False Alarm (12 page)

The girl lifted her fists to the ceiling. ‘Why is somebody doing this to us?'

‘Why, indeed?' said Bea. ‘Why the cards, the nuisance calls, the vandalism? Why was Sir Lucas's car keyed and the cat killed?'

‘What!' The girl shot upright.

The boy took the wodge of red tissue from his nose. ‘It's stopped bleeding,' he said. ‘The car, we knew about. Laughed ourselves sick. That was Tariq, of course. He admitted it the other night when he was pissed.'

‘Childish,' said the girl. ‘Lady Ossett overreacted. The noise wasn't all that loud.'

Bea said, ‘You were at the party?' How odd that the gossips hadn't mentioned that fact. Perhaps they hadn't known? So many lies and half lies . . .

‘Of course we were at the party. Of course Tariq did the car. You said a cat was killed? You don't mean Momi?'

Carmela didn't frown because her forehead had been Botoxed to prevent such a movement, but she looked as if she'd have liked to have done so. ‘Not Professor Jacobsen's Momi? He must be devastated.'

Kill an adult, and no one much cares. Kill a pet, and everyone screams for retribution. Bea nodded. ‘Poisoned.'

The girl pushed her hair back with both hands. ‘But . . . Momi used to come down here every evening to cadge for leftovers. Salami was his favourite. Come to think of it, we haven't seen him for oh, two or three nights. When was he here last, Connor?'

‘Monday night? Tuesday? No, we had Indian then, didn't we? Momi didn't like Indian and went off in a huff.'

‘How does he get in?'

‘Cat flap. Installed by the previous people. We're used to him wandering in of an evening. He sticks around for a while and then goes off again. Why would anyone want to poison him?'

‘It's escalating, isn't it?' Carmela lifted some dirty jeans from a chair and sat down. This brought her into the light. Bea had a good look at her face for the first time and caught her breath. A figure to die for. A face like a horse; an intelligent horse. A horse that had been slashed by a knife. It wasn't a recent knife wound. Plastic surgery and Botox had alleviated the worst of the effects, but one eyelid was slightly awry.

Bea checked to see if the boy and girl were taken aback by the distortion, but they seemed to take it for granted, so they must have been exposed to it before.

The girl yawned, stretched. ‘Yeah, yeah. But I don't see what we can do about it. Sorry about the mess. The cleaner's given us notice.'

Connor wandered over to a misty mirror to check how much blood he'd got on his face. ‘You mean that Daddy said if you weren't going to get a job, you could clean the place yourself.'

She kicked out at him, missing by a mile. ‘What about you, you lazy so and so? I only let you stay here because I thought you'd pull your weight financially.'

He was aggrieved. ‘You know there's no jobs out there for me. I'm worth more than the minimum wage.'

Carmela said, ‘Oh, I doubt if anyone would take you on, whatever the job. They expect applicants to be clean and neat, turn up in good time and work a full eight-hour day.'

The girl laughed. ‘She's got you sized up, hasn't she, Connor?'

Carmela turned her eyes on the girl, who flushed and said, ‘So? Am I also unemployable? Daddy said he'd find me a job in one of his shops, if I wanted. But I don't want.'

‘Of course you don't,' said Carmela. ‘You'd be on your feet for six hours a day and have to be polite to customers. Besides, you'd miss the booze, wouldn't you? My brother drank himself to death, and I know better than to try to stop someone anyone else from going that way.'

Silence.

Carmela stood up. ‘Well, I must be going. Mrs Abbot, would you care to walk with me?'

Bea followed the fake fur out of the fug into the comparatively clear air of the foyer. The lift doors opened, revealing the two elderly ladies dressed for the outdoors. ‘Is it safe to come out now?'

‘We came down earlier but there was a lot of screaming—'

‘She wanted to see what was happening, but I said we should wait awhile—'

‘So we went back upstairs till everything was quiet.'

‘Yes, it's safe to come out now,' said Carmela, almost smiling. The two older women fluttered out of the front door, nodding and smiling to Bea as they went.

The caretaker appeared with a mop and bucket, and proceeded to put an ‘Out of Order' notice on the lift.

