False Report Page 22

  ‘Gerroff me!’ The lad flailed at Celia.

  Oliver arrived from the garden and dived for the computer, trying to push the lad away from the screen.

  ‘Oi, you!’ The lad produced a knife with a wickedly glinting blade.

  Celia screamed, trying to get out of range, tripping over her own feet, falling backwards.

  Someone hit the lad’s wrist with the edge of a ruler.

  He dropped the knife, which landed on the floor, and stuck there, upright, quivering. ‘You’ve broken my wrist!’

  ‘Serve you right if I had, but I haven’t,’ said Jeremy. ‘Now, anyone seen my shoes?’

  SEVENTEEN

  Monday evening

  The phone rang. And went on ringing.

  Jeremy picked Celia up and dusted her down. ‘You all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Oh, Jeremy!’ She might as well have swooned into his arms, like any lovesick Victorian maiden, and said, ‘My hero!’

  Jeremy knew what to do. He put his arms around her. ‘There, there.’

  The phone went on ringing.

  The lout turned to Dahlia, clutching his wrist, tears in his eyes. ‘He hurt me!’

  ‘There, there,’ said Dahlia, also crying, but holding out her arms to him.

  Oliver picked up the phone and, with his free hand, pressed buttons to exit the porn programme on the computer. He held the phone out to Bea. ‘For you. The inspector.’

  ‘Hello?’ Bea found it difficult to move. What should she say to the police? Should she charge that stupid young lad with assault? With accessing porn on her computer? With carrying a knife?

  ‘Durrell here. Just to say, the girl they’ve found is not one of the Badger Game gang. A streetwalker, yes. But a heroin user in her thirties.’

  ‘Oh. Understood. Thank you.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She wasn’t making sense, was she? ‘Oh. Yes, I think so. Thanks for letting me know. And if you hear anything more?’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’ He clicked off.

  She put the phone down. Oliver was switching off all the computer systems. Good. She supposed.

  Jeremy had his arms round Celia, who was weeping gently into his beard. Surprise! She was no taller than he. He’d managed to get dressed, after a fashion. A clean but wrinkled shirt and jeans. He was still wearing Maggie’s bunny slippers, though. Where were his shoes, anyway?

  Dahlia had her arms round her nephew, who was wriggling his wrist up and down and moaning with pain. Dahlia shot angry looks at Jeremy. ‘You shouldn’t have done that. He didn’t mean no harm.’

  Bea shook her head. ‘Dahlia, enough said. I admire your loyalty to your nephew, but if you want to keep him out of trouble, you’d better get him some anger management and proper training. And what are you going to do about him carrying a knife?’

  ‘A knife?’ Dahlia focused on the knife, and she turned on her nephew. ‘That’s my best kitchen knife, you . . .’ She set about him, slapping his head this way and that as Bea would never have had the nerve to do. ‘You . . . you dare touch my knives again, you ungrateful little turd!’

  Oliver hunkered down to rock the knife back and forth till he could ease it out of the floor.

  ‘You give me that!’ Dahlia snatched it from Oliver and dropped it into her handbag. She turned on her nephew. ‘Here I am trying to do my best by you, and look what happens!’

  The phone rang again. Bea put her hands to her head. Shock. She was in shock.

  Celia put her hands over her ears. Jeremy stood guard over her.

  Dahlia gave her nephew another whack around his shoulders. ‘Get going, you! I’ll deal with you when we get home.’ She turned to Bea with an attempt at a smile. ‘Oh, Mrs Abbot, what we do for our families, eh? Er, I don’t suppose you can overlook what’s happened, can you? Give me another chance?’

  ‘Please, just go. I’ll send on what money is due to you.’

  Oliver held the phone out to Bea. ‘Someone called Jason for you?’

  Bea cleared her throat and told herself to snap out of it. ‘Hello? Mr Jason of Jason’s Place?’

  A hearty, healthy, booming voice. A voice seemingly untouched by tragedy. The voice of someone who enjoyed life. ‘Mrs A? You gave me your card the other night. Is the wandering minstrel in hospital or with you, or what? A whole stack of mail arrived for him today. Also, his landlord’s hired a skip and thrown out everything that was broken from the flat, and some bits and pieces of the little man’s as well, which I thought was a shame, seeing as it wasn’t his fault, so I’ve got a bag of his stuff sitting behind the counter here. Would he like to collect them or isn’t he interested?’

