Truth Will Out (21 page)

‘It’s for Miss Crewe.’

‘Who?’ She took the tea from him and sipped it. She saw Alice. ‘Who’s this?’

Maude began to explain, as calmly as she could, that Alice was Miss Crewe and that she was her companion who had come in search of her, but even as she spoke she was uncovering doubts. It seemed more likely that Alice had come to convince them that Lionel was not a murderer. Which made no sense unless someone was accusing Lionel of Jem Rider’s death, which they weren’t . . . Were they?

Everyone was talking at once and Maude put a hand to her head, which was beginning to ache. The detective had said they didn’t need the paintings and he seemed to be expecting Lionel to turn up at the pier and he also seemed determined to arrest him.

Earlier Maude had been full of nervous energy and ready to face the kidnappers with the paintings. Now she felt exhausted by the confusion and momentarily closed her eyes as a great weight settled over her – a weight she recognized. It was fear of the truth. She needed to know what was going on but she dreaded the truth.

She opened her eyes as someone touched her hand, and looked up to see Mrs Cobb’s brother leaning over her.

‘You look as though you could do with some air,’ he suggested. ‘Would you like to stand in the garden for a few moments? I’ll come with you. You might feel stronger.’

At that moment Maude saw a chance to delay the reality that awaited her and she nodded dumbly. No-one even noticed as he steered her out of the room, through the kitchen and out into the small back yard that he had elevated to a garden. There was nowhere to sit down and gloomy clouds had covered the moon. A cat appeared from behind a display of potted plants and rubbed itself against her ankles, but as she bent to fondle it, it sprang away and disappeared into the shadows.

He said, ‘There’s nowhere to sit, but if you wouldn’t object or misunderstand, I could put an arm round you. You must be feeling very disturbed by everything and I don’t want you to faint.’

Touched by his kindness, she said, ‘I won’t object, Mr Jayson. The fresh air is very welcome.’ She trembled a little as his arm went round her then leaned towards him, grateful for the support. ‘Rather like an oasis, this little yard,’ she said inconsequentially. It was a relief to be out of the fevered atmosphere inside the hotel.

‘A sea of calm,’ he agreed. ‘A chance to catch your breath.’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘It was kind of you to think of me.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t be more help.’

‘You and your sister have been more than kind. I’m afraid I’ve been an unwanted disruption.’

‘Not at all.’

For a few moments they stood in silence while Maude tried to summon her courage for the inevitable question. At last she asked quietly, ‘Do you understand what’s going on, Mr Jayson?’

He hesitated. ‘I think so but perhaps DC Fleet should explain it all.’

‘I’d rather hear it from you – if you could bear it.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I know what they say about shooting the messenger that brings bad news but . . . It’s none of your doing and I do need to know.’

He sighed deeply, obviously unhappy with his task. ‘I gather that this was not a genuine kidnapping, Mrs Brent,’ he began. ‘It was a ruse. Your husband thought of a plan to extract money from you and . . . and your companion was part of the plan. I think her part was to win your confidence.’

Maude’s head swam but she told herself to hear him out. She had to face up to whatever had happened.

‘Go on,’ she whispered.

‘It seems that they were going to take the money and run away together. Then Jem got involved and presumably knew too much. He must have become some kind of a threat, so your husband . . . It’s alleged that your husband killed him. Possibly accidentally.’

At last she was forced to protest. ‘My husband is not a murderer, Mr Jayson.’ He was silent, leaving her time to think. She went on, ‘At least . . . he might have done it accidentally. Alice did say something like that, didn’t she?’

He nodded.

Maude continued, ‘So Alice is . . . is somehow close to him. I dare say she has fallen in love with him but she . . . It’s hard to believe that all this time . . .’

Suddenly DC Fleet stood outlined in the back doorway. ‘I’d like you to come back inside,’ he told them. ‘I’m going down to the station for reinforcements. We’ll get the blighter!’

Maude, galvanized into action, stepped forward. ‘If he’s not going to get any money, why do you have to try and arrest him?’ she demanded desperately. ‘Let him turn up, find nothing and go away. Just forget everything. I won’t bring charges. Please!’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Brent. A crime
has
been committed. A robbery has been planned. A ransom note has been sent. There has been a conspiracy to defraud.’

