False Report Page 10

  ‘I want to get Jeremy where—’

  ‘And bring the police down on us? Don’t be an idiot. We can’t touch him. So let’s move on with our next—’

  ‘We know where he is. I can winkle him out of there and—’

  ‘You said there’s at least two other women living in that house. So how do you propose to get him away without anyone noticing?’

  ‘I’ll tell them I’m the police, and he’s wanted for more questioning. Plain clothes police. No problem. Get him in the car, get going. Jonno can drive the car, and once we have him at the garage at the back of the flats, say . . . or anywhere quiet . . . it’s the weekend, plenty of places we can dump him afterwards. Come on! You don’t like the idea of his getting away with it, either. Am I right, or am I right?’

  ‘I don’t like the odds. What about the women? They’ll remember you, and when he turns up dead, they’ll be able to describe you. We can’t risk that.’

  ‘I’ll wear heavy-framed glasses and a hairpiece. They won’t need to see Jonno, he’ll be sitting in the car outside. Look, I promise I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just a spot of unfinished business, that’s all. And then we can concentrate on the next one, right?’

  EIGHT

  Saturday afternoon

  Bea put her key in the door and walked in on Bedlam. At least, she wasn’t old enough to remember what an eighteenth-century madhouse looked like, but she assumed that what she was seeing might be close enough.

  A large man in a brown suit was standing with his back to her, pointing at his watch and yelling that someone should get a move on, or else!

  The garden gnome, clad this time in grey silk pyjamas, was dancing up and down, shouting that it wasn’t his fault.

  Maggie, in an emerald green top with hair to match, was screaming at someone to get out of her way. So at least Maggie was back to her usual appearance.

  A gentle tide of water washed over the hall carpet towards Bea, causing her to dodge sideways into the sitting room . . . which was littered with books, dirty plates and mugs, cardboard boxes and papers. Someone had opened the French windows and a breeze was shifting papers around. Winston, the cat, was chasing the papers up and down the room. What was going on here?

  Bea shut the door to the sitting room, in the hope it would keep the water out of there, and advanced on the kitchen . . . which was in a similar state of disarray, with dirty cooking pans everywhere and water sloshing about on the tiled floor.

  The large stranger stood in her way. He was red in the face and yelling that he hadn’t got time to waste.

  Bea used her most authoritarian tones. ‘What is going on?’

  A babble of voices answered her. Jeremy first: ‘I’m so sorry, I was just trying to wash—’

  Maggie looked furious ‘He overloaded the washing machine, and—’

  The stranger whirled round on Bea with the baffled, angry look of a cornered animal. ‘Police! I’ve been asked to take Mr Waite in for questioning and—’

  ‘It’s a different machine, you see, from the one I—’

  Maggie screamed at Jeremy. ‘Shut up, shut up! Will you just shut up for a minute! Bea, he’s pulled the hose off the wall. I’ve got it back on but—’

  ‘I tried to call an engineer, but I can’t find my—’

  The stranger’s glasses flashed. He made a grab for Jeremy and missed. ‘You, come with me, now!’

  Bea put ice into her voice. ‘That’s enough, sergeant . . . er . . . detective inspector, or whatever you are. Now. Everyone. Calm. Down.’

  ‘I told him!’ muttered Maggie, furiously using a dustpan and brush to scoop water up from the floor and empty it into the sink.

  Jeremy apologized. ‘I’m so sorry! Let me help!’

  ‘No!’ said Maggie and Bea with one voice.

  The stranger said, ‘Now, can we please get on? Mr Waite, you are required down at the station—’

  Bea seized a mop and began to push the water on the floor back towards Maggie and away from the carpeted hall. ‘Well, he’s not going anywhere, barefoot and wearing pyjamas.’

  Jeremy said, ‘I was trying to explain to the sergeant here, that I put all my jeans into the washing machine by mistake, and I rather think my mobile phone may be in there as well, and my credit cards—’

  ‘You need a minder,’ said Bea, brushing past the policeman to wring out her mop in the sink. ‘Sergeant – or is it detective inspector? – would you kindly move your feet so that I can get at that corner?’

  He didn’t seem to know where to move, so she grasped his upper arm and pushed him back towards the hall.

