False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery (20 page)

‘Will you or won't you?'

‘Not the way you want, no. But—'

She thought she heard a sob before he put the phone down.

She stared into space for a long time before, moving slowly and with heavy feet, she made her way down to the agency rooms, stitching on a smile. ‘Morning, everyone. Morning, Carrie. Anything interesting in the mail this morning?'

Email. Not letter post. There wasn't much business done by letter nowadays.

She went into her office, booted up her computer. Her intercom buzzed.

Carrie, in the outer office. ‘There's a policeman to see you.'

Inspector Durrell. Well, good. ‘Send him in.'

It wasn't Inspector Durrell. It was a man she'd never seen before. Thickset, even fleshy, with the thickened nose of a drinker, and a streaming cold. He flashed his warrant card, blew his nose, asked her name, said he'd a few questions.

She was first puzzled, and then worried that this might be something cooked up by Benton to discredit Max. ‘Of course, take a seat. Coffee? What did you say your name was?'

‘Detective Inspector Robins.' Snuffle, snuffle. He shouldn't be out and about with that cold on him.

She pushed a box of tissues towards him across the desk. A social smile. ‘Well, DI Robins, how can I help you?'

‘You know a Mr Benton?'

She inclined her head. Wary. ‘We've met. Discussed a business proposition.'

‘It was a little more than that, wasn't it? Didn't you report an incident involving him on Saturday evening to the police?'

‘Yes, I did.'

‘In which you accused him of tailing you on a motorbike in menacing fashion?'

She frowned. ‘Your sergeant asked if I knew of anyone who might have wanted to harm me, and I said I couldn't identify either of the men, but that one of them might have been Benton.'

‘You two had had words?'

‘You could call it that.'

‘He assaulted you, I believe.'

‘Slapped me. Yes. You can probably still see—'

‘I can.' He caught a sneeze in his hankie. Sort of.

She winced.

He said, mopping up, ‘That made you angry?'

‘Of course. And, though I hate to admit it, scared.'

‘Where were you yesterday?'

She felt herself lose colour, because she saw in an instant that she had no alibi for anything that might have happened the previous day. How unwise she'd been to refuse Maggie and Oliver's plans to stay with her! And what about their insistence that she contact them in case of trouble today? She smelled trouble with a capital T.

‘Answer the question, please.'

‘Is this where I ask for a solicitor?'

‘If you wish we can continue this down at the station.'

‘But … why? Whatever has happened? Why do you need to know what I did yesterday?'

‘Mr Benton and his sons were found in his car in a country lay-by, late yesterday. Dead.'

Short of breath, she thrust back her chair. ‘What?'

‘So, I'm asking you again; where were you yesterday?'

‘But … I can't believe it. Dead? And the boys, too? Oh no! That's terrible! What happened? A car crash?'

The inspector shook his head. ‘I'm asking the questions here. So, where were you yesterday?'

She sank back into her chair. Benton dead? What did this mean for all concerned? What about Dilys? Where had he put her? Would they ever be able to find her again? ‘What about his wife?'

The inspector trapped another sneeze in his handkerchief. ‘She's in hospital, apparently. Keeps trying to commit suicide.'

‘Yes, but where is she? What has he done with her? Oh, this is too much.'

The inspector was nothing if not dogged. ‘We are informed that you threatened Mr Benton on Saturday and gave him some sort of deadline which he was unable to meet—'

‘Humph!' Bea rolled her eyes. ‘Well, yes. You could call it some sort of deadline, if you like. I sent him a message on the phone via his sister. I told him to produce his wife or I'd inform the police what he'd been up to.'

‘A likely tale. I put it to you that you decided to revenge yourself on him for his behaviour. You broke into his house early yesterday, drugged the children and Mr Benton, put them in his car and drove out into the countryside where you left them to die.'

Bea put her hands to her head. ‘That's so ridiculous that I can't even begin to—'

‘You had stolen a spare key when you were at the house previously—'

‘You mean when Leon Holland asked for help to rescue his niece from drowning?'

‘And came prepared with sleeping tablets which you forced your three victims to take—'

‘Me and who else? I can't believe this is happening.'

‘Oh, you had accomplices, of course.'

‘Really? I don't think I know anyone who would—'

‘Leon Holland.'

