False Pride Read online

  Presumably William would be out sailing with Alicia and his new girlfriend. Bea wished them luck. Well, she tried to, anyway. She told herself it was no good gnashing her teeth. It ruined the enamel.

  She blew her nose and rolled her shoulders up and down and around, to ease stiffness. She had other work to do.

  Back in the sitting room, Bea found the two women staring into space. Not talking to one another. Bea thought that it wouldn’t take much to get them at one another’s throats. Each knew something that the other didn’t. And both suspected the fact.

  Bea decided that she no longer trusted Mrs Tarring, or not very much, anyway. Would it be a good idea to separate her from Magda? Give the older woman something to do?

  Bea sat down by Mrs Tarring. ‘I’ve been thinking. We three know a great deal about the background to this affair which the various police forces don’t. We need to tell them what we know. You, Mrs Tarring, have the skills needed to gather all the different threads of this investigation together. Consider this; Owen’s body was found in Regent’s Park and the Metropolitan Police are dealing with it. Kent was found in Ealing and a different police force is dealing with that. The Metropolitan Police know about Owen, but although my artist friend tried to tell them the two cases might be linked, they really didn’t want to know about Kent. Lord Rycroft’s accident took place near Oxford, and the police there will know nothing about Kent or about Owen … unless you told them?’

  Mrs Tarring nodded. Instantly, she was bright and alert. ‘No, I didn’t. It never occurred to me. I see what you mean: each police force is acting independently and they won’t be sharing information, although there is no connection that I can see.’

  There’s none so blind as those who refuse to see.

  Bea continued, ‘If I found you a desk, a phone and a computer, do you think you could find out which police force is dealing with which incident, and who is in charge of each one?’

  Mrs Tarring leaped to her feet. ‘I could do that. Yes, of course I could. Something positive to do at last! I feel so much better already.’

  Bea got to her feet, too. ‘I’m going to put you in the interview room downstairs. The coffee machine is broken, but I’ll show you the loo and kitchen and leave you to it.’

  Mrs Tarring was raring to go. ‘I can get the local police phone numbers from the Internet, can’t I? Lead me to it.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Downstairs, Bea showed Mrs Tarring the small interview room at the back of the building, switched on the computer, put in the password and left her to it.

  She went back upstairs to find Magda looking out of the back window, down onto the garden. Down to the garden shed, where she’d left the jewels?

  Bea said, ‘Now, Magda, I realize you didn’t want to talk in front of Mrs Tarring, but you and I have both guessed where Lucas has gone.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Oh yes. You can’t be sure, but you have been working out a scenario which satisfies you, and so have I. Lucas left the studio, on his way to the barber’s. He received a phone call from his brother, saying that he was on his way in to London and would meet him … where?’

  Magda shrugged. She still wasn’t going to say what she thought.

  Bea almost smiled. ‘You’re right to keep your thoughts to yourself. Who can you trust? But let me have my say. They probably agreed to meet at His Lordship’s London house. Lucas would have tried to phone you to explain the change of plan. Your phone had been destroyed so he couldn’t get through. What’s more, when he got to the rendezvous, his brother wasn’t there. He waited. And waited. He tried to phone his brother. No reply, because His Lordship’s phone had been broken or otherwise lost in the crash. Remember that the police considered the car crash an accident … and maybe it was. What happened next?’

  Another shrug, but Magda turned her eyes on Bea and kept them there.

  Bea said, ‘Lucas is no fool. He might not be worldly wise, but he has brains. What did he do next, Magda?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t.’ She dropped her eyes from Bea’s. She’d been thinking along those lines, too.

  Bea said, ‘For months, ever since Owen arrived, members of the family have been ringing Lucas, asking him to intervene in the arguments that had been raging about Owen’s behaviour. Without success. Lucas knew all about the turmoil in the family. He can’t contact you, or his brother, or his nephew Kent. Alarm bells ring. And rightly so, methinks. He could run away, but that’s not his style. So I’m asking you again, Magda: what does he do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think you do. Let’s go back a bit. Owen’s body was cold when we found him. Rigor mortis had been and gone, which indicates to me that he wasn’t killed on Saturday but probably on Friday. And not where he was found. What were Lucas’s movements on Friday? Did he have any visitors? Owen, for instance?’

