False Report Page 26

  ‘No, I’m all right for the moment, thank you.’

  She led the way down the stairs, past the carpenters who were even now installing a stout door at the foot of the interior staircase, and into the agency rooms, where Celia presided over a reduced, and somewhat subdued, team.

  Once in her office, she handed over the four files.

  ‘That first one is for Howard Butcher; there’s a photocopy of an article about him in a trade journal, featuring his wife and four children. Photographs of him in bed with Josie, showing him enjoying himself. Apparently, he liked to be spanked before he was able to perform. Here’s a photo of him handing over a packet to Mr Toupee in a pub. Photographs of crisp new fifty-pound notes with consecutive serial numbers. I think they must have photographed the notes so that the serial numbers could be traced back to him. A perfect way of making sure their victim could be identified. She – Annie – must have had some method of laundering the cash later.’

  The DI grunted. ‘Howard Butcher’s got himself a good lawyer and is cooperating with us to avoid a murder charge.’

  ‘I don’t think he did actually commit any of the murders, do you?’

  ‘He says he’s as much of a victim as Snow White. Puts everything on Sir Charles, who, according to him, enticed him off the straight and narrow. Oh, and he was totally led astray, he says, by your ex-manageress Ianthe who is a snake in woman’s clothing. It seems she approached him when she first got the job with you, with a scheme to enrich herself. She knew Holland and Butcher were going to be looking for a partnership with another domestic employment agency, and she came up with the idea that she’d persuade you to sell to them, in exchange for her job and a nice lump sum. He says he thought she was joking, only to find out Ianthe was serious.’

  ‘And if you believe that . . .’

  ‘Quite. Mr Butcher says Ianthe kept ringing him up with progress reports on how she was easing your path to leave the agency. He says he was beginning to take her seriously and wondering what to do about it, when she rang to say you’d taken Jeremy Waite in, and wasn’t that a terrible thing to do, him being a murderer and all. She seemed to think that if the police found out you’d got Jeremy Waite, that they’d arrest you for conspiracy, which meant you’d sell quickly, and at any price.’

  ‘What nonsense.’

  ‘True. But she seems to have believed it. We’ve had her in for questioning, and you wouldn’t believe the venom that she spat out. She hates you because you found her out. She is not wholly sane, I think. She boasts that she gave her keys to Mr Butcher, so that he could raid your premises to flush Jeremy out.’

  Bea shook her head in bewilderment. ‘And did Mr Butcher agree to do that?’

  ‘He says not. He says he thought she was off her rocker, and it’s true that the keys weren’t on him when we arrested him.’

  ‘Because he’d passed them on to Sir Charles?’

  ‘Precisely. I’ve brought the keys with me, and with your permission I’ll test them on your door here, just to make sure.’

  ‘No can do. New locks everywhere. And bolts. But I had the foresight to ask the locksmith to let me keep the locks he took off. I’ve put them in plastic envelopes and tagged them. I’ve got them here in the safe.’

  She handed them over. The inspector tested the old lock. Nodded. ‘That’s how Sir Charles managed to get into the house while you were taking Jeremy over to Piers’ place.’

  ‘Did he also pour petrol down the steps and set it alight?’

  ‘No, that was Ianthe. She’s proud of it, by the way. Exorcizing demons, she says. She says she’s only sorry she hadn’t still got the keys, or she’d have let herself in and poured petrol all over the desks and floor before dropping a match into it.’

  Bea shuddered. ‘Well, you’d better have the rest of the evidence. This next one is Jeremy Waite’s file. Photos of him in bed with Josie. As you can see, not exactly convincing evidence of adultery. But what is convincing is a tape obtained by Ms Kelly of various phone conversations. This bit is of Eunice asking in a roundabout way of Annie – I think it’s her, but can’t be absolutely sure – if she knew how to obtain evidence for a divorce against someone, not named, but it’s obviously Jeremy. Then more photographs of fifty pound notes, which I imagine you will be able to trace back to her. I really don’t understand why Eunice didn’t just tell Jeremy to get lost. Divorce him on grounds of incompatibility.’