‘What! I've barely met the man. Why would he—'

‘Money is the root of all evil. He's an undischarged bankrupt, isn't he? Do anything for a couple of thousand.'

‘No, no. You've got it all wrong.'

‘You also have two house guests or lodgers, who I'm told are completely under your thumb.'

Bea began to laugh.

The inspector was not amused. ‘When you've recovered from your hysteria, suppose you tell me what you were doing yesterday. Unless, of course, you have no alibi to speak of.'

‘No, I don't suppose I have. A friend collected me in his car after breakfast, I took some money from a cash machine, and we went to church. Then he—'

‘Name, please? It wouldn't have been Leon Holland, by any chance?'

‘No, it wouldn't. A friend of a friend. After church he dropped me off at a pub by the river where I had lunch, in a table by the window. The place was crowded but I think they'd remember me. I kept the receipt, I think.' She reached for her handbag to find it.

He stopped her, with a superior smile. ‘Anyone can produce a receipt. You met your accomplice there?'

‘Certainly not. I needed a quiet day. Then I called for a taxi. I suppose you'll be able to find whoever it was. The drivers keep records, don't they? He took me to the main entrance to Kew Gardens, the one off Kew Green, where I spent some time wandering around.'

‘All by yourself?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you make a habit of going to Kew Gardens at weekends? Are you, perhaps, a member?'

‘No, but I needed to be quiet and to think.'

‘It wasn't a very pleasant day for wandering around. It was cold, too. How long would you say you were there?'

‘I don't know. About an hour, perhaps. I did get cold, yes; but I was well wrapped up. Then I tried to get into the Maids of Honour for tea, but they were fully booked, so I hopped on a bus to the Waterman's cinema, intending to catch a performance there. I didn't fancy what was showing, so I took another bus and then a taxi back home.'

‘So from lunchtime onwards you have no one to vouch for you?'

‘No.' She could see where this was leading. She had no alibi. ‘But you don't seriously think that I … How did they die? Was it a car crash?'

‘No.'

‘Of all the people I've ever met, I'd have said he was the last one to take his own life.'

‘That's what we've been told by his sister, too.'

‘Oh, poor thing. She's only recently moved in with him, to look after the children. She must be devastated. But the person I'm most worried about is his wife. If she's as poorly as we thought, she might not be able to give a good account of herself, and if he's got her sectioned, and he's, well, not able to tell us where he's put her … she could be locked away for months … And that's if he hasn't actually done away with her. Oh, and his little daughter, and her grandfather! Have the Holland family been informed? There was supposed to be some sort of family conference yesterday, but … Someone has been in touch with them, haven't they?'

‘I believe someone has gone to break the news to the Holland family. In the meantime, Mrs Abbot, I must ask you to accompany me down to the station for further questioning.'

She stared at him and through him. She could see the trap she'd walked into and sensed that someone had set her up. But with Benton dead, who could have masterminded such an intricate plan?

‘Do you mind if I speak to Inspector Durrell first? I gave him all the background information on this case last Friday.'

‘It's my case, Mrs Abbot.'

‘Not if he's been working on it already. Which I asked him to do.'

He hesitated, and she drew the phone to her and pressed digits. Bother. Inspector Durrell was not picking up. She left a message for him to ring her, urgently.

DI Robins smiled, thinly. ‘If you'd like to fetch a coat? It's chilly out.' He got out his hankie to sneeze into it, held his breath with closed eyes. Relaxed. And then it came, a monstrous sneeze. All over the place.

Bea recoiled.

The inspector muttered something which she could take as an apology or not. He fished a couple of tissues from Bea's box and mopped up.

Bea shuddered. She couldn't possibly get into a car with this man, who was shedding his germs all over the place. And for what? She was innocent.

She thought of defying him. She wondered what would happen if she did. Would he call for reinforcements to pick her up and carry her through the office and up the stairs into the street, and cram her into the back of a police car? How undignified.

A stir in the outer office, and Maggie came rushing in, out of breath. She slammed her tote bag on to Bea's desk and stood, arms akimbo, looking down on the policeman. Maggie in full fig was quite a sight.

The inspector blinked. ‘Who are you?'

