Murder in Style (19 page)

She said, ‘I wonder if perhaps you were looking for two sets of books? One for the taxman and one for private consumption. I'd take a bet that Ray hasn't reported much of a profit in years, and yet I'm told the garage has been ripping people off left, right and centre. They give customers a low estimate, do some work and charge double. I suspect that the set of books currently residing on this table gives the real picture of how the garage is doing.'

‘Now what makes you think that I would lift books from the garage?'

‘Because Poppy had asked you to do an audit before she died. Some months ago she'd made Ray hand over the garage to her in exchange for bailing him out yet again. Perhaps she hoped this would stop the club giving him unlimited credit. To save his face and give him an income, she told him he could stay on as manager, but on his own admission he was hardly ever there. I'm told that Poppy wasn't happy about that. Was she working herself up to give him the sack?'

‘Oh, surely not.' A twitch of a smile.

‘Maybe. I'm not sure about that. What I am sure about is that, after he still didn't mend his ways, she finally gave up on him and was planning a divorce. A divorce would mean a division of assets, including her share in The Magpie partnership. This would have been painful but something she was prepared to consider. Her affairs at The Magpie were in order – apart from the vexed question of the missing cheques – but she was now also responsible for the garage and rumours were circulating in the community as to the conduct of affairs there. If the rumours were true then she, as the new owner, would be held responsible for any misconduct. If the garage was doing all right, well and good. But, if it were losing money or owing the taxman, it would be quite another matter.'

‘Pure supposition!'

‘Really? What if the police were going to get involved with the conduct of affairs at the garage? What if some disgruntled customers were to sue the garage for malpractice? She would be held responsible if Ray were still acting as manager, or if he'd become so lax in attendance that he'd let his staff get away with murder. Either way, she was having to face the fact that taking the garage off him had been a rotten decision, which was likely to cost her a great deal of money. She needed to know, urgently, where she stood. Hence her request to you for an audit.'

He spread his hands. ‘Yes, she did ask me to do an audit. As Ray had asked her to keep it a secret that he'd let her have the garage, she thought the staff there might object if I simply walked in and asked to see the books, so she gave me a letter of authorization to take the books away and do an audit. She did this just before she died.'

‘Exactly when?'

‘I am a busy man. I'd have to look in my diary.'

‘What nonsense. Shall I ring Gerald Cordover and tell him you've got Ray's books – or does he already know?'

‘Yes, he … well, he … Look, it was the day before she died. She rang, asking me to meet for lunch. She told me things had gone from bad to worse with Ray and that she was considering a divorce. She told me he'd made the garage over to her, but some friends had rung her to complain about the way they'd been treated there. She and her sister have always been totally straight with their customers, and she found this complaint upsetting.

‘She asked my advice. I suggested it might be a good idea for her to have an audit of the garage's books, which in normal circumstances would not have been due for another four months, because I, too, had heard a rumour that the garage was over-charging. I pointed out to Poppy that if by any chance Ray wasn't up to date with his tax returns, she, as the new owner, would be held responsible. That was when she decided to act. The following day she sent me round a written instruction to remove the books from the garage and do an audit. That night she died and I really didn't know what to do for the best.'

‘So you confided in Gerald Cordover and asked for his advice, which was … to do nothing until the police had proved Ray did or did not kill his wife?'

‘Correct. So we waited. Everyone had a theory but none of them could be proved.'

‘Gordon wanted it to be Clemmie. Gerald wanted it to be Ray. Ray was feeling guilty; he knew he hadn't killed her, but he thought his actions might have driven her to suicide, or caused her to be careless and tumble down the stairs to her death?'

‘You read us well. And there was I, with Poppy's instructions to hand, beginning to wonder if there was something in Ray's books which gave him a motive for murder, even though Gordon had seen … To be frank, I didn't know what to think. Gerald hummed and hah'd and wrapped it up in so many words that it took me a while to understand what he meant, which was that it would be a good idea to whisk the books away from the garage before Ray could remove any incriminating evidence … always supposing that there was anything incriminating to be found. He didn't say so in so many words, of course.'