  Magda felt free to talk about that. ‘No, no visitors. He worked at home most of the day. He’s writing a book on how you can date pictures by the paint that’s been used. An expensive colour made from lapis lazuli was not discovered till such and such a time, so you can tell a fake picture if that particular blue has been used in a picture that’s supposed to be from the twelfth century. It’s very interesting. He is disciplined about taking exercise. After a light lunch he goes for a swim, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. On Thursday afternoons he’s been meeting a colleague to talk about some collaboration or other, I don’t know where, but the details will be in his diary, I suppose.

  ‘Every other day he reads or deals with correspondence in the afternoons and takes a brisk walk for half an hour in the early evening before supper at seven. Friday was much as usual. On Friday evening I served him a home-made chicken and mushroom pie with French beans, followed by an apple, cheese and biscuits, and coffee. He didn’t go out that evening, but read in the sitting room, listening to a concert on the radio.’

  ‘Did the police ask you about his movements on Friday?’

  ‘No. They didn’t.’

  ‘They will, you know. Because you can alibi him for that day.’

  Magda’s face lost most of its colour. ‘You think they’ll suspect Lucas of … Oh, nonsense!’

  ‘Anyone who disappears during the course of a police investigation is suspect. Where is he, Magda?’

  She reddened. ‘How should I know?’

  ‘You’re beginning to wonder if he’s in danger, too, aren’t you?’

  No reply.

  ‘If I were you, I’d be worried, too. He’ll also be worried because he can’t contact you.’

  Magda turned her head away. ‘I doubt if he’d care, much.’

  ‘I have no idea whether he cares much or little. I think he’s scared and has found himself a safe place in which to hide. You’ve studied him. You know where he’d go. You mentioned that he belongs to a club. He’ll have gone there, won’t he?’

  Magda took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I suppose he might have done.’

  ‘Mrs Tarring will soon find out which police force is dealing with which assault or deaths in the family, and we’ll help them to join up the dots. In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to reassure Lucas that you are still alive and kicking.’

  ‘I don’t have the number of his club and they wouldn’t tell me if he were there or not. You know club rules. Complete discretion. Denial. The old gentlemen’s clubs are like a sanctuary from daily life.’

  Bea slapped Lucas’s address book down onto the table. ‘He’ll have the number of his club in this book. Ring there and leave a message to say your phone is out of order, and please would he ring you at this landline number. Give him some kind of password so that he knows it’s you on the phone. I think that’s where he went, but if not … he’ll have gone to a hotel, wouldn’t he? Which hotel, Magda? He doesn’t like visitors at the house, but perhaps he arranges for colleagues from out of London to stay in a London hotel occasionally? Wouldn’t he have the number of those hotels in his little book?’


  Magda picked the book up. ‘He might. Yes.’

  ‘You’ll think me paranoid but, whatever you find out, don’t tell Mrs Tarring.’

  Magda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’ But yes, she knew.

  ‘You’re right to be careful. You’ve decided to trust no one. Well, you can trust me because you know I have nothing to gain in this matter. But yes, you’ve noticed that Mrs Tarring has divided loyalties, and is not being open with what she knows. And, there’s an awful lot of unexplained deaths around.’

  Magda said, ‘I told myself I was imagining things, but if you agree with me …? Do you really think Lucas may be in danger?’

  ‘I would, if I were in his shoes. It depends how much he knows. Does he even know about his brother’s death yet? And the attack on Kent? Probably not. There’s three different police forces dealing with the Rycroft deaths, and none of them may be willing to share information. The sooner Lucas is back in touch, the better.’

  Magda stiffened her spine. ‘You’ll want me to tell the police what I know, not only about giving Lucas an alibi, but also what I’ve learned about the other Rycrofts? Well, there goes my job. Mrs Tarring will kill me if I tell the police what we’ve learned about Owen and the twins and so on. But if Lucas is in trouble then of course I must do it. I hope you can find me another job, Mrs Abbot. I don’t suppose I’ll ever find another one I like as much as this, but … tough! That’s life!’

