The murder quadrille, p.27
The Murder Quadrille, page 27
‘Nice?’
‘You’re on repeats again, Martin.’ The detective leaned back in his chair. ‘So tell us a little about Sarah. You know her mother died this morning?’
‘Not before time.’ Martin wanted to get off the subject of Sarah right away. ‘Ghastly old cow. She never liked me.’
‘Your wife or her mother.’
‘Her mother, of course.’ Martin started involuntarily to shiver. ‘My wife loved me.’
‘Maybe your mother-in-law was on to you Martin, you and your little ways. What woman wants a son in law who spends his time fiddling the books, burgling himself and murdering young women?’
Martin remained silent.
‘She’s pretty cut up, your wife.’
Oh god, oh god, oh god! They did know. Despite himself Martin burst into uncontrollable sobs.
‘I don’t want to say anything else, please.’ Martin gasped, wiping the tears from his cheek. ‘Not till I have a solicitor present. Please. I need to talk to Max Latham.’
Detective Inspector Butler pressed a button and spoke into an intercom. ‘Get one of the duty boys in would you, Phil. Little cry-baby wants a new solicitor.’
Despite an uncontrollably wobbling chin, Martin sat back and folded his arms. He was resolute in his determination not to talk till he had some legal representation.
After a few minutes sitting opposite him in silence the detective leaned forward, spoke the official rigmarole and flipped off the voice recorder.
‘Let’s go walkies.’ He stood up and the policeman by the door stepped forward to lead Martin out of the room.
They branched off halfway along the corridor and stopped outside another room with a peephole window.
The detective pushed Martin forward so he could take a look through the glass.
There was Max, sitting opposite a police detective, his jacket off, sweating and purple faced. His hands were muddy.
The detective was apparently giving him a good grilling.
‘If we were in one of those black and white films, Martin, I’d turn to you now and say “He’s singing like a canary”. Know what that means? It means he’s trying to save his own skin by dumping you in it.’
Martin could see that they were not lying to him. The Max they were presenting was not a man bursting with pompous confidence, but a cowering finger-pointer. Suddenly Max’s eyes swivelled up to the door and he caught Martin’s eye.
The detective pushed Martin along, out of Max’s vision. They turned the corner, heading back towards the holding cells.
‘We’ve another surprise lined up for you later.’ The detective stopped at the cell door. ‘We’re taking you to see your wife, Sarah. Back at your house.’
Martin grasped the architrave, and was sick all over the threshold.
‘All right.’ He said wiping the vomit from his lips. ‘I confess. I did it. I killed her.’
GALOP—Hungarian springy dance including a glissade and a chasse
Sarah pressed hard on the bell to Tess’s apartment.
She heard a man’s voice, bidding her rather impatiently to ‘come on up.’
How odd. Perhaps it was an editor or agent or someone from work, up there with her. Maybe a friend over from the States, needing a place to lay his head.
As she climbed the stairs Sarah flipped the phone open again, ready to show Tess the text message she appeared to have sent her, and to get an explanation.
‘You took your time,’ said the man as Sarah reached the top of the stairs and pushed the door open.
She found herself face to face with that awful bank manager of Martin’s, Kevin the Czech.
He blushed thoroughly.
Sarah noted the polyhedron of his Adam’s apple bounce in his gullet.
‘Sorry, Sarah.’ His lips parted into a thin, tight smile. ‘I was expecting someone else.’
Sarah flipped the phone shut, her mind racing through the computations of what the hell this could mean. Over dinner on that ghastly knife-wielding night had Tess struck up a close relationship with the humourless bank manager? How bizarre! And even if that was true why was he here alone in Tess’s flat at nine o’clock at night, holding court with Lisa?
‘I was looking for Tess,’ Sarah said glancing round. ‘Is she in?’
Sarah noted that the TV was unplugged and standing in the middle of the carpet, next to it was Tess’s laptop computer and a bedside clock radio.
‘Looking for Tess?’ Kevin shrugged and presented Sarah his open palms. ‘Aren’t we all. No one seems to have heard a squeak out of her for two days.’
