Corpse in Waiting Page 10
‘Any hints as to what’s being planned?’ Patrick asked.
‘As of the day before yesterday it would appear that it’s an armed raid on one of the top London jewellers and then an attack on a central police station as they make their getaway to create a diversion and settle a few old scores by killing as many cops as possible.’
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
I said, ‘Will there be any kind of warning?’
‘At the moment that’s only in the pipeline.’
I said, ‘The London, Paris and Florence Diamond Consortium are holding an international jewellery exhibition at a Kensington hotel next week.’
‘That was one of the possibilities mentioned but discounted on the grounds that the security will be really tight.’
‘But armed security?’ Patrick wanted to know.
‘Quietly, yes.’
My mobile rang and I apologized, leaving the room to answer it.
‘I shall have to go home,’ I said, putting my head around the door a couple of minutes later. ‘That was Carrie. She sounded awful and thinks she’s got the flu. I suggested she went to bed and stayed there in case she gives it to John and Elspeth.’
‘Take the car,’ Patrick said. ‘I don’t really need it.’
‘We’ll work on this with the rest of my team but keep you right in the picture,’ Greenway promised. ‘And please let me know as soon as you’re free to return.’
I drove to Hinton Littlemoor without stopping. There are contingency plans in place if Carrie is suddenly taken ill while Patrick and I are away and I had been wondering on the drive whether she was feeling so dreadful that she had forgotten about them or the people who would have taken over from her were somehow all unavailable. And surely we had mentioned to Elspeth what emergency measures were there for the asking. All she had to do was pick up the phone.
Something wasn’t quite right.
This immediately became apparent when the first thing I saw was Carrie playing with Vicky on the rear lawn of the rectory, Mark in his pram nearby. Not wishing to worry anyone I parked the car and went over to tell her that I had just ‘popped’ home. Mark woke up and welcomed me by filling his nappy so I took him away to change him, meeting Elspeth who had just come out of her own front door.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said. ‘Have you had lunch?’
I told her I had not.
‘There’s a portion of Waldorf salad in the fridge if you’d like it. Is Patrick with you?’
‘Yes, please, I’m afraid he isn’t and I must deal with this niffy baby before I do anything else,’ I said, hastening indoors.
Thirty-five minutes later, everything having been attended to, I had a one-woman council of war. Point one: I had been lured away from London, point two: I had a damned good idea who was responsible, point three: if I now had to go behind Patrick’s back so be it, point four: I would talk to Alan Warburton Kilmartin, Alexandra’s one-time boyfriend.
It seemed sensible to apprise James Carrick of what had happened in the event of the architect turning out to be a crazed serial killer in his lunch breaks.
‘I agree, strange,’ said the DCI. ‘Do keep me posted. You say you’re going to Warminster to see this man?’
‘Yes.’
‘Be careful. And I’ll get an area car to drive occasionally by your place – just to be on the safe side.’
‘Thank you. Did Patrick ring you back?’
‘He did, and like him I’m very disappointed that Tony Capelli’s still in the land of the living. As far as the murder case is concerned I’ve been given more time to question Bennett. Put politely, he’s an unpleasant character and I’m fairly convinced he knocked the woman around even if he didn’t kill her. But he might know who did or put out a contract to someone to have her done away with. He’s still insisting he got a letter from her to say that she was going to live with her sister.’
‘Did Patrick tell you about the dragons?’
‘His middle name’s George, isn’t it?’ Carrick responded dryly.
I reached Warminster, in pouring rain, noting carefully the black Merc tailing me: not getting too close, keeping two or three cars between us, but nevertheless present. I had proved quite early in the journey that we were not merely going to the same destination by taking a couple of short unnecessary detours around country lanes. Still the vehicle remained in my rear mirror, but I finally managed to get rid of it by some convoluted driving in side roads on the outskirts of the town.
The address Alexandra had given me was a business one; Kilmartin and Liddlestone-Mitten Associates, so I was hoping that even if the man was not at work they would give me his home address. But I saw when I arrived that the business was run from a private house with a large modern extension, the upper floor of which had the kind of huge windows that denote a drawing office.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ queried the extremely elegant young woman on the reception desk, the quiet hum of a professional business in the background.
‘No, it’s a private matter,’ I told her. I gave her my card. The words ‘author and scriptwriter’ usually get me into most places.
After a short wait I was shown into a nearby office and into the presence of surely one of the most gorgeous men in the universe. Besides having green eyes and ash blond hair he virtually dripped elegance, refinement, good taste, polish, culture, plus anything else of that ilk Mr Roget could have listed.
‘Miss Langley, how nice to meet you,’ he said, voice-of-God. ‘I was just about to have some tea. Would you like to join me?’
‘That would be lovely,’ I replied, hoping he could not hear my heart pounding against my ribs.
