The Lady Vanished (15 page)

‘Just thought I’d give you an update,’ he said. ‘I discovered that your stepmother had annoyed a man called Vincent Lomar; she was instrumental in causing his wife to be sacked from the home she stayed at in Kingston upon Thames last year.’

‘What home?’ she asked vaguely.

‘It’s called Lilac Grange. I did mention it to you when I came to see you last time.’

‘Oh yeah. Sorry, things were a bit hairy.’

‘Yes. The police have questioned Mr Lomar and will question him again.’

‘They think he has something to do with Carmen’s disappearance?’

‘They don’t know as yet. He would seem to have a reason and he has a previous police record.’

‘Oh well, I suppose it’s something.’

‘Has your brother been in touch with you recently?’

‘No, why?’

‘You haven’t told him about Paul being questioned?’

‘No, I haven’t. It’s irrelevant and he’s a busy man.’

‘I saw him today. Something came up in my enquiries that I needed to ask him about.’

Her voice lifted sharply. ‘Oh, what’s that?’

‘I don’t think it’s my place to tell you, it’s a bit delicate. You might want to contact him.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘As I said, I think it’s best you contact him. I have to go now; I’ll be in touch if I have any news.’

He ended the call and allowed himself a tiny sneak of satisfaction. That should put the cat among the pigeons. It was almost seven o’clock and a fine evening. He checked the tide and saw that it was low so he decided to head for the river. He ran upstairs and changed, ate an apple and filled his water bottle. At the club, which was still open, he checked his boat. As the light would be failing on his return, he attached two white lights on his stern and bow.

He rowed as far as Barnes, spotting several black swans and a great crested grebe and chicks, then made his return journey as dusk approached. In the dimming light, with no one else on the river, the only sound the lapping of the water, he might have been alone in the world. He thought about Langborne; if he was responsible for Carmen’s disappearance, he couldn’t have effected it in her house as there was no evidence to suggest she had been harmed there. If he was alone at home on January 31, he could have invited her there. There might have been an argument; certainly it was a place that offered plenty of options for disposing of a body.

He was still mulling over this scenario as he pulled his boat up the ramp. He unlocked the boathouse and stowed the boat, towelling his face and neck. He secured the door, bending to the lock in the semi-darkness and had just sensed that someone was approaching when a heavy blow caught him behind his ear. As he fell to the ground, he smelled fish and heard shouting and the sound of running feet. A hard kick landed in his back and he had a sudden desire to vomit.

CHAPTER 10

Mary and Cedric were sitting on either side of Swift’s hospital bed. He was propped high on pillows and drinking water. He had been lucky; he had a bruise on his right temple and a fracture at the base of his skull but no swelling or brain damage. His lower back ached where his assailant had delivered that hard kick. He had to stay in hospital for twenty-four hours.

‘How are you feeling?’ Mary asked.

‘Not too bad, considering. I have what’s called a simple linear fracture. They told me I mustn’t blow my nose; isn’t it odd, the minute you’re told you can’t do something, you feel the need to do it.’

‘I don’t like to think what might have happened if we hadn’t come on the scene,’ Cedric said, patting his hand. He looked pale and upset. ‘If only we’d been able to get a good look at the chap who did it, but he sped away as soon as he heard us.’

Cedric and Milo had saved him from further blows, emerging from the side alley that led from the pub. It was their shouts he had heard as he fell.

‘Did you get a look at him, Ty?’ Mary asked.

He remembered just in time not to shake his head. ‘No. It all happened in a split second. He must have been hanging around near the club. I wonder what he hit me with.’ He smiled a watery smile at Cedric. ‘Makes a change for me to be in here, rather than you or Milo.’

They stayed a little while longer. He was glad when they left; his head was aching and he wanted to think. A nurse brought him some more painkillers and warned him again about not blowing his nose, which reminded him that he wanted to. He lay, eyes closed, replaying the scene. The local police had been to see him but he had told the constable he had no idea who could have attacked him. As soon as he had come round, he had recalled the pungent odour of fish and knew that it had been Lomar. The thought of Charisse and what might rebound on her had stopped him speaking. Lomar was going to be done for assaulting a police constable anyway and Swift doubted he would come back and try to finish what he had started. He groaned; he was already frustrated at this enforced inactivity and oddly, his thigh was aching where he had previously been stabbed, as if coming out in sympathy with his head. When another nurse came back to check his temperature he mentioned this and she told him it was a wound memory, the body recalling previous shocks.

‘You lead an interesting life,’ she observed; ‘stabbings and assaults. A bit like working in A & E on a Saturday night. What do you do?’

‘I’m a private detective.’

‘Really? My uncle used one of those to check on his wife, and they ran off together.’

‘The detective and your uncle?’

