Sue For Mercy Part 9

"Mr. John Brenner, of Whitestones."

There was a tense silence next door. I peeped at J.B. and Ronald. J.B. was smiling, and Ronald's finger was poised over the dish of syllabub which I had left on the kitchen table. As I watched, he dipped his finger in, licked it, and registered pleased surprise. His eye started to wander round the kitchen, looking for a spoon. Charles was concentrating on the conversation next door; he was very tense.

"John Brenner... my father?" Julian sounded hoa.r.s.e. "But he's never been a client of Robert's. He's always made his own investments through a London... The idea of his putting business through us is absurd."

"Your records show that he sent you a total of..." Charles' lips moved in concert, detailing the amount, "...twenty thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven pounds, for which Mr. Brenner has received neither acknowledgement nor Share Certificates."

"There's no proof..."

"I have been shown copies of Mr. John Brenner's bank statements for the last six months, which prove that the cheques have been cashed on his account. I have also seen the covering letters he wrote you, which are in a file under his name in your office."

"It just can't be!" wailed Ruth. "There's no such file for him!"

"I've seen it!" said the Inspector tonelessly. "Yesterday morning."

"Charles!" This was Bianca. "This is Charles' doing! I can feel it! Inspector, you know that Oliver Ashton had... has a son, a very bright rogue. He was forced to resign his job in London after the fraud case, and went to John Brenner for a job. This is Charles' way of getting back at Robert and Julian for taking over his father's firm - oh, quite legitimately! I mean, Robert bought the firm quite legitimately from Oliver Ashton, when... I see it all! Charles has put the cheques in front of J.B. when he's signing a lot and won't notice... then he's made them out himself afterwards. Of course they've pa.s.sed through J.B.'s account! You'll find the money in Charles' bank account, unless he's managed to get it out of the country already."

"I'm afraid that won't do. You see, Mr. Brenner is one of the few people I know who insist on the bank's returning all cancelled cheques to him. He started doing this some while back. He has isolated the relevant cheques, and handed them over to me. They are made out either to Mr. Robert Maudsley, or to Mr. Julian Brenner. I have also received photographic copies of Mr. and Mrs. Julian Brenner's joint bank account statements for the last two years."

"How on earth? Charles couldn't have..."

"I don't know how, Mrs. Brenner. They were dropped through my letterbox at home in the early hours of the morning. There don't appear to be any fingerprints on them. They were in a plain business-type envelope, of the type you can buy anywhere, and there was no address or superscription of any kind on the envelope. My wife opened it, in fact, thinking it was a bill from the newsagent's."

"Well, what if you do have a copy of our bank statements?" asked Julian. "I still don't see why you come here..."

"At regular intervals over the last five months you seem to have paid in either the full amount of one of the cheques sent to you by Mr. John Brenner, and then reimbursed some party or parties unknown with half the amount, or have paid in exactly one half of the amount yourself. It looks as though the money sent you by Mr. John Brenner was shared out between you and someone else, don't you think? I a.s.sume that the other person is Mr. Maudsley here, which is why, when I couldn't find Mr. Maudsley at home this morning, I came on here. Now do either of you have any comment to make?"

So that's why David had taken such a risk! He'd come over from Ireland specially to photograph the bank statements so as to link Julian with receipt of the cheques; then he'd handed the negatives in at Whitestones. Charles had developed and printed them up overnight, and delivered them to the Inspector's home at precisely the right moment. No wonder he hadn't slept last night.

Ronald set down his spoon with a sigh of satisfaction, having reduced the level of the syllabub in the bowl considerably. J.B. was brushing pastry flakes from his finger tips; he'd been at a tin of jam tarts I'd made yesterday.

"That money," said Bianca, "was a gift from John Brenner to Julian and Robert. It can't have anything to do with - nothing to do with the purchase of shares. The money we paid into our bank account was to purchase a partnership in the Maudsley firm for my husband. You see, my father-in-law has been very pleased with the way Julian has been settling down at the firm, and he thought it would be a nice gesture to buy him a partnership. Charles brought us the cheques personally, because..."