Carmela held the front door open for Bea to pass out before her.

Ah, clean air. Well, clean for London, anyway.

Carmela set off at a good pace. ‘Most afternoons after lunch I walk around the block and have a coffee at the Maison Blanc. Care to join me?'

Bea looked at her watch. ‘I was due back at the office hours ago, but . . . yes, I'd love to. I take it that one of your gentlemen friends is that girl's father – and another is Sir Lucas himself? Or perhaps they are one and the same?'

‘No, no. Two different men. I've known them both for years. To anticipate your next question; I'm a therapist, not a call girl.'

And if you believe that
, thought Bea. And then,
Well, it might be true, I suppose
.

Carmela continued, ‘This scar on my face was inflicted by a manic depressive patient who stopped taking his medication and went berserk.'

Bea nodded. That explained a lot. ‘I thought you might have business ties to Sir Lucas, despite what Lucy and Carrie had to say about you.'

‘Terrible gossips, aren't they? Though their hearts are more or less in the right place.'

‘And Lady Ossett's heart?'

A frown. ‘Do you remember the Carry On film in which Julius Caesar exclaims, “Infamy, infamy; they've all got it in for me”?'

‘Vividly. What you mean is that, like Caesar in the film, the fact that Sir Lucas is paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't after his job. I suspect he's already asked you to find out who may be conspiring with his enemies to do the dirty deed—'

‘I've told him I don't think it's Tariq but he won't listen. He says I'm blinkered, don't want to see the truth. He's asked you to investigate instead?'

‘He's told you about me?'

‘Indeed. And about your intelligent young protégée, whom he's thinking he might offer a job to. Oliver? Is that his name?'

‘Yes. I'm against it.'

Carmela nodded. They rounded the corner into a busy thoroughfare and turned into a high-class patisserie and coffee shop.

‘You'll join me for coffee and some cake?'

Bea decided to forget her diet for the second time that day. ‘Delighted.'

And a good time was had by one and all.

Eventually, Bea said, ‘Can you clear up something for me? Where would someone display business cards for call girls around here? And would just any stationers print them up?'

‘The girls' pimps pop them inside the nearest public telephone boxes every day, to catch the eye of tourists or . . . well, anyone with an itch to satisfy. And, yes; any jobbing printer would turn them out for you.'

‘And the ones dumped in your letter boxes at the flats?'

‘Printed locally, yes. I visited a couple of places which I thought might have produced them. The managers wouldn't confirm that they'd been responsible, but pointed out that they hadn't broken any law if they had.'

Quite so.

Finally, replete with cake and coffee, Bea accessed her mobile phone to see if there were any messages on it. Yes. Two. Maggie to say she'd be returning to her mother's that night, and someone at the agency to say there were a couple of matters which needed to be looked at, but they could wait till the morning. Nothing from Oliver.

‘I must go,' said Bea. ‘But before I do; I believe Sir Lucas owns the freehold of the building. Does he select his tenants personally?'

‘He buys up the leases as they fall in and grants short tenancies to people he likes the look of. Just two of the existing residents have long leases that predate his purchase of the freehold and have refused his offer to buy them out.'

‘Professor Jacobsen and one of the gossips?'

‘One of them. Can't remember which. The other one bought the remains of a longer lease from someone who was moving away. He owns my flat, of course. He's let a ground floor flat to that silly girl's father, and another up top to the people who've gone abroad and sublet to Tariq. That young man will be out on his ear soon since he's lost his job and can't keep up with the rent.'

‘Do you think Tariq keyed Lucas's car?'

‘It seems most likely.'

‘Lady Ossett believes that this separation from her husband is all a pretence. I'm not so sure, myself. Except, of course, that he's left the Lucian Freud portrait in situ.'

Carmela picked her words with care. ‘I suppose that, if he did intend to leave her, the insurance people would have to be consulted before it could be removed.'

‘Do you think he's already selected another wife? Someone younger, perhaps?'

A shrug. ‘We are talking hypothetically here. I imagine that if he were looking for another wife, he would want someone with her own money.'

