False Step (34 page)

Authority was not pleased. ‘I think you owe me an explanation. Why is that woman kissing Mr Cunningham?' Recollecting that they had an audience, she turned on the other residents of the room, frozen into various attitudes of surprise. Authority produced a professional smile. ‘Now, then. Off you go. Lunch will get cold otherwise, and we don't want that, do we?'

Force of personality swept them – if reluctantly – out of the room. By which time Matthew had collapsed back into his chair, laughing, still holding on to Gail … who wasn't about to let go of his arm, either.

‘Now!' Authority meant it, too.

Bea produced a card. ‘My name is Bea Abbot of the Abbot Agency, domestic only. My friend here is Mrs Gail Kent, who is—'

‘Matthew's ex-wife,' said Gail.

‘My fiancée,' said Matthew, laughing. When animated, his face was that of an actor, mobile, expressive. ‘In fact, in the eyes of the church—'

‘We're still married, hurray!' Gail touched the bruise on his temple with a forefinger, and then kissed it. Lightly. ‘How soon do you think we can make it legal again?'

Authority closed the door into the corridor and folded her arms at them. ‘I would like an explanation, please. Mr Cunningham here is my responsibility and—'

‘He's not Mr Cunningham,' said Gail. ‘He's Matthew Kent. Oh, Matthew, I'm so glad you're not dead!'

Bea produced a card from her bag. ‘He's Mr Matthew Kent and this is one of his cards. You see the website at the bottom? If you access the site, you'll see his picture. And here,' she produced one of the leaflets which Lily had been trying to shred, ‘is a picture of Mr Kent in costume, with his accompanist, Bert Cunningham.'

‘I told them,' said Matthew, ‘but they didn't believe me. They said I was confused. And indeed, I was confused. It's been a nightmare.'

‘I think,' said Authority, ‘that you two ladies had better leave. You are upsetting my charge, and we can't have that or he'll be ill again. Meanwhile, I'll ring his daughter and ask her to visit, to calm her father down.'

‘His daughter's dead,' said Bea. ‘Sorry, Matthew; but she is.'

‘Damaris dead?' He registered shock, and then something else … a slow realization that there was worse to come. ‘I don't understand …'

Authority snapped out, ‘See how you are confusing him. His daughter's name is not Damaris. It's … it's on the tip of my tongue …'

‘Try Lily,' said Bea.

‘That's it! Lily Cunningham. She brought him in just over a week ago, a little earlier than we'd expected, but he'd had a fall and needed rest. He had a slight concussion and we kept him in bed for a while, just till he recognized his own name. It's not unusual for people of his age to become confused after a fall.'

‘Nobody's blaming you,' said Bea, realizing the woman was afraid for her position. ‘I'm sure you acted with the best of motives and looked after him as well as possible. Tell me, how did Lily bring him in? She doesn't drive.'

‘In a taxi, of course. He was not a well man; anyone could see that. So we put him to bed and had our doctor see to him next day.'

‘We understand that Bert Cunningham had made arrangements for himself to come here some time ago, suffering from arthritis. He must have visited this place before deciding that it suited him. Granted that the two men are much of a height, did nobody recognize that this was not the same man?'

‘I …' The woman reddened, clasping and unclasping her hands. ‘I've only been here three weeks. The lady in charge before me … she's moved on somewhere else. I'm afraid there's been a lot of personnel changes recently.'

‘If you consult your records, you'll find a description of Bert's physical problems. Do they match those of our friend here? What of the scar from his recent operation? What of his need to take antibiotics still?'

Authority wasn't happy. Her eyes switched to Matthew, to her watch, and back to Bea. ‘I think I'd better ring Mrs Meadows, the owner. In the meantime—'

‘Yes, in the meantime, perhaps we could all transfer to your office? I myself would like to make a phone call to someone who might help sort this little muddle out …' But not Sylvester. Never more Sylvester. ‘… And then we can look up your records and do some checking, right?'

‘I really think it would be best if you left. I cannot have Mr Cunningham upset like this. I am a qualified nurse and I can see he's running a temperature.'

