False Alarm Page 25

  Bea drooped. ‘I suppose not. But it doesn’t half go against the grain, and I’ll be worried sick about Maggie and Oliver till I can get them back home.’

  The inspector was the one to get roused now. ‘If what you say is correct then, having got away with so many “incidents”, I can’t see why she would stop now. The moment someone crosses her, they’ll be for the chop, too. She must think she’s invincible.’

  ‘If you tell her you’ve got your beady eye on her, perhaps she’ll stop?’

  Someone rang the doorbell. Hard.

  The inspector sighed, consulted his watch. ‘Well, I suppose I must be on my way.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s no one important. I’m not up to visitors.’ Bea led the way to the hall and looked through the peephole in the front door.

  Her breathing quickened, and she put her hand to her throat. ‘It’s Lucy Emerson.’

  The inspector said, ‘You’re afraid of her?’

  ‘She gives me the willies.’

  The doorbell rang again. Impatiently.

  Bea said, ‘I don’t want to let her in.’

  ‘If I stay . . .?’

  Bea braced herself. ‘I’m being silly. What could she do to me in broad daylight?’ She opened the door. ‘Lucy? Do come in. My visitor is just leaving.’

  Mrs Emerson beamed. She was carrying a covered basket and using a stick. The stick. ‘Well, just for a moment, then. I heard you’d been poorly, and I thought you might welcome a visit. Also, I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Do come in.’ Bea opened the door wide and ushered Mrs Emerson in. ‘The sitting room is the door on the left. And –’ to the inspector – ‘nice of you to call. See you again sometime.’

  He said, ‘Thanks,’ and took the door from her.

  As she followed her guest along the hall, Bea heard the front door close behind her. She shivered. ‘I’m feeling the cold today. May I take your coat? Go on through while I turn the central heating up in the hall.’ She hung up the coat and adjusted the thermostat, pleased to hear the central heating respond. She’d leave the door open, to let the warm air circulate. ‘Will there be a frost tonight, do you think?’

  ‘What a lovely house.’ Lucy twitched the cover off her basket and brought out a plastic container holding a huge chunk of chocolate cake, oozing with cherry jam. ‘I hope you like chocolate cake.’

  ‘Delicious. How kind of you. I’ll save it for later, if you don’t mind. I’ve had a nasty stomach upset and am not eating much at the moment. Do sit down.’

  ‘Did you eat some of Carrie’s biscuits? She’s losing the plot, you know. I don’t know what she put in the last lot she baked, but they gave me a most unpleasant night.’

  Yes, of course. Carrie’s biscuits. Bea had eaten two, and she’d begun to feel queasy even before she got to the restaurant and the lobster had done its work . . . and that explained why Oliver and Maggie had had tummy upsets, too.

  Lucy sat, four-square. ‘This is so difficult . . . I don’t know where to begin.’

  Bea suppressed the impulse to tell the woman to begin at the beginning.

  Lucy fiddled with the silk scarf she was wearing. ‘I need to ask you for your understanding; not for me, you understand, but . . . I thought that you of all people might be able to help her. You see, we’ve been friends for so many years, Carrie and I. I ought to have seen it coming, the paranoia or whatever they call it nowadays. But I didn’t. Perhaps I didn’t want to see it? I’ve hardly slept these last few nights . . . I couldn’t make up my mind what to do, and then it occurred to me, that dear girl Maggie told me you had a friend in the police force . . .? Am I right?’

  Bea nodded.

  Lucy leaned forward. ‘Then you’ll know what’s best to be done. I can’t do it. It would be a betrayal of everything I hold dear, but she needs help, you see. Psychiatric attention, perhaps? I’ve heard of such things, but I’ve never, most fortunately, had to . . . But if you can see to it, perhaps the doctors can save her from . . . You understand?’

  ‘Not exactly, no.’

  ‘I left her in tears. I keep telling her the courts will be most understanding when she explains, a series of unfortunate accidents, no more, but . . . in the wrong hands, if they decided to prosecute . . . They’d hardly want to send her to prison at her age, would they? It would be such a waste of taxpayers’ money. However, something must be done, I realize that, because there’s no denying she is very depressed. I thought that you might be able to put her in touch with someone, get the doctors involved.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ And indeed, Bea did not understand. She’d thought Lucy was the guilty party. Was it Carrie, after all?

