Minette Walters - Fox Evil

Monroe shook his head. "That's not an answer. According to Mrs. Weldon, all the calls were recorded, so whether he was there or not was immaterial. She also said he's become a recluse. Do you want to explain that to me? Because I don't understand why you think it's cruel to back a fox into a corner from exhaustion… but not an old man in his eighties? What were you trying to achieve?"

More silence. This entire evening had been punctuated by silences, he thought, while spiteful women worked out how to justify themselves.

"We were giving James some of his own medicine," she muttered, refusing to look at him.

"I see," he said slowly. "Entirely on the word of someone you describe as 'damaged.' " It was a statement, not a question. "Why do we have trials, Mrs. Bartlett? Why do you think the defense and prosecution stories are so rigorously examined by a judge and jury before verdict and sentence can be passed? Where was reasonable doubt in the Colonel's favor?"

She didn't say anything.

"Whose idea was it to cloak malice as justice?"

She found her voice. "It wasn't malice."

"Then it was worse," he said bluntly. "You will be looking at charges of coercion and blackmail if the Colonel's tapes demonstrate you made demands of him."

She licked her lips nervously. "I never did."

"Demanding that he confess is coercion, Mrs. Bartlett. Even if he's guilty of what you accuse him, it is a criminal offense to use the telephone to threaten him. If you asked for money in return for silence-" he looked pointedly about the room-"or accepted money from a third party to make life so unbearable for him that he would comply with that person's demands, you will be charged with a number of offenses… the most serious being conspiracy to defraud."

"I didn't," she insisted, turning to her husband.

Julian shook his head abruptly. "Don't look to me for help," he warned. "You and Prue are on your own with this one. I'm following Dick's lead." He air-washed his hands. "Find some other mug to bail you out."

Eleanor's pent-up anger burst its constraints. "That would suit you, wouldn't it? A free run with the little bitch… and all my fault. How much have you spent on her so far? Vet's fees… a horsebox…" She took a shuddering breath. "I suppose you thought you could carry on indefinitely as long as you gave me the odd sop-" she kicked at the carpet-"like this. Do you make her wait? No, of course not. Even you aren't stupid enough to think a thirty-year-old tart would want you for your body."

Julian gave a small laugh. "You're so predictable, Ellie. Yack… yack… yack…" He worked his hand like a mouth. "You can't leave it alone, can you? You have to be at someone's throat. But I'm not the bad guy here- you are-along with your fat little clone." He gave a derisory snort. "Tell me this, have you and Prue ever drawn breath long enough to ask yourselves if you're right ? A moron could feed you a story and you'd believe it, as long as it confirmed one of your vicious little grievances."

" You said James had got away with murder," she shot back angrily. "Jammy bastard, you called him… committed the perfect murder… locked Ailsa out in the cold and took barbiturates so he wouldn't have to listen to her whining away on the terrace."

"Don't be an idiot," he said. "She could have walked down to the Lodge if she really couldn't get back in. Bob and Vera have keys." His eyes narrowed. "You need to worry about your brain, Ellie. Vera's the only person in this village with more resentments than you, and she's completely senile." He examined her face for a moment, then gave a grunt of disbelief. "I hope to God you haven't been getting your information from her, you silly bitch. She's had it in for James since he accused her of stealing. She was guilty as sin, but it hasn't stopped her bad-mouthing him. If you've been relying on anything she says, you really do need your head examined."

Monroe watched catastrophe move a step closer in the woman's painted face. She dropped her eyes to her hands. "I-" she broke off. "How do you know so much?" she asked suddenly. "Does the little tart tell you?"

Leo answered at the first ring. "Lizzie?" he whispered softly, as if he were in a public place and didn't want to be overheard.

Leo's mobile wouldn't have recognized Mark's, but it was an odd leap to associate an unknown number with his sister. "No, it's Mark Ankerton." He strained to hear noise in the background, but there was none. "Why did you think it was Lizzie?"

"None of your business," said the other man aggressively, immediately raising his voice. "What do you want?"

"How about, Happy Christmas, Mark? How's my father getting on?"

"Fuck that."

"Where are you?"

A small laugh. " Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not particularly. It's Lizzie I'm after, as a matter of fact. I've been trying to raise her on the phone, but she isn't answering. Do you know where she is and if she's all right?"

"Fat lot you care."

"I wouldn't be calling if I didn't." He flicked a sidelong glance at James. "Your father's decided to raise her allowance. He's also considering your position. He's not happy about the row you had the other day… but he wants to be fair." He put a warning hand on James's arm as he felt the old man bristle with indignation.

Leo gave an angry laugh. "You mean the row he had. I never said a word. He's completely senile, shouldn't be in control of anything." He paused as if he expected Mark to answer. "You're down there as usual, I suppose, pulling his blasted strings. You'd better know I've put a solicitor onto challenging the wills. The old man's obviously been shot for years-Ma, too, probably-and you drew up new ones without ever questioning their competence."

Mark ignored the rant. "I'm down here, yes. I didn't want him spending Christmas alone." He tried again. "Where are you ?"

Another angry laugh. "God, you're a patronizing bastard! You didn't want him to be alone. Do you know how sickening that sounds? Bloody Mark this… bloody Mark that… You damn well influenced my mother. Dad's dangled the estate over our heads since time immemorial, but Ma was always going to leave her money to us."

Mark allowed his own anger to surface. "If that's the kind of bullshit you're giving another solicitor you won't get far. You and Elizabeth were both shown copies of Ailsa's will. She wanted her money put to useful purpose, and she didn't believe that giving it to you and Elizabeth would serve any purpose at all, except your rapid dissolution."

"And who put the idea into her head?"

"You did when you sent Lizzie down to retrieve the Monets."

"They're hers."

"No, they're not. James's mother entrusted them to him until his death. Only then do they become Lizzie's. Ailsa was furious with you. She knew you'd take them and sell them… and it caused yet another screaming match with Lizzie. Frankly, you should be grateful Ailsa didn't close the door on you entirely by handing her fortune straight to charity. At least by passing it to your father, she gave you a second chance to prove yourselves."

" He's never going to leave it to us. Becky said it was all going to Lizzie's love child." A snort of derision. "How is she? I presume you took her back… she said you would."

Mark was caught off balance. "Becky?"

"Of course Becky. How many exes do you have? You're welcome to her, by the way… and you can tell her I said so. She's a two-faced bitch-" another laugh-"but you know that already. It served you right. All that Mandrake crap… you owed me one."

Mark ran a thoughtful hand around his jawline. "I haven't seen Becky since she left me for you. And, just for the record, I'd slit my throat before I took one of your castoffs. Damaged goods don't interest me."