Hard Going (7 page)

‘I'm afraid it's true,' Slider said. ‘Please sit down.'

Plumptre's legs took the initiative, and he collapsed into the chair. He put hand to his head as if steadying it. ‘I can't believe it,' he muttered shakily.

‘Would you like a glass of water, or a cup of tea, or something?' Slider asked.

Plumptre visibly pulled himself together, sitting up straighter, licking his lips, clasping his hands together across his front. One of the old school: he was here to do his duty and would jolly well do it. ‘No – thank you – no. I'm quite all right. It's a shock, that's all. You never expect something like that to happen to someone you know.'

‘You knew Mr Bygod well?' Slider asked, to get him started.

‘He was my friend,' Plumptre said. ‘A good friend and a very fine man. I can't believe anyone would be so wicked as to harm him. I was supposed to be seeing him two nights ago, but even when there was no answer at the house, it never occurred to me …'

‘You went round to his flat in Shepherd's Bush Road on Tuesday night? What time was that?'

‘It was just after ten to seven. I rang the bell and waited for him to answer, but he didn't. That's when I looked at my watch, to see if I was on time. I waited until seven exactly, in case he had been in the bathroom, perhaps, and rang again. When there was still no answer, I stepped back to the edge of the pavement and looked up, and saw there was no light in any of the windows. So I thought he must have forgotten, or gone out and been delayed, or had something urgent come up, so I went home. I telephoned later from home but there was no answer. I expected him to ring me the next day and apologize – he was punctilious about such things. But when I walked down to the corner shop yesterday afternoon to get some milk, I saw the item in the newspaper. I was so shocked, I had to go straight home and have a cup of tea and lie down. And then, in the middle of the night, I woke up wondering whether I ought to tell anyone that I'd been there. Not that there's anything I can tell you, really, but I thought it might be useful to know that there was no answer to the doorbell at seven o'clock. A
terminus ante quem
, so to speak.' He gave a faint, apologetic smile. ‘I am rather fond of golden age detective stories.'

He stopped. Talking seemed to have steadied him, and he looked less shaky.

‘You did quite right to come in,' Slider said. ‘What were you going to see Mr Bygod about?'

‘Oh, just a social meeting. He was going to cook supper – he enjoyed cooking – and then we planned to play a little piquet. We're both keen card players. We used to play bridge together regularly until my wife died two years ago, and at about the same time his partner, who was quite an elderly person, went to live in Northampton with his son and daughter-in-law, so our little meetings lapsed.'

‘His partner?' Slider queried.

Plumptre gave him a questioning look. ‘Bridge partner,' he elucidated. ‘It's harder than you might think to find an agreeable person to play with, someone at the right level of skill who takes the game seriously enough but not too seriously. So we rather gave up bridge. Since then, when we meet, just the two of us, for cards, we play piquet, or sometimes bezique.'

‘How long have you known Mr Bygod?'

‘Oh, it must be ten or eleven years now.' He looked to see if Slider wanted more, and seeing his receptive look, went on conversationally: ‘We first met at a Residents' Association meeting. He'd just moved into the area. We got talking, and took a liking to each other. He said he wanted to busy himself with useful things now he'd retired, so I persuaded him to volunteer for the Home Visit Club – it's a charity I'm involved with. You visit housebound people and read to them, or talk, or do little errands, whatever they want. He helped with the office work, too. And it went on from there. He got himself involved in local campaigns, and charity things. Various committees. We're both collectors for the Royal British Legion. I suppose there isn't much charitable or volunteer work around the area that he
isn't
involved in. He's that kind of man – a genuine pillar of the community.'

In his enthusiasm he had slipped back into the present tense, and his face was relaxed and happy. He'd forgotten why he was talking about Bygod, here and now.

‘You haven't mentioned a wife. Was he married?'

‘No – well, never since I've known him. I don't know much about his life before that. He didn't talk about himself, really. But he never mentioned a wife.'

‘What about family?'

Plumptre shook his head. ‘I never knew he had any. He never mentioned anyone.'