"I saw Mr. Charles Ashton yesterday and he told me he and his boss were to lunch here today with you. Perhaps we might ask them to join us - just to confirm what you say."

Robert began to wheeze; I could hear him from the kitchen. Charles sighed softly, and bent his head to rest against mine. J.B. reached out to pick a strand of turkey from the carca.s.s.

"Charles left early," said Julian. "He quarrelled with my father and left. He said there was something the matter with his car, and that he wanted to take it to a garage on his way home. As a matter of fact, we heard a loud bang just after he left, and wondered if he'd come to grief. We were just discussing whether we ought to go and have a look when you arrived."

"That's right," said Ruth. "Almost like an explosion."

"Something leaking from the engine? He said he smelt something."

"I saw nothing like that on the way," said the Inspector stolidly. "No crashed cars, or explosions, or any other such nonsense. So Mr. Ashton was here, but isn't now and can't confirm your story. He had a quarrel with Mr. John Brenner, you say? What about? Well, I don't suppose it's relevant. What we have to do now is ask Mr. John Brenner whether he meant those cheques as a personal gift or not. Where is he?"

"He wasn't feeling too good after lunch," said Bianca. "He had this quarrel, and somehow... he went to lie down in Julian's den. Shall I go and ask him if he's feeling well enough to join us?"

"I'll go," said the Inspector. "This door?" There was a pause, and then the Inspector's voice came back, angry. "There isn't anyone here. Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"He must be!" screamed Ruth, as usual losing her cool.

"Let me see..."

"Where could he have gone? He was lying down when I last saw him." That was Julian. "He couldn't have moved, I tell you! He was in a coma..."

"A coma?" repeated the Inspector. "That's not what you said before. Sergeant, I think we'd better call for reinforcements."

A new voice overrode agitated protests. "The phone cord's been cut clean through, sir!"

"So I see. Now precisely what is going on here, may I ask? There's money turning up here, there and everywhere, and two people missing... no, wait a minute! There's seven cups of coffee poured out; four on the tray here - that's for you lot - and three more I can see hiding in that big cupboard over there. You four, Mr. John Brenner and Mr. Charles Ashton make six. Whose was the seventh cup?"

"Someone who came to cook lunch for us," said Bianca. "She left after lunch."

"Do you normally invite a cook to sit down and have coffee with you after a meal? I'd like to meet this paragon. Where does she live?"

"She..."

"...she might be home by now, or she might..."

"She was going off somewhere for the afternoon, I think. To see her parents. I don't know where they live."

"I think," said the Inspector, "that it's more than time that we adjourned to the Station. Sergeant, phone from the car outside, will you, and..."

"Our cue," said Charles, sliding me off his knee and recovering his jacket. Ronald and J.B. filed through into the sitting-room behind us. Ruth saw us first. She rammed her fingers into her mouth and shrieked. Robert went a peculiar shade of purplish-red, and reached for his inhaler. Bianca whirled round, her eyes dilated. I saw that she at least now understood everything.

"May I ask...?" This was the Inspector, a heavy-faced, dark man, squat and powerful. "Mr. John Brenner, Mr. Charles Ashton and Mr. Ronald Ashton, Interesting. And the young lady?"

"Allow me to explain!" said J.B. He took the Inspector by the arm, and led him into Julian's den. The Sergeant had disappeared, presumably to phone in for reinforcements.

"We've been conned!" said Bianca, in a surprised voice. Julian sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. I think, although I can't be quite sure, that he was crying.

Ronald advanced to inspect the electrical device on the table. He opened his briefcase, eased on a pair of gloves, produced a large plastic bag, wrapped it round the lethal box of tricks and put it into his bag. After that he removed his gloves, sat down, and began to sort some doc.u.ments on to the table.

