When Night Closes in (34 page)

She made a pot of coffee and called to Justin to come into the lounge. She poured the coffee and sat opposite her brother, smiling at him.

‘To answer your question, no, my married man has not come back and even if he had, I wouldn't want anything to do with him, not now, not ever.'

‘So you don't think that your snatched handbag was anything to do with Brandon, then? I mean it wasn't that he'd given you anything to keep for him and wanted it back urgently?'

‘How did you know about that?' She had not mentioned the attack, not to her mother and certainly not to Charles. She never said much at all to Charles.

‘That solicitor, Watson, he said something about it. He wondered if there was some sinister motive behind it.'

It seemed unlikely that Mr Watson would say anything at all to Justin. She shrugged. ‘I have never had anything remotely valuable,' she said. ‘I thought I was merely returning a funny old CD to its rightful owner.'

‘What CD and how was it funny? A game or something, you mean?'

Lowri shook her head. ‘No, not a game. It had odd writing on it, the sort of writing that might be a code of some kind.'

‘Sounds fascinating. Who was the rightful owner?'

‘I'm not sure. I was supposed to take it to the hotel and meet him there.' She shrugged. ‘Before I could get into the lobby I was knocked flying and my bag stolen.' Why was she lying to her brother? She just was not sure she wanted to talk about the CD, or anything to do with it. Anyway, what good did talking do? The thing was gone now, probably in the hands of some petty thief who would just toss it away as a useless bit of junk.

‘There has to be a copy somewhere,' Justin said.

‘If this CD is so much in demand then whatever is on it must be valuable.'

‘It's probably on some hard disc, I expect,' Lowri said frowning. ‘I did wonder about Mrs Jenkins in the office.' Immediately she had spoken she regretted it. Justin jumped on her words.

‘What do you mean, wondering? Has this Mrs Jenkins got two heads or something?'

‘No, she's just odd. It's probably my fault, clash of personalities I expect.'

‘No but why did you think she might have something to do with the CD? Come on, Lowri, half a story is just no good.'

So what harm would it do if she told him? Lowri looked at her brother. He was leaning forward earnestly, a frown of concern on his face. She warmed to him. Justin had changed. He was no longer the spiteful little boy or the surly teenager of the past. He had grown up.

‘I came up behind her recently very quietly. Not on purpose, it was just one of those things, anyway she didn't hear me coming. She had some weird writing on the computer screen.' Lowri smiled. ‘I suppose there's a simple explanation for it, some downloaded bug or other. But Mrs Jenkins would never admit to being caught at a disadvantage. She got rid of what was on the screen very quickly.'

‘She must be clever. She's not some sort of spy, is she?' Justin's eyes were alight, like a boy being told a fairy story.

‘I've no idea. She just exited the program. I expect she lost some of her work but she's very efficient, is our Mrs Jenkins.'

‘What would a woman of such expertise be doing in a small office?' Justin asked.

‘I've wondered that myself,' Lowri said. ‘Anyway, enough of cloak-and-dagger stuff, you can take me out for a drink.'

‘My carriage awaits,' Justin said, rising to his feet and bowing with a sweeping motion of his arm. ‘Or rather your carriage awaits in the shape of a little red Mazda. Come on, get your glad rags on and let's get going.'

When Lowri was ready to go out, she stood looking round her bedroom. Her hour with Lainey had been memorable. Just as well: it was probably the last chance she would ever have of being with the man she truly loved.

‘Bloody hell, it's hot!' Ken Major descended the steps of the plane ahead of Lainey and stood on the tarmac of the airport at Montego Bay, blinking up at the sun.

‘Put your sun-glasses on,' Lainey said dourly. ‘And stop complaining.'

The sergeant smiled. ‘I'm not complaining, guv, I'm loving every minute of it.'

Lainey was not so happy; he did not cope with the heat very well. Still, a few days by the Caribbean should be long enough for an interview with Sarah Brandon. Clearly, Jamaica was a favourite spot with the Brandons. The one postcard from Jon Brandon that Lowri had in her possession was sent from there.

‘Once we get through customs find a taxi, Sergeant.' That was one of the perks of being a DI – he usually had someone to run around for him. Irritably he joined the queue to be checked through customs. Standing behind a line waiting to be beckoned forward to show his passport went against the grain.