‘So you can't help us with who his next of kin might be?'

‘Oh dear, I'm afraid not.' He put a hand to his cheek. ‘It hadn't occurred to me – of course you would want to … but I really don't know. I could ask some of our other friends if they know. Perhaps he might have mentioned someone at some time.'

Slider digested this. Men were, in any case, deeply incurious about each other's private lives, and probably the older you got the more entrenched the habit became. It might not even be remarkable that Plumptre didn't know whether Bygod had ever had children.

He moved on. ‘So was he already retired when you first met him?'

‘Yes – we had both retired early, which was another bond between us, I suppose. I worked in the salaries department at Beecham's on the Great West Road. I was there before the SmithKline takeover, but when Glaxo took over the lot, I was eased out, so I took an early pension.'

‘And what did Mr Bygod do before he retired?'

‘I believe he was a solicitor. I don't know why he retired early – as I said, he didn't really talk about himself. Perhaps he'd just had enough. He seemed very happy with his life the way it was.'

‘You knew about his habit of giving advice to people who came in off the street?'

‘It wasn't quite like that,' Plumptre said. ‘They were people he'd met elsewhere, or who were introduced by other people he knew. Word got round, of course, but he didn't let complete strangers in.'

‘What sort of advice?'

‘Legal and practical – how to deal with the local council, what your rights were in disputes, faulty goods, that sort of thing. Who to go to and where to find information – rather like the Citizen's Advice Bureau. Not lonely hearts stuff,' he added, permitting himself a small smile. ‘He wasn't an agony aunt.'

‘Talking of lonely hearts,' Slider said, ‘did he have any women friends?'

‘Oh, there are women in our group all right – of course there are. But if you mean in the romantic sense – I don't think so. I never saw him with anyone.'

‘Your group?' Slider queried.

‘Of friends,' Plumptre said with a clear look. ‘We're on committees together and meet for drinks and meals and go out sometimes. It's a very nice circle. Of course, we've all known each other for years. Everyone was so kind and supportive when my wife died.'

Slider was feeling his way towards an idea he couldn't yet see. ‘Have you met any of Mr Bygod's friends from outside that circle? Maybe people he knew before you met him?'

Plumptre considered, and a little frown pulled down his brows. ‘Well – no. Now you come to mention it. He does like to entertain, and he gives wonderful parties, but whenever we go to his house, it's all the same people – my friends, and friends of theirs. Someone from before?' He pondered again, apparently fruitlessly, for he concluded, ‘I think he said that he lived in Islington.'

Islington. Famous place, squire
, Slider thought. London was not one place but a series of villages, and Islington was a long way, at least in spirit, from Hammersmith.

‘Of course,' Plumptre said, with an air of being satisfied by the conclusion, ‘he might have seen his old friends separately. No reason we should know everything he did.'

‘Of course,' Slider agreed. And it was true – he wouldn't be the only person to have separate circles of friends which didn't intersect. He might even have gone back to Islington to see his Islington friends. But it was, at the lowest reckoning, odd that there should have been no mingling of the groups, if groups there were, at social gatherings he initiated. When you asked people to your house for a party, would you segregate so rigidly?

He wasn't sure where the thought was leading, so he left it to mash at the back of the stove, and asked, ‘The people that he gave advice to: were there any – how should I put it – suspicious characters among them? People you felt he should be wary of? Criminals out on bail, or ex-convicts on parole?'

‘I couldn't really say,' said Plumptre. ‘I wouldn't be surprised, given that he knew about the law, but I don't know for a fact that there were. Although, wait …' He thought of something. ‘I don't know if it's relevant, but the only time I knew him to turn down voluntary work was when one of our friends, Molly Shepherd, asked him to get involved in prison counselling with her.' He looked at Slider. ‘I don't know if you can draw any conclusions from that. After all, I imagine most people would hesitate about going into that environment. But he turned her down flat. Molly was a bit miffed, but we all thought afterwards that he had so much on his plate, he probably didn't have the time.'

