Caroline Graham - A Ghost in the Machine

He asked for the car to be brought round. Troy got this sorted in double-quick time, which was a shame as they had no sooner driven off the forecourt than devastating news arrived, via Leo Fortune, that seemed to blow the whole case wide open.

Andrew was packing. He had left all his stuff over the bed, careless of Gilda noticing. When he had spent years concealing every move he made and every penny spent, she had watched him, hawk-like, pouncing on each real or imagined misdemeanour. Now, as he slung the few good things he had managed to steal or wheedle out of her into a holdall she lay downstairs, becalmed on the huge sofa, guzzling a tub of Funky Monkey and ogling Kilroy.

Andrew checked his briefcase. Passport, plane ticket, English money plus euros and all the evidence of his recently opened private bank account. These documents, in the first instance sent to his office address, had then been stored in the garden shed along with seed packets and plant markers in an old biscuit box. There they rested secure from investigation by anyone who valued the shape and varnished perfection of their work-shy fingernails.

The cab was due in five minutes. He’d already opened the gates. Andrew had decided against taking the Punto because a) he hated it, and b) he wouldn’t put it past her to report it stolen and set the rozzers on him. Hell hath no fury and all that jazz. Humming “Come Fly With Me” he trotted down to the lounge.

“You’ll be late for work,” said Gilda, still glued to the box.

“So?”

It took a moment for this to register. Then there was puzzlement followed by outright disbelief. Surely she must have misheard. “What did you say?”

“I don’t go to work, Gilda.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“You surely don’t expect me to exert myself for the pitiful scrap of money you dole out?”

“Don’t worry.” Still gazing hotly at Robert the smooth, Gilda snorted her contempt. “I never thought you earned it.”

“Not earn it? Not earn it? You try humping a lard mountain five times a week for ten years. You’d soon find out if I bloody earned it.”

She looked at him then all right. Turned her great moon face round, widened her little eyes so much the electric-blue lids all but vanished.

“No, what I do the minute you’re not around is come back here to drink and watch the telly. And not always alone.” He smiled cheerfully. “You’d be surprised the number of playmates available to a lonely man.”

Now her mouth was opening. Opening, closing, Opening, closing. Andrew affected concern.

“Don’t worry, they were never serious. Just something to take the taste of you away.”

“Uz…uz…crawke…” Her lips were working now, jumping in and out like lively little sponges. “Fay…fay…”

“What’s that?”

“I…fay…foo…”

“Of course you’ve been faithful. What man in his right mind is going to fuck a woman the size of an elephant with one brain cell and a neck wider than her face?”

This time there was an even stranger sound. Rather like someone gargling on broken glass.

“Too late now to say you’re sorry. And do close your mouth. The view from here is disgusting.”

Gilda was struggling now, rocking and wrestling with the sofa, trying to rise.

“Don’t look at me for assistance,” said Andrew. “I’ve suffered my last hernia. Get yourself a fork lift.”

More heaving and shaking and then—

“Oh, not tears? That’s what comes of having your own way all the time. I’ve spoiled you – that’s what I’ve done. But now I plan to make amends. I’m offering you your freedom. Think of it. You can do anything you like. You could do a tiny stroke of work for the first time in your useless life. You could find some other wretched bloke to torture. You could hire yourself out as a bouncy castle. The possibilities are—”

Damn. There was the cab drawing up and three-quarters of his long-nurtured eulogy still undelivered. With a brisk, jolly swing of his hand Andrew picked up the bag and prepared to leave. In the doorway he looked back, savouring the final moments of victory.

Gilda did not look at all happy. In fact she looked incredibly wretched and also rather ill. Andrew hesitated, then did something he was to regret for the rest of his life. He took the telephone from the far side of the room and placed it on a little table near her hand.

“Cheer up, fatty. Talk to someone – get it off that gargantuan coal heaver’s chest. Try The Samaritans. Better still –” over his shoulder, closing the door – “Save the Whales.”

It must have been about forty-five minutes after this that the police car drove up to the first set of electronic gates at Mount Pleasant and was admitted. Barnaby saw the ambulance, turning in the drive of Bellissima, straightaway.

“Bloody hell!” Troy pulled up as close as he could to the nearest flowerbed, leaving room for the larger vehicle to manoeuvre. The siren howled and the ambulance shot by as Barnaby got out and ran across the grass.

A youngish man stood in the porch. Pale, alarmed, smartly suited. Barnaby produced his warrant card and started asking questions. The man was Simon Wallace, a solicitor. The Berrymans’ solicitor.

“Perhaps we’d better go inside,” said the chief inspector. Then, when they were, “You look as if you could do with a drink.”

“Yes.” He helped himself to a whisky, his hands shaking. “God – what a day.”

“What happened?”

“She had a heart attack.”

“Is Mr. Latham here?”

“No one’s here. We had a call from Mrs. Latham. She sounded…extraordinary. Somebody had to come out immediately. She was almost screaming.”

“And when you arrived?”

“The front door was open. I found her on that sofa. She couldn’t move.”

“So what was the call about?”

“She wanted me to bring her will over.”

“Did she say why?”

“The usual reason. To change it.”

“Was this a habit?”

“Not at all. It was made just after she was married. She’d meant to make a new one long ago. Just hadn’t got round to it.”

“The details?”

“Oh, come on. You know I can’t—”

“I’m involved in a murder investigation, Mr. Wallace. We can go through the proper procedure but, to be frank, time is not on our side.”

“It’s not as if I’m a senior partner—”

“Then I’ll talk to a senior partner. Your number?”

“Well…” Simon could just hear them at the office. Unable to handle heavy stuff. Can’t take decisions. Better not risk him on the new Ainsley account.

“She cancelled the will, which left everything to her husband. Then made a new one and signed it.”

“Leaving everything to…?”

“Charity. She couldn’t think which one – she was in such a state. But it had to be animals. People were vile – those were her last words. I suggested the Cat Protection League, my wife and I being members of the Fancy.”

Blimey, thought Sergeant Troy, some mogs have all the luck. This place alone must be worth over a million.

“There was also mentioned a nuptial agreement drawn up years ago by her father. In case of a separation it was supposed to stop her husband getting any of the spoils.”

“But they’re not valid over here,” said Barnaby.

“Mr. Berryman hoped he wouldn’t work that out.”

“So when did Mrs. Latham become ill?”

“Directly after the business was concluded. To be honest I got the impression she was just hanging on till I got there. The ambulance men said things didn’t look too good.”

“I see. Thanks very much, Mr. Wallace.” Barnaby got up. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Can I go now?”