  ‘Good girl.’ Bea looked at her watch. Lucas might have had the sense to keep his head down. Or, he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. ‘I’ll go and see how Mrs Tarring is getting on while you start leaving messages for Lucas, right?’

  Magda began to turn over the pages of the address book. Bea was halfway down the stairs to the agency rooms when her mobile phone rang.

  Piers. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I … no, I’m not.’ The words had shot out of her without her thinking what she was saying. She was annoyed with herself. She was miserable, and hurting and angry. But she didn’t want Piers around. Or did she?

  ‘I’ll be round in five.’ He cut off the call.

  Bea was furious with herself. Why on earth had she said she couldn’t cope? Of course she could cope. She always had coped, hadn’t she? No matter what. She didn’t need Piers. He’d only expect … well, more than she could give.

  But it was done. She’d given him a key to the house. She hadn’t meant to do so. She would have to make that clear at some point. Meanwhile, she supposed he could make himself useful, if he could prise himself away from his paints and his women for a while.

  Mrs Tarring looked up as Bea walked in. ‘I’ve remembered the name of the detective inspector who’s dealing with Owen’s death. Actually it’s a woman. I’m trying to track her down at the moment, but it’s a Sunday and I’ve had no luck so far. You’re right. It’s good to be doing something.’

  ‘Excellent. Magda’s working on another line of enquiry.’

  Mrs Tarring swivelled round in her chair. ‘Lucas has been missing for a day now. Ought we not to inform the police?’

  ‘If he’s any sense,’ said Bea, leaving the room, ‘he’ll have left the country!’

  ‘What!’ Mrs Tarring couldn’t take a joke on the subject, could she?

  Before Bea could say anything else, someone rang the doorbell upstairs. Even as Bea started back up the stairs, Piers let himself in to the house …

  … and, would you believe it, the alarm went off again!

  Bea tried the code. Once. Twice. She screamed.

  The alarm screamed back. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped. ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Piers grabbed her upper arms and checked her over for signs of wear and tear.

  ‘Yes, of course I am. Don’t be silly.’ But she was trembling. Shock. Anger. His proximity. His warmth. His strength.

  He said, ‘You’re wound up so tightly you’ll spin off into outer space if you’re not careful.’

  She tried to relax. Tried to smile. ‘Yes, I know. I’m worried sick. Do you know what Bernice has done now? She didn’t like sailing after all and decided to come back to town by herself. She found a nice woman to look after her on the ferry, who has promised to put her on the right train to London.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Old enough to know better. I know. It’s got to me, rather. What’s more, the Rycrofts have got themselves into the most dreadful mess. Can you spare the time to make some phone calls for me?’

  ‘Lead on.’

  She led the way down to the agency rooms, and into the room in which Mrs Tarring was working. ‘You remember my friend Piers? He’s come to help us, too. Piers, Mrs Tarring is helping us sort out which police force is dealing with which Rycroft death.’

  Piers gave Bea a long, narrow-eyed look. And then he smiled at Mrs Tarring. ‘Difficult circumstances. How are you coping?’

  Mrs Tarring said, ‘Oh, well. Yes, it is awful, isn’t it?’ And yes, the woman preened.

  Bea reflected that there was no use getting at Piers for flirting. He didn’t mean it. It was something in the water. Charisma. Call it what you like. He didn’t do it on purpose.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ he said.

  Bea took him into her own office. ‘There’s a phone. Mrs Tarring is dealing with the police, so could you start ringing round the hospitals to see which Rycroft is where and whether or not they are likely to survive? Kent was taken to Hammersmith, possibly under the name of Lucas Rycroft, though that should have been corrected by now because Mrs Tarring, Magda and Shirley visited him there yesterday. The hospital wouldn’t give Mrs Tarring any details when she rang this morning because she’s not a relative. Can you say you’re his cousin, or ringing for the Rycroft family trust? And then, it’s possible that Tweedledum and Tweedledee were also taken there. I did give the name of Rycroft for them. I have no idea what their Christian names are, though “Christian” is hardly what I’d call either of them. One of them looked to me as if he were dying, but he might have survived and—’

  Piers slid into her chair and reached for the phone. ‘Who knows their real names? Mrs Tarring?’