  ‘These old houses,’ said Jeremy, hopping from one bare foot to the other. ‘The floors do slope. It might help to sweep the water out of the kitchen door?’

  Maggie said, ‘Gotcha!’ She opened the back door and began to swoosh water out on to the iron staircase with her dustpan.

  ‘Enough chat,’ said the stranger, making another grab for Jeremy and again failing to connect. ‘I’ve a car waiting outside—’

  ‘He can’t go like that,’ said Bea, moving him out of her way to get working on the floor by the hall. ‘You’ll have to come back for him when he’s dressed.’

  ‘I don’t care what he’s wearing. I want him now!’ There was a rough note in his voice. Panic?

  Bea paused in her sweeping operations. ‘What did you say your name was? May I see your ID, please?’

  Jeremy said, ‘Look, I don’t mind coming with you if I can just get a pair of jeans out of the machine, but I can’t open the door—’

  Maggie snapped at him. ‘You put too much in, idiot! There’s a trick to it.’ She re-set the programme, clicked ‘on’ and let the drum rotate twice – and then stopped it. ‘There!’ She clicked the door open and started pulling out a wodge of sodden clothing.

  Jeremy tried to help her. ‘Can you see my mobile phone? Will it still work?’

  The stranger looked at his watch again. ‘However wet they are, give him his jeans and let’s go. They’ll dry on him, won’t they?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Bea. ‘He’d catch his death of cold. Look, I’ll ring your boss and tell him what’s happened. Say I’ll bring him to the station later on today.’

  ‘We need him now!’ He made another grab for Jeremy and this time got hold of the little man’s upper arm, practically lifting him off his feet.

  ‘Put that man down this instant!’ Bea flourished the mop at the stranger’s head. He ducked, swearing. And let go of Jeremy.

  Someone behind them laughed in genuine amusement. ‘Well, well. What have we here?’

  Maggie abandoned the pile of washing and threw up her arms with a scream of delight. ‘Ollie, my love!’ And to Jeremy, ‘Out of my way, clot!’

  Bea rushed at the newcomer. ‘Oliver! Oh, my dear boy!’ She hugged him, hard. And then realized she still had hold of the mop.

  Oliver put one arm around her, mop and all. And reached out his free arm to hug Maggie, too. ‘Home, sweet home! Always chaotic. Mrs Abbot; were you really going to poke that man’s eyes out with the mop?’

  ‘What?’

  They heard the front door slam. The stranger had disappeared, but Jeremy was still with them. He bobbed up and down in front of Oliver. ‘Is it your bed I’m sleeping in at the moment?’

  ‘I can doss down anywhere,’ said Oliver, who seemed to have grown another inch or two since they’d last seen him at Easter. Slender and swarthy; handsome in his own way; Oliver had been adopted as a baby but never fitted in. He’d been thrown out by his adoptive father when he was eighteen, only to be dragged home to Bea by Maggie, rather as you’d take home a stray dog. Oliver had made himself useful at the agency until he’d gone up to university; he was brilliant at anything to do with advanced maths and/or computers.

  ‘Welcome home, geek!’ said Maggie, tugging at the rucksack on his shoulder. ‘We need you. Is this all your luggage?’

  ‘Welcome home, Oliver,’ said Bea. ‘Did Maggie tell y
ou we were in trouble?’

  ‘So did CJ, who drove over to fetch me this morning. He thinks you need a man about the house this weekend for some reason.’

  ‘Oh, we do,’ said Bea. ‘Always.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m more trouble than I’m worth,’ said Jeremy, looking forlorn. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any extra work.’

  ‘You need a nursemaid,’ said Maggie, going back to sort out his clothes. ‘Now, here’s your mobile phone and this looks like your wallet. Both sodden, but the cards should be all right. Oliver, can you get his mobile working for him while I put his clothes in the drier?’

  ‘I can but try.’

  Bea mopped up the last of the water. ‘Judging by the number of dirty pans and plates hanging around, it looks as though Jeremy’s already eaten. Perhaps we should get a takeaway for lunch?’

  ‘I was hungry and didn’t know when Maggie would be back,’ said Jeremy. ‘I wouldn’t mind a little something more to eat now, though.’

