Surefire (7 page)

Interesting? Well that’s me all right. I settle back, ready to do whatever’s needed to get me out of here. Darke Associates? Nathan’s corporate legal team? They should be up to the job. And it seems I have Eva—Miss Byrne—to thank for sending me Ms Montgomery. I turn my attention to the efficient solicitor who is deftly unscrewing the top of her elegant fountain pen, poised to take notes.

“So, tell me about the premises where this incident took place. The house was formerly your mother’s home, I understand, which you inherited a year ago. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.” I go on to explain to her about not wanting to sell the house, for sentimental reasons as much as anything, but also because I saw a real chance to get a decent commercial return out if it.

“So, you own the freehold. Was there any outstanding borrowing against it when it came into your possession?”

“No, my grandparents bought it originally, back in the mid-sixties I think, when they got married. The mortgage was paid off years ago.”

“I see. And what about you? How did you finance the renovation and conversion works? Did you borrow against the value of the premises?”

“No. I could have I suppose, but I paid for the work out of the rest of my inheritance. As well as the house I got around fifty thousand in cash. So that’s what I used.”

“You spent fifty thousand pounds on the refurbishment costs? That sounds like a lot.” Her glance up from her notes is sharp, her tone clipped. I get the impression these details are extremely important so I think carefully about the work I did on the house, try to explain my reasons for spending so much. “I saw it as an investment. I had to put in bathrooms, extra kitchen facilities. And fire escapes. Christ, I’m glad of those now. And fire resistant doors, a wired in alarm system. The council building control inspector made me move the downstairs sensor three times before he was happy. And you’re right, it did cost a lot. But I reckon I’ll get my money back within about another four years. Could even do it in three.”

“I see. Can you explain to me your financial forecasting then, an outline of your business model?”

“My what? What do you mean?

She smiles at me, just a little less frostily. “Your sums, Miss McAllister. How do you calculate you’ll have your money back within four years?”

“Oh, right. I see. Well, the rent from student lets will be at least sixteen thousand a year, after agents’ fees and other expenses. Could be as much as twenty if the place is let out over the summer as well—conferences, summer schools, that sort of thing. But assuming not, just sixteen. I’ve had just over eight thousand so far this year so that’s on target. If the lettings continue at that level I’ll be in profit in three years, but I’m being cautious. I think four’s a safe estimate. Especially now, as the house won’t be fit to let again for at least a few weeks so I’ll lose money until it’s fixed.”

She’s nodding, rapidly scribbling notes on a yellow solicitor’s notepad.

“I’m assuming you can account for your whereabouts last night?”

“Yes, I can.” I explain that I was with Tom, and we stayed overnight at Nathan Darke’s home.

She seems satisfied with that. “Right. The preliminary reports from the fire investigation department suggest that an accelerant was used.” She explains further at my puzzled expression, “Petrol. Poured through the letterbox in all probability. That’s why most of the damage is in the hallway and the front door. The internal fire doors protected the rest of the house, pretty much, until the fire service arrived and put it out.”

Even though I knew it had to be something like this I’m still shocked. “Petrol. Someone poured petrol through the letterbox and set it alight. Knowing there were people asleep inside. Oh, God…” I drop my face into my hands, feeling sick suddenly. It could so easily have been an absolute tragedy.

Ms Montgomery waits for a few moments, apparently considering, then leans over the table, takes my hands in both of hers, squeezes and tugs until I look up at her. She holds my gaze, the glint of steel shimmering in her dark gray eyes. “You did a good job, Miss McAllister. Ashley. Your high quality refurbishment, in particular your fire safety works, probably saved your property. And may well have saved lives too. Now, though, I need you to think. We know you didn’t pour petrol through that letterbox, but someone did. Have you any idea who might have done it? Have you any enemies? Anyone with a grudge?”

The obvious candidate is Kenny, so I briefly explain my previous association with him. But for all I know he’s still in jail. And anyway, this just isn’t his sort of thing. He’s a thug, handy with his fists, but to plan an arson attack? And manage to carry it out? He’d be more likely to set himself on fire. I can’t really see it and I tell her so. She nods, but even so uses her iPad to email her clerk with instructions to ascertain whether Kenny is on the loose again.

