SIX WEEKS LATER
Cynthia awoke early and in a highly unusual change of schedule invited Gladys round for a pre-breakfast coffee. When Gladys arrived, she found her friend surveying her kitchen table with every appearance of extreme anxiety. “Wherever am I going to sit them all?” she wailed.
“The first thing is don’t get stressed.”
“You only have to say that to make me even more stressed than I am already. I only have six chairs and two with arms. George will expect to have one of those at this end like he always does.” She positioned the chair with arms square on to the table to emphasise her point. “I thought the detective chief inspector would have the other one but then I remembered his boss is coming as well and she’s a woman, Monica something or other. Do you think she’ll expect a chair with arms? I mean, it’s not as though she’s another alpha male is it?”
Gladys laughed. “Well, dear, she’s an alpha something. Look, why don’t you put the chairs with arms at either end of the table and let them fight over them? George will be here anyway. He’s bound to be early to get his seat!”
“But that’s not the end of it. Then there’s that very tall sergeant. I thought he was going to fall out of the window last time he was here.”
Gladys cast a practised eye around in the way she used to organise a classroom of teenagers. “Stick him over in the corner at the far end so he can go right back. Then the two of us will take whatever’s left.”
“But there’s the wheelchair too. Sarah Richardson is coming in a wheelchair. How are we going to fit that in? And do you think I should move the hall table? I’m worried that the wheelchair won’t be able to get past.”
“OK—why not open up the side gate? It will be easier to get in that way, come through the French doors into your living room and then through the office. If we spread the chairs out like so…” She pushed two of the smaller chairs nearer the carvers to create a bigger space. “Then, hey presto, she rides through those rooms and into here—all sorted.”
“What if it rains?”
“The sun’s out at the moment, dear. Now stop worrying. It’s an hour before they’re due to arrive so what about that coffee you talked about?”
As anticipated, George materialised fifteen minutes before the appointed time and took his usual seat. Before that Cynthia had brewed up her percolator only to find she didn’t have enough mugs. Gladys fetched two of her own to make up the required number. Then she decided her biscuit supply might not be sufficient and Gladys once more went to the rescue. By the time the long black van nosed its way into the kerb outside Cynthia’s bungalow her nerves were in shreds. As she went outside to greet the visitors, net curtains in her immediate vicinity trembled as her neighbours struggled to get a better view. The back doors opened, a ramp snaked its way down to the pavement and Sarah Richardson’s wheelchair rolled gently into view. Her plastered leg was stretched out in front of her and there was a white bandage round her head from which her blonde curls peeped out. Her face was pale but she gave a cheery wave as Andy Croft pushed her round the bungalow and in through the open French doors before stationing her exactly where Gladys and Cynthia had planned. To Cynthia’s dismay she saw that Sarah’s daughter, Maisie Hardwick, was also in the party, thus throwing her numbers out completely. However, as soon as Maisie saw the array of chairs round the kitchen table, she perched herself on the arm of Cynthia’s office chair. Monica took the other chair with arms with Stuart and Croft on either side of her and it was Monica who opened the proceedings.
“This is what you might call a meeting of the augmented taskforce,” she said looking round all the faces at the table. “It’s hard to believe that you, George, and your two lady colleagues sat round the table here planning out the moves you made which played a direct role in bringing us to where we are now. It’s only right that Jordan gives you an update on where we are with the current part of the investigation and Sarah then retells you everything she’s told us, which will answer many of the questions you may still have.”
Thus encouraged, Stuart gave a short account of events at the hospital, which drew collective gasps from Cynthia and Gladys and rapt attention with occasional nods of approval from George. “The Grouper Junior and two of his associates are now in custody and it’s likely we’ll be charging them with various crimes not just relating to the Christmas Day Cyclist but others as well. In particular we’ll be charging Kelmert himself with two efforts of attempted murder on Sarah here.”
“What was the story with the surgeon, Foreman?” George asked.
“That was classic Grouper strategy as he described it to us—find a weak link and exploit it. As you suggested, George, we enquired into the background of the medical staff looking after Sarah exactly as the Grouper himself would have done and we arrived at the same target. Foreman had built himself up substantial debts on his credit cards trying to keep his mistress happy. The Grouper offered to bail him out plus other payments if he disrupted Sarah’s treatment. As soon as Sarah showed signs of recovery the arrangement was that Foreman would take over another operation to provide him with an unimpeachable alibi when the machinery in Sarah’s room was tampered with. However, he then had an attack of conscience and decided he couldn’t go through with it. When we saw him, he was in fact assuring himself that nothing had been done to put her in peril and he’d unplugged the pipe to verify it was working properly. He got zapped by us for his pains. What I hadn’t bargained for was that Kelmert himself would get into the hospital and make himself into such a convincing double for Foreman.”