Ellie nodded. ‘No, he wouldn't, would he? So you took a chance?'

‘I did. Ray Cocks is a swindler, a thief, a gambler.' He gestured to the stack of books on the table. ‘The proof is there.'

‘Sufficient proof for him to kill his wife before she could confront him with his misdemeanours?'

‘I believe so. But he had an alibi. The police checked.'

‘What exactly did you discover when you looked at the books?'

‘The garage is not doing well. Every week, money leaked from the petty cash with no receipts to cover the loss. Also, Ray was withdrawing some three or four hundred pounds in cash from the bank every week for undisclosed reasons. That was bad enough, but a couple of months ago he seems to have stopped doing the books and let someone else take over. A woman. His foreman's wife, I believe. Since then –' he raised his hands – ‘the books have been kept in a different hand. Only a little money is coming in, but costs keep rising. My interpretation is that Ray lost interest in anything but gambling.'

‘You audited the books eight months ago?'

‘Ray used a different accountant then.' He grimaced. ‘That person is unknown to me and I cannot comment on what he did.'

He meant that the work had not been well done?

He continued, ‘The tax bill for last year has not yet been paid. If Juno doesn't deal with it smartish, she'll be in real trouble with the Inland Revenue. As for what's been going on recently, she will have to decide whether or not to charge the foreman's wife with fraud. I rather suspect she will decide against doing so. If she puts in a decent manager straight away, perhaps he can pull the garage round and make it profitable again. Possibly her best bet would be to clear outstanding debts and sell the garage site off for whatever she can get for it. As to Ray, I have absolutely no idea what she will wish to do. I don't suppose she would want to prosecute him for fraud or to throw him out on to the street, but how do you treat a man with an addiction to gambling? Could he ever be trusted to hold a job handling money again?'

‘Did Poppy know that Ray was skimming money off the garage?'

‘She might have suspected, but I don't think she knew. I'm rather glad, in a way, that she died before she discovered what a scumbag he'd been. I know they say addicts can't help themselves, but the damage they do …!'

Ellie said, ‘Do you, personally, believe Poppy's death was an accident?'

He shook his head. ‘I keep telling myself it could have happened the way the police said, that she accidentally tumbled down the stairs and broke her neck. But no, I still don't believe it.'

‘You don't believe it because you don't
want
to believe it, or because you have heard something or seen something to make you think it wasn't an accident?'

‘I can't put my finger on anything. I'm not usually given to feelings. I've been told I have very little imagination. I like facts and figures. This equals that. Subtract so and so. The answer is “x”, incontrovertible, can be proved, will stand up in court. And yet, I don't believe it was an accident.' He picked up a pencil and began to fiddle with it. A sign of nerves?

‘So, murder … by whom?'

A long sigh. ‘I don't know. Poppy had taken over Ray's last remaining asset, and even though she'd said he could stay on as manager, his recent behaviour … well! And if she divorced him …! As for Clemmie …'

He got up, and went to look out of the window, probably without seeing the yard outside. He snapped the pencil in two, looked at the pieces and threw them at the wastepaper basket. For a man who didn't rile easily, he was flying flags of distress. ‘Well, if you must know: Clemmie had a confrontation with Poppy on the night she died. She was seen at the door downstairs, trying to get in, hammering on the door, pressing the bell.'

This was a facer. Or was it? ‘Wait a minute, doesn't she have her own key?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘Then why was she hammering on the door and pressing the bell?'

‘Panic, I assume. She'd just found out that her peculation had been discovered, and that a meeting was being held that very evening at The Magpie to discuss her future.'

‘Who saw her?'