  ‘Leave lunch to me,’ said Maggie, whirling around the kitchen like a dervish, throwing dirty pans into the sink, plates into the dishwasher, and retrieving packages of food from the fridge. ‘But get Jeremy out from under my feet first.’

  Laughing, Oliver urged Jeremy and Bea back to the sitting room. ‘Now, suppose someone brings me up to date. Maggie and CJ both seemed to think I was needed back here. So, what’s going on?’

  Saturday afternoon

  ‘You blew it! You didn’t retrieve Waite, and you’ve let three more people get a look at you! When I think how careful we’ve been never to let ourselves be seen . . .!’

  ‘I tell you, it was a chance in a million. Waite let me in, no problem, but he wasn’t dressed, looked like he’d only just got up, and he’d been trying to do something in the kitchen and there was water everywhere, and then this girl storms in and yells at us both, and then the madam arrived. Well, I tried to yank him out of there but she went for me! Then, blow me down but a youth arrives, mixed blood looked like, and well – I got out of there, quick.’

  A shriek. ‘You . . . idiot! If you’ve put us all in danger—’

  ‘Josie was my niece, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘My niece, too! A niece we hadn’t seen since she was born, and who was already on the game when we found her. How long do you think she’d have lasted if we hadn’t taken her off the streets? We fed her and clothed her and found her a nice place to live—’

  ‘Waite killed her, and I’m not letting him get away with it!’

  ‘You’re on your own, then.’

  ‘You don’t mean that. Nance, you wouldn’t—’

  ‘You try my patience to the limit. No, Phil. I didn’t mean it. Or I did, but . . . we’ve been together a long time, haven’t we? Let’s sit down and work something out.’

  Saturday afternoon

  ‘You ask what’s going on, Oliver?’ Bea started to clear up in the sitting room. ‘I wish I knew. I can’t think straight about anything. One minute I think Ianthe – that’s the new manageress – is trying to . . . No, that’s not the most important thing that’s happening, is it?’

  ‘I really am most terribly sorry,’ said Jeremy, picking up papers and putting them down on the table, from which the breeze promptly shifted them again.

  Bea slammed the French windows shut and scooped up Winston, who’d been licking out a dirty plate on the floor. ‘Take the cat, will you, Oliver?’

  Oliver did, the huge black furry animal overflowing his arms. Oliver rubbed the cat’s chin. Winston responded by half closing his eyes in bliss.

  Bea collapsed on to the settee, first removing a sheaf of papers. ‘The most important thing, Oliver—’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s me,’ said Jeremy. ‘Getting mixed up with a murder, though I never meant to.’

  Bea slapped papers at him. ‘No, even more important than you, Jeremy. But we need Maggie in for this.’

  ‘Soup up,’ cried Maggie, bearing a tray of mugs in from the kitchen. ‘Mind out; it’s hot.’

  Bea took a mug and said, ‘Maggie, I don’t know what else you’ve got on, but what I’ve got to say is more important than anything. Please, sit down for a minute. Oliver, sit on the other side of me, but don’t let go of Winston or he’ll start licking dirty plates again.’

  Oliver was smiling. ‘We’re all ears.’

  Bea said, ‘My dears; the most important thing is what’s been happening – or not happening – between us three. Max has been meddling, hasn’t he? With the very best of intentions, of course. He didn’t ask me what I wanted, and now I’m in such a state that I don’t know what I ought to do. Except that I don’t want our family to break up.’

  Jeremy sat cross-legged on a chair. ‘Mother hen.’

  Bea nodded. ‘Mother hen; and these two are my almost-grown-up chicks.’

  ‘Some chick,’ said Maggie, blowing on her soup.

  Oliver said, ‘I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I? When I got that text saying you were rather busy but would get back to me—’

  ‘I didn’t send you any such text. I’ve been worrying for days, not understanding why you haven’t been in touch. I suppose you also got a text saying my mobile phone number had been changed?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Oliver and Maggie together.

  ‘I ought to have used my head.’ Oliver reddened. ‘You don’t like texting, because you prefer to hear people’s voices. Come to think of it, anyone can send a text, signing it with your name. I never thought to check whose phone it came from. I was too busy. No; I was hurt and upset and I should have thought. Stupid!’