‘You know what I mean; the detective and the wife.’

‘Life’s hazardous, isn’t it?’

She made a note on his chart. ‘Yours seems to be. You get some rest while you can.’

Cedric had brought in his laptop and he spent twenty minutes looking up inheritance law. He then slept for several hours, until around six thirty, when he saw Nora Morrow walking towards him.

‘This is an honour,’ he said.

She was dressed in a black-and-green Lycra gym kit, her hair held back under a bandeau. She looked disgustingly fit and he was conscious of his own feebleness. She sat and fished a bag of peaches out of her rucksack.

‘Here, these look tasty. Don’t get excited; I’m here to tell you off, as much as to wish you well.’

‘Good cop, bad cop?’

‘Ha-ha. Your sense of humour hasn’t been traumatised, anyway. How long are you in here for?’

‘Another night. Then I’m supposed to rest; I should be a hundred per cent within a couple of days.’

She gestured at the peaches. ‘Mind if I have one? It’ll keep me going through an hour at the gym.’

‘Help yourself. Any news on the case?’

She chewed on a peach, looking at him, crossing her legs. ‘No body, if that’s what you mean. Lomar did this to you, didn’t he?’

Swift raised his shoulders a fraction. It didn’t hurt. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t see.’

‘Hmm, so I understand. It would add up, don’t you think? Seems an odd venue for a random mugging. I could pull him in again.’

‘That’s up to you. Don’t do it on my account.’

‘Sir Galahad, eh?’ Nora said knowingly. She reached for the box of tissues on his cupboard, wiped her mouth and hands and aimed the peach stone expertly at the bin.

‘Have you spoken to Langborne?’ Swift asked.

‘No. Langborne, however, has been speaking to people, as I’ve no doubt you expected. Top people. My phone was red hot. I’ve been instructed to leave him alone and to tell you the same.’

Swift eased himself up a little on the pillows. ‘Come on, he has clear reason to be hostile to Carmen, given what she knew, given that letter. I’ve been checking inheritance law and a question over his paternity could possibly affect his share in the Holland Park house, especially if Florence wanted to cause trouble. Given that there seems to be no love lost between them, she might well do. Did you get the copy of the letter I scanned to you?’

‘Yes and all very interesting. But . . . I’m under orders. I’ve passed yours on. You know, it might have been better if you hadn’t gone to see him, and left it to me.’

‘But you’re so busy and understaffed,’ he replied sweetly. ‘Maybe Langborne had me beaten up.’

‘Not his style. He’d be more subtle. Your boat would mysteriously sink in the middle of the river.’

‘Is Charisse Lomar okay?’

‘As far as I know. I’ve got to go now and burn some muscle.’

‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Yeah. Don’t go blundering around any further, Swift; certainly not on Langborne’s territory. You could nix any chance of finding Mrs Langborne, if he is involved. I’m not going to forget about him but it has to be a softly-softly approach.’

He didn’t buy it and he was annoyed that she was standing over him and he was on his back with a throbbing head, in a ridiculous pair of pyjamas covered in bluebirds that belonged to Cedric. ‘But you’ve got your instructions,
from the top
.’

‘Oh, take your medication and meddle with something else,’ she snapped, striding away.

In the doorway she almost collided with a small, vigorous figure in a floral print dress, carrying a hessian shopping bag. Swift’s heart sank; Joyce was all he needed. The worst thing about being in hospital wasn’t the injury that had put you there or the hardness of the mattress or the stultifying atmosphere; it was having to accept visitors, whether you wanted them or not.

‘Tyrone, my dear!’ she said, bending to kiss his cheek, her necklace catching his ear lobe. ‘What on earth has happened? I came as soon as I heard.’

‘Joyce,’ he said heavily. ‘How did you know I was here?’

She pulled up the chair Nora had just vacated, loosening the belt on her dress and starting to take items from her deep bag.

‘I rang Cedric to thank him for his birthday card and he told me what happened. He sounded very worried. So naturally, I came straight away. Now, I’ve brought you some bottled water, fruit juice, apples, tissues, hand sanitiser and books.’

He looked at the stuff she was heaping on to his bed. One of the apples rolled out of its bag on to the floor. He could see three hefty thrillers, a short-story omnibus and a colouring book for adults with a packet of felt tips attached. Joyce tapped it and he knew she was about to explain the obvious.

‘These are very popular right now. They’re supposed to be soothing and absorbing. There was such a huge choice but I got these mandala patterns.’

‘So I see. This is very kind of you but I’m only here until tomorrow, you know.’

She patted his hand and retrieved the apple. ‘Well, better to have too much than too little. You can take the books home and have a good read while you recuperate. That’s a bad bruise. Are you in much pain?’