He followed Ken Major out of the baggage reclaim, glad that he had only taken a small bag which had passed as hand luggage. Then they were out in the hot sunshine again.

There were small buses everywhere waiting to take holiday-makers to their destinations. Ken managed to get a taxi and the driver, with a wide, white-toothed smile, took the luggage and bundled it into the back.

‘Know any place suitable for two police officers to stay in?' Lainey asked, showing his warrant card. The man nodded.

‘Sure do, sir. I know some places nice and clean and not too pricey.' He drove through the streets of Montego Bay and out along a pitted roadway.

Lainey looked at the address of the hotel where Sarah Brandon was staying. Fortunately she had booked in using her correct name, which had made it easy to trace her.

‘How far is it to Negril?' he asked the driver.

‘Far, sir? Two, three hours' drive.'

Lainey sighed. ‘Nice there, is it?'

‘Very nice hotels, luxury places with a long beach stretching for seven miles, sir. But not cheap. Want to go there?'

‘That would be a good idea.' Lainey slid open the window and felt the breeze blow pleasantly into his face. Beside him Ken Major was slipping out of his jacket and already his shirt was stained with sweat.

Lainey had never seen the joy in lying around baking in the sun. Still, the place was certainly beautiful with the azure sea occasionally visible from the window of the taxi.

‘Look over there, guv.' Ken leaned forward, pointing to a little cluster of huts at the side of the road. ‘Shacks with TV aerials, I don't believe it!'

Lainey nodded. He caught sight of a group of children and they appeared well fed and well dressed. ‘I suppose that sort of hut affair is practical in a place where there are typhoons and such,' he remarked.

‘I suppose so, still I'm very glad to share my parents' terraced house. At least I can always have a bath in hot water and a decent shave.'

Lainey did not reply. He leaned back against the seat, his eyes closed. The nine-and-a-half-hour flight from Gatwick had been tedious. He had been unable to sleep because of the constant activity of the cabin crew pushing trolleys of drinks and duty-free goods, not to mention cartons of plastic food.

Well, the first thing he would do when he reached the hotel would be to strip and shower, and then flake out on the bed.

‘I don't want you here, do you understand?' Sarah Brandon looked at her husband with loathing. ‘And to bring that, that tart with you is an outrage!' She was trembling with fury. None of her well-laid plans included Jon. She had thought he was out of her life for good. In any case, her lover, her gorgeous man with the shock of white hair, would be joining her soon. Everyone thought Snowy was a small cog in the wheel, especially Charles Richards, but now with her help Snowy had all the information needed to take over the business.

‘I have as much right to the money as you do,' Jon said. ‘Sit down, Sally, you must be exhausted.'

Sarah watched as the painted hussy sank gratefully into one of the armchairs, making herself quite at home in Sarah's suite of rooms.

‘What money are we talking about here?' Sarah said. ‘If you mean the money left to me by my parents, forget it! You are not having a penny of it.'

‘You know quite well what I'm talking about.' Jon moved closer, his manner threatening. Sarah stepped back a pace.

‘If you are referring to your prospective ill-gotten gains then I think you are out of luck. A vital list of your, shall we call them clients, went missing, didn't you know?'

‘And now you have it.' Jon moved closer still, his fist raised. ‘Now tell me where the disc is before I kill you.'

‘Don't be so foolish!' Sarah said icily. ‘How do you think you'd get away with killing me?' She moved to open the doors leading to the narrow balcony.

‘You have proved to be so inept in the past that you would bungle anything, let alone a murder.' She looked scathingly at Sally. The girl was wearing a skimpy dress that looked as if it could do with a good wash. Her nail polish was chipped and the bleach was growing out of her hair, revealing ugly dark roots.

‘Not much fun being with Jon, is it?' Sarah said. ‘He never could cope without me, only he was too much of a fool to realize it. Well, you are welcome to him, he's nothing but a loser in and out of bed.'

‘You cow!' Sally said. ‘Jon is worth two of you.'

‘Well,' Sarah looked her up and down, ‘if you are all he can pull these days then he's really getting past it.'