  Bea didn’t think quickly enough to be cautious. ‘I’m sure he’ll be interested; and yes, he’s staying here with me. How late are you going to be there?’

  ‘I stay late on Mondays, taking stock, placing orders. I’ll be here till nine. That OK by you?’

  ‘Thank you. Yes.’ She put the phone down, wondering why it was still ringing. No, it wasn’t her landline, and it wasn’t the same ring as her mobile, so it must be the front doorbell, upstairs.

  Dahlia was sniffing, on the verge of tears as she took various personal items from her desk and pushed her nephew up the stairs and out into the street. Unasked, Oliver went after them to make sure the door to the agency was locked behind them.

  The front doorbell above pealed again, then opened to the sound of loud voices. And banged shut.

  Maggie shouted out, ‘Halloo, I’m back! And Max is here. Where is everybody? Downstairs, are you? Is there anything for supper?’

  Celia was regaining her composure, trying to smile. Being the brave little soul. Tucking her hair behind her ears, blowing her nose, undoing the top two buttons of her otherwise prim dress. And what a difference undoing those top two buttons made to her appearance! She had one of the prettiest busts you could ever wish to see. Would Jeremy notice the signal? Er, yes; he had done. Oh, but . . .?

  Bea said, to no one in particular, ‘Whatever next?’

  Oliver went through to her office, closed and locked the French windows, secured the grille. ‘All safe down here.’

  Max appeared. ‘Hello, hello? Company? Mother; a word?’

  ‘Yes, dear. In a minute. Celia, would you like to stay to supper – if I can find something to eat?’

  ‘Mother!’ Max never liked being kept waiting. ‘It’s important.’

  Important to Max might not be important to anyone else, but Bea nodded and shooed everyone up the stairs. Oliver followed, shutting off lights, checking that the door to Maggie’s office was locked.

  Upstairs, Maggie had turned on the television and the radio. Of course. She was busy throwing stuff on the kitchen table. Cold meats, salad stuffs. ‘There’s not much, I’m afraid. Baked potatoes with salad for everyone?’

  Jeremy had his arm round Celia. ‘I’m taking Celia out for a meal, if that’s all right with you, Mrs Abbot?’

  ‘Would you hold on a bit, Jeremy? That last phone call was from Mr Jason, who’s rescued some of your stuff and has a stack of mail for you. I said we’d collect it this evening, but I’m not at all sure that’s wise. I mean, is he playing both sides against the middle or am I imagining it?’

  ‘Mother!’ Max’s colour was rising.

  ‘Yes, dear; in a minute. Oliver, will you fill Maggie in on what’s been happening? Now, Max . . .’ She led the way into the sitting room and closed the door. ‘Sorry. It’s been a difficult day.’ And did a double take. Had a new suitcase been added to the jumble of Jeremy’s black plastic bags in the hall?

  ‘Really, Mother, you ought to tidy the place up a bit. All that rubbish in the hall; it could give visitors the wrong impression.’

  ‘It’ll be gone soon. Are you staying for supper? It’s only a scratch meal, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d find me a bed for the night. Well, for a few days. You see, I’ve found someone to rent our flat for the summer but he wants to move in stra
ight away. So I thought I could bring some of my stuff over and store it here. The car’s outside, full of everything personal that I don’t want to leave in the flat. And I’ll be up and down to London over the break.’

  Bea let herself gently down on to the settee and leaned back, closing her eyes. How was Max to be accommodated? Every bed in the house was already taken.

  ‘Hmhm.’ Jeremy was standing in the doorway. ‘Sorry to interrupt, couldn’t help overhearing, because I was going to ask . . . Well, never mind that. I understand that there’s a problem. It’s more than time I moved out, Mrs Abbot. You’ve been absolutely marvellous, but your family comes first, doesn’t it? And I’m well and truly back on my feet now.’

  ‘He can come home with me,’ said Celia, at his side.

  Bea took a deep breath. ‘No, he can’t, Celia. He can’t go anywhere. There’s been at least two attempts to kidnap him, and I’m not letting him out of my sight till the villains have been caught.’