‘No, just tired now.’

Being Joyce, she was impervious to the hint. ‘I always think being in hospital is so isolating. Now, when you’re discharged would you like to come and stay with me for a couple of days? I’m sure you shouldn’t be on your own and although Cedric is upstairs, he can’t really be expected to do too much. It won’t take me two shakes to get your room ready.’ She beamed at him hopefully.

‘That’s kind but, really, I’ll be fine. I’m not an invalid, just a bit bruised.’

‘Now, Tyrone, you should let yourself be looked after sometimes. You’re an independent man, I know, but there are times when—’

‘Joyce.’ He sat up as straight as he could manage. ‘No. Thank you but no.’

She sighed. ‘Oh well, if you’re sure . . . I could pop round and do some shopping for you, make a few meals?’

‘Again, that’s very kind but I’ll be fine.’

She looked away, scanning the other beds, then arranged the apples on top of his table. ‘You’re a difficult person to help, Tyrone.’

‘Am I? Perhaps, but I manage.’

She shook her head, then settled back in the chair and told him how much she had enjoyed her party, running through the gifts she had received, talking about people he didn’t know. After ten minutes he told her he needed to go to the bathroom, and then he thought he might get some sleep.

‘It’s been a long day, I’m exhausted. So good of you to come, though.’

She walked out with him, still talking about someone called Roderick and how his wife was in a coma after falling down some steps on a visit to a stately home.

‘Now, you will let me know if you don’t feel well once you get home?’ she said as he opened the door to the men’s toilets.

‘I will,’ he lied, kissing her proffered cheek, backing away from her. He watched to make sure she was exiting through the swing doors, and then splashed his face with running cold water.

Back in the ward, feeling ill humoured, he switched on his phone. It was the first time he’d checked it since the attack. There was a message from Rachel Breen, thanking him for the information about Ed Boyce; one from Poppy Forsyth, saying it would be good to catch up; and one from Mike Farrell at the hospice. He said he thought that Swift might like to know that Mr Pennington had passed away that afternoon. Swift stared up at the ceiling, glad that the ailing man had got his wish. His phone rang. It was Mary.

‘Hi,’ she said, ‘have you been resting?’

‘Not much choice.’

‘You sound grumpy.’

‘I am. Joyce has just been to see me. She brought me a colouring book. And these pyjamas are ridiculous.’

Mary giggled. ‘You should buy some and keep them in case of emergencies. How did Joyce know you’re in hospital?’

‘Cedric told her.’

‘Ah, the grapevine. Listen, I’m about to add to your grumpiness. I need to tell you that I’ve been on the receiving end of phone calls from Whitehall and Met royalty. You’ve upset Rupert Langborne, I gather.’

Swift gave her a summary of recent events. ‘I’ve already had a warning from Nora Morrow,’ he told her.

‘Well, do heed it, Ty. I know, I know; why should some people be able to put pressure on the law et cetera, et cetera. I don’t like it much either. But then there’s reality and with no body, there’s no reason to pursue him.’

‘There never will be a body unless someone tries to find it.’

‘Well, I’ve told you what I have to. You’re your own man but for goodness sake, get better before you work again. Enjoy your colouring in.’

He accepted some mushroom soup for supper, then ate two peaches to get rid of the gritty taste. An email arrived from Ruth, confirming that she could meet tomorrow. He had lost track of time and forgotten that it was Sunday. He replied, confirming he would see her at one. When the nurse who had taken his temperature came to offer him a sleeping tablet, he told her he would be leaving by ten in the morning at the latest.

She looked astonished. ‘That will be up to the registrar,’ she said.

‘No; I think it’s up to me,’ he smiled. ‘Oh by the way, would you like this for the nurses’ station? It might pass the time on night shifts.’ He handed her the colouring book.

‘Thanks; these are all the rage, but they’re not cheap.’ She flipped the pages, sending a welcome breeze his way.

‘So I believe.’

He turned off his reading light when she’d gone and eased onto his side, looking forward to some restored liberty.

* * *

He took a taxi back to the house the following morning. Other than a slight headache and an intermittent soreness in his back, he felt better, less fragile. Hungry after the nauseating hospital fare, he ate cereal and toast and savoured three cups of strong coffee. Cedric was out so he left a message to say he was back and put the eye-catching pyjamas in the wash.

Ruth was ten minutes late and rushed in apologetically, saying one of her students had needed extra help with an essay. She looked at him anxiously as she took her seat.

‘What’s happened to you? That’s a nasty bruise.’

He explained, deciding to order a fruit juice rather than wine. The packet containing his painkillers advised no alcohol.

She took his hand. ‘I hate not knowing what’s happened to you in between these meetings. But shouldn’t you be at home, resting up?’