The girl leapt up from her chair and launched herself across the room at Sarah, who, attempting to defend herself, felt a stinging blow across her cheek.

‘You skinny horrible bitch!' Sally screamed. ‘I hate you, all you want to do is make more money. No wonder Jon doesn't want to sleep with you! You're nothing but an old harridan!'

Sally lashed out again and, incensed, Sarah struggled with her. She felt the hot breeze from the balcony as she wrestled with the girl, finally pushing her away. Sarah felt blood running along her cheek.

‘You no-good tart!' she said in disbelief. ‘You've marked me!'

Sarah was taller than Sally but she was not able to keep her at bay as the girl lunged forward, her fists beating into Sarah's face.

‘I'll kill you!' Sally was spitting in her fury. ‘I'll bloody kill you!'

‘Jon!' Sarah called. ‘Get this tart off me!' Jon did not move. There was a strange look on his face as he watched the women fight. Sarah would get no help from him. She was on her own against a madwoman.

Sarah leaned away from Sally and picked up the pot of flowers from the balcony table. ‘Get away from me!' she said fiercely, ‘or you will be the one lying dead.'

She raised her hand and Sally cowered away, suddenly frightened. Jon came to life, rushing at Sarah, his fists raised. Sarah screamed – she knew she had little chance of defending herself against him. He was a big man, a strong man, and right now he was more angry than she had ever seen him.

As he came towards her Sarah instinctively moved away from the balcony. Unable to stop himself, Jon collided with the table. The momentum carried him over the balcony rail as if taking a dive into a swimming-pool. Sarah watched in disbelief as he plummeted to the ground four storeys below.

For a moment there was silence and Sarah slumped against the wall, her heart beating so fast she felt she would choke.

‘You've killed him,' Sally whispered in disbelief. She began to cry. ‘What am I going to do without him, I loved him!'

Sarah made an effort to pull herself together. She looked over the balcony and saw a group of people gathering around Jon's prostrate body. She must get her story in first. She hurried across the room and picked up the phone. It was Errol who answered.

‘Sorry, mam, the manager is attending an accident to one of the guests.'

‘Then you must come. The guest you are talking about fell from my balcony.' She replaced the phone. Errol answered her call swiftly, knowing there would be a generous tip on offer.

‘Come in, please.' Sarah opened the door and leaned weakly against him. ‘Something terrible has happened,' she gasped. She pointed to Sally. ‘This woman is my husband's mistress.' She dabbed at her eyes. ‘She came here with my husband trying to get money from me. When I refused this woman attacked me.' She pointed to the blood running down her face. ‘My husband was going to join in, he raised his fists to me, he wanted to kill me.' She paused for effect.

‘I have to be fair to this woman,' she said shakily. ‘She saw my husband's fury and tried to stop him hitting me. In the fray she accidentally pushed Jon over the balcony. I'm sure she didn't mean it.'

‘You liar!' Sally was white-faced. ‘He just fell, Jon just fell.' She appealed to Errol. ‘This woman is lying, can't you see that?'

Errol took Sarah's arm and guided her to a chair. ‘Don't worry, Mrs Brandon,' he said softly, ‘anyone can see this woman is no good and I for one believe everything you've said.'

‘It's a lie!' Sally protested. ‘I didn't push Jon over, it was an accident.' She began to sob. Errol shook his head.

‘I know that you came here with Mrs Brandon's husband. I can see from the scratches on Mrs Brandon's cheek that you have attacked her. It's pointless trying to cover up. When the police come you'd best tell them the truth.'

‘Police?' Sally said.

Errol ignored her and turned to Sarah. ‘Two English policemen have come from your country to see you. They are outside with the security guard looking at the, excuse me, the body of your husband.'

‘Oh dear, this is all so awful!' Sarah said. ‘Will you pour me a brandy, Errol, I need something to give me strength to deal with all this.'

She covered her face with her hands and tried to clear her mind. The police had come a long way to talk to her; they were clearly suspicious of her. It seemed that Jon's arrival had been timed just right, after all. Now Sarah could claim that she knew nothing at all about his business or his associates and reiterate her story that he had come to Jamaica to demand money from her.