Play to the End (33 page)

"What answer did you get?"

"An unsatisfactory one. Kenneth told me Roger had said nothing to him on the subject. Ever. And yet... I wasn't sure I believed him."

"Why should he lie?"

"Ah. Clearly there are limits to your perceptiveness. But, as I said earlier, your motive is a narrow one. You seek only a reconciliation with Jenny. Have the decency to admit it, since you've obliged me to be so painfully honest. If she walked into this room now and said she wanted to revive your marriage, you'd happily forget Derek Oswin and Roger's alleged character flaws."

"They're more than character flaws. Do you know why I missed the performance last night? Because your nephew held me prisoner and set in motion a plan to have me arrested for assaulting a prostitute." The outburst had carried me too far. But it was too late to back out.

"Roger's scared, Delia. Do you know why? Not because he's afraid I'll steal Jenny from him. But because he's afraid Gavin will steal his inherited wealth from him, along with Wickhurst Manor, if he can prove Walter wasn't Roger's father and Roger therefore wasn't his rightful heir."

"Nonsense."

"You know it isn't."

"On the contrary. I know it is. Listen to me carefully, Toby. You clearly have no understanding of the law. Even if Gavin could prove Kenneth Oswin fathered Roger, which would be next to impossible, he'd have no hope of persuading a court to overturn the settlement of Walter's estate on him, since Roger was born in wedlock and acknowledged by Walter as his son."

Now she had wrong-footed me. "Are you certain?" I mumbled.

"I made it my business to find out. As I'm sure Roger has. He has nothing to fear on that score."

"But '

"Which means he has no reason to engage in risky and illegal actions designed to prevent either you or Derek Oswin publicizing matters that can at worst merely embarrass him."

"He held me in a locked room at Wickhurst Manor last night. And he instructed a drug dealer he knows called Sobotka to set me up on an assault charge. The police are probably already looking for me."

"Really?" Her expression was suitably sceptical.

"Really. And truly."

"It doesn't seem very likely."

"But it happened."

"So you say. But The ring of the wall-mounted telephone, modulated by the burbles and rings of various extensions elsewhere in the house, silenced Delia. She frowned, then rose smartly from her chair, marched across to it and picked up the receiver. "Hello? ... Oh, hello, darling. Still at the club?" The caller was clearly her husband. My attention drifted.

If Delia was right about the legal position, as I didn't seriously doubt she was, the tape and the photograph amounted to nothing but proof of a long-ago infidelity that posed no threat to Roger Colborn.

But something did. That much I knew for certain. Something more than my love for Jenny and any affection she still harboured for me. But what could it be? What

"Are you sure about this?" A note of urgency had entered Delia's voice.

When I looked towards her, I saw concern and puzzlement etched on her forehead. "What can they possibly have been looking for? .. . Surely not. It's unthinkable .. . I've heard nothing from him ... Of course

.. . All right, darling .. . Yes .. . See you then. "Bye."

She put the telephone back on the hook and stared at me, her frown fading only slowly. She raised a hand to her mouth.

"What's wrong?" I prompted.

"The strangest thing," she murmured.

"What?"

"John met somebody at the golf club this morning who lives at Fulking.

Just down the road from Wickhurst Manor. He mentioned .. . well, it seems .. ." She moved slowly back across the room, but didn't sit down. She stood beside her chair, gazing out into the garden, collecting her thoughts, composing her words. "It seems the police were at Wickhurst Manor last night. In force. It was described ... as a raid."

I remembered the dark-blue saloon car following Sobotka's van into Brighton after he dropped me near the bypass and felt a surge of relief. Maybe the police had picked up Sobotka before he could do his worst. Maybe I was in the clear after all. And maybe Roger wasn't.

"Did they make any arrests?"

"Apparently not. But they were there for some hours. John wondered if I'd heard from Roger. Or from our solicitor. He's Roger's solicitor too."

"They're trying to link him with Sobotka, Delia. They were looking for drugs and any other evidence they could unearth."