‘But if I choose not to press charges?’

‘You forget, Mrs Brent, that he is also wanted for murder.’

Once inside the sitting room, he told Maude to keep Alice at the hotel.

‘And if I don’t?’ she demanded.

To Mrs Cobb he said, ‘You hear that. Alice Crewe doesn’t leave this building. If we can arrest Brent we’ll lock him up overnight pending enquiries and tomorrow we’ll be back to interview Miss Crewe.’

Derek Jayson said, ‘Hang on a minute! We can’t keep the young woman here against her will! I’m sure my sister doesn’t want to be held responsible for her.’

‘It’s either that or I arrest her now for conspiracy. Make up your mind because we’ve got bigger fish to fry. We have to catch a murderer!’

Hidden under a large sack beside a dustbin, Lionel waited on a darkened corner on the opposite side of the road, about a hundred yards from the entrance to the pier. He needed to discover what the police intended to do. He had stipulated that Maude should come alone in a taxi and leave the money in a bag tied to the pier’s rail, but he didn’t expect the police to allow this. They might send a policeman disguised as a woman. That had been known. They might try and surround the place. His own plan was to be there early and watch for anything suspicious, and if he spotted an ambush he would melt into the darkness and try again some other time with a different plan.

The church clock struck quarter past two and still the street seemed to be deserted; there was no sign of the taxi. Cautiously Lionel moved the sacks so that he could peer over the edge of them. A quick glance to right and left revealed nothing remotely suspicious and he smiled with satisfaction. There was an unfortunate smell coming from the dustbin and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. If anyone had ever told him he’d be hiding under sacks beside a stinking dustbin he’d have laughed at them but it was a case of playing the police at their own game. They’d sneak along and try to hide but he’d spot them a mile off. ‘No flies on me!’ his father had frequently claimed and his son was made from the same mould.

The beach in the middle of the night was eerily silent. A world away from the daylight when the day trippers enjoyed their ice creams, toffee apples and the inevitable sticks of rock. An image rose unbidden, of Alice sitting on the beach eating her ice cream, her eyes sparkling with happiness, while the gusty breeze blew her hair around her face. He had told her she looked like a mermaid.

‘Oh, happy days!’ he murmured. He had enjoyed his short marriage to Alice but it was time to change his life around and there was now no place for her in it. He frowned. ‘Stupid wretch!’ All that fuss over Jem Rider, who was worth less than a snap of the fingers. She had actually wept for him! No accounting for taste.

He squinted into the darkness. Any minute now. There was no sign of the taxi or the bag of money but surely there was still time. Nothing on the seafront moved until a cat slithered along the road and disappeared down the steps to the beach. No doubt hoping for a mouse that had ventured on to the shingle in search of careless crumbs left by a holidaymaker’s picnic.

To dull the agony of waiting he thought about his future. He would go abroad, he promised himself, once he had the money. He would make his way to somewhere where it was always sunny and every day was exciting. Mexico appealed to him. He had discussed it with Alice and they had agreed it would be fun to live somewhere like that. They would rent a hacienda. Correction.
He
would rent a hacienda. Alice, his lawful wedded wife, would not, after all, be travelling with him. He grinned. There would be plenty of
señoritas
in Mexico who would appreciate a handsome man with money to burn . . .

To his right, a movement caught his eye. Damn. An elderly man was shuffling along towards him and Lionel ducked back beneath the sacks, pulled them well over his head and held his breath. The old chap was snorting rheumily – like a sick pig, thought Lionel irritably – probably about to shuffle off this mortal coil. With any luck he would cross over to the beach side of the road. To his dismay, however, the erratic footsteps didn’t waver but came closer still and Lionel hunched down as far as he could and pulled the sacks a little closer. He closed his eyes.

‘Keep going, old man!’ he urged wordlessly but instead he heard the dustbin lid being lifted and there were sounds of a hand rifling through the rubbish. In the darkness, Lionel could see nothing as he tried to peer through the mesh of the sacks but he could hear various items being tossed from the dustbin – an empty bottle that smashed on hitting the ground, a couple of tin cans, one of which rolled, and something that sounded wet, like soggy cardboard.

