The Collared Collection (34 page)

Elizabeth suddenly lost the healthy bloom from her face; her eyes were like saucers. She stuttered, ‘Mimi Hammerton … are you absolutely sure about that?’ She became very agitated and Callie was so afraid she was going to have some sort of seizure she leapt up and lunged for the emergency button. ‘No! Don’t touch that! Sit down quickly, I must tell you something.’

The urgency in Elizabeth’s voice made her immediately do as she was told. ‘What is it?’

‘Do you remember when I explained the terms of Ginny’s will to you?’

‘Well, I was in a state of shock, but yes … pretty much.’

‘I mentioned a codicil, do you recall that?’

‘Yes, you said we didn’t need to worry about it. Not then, anyway. Actually, I wasn’t entirely clear what a codicil was and I had to ask Bernard to explain it.’

‘You do know now?’

‘Yes – an additional bit, added on the end.’

‘That’s near enough. Well, Ginny’s codicil clearly states that should you die within three hundred and sixty-four days of the date of her own demise, all bequests in your sole name – that is excluding those to Alex and Sam – are to pass to one Mimi Hammerton.’

Chapter Fifty-four

‘Oh my God …’ Callie gasped and had to forcibly loosen Elizabeth’s fingers from their grip on her forearm, because she was hurting her.

Eventually, Elizabeth said, ‘Oh bollocks, I must apologise, Callie. I didn’t mention it before, because it seemed like such a formality … wheels I thought I’d never have to put in motion. I didn’t add the codicil myself – Simon Stirling saw to that, not very long before Ginny died – and Ronan and May witnessed it, if my memory serves correctly. I would have told you when Probate is granted – it is, after all, a legitimate addition to Ginny’s will.’

‘Do you know who this Mimi Hammerton person is? Do you have contact details?’

‘She’s as much of a mystery to me as she clearly is to you and as far as I can recall, the address is a PO Box.’

Megan and Kyle interrupted them. ‘What is it?’ Kyle demanded. ‘What’s going on? Are you in pain?’

Elizabeth waved her plaster cast in protest. ‘I am perfectly alright, thank you – please stop fussing. I simply remembered something of great importance and I stupidly became over-anxious. Physically, I am quite recovered and itching to leave this place, no matter how caring and kind everyone has been.’

She looked ghastly and Kyle clearly wasn’t convinced, but Megan stepped in. ‘She’s a big girl, Kyle, and if Elizabeth says she’s OK, you must take her word for it.’

Elizabeth thanked her with her eyes. She turned to Kyle and smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we English aren’t rampant on the malpractice front – we leave that to our American cousins.’

Kyle cocked his crew-cut head. ‘If you’re sure …’

‘Of course I’m sure – I’m a grown woman, not some silly teenager. Now, on to more important issues; do you have the report on the cause of my illness?’

‘Yes, I do and it’s … well … to put it mildly, it’s real strange.’

Elizabeth perked up. ‘Go on.’

‘You were poisoned by oxalates.’

She guffawed, ‘Kyle, my dear boy, please be advised I don’t have a scientific bone in my entire body, and I would therefore be extremely grateful if you would explain in layman’s terms. Simple words of one syllable would do nicely.’ Callie was so glad she’d said that.

He grinned, his teeth sparkling white and Hollywood perfect, ‘It seems a quantity of oxalic acid was diluted in your drink – Southern Comfort on the rocks, I believe.’

Megan tut-tutted and took over the explanation, in her acquired American accent. ‘Oxalic acid, also called ethane diacid, is present in some plant foliage – rhubarb leaves, for example. However, you’d have to munch your way through roughly ten or eleven pounds of those to poison yourself. But I really shouldn’t joke; during World War I, folk in the UK were advised to substitute the leaves for more common vegetables that had disappeared from the shops … several deaths were recorded.’

Callie was impressed. ‘Good grief, how do you know all that, Megan?’

‘I had the basics – I forget how or why I knew – and the Internet filled in the rest.’

‘So there seems no doubt whatsoever that whoever was masquerading as Jade-Mercy was responsible for somehow getting hold of – and then administering – this oxalic acid? It was, after all, him/her who suggested the drink in the first place,’ asked Callie.

‘No doubt at all, I’d say,’ Kyle said, ‘and that’s what I will tell the investigating officers.’

Despite this new-found knowledge, Callie didn’t really feel they were any further forward, except they should now keep a look-out for a keen gardener carrying a large amount of rhubarb and a smoothie maker under their arm.

