False Money (20 page)

Oliver hovered. ‘Tomi didn't leave any money, did she? What makes her think that?'

‘Grief. Greed, pride, intolerance, ignorance. Let the police deal with her. Far too many people know what's been happening for my peace of mind, and I'm going to let you in on the secret, too. Sit down, Oliver, while I fill you in on what's been happening.'

As Bea finished there was a stir in the doorway, and there was Hermia, wearing another cream cashmere sweater, this time over a long dark-brown tweed skirt, plus a different pair of gorgeous boots. Behind her came Chris. He wasn't wearing yesterday's clothes, so must have gone home to change at some point. Neither of them was smiling today.

But, thought Bea, they don't look as if they've spent the night rolling around in bed together, either. Then she told herself that she wouldn't know the signs nowadays. Or would she?

TWELVE

B
ea pushed the interview with Tomi's mother out of her mind and turned her attention to Hermia and Chris. ‘Please take a seat. I've told Oliver what's been going on. We need him on our side.'

Hermia didn't look pleased. ‘Oliver, you do realize what a serious matter this is? I know you are Chris's best friend and I trust you, but . . .' She tried to smile. ‘I'm not sure I know who else to trust at the moment. I've been up half the night, telling Chris everything and trying to work out who might want to kill us. Mrs Abbot, I don't think we got off to the best start, and if that was my fault, I apologize. Please, will you help us?'

‘Thank you. Of course I'll do what I can. Coffee, anyone? No? Well, Hermia, I've heard the story from Duncan, but I'd like you to tell us what happened from your point of view.'

Hermia took a deep breath. ‘It was Harry's birthday. He was depressed. So was Julian, who was due to go back to Afghanistan . . .' Her version of events tied in with Duncan's. She said that while some of the party had imbibed too freely, neither she nor Duncan had done so. ‘I've a hard head,' she explained, dividing her attention between Bea and Chris, ‘and I was driving. So we each went off with a note of how much we'd agreed to pay, which Duncan suggested we put in a safe place. Tomi and I agreed to put ours in the back of our bibles. I gave her a lift, you see. Or rather, I gave her and Jamie a lift home. Tomi had come with Harry but –' a shrug ‘– he wasn't fit to drive at the end of the evening. Julian got a taxi and took Harry home instead.

‘That was the last time I saw Julian. I've known him since we were at kindergarten. It's a stereotype to say he always wanted to be a soldier, but it's perfectly true; he never wanted anything else.'

Bea said, ‘Duncan said Julian didn't want his share to go to his elder brother. Do you know why?'

‘He gambles. His family have bailed him out several times. He can't help it, I suppose. If he'd inherited, he'd have gambled the lot away.'

‘Understood. So Julian died, his body was brought back to Britain, and you went to the funeral. What about Shirley?'

‘She'd lost her licence for drink-driving some years ago, only just got it back. She got rather too merry at Harry's party, but insisted on driving herself home. I thought then that she was asking for trouble, and about a month later . . . kaput.'

‘So you don't think either of them were murdered.'

‘No, I don't. Tomi, now . . .' She looked at Oliver's wooden expression and Chris's anxious one. ‘I don't know what to think. Harry introduced her into our circle, and we all thought she could do better than him. I liked her. We all did. Nick made a pass at her, but that was Nick; it didn't mean anything. He's tried it on with all of us over the years, even before his wife moved out. Afterwards he got worse. I rather think Tomi slapped him for getting too fresh. Come to think of it, that might have been the last time I saw her.

‘The following Friday I was at this party, and Harry was there, moaning that Tomi had stood him up and gone off to the Continent with another man. I thought she'd found someone nicer and good luck to her. He asked me if I'd like a day out in the country with him sometime. Last Saturday I had nothing else on till the evening, so I agreed. That's when I met you and Chris. At Harry's.'

Bea reached for her pad. ‘Dates?'

Hermia pulled out her diary and supplied them, shaking her head. ‘Tomi didn't do drugs. I'm sure of it.'

The dates tallied. Bea tried shock tactics. ‘Tomi was filled up with barbiturates, and a needle full of drugs was stuck into her. Either would have killed her. She didn't do it to herself. The police think Harry did it. You knew Harry. Is that likely?'

‘No. That was sneaky. Horrible. I'm not saying he couldn't have laid hands on some drugs; he probably could. But to kill her that way? No. Now, if you'd said she was pregnant and expecting him to marry her . . . ?'

‘Not pregnant.'

‘If she had been, he might have strangled her, I suppose. Ugh.'

‘So what do you make of Harry's death? Did he commit suicide because you dumped him?'

Hermia snorted. ‘Of course not. He was annoyed, not heart-stricken. I can't think of any reason why he should take his own life, unless there were some underlying medical condition . . . ?'

Bea shook her head. ‘None that I've heard of. So if we discount Julian and Shirley, we are forced to consider the possibility that Tomi and Harry died unnatural deaths by some person or persons unknown. What about Nick?'

The girl shivered. ‘Ugh. He used to be great fun, but got so dirty-minded I went off him big time. I can accept that he got drunk and fell over the banisters. At least, I would, if it weren't for what happened to Tomi and Harry. What I can't accept is that one of my friends is setting out to kill the rest of us.'

‘I think,' said Bea, ‘that at first there was no plan to reduce ten to five. The lottery win was a big one and meant that each one of you would have a sizeable windfall. Only, when Julian and Shirley died, it became a whole new ball game. Four million each was fantastic, but five was magnificent. Four meant a new house, a fresh start in business, the wiping out of debts. Five million and you might start thinking about holiday homes abroad; perhaps a yacht, a private aeroplane or a racehorse.

