Quintin Jardine - Poisoned Cherries

Then his eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened. ‘I found out, though; as soon as I got back to London, I found out. David called me on the following Sunday evening. There was no preamble; he told me that he knew and that he wanted money, or he’d tell Margaret. He asked for a quarter of a million.’

‘Did you pay him?’ Ricky asked.

Ewan looked at him as if he were a heckler. He ignored his question altogether; no ad libs in this performance. ‘I called Natalie immediately, to warn her. Her first reaction was to declare that Anna was fired. I asked her not to do that; it could only have raised questions. I said that I would pay him what he asked, in the hope that it would be his last demand. . a hope more than an expectation, I admit. Natalie wouldn’t hear of it. She’s a very powerful woman and formidable when she’s angered. She told me that her uncle had a business relationship with David’s firm. She said that she would speak to Torrent and that he would take care of the matter.

‘I trusted her to do that. I heard no more from David; and then I heard of his death. When I did, I assumed that Alison had indeed killed him. I haven’t heard from Natalie since then either. When all this blew up we decided that we should cool things, for a while at least, although really, as far as I’m concerned, it’s all over.’

He sighed, heavily, loud enough to be heard in the back stalls. ‘So that’s the story, Oz. I will tell that to the police, happily, but I will expect from them, and from you, a little discretion.’

‘You’ll take what you fucking get,’ I told him, cheerfully. ‘So Natalie thought that Uncle James could lean on David and that would be it. But what she didn’t know was that he was effectively out of the firm, and that Torrent had no leverage over him at all.’

‘So he got really heavy,’ said Ricky. ‘He took care of the problem in the old-fashioned way. But who?’ He sighed. ‘Ah fuck, who cares. With luck, Natalie Morgan will back up Mr Capperauld’s story, and Alison’ll be off the hook. Maybe she can tell the police who did the dirty work for her uncle.’

‘And will she tell them why he was killed, do you think?’ He looked at me. So did Ewan. So did Alison. ‘Well?’ I demanded. ‘So Torrent has criminal connections and he puts a contract out on the two of them? The business gets done, and he pays the money. So who killed him, and why? Did he welsh on payment?’

‘Unlikely,’ said Ricky. ‘People like that want paid in advance.’

‘Okay, why knock him off? Also, if it was a straightforward contract job, why go to all that trouble to frame Alison? Come on, man, what’s wrong with this picture?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘I take your point. So what are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking that the person Torrent told to take care of the problem was someone he knew. Let’s suppose that after the second killing, Torrent panicked; he became a threat to the killer himself, so he had to go. So who was that close to Torrent?’

‘Natalie?’

‘No. If she was going to do them both herself, why tell her uncle at all?’

‘Maybe he found out?’

‘No!’ Ewan shouted; at last, there was some spontaneity in his performance. ‘Natalie did not do those things.’

‘How do you know?’ I asked him.

‘Could Susie do such a thing?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I answered.

‘How do you know?’

He had me. ‘I just do, that’s all.’

‘Very well. Trust me on this in the same way. It wasn’t her.’

‘In that case,’ Ricky murmured, ‘who?’

‘There’s only one person left to ask,’ I told him. ‘Natalie.’ And then I paused. ‘There’s only one person left who knows about this. . or so the killer thinks.’

‘Oh Jesus!’ Ewan moaned.

‘Do you have her phone number?’

‘No. I had, but I tore it up when I stopped seeing her.’

‘I have,’ said Alison. She picked up the shoulder bag that she had dropped on the kitchen floor and dug out a personal organiser. She flicked through it, stopped, then read out, ‘Natalie Morgan, home; 261 3641.’

I put the kitchen phone on to speaker mode and dialled, carefully. The number didn’t ring out at all; instead it went straight on to the answering service. Natalie had a personalised message; ‘Hi, this is Nat,’ her chocolate voice announced to all of us in the kitchen. ‘I’m either out, on the bog, or on the phone. Please leave a message.’

I pointed at Ewan. He nodded, and moved closer to the phone. ‘Natalie,’ he said, ‘it’s me. I need to speak to you urgently, please call my mobile.’

I clicked the line shut. ‘The answerphone picked up right away,’ Alison pointed out. ‘That means she’s either on another call. .’

I gave her both raised eyebrows.

‘. . or the phone’s off the hook.’

‘Where does she live?’ asked Ricky.

‘Ravelston,’ Ewan answered. ‘Near Mary Erskine’s School, in a flat; it’s a top floor like this, but I can’t remember the number. I never even knew it; I never wrote to her, or even noticed it on the door when I was there. The police will know.’

‘The first thing the police will do,’ Ross barked, ‘is come here and arrest us. Come on, you’re taking us there. Make sure your mobile’s on, just in case Natalie calls back.’

Four of us headed for the door; Ewan, Ricky, Glen Oliver and me. Okay. I could have stayed behind, but no way was I going to, not after everything.

‘You can’t leave me here,’ Alison wailed.

‘Too right we can.’ I told her. ‘If you get frightened, get in beside Liam.’

The lift was getting close, when a thought came to me from nowhere. ‘Hold on a minute,’ I said and went back inside.

‘Alison,’ I asked her, ‘those calls you had, the one that got you out the night David was killed and the one that took you to the Torrent building last Friday; can you remember anything about the caller?’

‘No. The voice was indistinct both times; I had trouble hearing what was being said.’

‘It was a man, though?’

‘I can’t even tell you that for certain.’

‘Okay.’ I headed back to the other three. Ewan was holding the door. The script was done; we were on to the impromptu stuff now, and he had stage fright, bad.

Glen drove us out of the city centre and towards Ravelston Dykes. It was dry but cloudy; there was no moon to compete with the orange glow from the street lights. Ewan gave directions from the front passenger street; eventually he called for a right turn; the lighting was less bright off the main road but still we could see in front of us the dim outline of a block of flats. ‘That’s it ahead,’ the actor whispered. . though I couldn’t think why he did. Maybe he didn’t want the audience to hear.

‘I know that building,’ Ricky exclaimed. ‘It’s got good security; I know that because we renewed it two years ago, and we look after it on a contract. Every flat’s alarmed and there are video cameras on all floors.’

‘My building’s supposed to have good security too,’ I grumbled. ‘Only it doesn’t.’

‘Should I call her again?’ Ewan asked.

I nodded and handed him the number; I’d noted it on a piece of kitchen roll. I watched, as he waited. ‘Answering service again,’ he announced at last. ‘But the phone seems to be back on the hook. Maybe she’s asleep,’ he added, hopefully.

‘Sure,’ Ricky grunted.

Oliver drew the car up a hundred yards away from the block. I tapped Ricky on the shoulder and motioned him to get out and follow me. He looked puzzled, a little annoyed even, but he did it. I had a good reason; I didn’t want Glen to hear what I was going to say.