They all ganged up on St John to persuade him to stay on awhile – and so after a couple of days lazing around the pool, soaking up sunshine and wine, they felt morally obliged to give in to his badgering and take an excursion to the nearby theme park. Callie found his childish excitement a wonder to behold.

Because he and Megan had to work, Kyle hired a stretch limo – complete with chauffeur doubling as burly bodyguard – for the trip. It was a shock to emerge from air-conditioned heaven into the intense mid-morning heat of Southern California.

They braved the Calamity Cable Car Ride – which involved hurtling down a drop of hundreds of feet of flimsy-looking wire at breakneck speed, to the sound effects of screeching mechanisms and screaming fun-seekers. At the bottom, they were deposited without ceremony into an artificial snowdrift, then had to make their ‘escape’ through a freezing waterfall. Paying a small fortune to be scared witless, chilled to the bone, and soaked to the skin was not high on Callie’s list of ‘things I must do before I get too old’, but she felt churlish for not having the time of my life, knowing Sam and Alex would have given anything to be there.

St John slurped at a super-sized ice cream as it melted over his hand. ‘Well, this absolutely could be the most exciting place on earth, don’t you think, old thing? I told you you’d love every minute!’

Elizabeth zapped him a withering look
par excellence
. ‘St John! We’ve indulged your kiddie fantasies with scant regard to body and soul, now please be good enough to spare us the bollocks.’

Callie noticed their no-neck bodyguard, Jimbo – who wore
de rigueur
mirror shades, so no one could tell where his eyes were darting – had a hard time keeping a straight face as the Lyon-Smiths bickered like small children. He pretended to scratch his cheek to conceal the smile on his lips – she thought he’d probably go home that night and regale his family with tales of the eccentric Brits he’d had to mollycoddle.

Elizabeth hadn’t yet finished wiping the floor with her brother. ‘And if I hear you say one more time how thrilling this ghastly place is, I will not be responsible for my actions. Is that clearly understood?’

Callie did feel sorry for him, as he hung his head and mumbled, ‘Sorry, old thing – I suppose I did get a bit carried away … it’s just that I’m having such a thoroughly good time!’

He was saved from a further tongue-lashing by Elizabeth’s mobile, which rang in her bag. As she fished it out and answered, her face lit up; she instantly appeared years younger, and Callie could imagine her eyes sparkling behind those dark lenses.

‘It’s Keith,’ she breathed, indicating the phone. ‘Hello! This is a lovely surprise isn’t it your bedtime?’ She giggled and blushed in response to his answer, ‘Oh, you are naughty! Anyway, how are you?’ She then listened intently to what Keith was saying, her expression growing more serious with each word. ‘And there can be no mistake?’

She paced up and down, gradually wandering away from Callie and St John, so that they could no longer hear her side of the conversation. Jimbo was getting twitchy, undecided whether to follow her or stay with them. He chose them.

‘I wonder if I could sell some of my paintings here,’ said St John, his good humour restored. She was excused from having to waffle insincere encouragement by his next question. ‘How do you fancy sampling the Canoe Catastrophe next? It looks like a jolly good thrills-and-spills experience!’

She managed a smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know … shall we ask Elizabeth, when she’s finished her call? I think her poor ankle and arm got a bit battered, riding the cable car.’

‘But you can paddle your canoe through whirlpools, swift currents, jagged rocks – and then there are the rapids …’

Her heart sank. ‘Does this mean another soaking?’

‘Oh undoubtedly, that’s half the fun – and don’t forget the jolly old Alligator Axe Attack!’

‘Be still my heart!’

Elizabeth finished her conversation and was hobbling back in their direction, ‘Callie!’ she called and waved. ‘You’ll never guess …’

It seemed to happen in slow motion, frame by frame. She was waving and smiling, struggling with her crutches, when a dull crack stopped everyone in their tracks. Elizabeth stood very still, looking confused – then appeared to flip backwards. A crimson stain spread quickly on her yellow T-shirt. People all around started screaming, grabbing their children and running every which way. Jimbo wrestled Callie to the ground and yelled at St John to hit the deck.

When she was able to free her head from under Jimbo’s torso and look over to where Elizabeth lay, she knew immediately she was dead.