It seems to me there’s another, more obvious, explanation. “Ms Montgomery, surely, it’s more likely the target would be one of the students, not me. Have the police looked into that, checked out their backgrounds?”

“We’ll definitely put that to them. It they haven’t properly eliminated other reasonable possibilities that would weaken their case considerably if this does end up in court.”

My heart lurches, the reality of my predicament suddenly in sharp focus, all the hellish implications of the situation becoming clear. I gaze at her, wide-eyed.

“Oh, God, do you think it’ll come to that?” Given my record, my suspended sentence and the terms of my parole I have visions of being remanded in custody, I could be back in my old cell at HMP Eastwood Park before the day’s out. It was bearable before, but it wouldn’t be this time. This time I’m innocent, and I’ve got a life. A brilliant new life that I’m fast realizing could easily come crashing down around me unless the indomitable Ms Montgomery can make PC Tall and Stupid see sense. I desperately wish Tom was here, he’d know what to do, what to say, but I gather he’s on his way. Nathan too. And meanwhile they’ve sent Ms Montgomery to get between me and disaster. She seems to know her stuff, she’s calm, confident, and I can’t help thinking that if I’d had her on my side a year ago I’d never have become so intimately acquainted with the interior decoration at Eastwood Park.

She looks at me, controlled, poised, properly briefed and ready to take on PC Bragg. She smiles at me, nods briskly as she assembles her papers into a neat pile in front of her. “Now,” she announces, business-like, crisp, “now, we make this go away.”

Brisk and ready for the coming fight, she stands, goes to the door and knocks smartly on it. “We’re ready.”

Chapter Six

“PC Bragg, my client had neither motive nor opportunity to commit this offense. I insist that you release her immediately.”

PC Bragg’s response is to lean casually back in his chair, surveying the pair of us with a blend of arrogance and contempt. “Motive? Your client’s motive was greed. Money, pure and simple. She made sure she had the property insured then she set it alight to make a claim. She showed total disregard for her tenants sleeping inside. We’re heading for an attempted murder charge here, Mrs Montgomery. Your client’s going to be with us for a long time yet and she’d better get used to that fact and start telling me the truth.”

“PC Bragg, what do you know of cash flow forecasting, profit margins, commercial rate of return? And specifically, given the performance to date of Miss McAllister’s investment, how do you arrive at the conclusion that she would gain financially from such an act? On the contrary, would it not have constituted financial suicide?”

“Eh?”

She gives him no opportunity to regroup. “I thought you probably hadn’t considered the fiscal implications, or you wouldn’t be pursuing this ridiculous line of inquiry. Let me explain. Miss McAllister invested the sum of fifty thousand pounds one year ago to convert the property for student accommodation. She was particularly diligent with regard to fire safety, and that diligence has without doubt saved her tenants from serious injury or even death. She is an exemplary landlord and an astute business woman.”

Me? Does she mean me?

Not to be so easily thrown off the scent, PC Bragg indicates his interest in knowing where I acquired fifty grand from, just to be airily dismissed by Ms Montgomery, clearly not about to waste overmuch time on his fantasy world. “Miss McAllister inherited that sum, which is a matter of public record easily verified by reference to the Court of Probate. I’m sure you are perfectly familiar with the law in this regard, constable.”

The constable’s eyes narrow angrily as he bristles at the slur, but he can’t quite find a way to retaliate effectively. In any case, Julia Montgomery ignores him, pressing on with her annihilation of his so-called case.

“Miss McAllister calculated her rate of return based upon around sixty percent occupancy which will see her initial investment returned to her within four years. A more normal, and perfectly acceptable term would be ten years, so Miss McAllister’s investment was a particularly prudent one.”

Me? Prudent? I’m liking the sound of this.