  ‘Such a silly girl she is.’ Lucy produced a hankie, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘We’ve known one another for ever, you know. Since we were at school together, although parted by fate for many years. But once we’d met up again, on a visit to Kew Gardens it was, almost fifteen years ago, how time flies . . . And my husband was still alive then, but oh dear; it hardly bears thinking about, does it?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Bea, her brain whirling, trying to consider two opposing theories at once. ‘Take your time.’

  Lucy gasped out a sigh. ‘What you must think of me, letting her carry on like that, but of course at first I couldn’t believe it. I mean, you wouldn’t, would you? Everyone knew what Lavinia was like, and really she’d long outstayed her welcome, hadn’t she?’

  ‘Carrie Kempton killed Lavinia?’

  ‘Oh, no! No, no, no! Of course not. Nothing like that. It was all Lavinia’s fault. She wanted someone to run to the chemist for her there and then, and we were on our way back from a long day out and were both very tired, but did that stop her? Oh, no. She started shouting, and then she lifted her stick to hit me, and dear Carrie got hold of it and twisted and Lavinia lost her balance, you see, and fell. And died right there, before our very eyes!’

  ‘How awful.’ Bea’s eyes were on the stick Lucy had kept at her side. It was a very stout, solid stick. It could do a lot of damage if you were hit with it.

  ‘We were ever so upset, as you can imagine. Carrie was so pale, I thought she’d fainted, but luckily she came round and I got her upstairs to her flat to have a little brandy and a lie down before I called the paramedics.’

  ‘And you took the stick yourself?’

  ‘Oh no, dear. She took the stick, feeling a bit tottery, you understand. She’s been using it ever since, and very useful it is, too.’

  ‘I thought I saw it in your hallstand.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Sometimes she leaves it there for days on end. But she gets bouts of, what do you call it, labyrinthitis? When her head swims? And then she uses it. But her short-term memory is going, and she doesn’t always remember . . . so I brought it with me, to give it to you. Out of harm’s way.’

  How clever the woman was. She would have an answer for everything, no doubt. So let’s test her out. ‘So it was Carrie who stretched the wire across the landing to trap Lady Ossett? Why did she do that?’

  Lucy shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid dear Lady Ossett hasn’t always been the soul of tact. She has often treated us like poor relations, and we have our pride, you know. Also, she kept making remarks about how convenient it was that Carrie should have managed to acquire such a good stick when everyone knew that Lavinia’s relations wouldn’t let anyone have so much as a cup and saucer by way of a memento. Not tactful if you have such a thin skin as my dear Carrie.’

  ‘You think Carrie wanted to get back at Lady Ossett by making her tumble down the stairs? Rather a dangerous prank, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, well; that’s what I said to her, too. But it was Sir Lucas who fell, and when Carrie told me what she’d done, I went upstairs straight away and did away with the wire.’

  ‘And filled in the tack holes later?’

  ‘As you say. I thought that would be the end of it. I was horrified when Carrie told me she’d given the caretaker a little push . . .
’ Lucy put her hankie to her mouth again.

  Bea didn’t know what to think. Was this woman really concerned for her friend or was she a monster, entirely without remorse for what she had done?

  Lucy set aside her hankie and lifted a portion of cake out of the box, looking for somewhere to put it. ‘You’re looking rather pale, Mrs Abbot. Can’t I coax you to try a piece? It’ll do you good.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it will. But not yet. Why do you think Harvey had to die?’

  ‘What a silly boy! He told Carrie to keep away from him or he’d tell on her, so of course she had to kill him.’

  ‘Not an accident, then?’

  ‘No, no. She pulled the typewriter down on top of him with her stick! Now you can understand why I couldn’t leave it with her, can’t you? Is there a plate I can put this cake on for you? And perhaps find you a fork to eat it with?’

  ‘Not at the moment, thank you.’ Bea noticed it was getting dark outside. The nights were getting longer, and the days shorter . . . and she couldn’t tell for the life of her whether Lucy was lying or not. She put on the side lamps and drew the curtains over the windows. ‘So, you want me to phone the police for you?’

