She felt like kicking herself. She hadn’t wanted to speak to Adam, but knew now that she should have. She was angry with Adam, too. He was protecting his contacts, and of course she should have expected that from him, but Uncle Walter didn’t deserve this.
‘Leave him to me,’ she told him. ‘I’ll make him tell me.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
C
HLOE WENT HOME TO think about the problem again. She wished she hadn’t told her uncle that she’d get that man’s name for him. She wanted nothing more to do with Adam, but she’d told Walter with such force that she would that to back out now would make her look a timid mouse. She’d have to do it.
After she’d put the children to bed that night, she made herself go down to the hall and dial Adam’s number. To hear his voice, deep and resonant, made her tense every muscle.
‘Your Uncle Walter has already asked me that,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.’
Chloe felt a rush of anger. She wasn’t going to let him get away with that. Either Walter’s accountant was a crony Adam wanted to protect, or he was being spiteful.
‘Let me remind you then, Adam,’ she said. ‘If you open your address book, the name I want will have been entered in alphabetical order. Should it have slipped your mind, you’ll find it cross-referenced under silver. Finding it shouldn’t give you too much difficulty. I’m afraid I have to have it.’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘And supposing I don’t want to give it to you?’
Chloe forced a note of authority into her voice. She’d stepped back and let him have his way too often; she wasn’t going to let him bat her down again.
‘Then let me try and persuade you. I’m working for Uncle Walter now, and I think this man has been defrauding him.’
‘What? You’re working?’
‘In the absence of financial support from you, I felt I had to.’
‘Oh dear! Sorry! What sort of a job have you got?’
‘I don’t know whether I’m his secretary or his accountant or something between the two. Anyway, we’ve got the fraud squad working on it too.’
‘Oh!’
‘Either you give me that man’s name, address and telephone number, or I’ll put Inspector Halyard in touch with you and you can tell him what he wants to know. It may occur to you that you’ll get more of his attention than you want if he calls on you personally.’
Chloe stopped speaking and there was silence. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll see if I can find what you want.’
‘Thank you.’
‘How are the children?’
‘They’re fine, growing up now.’
‘I’ve missed them.’
‘I’d never have known,’ she said coldly. ‘You’ll ring me back with that name? We are in a hurry for it.’
‘Chloe! You’ve just caught me, I’m on my way out for the evening.’
‘All right. I’ll be in the office tomorrow.’
It was almost twelve the next day when Constable Benton came into the office and told Chloe that he’d like another word with her and her uncle. She knew that Walter was as anxious for news as she was. He had his office door open before they reached it and hurried to settle Benton on a chair.
‘We’ve got an address for Rosamund Rogerson from her publisher,’ the constable told them. ‘She lives in Wimbledon. We asked the local police to call round and interview her. Her real name is Mrs Rosamund Mary Clitheroe. She is Francis Clitheroe’s mother and confirmed that he and his wife were killed in Majorca while they were on holiday, and that the details of the accident given in the magazine are correct.
‘We’ve checked the official records; it seems the accident occurred on the third of September last year. His body and that of his wife were flown home and they were buried in St Michael and All Angels churchyard in Wimbledon on the seventeenth.’
Chloe straightened up in her chair. ‘They were on holiday, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he was working up till then? Where was that?’
Benton consulted his notebook. ‘He was in Liverpool, employed as chief accountant at the Exchange Hotel.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ Walter said. ‘That could be how this man knew so much about Francis Clitheroe.’
‘Yes, Inspector Halyard has gone there to make further inquiries.’
They both started firing questions at him, but Benton’s manner was officious. ‘We’ll keep you fully informed about what transpires. I wish we knew more about this man. It would help us trace him.’
Chloe met Benton’s gaze. ‘He dictated letters to you, Miss Redwood. Did he seem used to doing that?’
She tried to think back. ‘He didn’t seem comfortable doing it. I think you should ask Lydia Tomlin about that, she was his secretary. Actually, she’s told me that he didn’t let her near his files. That’s unusual; the previous accountant here left all that to her.’
‘Thank you, I think we have spoken to her. Mr Bristow, did you believe that he was a qualified accountant?’
‘Yes,’ Walter said. ‘But I was convinced by the certificates and references he showed me.’
