The Sculptress (34 page)

“Now, I’m persona non grata and I can’t really blame them. They feel they’ve been conned.”

“Why would you need to con them?”

“The recession.” He sighed.

“Businesses are going down like ninepins. There’s no reason mine should have been immune. What’s the first thing a restauranteur’s likely to do when he’s running out of money? Hang on to dodgy food and serve it up in a curry.”

There was a twisted logic to it.

“Won’t your staff speak up for you?”

He smiled grimly.

“The two waitresses have agreed to, but the only one whose word might carry weight is my assistant chef, and he was last heard of heading for France.” He stretched his arms towards the ceiling, and winced as pain seared round his ribs.

“It wouldn’t do me any good anyway. He must have been bought. Someone had to let whoever framed me into the kitchen and he had the only other key.” His eyes hardened.

“I should have throttled him when I had the chance but I was so damn shell-shocked I didn’t put two and two together fast enough. By the time I had, he’d gone.”

Roz chewed her thumb in thought.

“Didn’t that man tell you anything after I left? I assumed you were going to use my hat ping on him.”

Her candour brought a smile to his bleak face.

“I did, but he didn’t make much sense.

“You’re costing money on the foreclosures.” That’s all he said.” He arched an eyebrow.

“Can you make anything of it?”

“Not unless the bank’s about to pull the rug from underneath your feet.”

He shook his head.

“I borrowed the absolute minimum.

There’s no immediate pressure.” He drummed his fingers on the floor.

“Logically, he should have been referring to the businesses on either side of me. They’ve both gone bankrupt and in each case the lenders have foreclosed.”

“Well, that’s it then,” said Roz excitedly.

“Someone wants all three properties. Didn’t you ask him who it was and why?”

He rubbed the back of his head in tender recollection.

“I was clobbered before I had the chance. There was obviously a fifth man who went upstairs during the brawl to release Tweedledum and Tweedledee from the window bars. For all I know, it was that hammering we heard. Anyway, by the time I came to, a chip pan was in flames on the stove, the police had arrived in force, and my nextdoor neighbour was rabbi ting on about how he’d had to call an ambulance because I’d tried to boil a customer in fish stock.” He grinned sheepishiy.

“It was a blasted nightmare.

So I hit the nearest copper and legged it through the restaurant. It was the only thing I could think of.” He looked at her.

“In any case the idea that someone was trying to get hold of the Poacher was the first thing I thought of. I checked out both the adjoining properties five weeks ago and there’s no common factor between them. One was bought privately by a small retail chain and the other was sold at auction to an investment company.”

“They could be fronts. Did you go to Companies’ House?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last three days?” He gritted his teeth angrily.

“I’ve checked every damn register I can think of and I’ve got sweet FA to show for it. I don’t know what the hell’s going on except that the court case will be the last nail in the Poacher’s coffin and presumably, at that point, someone will make me an offer to buy the place. Rather like you kept doing the other day.”

She let his anger slide past her. She understood it now.

“By which time it will be too late.”

“Precisely.”

They sat in silence for several minutes.

“Why were you beaten up the first time I saw you?” Roz asked at last.

“That must have followed on the Inspector’s visit.”

He nodded.

“It was three or four days after I reopened. They grabbed me off the doorstep when I unlocked the door. Same MO as you witnessed men in ski-masks with baseball bats but that time they shoved me in the back of a fish lorry, drove me ten miles into the New Forest, slapped me about a bit, then dumped me by the side of the road with no money and no cards. It took me all afternoon to walk home, because nobody fancied giving me a lift, and at the end of it’ he flicked her a sideways glance “I found Botticelli’s Venus loitering palely among my tables. I really thought my luck had changed until Venus opened her mouth and turned into a Fury.” He ducked to avoid her hand.

“God, woman’ he grinned “I was out on my feet and you tore more strips off me than the bastards in the fish lorry. Rape, for Christ’s sake!

I could hardly put one foot in front of the other.”

“It’s your own fault for having bars on your windows. Why do you, as a matter of interest?”

“They were there when I bought it. The chap before me had a wife who sleep walked I’ve been glad of them these last few weeks.”