‘Probably needs his lunch,' said Bea, without sympathy. Matthew was somewhat flushed, it's true, but that was more likely due to excitement and happiness than to a fever. ‘Which reminds me; you couldn't find us a sandwich or two, could you? I'm famished.'

‘So am I,' said Matthew, with a slow smile at his beloved. ‘In more senses than one.'

‘Well, really!' Authority was not pleased.

However, she did lead the way to an office off the main hall. There she telephoned her boss, while Bea found the business card Oliver had given her and got out her mobile.

Once through to a gentle-sounding voice, Bea said, ‘You won't know me, but Oliver gave me your name. I'm Bea Abbot, and you are—'

‘Mr Cambridge. Are you ringing about the red shoes? Oliver has been amusing me with the details. You have some evidence to show the suicide verdict was wrong? You need some advice?'

‘How does one extract a person wrongly incarcerated in a retirement home? Do I need a writ for
habeas corpus
and how do I obtain one? And how do I arrange for someone to be arrested for murder?'

‘I think I'd better come out to you. Give me directions.' His voice sounded a lot less gentle than before.

Meanwhile, Authority had rung the number she'd been given for Mr Cunningham's daughter. ‘Ms Cunningham …?' The phone quacked indignantly, and Authority frowned. ‘Yes, I've been given this number for Ms Cunningham. Her father is … that's not the number for Ms Cunningham? Yes, I have dialled correctly. Who did you say you were? Derek … Fraser? Frasier? Well, isn't Ms Cunningham to be found at this number? She isn't. Oh. Well, do you know where I can find her? Yes, I'll hold on.' She held on, while Bea smiled down into her hands. So Lily had given Damaris's number as a contact?

‘Yes, I've got that,' said Authority, writing down a number. She put the phone down, and punched more numbers. The phone rang and rang. An answerphone clicked in. Authority put the phone down. More frowns.

Bea and Gail exchanged looks. Lily had gone out. Or … fled? ‘Coffee and a sandwich?' asked Bea.

‘I hardly think … well, perhaps. I'll see what I can do.' Authority produced both. Good for Authority.

Lily stared at the phone. She had a bad feeling about this call. If it was important, they could leave a message. But suppose …?

No, ridiculous! Nothing could go wrong now. Could it?

Only, why had Gail taken the leaflets out of the shredder?

Oh, as a memento. Of course. There was nothing to worry about.

The phone stopped ringing. They hadn't left a message. The call hadn't been important.

But, just in case, she would take her black scarf out into the garden and burn it. No need to take chances.

Oliver's contact, Mr Cambridge, arrived at the same time as the home's owner, Mrs Meadows. She was alarmingly loud, fiftyish and strongly-built. He was as quiet as smoke, a tall streak of a man with the face of a patrician, who introduced himself in a murmur and drifted across the room into a chair, bestowing a faint smile on all and sundry. Bea trusted him on sight.

‘Well? What's the problem?' Mrs Meadows tried to be affable but didn't succeed.

Bea put down her empty cup. ‘I'll start, shall I?'

Matthew pointed at Bea. ‘Apart from being an angel in disguise, who exactly are you?'

‘My name is Bea Abbot and I run a domestic agency. Ten days ago your cleaner discovered a corpse on your bed, dressed and made up to look like you in costume. She yelled for help and when I arrived—'

Matthew looked from Bea to Gail and back again. ‘What? But who …? You don't mean … Bert?'

‘Yes, I'm afraid so. I sat with the corpse till the police arrived. The next day I was asked by your stepdaughter Damaris to prepare a detailed inventory of the contents of your house. Circumstances made me think all was not well, I met Gail, and over the following days a strange story began to emerge.

‘Correct me if I'm wrong, but early this year I believe that you and your old friend Bert both received bad news about your health. Bert was afflicted by arthritis, and a heavy smoker. The prognosis was not good. About the same time you, Matthew, were informed that a growth was affecting one of your kidneys and that it looked like cancer. You shared the news with one another, but responded in different ways to the situation.

‘You, Matthew, had no close family except for your adopted stepdaughter Damaris. Damaris suggested you make a will in her favour and you agreed to do so. Why not? You thought you only had months to live.

