False Step (35 page)

‘Lily might have done so, but Damaris? Maybe it was she who couldn't bring herself to kill you. Maybe they didn't think the bump on your head could be passed off as a part of a suicide attempt. There was one alternative. If they could only turn Bert's corpse into Matthew's, then they'd hit the jackpot. They could easily explain Bert's absence by saying he'd gone into the home as he'd planned all along to do. And in fact that part of the plan worked well; people did ask after him, and were satisfied when told he was in a home.

‘So they took Bert upstairs to Matthew's bedroom and laid him on the bed. They wanted to make him unrecognizable to a casual eye, and they succeeded by making him look like a pantomime dame. He was stripped to his underwear, his face was painted, and he was covered over with the first dress that came to hand, which happened to be one which Matthew had left in a box in his hall. This had been hired from a costumier when the local amateur theatrical company planned that he play the duchess in the comic opera,
The Gondoliers
.

‘The dress was a trifle too big for Bert, but that didn't matter because Damaris was going to identify the corpse as Matthew and with his face made-up in that ludicrous fashion, no one else would be able to recognize him. A wig was set on the table nearby, with the empty bottle of wine, the packet of pills, and a brief suicide note which one of them either concocted there and then … or maybe it was a note Bert had written before to explain something, apologizing for something he'd done or not done? I saw the staged “suicide” and it was … quite horrible. Shocking. But as Kasia, Matthew's cleaner, pointed out, the shoes didn't fit. It was the fact that the shoes didn't fit that really set me thinking.'

Matthew murmured, ‘Poor Bert really did die?'

‘I don't think he meant to kill himself or you. But yes, he died, poisoned by the drug in the bottle he'd brought with him to celebrate your reprieve from death. With Bert dead but you still alive, where did this leave the conspirators? Damaris was going to be fine as she was all set to inherit everything but Lily was still going to be homeless. Neither could afford to give the other away, so they worked together to set the scene. Lily took Matthew off in a taxi and delivered him here, saying he'd had a fall and was very confused, couldn't be left by himself, and would they take him in, please … which they did.

‘Then Lily went back to help Damaris and together they cleared away all evidence of your and Bert's collaborations over the years, such as snapshots and flyers of the two of you working together. They tidied away evidence that Bert had been due to visit you that night. They deleted files on your computer … but not the hard drive, which we were able to copy, and which helped us to piece together what the last few months of your life had been like. The funeral went ahead, if not quite as they had planned—'

‘Funeral!' Matthew was horrified.

Gail soothed him. ‘Yes, dear one. And very well attended it was, too.'

‘But … you mean they buried Bert instead of me? But anyone who knew us would realize—'

‘Damaris identified the body as you. She got the death certificate, which accurately stated that the deceased had died of an overdose.'

‘It was a cremation,' said Gail. ‘We'll get a proper plaque put up to Bert at the cemetery, letters to the papers, all that.'

‘That's horrible!'

Bea nodded. ‘Yes, it was bad, Matthew. But remember; the nightmare stops here. Getting back to Lily and her dilemma. We know that a couple of days after Bert's death, Lily persuaded Damaris to make a will in her favour, leaving her your house and its contents. A surprising move because Damaris's family was also in need of money … until you realize that Damaris was paying Lily to keep quiet. In effect, the two women had murdered Bert and kidnapped you, stealing your identity, but were no nearer accessing any ready cash. They tried to sell your car through my agency, but … oh, where is your car, by the way?'

‘In for a service. I suppose it's still at the garage.'

‘They didn't know that, so the car must still be there. Another problem they had was that of keys. Damaris took possession of your set of keys, Matthew. When she asked the agency to do an inventory on the contents of the house for her, she gave me Kasia's set, which I've hung on to for one reason and another. The conspirators didn't seem to be able to lay their hands on a third set. But with Damaris due back at the shop, and clearing up still to be done at the house, she arranged to pass her set on to Lily, who wasn't working, remember. Matthew, you did have a spare set somewhere?'

Matthew said, ‘A neighbour has a set, but she's away visiting her son in Canada. There's been a number of thefts of keys left on a table in the hall by people hooking them out through the letterbox, so I keep my spare set in the pocket of an old coat that hangs on a hook by the door.'

‘That explains it. They were well hidden. But Lily is a resourceful character. On the Tuesday morning Lily duly turned up, late, at the house with Matthew's keys. She acted very shaken by a fatal accident at Ealing Broadway station, an accident in which Damaris “fell” under an express train and was killed.'

Matthew's face was without colour. ‘No, I don't believe it. How?'

Bea said, ‘I can't prove this, but the only person anyone saw on the platform near Damaris before she fell was a Muslim, dressed all in black. Lily possessed a long black coat and black scarf which she could have wound round her head to make her look like a Muslim. The clincher is that Lily admitted to being on Ealing Broadway station when Damaris “fell” to her death, and she was in possession of Damaris's keys by the time she arrived at your house. Conclusion: they must have made contact with one another at some point that morning.'

Everyone was silent, eyes wide with horror.

‘Yes,' said Bea. ‘Poor Lily, as you say. She'd gone through so much, committed at least one murder, and still had no money to put into her purse. The solicitor wouldn't let her move into Matthew's house until probate was granted – and that was another can of worms, wasn't it, since Derek Frasier decided to dispute the validity of Damaris's will? Poor Lily. I hope she's still at home, but I don't count on it, though where she'd go …' She shrugged.

More silence.

The pale man in the corner took out his mobile phone. ‘I think this is where I come in. Mrs Abbot, may I have Ms Cunningham's address?' Bea wrote it out for him, and he excused himself from the room.