I fully expected him to call some minion over an intercom but he went over to a corner cupboard, opened it and thus revealed a mini-kitchen complete with a kettle, tiny fridge, microwave, bone china tea and dinner ware on shelves, the entire thing a dream of a design in toning shades of green.
‘Like it?’ he asked, giving me a grin over his shoulder that made me feel a bit faint.
‘It’s super,’ I said inanely.
‘My own design. I’m in the process of patenting it. There’s other storage where you can keep biscuits and non-perishable snacks and stuff like that.’ He demonstrated quickly. ‘And, this –’ he flashed another smile at me that turned my knees to water – ‘Is where you wash up.’
The little stainless steel basin, glitteringly clean and complete with taps, had seemingly folded down from an invisible aperture in the wall.
‘It’s perfect for modern offices and there’s a bigger version for bedsits and flats where there’s no room for conventional stuff. Comes in several colourways too.’
‘I hope you’re wildly successful with it,’ I said. I had already decided that I must have one but where, exactly, to put it?
‘Thanks. China or Earl Grey?’
‘Earl Grey please.’
He made the tea, every movement of the tanned slim hands adept and graceful.
‘Now, what can I do for you?’ Alan Kilmartin said when it was brewing. ‘Molly said something about it being a private matter. But have we previously met?’
‘No, but it concerns someone we both know,’ I told him. ‘Alexandra Nightingale.’
‘Alex!’ he almost yelped.
‘She’s not for one second a friend of mine,’ I hastened to add.
‘I’m really pleased to hear that,’ he responded grimly.
‘In the smallest of nutshells,’ I said. ‘My husband works for the Serious Organized Crime Agency and so do I, in an advisory capacity. It appears that he knew Alexandra years ago and she’s turned up and—’
‘Stolen him from you?’ he interrupted.
‘It’s worse than that. She’s—’
‘Chewing him up and spitting out the bits?’
‘Sort of.’
‘It’s what she does.’
‘Alan . . . May I call you Alan?’
‘Please do.’
‘She’s steamrollered all his talents and rendered him blind as to the kind of person she really is.’
‘Yes.’
He poured the tea. ‘She should have gone on the stage – fantastic actress. Biscuit?’
‘Please. But I haven’t come here expecting you to sort this out for me. Do you know anything about this agency she runs?’
Kilmartin looked surprised. ‘Not really. Only that it’s in the West End and hires out home helps and nannies in that general area. Why do you ask?’
‘Did you ever wonder if she was involved with anything illegal?’
‘No! I wouldn’t go out with anyone like that.’
I just looked at him.
‘Oh, but look, I don’t think I was that blind.’ He broke off and then said, ‘You must understand that Alex and I used to get on really well, at least for a while. We had fun. All quite normal really although she could be very silly sometimes and intolerant of other people. And then she started flashing her big blue eyes at a friend of mine who was engaged to a lovely girl. They had an affair. The poor guy was putty in her hands and the wedding was suddenly all off. As you might imagine, I had words with Alex about it and she swore she was sorry and would never do it again. But she did, she wanted all the blokes who loved someone else, even the married ones. She didn’t really want them of course, only to play with them and ruin their relationships. We were living together at the time – before I got this place. I moved out and the last I heard was she’d got a flat in town.’
‘She told us you’d found someone else.’
‘Not true.’
‘She’s moving down to Bath – plus the agency.’
‘Plus the agency? What, starting all over again, you mean?’
‘Presumably.’
Thoughtfully, he sipped his tea. Then he said, ‘I really wish I could help you.’
‘Is there anything you can remember, or something of hers you still have that would give some kind of insight into what she’s up to in her business life? Please think.’
‘You really think she’s up to something illegal?’ he asked dubiously.
‘I have what my Dad used to call cat’s whiskers, intuition, and no, this isn’t me trying to get her out of my marriage by cooking up accusations about her. To give a little weight to what I’ve already said I feel I ought to tell you that I’ve had a mildly threatening phone call from someone who said that what Alex wants, she gets and I’m to remember that.’
‘She does,’ Alan muttered. ‘I wouldn’t call that mildly threatening.’
‘I take it you haven’t spoken to her lately about me wanting to buy a house she’s set her heart on?’
‘Have you? No, we haven’t exchanged a word since we split up.’
I told him about the non-existent case of flu.
He chewed thoughtfully on a biscuit for a few moments and then said, ‘You were lured away from London. That’s worrying.’
‘Did she never talk about what she did?’
‘No, but, be honest, it wouldn’t be the kind of thing a mere male would be interested in.’
He had a point. I said, ‘Would you say she made a fair living out of it?’
‘Oh, yes, a very good living. She bought a Porsche, cash, just before we split up.’ He frowned, thinking. ‘I know there’s a man who sort of works for her.’
‘Medium height, broad shoulders, dark receding hair, swarthy complexion, one gold earring and a bit shifty-looking?’
‘Yes, exactly like that. You’ve obviously seen him.’