Sarah glanced back towards the door.
If Tess wasn’t here how had Mr Kruszynska got in? You’d need three keys to get into this flat, two for the front and one for the inner door. Did he have keys to Tess’s flat? If so, why?
Before she could utter her concern, Kevin spoke.
‘I found the door open,’ he said. ‘So I came on up.’
Again Sarah put her lips together ready to ask him how Lisa had come to be in here with him a few minutes ago. But before she had a chance to form the words he had pre-empted her again.
‘Lisa too,’ he said. ‘She came here because she was worried when Tess hadn’t answered her calls.’
Lisa phoning Tess! What an extraordinary idea. How many more of these outlandish friendships had been created during that ghastly dinner?
‘I suppose, Mr Kruszynska, that I must be the third in the Check-up-on-Tess Club.’
‘Are there others?’ Kevin looked nervously towards the door. ‘I wonder who else will be joining us?’
‘Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Daniel Whiddon, Harry Hawke and Uncle Tom Cobley by the look of it.’
Kevin’s face creased with worry.
‘Who are they?’
Sarah recalled that, despite his impeccable English, Kevin of the unpronounceable Eastern European surname had not been brought up in England, and therefore was unlikely as a child to have learned the words of whimsical English folk songs.
‘So Sarah…’ He frowned in a patronising way which Sarah supposed was his method of showing concern. ‘Have you heard from Tess at all?’
‘Yes, actually.’ Sarah flipped open her mobile phone and scrolled down through the texts.
‘Not that it’s any business of mine,’ said Kevin. ‘Just concern for a client you understand.’
She noted that the frantic anxiety he had displayed over Uncle Tom Cobley, had turned about. He queried her now with an insouciant “I couldn’t care less” air which Sarah interpreted as truly serious interest.
There were various ways of looking at this, possibly Kevin of the bouncing cheques was having an illicit affair with the American writer behind his poor baby-laden wife’s back. Perhaps he had really come here because Tess wasn’t answering his calls.
But whatever was going on there was something about his quivering, cold energy which frightened Sarah.
She decided not to show him the text.
‘Sorry I got a bit confused. No, Kevin, I’ve not heard from Tess since the dinner party.’ Sarah closed the phone and dropped it into her pocket. ‘I’ve been away.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said the Czech. ‘Quite a bit of trouble your husband has got himself into while you were missing, hasn’t he? Have you come back to give evidence?’
Sarah tried to decipher what he was saying. Her mind whirled back over all she knew. They couldn’t have arrested Martin for murdering her, as here she was, alive and well. And on top of that she had never told a soul the true facts about the episode with the knife, so who else knew?
If this creepy bank manager was standing before her asking if she was back to “give evidence” it would have to be a very weird investigation indeed. She had never heard of the suspect in a murder case being held when the “victim” was seen to be alive and well, or even more hilariously, the corpse was coming back to give evidence on behalf of their killer. He couldn’t possibly mean that. Could he?
‘This is all very peculiar, Kevin.’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ Kevin Kruszynska knotted his eyebrows and seemed to scrutinize her whole body with his remote shark-like eyes. ‘Martin has been arrested and is being held for the murder of that librarian.’
‘The librarian? Martin’s being held?’ Sarah contemplated these fantastic statements. ‘I’m sorry I don’t understand you. Are you saying that my husband, Martin is being held for killing the librarian who went missing last week?’
Kevin stood before her, sanctimonious smile smeared across his face, nodding like a dog in a car’s rear window.
‘Let’s get this straight, Kevin.’ Sarah was sure she must have misheard, or that this idiotic number cruncher from Transylvania, or wherever he came from, had got his facts in a muddle. Hadn’t they all been talking about that case throughout the dinner party? Perhaps he was referring to some conversation they had had while she was in the kitchen. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that my husband Martin is being held by the police for murdering some strange woman that he did not know?’
‘That’s exactly what I am saying.’
‘This is not a practical joke?’
‘Absolutely not.’