‘Bert, on the other hand, decided to purchase an annuity to cover the cost of his moving into a retirement home, using his house as collateral. Living with him and looking after him was the woman known as his daughter, Lily. What he'd done to ensure a comfortable future for himself automatically left Lily without anywhere to live or any place to give piano lessons, but he didn't seem to care about that.'

Mathew said, ‘He never believed she was his, and she wasn't kind to him. I don't blame him for what he did.'

‘Maybe not, but when Lily found out that you were going to leave everything to Damaris, while she'd be left with nothing, she started to make plans of her own. Lily and Damaris had often been in one another's company as children so now Lily renewed her acquaintance with Damaris, who accepted her at face value as an old friend. Damaris introduced you, Matthew, to a solicitor known to her family, and you duly made a will, making Lily one of the executors. Why not? You'd all known one another for ever, and who would you trust except your oldest friends?

‘But then everything went wrong for Damaris. Your surgeon operated to remove the affected kidney, and it was discovered that the growth was benign! You felt you'd been given a new lease of life. Quite by chance you met up with Gail – your ex-wife – again, and were offered some new and interesting work. Naturally you shared your good news with your old friend Bert. Who told Lily.

‘Now both Lily and Damaris were looking at a bleak future. I don't know which of them actually came up with the idea, but when Bert next visited you he took with him a bottle of wine which had been drugged with sleeping pills. But it all went wrong. Over to you, Matthew. What happened next?'

Matthew held Gail's hand to his lips for a moment. ‘The first part of the evening is clear enough, but it gets a bit fuzzy. Bert usually arrived at my place in a taxi, which I'd pay for. This time Damaris and Lily brought him in Damaris's old car. Lily doesn't drive and neither does Bert, nowadays. Anyway, the girls said they were going on to the pictures and would collect Bert later.

‘Usually I'd give Bert some of my own wine, but that night he said he'd gone to a lot of trouble to buy a bottle of wine himself, to repay my hospitality. I was on antibiotics, so I only took a mouthful. It tasted awful, but Bert didn't seem to notice. He was such a heavy smoker, I don't think he'd any taste buds left. I made an excuse to go to the kitchen, where I tipped my glass down the sink. He poured me another glass, I put some traditional jazz music on, we started talking about old times, he began to propose toasts … so to please him I did take the odd gulp. Maybe half a glass.

‘After a while I noticed he'd fallen asleep, was snoring. I felt sleepy, too. I was woken by something … the telephone, maybe? I remember starting to my feet, my glass of wine going over. I think I must have hit my head on the mantelpiece and knocked myself out.' He passed his hand across his eyes.

‘I woke up here, in bed. Concussion, they said. Everyone talked to me as if I were Bert. I wasn't sure at that point who I was. It took time for my head to clear. There was a suitcase full of clothes which fitted me, and the stick … but no mobile phone, or money, credit cards, keys. Nothing. I was unsteady on my feet, and my head ached abominably.

‘It took me a couple of days to remember that I was Matthew Kent. I told them my name and they shook their heads, said it was the knock on the head that had affected me, and that I mustn't get upset or they'd have to give me something to calm me down. I asked them to contact Damaris or Sylvester or my own doctor, to prove I was really Matthew Kent, but they didn't believe me. They sedated me. I tried to borrow someone else's phone, or some money, but everyone had been told I was confused. And in fact, I was. I almost came to believe that my mind had gone. The only thing that kept me sane was the stick Gail had lent me. For some reason Damaris had been kind enough to let me keep it.' He put Gail's hand to his lips again. ‘I prayed that you'd come, and you did.'

‘What an extraordinary story,' said Mrs Meadows, in a tone which meant she didn't believe a word of it. ‘Whatever next?'

Bea said, ‘What happened next is that the two women had one dead body and one unconscious body on their hands, and it was
the wrong way around
! You see, it wasn't going to benefit them if only Bert died. He'd put everything into an annuity and died straight away. They'd set everything up for a double suicide, two old friends, both ailing … why not? True, Matthew had been given the all-clear by the hospital, but everyone knows performers get their melancholy moments. An old friend's death might well have tipped him over the edge into suicide.'

Matthew wasn't buying it. ‘So why didn't they put a pillow over my head and kill me, too?'