No one moved. Bea closed her eyes. The morning had taken a lot out of her. And one small sandwich had hardly touched the sides. She was hungry. She took the last sandwich on the plate, and checked to see if she had any coffee left in her cup. She hadn't.

Her movement seemed to release the others from a trance.

Mrs Meadows said, ‘You'd better go and pack then, Mr … er … whatever. I'm sure you'll agree we've looked after you very well while you've been in our care, and your bills will be covered by – er – our solicitor will attend to all that.'

Matthew looked dazed. ‘This is … I can hardly believe it.'

Gail put her arm through his, and handed him his stick. ‘Don't worry, darling. It's going to take a bit of sorting out, but I'll help you. Let's go and pack. The sooner you're out of here, the better.'

Mrs Meadows took a deep breath. She turned to her computer. ‘Which means we have a room free. Now who's next on the list and are they able to come in straight away?'

Bea upended her handbag on her desk. The sun shone brightly into her office, the smell of new paint had disappeared, she had almost become accustomed to the lack of carpet, and she'd probably get used to having new furniture in due course. Winston had taken over the new black leather chair in the window, which gave him a good view of bird activity in the garden. It also gave him early warning when Maggie was cooking upstairs.

Bea's favourite pen had gone missing. It wasn't anywhere in her desk, but the lining of her handbag was a trifle loose and things did lose themselves at the bottom. Keys, for instance. Or a lipstick. So she upended her handbag and gave it a shake.

A flurry of papers settled on the surface. Oliver fielded a couple and handed them over. ‘Ahha. I told you that murder pays. Matthew's been generous, hasn't he? One decent-sized cheque to cover the inventories we made, and a huge one for saving his life.'

Bea had been one of the two witnesses at the Kents' civil wedding ceremony the previous week followed by a blessing at St Mary Abbots afterwards. Gail had dropped in only the day before, to thank Bea personally for everything she'd done and ask her – somewhat diffidently – if they might continue to meet.

‘I really need you as a friend who can tell me where I go wrong. Matthew seems to think I'm perfect, but I know I'm not. If only I can avoid the mistakes I made first time round! I've asked him to be firm with me if I start behaving badly, but I'm not sure he will. He's such a kind man.'

Bea stifled a moment of envy. How wonderful to have a second chance at love with a kind man. Oh, if only Hamilton … but there it was, and one had to make the best of things. ‘You'll be just fine.'

Gail turned pink. ‘I'm trying to make it up to him. I've asked him if he'd do a turn at the big charity event I'm organizing next spring, and he hasn't said no.'

‘Good for you, girl.'

‘I'm selling my flat, of course, and I'm covering everything that Derek spent when Damaris died. I've also paid for her funeral, poor dear. I will try to keep in touch with Tom if he'll let me, but I'm not sure he will.' She shrugged. ‘I'll do what I can and that's all one can do, isn't it?'

Bea had given Oliver and Miss Brook a bonus for their part in solving the mystery of the red shoes. Maggie had received a bonus, too, on the successful conclusion of the make-over she'd done at the flat down the road. She'd already been asked to take on a similar job; perhaps this was her future?

Looking around the refurbished room, and knowing how busy Maggie was, Bea made a note to find someone else to do the cleaning for the agency in future. She much regretted that Kasia hadn't registered with the agency and got herself a permanent job. But there, you couldn't organize everything and everybody in this imperfect world.

So, back to the present. Bea picked up another piece of paper, which turned out to be the order of service for her old friend Sylvester. ‘I'll miss him.' She'd read one of the lessons at his funeral, just as he'd wanted.

‘Why do women carry so much around in their handbags?' Oliver teased out a business card from the pile on the desk. ‘I see you've kept Mr Cambridge's card. What do you think of him? I like him. He says that as the law stands I can call myself any name I like.' He frowned, straightened his shoulders. ‘Well, what's in a name, anyway?' He was coping pretty well with his problem.

Bea shoved make-up back into a side pocket of her handbag. ‘As you say, what's in a name? The great thing is that he knew who to contact in the police, and how to get Lily arrested. Poor girl. What she did was dreadful, but I can't help feeling Bert was largely to blame.' She put Mr Cambridge's card back into her handbag, telling herself that she hoped never again to get involved with a murder, but that if ever she was in trouble, perhaps … well, it did no harm to keep his card, did it?

Oliver said, ‘I'm not touching those used paper tissues of yours.'

Bea laughed and dumped them in the bin. A note from Piers was returned to her handbag. He'd invited her to a new gallery opening next week. She'd go and enjoy the evening in a way, but really they had nothing in common, did they? They certainly weren't going to jump into bed with one another, as Gail and Matthew had done.

Bea picked up an expensive card with an enclosure; the card was from Max and Nicole, while the enclosure was a copy of the scan for her baby. Ugh. ‘I'd better put this on the mantelpiece upstairs.' Bea thought that in her day such things were kept private, and were certainly not handed around for everyone to gawp at. But Nicole would expect to see it when she and Max came over next.

Finally, she spotted her pen. ‘There it is. Now where are those letters for me to sign?'

Oliver was smoothing out one last piece of paper. ‘What's this?'

Bea grimaced. ‘I used it to write down Matthew's address, the day it all started. It must have been in my bag ever since. Is it anything important?'

‘Someone wants us to investigate the death of her brother. She says she's sure he was murdered, but the police won't take her seriously.' He frowned, then laughed. ‘A nutter. She thinks the CIA did it.'

‘Tell her we're a domestic agency, pure and simple. We don't do murder.'

‘As you say,' said Oliver, laughing. ‘As you say.'