‘Suddenly the sky's the limit. Your imagination takes over. What is a paltry four million to you when, if fortune continued to shine, you could buy anything which took your fancy? The insidious voice of envy creeps in; if five million is good, why not seven – or eight? Hermia, what have you been planning to do with your eight million?'

Bea waited while the girl took her time to answer. She looked out of the window, then down at her hands. Finally she looked direct into Chris's eyes. ‘When we started this, I didn't expect we'd win anything. Oh, perhaps a hundred pounds that we could spend on a round of drinks in the pub. When we won that big jackpot, I was so excited I couldn't think straight. I fantasized about taking off round the world and booking myself on a flight to the moon. I planned to give some money to charity, of course.

‘After a while I stopped thinking about it so much, because I wasn't going to get the money for months. It was hard, not being able to talk about it, except with one another. Claudine and I have been friends for ever. We met up every few weeks and talked about what we'd like to do when we got the money, but it was all so unreal that everyday problems gradually became more important. I decided that, when the time came, I'd ask my father's advice about investments, because he's very shrewd with money. I thought he'd back me in buying a property to rent out. It was fun to think about it, but it didn't make me want to go out on a spending spree for myself. Oh, I did toy with the idea of buying a new car when my old one played up in the bad weather, but I held off, thinking I'd research what the new model might be like.'

Bea persisted. ‘You weren't short of money yourself?'

A bright, white smile. Too bright, too white? ‘I have a private income from shares which my godmother left me, and my father gives me an allowance, too. I don't have to work, but our family has a bad case of the Protestant work ethic. Some people think we're boring because we don't go in for the high life; we look after the members of our family and our money. We don't gamble or drink or whore around. I've heard people call us miserly and strait-laced. Well, I suppose we are. It's in the genes, you see?'

She tried to make a joke of it, but the searching look she gave Chris spoke of her anxiety that Chris might judge her that way, too. Chris wasn't turned off by her candour. Rather the reverse, if Bea was any judge of the matter.

Reassured, Hermia continued, ‘In our family, everyone works at something: charities, or community projects or arts foundations. We can afford to take on ill-paid jobs when we believe in the work that's being done. I took a degree in history and worked in social housing for a while. My father bought me a flat which I share with another girl, someone I was at school with. We get along fine. A couple of years ago I was headhunted to fund-raise for a children's charity. I did so, and I think I can honestly say I'm good at it. What did I need, more than I already had?'

But, thought Bea, you do like to shop for clothes in Milan, and the smile you treated us to was a fraction too wide, too blindingly white. Have you told us the whole truth? And who is your dentist?

Hermia picked up that Bea was not entirely convinced. ‘Duncan said he was thinking of getting married and buying a house in the shires with his share, but I couldn't see myself setting up in a big house in the country with nothing to do but worry about cleaning and entertaining. I don't want to stop work. I'd hate to be idle.'

Chris put his hand over hers. ‘You know I'm not interested in your money.'

‘Oh yes, you are,' she said, better versed in the world than him. ‘You want to make films, and you need a backer.'

A frown. ‘I can make my own way. I want you, without strings.'

She gave him a long, intense look. ‘You mean it now, but I'm older and wiser than you. Let's see how things work out, shall we?'

Bea tried another tack. ‘So, which of the surviving members of the group is trying to bump you all off? What are their dreams for the future? Which one of you needs more than four million to carry them out?'

A shrug. ‘Duncan doesn't need it. If this had never happened, I'd have expected him to marry and move out of London within the next five years, anyway. He has a good job, can afford to take on a big mortgage. He's well balanced, has chosen a girl from the same background as him, doesn't spend more than he earns. It's not Duncan.'

Oliver lifted a finger. ‘What's more, it would be a bad move for anyone to knock him off, because he's the banker and presumably the only one who can access the money.'

Bea doodled on her pad. ‘So who do you fancy as the murderer? Lord Fairley?'

Hermia's colour rose. ‘Oh, it's not Jamie. I've known him for ever. His brain – such as it is – doesn't work that way.'

‘Not clever enough?'

‘He's quite clever in some ways, at getting on with people, and seeing how best to run his estate. He's a whizz at his job, getting his friends to lend out their houses for film and television programmes. He's kept the country house in good repair. But he's not . . . not financially
sharp
!'

Bea doodled some more. ‘What would his dream be?'

‘You'd have to ask him that.'

‘You're supposed to be good friends. You must know what he wants out of life.'

‘In general terms, yes. To end up no worse than he started. To hand on the estate in good nick.'

‘Does he drink or gamble?'

‘No, not really. Well, sometimes he drinks more than he should, but it's only to be sociable. He's very easy-going.'

‘No signs of wear and tear in the finance department?'

‘These are anxious times, of course. His estate produces enough to keep the house in good order, although farming doesn't pay much, nowadays and . . . No, he's fine. He lives in the top flat at the manor, lets out the rest. Drives a 4 x 4 in the country, naturally. Keeps a BMW for town. But he isn't a playboy, doesn't go clubbing, says he's past all that.'

‘It was expected that you two would marry.'

A frown, a shake of the head. ‘Our parents thought it, and we saw a lot of one another at one time, but there was never any spark.' Here she turned to look at Chris, and everyone else in the room felt the tension between them. Oh yes, there was a spark between Chris and Hermia. If they'd been plugged into the National Grid, they could have lit up the whole house.