Death Trap (20 page)

‘I don't know,' Kate said. ‘And what about my old lady in the basement? I knew her and now I've met her son, and the whole thing stinks. Her death's just too convenient for him. He needs the money and now he's got it. And Vera Chamberlain is sure that Cecily was refusing to sign away the house. She didn't want to sell it.'

‘You may think that,' Barnard said. ‘But you've got absolutely no evidence for it. It's all circumstantial. I tell you what I'll do. I'll tackle my mate at Notting Hill, find out what the post-mortem result was. You've heard rumours but I'll check out the facts. We're going to a Chelsea match on Tuesday night. I'm sure I can get something out of him then. Will that do?'

‘I expect so,' Kate said, shivering slightly.

‘Come on back inside. You're cold,' Barnard said, putting his arm round her shoulders, and as they got to their feet someone shouted from the door of the flat.

‘Come on in. We're putting the telly on.'

‘What on earth for?' Barnard asked.

‘
That Was The Week That Was
,' Kate said enthusiastically as Millicent Martin's voice rang out through the open windows and the hubbub of conversation died down. ‘Don't you watch it? We don't miss it. It's very good, very funny.' Inside, the entire crowd of party-goers sat on the floor or stood in clusters round the small black and white screen as David Frost introduced the programme which had become a political cult amongst a large proportion of the population as the scandal-hit government looked to be staggering to its end.

‘Do we have to?' Barnard asked, sounding unimpressed and putting a tentative arm around Kate's waist. ‘I can think of better things to do.'

But Kate put a finger to her lips. ‘Listen,' she whispered. ‘They're going to talk about landlords again. I saw something once before at home. I never thought I'd meet any of them though.'

The party-goer standing in front of Kate turned round and told her to shush before offering her the cigarette he was smoking. She looked puzzled and glanced at Barnard who was smiling sardonically and shaking his head.

‘You don't want to let me see that, mate,' he said to the smoker. ‘You really don't.'

The man moved away hurriedly as enlightenment dawned on Kate, but she said nothing as Barnard's attention suddenly turned to the screen where David Frost was interviewing a man he recognised. Lazlo Roman looked as full of self-confidence as he had when Barnard himself had spoken to him, and was denying just as vigorously that he was in any way similar to the notorious and now deceased slum landlord Peter Rachman.

‘People need homes,' he said. ‘Many landlords will not take West Indian families. I do. And there is nothing wrong with that. My father was a gypsy in Nazi Europe so I know what it is to be hated because of your race. Believe me, you do not want to go down that road in this country. It leads to the camps and the gas ovens.'

For once, Kate thought, even David Frost looked slightly nonplussed and the interview quickly turned to the harassment Roman claimed he was suffering from gangsters trying to cash in, before Lance Percival launched into his regular satirical calypso.

‘He was the man who wants to buy our house from Miles Beauchamp,' Kate whispered to Barnard.

‘And your house is being targeted,' Barnard said, not bothering to hide his rising anger as he steered her away from the rapt crowd of TV viewers to the front door where they would not be easily overheard. ‘Beauchamp is using thugs to get you out and someone else is using thugs to try to get protection money. Jesus, you must get out of there.'

‘It's not so easy,' Kate said gloomily. ‘We looked at three places today and they were all awful.'

‘I know it's not easy,' Barnard said. ‘If the worst comes to the worst you can always kip down at my place.' He took on her look of barely disguised horror and grinned. ‘Positively no strings, I promise. And I do make the beds and wash the dishes.'

‘It won't come to that,' Kate said, without total conviction.

‘Do you want to go and see Nelson Mackintosh's wife now?' Barnard said. ‘The sooner the family know what you've found out the better, I guess. We can come back later to pick up your friends.'

‘That would be good,' Kate said, and after a quick word with Tess, whose expression told her that she didn't believe a word of that excuse, the two of them drove away through the evening traffic and parked outside Nelson Mackintosh's cafe.

The main room was as seriously crowded as the first time Kate had come through the door and an uneasy silence fell as the two white visitors pushed through the crowd to the bar where Abraham Righton was busy serving drinks.