‘Gordon. He was driving past. He has a specially adapted car which he can use when he's feeling well enough. He had come by to pick up Juno, who was working late. Juno had already left, though he didn't know that. He parked and rang her mobile to say he was outside. She answered his call to say she'd already left and was in a taxi on her way home. He was just about to drive away when he saw Clemmie arrive and try to get in. He didn't think anything of it at the time, but later on he understood that Clemmie must have got in and found Poppy there, and that there'd been a confrontation. I can hardly bear to think about it.'

‘Why didn't he tell the police?'

‘He didn't tell anyone for ages. He knew what it would do to Juno if Clemmie were arrested for murder, but he couldn't let the girl get away with it. He asked my advice and I said he should speak out. He promised he would. And that's exactly what he's going to do, even though it will cause Juno such anguish …! I don't suppose for a minute that Clemmie meant to throw Poppy down the stairs. I don't suppose she meant to kill her. I'm sure it was an accident, but you can see that your interference, though no doubt well meant, is …'

He didn't mean it was well meant. He meant it was unconscionable, but he'd been brought up to be polite on all occasions.

‘… putting us under extra strain. But all will be made clear on Monday, when Gordon makes a statement to the police.' He patted his pockets, checking for keys and a smartphone. ‘I'm about to leave. Can I give you a lift somewhere?'

‘Thank you.'

Ellie thought over what he'd said as he showed her out to the staircase, and locked the door to the main office behind him. This left them in the shadows on the upper landing, with light only coming faintly through a transom over the doorway behind them. He hit the timer and the overhead light came on.

Ellie looked down the length of the stairs. Poppy had been standing on this very spot, the one where she, Ellie Quicke, was standing now. Had Poppy been about to leave? What was the weather like that evening? Did it require she take an umbrella? A jacket? If she was about to leave, she'd have needed her handbag. Where did they find her handbag?

Presumably she'd a bunch of keys in her hand as she was locking up to leave. If that is what she had done. Had the door into the office been locked or not?

If she had forgotten something, or the phone back in the office had rung and she'd turned back sharply to attend to it, she might well have lost her footing and been unable to prevent herself from falling. Yes, it could have been like that.

Only, no one in the family believed it.

Mr Mornay moved Ellie to one side, so that he could set an alarm on an unobtrusive alarm pad at the top of the stairs. ‘After you.' The alarm set up a loud buzzing noise.

Ellie led the way down the stairs, holding on to the banister. Mr Mornay let them out into the street, and pulled the door shut behind him. The alarm stopped buzzing.

When Poppy died, had the alarm been set, or not?

Mr Mornay pointed to a sleek silver car nearby and clicked a key fob to unlock the door. ‘May I drop you somewhere? I'm meeting my wife at the wine bar in Ealing Broadway. Perhaps you'd like to join us? To make sure I really do have a wife.'

She ignored the sarcasm. ‘Thank you. Yes, I'd like that.'

He was a good, careful driver. The traffic was heavy for a Saturday early evening. She wondered how Thomas was getting on with his cheese mountain, and whether Mikey really was having a sleepover with a friend or was out … doing what? Perhaps it was better not to speculate about what Mikey might get up to. His imagination was more fertile than hers.

She said, ‘Let's start from the beginning, Mr Mornay. Not this week, or last week. Right back to the beginning. The twins' eighteenth birthday party. The Cordover family were conspicuously wealthy. Rolling in it. The girls were coming on to the marriage market. They had a wide circle of friends, who were mostly young professionals, though they included some up-and-coming moneyed youngsters like Ray. You were there, too?'

His chin came out. ‘What's that got to do with it?'

‘I'm trying to work out how two hard-working, clever women ended up with losers for husbands.'

‘Gordon wasn't—'

‘Convince me. Were you yourself involved with either of the girls?'

A tinge of colour in his cheeks. ‘No. Marge and I got married the following year. We've had our difficulties, but we're still good friends. She's in real estate, doing well.'

Real estate. Like the twins. Who did The Magpie company buy their properties through? This Marge? That would make sense. Clemmie had mentioned a godmother who'd sent her some money when she was broke. Was that Marge?