  ‘Kidnapping?’ From Max. ‘What nonsense is this?’

  Celia said, ‘Jeremy?’

  ‘I’ll explain in a minute, Max,’ said Bea. ‘But for the moment let’s all calm down and not make any decisions we might regret later.’

  ‘Supper up for the first sitting,’ said Maggie. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. There was a note pushed through the letter box for you.’ She held an envelope out to Bea. ‘Anyone want grated cheese on their potato?’

  ‘Haven’t you anything else?’ Max followed her out to the kitchen.

  Celia went with them, saying, ‘Can I help?’

  Bea gestured to Jeremy to stay behind, while she tore open the note. Typed. Ordinary A4 sheet.

  Mr Toupee was killed by someone waiting for him in the foyer this morning. Take care. Miss Butt.

  Oh. Dear.

  Jeremy said, ‘Are you all right, Mrs Abbot?’

  She patted the seat beside her. ‘Jeremy, the Badger Gang is being hunted down and killed, one by one. I’ve been threatened, too. I think we should all take precautions and not let any strangers into the house till this is over.’

  ‘But you need my room, and Celia has offered—’

  ‘That’s another thing. Celia is an old friend and perhaps a little naive about men. You are a charismatic and even glamorous man of the world.’ She was surprised to find herself saying this, but realized it was true. ‘Is it right for you to take advantage of her?’

  He was honest enough to redden. ‘As soon as I saw her, I thought . . . I could see . . . there was something between us. It felt right. I could see the sort of person she is, kind and generous and caring. I felt at home in a way that I haven’t done for, well, for ever. But you’re right, and I mustn’t put her in danger. I’ll go to a hotel.’

  ‘You’ll stay right here. Now, with regard to Celia, I want you to promise me that you’ll take things slowly. Take time to get to know her. Tell her . . . Well, tell her everything about yourself, if you know what I mean, so that she doesn’t expect more than you can offer.’

  He said, eagerly, ‘I did go to a therapist and learn how to please a woman when I was going to marry Eunice, only she said she didn’t want to know about all that.’

  It was Bea who blushed this time. ‘Well, that’s good. But I don’t want either of you to get hurt, so take it gently?’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘And now . . . supper. Sorry it’s not much.’

  There was a flash of light.

  Lightning? Puzzled, she looked out of the back window. The sky was clear.

  Jeremy was shouting something about a fire. A fire? Where? Here?

  There was a sheet of flame, a roaring sound, from the front of the house. She dashed to the front window, was held back by Jeremy who was shouting, ‘Careful!’

  The front of the house was on fire.

  No. The steps down to the agency rooms were on fire.

  Oliver opened the front door, then dashed back to fetch the fire extinguisher that lived in the cupboard in the hall. Out of the front door he went, banging the nozzle open and directing the foam down the steps.

  Max burst into the sitting room. ‘Mother, there’s a fire! Get away from that window!’

  Maggie shot in behind him, with Celia on her heels, asking for Jeremy. Maggie looked excited but acted calmly, getting out her mobile phone, summoning the Fire Brigade.

  Oliver had the blaze targeted. The flames lost intensity and collapsed in on themselves. Bea started for the front door, only to be held back by Max. ‘No, Mother! I won’t allow it!’

  Celia said, ‘There used to be another extinguisher in the office downstairs. Shall I get it?’

  ‘It’ll be too heavy for you,’ said Jeremy. ‘Show me where and I’ll get it. Tackle the blaze from below.’

  Oliver retreated into the hall, throwing down the empty extinguisher. ‘It’s out. I think someone poured petrol down the steps and tossed in a lighted match.’

  Various curious neighbours had begun to gather. Bea went out on to the steps and called out, ‘Did anyone see anything?’

  Heads were shaken.

  There hadn’t been much damage. Charred steps. The little bay tree which stood at the bottom of the steps in the area had been given the kiss of death. The two that flanked the stairs at the top were charred, but might recover.

  Oliver wiped his arm across his forehead. ‘I’m a bit worried about the door to the office.’

  ‘Jeremy’s on to it from the inside.’

  Oliver looked worried. ‘Did they want to get at you – or Jeremy?’

