Staging Death (23 page)

‘That place off Sheep Street?’

‘Spitting distance from the police station?’

My God, now I had a constabulary Tweedledum and Tweedledee duo on my hands. Any moment I would laugh, and I was terrified that I might sink into real hysteria.

‘Exactly. That’s where the men who came here are headed. I think there may be trouble there too.’

While one of the officers called in, I touched his colleague’s arm. ‘I presume you want her to make a statement? The only way you’ll get any sense out of either of them is to take them to a police station with stark and empty interview rooms,’ I said quietly. ‘And you might even get a cup of tea there. Even if it is out of a machine.’

He stiffened. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, as if I were his senior officer.

‘Make sure Mr Thorpe’s in a different room, OK? I’ll clear it with the DCI.’ I might have been back on the set for
The Bill
. If ever there was a moment for Caddie to phone, this was it.

She didn’t.

‘Mrs Thorpe,’ I said, cornering her in the kitchen, ‘these nice young officers need you to go to the police station with them.’

‘I’m not going without him.’

‘Of course not. They need you both to make statements. They may even want you both to look at photos to see if you can identify the men who threatened you. Shall I get your coat? And tell Mr Thorpe to wash his hands? He’ll be very dusty if he’s been showing the detective the loft.’

‘I’ll need my bag,’ she said decisively to Tweedledum.

I ran upstairs, hearing a great deal of Mr Thorpe’s voice and very little of Martin’s, to whom I explained, sotto voce, what I’d been doing.

‘Not just an informant, but almost a special constable,’ he responded, but left it to me to propel Mr Thorpe to the bathroom and to find his jacket.

In time, all six of us were outside the cottage. The SOCO team arrived just as we were leaving, clearly disconcerted by the presence of such a senior officer at the scene of an apparently minor crime. And a filthy dirty senior officer too. But he had the sort of satisfied expression one has when one has cleared out a garden shed and found precisely what one wanted but had forgotten ever putting there. He’d found newspaper and a bin liner, and pressed the resulting bundle into my arms.

‘For your Birmingham University contact,’ he said quietly. ‘I explained to Mr Thorpe I could store them at the police station. I’m no artist, but I’d say while three were total tat, a couple might be
Antiques Roadshow
material. Do you want a lift back to Kenilworth now?’

I snorted. ‘You didn’t hear Mrs Thorpe’s little bombshell, did you? She got rid of the two heavies by telling them the paintings were at Greg’s office in Stratford. I got one of your lads to call it in. Sorry to usurp you, darling,’ I added, ‘but I was afraid someone might be beating up my brother. And just this once he doesn’t deserve it.’

‘Is this your doing, Vee? Did you send those thugs here?’ Greg thrust a shaking finger to within inches of my nose.

He was more furious than hurt, I thought, but I could understand. Someone, presumably the man who had dealt the fatal blow to the Thorpes’ vase, had made a considerable mess of the display stands, the office furniture I’d always thought of as pretentious and a couple of Claire’s cherished potted plants. Claire was sobbing in the arms of a stolid sergeant. His colleague was talking into his radio, but stopped as soon as Martin appeared. What a talent, to be able to silence people just like that. Presence…yes, he had presence.

‘Well? I deserve an explanation, Vee, and that’s the truth.’

‘You do, Greg. And you’ll have one. First of
all, are you all right? And Claire? They didn’t touch you?’

Claire said, ‘They would have done. But the police just turned up, out of the blue.’ She smiled misty thanks at her preserver. ‘And the men shot out of the back door.’

Martin said, ‘As a matter of fact, you’ve got your sister to thank for your rescue, Mr Burford. As soon as she realised that you might be in danger, she demanded action from my colleagues. And clearly got it. But not,’ he said, in a somewhat chillier tone, ‘the perpetrators, sergeant?’

‘No, sir. ’Fraid not.’ His eyes slid towards Greg.

I suspected my darling brother had somehow impeded their efforts. But now was not the moment for me to feed any flames of resentment.

Such considerations clearly did not affect the sergeant, however. ‘Maybe their CCTV will show up something useful, sir.’

‘It might. But as I recall, Mr Burford does not have CCTV. Or any hidden cameras?’ He directed his question at Claire, who shook her head with something like resentment and returned to her soggy tissue. I could scarcely blame her.

‘There may be something from the street cameras,’ the other officer said.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Martin replied crisply. ‘Now, I’m sure you’ll want to call in some cleaners to
deal with this mess, Mr Burford, but I’ll be glad if you’ll wait until a SOCO team has given the place the once-over. I know the scene’s been somewhat contaminated, but they’ll do their best.’

‘What about my other offices? What if them buggers turn up at one of them? That piece of paper they were waving under my nose had her writing on.’

‘First things first, Mr Burford.’ He turned and spoke into his radio. ‘There – the local officers can ensure they get a welcome party if they turn up. As far as the paper is concerned, I understand from your sister that some of your clients asked her to have some of their paintings valued…’

‘A couple of men you sent round for a viewing tried to buy something worth two hundred thousand pounds for a bare two hundred pounds,’ I told him. ‘They took offence when the Thorpes wouldn’t sell and no longer had it on the premises when they went round a second time. At least there should be a record of all enquiries – that would help the police find them.’