  ‘I’ll ask her.’ Bea scooted back next door to interrupt Mrs Tarring on the phone. ‘What are the twins’ real names?’

  ‘Er …’ For a moment Mrs Tarring was at a loss. ‘Everyone always calls them … no, I do know!’ She slapped her forehead. ‘Tony and Timmy.’

  Bea shot back to her office. Piers was already on the phone, nodding and taking notes. He was writing on the back of the interview sheets she’d been using yesterday. Oh well, so long as they didn’t get filed under ‘Forget this one!’

  She said, ‘Tweedledum and Tweedledee are really called Tony and Tim. Anthony and Timothy, I suppose.’

  Piers suspended operations on the phone. ‘Bad news. Kent didn’t make it. They have him down as Lucas Kent Rycroft. There’ll have to be an autopsy.’

  ‘Oh dear. Yes, of course.’

  Bea skidded back to Mrs Tarring, who was frowning and talking into the phone. ‘Look, can’t you just tell me who …? Yes, I understand. But it really is important.’ And then, looking up at Bea, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Bad news. I’m so sorry, but Kent didn’t make it.’

  Mrs Tarring dropped the phone on the desk. She blinked once, and then again. Her shoulders heaved, and she reached into a pocket for a hankie. The phone made a quacking noise. She pushed it aside. She couldn’t deal with it. Not yet.

  Bea was annoyed with herself for breaking the news so baldly. She picked up the phone and said, ‘Who am I speaking to?’ But the line died. Someone considered their time was too important to waste, hanging around.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mrs Tarring, blowing her nose. ‘I suppose I half expected it, but … oh dear. Kent was such a good person to work for. So efficient. A bit distant at times since his son died, but fundamentally kind. And so soon after …’ She shook her head, f
inding words useless to express her sorrow.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bea said. Really, that was all you could say.

  Mrs Tarring said, indistinctly, round her hankie, ‘It is all too much.’ She wept. ‘I can’t be expected to cope. There’s too much going on. Too many deaths. I don’t understand any of it. It can’t just be a coincidence that everyone’s dying. Can it?’

  ‘No, it can’t. I suggest that you try to contact the trust’s solicitor and break the bad news to him. Even if he’s out of town, you must have a mobile number for him, yes? Good.’

  Mrs Tarring put her hankie away. ‘You’re right. I must get on with the job. I’ll allow myself to cry later. Oh, and I’ve just thought: can you find the Rycrofts another housekeeper for the London house? And we’ll need to get hold of a security guard firm, too. Someone will have to live in until we can make a permanent appointment. The house cannot be left unoccupied.’

  ‘I’ll see to it tomorrow,’ said Bea.

  Mrs Tarring cleared her throat and picked up the phone again. Mrs Tarring could be trusted to get on with the task Bea had set her.

  Bea checked next door with Piers. He waved a pencil at her. ‘Bingo! Charing Cross Hospital has one dead and one live Rycroft. I assume they were the unpleasant duo who wrecked my studio, rendered me homeless and afterwards paid a visit to you. Have we any idea yet which police force is dealing with which incident?’

  ‘Mrs Tarring is onto it. Where did you say the police took you after you found Kent?’

  ‘Ealing Police Station. And then they dumped me at Ealing Hospital. I haven’t a clue who’s in charge there. Sorry. I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.’

  ‘Mrs Tarring will find out. Meanwhile, can you discover where Lord Rycroft’s body was taken? A mortuary in Oxford, I assume. There’s going to be a post mortem, so I suppose he’ll be there for a while. Mrs Tarring is trying to raise the trust’s solicitor to help her deal with what’s happening.’

  She went next door. Mrs Tarring was on the phone, taking notes.