  ‘Idiot!’ Maggie tossed him an affectionate look. ‘I didn’t make that mistake – exactly. But I must admit that when Max told me the agency was to be sold . . .’

  ‘Is it?’ Oliver asked. ‘Not that it’s any business of mine. And before you start on about having to pay my fees at university, I have to inform you that I’ve been granted a bursary which will almost completely cover my costs for the next couple of years. By which time I hope to be self-supporting.’

  ‘Bless you, my love,’ said Bea, ‘but it isn’t the money that’s worrying me. Something’s gone very wrong at the agency, and for the life of me I can’t see how to put it right. I don’t like the way Maggie has been pushed out into the cold. I hate the way Miss Brook and Celia have been made to resign. I went away for a fortnight’s holiday and on my return I find I’ve lost control of the computer system, my address book has been vandalized . . . and I haven’t a clue why.’

  Oliver looked alert. ‘I suppose that’s why CJ wanted me back here; to put the computer systems right for you?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Bea, in a grim tone. ‘I rather think he’s got something else on his mind. Wouldn’t you agree, Jeremy?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘You never do mean to,’ said Maggie, standing up. ‘Sandwiches all round?’

  ‘Before you go, Maggie,’ said Bea, ‘and before we discuss anything else, I want you and Oliver to understand that your home is with me, for as long as you want to stay. I mean that. If I have to leave this house – which I don’t want to do, by the way – then I shall buy somewhere that has space for you both.’

  Just in time, she remembered that Max had planned she should give Oliver and Maggie something to start up by themselves, and winced. ‘Of course, if you’d prefer to take some money from me to get on to the housing ladder—’

  ‘No, we wouldn’t,’ said Oliver.

  Maggie shook her head, too. ‘What Oliver means is that we’re not grown up enough to leave Mother Hen yet. So yes, please; may we stay?’

  ‘Bless you, my children.’ What a relief. ‘Phew!’ Bea tried to laugh, to lighten the atmosphere. ‘My word, how serious we all are!’

  Oliver put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Did you really think you could push us out of the nest so easily? Wherever you go, we go, too.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Maggie returning the empty mugs to the tray. ‘Sandwiches coming
up.’

  Jeremy sighed. ‘Mrs Abbot, you remind me of my mother, long gone, may she rest in peace. Oh well. I suppose I ought to ring the police station and tell them I’ll be over later. Is my mobile working yet?’

  ‘Give me a chance,’ said Oliver.

  Jeremy said, ‘Sorry. Well, may I use your landline, Mrs Abbot?’

  ‘Try it,’ said Bea. ‘But I doubt if they’ll know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘But that policeman—’

  ‘He wasn’t. At least, I don’t think so. Did he show you his ID when he arrived? Did he give you his name?’

  ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t really paying attention . . . The washing machine, you know?’

  Bea said, ‘The police are supposed to show identification straight off. Maggie, did you see any?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘Come to think of it, no. But I was so distracted . . .’ And she sent Jeremy the sort of reproving look you’d give a small child who’d spilt his milk all over the table.

  Oliver sat up straight. ‘Mr Waite, CJ told me he’d supplied an alibi for you when you were suspected of killing a young girl. Is that right? Someone who’d got you into a compromising situation and then tried to blackmail you? So, was our caller part of the same scam? I mean, if he wasn’t a policeman, then who was he?’

  Bea said, ‘That’s what I’ve been wondering. Oliver, will you check while I make us some coffee? I’ve got a contact name and telephone number for the policeman in charge of the investigation . . . CJ gave it to me and I made a note of it somewhere . . . Yes, here it is. It’s Saturday afternoon, maybe he’s off duty. But suppose you see if you can find him, ask him if he arranged for Jeremy to go in for further questioning.’

  She went out to the kitchen, where Maggie was busy building a pile of sandwiches. Switching on the kettle to make some coffee, Bea tried to think clearly. Their visitor had tried to take Jeremy away with him, even though the little man was hardly dressed for it. The man had said he’d a colleague waiting in a car outside for him. So there were two of them involved.

  ‘I’ve just thought,’ said Maggie, transferring the tower of sandwiches to a large plate. ‘If that wasn’t a policeman, then what did he want Jeremy for?’