"I don't believe it."

"I think you'll have to."

"No. There has to be '

The peremptory buzz of the doorbell cut her off. She glanced round, then down at me. The frown was back, in earnest.

"That could be them now," I said softly. And it was a distinct possibility, one I faintly welcomed, whereas, before the phone call The bell rang again. "Are you going to answer it?"

"Wait here," came the tight-lipped instruction. Then she was off down the hall, out of my sight, heels clacking on the wood-block floor. She reached the door just as the bell rang for a third time. It stopped in the instant that she turned the handle and pulled the door open.

It wasn't the police. I knew that before Delia said a word. I knew it by the nature of the brief silence that followed. "Roger," she said in quiet surprise. "What brings you here?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course. Please."

I heard the door close and Roger clear his throat. There was another silence, as telling as it was fleeting. I didn't move a muscle. I may even have held my breath.

"Goodness," said Delia. "What happened to your eye?"

"I was attacked," Roger replied, lisping slightly. "By Toby Flood."

"That's dreadful. Why would '

"Jealousy. Pure and simple. The man's out of control. Which is why I have to contact Jenny. Urgently."

"Don't you know where she is?"

"She went away for the weekend. To think, she said. She didn't want to be disturbed. After all the lies and innuendo Flood's filled her head with, I didn't blame her. But things have changed. Her mobile's switched off, so I have to find out where she's gone. I've tried her parents and her sister. No luck."

"I don't see how I can help."

"I thought she might have told you where she was going. In case of emergencies."

"Well, I..."

"I'm right, aren't I? You do know where she is."

"It's difficult. I ... promised not to put you or Toby Flood in touch with her unless .. . well, unless .. ."

"Where is she?"

"I'm not sure I can '

"Where is she?"

"Roger, let go. You're hurting me."

"Colborn," I shouted, jumping from my chair and striding to the door into the hall.

They were at the far end, near the foot of the stairs. Colborn had grabbed Delia by the wrist. He held on as he turned and looked towards me. He was gaunt and unshaven, dressed in black, his left eye haloed by a purple bruise.

"Let your aunt go," I said, emphasizing each word. Slowly, with a half-smile, he released her. "Of course," I went on, suddenly eager to goad him, "I use the word aunt advisedly. You're no blood relation to each other. Are you?"

"There's no need for this," said Delia, flashing a look of irritation at me.

"What have you told him?" Roger demanded.

"Nothing," I answered in her place. "I'd already worked it out."

"The hell you had."

"Toby brought me a tape he wanted me to hear," said Delia. "Maybe you should hear it too."

"What tape?" Colborn strode towards me along the hall and Delia followed him. I moved back to the table and, as they entered the room, pressed the play button on the dictaphone.

The voices of Sir Walter and the medium Sir Walter clearly believed had contacted the spirit of his dead wife stopped Roger Colborn in his tracks. But only for a minute or so. Halfway through Ann's recollection of the expression on her husband's face at the maternity hospital, Roger moved to the table and stabbed the stop button. He looked at me, then round at Delia. His thoughts were unreadable, his intentions unguessable. Did he have the gun on him? I wondered. It was hard to say if there was anything that heavy weighing down a pocket of his long, loose overcoat.

"I don't need to hear it again," he said quietly.

"Did Derek send you a copy?" I asked, backing a sudden hunch.

"Somebody did," Colborn answered levelly.

"You sent Sobotka to find the original at Viaduct Road, didn't you? But he didn't search thoroughly enough."

"I don't know anyone called Sobotka."

"I'm sure that's what you told the police, but the line's wasted on us.

Probably on them too. They must have arrested Sobotka last night, before he could fit me up. Lucky for me. Unlucky for you. They'd already followed him to and from Wickhurst, I'm afraid, tying you in with his cache of drugs out at Fishersgate. Did they find anything incriminating when they turned the house over? We know about that as well, you see. Gossip on the nineteenth hole."

