Murder on the Short List (10 page)

First she had to find him. After their break-up she'd had minimal contact, and that was through solicitors' letters. She had no idea where he lived now.

She walked down the path towards the town.

The Parks and Recreations Department at Eastbourne Council said that about forty seats had been donated as memorials by members of the public. A helpful young woman showed her the records. The bench had been presented last spring. A man had come in with the plaque already inscribed. He'd particularly asked for a teak seat to be positioned at the top of Beachy Head. He'd paid in cash and left no name, though it was obvious he had to be a Mr Culpepper.

Donna asked if he'd left his address or phone number and was told he had not. She took a sharp, impatient breath and explained about the shock she'd had. The clerical assistant was sympathetic and said it could only be an unfortunate duplication of names.

While Donna was explaining why she thought it couldn't be coincidence, an assistant at the next desk asked if they were talking about the seat at the top of Beachy Head. She said a few months ago she'd had someone else in, a woman, asking about the same seat and the man who presented it.

“A woman? Did she say why?” Donna asked.

“No, but she left her business card. I put it in the folder, just in case we found out any more.”

The card had slipped to the bottom of the folder. Donna was given a pencil and paper to make a note of the name and phone number.
Maggie Boswell-Jones, Starpart Film, TV and Theatrical Agency, Cecil Court, Off Charing Cross Road, London.
There were phone, fax and e-mail numbers.

Donna didn't have her mobile with her. She hadn't intended using it on this last day of her life. She used a public phone downstairs.

The conversation was all very bizarre.

“You're Lionel's wife? But you're dead,” Maggie Boswell-Jones said. “You were killed in a flying accident.”

“I promise you I wasn't,” Donna said. “I'm who I say I am.”

“How can you be? There's a seat on Beachy Head with your name on it. Lionel put it there in your memory.”

“He ran out on me in the second month of our marriage. May I ask why you were looking for him?”

“Because he's my boyfriend, darling, and he's missing.”

Donna felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. She knew Lionel was a rat. Now she knew he was a two-timing rat. He'd walked out on her and started up with this woman. She made an effort to save her fury for Lionel.

“How did you know about the seat?”

“He took me up there specially. He wanted me to know that you were dead. I made it very clear to him that I don't get involved with married guys. He spoke nicely of you.”

“Look, can I come and see you?”

“Is that necessary?”

“I'm determined to find him. With your help I'm sure I can do it.”

A
t the agency Donna recognised a man who stepped out of the lift. He was an actor she often saw in
Coronation Street
. In the waiting room upstairs there were framed movie posters. In a glass showcase were various awards, including what looked like an Oscar.

Maggie appeared high-powered with her black fringe, tinted glasses and purple suit, but she turned out to be charming. Coffee and biscuits were ready on a low table in her office. They sat together on a black leather sofa. “I've been trying to understand what's going on with Lionel ever since you phoned and I'm still at a loss,” Maggie said. “He's such a bright guy. I can't think how he got to believe you'd passed away.”

“He made it up,” Donna said.

“Oh, I don't think so. He said the kindest things about you. I mean, why would he go to the trouble and expense of buying a seat for you?”

“To fool you into believing I was dead and he was free to have an affair. Can't you see that?”

Maggie took a lot of convincing. Clearly she was still under Lionel's spell. Just as Donna had believed him incapable of leaving her, so Maggie insisted he must have lost his memory in the flying accident.

“There was no flying accident,” Donna said. “He talked about taking me in a plane, but it never happened. He took ninety thousand pounds from our account.”

“Really? This shocks me.” The colour had drained from Maggie's face. “I certainly need to find him because I lent him sixty grand to renovate a house he'd bought for us in the south of France.”

“You'll never see that money again,” Donna said. “He's a conman. He befriends women like you and me and fleeces them. If you don't mind me asking, how did you meet him? Was it through a newspaper?”