  Lucy had returned the cake to its box in order to dab at her eyes with her hankie again. ‘We’ve been such friends for so long, it makes me feel like a traitor, but I suppose you must. I tell myself that she would do the same for me, if things were different, but . . . she needs help, doesn’t she? It didn’t occur to me till I was on my way here, but she’s been so depressed, I felt I had to do something, even if it was the wrong thing, before she . . . You understand?’

  ‘Not exactly, no.’

  ‘Her sleeping pills!’ Lucy clapped her hand over her mouth and looked up at Bea with wide eyes.

  Bea said, ‘You think she might commit suicide?’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that! No, no!’ The woman began to rock to and fro. ‘Not suicide! Not my dear, dear friend!’

  Bea stared at Lucy, and then reached for the landline phone.

  ‘Who are you ringing? The police?’ Mrs Emerson could move quickly when she wished. She was on her feet and at Bea’s side in a trice. ‘The doctor?’

  Bea said, ‘Oliver. He’s nearest. He can check on her.’

  Lucy laid a square hand over Bea’s, preventing her from completing the number she was calling. She glanced at the clock. ‘Not yet. Give her time to . . . Give her time.’

  ‘Time to commit suicide? Hasn’t she the right to speak for herself? Only after that can the doctors decide whether or not she’s fit to stand trial.’

  Lucy continued to hang on to Bea’s hand. ‘No, no. You mustn’t!’

  ‘You want her to die?’

  ‘Isn’t that the best thing that could happen? She wants to go out with dignity. We’ve got to give her time.’

  Bea tried to move the woman’s hand and failed. Curse her weakness! That lobster had a lot to answer for. ‘Mrs Emerson, when you arrived, you asked me to use my influence with the police to get Carrie a proper hearing. Now you say you don’t want her disturbed. What is it you really want?’

  ‘I want the police to know why she’s seen fit to end her life so that you can get them to close the case.’

  ‘Nothing I can say would be of interest to the police. I have no first-hand knowledge of events, and I don’t think they’d accept my word for it that it was Carrie who brought about three deaths.’

  ‘You refuse to help me? And Carrie at death’s door?’

  ‘I see no reason for her to attempt suicide. What I do see is that you have a motive for silencing her. You want her to take the blame for bringing about all those deaths, whereas it was really you who was responsible. Am I right?’

  ‘You think that I . . . Oh no! How could you!’

  ‘If you’re innocent, then prove it by letting me phone the police. Please, take your hand off me.’

  Lucy clung on, glancing back at the clock. ‘It’s too soon. What good would it do to bring her back now, to face months of doctors and tests and spend the rest of her life in a locked ward, in a state of drug-induced dependency? That would be no act of friendship, would it?’

  ‘On the other hand, she might revive enough to accuse you of being a three-times killer?’

  ‘What nonsense! I thought I could rely on you—’

  ‘To do what? Back up your story? Allow Carrie time to die? I’m not in the business of deciding who lives and who dies. Now, please take your hand away so that I can call the police.’

  Mrs Emerson glared at the clock. ‘You really are the most stupid woman I’ve ever met. Well, I’ve tried reason, and you’ve refused to listen, so you’ve brought it on yourself—’

  Lucy hefted her stick, swinging it up and round as if she were on the golf course. Bea ducked and threw herself sideways . . .

  TWENTY

  ‘Gotcha!’ The inspector wrestled the stick out of Mrs Emerson’s hand, even as it whistled past where Bea’s head ought to have been.

  The woman opened her mouth and screamed.

  Bea, sweating, stumbled to the door and held on to it.

  That was a close call.

  The inspector turned Lucy round and thrust her back on to the settee. She gulped and was silent, gazing at them with huge eyes.

  He said to Bea, ‘I didn’t leave when she came.’

  ‘No, I hoped you wouldn’t.’

  ‘You left the door open so that I could hear everything she said. And I did. I’ve already phoned the police to get round to the flats and check on Mrs Kempton.’

  ‘Oliver might still be quickest.’ Once more she reached for her landline and this time succeeded in pressing buttons. ‘Pick up, Oliver!’