She reverted to her former question.

“But it doesn’t explain why, you know. I mean if the idea of the Inspector’s visit was to get you to jack it in quickly, then they should have clobbered you the day you’reopened, not four days later.

And if they were happy to wait until the court case, then why clobber you at all?”

“I know,” he admitted.

“It made me very suspicious of you. I kept thinking you must be connected with it somehow but I had you checked and you seemed genuine enough.”

“Thanks,” she said duly.

“You’d have done the same.” A frown carved a deep furrow between his brows.

“You must admit it’s damned odd the way everything blew up around the time you appeared.”

In all fairness, Roz could see it was.

“But you got stitched up,” she pointed out, ‘before you or I had ever heard of each other. It must be coincidence.” She topped up his glass.

“And, anyway, the only common factor between you and me five weeks ago was Olive and you’re not suggesting she’s behind it.

She’s hardly confident enough to run a bath on her own, let alone mastermind a conspiracy to defraud you of the Poacher.”

He shrugged impatiently.

“I know. I’ve been over it a thousand times. None of it makes sense.

The only thing I’m sure of is that it’s about the neatest operation I’ve ever come across. I’ve had the ground cut from under me. I’m the fall guy and I can’t even begin to get a fix on who’s done it.” He scratched his stubble with weary resignation.

“So, Miss Leigh, how do you feel now about a failed restauranteur with convictions for health violation, GBH, arson, and resisting arrest?

Because, barring miracles, that’s what I’ll be in three weeks.”

Her eyes gleamed above her wine glass.

“Horny.”

He gave an involuntary chuckle. It was the same gleam in the pictured eyes of Alice.

“You look just like your daughter.” He stirred the photographs again.

“You should have them all around the room to remind yourself of how beautiful she was.

I would if she’d been mine.” He heard Roz’s indrawn breath and glanced at her.

“Sorry. That was insensitive.”

“Don’t be an oaf,” she said.

“I’ve just remembered where I’ve seen that man before. I knew I knew him. It’s one of Mr. Hayes’s sons. You know, the old man who lived next door to the Martins.

He had photographs of the family on his sideboard.” She clapped her hands.

“Is that a miracle, Hawksley, or is it a miracle? Sister Bridget’s prayers must be working.”

She sat at her kitchen table and watched Hal work his magic on the meagre contents of her fridge. He had sloughed off his frustration like a used-up skin and was humming contentedly to himself as he interleaved bacon between thin slices of chicken breast and sprinkled them with parsley.

“You’re not planning to stick my hat ping into Mr. Hayes, are you?” she asked him.

“I’m sure he hasn’t a clue what his beastly son’s been up to. He’s a dear old thing.”

Hal was amused.

“I shouldn’t think so.” He covered the dish with silver foil and put it in the oven.

“But I’m damned if I can see at the moment how the jigsaw fits together. Why did Hayes Junior suddenly up the pressure on me if all he had to do was sit tight and wait for my prosecution?”

“Have him arrested and find out,” said Roz reasonably.

“If it was me, I’d have driven straight down, demanded an address off his father, and sent in the fuzz.”

“And you’d have got precisely nowhere.” He thought for a moment.

“You said you made a tape of your conversation with the old man. I’d like to listen to it. I can’t believe it’s coincidence. There has to be a stronger link. Why did they all get so twitched suddenly and start wielding baseball bats? It doesn’t make sense.”

“You can listen to it now.” She brought her briefcase in from the hallway, located the tape, and set the recorder running on the table.

“We were talking about Amber’s illegitimate son,” she explained as the old man’s voice quavered out.

“He knew all about him, even down to the child’s adopted name and what country he’s in. Robert Martin’s entire estate is his if they can find him.”

Hal listened with rapt attention.

“Brown?” he queried at the end.

“And living in Australia? How do you know he’s right?”

“Because Olive’s shitty solicitor threatened me with injunctions when I let on I knew.” She frowned.

“Mind you. I’ve no idea how Mr. Hayes found out. Crew won’t even give Olive the child’s name. He’s paranoid about keeping it secret.”

Hal removed a saucepan of rice from the cooker and drained it.