“What a skunk!” Maggie said, and Donna knew she'd got through to her at last.

That evening Maggie took Donna for a meal at a restaurant near the agency. “I'm not short of a bob or two,” she said, “but let's admit it, I'm unattached and on the lookout. I meet plenty of hunky blokes in my job, but it doesn't do to mix work and pleasure, so I put my ad in the
Guardian.
Lionel was the best of the bunch who responded – or seemed to be.”

“I wonder how many other women he's conned,” Donna said. “It really upsets me that he went to all that trouble to make out I was dead and he was a free man. There must be some way of stopping him.”

“We can't stop him if we can't find him.”

“Couldn't we trace him through the newspaper?”

“I don't think so. They're very strict about box numbers. And they cover themselves by saying you indemnify the newspaper against all claims.” Maggie thought for a while, and took a long sip of wine. “Righty,” she said finally. “What we do is this.”

GORGEOUS Georgie, 38, own house, car, country cottage, WLTM Mr Charming 35-45 for days out and evenings in and possible LTR. Loves fast cars, first nights and five star restaurants.

“What's LTR?”

“Long term relationship. That should do it,” Maggie said.

“It's a lot more pushy than mine,” Donna said

“How did you describe yourself?”

She blushed a little. “‘Independent, sensitive and cultured.”

“Independent is good. He's thinking of your bank balance. But we can't use it a second time. This will pull in quite a few gold-diggers, I expect. We just have to listen carefully to the voice messages and make sure it's Lionel.”

“I'll know his voice.”

“So will I, sweetie.”

“And who, exactly, is Gorgeous Georgie?”

“One of the best stuntmen in Britain.”

“A
man
?”

“Ex-boxer and European weightlifting champion. He's been on my agency books for years. He'll deliver Lionel to us, and the money he stole from us. When Georgie has finished with the bastard he'll beg for mercy.”

M
aggie called ten days later. “He's fallen for it. A really unctuous voice message. Made me want to throw up. He says he's unattached –”

“That's a lie.”

“Professional, caring and with a good sense of humour. He'll need that.”

“So what's the plan?” Donna asked.

“It's already under way. I got my film rights director to call him back. She has the Roedean accent and very sexy it sounds. I told her to play the caution card. Said she needed to be certain Lionel isn't married. He jumped right in and said he's a widower and would welcome the opportunity to prove it. They're meeting for a walk on the Downs at Beachy Head followed by a meal at the pub.”

“Your rights director?”

“No, silly. She was just the voice on the phone. He'll meet Georgie and get the shock of his life. All you and I have to do is be there to take care of the remains.”

Donna caught her breath. “I can't be a party to murder.”

“My sense of humour, darling. Georgie won't do anything permanent. He'll rough him up a bit and put the fear of God in him. Then we step up and get our money back.”

M
aggie drove them to Eastbourne on the day of the rendezvous. She took the zigzag from Holywell and parked in a lay-by with a good view of the grass rise. From here you wouldn't know there was a sheer drop. But if you ventured up the slope you'd see the Seven Sisters, the chalk cliffs reaching right away to Cuckmere Haven. It was late on a fine, gusty afternoon. George and the hapless Lionel were expected to reach here about five-thirty.

“Coffee or champagne?”

“You
are
well provided,” Donna said. “Coffee, I think. I want a clear head when we meet up with him.”

Maggie poured some from a flask. “We'll save the champers for later.”

Donna smiled. “I just hope it stops him in his tracks. I don't want other women getting caught like we did. I felt so angry with myself for being taken in. I got very depressed. When I came up here I was on the point of suicide.”

“That's no attitude. Don't ever let them grind you down.”

“I'm not very experienced with men.”

“Well, at least you persuaded the bastard to marry you, darling. You can't be a total amateur. Me, I was conned every which way. Slept with him, handed him my money, accepted his proposal.”

“Proposal? He proposed to you? Actually promised to marry you?”