‘I never sent two blokes anywhere! Especially those two. I’d have remembered them all right. And Claire’ll back me up.’

She nodded.

‘Drat. Anyway, I took the paintings to Ambrose Beech, hoping he might be able to help. He’s got a girlfriend who’s an expert on art.’

‘That old stoat? Bloke’s as randy as a rabbit on Viagra.’

‘But our two friends must have thought I’d stowed them here.’

‘I don’t know why you should have. Or why you should give them our letter heading.’

With exaggerated patience, Martin said, ‘May I suggest that we all adjourn to my office – you won’t be able to do any work here today, will you?’

‘That’s just where you’re wrong!’ Greg said. ‘I was just dealing with an enquiry about one of our properties when those louts burst in. The Zephyrs, Vee – you know the place.’

‘I do indeed. A lovely old house—’

‘I know, I know. Any road up,’ Greg continued, his Black Country lingo matching his rising blood pressure, ‘someone wants a shufti. And I thought of you, Vee, being as how you could sell fridges to Eskimos, and it’s so bloody cold up there.’

‘Did you take any details?’ Martin and I asked together.

‘I would have if I hadn’t been interrupted. But I said as how you’d meet them there this afternoon, four-thirtyish. Mr and Mrs Tomasovicz. And the devil of it is, I was writing down their phone number and I’d only got halfway through. So I can’t phone up to postpone, can I?’

‘Did you say who would be meeting them?’ Martin asked sharply.

Greg preened, visibly. ‘I told them we had a new representative. Connie George. George was our dad’s name, and Connie is Vee’s first.’ Looking around to make sure all eyes were on him, thus proving that we shared the same histrionic gene, he said, ‘She was born just as Dad got his big position in the works trade union. So my kid sister was christened Connie Vena Burford.’

‘Con-Vena,’ Martin murmured. ‘Were you ever big in Equity, Vena?’

‘As Brother Burford?’ I responded tartly. I changed the subject with a huge grating of gears. ‘Look, Greg, why don’t you leave the new decor and furniture to me to source?’

‘New?’ he squeaked.

Silently Claire extricated herself from the sergeant’s ongoing comfort, and showed him where chunks had come out of the plaster. ‘Insurance,’ she murmured succinctly. ‘And if Vena’s good enough to decorate millionaires’ homes, she’s good enough for this. Some chairs that the clients can actually get out of would be nice, Vena. Connie.’

‘Usual rates, Greg?’

‘I suppose. Nothing—’

‘Nothing fancy?’ I looked at the smashed and expensive detritus. ‘Much simpler than that lot and probably a great deal cheaper. Now, if I’ve got to go and meet these characters, someone
had better get me home,’ I said, looking down at my skirt and top, dusty from the fallout from the Thorpes’ loft. ‘Burford’s Estates don’t send scruffy negotiators round, do they, Greg?’ I had no hesitation in stressing the word
negotiators
.

He winced but said nothing.

‘There’s a Basler shop just down Sheep Street,’ Martin murmured, lover-like, in my ear. ‘I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’

I think he was quite disappointed not to see the counter creaking under a pile of clothes.

Taking him by the arm, I propelled him out into the street, which was busy enough for us to talk unnoticed. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t be a kept woman.’

‘Good God, Vena, you’re going to bloody earn every penny. You’ve got to give the performance of your life. You are going to be a different person – it doesn’t matter if you’ve never seen these people before – they may just drop out a remark to their associates that makes them realise Vena and Connie are one and the same, and then you would be in a mess. We all would. You’ve also got to pretend you believe this couple are bona fide clients. Not a quiver in your voice. Not a hint you’re less than certain everything’s OK. The bugger of it is, it’s pretty short notice for getting cameras and listening devices installed. I’m going
to set that up now. I shall be back in a further fifteen minutes. And then I am going to take you to lunch. Clear?’

I looked him up and down, removing a fragment of cobweb from his shoulder. ‘Only if you can find a clothes brush first. And Martin – you will look after those pictures until I can get them to Ambrose’s girlfriend?’

He tapped me lightly on the skull. ‘Is there anyone at home there? I shall lock them in my office, and then we can take them up to Brum together, if you like.’

For a moment I did like, but then I shook my head. ‘Let’s just get them to Ambrose. She’s his girlfriend, after all. I wouldn’t want either of them to think I was sizing up the opposition.’

Let him chew on that.

Despite his assurance that I was earning the clothes, I only bought one outfit. After all, there was a perfectly decent dress exchange calling out for a visit from me, which would save the taxpayer a great deal of money. All I needed was a car to get there, and it sounded as if I had just to snap my fingers and one would appear. So tomorrow could be a wonderful,
conscience-free
shopping day. Meanwhile I wore the new outfit and had my dusty outfit bagged by an understanding assistant.

We dived into Carluccio’s, and ordered the pasta of the day, spaghetti with clams, and for me a small glass of wine – enough to settle my nerves, but not enough to threaten my driving licence. Possibly not enough to settle my nerves. I was very tense, like a teenager on her first date. Nearly as tense as Martin, as it happens.