Chapter Fifty-five

The game was up. She’d been imprisoned for a week now, whisked away at speed the second her foot touched British soil to be incarcerated in a safe house. It was isolated and she was constantly monitored in shifts, by officers who offered her minimal interaction. Callie was deeply depressed and seriously considering making a bid for freedom at the earliest opportunity – just to stand in the open field she could see from her window and wait for Balaclava Man to turn up and finish her off. She felt he’d be doing her a big favour.

There had been no sign of David since her arrival; she wasn’t allowed any contact with the outside world, including by phone – mobile or otherwise. She could use the PC, but not log onto the Internet, and since emails were a strict no-no there was little point in switching the damned thing on. She’d quickly become stir crazy.

So, it was a wonderful surprise when she saw the flash motor glide up the tarmac drive on a rainy afternoon. She ran to the door, only to have her collar felt by Heather, a super-solid officer who was armed to the teeth and teetered permanently on the edge of insanity.

‘Whoa, little lady, just where do you think you are going?’ She was in danger of strangling Callie, who loathed her patronising manner. She so wanted to kick her on the shins, but didn’t dare, sensitive to breaking her toes – and then perhaps having her kneecaps permanently damaged by Heather’s swift retribution.

When she let go, Callie managed a ‘Sorry,’ blatantly not meaning it. ‘It’s just so nice to see a familiar face; I forgot the rules.’

Heather pointed, looking stern. ‘In there, while I check this out.’ Callie knew better than to protest and waited in the drawing room, visualising Heather as she swung open the front door to leap out; knees bent, weapon drawn and gripped in two hands, an over-zealous extra from
Cagney and Lacey
.

At last, the door slowly opened inward. ‘David!’ She flung her arms around his neck. Heather harrumphed and folded her arms over an ample bosom.

‘Thanks, officer, I’ll take it from here,’ he said, giving Heather her marching orders, ‘Callie will be secure with me … we have confidential police business to discuss.’ When she reluctantly disappeared, David pinned his body to hers and they kissed for a heavenly five minutes, without pausing to breathe. His hands were all over her and she could feel he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. Sadly, they really did have work to do.

Dragging her mind back to the serious stuff she asked, ‘Is St John home yet?’

‘Yes, he flew back to the UK a few days ago with Elizabeth’s body. The poor guy is in pieces.’

‘I can imagine – they were very close. How’s their dad, do you know?’

‘I’m afraid not … but I have met Keith. I went to interview him in jail.’

‘He told you what he told Elizabeth, just before she died?’

‘Yes.’

She felt he was dangling a carrot and didn’t much appreciate the tactic; her friend had been killed in the process of finding out that information and the least he could do was cough. ‘Well?’ Her voice was every bit as caustic as she had intended.

‘Joanne Clack, Christine Jones, and Dee Symonds were all the same person.’

It took a while for the implications to sink in. ‘Holy shit! So Dee was a child murderer … jeez … and somehow it’s even worse that she did it when she was just a child herself.’ That really didn’t sit well with the image she had of her late neighbour – but then, how was a killer child supposed to appear when they’ve grown up, she wondered?

‘It was definitely her. Potted version: after Clack was found guilty of murdering Ben Ellison, she was sent to a Young Offender Institution, where she actually thrived and did well academically; well enough to earn herself a place at university. She was judged to be rehabilitated and released aged eighteen, to begin her course – that was when her identity was changed to Jones, for her own protection. There was a permanent court order imposed to keep her new name and whereabouts under wraps. Nobody, including the press, had a clue.’

‘But hang on … Elizabeth and I worked out that Joanne Clack would be around forty-four now. I know Dee was forty-six, because we were invited to her birthday celebration, last February.’

‘When Clack became Jones, she kept her own date of birth. She met Geoffrey Smith while she was at university and she told him who she was, after he proposed. It was a careless remark he made to a work colleague, who recognised the chance of a swift buck when he saw it, that brought the press sniffing round, looking for an exposé scoop – despite the embargo. Protection gave her the new name Symonds and changed both her date of birth and legend. Geoffrey Smith seems to have made his own Deed Poll arrangements.’

‘Wow … so it was all change for both of them?’

‘Had to be – as far as we can see, they never officially married and spent a couple of years travelling around South America using the Symonds identities, until they felt safe to return. Geoffrey/Giles could never bring himself to sever all ties with his parents, though. Back in the UK, they settled down as Mr and Mrs Suburbia – and after all those intervening years, Dee must have thought herself safe from discovery.’