False Picture (15 page)

‘Oh, and by the way, you can stop worrying about Philip. He contacted Charlotte to say he was having a couple of days out of town – Brighton, I think it was – with a friend, and would be back next weekend. So we can go off with a clear conscience. Byeee.'

Bea shook her head, but smiled. She had a feeling that this romance with Zander wasn't going to go very far – it was too hot, too soon – but Maggie was old enough to make her own mistakes and if she did get a couple of days of pampering in Bruges, well and good. It was good news that Philip would be back at the weekend. She must ring Velma and tell her.

The second message was from Max, who sounded pretty peeved that she wasn't there after all the fuss she'd been making, leaving him messages all over the place. ‘For you must realize I'm a busy person nowadays, trying to satisfy all and sundry before we fly out for our summer break. In fact, we're on our way to the airport now. The Maldives, three weeks of sunshine. I'll keep in touch, of course, but don't worry so much. You do get yourself in such a twitch, worrying about things quite unnecessarily. Nicole sends her love, naturally.' The phone went dead.

Bea would have given Max a piece of her mind if he'd been standing there in front of her. Would the taxman wait till he got back? Unlikely. Grrr.

Bea tried to phone Velma to say Philip would be back next weekend, but of course the phone was switched off, so she left a message.

She took her half-empty mug out to the kitchen. Oliver had left all the lights on in there, the radio still playing, and a plateful of half-eaten toast on the table. Of course. Bea switched off the radio, swept dirty plates into the dishwasher, refreshed her own drink and went upstairs to bed.

Rafael believed you made your own luck in life, but just occasionally everything seemed to conspire against him. The medal collector wouldn't let him into his house and then, after he'd been kept waiting half an hour for the others to arrive, Zander had said he wouldn't play. Apparently God had been telling him not to get mixed up in anything dicey. The Zander we all knew and loved had been brainwashed.

Rafael had tried to sit on his anger, but had made it quite clear that he couldn't afford to let Zander disobey him. For crying out loud, didn't he realize how deep he was in already? He wasn't being asked to do anything dangerous, was he? He didn't
have to carry the stuff abroad himself. The girls hadn't
a brain cell between them and would do it for him, no problem. Customs might check for explosives and drugs, but the car would be clean, the girls as innocent as newborn babies, so where was the risk?

But Zander had refused to listen, had even turned his back on Rafael! How dare he! Luckily they'd met in the quiet car park of a Tube station, dimly lit and deserted between infrequent trains. Before he had time to think, Rafael's wicked little knife had shot out and felled the brute. Brains against brawn. A few kicks to Zander's head made Rafael feel better. After a while killing really became the easiest option.

He told Liam to strip the body of all identification – they'd need Zander's mobile phone for a start – and roll it under some bushes for an early-morning commuter to find.

Thinking rapidly, Rafael decided how to explain Zander's disappearance. Liam must text Charlotte, using Zander's phone, to say he couldn't
make Bruges as he'd been sent overnight to another office to deal with an emergency. His belongings must be moved from the flat. Liam could do that.

Liam was jittery. Was he going to become a problem? Stupid oaf! If Rafael hadn't
needed him to collect the goods from the girls and hand them over to Mr Van, he would have got rid of him, too.

Everything would work out all right. Well, almost everything. Rafael was still angry about missing that picture. If only Philip would answer his phone!

Monday morning

B
ea woke with a start. Had she set the alarm? Had she overslept? At that moment the alarm shrilled, and she killed the noise. Then came the realization that there'd be no cup of tea brought up for her today, and that the house was unnaturally quiet.

She wasn't missing Maggie, was she?

Oliver; how was he coping this morning?

The next thought – which got her sitting upright – was that she was due to spend a couple of hours cleaning Maggie's flat that morning. She did not, definitely not feel like doing it. Suppose she got one of the agency cleaners to do the job and squared it with Maggie later? After all, there was nothing more to be found at the flat. Well, there was Liam's room to go through but Maggie had done that and surely it wasn't necessary for Bea to do the work herself?