‘Have you any idea when he intends to inform his current wife that their marriage is over?'

A shrug. ‘You go too fast for me. If he were thinking of divorce, then I suppose he might keep up the pretence until he's dealt with the snake in the grass at headquarters.'

Bea leaned back in her chair. ‘It's like watching a chess-master at work. A bloodless coup. Only, I think Lady Ossett will probably bleed quite badly.'

Another shrug, dismissing the subject. ‘My treat, by the way.' Carmela handed the bill and some notes to a hovering waitress.

Bea gathered herself together. The thought of going back to the agency did not excite, and something was bothering her. She tried to think what it was.

‘Carmela, is the lift at the flats often out of service?'

A shrug. ‘The caretaker likes to give it a good clean once a week.' A frown. ‘Usually early in the morning after the business people have left, and while the rest of us are having breakfast.'

‘Do you mind if I come back with you for a moment? The lift shouldn't be out of service at this time of day, should it? Also, I'd like to ask the caretaker why he didn't intervene when an intruder forced himself on the people in the ground floor flat. I thought he was supposed to keep an eye on, well, everything.'

Carmela hissed something between her teeth and picked up her handbag. ‘He has Sir Lucas's best interests at heart. I'm sure he can explain . . . if there's anything to explain, that is.' She led the way out of the cafe and turned up the road. ‘This is the quickest way, through the alley at the back of the shops, and then round to the front.'

As Carmela let them into the building, Bea saw that the ‘Out of Order' notice was still on the lift door handle. There was no sign of the caretaker.

Something which looked like a broomstick prevented the door of the lift from closing completely.

Carmela said, ‘Yes, that is odd. Shall I raise the caretaker?'

Bea tried to see into the lift. There was no light on inside, and she thought she could see . . . but couldn't be sure. ‘Can we open the door by pressing the call button?'

They tried it. No, it wouldn't open. The power seemed to have been cut off.

Bea said, ‘Can we force it? If I pull the door, and you put your weight behind the broom?'

Together they heaved. The door flew open, and though there was no light on inside the lift, they both spotted the body.

‘I'll call the police,' said Bea.

Somebody or something plucked the mobile phone out of her grasp. She cried out, and turned to face . . . The damaged heel of her boot snapped. She stumbled and fell. And lost interest in the proceedings.

S
ound returned first.

‘. . . in here, that's right . . .'

She was being lifted up and deposited . . .

A face swam into view.

A face which she recognized, but which shouldn't be there. Should it? Would it be stupid to ask, ‘Where am I?'

She'd been laid out full length on . . . what? A settee with bumpy cushions. Not at home. So, ‘Where am I?'

She coughed. Cigarette smoke.

The man she recognized said, ‘Are you all right?'

‘Oliver? What are you doing here?'

‘Rescuing you, it seems. I turn my back for five minutes . . .'

She struggled upright. Her head clanged, and she put her hands to it. ‘Oh!'

‘You banged your head when you fell. Lie still, and we'll get the paramedics to have a look at you.'

She forced herself to sit upright. The room went fuzzy, and then came into focus. ‘I'm all right. I think. Oliver, what are you doing here?'

Another face swam into view. A girl with hair all over the place, wearing a scared expression. ‘Are you all right? What a fright you gave us!'

Ah. She was in the dark-haired girl's flat, which was on the ground floor of a building she'd been visiting. There'd been something about . . . No, it had gone. ‘What happened?'

Another woman's face. Older. Marred but intelligent. Bea knew her, too; didn't she? The woman said, ‘The heel snapped off your boot, throwing you off balance. You banged your head as you fell and suffered a momentary blackout. Do you feel sick at all?'

Bea consulted her stomach. She started to shake her head, learned it wasn't a good idea and said, ‘No. I'm all right.'

‘Well, if you get any odd symptoms, you'd best go straight to hospital.'

Carmela. That was the woman's name. Silly name. Bea tried to think back. Couldn't remember. She had a flashback to . . . She'd caught a glimpse of something, some dark shape huddled into a dark corner . . . No, whatever it was, it had gone.