  ‘Or both?’ She found she was trembling, but put Max’s arm aside and went down the stairs to the agency rooms. Jeremy was patting the agency door from the inside. ‘Good stout door, only faintly warm. I don’t think it’s going to burst into flames.’

  Bea felt the wood, as he had done. She wanted to lie down and howl, go to bed and pull the duvet over her head and let the world go on its wicked way, but she was Mother Hen and had to be strong. Well, sort of.

  Thank you, Lord. Oh, thank you. Thank you for Oliver’s quick thinking. Thank you for making sure all the extinguishers were up to date, which was part of Miss Brook’s job, come to think of it, so she’s saved our bacon . . . again. So thank you for Miss Brook and her foresight and attention to detail. We can easily get the steps cleaned and buy another plant. I suppose the insurance will cover it.

  ‘Thank you, Jeremy. Quick thinking, Celia.’

  Max appeared, making a great production of feeling the door up and down. Neeh-nah, neeh-nah. The fire bridge had arrived. Oh. Splendid. Now they’d need an explanation, with cups of tea and biscuits, no doubt.

  ‘Max, could you possibly deal with the firemen for me?’

  He patted her shoulder. ‘Leave it to me. You go and put your feet up.’

  Chance would be a fine thing.

  Max climbed the stairs to the hall and could be heard informing the officers that everything was under control.

  Bea found someone had put his arm around her. Jeremy was holding her in one arm, and Celia in the other.

  ‘I expect you two could both do with a good cry,’ he said.

  Celia nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘How about a cuppa, with three sugars in it?’

  ‘Trust me for that,’ said Bea, trying to smile, too. They went up the stairs to find Max telling the firemen what to do – as if they didn’t know far better than him.

  Oliver, too, had retreated to the kitchen, now that the danger was past, and was sitting on a stool, resting his head on his hands.

  Bea went straight to Oliver and put her arms around him. ‘Oh, Oliver. Are you hurt? Are you OK? Thank you for saving us.’

  ‘I’m OK.’ But he wasn’t. He was shivering. Brave as a lion, quick as a panther in times of danger; now he was having a reaction.

  Max said, ‘I would have saved you, if I’d been nearer the door.’

  Jealous? Oh. Bea held out her hand to Max. ‘Of course you would, Max.’

  Maggie’s voice was wobbl
y, too. ‘Tea, everyone?’

  Max seated himself, prepared to be waited on. ‘Now, Mother. Who’d want to firebomb your place?’

  The chief fireman also wanted to know. He had a strong, lean face with eyes that had seen most things in his time. Bea struggled to put her thoughts in order. She thought of the anonymous phone call warning her not to interfere. She thought of Mr Toupee and John O’Dare in the morgue. Ditto Josie. Well, if this was the killer’s way of getting even with Bea, he hadn’t made a very good job of it.

  She tried to explain. ‘I think it’s connected to a murder case which is being handled by DI Durrell. We’re looking after a witness whom the gang has tried to kidnap a couple of times. That’s Jeremy, here; Mr Waite. I was warned not to interfere, and I think this is the result.’

  The fireman took notes. ‘Inspector . . . who did you say?’

  ‘Really, Mother! Whatever will you get mixed up in next?’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ said Jeremy, looking wretched.

  ‘No, no,’ said Bea. But even she heard her voice lacked conviction.

  ‘Got a number for this Inspector?’ The chief was thorough, she’d grant him that.

  She found the number in her handbag and gave it to him. ‘He’ll be off duty at this time of day, I should think. I’d try him in the morning again.’

  The firemen tramped up and down. They checked the door downstairs from the inside and the outside, and made sure the lock was holding fast. They tossed the charred bay tree up to the top of the steps. Max was in his element, overseeing them. They didn’t seem to resent it. Perhaps they were used to being bossed by outsiders and knew how to ignore them while calmly getting on with the job in hand?

  Finally, they said they didn’t think there’d be any more trouble with the door that evening, it was cooling fast and wouldn’t burst into flames again. They said they’d inform the police what had happened, and her Inspector Durrell would no doubt be in touch about it.

  And then there was supper. Cold meats, salad, microwaved potatoes. None of them felt like eating a cold meal. Even Maggie said she’d really fancy a nice, fattening, filling pizza. Max said he rather thought he’d pop out for something, before settling down for the night.