Kevin’s phone rang. An annoying sharp repetitive beep.
Sarah turned for the stairs.
‘I’m sorry, Kevin. I have to go.’ She clattered down the stairs, calling up before she went out into the street. ‘If you hear from Tess let me know.’
She could hear Kevin on the phone. ‘…Now. Same as before.’
Even though she was on the street threshold she heard also the change in the tone of his voice as it took on a very hard, slightly panicked tone and he said harshly: ‘You’ve done what?’
Sarah walked towards her home.
A silver car turned into the road and pulled over.
Sarah’s toe flipped against something lying on the pavement which went skittering into the gutter. She stooped to look.
It was the heel of Lisa’s shoe.
That was weird too. No woman simply left the heel of their shoe behind on the pavement, even if it did look un-repairable.
Sarah picked up the heel, then thought perhaps Lisa might come back looking for it, and so placed it carefully on the kerb, where it would be easy to find.
As she rose, Sarah caught eyes with a man sitting in the silver car, talking on a mobile phone. He turned away.
Sarah turned into her own front gate.
There was something wrong with Kevin and his story concerning Tess. It didn’t add up. Not only that, but the man was positively creepy. Those dead fish-like eyes seemed to have no connection to the soul. His icy demeanour, and the tension in the room had scared Sarah. She feared for Tess.
She pulled out her mobile phone and scrolled down through the received texts. She would try to phone Tess again then call the police to report her missing. She’d have to phone the police anyway, to help poor Martin.
As she put her finger to the keyboard, her phone vibrated in her hand. An incoming call from some mobile number.
‘Hello? Is that you Tess?’
‘Sarah?’
Sarah did not recognise the male voice.
‘It’s Peter.’
‘Peter?’
‘Peter Beaumont. Marti’s dad.’
Oh god—the pompous popinjay.
‘I’ve been having a bit of trouble rousing that prodigal son of mine, and wondered if everything was AOK down at Beaumont Towers?’
Sarah turned into her front gate.
‘Yes, yes. I was just about to phone him actually.’
‘Phone him? He told me you’d had a bit of a squabble over a dinner party or something. Are you living apart, is that it? Trial separation?’
As Sarah didn’t really know what was going on, she decided that for the moment she could not give Martin’s father the bad news over the phone that his son had been arrested for murder. Just because Kevin had told her it had happened did not mean it was true. And even if it was true, the old boy was in his 80s. Who knew what effect news like that would have on an ancient heart? With a pang, which felt somewhere between a sigh and a blow to the stomach, she thought of her dead mother, not yet buried. ‘Look, Peter, I am just going into our house now. I’ll phone you from the landline when I get inside. OK?’
She slammed the phone shut and re-opened at Tess’s text.
She pressed the button to dial the number. But Tess’s number cut straight to answering service. This time she left a message. ‘Tess. Hello. This is Sarah Beaumont. I’m worried about you, and not sure whether you know that Kevin Kruszynska is in your flat.’ She paused, unsure whether an American understood the word flat. ‘…Your apartment. He was in there with Lisa Pope. You know, Max Latham’s girlfriend. And all your things were piled up in the centre of the room.’
Sarah stood at her front door, holding the phone with one hand and groping in her pocket, searching for the keys with the other.
‘Also, Tess, I had some strange texts from what appeared to be your number.’
Sarah slipped the key into the lock and shoved the front door open with her foot.
‘Is everything all right? I’m seriously worried about you, Tess. Please call me. In the meantime I will call the police and see if they can trace you.’
Still holding the phone to her ear, Sarah stepped into the hall, kicking the door shut behind her. She did not hear the slam, so whirled round to close it.
A man she had never seen before was standing on the threshold, his foot in the gap.
He whirled his hand, waving his finger in a circle, instructing her to wind up the call.
Sarah wasn’t sure whether to yell for help or obey him.
‘Mrs Sarah Beaumont?’ asked the man, reaching into his jacket pocket.
For an instant Sarah thought he was going to pull out a gun. But he took out something like a wallet, held it up and flipped it open.