  ‘Try Maggie?’

  ‘No, no. She’s out at work.’

  Lucy recovered her nerve. She was even smiling. ‘You’ll be too late. She’ll be gone by the time you get there, and I’ll be the only one left to tell the tale.’

  ‘Pick up, Oliver!’

  Oliver picked up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oliver, this is an emergency. We’re worried about Mrs Kempton. Can you—’

  ‘What’s going on? I’ve just been downstairs to let a couple of policemen in, but they wouldn’t say what for, except that they needed to speak to Mrs Kempton urgently. They can’t get any answer at her flat, so I told them to come up here to the penthouse and go down the fire escape at the back. They seem to think something’s happened to her. I thought Mrs Emerson might know, and I’m just about to go down to her place to see if she can help.’

  Bea said, ‘Lucy’s here. Get hold of the caretaker. He’s got keys to both their flats. Carrie could be in either – and hurry! I think she needs medical help!’

  ‘Too late, too late!’ sang Lucy.

  The inspector was on his own mobile. ‘Yes, break the door down if necessary. Oh, you’re on the fire escape? Get in through the kitchen, then. Which floor are you on? . . . Ah. Good . . .’ He caught Bea’s eye. ‘One on each floor.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘If you break down my door, I’ll sue you!’

  Bea was holding on to her phone. ‘Oliver, are you there, still? You’re on your way down the fire escape? Good. Lucy says Carrie may have taken some pills . . . Perhaps you can warn the police . . .? Ah, they’re breaking into the flat now? . . . And . . .?’ She listened for a while.

  Let her phone arm drop.

  Spoke to the inspector. ‘They’ve found her. She’s dead.’

  Lucy laughed. There were tears on her cheeks. ‘Oh, my precious little friend. Oh, oh! Now there’s no one to tell the tale but me.’

  ‘Oh yes, there is,’ said Bea. ‘I lied just then. They found her. She’s unconscious but still alive. And the paramedics are on their way.’

  Thursday morning

  The inspector rang, early. ‘They pumped Mrs Kempton’s stomach out. She’s very weak, but they think she’ll be all right. She wants to talk. I’m going in to see her now. Would you like to meet me there? You know what’s been h
appening better than I and can pick it up if there are any inconsistencies in her statement.’

  When Bea got to the hospital, she found that Carrie was in a private room with a policeman sitting outside her door. The inspector got clearance from the nursing staff that it was all right to talk to the old lady for a while and took Bea in with him. Carrie lay back on the bed, looking as frail as old lace – and about the same colour.

  The inspector said, ‘Mrs Kempton, do you feel well enough to tell us what happened?’

  A nod. ‘I’ll try. Oh dear, how awful this all is.’ There were tears in her eyes.

  The inspector said, ‘You’ve had a rough time. I’m not going to ask you to make a formal statement now, though I will take some notes. When you’re better, you can come into the station and tell us everything.’

  She nodded. ‘I don’t want to see her again. How could she!’

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning, with Lavinia’s death. How did that come about?’

  ‘I suppose it was my fault, really. Lavinia caught us as we came in. We were both very tired. Lucy went to call the lift but Lavinia got hold of my arm, wanting me to go straight out again and fetch her something from the chemist. I fear I was sharp with her. She threatened me with her stick, and I tried to step back out of reach but she caught me a blow on my shoulder. It hurt! Lucy got hold of the stick and twisted it out of her hand, and Lavinia sort of slid sideways on to the floor and died. There and then, in front of us. I was so shocked. Lucy helped me up to my flat and made me lie down. Then she phoned the police. I would have said something about the stick, but Lucy said not to because it wasn’t anybody’s fault. She told me to say we’d found her lying on the floor, dead. I agreed, but I wished Lucy hadn’t kept Lavinia’s stick . . . She gets dizzy spells, you know. She did have a stick she got from the hospital, but she preferred Lavinia’s.’

  ‘Labyrinthitis?’

  ‘I don’t know what the name is, but she gets some pills from the doctor for it.’

  ‘That can be checked.’

  The freckled hands plucked at the sheet. ‘We’ve been friends for so long . . . We’ve had such good times together . . . I even said she should move in with me when her contract ran out.’