“The whole shebang. Down on one knee. We were engaged. He bought the ring, I'll say that for him. A large diamond and two sapphires. He knew he had to chip in something to get what he wanted. What did it cost him? – a couple of grand at most, compared to the sixty he got off me.”

“I had no idea it got that far.”

“He'd have married me if I hadn't caught him out. Bigamy wouldn't have troubled our Lionel.”

Donna was increasingly concerned about what she was hearing. “But you
didn't
catch him out. When I first phoned, you called him your boyfriend. I had to persuade you that he was a conman.”

“Don't kid yourself, ducky,” Maggie said with a harder edge to her voice. “I knew all about Lionel before you showed up. I had him checked out. It's easy enough to get hold of a marriage certificate, and when he gave me the guff about the flying accident I checked for a death certificate as well, and there wasn't one, so I knew he was lying. He was stupid enough to tell me about the memorial bench before I even saw it. I went to the council and made sure it was bloody Lionel who paid to have it put there. He handed them the plaque and a wad of cash. What a con. He could go on using that seat as his calling card every time he started up with a new woman.”

“If you knew all that, why didn't you act before? Why are you doing this with me?” Donna said.

“‘Do you really want to know?” Maggie said. She reached for the champagne bottle and turned it in her hands as if to demonstrate good faith. “It's because you would have found out. Some day his body is going to be washed up. The sea always gives up its dead. Then the police are going to come asking questions and you'll lead them straight to me.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Get with it, Donna dear. Lionel is history.”

She felt the hairs rise on her neck. “You killed him?”

“The evening he brought me up here to look at the stupid bench. I waited till we got here and then told him what an arsehole he was. Do you know, he still tried to con me? He walked to the cliff edge and said he would throw himself off if I didn't believe him. I couldn't stand his hypocrisy, so I gave him a push. Simple as that.”

Donna covered her mouth.

“The tide was in,” Maggie said in a matter-of-fact way, “so I suppose the body was carried out to sea.”

“This is dreadful,” Donna said. She herself had felt hatred for Lionel and wanted revenge, but she had never dreamed of killing him. “What I can't understand is why we're here now – why you went through this charade of advertising for him, trying to find him – when you knew he was dead.”

“If you were listening, sweetie, I just told you. You knew too much even before I gave you the full story. You're certain to shop me when the police come along.”

It was getting dark in the car, but Donna noticed a movement of Maggie's right hand. She had gripped the champagne bottle by the neck.

Donna felt for the door handle and shoved it open. She half fell, trying to get out. Maggie got out the other side and dashed round. Donna tried to run, but Maggie grabbed her coat. The last thing Donna saw was the bottle being swung at her head.

The impact was massive.

She fell against the car and slid to the ground. She'd lost all sensation. She couldn't even raise her arms to protect herself.

She acted dead, eyes closed, body limp. It wasn't difficult.

One of her eyes was jerked open by Maggie's finger. She had the presence to stare ahead.

Then she felt Maggie's hands under her back, lifting. She was hauled back into the car seat. The door slammed shut. She was too dazed to do anything.

Maggie was back at the wheel, closing the other door. The engine started up. The car bumped in ways it shouldn't have done. It was being driven across the turf, and she guessed what was happening. Maggie was driving her right up to the cliff edge to push her over.

The car stopped.

I can't let this happen, she told herself. I wanted to die once, but not any more.

She heard Maggie get out again. She opened her eyes. The key was in the ignition, but she hadn't the strength to move across and take the controls. She had to shut her eyes again and surrender to Maggie dragging her off the seat.

First her back thumped on the chalk at the cliff edge, then her head.

Flashes streaked across her retina. She took a deep breath of cold air, trying to hold on to consciousness.

She felt Maggie's hands take a grip under her armpits to force her over the edge.

With an effort born of desperation she turned and grabbed one of Maggie's ankles with both hands and held on. If she was going, then her killer would go with her.