“Did you know what was going on?” Cynthia asked Sarah. She felt better now the whole session was ongoing and no disasters had occurred. Even the biscuit supply was holding up.
“Yes, I knew it was different. It’s hard to explain but the quiet around me had been disturbed. I was aware of much more than the movements I was able to make at the time would have shown.”
“And why was the Grouper so keen to get at Sarah?” Cynthia transferred her attention back to Stuart.
“I think it’s time for Sarah herself to take the floor. She can tell you that.”
Sarah smiled and shifted position in her chair so she could more easily look around. “I was so keen to meet you all. Maisie has told me about your visit to the Hall and how you managed to sort through my rather ramshackle records. It’s remarkable what you achieved. As for me well, I was just a young thing when I met Enver Kelmert. I was introduced to him by a friend and I fell for him straightaway. He was tall, dark and good-looking, reminded me of the leading men in the old movies and we started a relationship. One or two of my friends were concerned about his reputation for being, well, shady, but being young and naive I took no notice of that and concentrated on having a good time. He had plenty of money and nothing was too expensive.” She paused. “Could I have a glass of water please?”
Maisie leaned forward attentively. “Are you sure you’re all right, Mama?”
Sarah drank deeply from the glass Cynthia gave her. “Yes, yes don’t worry. Where was I? Oh yes, Enver. Well, the day came when he asked me if I was interested in property. At the time we were living together so I couldn’t really see the need. He explained that property was a wise investment and he wanted to help me get on the ladder. I very quickly bought three houses, one of which was 125 Brayfield Road. In a roundabout way he provided the money. We created a company for me to own them and let them out. I bought two more with his money and then I was making enough from the letting to fund my own purchases. By that time the relationship had cooled off. I’d met my future husband and I wanted out. I offered to give Enver the houses back. At that point he made it clear there was no out for me. I was to go on owning the houses and pay him a dividend out of the rentals.”
“Did your husband know?” Gladys asked.
“He knew about the houses of course but not about my connection with Enver. That went on until Enver died. At that point I transferred the running of the properties over to another company in Streatham.”
“But you still haven’t told us why his son was so keen to get at you.”
“Oh, that’s easy. I was aware that his son, who is nothing to do with me incidentally, helped his father in the business, as he called it. In an unguarded moment before he died Enver told me that his son was one of the people who transferred Richard Pennington’s body. I could directly implicate him. When the cold case re-emerged, the son decided to take the necessary action.”
“So how directly was Kelmert senior involved in Pennington’s murder?” George was the questioner this time.
Sarah waved a hand. “I know nothing about that.” She held her glass out for a refill and drank deeply again. “Both Enver and I had a grudge against Pennington as the police know, but for me it never ran as deep as it did for Enver. For starters it was his money that had been lost, not mine. He used me to set up bank accounts just as he did to buy houses. At the start I was being used as a mule and didn’t realise it. By the time I did realise he wouldn’t let me out. Then for Enver it was honour and reputation. If it got out that he’d been swindled as he saw it by the bank without getting his own back, he would never live it down. Enver took over control of 125 Brayfield Road from me after the murder of Pennington—he never explained why and I didn’t make the connection. Why should I? It’s only now we know that that was the murder scene. Normally I would make arrangements for cleaning up after one tenancy finished and then arrange a new one. For Brayfield Road he did all of that.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police at the time what you knew about Kelmert Junior’s role with Pennington’s body?”
“You and DCI Stuart think along similar lines. I suppose that’s only natural. Look, I was scared. He was dead—my husband was dead by that time too. I had a steady income; in fact I was rich. Why should I rock the boat and risk the son coming after me? And I thought too the police might think I was involved. I had a motive. I’ve been very lucky. He did try to get me and I survived twice. The surgeons tell me I should make a full recovery, except active sport may be beyond me.” She smiled. “Perhaps living in a place like this might suit me.”
She looked around the table. “Is there anything else anyone would like to ask?”
“Well,” George said, “I would like to know about the golden lion.”
“Ah yes, the lions—you saw the one on my desk in the office, the one which was stolen?”
“I took pictures of it.”
“The base as well?”
“Yes—it was stamped number two.”
“Correct—they stole the wrong one. You see, Enver gave me his as well. They were designed as the ultimate corporate gift dreamed up by Pennington to favour those he wanted to favour. Enver’s was number one but before he gave it to me just prior to death he had it stamped up with his account number where the bulk of his money was in the Cayman Islands. He’d provided for his son and the money out there he wanted me to have. I put the lion in a bank vault—I didn’t want to touch the money, especially as by that stage I’d figured out it was probably dirty money. I’ve now turned it over to the police.”
Stuart nodded. “We’ve got that in hand.”
Monica looked round the table. “If that’s all, we’d better get on. We have to return Sarah and Maisie home and go back to work. This has been a highly unconventional meeting today but we wanted to signal to you our gratitude for the help provided by the taskforce.”