She swung her legs out of bed. Hamilton had always said they should check and check again before taking action. Maggie might well have missed something, being infatuated with Zander. Bea groaned. By now Maggie, Charlotte and their two swains would be well on the way to Bruges, perhaps already in the Tunnel or even emerging into sunlight in France. It was all very well for some.

Oliver might be sleeping late after all that trauma yesterday. Bea told herself she would support him in whatever way necessary to get him to university. On the other hand, she sincerely hoped he wouldn't leave her.

She remembered that Philip was returning next weekend. Good. Sandy was going to be operated on today. Not so good. Bea sent up an arrow prayer for him and prepared herself to face the day.

Oliver was tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed at breakfast. Also monosyllabic. Bea decided that she wouldn't refer to their late-night discussion unless he did. Which he didn't. She remembered the lost correspondence from the tax office and winced. Well, she had more urgent things to think about now, didn't she?

She reminded him that she was due to clean at Maggie's flat that morning and he roused himself to say he'd work on Philip's phone while she was out. She told him to put his dirty crockery into the dishwasher and he did so, while sending such a wounded look her way that she wished she hadn't mentioned it.

Then off she went down the hill to the flats, wearing her cleaner's gear. She had a quick exchange of opinions about the weather with Randolph, the doorman, and went up in the lift to Maggie's floor.

Once inside, she sniffed the air. Surface dust, surface dirt, another stain on the carpet. Luckily the Friday night party had been upstairs or it would have been much worse.

The boys' bathroom was a tip, of course … how did they manage to get it so dirty in a couple of days? She would give Liam's room the once over and skim through the rest … except that there was a Do Not Disturb sign on Liam's bedroom door, the sort of sign hotels used.

She couldn't work out what it meant. Surely Liam couldn't be here still? He and Zander should be in France by now. Bea raised her hand to knock on the door and heard an unmistakeable fart. Someone was occupying Liam's bedroom.

Frowning, she went on into the sitting room and started work there. The stains on upholstery and carpet needed expert attention, but she did a superficial job of dusting and tidying. The boys' bathroom was next. Philip had taken his shaving things with him when he left. If Liam and Zander had left that morning, then their kits ought to be missing, too. But they weren't. Both were still there. What was going on?

Feeling anxious, she checked Philip's room, which looked exactly as she'd left it, except that someone had closed the window that she'd left open. Charlotte? Probably. Bea didn't bother to do any cleaning there.

She took the vacuum cleaner to Zander's room, which was a mess. This rather surprised her, since she'd assessed him as being neat and tidy. She stood in the doorway, trying to make sense of what she saw. His clothes had been pulled out of the wardrobe and chest of drawers and stuffed higgledy-piggledy into his suitcase and sports bag. Neither would close properly, and there were still a lot of his belongings left over. A good leather jacket hung over the back of a chair, and he'd forgotten to pack his shoes, or his books.

She moved into the room to see better. An expensive laptop had arrived in her absence. A black dustbin bag was under his desk. She lifted a corner to reveal the papers that had been stored in the drawers. His briefcase had been knocked over. It was still locked.

What was going on? If Zander had gone to Bruges, why had he left everything in such a mess? Surely he'd only need a small overnight bag for a couple of days in Bruges? But this … confusion? It looked as if he were planning to move out of the flat and had been interrupted before he finished packing. But why?

A noise from down the corridor made her jump, and she hastily picked up the vacuum cleaner and moved out of Zander's room.

A strange man dressed only in tracksuit bottoms opened Liam's door and blundered out, groaning, heading for the bathroom. He caught sight of Bea and froze, mouth agape. Unshaven and unkempt, he looked like a killer weasel with a narrow head and tousled, thinning mouse brown hair. His gaze fell on the vacuum cleaner she was carrying, and he relaxed. Yawned. Rubbed his eyes, clutched his head.

Would this be Liam? Presumably. She wished she'd had the sense to get a description of him. She wondered if she should offer to get him some black coffee but decided that a cleaner wouldn't, so she didn't.

He cleared his throat, still clutching his head. ‘Mrs Thing? Forgot about …'

A mobile phone bonged. He staggered back into his room, reaching for the mobile phone on his bedside table. Bea could see him through the half-open door. She didn't want to start up the vacuum cleaner, which would have drowned out his conversation, so she got out her duster and started on the skirting boards, which certainly needed attention.

