?”

“It’s I who can help you. Now, please listen quietly. I have a friend who lives in North London, with an address very near to your flat. Remember I called on you? Well, it seemed familiar at the time, but I could not recall who I knew living in the same postcode area. Then, as often happens, when I was least expecting it, the name came to me. I have telephoned him and asked how near he was to your address. Very near, it transpired. In fact, he lives just around the corner. I explained that I was looking for a Japanese girl who might have been outside your flat some days ago, and he remembered immediately.”

“Which day?” Jamie reached across for an apple and began to munch.

“The right one. Now, if I may continue? He said he was about to cross the road and ask if he could help. She looked very upset, he said. A policeman appeared and began to talk to her, and then she suddenly stood up and with an admirable burst of speed, sprinted to where a car was waiting with the engine running, jumped in and the car drove off. All this happened in less than five minutes, and my friend walked on home. Until I questioned him, he had forgotten it completely.”

“And do you think it was Akiko?” said Jamie, already sure it was her, but wanting to humour the old dear. After all, she was going to a lot of trouble on his behalf.

“Unquestionably. Jamie, are you eating something? Frightful noise. Anyway, you will know what to do next. I shall keep looking out for clues,” she said enthusiastically. “I think your mother is finding my contributions quite helpful, you know.”

“Um, yes. Thanks a lot. Really interesting and useful.” Jamie looked at his watch. He was still hungry, and got up to look in the fridge. “I do appreciate all you’re doing on my behalf, Mrs. T-J,” he said.

T
WENTY-
T
HREE

F
EELING IN NEED OF FRESH AIR,
L
OIS HAD ASSURED
G
RAN
she would be back in time for supper, and set off to see Josie. They could sit in her garden and have a chat about this and that. It would make a much-needed break from Gran’s endless advice on what should be done about Jamie.

Now she was admiring all the latest additions to Josie’s new home, and was amused to see her daughter, previously a very casual housekeeper, now a house-proud wife. There were fresh flowers carefully arranged for the small sitting room, and pleasant prints had been hung in the tiny hall. Josie and Matthew had taken to hunting around antique fairs at the weekend, and had found several nice pieces of Royal Worcester porcelain.

“I suppose you’ve never spotted a valuable cello on your bargain hunts?” Lois said, gratefully downing a large gin and tonic.

Josie shook her head. “You don’t see many musical instruments at the kind of events we go to. Car boot sales, charity auctions, that kind of thing. Cellos would be in specialist fairs, I expect. Anyway, I wouldn’t know a cello from a banjo! Do you really think it’ll turn up?”

“Who knows? I suppose it might. But sometimes things are stolen to order, and it’s more likely to appear at a recital, being played by an up-and-coming musician with money to spend.”

“Well, we can still go on looking. You never know. And, by the way, Mum, I’ve been thinking about that gamekeeper. I reckon he’s a red herring as far as we’re concerned.”

Lois laughed, and said Cowgill obviously thought that he was. “But I’ve always reckoned that in villages, anything out of kilter is worth looking at, and he’s certainly out of the usual run of gamekeepers. Of course, the Norringtons wouldn’t have a clue what to look for. They should have asked Derek to give him the once-over. Mind you, we’ve got enough to worry about, without dodgy gamekeepers on our patch.”

“Poor Mum! Your ferretin’ has landed you on your own doorstep, hasn’t it. What’s new with Jamie?”

“Nothing much. Just the odd call to say he was all right, and getting back to practising ready for a solo concert. I tried to find out if he was planning anything stupid, like bearding the giant Nakamasa in his den. But you know how stubborn Jamie can be. He sidestepped most of my questions, and said that he was sure Akiko would return, singing and dancing, and with a perfectly good explanation for her absence. I didn’t believe him for one minute, but I think he was trying to shut me up.”

“He’s an idiot in some ways. Always was a bit of a mother’s boy.”

“Josie! You know that’s not true. I admit I worried about him when he was trying to get started as a professional pianist. But he’s made his way by himself. You have to give him that. Anyway, he said not to worry. Some hopes!”

“Oh dear,” said Josie. “
Should
we be worried, Mum?”

“I never stop, about any of you,” said Lois. “You’ll find out one day. When you have kids you’ll find out worrying don’t end when they’re grown up. Well, thanks for the drink, love. I must be getting back, else Gran will accuse me of slacking. It’s been very nice, Josie, and I’m glad you and Matthew are so happy.”

*   *   *

M
ELANIE
N
ORRINGTON WAS WORKING LATE IN THE CHAPEL
shop, totting up her accounts. It had been a good day, with plenty of visitors. Although she had reservations about opening all week, she was still feeling her way to running a business and never knew when an idle shopper might come in for a look around. Any day could be good, especially when they had an event in the park. She was still tidying up and counting up the takings when a call came in from Geoff.

“Hi, Mel,” he said. “Forgot to tell you this morning. The gamekeeper has imported a woman. Introduced herself as Diana. I went round to his cottage to tell him arrangements for next weekend, and there she was. No sign of him. She said he would be back, but they were both going away for a day or so. Not so much as a by-your-leave!”

“Thank God for that,” muttered Melanie. “Good riddance, say I. I didn’t take to that Foster at all. You can tell him not to bother to come back. Was the woman his wife? I don’t think he mentioned that at interview?”