‘He knew a great deal about accounting,’ Chloe added. ‘But there were times when he did things I’ve never been taught. Things that struck me as odd.’
‘Give us an example,’ the constable said. Chloe had to rack her brains. The questioning seemed to go on for ages.
All that day at work, Chloe kept eyeing the telephone, expecting Adam to ring her. At lunchtime, during a break in Constable Benton’s questions; she dialled Adam’s number, but he didn’t lift the phone. Five o’clock came and she’d not heard from him; she tried again to ring him but he wasn’t there.
She caught the bus home. When she came to get off, it had started to drizzle and she still had a five-minute walk. She quickened her step. As she turned into Carberry Road, the drizzle was growing heavier. A parked car hooted as she hurried past it. She turned to see why, and did a double-take. Adam was getting out; he waved and called her back.
Her knees turned to water. She couldn’t trust herself with him; she’d always given in and let him have exactly what he wanted. Slowly she went back. ‘You’ve got that name I wanted?’
‘Ugh, it’s raining,’ Adam said. ‘Come and sit in the car for a moment.’
Chloe cringed. She didn’t want to, but he was retreating. She followed him and climbed into the passenger seat beside him.
‘No point in getting soaked,’ he said.
‘You’re doing well, I see.’ He had a new Jaguar, which was why she hadn’t recognised it.
‘Not too badly. Well, I suppose business is looking up. How are you?’
‘I’m tired, Adam, I’ve been at work all day. I just want that name.’
‘It wouldn’t harm to pass the time of day with me.’
‘Sorry, I’m not at my most sociable. What is it?’
‘Do you want to come back?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘To live with me?’
Chloe was taken aback at the suggestion. ‘No thank you.’ Her tone was icy.
‘It would make sense. We could run the business together and you’d have more time to spend with the children.’
‘Thank you, no. We tried it and it didn’t work out. Nothing would drag me back. Have you brought me that name and address?’
‘Yes.’ He patted his pocket. ‘Since I’m this close, I’d like to see the children and say hello.’
She was shocked and angry. He’d treated both her and them badly. ‘No,’ she said.
‘For heaven’s sake, Chloe, why not?’
‘Lucy cried for you, she kept asking when her daddy was coming back. She was upset, she missed you. I don’t want to put her through that again. What happened to the new girlfriend?’
‘It didn’t work out. She didn’t stay.’
Chloe smiled. ‘Then she had more sense than I had, good for her.’
‘Come on, Chloe, we had some good times. Let’s give it another go, why not?’
‘Absolutely no, no, no. I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to ask. Nothing would persuade me.’
‘No hard feelings. Just let me see the kids. They are my flesh and blood.’
‘No. How do I tell a toddler that her father doesn’t want her any more? That you found someone you thought you liked better than her mother? That you pitched us out on our necks? No, you cannot see the children. Just give me that name and address so I can go.’
‘OK, have it your way.’ He produced a scrap of paper. Chloe straightened it out. The name Leo Hardman was written on it, together with a Liverpool address.
‘Leo Hardman,’ she said. ‘That’s it.’ The initials on that silver pencil had been LH. ‘Thank you.’ She got out of the car and with a straight back marched on down the road, oblivious of the rain. Her cheeks were burning.
Perhaps she should have given Inspector Halyard Adam’s address and told him he could provide a new lead. She could have indulged herself by taking revenge on him by letting the police investigate what he was doing.
But she hadn’t, she hadn’t needed to. She’d stood up to Adam. After all those times he’d persuaded her to live as he wanted, do as he wanted, she had at last found the guts to refuse. It made her feel victorious. Never again need she fear Adam Livingstone.
She telephoned Inspector Halyard as soon as she walked into the hall and gave him the name and address of Leo Hardman.
‘I can’t guarantee it,’ she said, ‘but I have a gut feeling that this is the man we knew as Francis Clitheroe.’
Walter felt altogether more sprightly when he arrived at his office the next morning. Chloe had rung him last evening with her news, and to celebrate, he and Joan had shared a special bottle of wine with their supper. Joan was convinced Chloe was right about Leo Hardman, and now Inspector Halyard had his name and address, she’d persuaded Walter they’d soon see him charged and have their money back.