‘Nothing. Sod it!’ the old man muttered and, replacing the lid, he shuffled on, fortunately ignoring the shapeless mound beneath the sack.

Lionel breathed a sigh of relief as the footsteps retreated. His first challenge successfully overcome, he told himself triumphantly. He was going to outwit them all – even the coppers when they came, which he knew they would. He had killed Jem Rider and they wanted his scalp! Still, he had always considered himself more than a match for them. Coppers were a joke. They were nothing but a load of pea-brained numbskulls dressed up in fancy uniforms.

Further along the road the old man reached a row of shops and stopped at one that had once sold a variety of seaside souvenirs – framed sketches of the pier or the famous cable car; pottery mugs with the words ‘From Hastings’ painted round the side; tasselled pencils and small shell-topped boxes and the inevitable saucy postcards. Now awaiting a new owner, the windows were painted with whitewash on the inside and covered with a motley arrangement of bills and posters on the outside.

The old man tapped twice on the door and, when it opened, stepped smartly inside. In the gloom he could see his four colleagues waiting eagerly for the chance of some action. PC Batts pulled off the false beard and greasy old cap, and divested himself of the shabby coat. Then he grinned broadly and gave them a thumbs up.

He turned to DC Fleet. ‘You were right! He’s under the sacks beside the dustbin.’

Grumbling good-naturedly, the rest of the men handed over their sixpences. Betting on the suspect’s hiding place had helped them through a boring wait.

PC Batts said, ‘I doubt he can see anything through the sacks.’

DC Fleet nodded. ‘Then we’ll send you and you –’ he pointed to the chosen constables – ‘to make your way along the beach westwards, then cross over and make your way back along the beach. Then come up on him from the other side.’ He turned. ‘You two do the same going east. When you’re within ten yards, whistle and we’ll all close on him. We should have him surrounded before he knows what’s happening. Everyone clear? Right, get to it. And good luck.’

NINE

L
ionel heard the single whistle blast and, taken by surprise, it took him a fateful second or two to understand what it meant. He had seen and heard nothing suspicious, but the sudden sound of pounding feet coming in his direction finally alerted him to his danger. He’d been outwitted! As he hurled aside the sacks and scrambled to his feet, the police were already upon him. They surrounded him and DC Fleet cried, ‘Give yourself up, Brent. There are five of us. You have no—’

Lionel’s instinct for self-preservation kicked in and adrenalin surged through him. Springing to his left, he snatched up the metal dustbin lid and swung it with all his might at the circle of police who waited with their truncheons raised. Only their teeth showed in the darkness and the grinning policemen reminded Lionel of a pack of animals with bared fangs. But their grins faded abruptly. By the time they saw the impromptu weapon it was too late. It caught DC Fleet full across the forehead and knocked him backwards. He fell with a scream of agony and struck his head on the ground as the vicious sweep continued to scythe through his men. It hit the next man across the neck, causing blood to spurt and then, still arcing downward, caught the third man’s upraised arm and broke it. DC Fleet had not moved.

That did it, thought Lionel, with a mixture of regret and satisfaction. Even as he darted forward, pushing the two remaining constables aside, he knew he had gone too far. Assault on three policemen! If he was caught now, he could look forward to charges on multiple offences and hanging might be the kindest sentence he could expect. He had nothing to lose. Whatever it took, he could not allow himself to be taken. Turning only to hurl the dustbin lid at one of his pursuers, he raced across the road and on to the pier. There was no sight of the bag containing the ransom and he swore. His feet echoed on the wooden boardwalk as he forced his legs to a maximum effort, conscious of the footsteps behind him and the frantic whistles of the police who were trying to call up help.

Long before he reached the end of the pier, Lionel was gasping for breath and he sensed that the man behind him was gaining. If he were caught, he could expect a thorough beating on the spot.

‘Give yourself up, you swine!’ his pursuer shouted breathlessly.

Lionel realized with a sickening feeling in his stomach that he was running out of pier. He couldn’t swim but there was only one way to go and that was down into the water. He staggered to the railings, climbed shakily over the rail and turned back to shout a last defiant curse at the policeman.

‘See you all in Hell!’ he yelled. Then he steadied himself, took a deep breath, pinched his nose and hurled himself into the darkness.