‘More photographs, Miss O'Donnell?' he asked. ‘Don't you have enough of us poor folk already? An' who's this? Your bodyguard?'

It was not the welcome Kate had been expecting and she shook her head, feeling bewildered. ‘This is Harry. Just a friend,' she said. ‘But it was Mrs Mackintosh I was hoping to see. Is she still living here? I've something to tell her that might help Nelson.'

Righton looked slightly sceptical at that but after delivering a tray full of drinks to a group of customers he wiped his hands on his apron and nodded to Kate and Harry. ‘Wait there, and I'll see if she want to see you,' he said, making his way through the door that led to the upstairs flat.

Harry turned to stand with his back to the bar and Kate could feel the tension in the room rising. They were being watched and by far-from-friendly faces. Even the elderly dominoes players looked unforgiving. She hoped Abraham would not be long, and Harry Barnard hoped even more fervently that no one in the room had the slightest inkling he was a copper. In the event, they both got their wish when Righton reappeared quickly and nodded them towards the door.

‘Take care what you say,' he said as they passed him. ‘She very upset. Ben still hasn't been home and she is afraid of the worst. And it very late for her. She should be asleep.'

They found Evelina Mackintosh slumped in the corner of her sofa. She was dressed in a pink dressing gown, tied with a tight cord around her waist, and to Kate's horror she seemed to have aged years in the few days since she had last seen her.

‘Abraham said you have something to tell me,' she said, her voice hoarse as if with too much crying. ‘Is it about Ben? Has your friend heard from him, your friend at the school?'

‘No, it's not about Ben,' Kate said. ‘It's about the murder Nelson is accused of, the murder of Janice Jones. I found out something which I think might help him. I thought you needed to know as soon as possible, so you can pass it on to your lawyer.'

‘Who is Nelson's brief?' Barnard asked.

‘Mr Robert Manley,' Evelina said. ‘He's a good man, and a good lawyer, I am told. So what must I tell him, young lady?'

‘I think Kate should write everything down for you to tell Mr Manley,' Barnard said. ‘It's very important to get the details right.'

‘Are you a legal man, too?' Evelina asked.

‘In a manner of speaking,' Barnard said wryly. ‘But I just came to keep Kate company. She's the one you have to thank.'

‘It is good to know we have some friends,' Evelina said as she gave Kate a pad of paper and a pen and waved her and Harry to the table where they outlined everything Kate had discovered from Denise Baker.

Kate signed it and wrote her address and phone number at the bottom. ‘That's where I live at the moment,' she said. ‘But I hope to be moving very soon. But you can always contact me through Tess Farrell at Ben's school if you or Mr Manley need to talk to me.'

Evelina took Kate's statement and looked at her curiously. ‘Why are you doing this?' she asked.

Kate shrugged. ‘Your husband was kind to us the night we met him,' she said. ‘We were a bit lost at the time. And Tess thought a lot of him and your son. We just wanted to help, that's all.'

Evelina nodded slowly. ‘Thank you,' she said.

Harry Barnard had driven a subdued Kate O'Donnell back to the party in Holland Park Avenue, picked up her friends and delivered them safely back to the empty house in Argyll Gardens with very mixed feelings. He parked the car outside and went with them to the front door and stood sentry while they opened it. All was dark and quiet inside, and after he had checked that the broken window on the ground floor was now securely boarded up, he left the three of them to climb to the top floor.

‘Call me if you're the least bit worried,' he had said to Kate, as she lingered behind the others for a moment. He had given her a quick peck on the cheek, which she did not resist. ‘I mean it.'

‘I know, and thanks,' Kate said. ‘We're going to look at more flats tomorrow. Perhaps we'll be luckier than we were today.'

Barnard stood on the top step to listen while Kate locked the front door and pulled the bolts. He knew it would not stop anyone who was determined to break in but he supposed it was better than nothing. He smiled with a wry satisfaction, knowing just how far this girl had got under his skin and how unlikely it was that would get him anywhere. Then he got back into the car, turned round the way they had just come, back to Portobello Road. But when he reached the side turning, intending to go back to Nelson Mackintosh's cafe, he found the way blocked by police vans and cars, turning the area a pulsating blue, and a crowd of officers going in and out, some of them none too gently pushing and shoving handcuffed prisoners into the vans.