"It's true," said Delia, catching Roger's glance. "John phoned from the clubhouse a few minutes ago. Alan Richards mentioned to him that the police .. . had been to see you."

"Sorry I didn't tell you they had Sobotka's number, Roger," I said. "It must have slipped my mind."

He pressed the eject button on the machine and took out the cassette.

"My guess would be that Derek made several copies. He's a belt-and-braces sort of guy. Whatever he may have told you, that's almost certainly not the original."

"He's told me nothing."

"You have spoken to him, then?"

"I didn't say that."

"Where are you holding him?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe you've released him now the police have started breathing down your neck. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But being sensible isn't always easy, is it?"

"Did you prevent Toby appearing at the theatre last night, Roger?"

Roger looked round at her. "Is that what he's told you?"

"Did you?"

"Of course not."

"But you do know this man ... Sobotka?"

Roger sighed synthetically. "All right. Yes. I know Sobotka. I used him for some .. . building work at Wickhurst. He's a bit of a rough diamond. I suppose it shouldn't come as a total surprise to learn he peddles drugs on the side. He was at the house yesterday. The police were obviously tailing him. They seemed to think wrongly that I'm the Mr. Big in his operation. It may take me a little time to convince them I have nothing to do with it. In some ways, I'm sorry they didn't show up at the house earlier. They might have stopped Flood giving me a black eye."

Looking at Delia, it was possible to conclude she actually believed Roger's version of events. I spread my hands. "For God's sake."

"Do you have anything to do with Derek Oswin's disappearance?" Delia persisted.

"I don't know where he is and I don't care," Roger replied with studied weariness. "He's nothing to me."

"He's your half-brother," I corrected him.

Roger glared at me. "Congratulations on digging up that nugget of dirt on my family, Flood. Yes. Kenneth Oswin was my natural father.

Delia's known that a lot longer than I have, so bringing it to her hasn't got you very far. As for the tape, if my father the man I always regarded and still do regard as my father was credulous enough to pay some tea-leaf reader to fake a conversazione with the spirit world, well, you know what they say, don't you? There's no fool like an old fool." He tossed the cassette onto the table. "It gets you nowhere. Absolutely nowhere."

He was right. The thought hit me like a blow to the face. My ignorance of the finer points of intestacy had left me where I was now: swaying in the wind.

"I need to speak to Jenny, Delia," said Roger. "I think this has to count as an emergency, don't you?"

"I... suppose so."

"I take it you don't believe any of Flood's allegations?"

"Well, I '

"She visited Ken Oswin in hospital shortly before he died," I interrupted, grabbing the only chance I seemed to have left of coming between them. "I bet she's never told you that."

Roger frowned. "Is that true?"

"Yes." Delia sat down in her chair between us. I read the move as an attempt to win some allowance for her age and sex. But she certainly had good reason to feel unsteady on her feet. "I couldn't ask you if you knew he was your real father in case you didn't. I thought it likely, however, that if you did know you'd have spoken to him about it at some point. So, I ... went to him and asked."

"I knew. Thanks to Mother," said Roger. "But I never spoke to Ken Oswin about it."

Delia nodded. "That's what he said."

"But you didn't believe him," I put in.

"I had .. . some doubts, it's true."

"Why?" asked Roger.

"I'm not sure. Clearly, I misjudged him. His .. . evasiveness .. .

may have had more to do with his responsibility for Walter's death than anything else. Meeting the sister of the man he'd killed .. . may have unnerved him."

"I suppose that accounts for it," said Roger.

"I believe it must."

"He never breathed a word to me about his relationship with Mother."

Roger picked up the snapshot of the Oswins, father and son, and stared at it for a moment. "In all the years. Not a single word."

"It must have been difficult for you," said Delia softly. "I'm sorry I

'

"Forget it." Roger dropped the photograph. "Toby here isn't interested in hearing about my problems."

"You're still hiding something," I said, determined to show him mere lack of proof couldn't shut me up. "And I mean to find out what it is."