‘He was talking to her outside the hotel where she was staying in Bath. She said he was looking for a commercial premises for her.’
‘If it’s the same bloke – and it sounds like him – I doubt that. His name’s Stefan and she told me he was the odd-job man at the office block where she had her business. She employed him to do extra things like clean her car or even drive it if she was going out for the evening when she stayed in town and wanted to get plastered. I didn’t mention her drinking like a whole shoal of fish, did I? No, Stefan’s not very bright. I wouldn’t even trust him with buying an evening newspaper.’
‘Do you know his surname?’
‘Sorry, no.’
‘I don’t suppose you have the address of this agency.’
‘No, not exactly but I know where it is. There’s a newish building in what must be the only scruffy street in Kensington. It’s in the style someone I know once described as Albanian Slaughterhouse Revival. It’s horrible – you can’t miss it. Boyles Road.’ He smiled and my heart thumped again. ‘The name says it all really.’
I thanked him and finished my tea.
‘Are you staying in Warminster tonight?’ Kilmartin asked.
‘No, I’m off home.’
He glanced at my card. ‘Hinton Littlemoor. That sounds nice. Only I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me. I’ve never met a writer before.’ He laughed. ‘No evil designs, I assure you. I don’t want to be slowly taken apart by your husband.’
I refused as graciously as I could.
NINE
On the verge of panic, a youth with red and orange hair and wearing a tee shirt with the words Attack of the Killer Robots printed on the front was staring at me through the opened driver’s window. ‘You – you all right, like, Mrs?’ he stuttered.
I rather thought I wasn’t.
The Range Rover was at quite a steep angle pointing downwards and seemed to be partly inside a small tree. I turned my head a little and saw that the jagged end of a broken branch that had come through the windscreen was about six inches in front of my nose. Glass was everywhere. Automatically, I reached out to turn off the ignition but my arm was either trapped or broken: I could not move it. There was blood on my jacket which seemed to be dripping off my chin. Wriggling round carefully despite being tightly braced against my seat belt, my body feeling strangely numb in places, I turned the key with the other hand.
‘Has someone called the police?’ I asked the youth, who was still gawping at me.
‘Dunno.’
‘Do you have a mobile?’
‘Yeah, but there’s no money on it.’
Heaven only knew where my handbag had ended up. ‘Please go and find someone who can dial 999,’ I asked him, trying to stay calm for his sake.
‘I’ll go and see the woman whose garden it is.’ He scrambled off up a grassy slope.
Garden? What did the stupid boy mean, garden?
What the hell had happened?
I had had an accident, obviously, but could remember nothing about it.
Without warning the car slid a little farther and I flung my upper body towards the driver’s door window just in time before being impaled on the branch. I simply dared not undo my seat belt and try to get out in case the inevitable shift in my weight made the vehicle career down into what might be a deep hole, taking the tree with it, or even flip over on to its roof.
Land Rovers aren’t cars, someone had once said to me, they’re a legend.
‘So please stay right where you are,’ I said out loud.
It slid a little more and then juddered to a halt again.
Time went by. I might have lost consciousness, or even dozed in some kind of stunned apathy, and when I was again aware of my surroundings the car seemed to have moved again, the branch now pressing into the side of my head, forcing it almost out through the open window. The fact that I prefer to drive with it down on a warm day rather than use the air con was paying off in bizarre fashion.
Sirens.
Then, when I was beginning to think they had gone somewhere else there were voi
ces followed by clanking and clinking noises.
The car jerked slightly.
Several people slithered down to where I was, one of whom I knew.
‘Someone said you were dead!’ James Carrick exclaimed.
‘How are you here?’ I said.
‘Because the registration of this vehicle is in my personal database so that it gets flagged up when anything happens to it that shouldn’t. The medics are here, Ingrid, and the fire brigade guys have just fixed a winch-line to the tow bar so you don’t finish up in the bottom of the valley. You’re going to be fine.’
I wanted to believe him.
I could imagine the comments.
‘Women drivers.’ (Sighs all round.)
‘They do get distracted easily and admire the view.’
‘Or be busy fiddling around with the CD player.’
‘Ingrid being a writer does mean she tends to live in her imagination – for days on end actually.’
‘Yes, that must have been it; she was working on the plot for her new novel.’
‘Shame about the car though. What was it, fifty-odd thousand quid’s worth?’
‘Nearer sixty by the time we’d had it customized.’ (Groans all round.)
After the paramedics had established that I had no visible major injuries I had been gently eased out of the car and placed on a stretcher, my head immobilized in case of neck injuries. A large splinter sticking out of my cheek had been removed there and then in case it was accidentally knocked and created a larger wound.
What felt like hours later I was checked over in the A&E department of Bath’s Royal United hospital. I was staggered to discover that nothing was broken, and I was suffering only from mild shock. That was it, sent home with some painkillers.