“In fact, the performance of her investment has been well in excess of Miss McAllister’s initial business model. Her property has achieved occupancy rates of nearer to eighty percent, which would see her in profit within three years. Far from having a financial incentive to see the property go up in flames, she stands to lose money as a result of this unfortunate incident. Put those commercial realities alongside the fact that this house holds considerable sentimental value to my client. The house has been in her family for three generations. It was her grandparents’ home. Her mother grew up there, as did Miss McAllister herself. If she wanted to raise cash, she could have sold the property when it came into her possession a year ago, but she chose not to because she wanted to keep it. Instead, she invested her own funds in improving and converting her old home, turned it into a lucrative business venture. No, constable, you will have to look elsewhere for a motive.”

“She had plenty of opportunity…”

“No, she did not. Miss McAllister has accounted for her movements. No doubt you will have taken steps to verify her alibi for last night?”

Looking somewhat deflated now, PC Bragg’s surly expression suggests that he has indeed received word from the West Yorkshire police that my alibi is solid. Once more, I suspect I have Eva to thank, her impeccable credentials as a respected academic and doctor of just about everything no doubt doing no harm at all to my case. What it is to have powerful friends. Friends who’ll send you hot shot lawyers and speak up for you when it matters.

We’re on the downhill slope now—PC Bragg’s idiotic assertions crumbling before our eyes. Ms Montgomery again insists that I be released, and this time he offers no objections.

On reflection it was not a fair fight. Not even close. Julia Montgomery wiped the floor with PC Tall and Stupid. I doubt he even knew what hit him. Every one of his inane suggestions had been obliterated by her cool, incisive arguments, her clipped tones making a mockery of his bullying swagger and half-baked innuendo. His face was a particular joy to watch as he tried to make sense of this force of nature now confronting him, challenging all his preconceived certainties and leaving him looking more than faintly ridiculous. I’d have laughed out loud if the whole matter was not so very serious for me. Still, I can appreciate a bit of sport as much as the next person, and Ms Montgomery certainly seemed to enjoy herself as she took his flimsy case apart.

His original assessment of me was that I’m some cheap little ex-con who must have done this because, as far as he could work out, nothing else made sense? So he never considered any other possibility. As Julia Montgomery made absolutely clear to him, that was a big mistake.

* * * *

Ten minutes later I’m walking down the front steps of the police station, the wonderful Ms Montgomery marching smugly beside me. I get the impression she’s thoroughly enjoyed herself, slumming in Gloucester. At the bottom of the steps I turn to shake her hand once more, to thank her.

“My pleasure, Miss McAllister. Can I drop you anywhere?”

I’m about to thank her, a lift back to my old house to pick up my car would be very helpful, when a voice behind me has me whirling.

“No need for that. Ashley has transport.”

I turn, and with a screech of welcome launch myself into Tom’s arms. He catches me, swings me around as I grab his wonderful, handsome, laughing face between my hands and kiss his lips. I was pleased to see Julia Montgomery, but I’m absolutely delighted to see Tom. I hug him, my arms around his neck as he turns to acknowledge my savior, still poised elegantly at the foot of the police station steps.

“Julia, how lovely to see you. And looking formidable as ever. Thanks for your help today. I owe you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s just fortunate I was down here today visiting my old school in Cheltenham when I received Miss Byrne’s call. And what you owe me is my fee, which will, of course, not be inconsiderable. I’ll send you an invoice.” She smiles at him, and I catch a glimmer of something intimate flash between them. These two obviously know each other.

“Of course, and worth every penny.” He leans forward, kisses her lightly on the cheek. “It’s good to know you’re not losing your touch.”

She smiles, her face now genuinely warm with real friendship. “I rather enjoyed myself, although I think the police case would have collapsed soon enough. The CPS would have thrown it out. I just speeded things up, and it was much more exciting than the usual stuff you two wheel me out for. Which reminds me, where is the delectable Nathan? Eva told me he was with you.”

“Parking the car. He’ll be along in a moment.”

“I see. Well, I really do need to get off, so just tell him I asked after him will you? Maybe I’ll run into him at the club. You too. Bye for now, and it was nice to meet you properly, Miss McAllister.” She bustles away, slipping confidently into a smart BMW parked in a reserved space. With a polite wave, she cruises past us and out into the stream of traffic.