“Are you sure you won’t stay for lunch?” Gladys blurted out.
Cynthia blinked. It had been stressful enough organising the coffee and biscuits—all of which had disappeared. As if sensing her disquiet Gladys carried rapidly on. “They do good food at our restaurant here and I’m sure it could all be arranged…” Her voice tailed away as Monica rose from her seat.
“Thank you but as I said we need to get on. One last thing—a recommendation has gone forward for some form of tangible recognition to you all, George, Cynthia and Gladys. You’ll be hearing more about that.”
She swept out followed by Jordan Stuart, who raised his eyebrows and grinned at George when he was sure his boss wasn’t watching. Croft and Maisie wheeled Sarah out the same way they had come in. To the accompaniment of further twitching of net curtains the van was loaded and took off.
**
As the weather stayed fair Cynthia invited George to tea in her garden that afternoon. He insisted on unfolding her patio chairs and setting them out with a congenial distance between them, allowing room for the small round patio table.
“Did you believe her?” she asked after they’d sat down.
“Which one—Sarah or Monica?” There was a playful twinkle in George’s eye.
She leaned over to prod him with her elbow. “You know.”
“Yes—who would doubt my very political successor? As for Sarah, it’s a question, as I’m fond of saying, of following the evidence. Did she take the Grouper’s money to fund her property portfolio? Well, she admitted that herself. Was she being used as a vehicle to launder illegal money to produce a lawful return? Again, she admitted that later on she realised that she’d been used as a mule as she put it. Was it a case of money laundering? Probably, but we have no evidence to support it. What did she know about the Pennington murder? Nothing, according to her, and furthermore the Grouper took over administration of that house. We saw nothing in the paperwork to support that but also there’s no evidence that it didn’t happen. Whoever did take responsibility for the cleaning didn’t do a sufficiently comprehensive job to fool a police investigation. That much we do know.”
He sipped at his tea as he drew breath. Cynthia waited patiently for him to continue. She knew enough of him by now not to interrupt when he was in full flow.
“Should she have reported what the Grouper told her of his son’s involvement in disposing of Pennington’s body? Of course she should in the best of all worlds, but her explanation as to why she didn’t sounds convincing. She’ll be expected to give evidence at the Grouper Junior’s trial, whenever that happens. That evidence will confirm what we suspected all along that the Grouper Junior was the other man with Metz who handed the body over to Charlie Willis. Given the record of disappearance of witnesses and reluctance to testify in previous Grouper trials, the police will need to take great care of Sarah and her daughter, but that’s not our problem, thank goodness. The police will of course want a DNA test to make sure there’s no link between Sarah and the Grouper Junior.”
“What about the gold lions?”
“Ah yes, the lions have been a thread through the whole affair, haven’t they? This is a big point in Sarah’s favour. She made no effort to access funds from the Grouper account even though she had the means. Jordan is an expert in financial crime and he will have verified that. Funds on that account will be taken as proceeds of crime. The Grouper Junior will for sure have been very disappointed that for all the risks he took, he got the wrong lion. Perhaps that was what persuaded him to take on the visit to the hospital himself, that and his physical resemblance to the surgeon, Foreman. What was the old maxim—if you want a job done properly, do it yourself? Only when he tried it, that went wrong as well. We have Mr Foreman’s change of heart to thank for that.” He took another sip of tea. “So, bottom line, will there be any police action against Sarah? Very unlikely, I would say. She’s helped them considerably already in capturing the Grouper Junior and his friends and will be a valuable witness. Her life has been put under threat twice. Public sympathy would be with her. As to her property portfolio, she’s already put it at arm’s length. Her daughter has no interest in it and its origins are murky. With a little reflection I expect she will arrive at the right decision and liquidate it, using the funds in an appropriate way. She will probably receive some gentle advice in that direction.”
“Gentle advice?” Cynthia gave him a grin.
“Well, the police don’t always use a blunderbuss you know, no matter how we’re portrayed. Consider the flexibility shown in staging today’s meeting.”
“Gladys was asking me what I thought the recognition to us might be.”
“Well, she would, wouldn’t she? That’s Gladys for you—always wants to get to the heart of the matter.”
“She was a teacher, remember.”
“Indeed, well what will the recognition be? Monica was rather coy but it could be anything from a commendation for our efforts, some money, which is always welcome of course, or even a medal. We’ll have to wait and see.” He held out his empty cup and Cynthia required no further hint to refill it.
“Thank you,” he said and spread out in his chair as far as the confines of the patio allowed. “It’s very pleasant here, isn’t it? My veranda doesn’t quite capture the sun in the same way.”
“It’s steak night tonight,” Cynthia reminded him.
“Yes.” He gave a contented sigh. “Back to normality.”