“How much did Robert Martin leave?”

“Half a million.”

“Christ!” He gave a low whistle.

“Christ!” he said again.

“And it’s all on deposit waiting for the child’s appearance?”

“Presumably.”

“Who’s the executor?”

“The solicitor, Peter Crew.”

Hal spooned the rice into a bowl.

“So what did he say when you tackled him about it? Did he admit they were on the child’s track?”

“No. He just kept threatening me with injunctions.” She shrugged.

“But he wrote to Olive and told her the chances were minimal. There’s a time limit, apparently, and if the child doesn’t turn up the money goes to charity.” She frowned.

“He wrote that letter himself in longhand. I thought he was saving money but, you know, it’s far more likely that he didn’t want his secretary reading it. She would know if he was telling lies.”

“And meanwhile,” Hal said slowly, ‘he is administering the estate and has access to the sort of capital that would be needed to buy up bankrupt businesses.” He stared past her head, his eyes narrowed.

“Plus, he’s a solicitor, so probably has inside information on development plans and proposals.” He looked at Roz.

“It would amount to indefinite free credit, as long as no one turned up to claim Robert’s money. When did you first go and see Crew?”

She was ahead of him.

“The day before you were beaten up.”

Her eyes gleamed excitedly.

“And he was very suspicious of me, kept accusing me of jumping to unfavourable conclusions about his handling of Olive’s case. I’ve got it all on tape.” She scrabbled through her cassettes.

“He said Olive couldn’t inherit because she would not be allowed to benefit from Gwen and Amber’s death. But, you know, if Olive were innocent’ she pounced triumphantly on the tape ‘it would be a whole new ball game. She could get leave to appeal against the will. And I remember saying to him at the end of the interview that one explanation for the discrepancies between the abnormality of the crime and the normality of Olive’s psychiatric tests was that she didn’t do it.

God, it fits, doesn’t it? First he learns that Amber’s son is likely to surface and then I turn up, aggressively taking Olive’s side. The Poacher must be awfully important to him.”

Hal took the chicken from the oven and put it on the table with the rice.

“You do realise your dear old man must be in it up to his neck? Crew would never have given him chapter and verse on Amber’s child unless Hayes has some kind of hold on him.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then removed the Svengali photographs from her briefcase.

“Perhaps he knows Crew is using Robert’s money. Or perhaps,” she said slowly, ‘he knows who really murdered Gwen and Amber Either or both could ruin Crew.” She fanned the pictures across the table.

“He was Olive’s lover,” she said simply, ‘and if I could find out so easily then so could anyone else. Including the police.

You let her down, Hal, all of you. It’s a betrayal of justice to assume someone’s guilt before it’s proved.”

Watery blue eyes regarded Roz with undisguised pleasure.

“Well, well. You came back. Come in.

Come in.” He peered past her, frowning at Hal in half-recognition.

“Surely we’ve met before. What shall I say? I never forget a face.

Now when could that have been?”

Hal shook the old man’s hand.

“Six years ago,” he said pleasantly.

“I was on the Olive Martin case. Sergeant Hawksley.” The hand fluttered weakly in his, like a tiny bird, but only from old age and decrepitude, Hal thought.

Mr. Hayes nodded vigorously.

“I remember now. Unhappy circumstances.” He fussed ahead of them into the sitting room.

“Sit down. Sit down. Any news?” He took a firm chair and sat bolt upright his head cocked enquiringly to one side. On the sideboard behind him his violent son smiled disarmingly into the camera.

Roz took her notebook from her handbag and switched on her recorder again. They had reached a mutual decision that Roz should ask the questions. For, as Hal had pointed out: “If he knows anything, he’s more likely to let it slip while talking to a what shall I say? charming young lady about Olive.”

“In fact,” she said in a gossipy voice which grated on Hal but clearly appealed to Mr. Hayes, ‘there’s quite a bit of news one way and another. Where would you like me to begin? With Olive? Or with Amber’s baby?” She gave him an approving look.

“You were quite right about them finding traces, you know, in spite of there being thousands of Browns in Australia.”

“Ah,” he said, rubbing his hands, “I knew they were close.