It was a police badge.
‘Detective Stuart Adams,’ said the man, walking into the hall. ‘I think we need to talk.’
‘I have to go,’ said Sarah into the phone. ‘Someone from the police has arrived. I’ll tell him my worries.’
SARABANDE—a stately dance in which the dancers continuously move four steps forward and four steps back
Before Tess could find her equilibrium, the person beneath her started shrieking, pulling at her hair, scratching at her eyes. They wrestled for a second or two, with Tess trying to out-yell the other woman, begging her to calm down.
‘What’s going on?’ shrieked the woman. ‘Let me out of this stinking box.’
She pulled away from Tess and flung herself against the door, beating on the metal with her fists, shouting: ‘Open up, you bastard. It’s not funny.’
‘He’s gone.’ Tess spoke calmly. ‘Didn’t you hear the car rev up, and the garage door open?’
‘Who are you?’ asked the woman. ‘The joke’s over, lady. Come on, whoever you are. Let me out.’
‘I am an American citizen and I am being held here against my will by two men who, I believe, plan to kill us.’ Tess did her best to sound level and calm. ‘My name is Tess Brandon.’
The newly arrived woman turned and peered in Tess’s direction.
‘Tess Brandon? The crime writer?’
‘That’s me.’ In the dark Tess blushed. She could barely believe how it still felt great, even in these circumstances, to be recognised by a fan.
The other woman lurched forwards in the dark, stretching out her arms like a child playing Blind Man’s Buff. She stooped to cradled Tess’s face in her hands, then pulled one hand back and gave her a sharp slap across the cheek.
‘Hey!’ cried Tess. ‘What’s that about? Lookit, if you don’t like my books…’
‘I’ve had enough of this. It’s not funny. Max is meant to be meeting me for dinner. Let me out at once.’
‘Max?’ Tess reeled. ‘Is that…Lisa? Holy shit.’
‘Yes, Tess, as you well know, it is me, Lisa, and I am ordering you to open that door and let me out. The joke’s gone far enough.’
‘Holy fuck!’ Tess said. ‘What in crap’s name is going on?’
‘You tell me. And if it’s supposed to be a sort of American prank, it just isn’t funny.’
Tess grabbed Lisa’s hands.
‘This is no joke, Lisa. You know the librarian who was killed…’
‘Oh for GOD’S SAKE, Tess, not again.’ Lisa freed herself and flopped down into a sitting position. ‘We all had quite enough of that kind of talk during Sarah and Martin’s dinner party.’
‘Lisa, please, please listen. Those two men who put us in here…’ Tess tried to continue in an earnest and level voice. She knew she had to make Lisa grasp the truth. ‘You realise, I hope, that they’re the mad fuckers who killed that librarian, right—the bodies dumped on the Commons. Well, they’re going to kill us just the same way. We’re going to be next.’
‘Stop being absurd, Tess.’ Lisa sat up and shouted into the darkness. ‘You’ve got too vivid an imagination. And anyhow, I wasn’t brought here, as you put it, by two “mad fuckers”. There was only one.’
‘OK, so how did that one mad fucker get you into the car?’ Tess asked quietly. ‘Did he pretend to be a detective?’
‘He was taking me on a date.’ Lisa’s voice started to quiver. Tess couldn’t work out if she was frightened or on the verge of tears. ‘Max stood me up. Then he stopped and offered me a lift.’
‘Max brought you here?’
‘No. This other bloke. I only got in the car cos he seemed so sweet.’
‘You got into a car with a total stranger?’
‘Of course not, Tess. I’m not a total fool. I’ve known him a while.’
‘Woh! Holy fuck, Lisa!’ Tess slammed her fist down on the damp mattress. ‘You mean to say you actually know the jerk?’
Lisa lifted her head, nodded and said quietly. ‘Kind of.’
‘Leather jacket, dark hair, shiny white teeth, hairy arms and hands?’ Tess had to make sure it was the same guy who had brought her here. ‘Smells of after-shave and cigarettes?’