  A shrug. ‘She saved herself the cost of a divorce. And, she wanted the house.’

  ‘Humph. At least he’s got that back, and a housekeeper-cum-third-wife-to-be as well. Are you going to proceed against Eunice?’

  ‘Not sure. The Crown Prosecution people will have to look at the paperwork. My feeling is that even if she never comes to trial, the word will get about and it’ll give her reputation a knock or two. And the last file, Mrs Abbot?’

  ‘Sir Charles. A cutting from a trade paper, wife at Central Office, cuttings of newspaper reports on his failed attempts to get into Parliament. Photographs of him with Josie, which are not for the faint-hearted. He appears to have locked the door and enjoyed beating her, so the photos were taken through a window.’

  The DI sighed. ‘Nasty. He won’t talk, you know. We’ve charged him with assaulting the fireman for a start, and with conspiracy to commit murder. He denies everything.’

  ‘Won’t Mr Butcher’s testimony send him down?’

  ‘And that of Mr Jason. He’s singing sweetly, too. We found he was carrying a knife on him when he was taken to hospital, which is good for starters. He says he was seduced by Sir Charles, with promises of a hefty bribe, to help trace and deliver Jeremy Waite as and when required. He says he thought Sir Charles was only going to rough the little man up – and you can believe that or not as you choose. He’s already asking if it would go easier with him if he told everything he knew about Sir Charles’ doings.’

  ‘Can you get Sir Charles for Josie’s murder? And that of the photographer?’

  ‘Circumstantial evidence only at present. Maybe forensics will come up with something. And if you would like to charge him with assaulting you . . .?’

  ‘If it will help to keep him off the streets, yes.’

  ‘And, looking on the bright side, I don’t think his dear wife is going to be very understanding about all this, especially when she sees those photographs.’

  ‘He frightened me. He projects force. A maddened bull, let loose in society. Ugh.’

  ‘Look on the bright side. It’s highly unlikely now that he’ll ever be elected to Parliament, isn’t it?’

  In the autumn

  It had been a dry summer, and the leaves were beginning to twist and twirl off the sycamore tree, spiralling down to earth. It was still warm.

  The firm of Howard & Butcher had collapsed, but a buyer had been found for it, who was interested in discussing some sort of partnership with Bea.

  A new manageress had been installed in her front office, Miss Brook and a part-timer were looking after Maggie, Oliver was back at university and Bea had taken some paperwork into the garden.

  Maggie came out to join Bea in the garden, carrying her portable radio. ‘A new entry into the charts.’

  A woman’s voice, backed by a group:

  ‘You promised me . . . a life of ease.

  You promised me . . . our love would last.

  You promised me . . . we’d be together,

  Till both our lives were past.

  I asked how I’d repay you . . . for this precious gift of love,

  And you answered – “with a kiss”.

  You promised me a kitchen . . . with a set of sliding drawers.

  A penthouse with an outlook . . . a wedding with a ring.

  You promised you would keep me . . . from all danger and all harm.

  I asked how I’d repay you . . . and you answered – “with a kiss”.

  You brought me to this country, where the streets are paved with rain.

  You took my childhood
from me, and you sold me to your friends.

  I asked how could you do this? And you answered – with a blow.

  You promised me . . . a life of ease.

  You promised me . . . our love would last.

  Now I walk the streets of London . . . and other cities, too.

  And I know there’s no tomorrow . . . for the likes of me or you.’

  The voice died away into a murmur.

  ‘Mother Mary, pray for me.’

  Silence. Maggie clicked off her radio and went back into the house.

  Bea picked up her papers, but her eyes looked far away, swooping across London to where girls walked the streets, without hope. Like Josie.

  She wished she could help them, but she didn’t know how.

  She could pray for them, though.

  Dear Lord, have mercy . . .