‘Charley?' His voice was so croaky, he could hardly get the words out. ‘Sorry. Bad head. Yeah, had to work all night, will join you later … yeah, sad about Zander, but Maggie'll get over it … yeah, yeah, I know the time.' Through the half-open door, Bea saw Liam look at his watch and half rise to his feet, horrified. He cleared his throat again. ‘Yeah, it's later than I … look, hold on a minute. I've got to …'

He dropped the phone and lunged across the corridor and into the bathroom. There were retching sounds, and then the sound of running water. Bea moved down the corridor into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her.

Liam returned to his room, wiping his mouth. He sounded more lively when he picked up the phone again. ‘Sorry about that. The old tummy playing up … yeah, yeah, I'll be all right in a bit. So you're through into France, and everything's gone to plan?' A long pause while Charlotte quacked at him.

Bea could still catch a glimpse of him in profile, but apparently he didn't see her presence as a problem, for he continued his conversation without bothering to lower his voice.

‘You find driving on the other side of the road difficult? I'm sure you're managing OK. Have you stopped for coffee? Well, you'll soon be in Bruges and … you need the name of the hotel? Now what was the name? I can't think straight this morning. Oh, hang on. I've got it. The Belfry, right behind the belfry, anyway. Two double rooms booked in my name. If we miss one another, we'll meet in the Markt at six, on the steps of the post office … Yes, I'm sorry about Zander, too. He was really cut up about it, but if he wants to climb the ladder at work, he's got to jump when they need him to sort out a problem. Look, I'm taking the next Eurostar train, see you in the Markt at six. My friend's due then, and we can all four of us go out on the town, right? … What was that? … You're breaking up … curses … my battery's running down. Look, don't ring me again. I'll text you, instead.'

He shut off the phone with eyes that had difficulty in focusing and groaned. Addressing the air in front of him, he said, ‘I did make the booking, didn't I? Ouch! She'll kill me …!' He scrambled off the bed and made it to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Bea moved to one side, to let him pass. This time when his eyes fell on Bea, he seemed to have second thoughts about her being there. ‘You can do my bedroom now, and then make yourself scarce, right?'

‘But …' said Bea, thinking she ought to object to having her hours cut short.

‘Just do it, right?' He reached for the instant coffee.

Bea went into his room. It stank of stale gin. She opened a window and started to make the bed, listening out for Liam's return all the while. How long did she have to poke around? Not long. Her foot kicked an empty gin bottle under the bed. She got down on hands and knees to check, but there was nothing else under the bed. Not even a dirty glass. He must have drunk from the neck of the bottle. Ugh.

The room was tidy enough, and after Maggie's ministrations on Friday, reasonably clean. There was a portable telly, new-ish. CDs, DVDs, whatever. An iPod. Liam liked porn magazines, apparently. Maggie had spotted them, too. Bea wondered whether Charlotte knew about them, or didn't care. There were two suitcases at the bottom of the big built-in wardrobe. He'd left his mobile on his bedside table. She would have loved to have seen what numbers were in its memory, but didn't dare.

Bedtime reading was raunchy paperbacks and spy thrillers. Well, at least he did read something. A locked drawer in a solid oak chest of drawers probably contained paperwork. There was a flutter of opened mail and some unpaid bills on the table by the window. A different outlook from Philip's. Nicer. Everything was just as it should be.

Liam appeared in the doorway, looking fractionally better than before. ‘Out, you,' he said. Bea didn't dare protest. She shrugged, put her cleaning things away, and left the flat.

She was out of the building and walking up the street when her mobile phone rang. Maggie, in something of a state.

‘Is that you, Mrs Abbot? Things have gone a bit pear-shaped. Zander's been called away by his firm so he couldn't come with us and as for Liam, he woke us up at some unearthly hour to say he'd had to work all night and we were to go on without him and he'd join us later. Charlotte said he looked ghastly and she's worried that he might be going down with flu or something. She's tried to ring him back, but he's shut the phone off because the battery's running down, so she can't contact him. You've got the keys to the flat, haven't you? Do you think you could drop back and see if he's all right?'