‘I'm Maggie. Mrs Abbot's lodger. What's that nasty little toad been up to now?'

‘Who?'

Bea said, ‘You've got the wrong end of the stick, Maggie. It appears that Benton's dead. With his boys. In a car, somewhere in the country.'

Maggie took a step back. ‘What? What the—'

‘Yes, it takes some getting used to the idea. The inspector here thinks I broke into Benton's house, drugged and abducted him and the boys, drove them out into the country in his car, and left them there to die. Have I got that right, Inspector?'

‘With an accomplice,' he said, eyeing Maggie's substantial form with interest. ‘Do you have an alibi for yesterday, Ms Maggie?'

‘Do I!' A short, sharp laugh. Maggie drew up a chair, sat, put her elbows on her knees and pointed a forefinger at the inspector. ‘You listen to me, and you listen good. That slimy toad Benton thinks – no, if he's dead I ought to say “he thought” – that knocking women about was the right way to get what he wanted. You should have seen the state his poor wife was in when we fished her out of the bath! And the bruises on his daughter's arms and legs. Then his wife conveniently disappears from the hospital and no one knows where he's put her. He is a nasty piece of work, full stop. I mean,
was
a nasty piece of work.

‘You heard what happened on Saturday night? Mrs A. told him to produce his wife or else, so what did he do? He lured her out of the house and, with an accomplice, followed her around on a bike, yelling her name and banging on the taxi in which she was travelling, putting the frighteners on her good and proper—'

The inspector tried to interrupt, but Maggie rolled right over him.

‘So yesterday, Oliver and I thought we'd better take precautions in case he tried anything else. Oliver is Mrs A's adopted son. Sort of. And he was here for the weekend. Anyway, Mrs A. was desperate for a bit of peace and quiet so we – that's Oliver and Zander and Lucas and I – decided to act as her guardian angels for the day.'

‘Ah,' said Bea, understanding at last. ‘The lone biker. The little family at Kew.'

‘E
xplain! Who are all these people? Zander? Lucas?' The inspector looked from one to the other. His eyes were watering, and he reached for another wodge of tissues. They waited while he sneezed and mopped up.

Maggie didn't want his germs either, thank you. She shoved her chair back a bit. ‘They're friends. We, that is Oliver and I, thought that if anyone was out to get Mrs Abbot, they'd have to start from here. She was in such a tizz that she wasn't taking care to look both ways before crossing the road, never mind watching out for baddies, so I went upstairs when she left the house and watched her until Zander – that's my sort-of boyfriend – picked her up after breakfast in his car. As they drove off, I saw a lone biker peel away from the curb and follow them. The number plate wasn't easy to make out because it had been splashed with mud – if the police had caught him, he'd have been in for a fine – but I thought I'd got it, and as it turned out, I had.'

The inspector produced a painful smile. ‘A perfectly ordinary man on a bike?'

‘It might have been, but it wasn't. Zander rang me as soon as he got Mrs Abbot settled in church, and I gave him what I thought was the registration number of the bike, though I wasn't sure whether it was a five or a three in the middle. He went out to have a look and rang me back to say that a bike bearing that number – with a three, not a five – was parked outside. Zander said the biker hadn't come into church but was sitting there, watching people go in and out. So we knew someone was on her tail again. At that point I told Oliver, and he swung into action.'

‘Oliver? Zander?'

Bea explained to the inspector, ‘Oliver and Maggie both live here with me. Oliver's at university but was home for the weekend.'

Maggie said, ‘Oliver contacted Lucas …'

‘Who's Lucas?' The inspector was not following this very well.

‘He's the taxi driver who'd saved Mrs Abbot's life the night before when his taxi had been followed and attacked. Check with your local police station as they have a report on what happened and took his details then. Anyway, he'd told us he wasn't working on Sunday, and when Oliver rang him, he agreed to help. To start with, we all exchanged mobile phone numbers so we'd be able to keep in contact with one another. We knew Mrs A. was planning to eat at a pub down by the river, so Oliver and I took her car and drove down there, parked in a side street and waited for Zander to arrive and take her inside. And, sure enough, they'd been followed by a biker with a familiar registration. He parked nearby and settled down to wait. We assumed he was going to keep on following her until he found her alone and defenceless.'