Martin broke the silence. ‘I’ve just had it confirmed – that cocaine you found was extremely high quality.’

‘Like that that hospitalised the drug users in Birmingham? I’m sorry, I snap up all sorts of unconsidered news trifles.’

‘A female Autolycus?’

‘In one!’

‘They did find an odd thing on one package – the imprint of a couple of sets of figures,’ he said slowly, as if he were working things out in his head as he spoke.

‘Imprint? You mean someone had been writing on something and the…substance…just happened to be underneath.’

‘Exactly. And so far no one’s got a clue what the figures mean. Two sets of six figures.’

‘As in millions of pounds profit?’

‘Could be. But I’m not convinced. Anyway, that’s our problem. Have you any preference for a car, by the way?’

I grinned. ‘Greg promised yesterday that he’d
do that, didn’t he? I don’t see why the public purse should pay for something my employer provides for all his full-time employees. Now I’m a negotiator, I’m entitled to transport.’

‘I can’t make you out. Half of you is puritan, wanting to save other people’s money; the other half is keen to exploit your own flesh and blood.’

‘Exploit? Not on your life. It’s always been the other way round. The usual capitalist thing. Line the boss’s pockets and screw the workers.’

He put his head back and roared with laughter. Women at the adjoining tables raised their wellshaped eyebrows. ‘Brother Burford,’ he hissed.

Since Greg was still at the police station and couldn’t reasonably be expected to produce my company car at the drop of a helmet, as it were, the police found me a pale-green Micra, which they left in the Bridgefoot car park. Despite the key Martin had given me, I felt like a thief as I approached it. I was fairly sure I wasn’t on my own, but if there were any officers lurking, it wasn’t my job to draw attention to them by peering round. If they tailed me on my way to The Zephyrs they made a good job of that, too, since my rear-view mirror was filled by a succession of different cars.

As Ted Ashcroft had instructed me, I parked
out of any new arrival’s sight line. Then I unlocked the property, dealt with the alarms system, and waited. The owners had already quit the place, leaving it echoing and chilly. But there was a gardener tending a hedge that had taken a battering in the spring gales. Just the one? I’d have liked a whole squad of them. But that might well have alarmed my clients, who were just arriving now in a Lexus. As on all the previous occasions that had alarmed me, both Mr and Mrs Tomasovicz were well dressed. She, ten years his junior, was wearing – no, it couldn’t be Prada, could it? It could. He was a handsome man in his forties, with Paul Newman eyes. His suit was certainly English, its sleek lines unspoilt by bulges. He did on the other hand carry a man bag, a discreet affair in comparison with his wife’s monster Prada. Except it wasn’t a monster. It was delightful – sleek, soft, hanging beautifully. I hoped my eyes wouldn’t turn green.

Would my disguise work? My new look hadn’t deceived the Thorpes for one minute. Perhaps that was because I’d told them I was coming, and they had recognised my voice and behaviour when I arrived. Now, as Ms George, I wore an edgy pair of spectacles, which looked pukka but had plain glass in them, much to the optician’s bemusement. The strong horizontal lines completely changed the shape of my face. Was
that enough? Why not adopt a decided Glasgow accent? Psychologists said that people believed Scots were more intelligent and trustworthy. It was worth a shot on both counts. But I was still very anxious. Smile and breathe, Vena. Smile and breathe.

When I’d welcomed them, I didn’t bother with the spiel about not straying, since there was no furniture or anything else to worry about. But they largely stuck together, him translating from time to time for her benefit. I couldn’t immediately place the accent, but bog-standard Russian, the sort on my long-lost CD, it wasn’t.

Then Mrs T disappeared. Distantly we heard a loo flushing, but it took her some time after that to join us. She muttered something to her husband, who told me with a smile to die for that his wife was entranced by the garden and had been looking out.

‘Who is paying for the gardener?’ he suddenly asked.

‘Our vendors, sir. I gather that they employed a maintenance firm over the winter, but they were badly let down, as you can see.’ I gestured at the overgrown rose bed halfway down the lawn. ‘So now they’ve brought a local man. Slow but steady, by the looks of it. With luck the garden should be perfect when a new owner moves in.’

‘Very good. Now, properties this age have
other maintenance problems. Is it possible to see the roof?’

What a weird question. This wasn’t Knottsall Lodge. The Zephyrs had an ordinary pitched roof, with valley gutters.

‘You mean, go up and see it?’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t believe we have access, sir, or any insurance. You’d need a surveyor.’

My answer plainly didn’t suit him. The charm ebbed away, and the dancing blue eyes became icy.

He asked a couple more questions, and then left, with no more than a perfunctory smile, and a shake of the hand that told of fingers that could easily have crushed mine had they chosen to. Almost as an afterthought he asked about other properties in the area. Dutifully I passed him the appropriate particulars, and accompanied them to the Lexus. I waved them off with a cordial smile.

Only to have them looping back three minutes later and pulling up again at the foot of the steps.

‘Miss George, we have decided we wish to see these other houses…’ he waved the particulars under my nose ‘…and would like to do so today.’