‘And when did that happen?'

‘Oh, a long time ago. Must be – I don't know, at least four years, maybe more. They're the best of friends now,' he added gaily, ‘so it didn't leave any lasting coolness.' And then it struck him. He faltered. ‘I mean – I suppose I should say they
were
the best of friends. Oh dear.' He fumbled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘Do you have any idea who did this ghastly thing?' he asked.

‘We have some leads to follow up,' he said. Never tell them you haven't the foggiest. ‘I can't say more than that at present – you understand.'

‘Of course, of course,' Plumptre said obligingly.

Slider rewarded him for his compliance by saying, ‘You've been the greatest help to us. Thank you for coming in,' and Plumptre went away happy in the knowledge that he had done his duty.

When Atherton came back from seeing him out, he found Slider staring at the wall, deep in thought. ‘Well,' he said. ‘What d'you make of that?'

Slider came to. ‘I'm wary of making too much of it,' he said, ‘but there's a suggestion of a break in Bygod's life when he moved to Hammersmith. It's odd for a friend – if Plumptre was a friend – not to know anything at all about one's previous life. I suppose,' he added with a sigh, ‘we'll have to ask some of his other friends as well, in case Plumptre was just the sort you don't tell things to.'

‘Well, at least, if Bygod was a solicitor it'll be easy to follow that up. No next-of-kin is a bummer.'

‘We'll have to hope there's something in that document safe, when we get to look at the contents,' Slider said.

Atherton sat on Slider's windowsill, musing, arms folded. Slider, with his keenly-trained professional eye, couldn't help noticing that he appeared to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Slider didn't know what, if anything, to make of that, especially as he knew Emily was in the States, covering the election campaign for an article. Before Emily, Atherton had tomcatted so dedicatedly he had been named Posturepedic Man of the Year three years running. Surely the new dog couldn't be up to old tricks?
Not my business
, he told himself firmly.

Atherton stirred at last. ‘Am I beginning to see a pattern here?' he asked.

Slider said, ‘I've always wondered, what is the point of rhetorical questions?'

Atherton let that opportunity pass. He enumerated on his fingers. ‘Lionel Bygod lived alone. Had no girlfriends. Plumptre talked about his “partner”.'

‘Bridge partner,' Slider reminded him. ‘He was clear about that.'

‘Doesn't mean he wasn't some other sort of partner as well. Work with me.' He marked off another finger. ‘The restaurant bod said he was very helpful to a young male waiter.'

‘He was married,' Slider countered with a finger of his own.

‘Even if he was, it doesn't necessarily mean anything, as we both know. There are many with rings on their fingers who dance the other way. And in fact, nobody seems to know anything about this putative wife, so we don't know for certain that he ever
was
married.'

‘We do now,' Hollis said, appearing in the doorway in time to catch the last exchange. He waved some folded papers. ‘Contents of the safe, guv. These were on top – marriage certificate and birth certificate, together in an envelope.'

Slider took them. ‘Well, that's clear enough. He married a Miss June Alexandra Bromwich at All Saint's church, Stamford, in 1975. You might see if you can trace her.'

‘Right, guv.'

‘And the birth certificate … Oh, look at this. Father was Sir Ernest Bygod, occupation given as barrister. Address Beaufort Hall, Colleyweston.'

‘Beaufort Hall? Sounds like a community centre,' Atherton objected.

‘Sounds posh to me,' Hollis countered.

‘And where's Colleyweston when it's at home?'

‘Lincolnshire,' Slider said. ‘Round the back of Burghley where the horse trials are held. Very Shire.' Points to Hollis – posh it was. ‘So it sounds as though he came from a moneyed background. He may have had a private income, or had money left him.'

‘Strange he should live in a flat above a shop in Shepherd's Bush, then,' Atherton said. ‘Even a large flat. Some sort of a kink in the straight line of his personal history, I wouldn't mind betting.' He gave Slider a significant look, which Slider resisted.

‘What else is in the document safe?' Slider asked. ‘A will would be nice, for the next of kin.'