“Did you say something, Mrs. Norrington?” asked Dot Nimmo, popping up from cleaning behind the shelves. She had insisted on doing overtime to finish sorting out the vestry.

“No, Dot. Just a piece of good news from Geoff. Makes a change, I can tell you!”

“I don’t mean to be nosey, but do I gather that the handsome gamekeeper has got a fancy woman installed?” Dot was incurably nosey, but had a knack of getting away with it. Most people ended up liking her a lot, and as a long-service member of the New Brooms team, she considered it her duty to be also on the lookout for snippets of information that might help the boss in her ferretin’ activities. Needless to say, she did not approve Mrs. T-J as Lois’s new deputy.

Melanie, always glad of someone to talk to, answered that the gamekeeper had indeed gone off without a word to anyone. His fancy woman, Diana, was on the point of following him, she said.

“I should check to see if he’s taken anything with him,” said Dot wisely. “That sort are very fly. They look around, make a plan and before you can say Jack Robinson, they’ve disappeared with the best silver.”

“Do you really think so? I must say it has occurred to me that when I’m here in the shop, the house is often quite empty. I always mean to lock up, but the chapel is so close, I think I’ll know if someone is hanging around. But I wouldn’t, would I?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Dot firmly, and began vigorously polishing the top of the counter. “I should go and check now, if I were you. I’ll wait while you’re gone.”

T
WENTY-
F
OUR

W
HEN
L
OIS ARRIVED BACK AT THE HOUSE,
G
RAN WAS
simmering with excitement and spluttered that she had something very important to tell her.

“Not Jamie?” said Lois immediately.

Gran shook her head. “No, no. The lad is fine, as far as I know. No, it was Mrs. Norrington. She rang to say she was talking to Dot Nimmo in the chapel shop, and they got on to the subject of the gamekeeper. Foster, his name is. You know, him what started work at the hall. He’s run off, and Dot sent Mrs. Norrington out of the shop to check the silver and her jewellery. You know, Lois, she’s got some really good stuff.”

“Mum—get to the point. When did she ring?”

“While you were at Josie’s. In a dreadful state.”

“Did he take the lot?”

“No, worse than that.” Gran paused dramatically.

“Mum!”

“Well, when she got back into the house, her eyes met a dreadful scene . . .”

“Mum!” repeated Lois, beginning to smile.

“It’s no laughing matter, young woman,” said Gran. “The poor thing was distraught when she rang. Not ten minutes ago. If you’d come back on time, you’d have talked to her.”

“So what had happened, Mum?”

“The house had been trashed. At least, the kitchen and the dining room. He was obviously looking for silver, but the Norringtons had the sense to keep it hidden safely. But everything had been pulled out of cupboards. All broken pottery and glass. And wine spilt everywhere, mixed up with tomato ketchup and milk. Ugh! I can just imagine it. Enough to unhinge anybody, that was!”

“Sounds like a deliberate mess,” Lois said. “Was anything valuable taken?”

“Well, that’s the peculiar thing. Nothing she has discovered so far. She’s sent for the police, of course, and rang here to see if you or one of the girls could possibly help to clear it all up.”

“Certainly will. But first I’ll go straight over there and have a look around. Thanks, Mum. I’m sure you gave her good support. She’ll need it. This is the second time she’s been burgled, remember? The first time was before they moved. And by the way,” she added, “did she have any idea who could have done it?”

“Not really, but she did say that on top of all that trouble, their gamekeeper had disappeared, so naturally he is number one suspect.”

*   *   *

F
OSTER WAS CONGRATULATING HIMSELF ON HIS LUCK.
M
RS.
Norrington had left the house unlocked when she went up to the chapel shop, and he had been in and out in fifteen minutes. Trashing was one of his special skills, and he was particularly proud of this one. It was like an addiction, he had been told by a no-good shrink. At least nobody ever got hurt in his trashing forays. But he usually took the precaution of getting away for a bit until things calmed down.

He had left the hall and made straight for Last Resort House at Waltonby. He was an habitual client and was certain he would be taken in. Fortunately, he knew of certain questionable deals involving musical instruments, part of a lucrative scam worked by the man in charge, Solomon Grundy, who would not have wanted this information made public.

Over the years, ever since his first transgression, when he had trashed his grandmother’s magnificent Georgian drawing room in South Kensington, he had returned periodically to the safe house run by the quasi-religious organisation Last Resort. This had originally been set up by a weird character who claimed to be a kind of maharishi, an inspired sage, who took in sad people who were unable to cope out in the big, bad world, and gave them protection and a home. At a price. They handed over all their worldly goods as a nonreturnable deposit, and were seldom able to escape.

The first person he had met there on his initial visit had been Ezekiel Parsons, an older man and already a devious operator. The two had become friends, and had worked a scheme together which enabled them to come and go as they pleased, unlike most of the residents. It had been years now since they had met, though he had heard from Parsons from time to time about his cushy billet with a Japanese tycoon. He was therefore extremely surprised to receive a postcard of Big Ben addressed to him at Last Resort House, suggesting a meeting in London. “Need help,” Ezekiel had written enigmatically, and had scribbled the name of a café and a time and day to meet.