He parked on the corner and walked down towards the cafe, scanning the melee in search of someone he recognised, but it was not until he passed an unmarked car parked halfway across the pavement that he spotted DS Eddie Lamb sitting in the driver's seat smoking contentedly behind the wheel.

‘Whatcher?' he said, opening the passenger door and slipping inside. ‘What's going on here then? I thought you'd got the owner of Poor Man's Corner safely locked up.'

‘We have,' Lamb said. ‘It's Slim Hickman, the bloody DCI. He's got a bee in his bonnet about bloody West Indians. Says drugs are getting out of control and we've to raid as many cafes and clubs as we've got manpower for. It's a complete waste of time, if you ask me. There's no point rounding up a few people with a spliff, you need to go for the suppliers, and no one will do that because they're getting too big a pay-off themselves. Around here every other kid at any sort of knees-up is high on ganja.'

‘Not just round here either,' Barnard said. ‘I was offered some at a party myself tonight. They didn't know I was a copper.'

‘So what did you do?' Lamb asked.

‘Made an excuse and left,' Barnard said, with a laugh. ‘What would you have done?'

Lamb nodded and did not pursue it. ‘What are you doing round here anyway?' he asked.

‘My girlfriend lives round the corner,' Barnard said, bending the truth slightly. ‘You know that. I've just dropped her off.'

‘Going well, is it?'

‘Not so's you'd notice.' Barnard admitted. ‘You could help me out with something she's worried about, though, Eddie.'

‘What is it this time? She's already making a nuisance of herself about her bloody landlord.'

‘Yes, well, she and her friends are moving out as fast as they can. No, this is about the old woman in the bottom flat who died. Fell over, or something in the garden. Do you know if you've got the PM results yet? Was it natural causes? She's got it into her silly head that there was something suspicious going on. I'm sure it's just imagination but I could reassure her if you know what really happened.'

‘Diabetic coma, it turns out,' Lamb said. ‘Silly old moo must have forgotten to take her insulin. Nothing suspicious about that. She'd had it for years.'

‘Had she just forgotten to take it or had she run out?' Barnard asked. ‘Surely her doctor would check up on her.'

‘Well, we didn't do much of a search, did we?' Lamb said. ‘We reckoned it was natural causes, and it's as good as, isn't it. I expect the place has been cleared now and her insulin's gone to the tip. She was an old woman, for God's sake, she was going to go one way or another. What's your bird worried about? There was no sign of a break-in, the son didn't seem to think anything had been taken. What's the problem?'

Barnard shrugged. ‘She thinks the son's up to something,' Barnard said. ‘I'll tell her what you said, anyway. Tell her you're satisfied. So, you're OK for Tuesday night's game are you?'

‘Yep, I'll see you in the usual place,' Lamb said as Barnard let himself out of the car. ‘Take care, mate.'

Barnard watched as two police vans accelerated away into Portobello Road and turned in the direction of the nick and Lamb turned his car to follow them. He picked up his Capri and cruised down towards Notting Dale, where the cafes and clubs were still in full swing and the pavements crowded. In Westbourne Grove he suddenly braked and jumped out of the car close to where a group of teenagers were standing on a street corner.

‘Ben Mackintosh,' he said as he grabbed one boy by the shoulder. ‘I thought it was you. Don't you know your mother is going frantic about you? What the hell are you playing at?'

Ben wriggled out of Barnard's grip and turned to face him, backed up by half a dozen of his mainly older friends. ‘What it to you?' he asked, his Jamaican accent strong. There was an accompanying groan of support from behind. ‘Me on mi own now. Dere people aroun' here who look after us better dan Nelson ever could. Him an old fool, mi father, and look where it got him. Set up by de police, going to jail for something him never did.'

‘And your schooling? All the hopes you mother and father had for you?' Barnard said, knowing from the defiance on Ben's face that he was wasting his breath.

‘Me got better prospects now dan all dat,' Ben said. ‘Tell mi ma not to worry. Me be fine. Now leave me alone, whitey. You not needed round here. Not needed at all.'