When he walked into the office, Chloe and Mrs Parks had their heads together in the accountant’s room, working out the weekly wages. Clarice Parks had rather taken the wind out of his sails by saying, ‘Mr Bristow, I’ve been very happy working here, but I want to tell you I’ll be leaving soon.’
‘Oh no! Not you too?’
‘I’m not giving in my notice at the moment. My brother’s in America, and he wants me and the boys to join him there. He’s looking for a house for us, so it’ll be a while yet, but I wanted to tell you in plenty of time.’
‘That’s thoughtful of you, Clarice, thank you.’
‘Well, I know you’re having awful trouble finding a new accountant. I wouldn’t want to think of Chloe being on her own.’
When his phone rang, he recognised Inspector Halyard’s voice immediately. ‘Have you picked up Leo Hardman?’ Walter asked.
‘We’ve ascertained that he worked as night desk attendant at the Exchange Hotel for a time, and that he left without working out his notice very soon after the hotel were notified of Clitheroe’s death. That would seem to be the place where Hardman picked up the knowledge he needed about Clitheroe. We think this must be a case of identity theft, but it’s very unusual, we haven’t come across it before.’
‘But you’ve found him now?’
‘No, not yet. We’ve been to Hardman’s address, a bedsitter in central Liverpool, and searched it thoroughly. There were signs that he’d left in a hurry, but he’s not been seen there since you reported the fraud.’
Walter felt that his hopes of a quick and satisfactory ending were being dashed. ‘So you still don’t know where he is?’
‘No, but he hasn’t cleared out all his belongings and he’s keeping up payments for the rent. It seems his intention is to return. A watch has been placed on the premises.’
Feeling somewhat deflated, Walter put the phone down. He wished they’d get a move on.
Leo Hardman had left the private hotel in the back streets of Llandudno after two nights. There were too many families with children there; he didn’t fit in and he’d felt they were watching him. He needed to have a place of his own.
He’d spent some time going round the local estate agents, looking at properties for sale. In one of the windows he’d noticed a holiday let, a two-bedroom flat designed to accommodate four people. It was well away from the promenade in a quiet street and provided more comfort than his Liverpool bedsit. He’d decided to take it for a month and pay weekly from the large amount of cash he carried with him.
He’d bought the
Daily Post
every day since he’d been in Llandudno, and been glad to see no further mention of Francis Clitheroe. But the police would certainly be looking for him, because he’d failed to attend his court hearing. It added to his unease that he didn’t know if they had found out any more about Clitheroe since he’d left.
If they had, it might not be safe for him to return to his bedsit. It depended whether they had rumbled that he’d stolen Clitheroe’s identity and worked out how that had been possible. If they’d discovered that both of them had worked at the Exchange Hotel, they might well know his real name. Leo didn’t think that very likely but he wasn’t going to take any risks. That had always been his way.
In the meantime, he had another problem. Being away from Liverpool, he’d been unable to pay the rent on his bedsit. While he’d been in lodgings but coming back each weekend, he’d put the money in an envelope with his rent book and put it through Conor’s letter box. His rent book would be duly made up and pushed under the ill-fitting door of his bedsit.
Leo had spent too long thinking about this, and his rent was becoming overdue. He knew Conor was ruthless with tenants who didn’t pay up. He had master keys and would be likely to get Maisie to pack his stuff up and clean his room out so he could rent it to someone else. He thought about just letting that happen, but he’d left a lot of good stuff there and it might give the police all sorts of clues about him.
He couldn’t send Conor a cheque on his Arthur Worboys account without putting that at risk. A postal order would be stamped with the name of the post office where he’d bought it, and would give a strong clue if the police were looking for him. In the end, he scribbled a note telling Conor he was having a short holiday and would be back soon, then folded some bank notes into it, enough to cover the rent for a few more weeks, and posted it to him.
Leo had looked at several houses for sale in and near Llandudno, but none really appealed to him. Now that the leaves were falling and the hills looked bleak in the rain, he began to think that his plans for a new life in north Wales might be a mistake. It was the end of the holiday season and the weather was worsening. It became blustery, and huge waves thundered down on the beach. The promenade was suddenly cold and rain-swept and the cafés and bars were almost empty.