"Shall we recap for you?" asked Charles. "Three attempted murders, one kidnapping, one case of torture and one of a.s.sault..."

"We'll all get life!" gasped Ruth, crying as usual.

Bianca raised one hand wearily, and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, it showed her gums. "I don't think that's the point, is it Charles? What you really want is to get your father out of jail. Am I right? That's why you gave us the cheques, to frame us into a situation similar to the one for which we got your father. And I suppose it was Ronald, with his knowledge of office routine, who did a little breaking and entering to plant that incriminating file of letters from J.B. in the right filing cabinet at the right time."

"Not breaking and entering," said Ronald apologetically. "n.o.body asked me for my keys when I was thrown out of the firm. Merely trespa.s.s."

"So who got the photographs of our bank statements... Sue? No, it couldn't have been Sue. She hasn't got a camera, and..."

"David. He was the telephone engineer who called to rectify a fault on your line yesterday morning; a fault created by Sue, acting on my instructions. But you won't be able to prove it, I'm afraid."

"No, I'm quite sure we won't," agreed Bianca. "So - how much?"

"You sign these," said Charles, as Ronald adjusted his gla.s.ses and handed out some typed doc.u.ments. "They're identical - just read them through and sign at the bottom. Ronald and Sue can witness them."

"Just what are we supposed to be confessing to?" asked Bianca, taking her copy with a steady hand.

"The original fraud, that's all."

"No mention of attempted murder, or grievous bodily harm or anything like that?"

"Certainly not. Neither J.B. nor I believe that the present system of locking people away for decades is a good one. You'll be punished in other ways; by loss of status, income and reputation. I don't know what you'll get for fixing the fraud case on my father, but I don't suppose it will be more than the seven years he was given, and it may be less. Of course, you'll have to refund the money you stole as well..."

"You know we can't do that! It's nearly all..."

"That's where this second doc.u.ment comes in," said Charles. He took a legal-looking wodge of paper from Ronald and handed it to Robert. "Now the twenty thousand which I gave you by way of J.B..."

"By way of...? You mean that the money was yours all the time? Where did you get it from?"

"You set me next to J.B. to break me; all you succeeded in doing was giving me the chance of a lifetime to make money on the 'Change by keeping my ears and eyes open and apeing his methods. As I earned it, I gave it to him and he gave me a cheque in return... which I paid over to you. Don't worry about that last cheque for three thousand, by the way. You may not have been able to pay it in yet, but I a.s.sure you it will be honoured. Now I suggest we regularise the position in the manner suggested by J.B. Robert sells the firm back to me, for the amount he paid for it. For twenty thousand pounds, which he has already received. Robert?"

The sound of Robert's wheezes filled the room. Then he lunged forward, took the contract and signed it. His hand shook. Ronald and I witnessed his signature while Charles stood over us like an avenging angel.

Just as we finished, the Sergeant, a boyish, red-faced lad, came back into the house, gave us a puzzled look and asked for the Inspector.

"In that room," said Charles, pointing. "These good people here are just on the point of signing statements for you, and will be ready to accompany you to the Station in a moment." The Sergeant went into the den and closed the door behind him.

"Because if you don't sign," said Charles, speaking in a thread of a voice, "then we might start remembering all sorts of things which might prove difficult for you to explain away. Like the matter of a forged Will, and a bottle of digitalin with Julian's fingerprints on it..."

"My G.o.d!" screamed Ruth. "He wore gloves when he took them! He never touched them with his bare hands himself, and that means..."

"Precisely! Your fingerprints, my dear Ruth, are delightfully clear on the Will, but I believe the others' are also well represented. Then there is that little piece of apparatus which Ronald has just confiscated, and the matter of where I was and what happened to me before I landed in hospital. Our memories will be conveniently faulty on the subject of all these things, if you clear my father and accept what's coming to you."

"You still can't link us to the fraud case unless we sign," said Bianca.

"I'm afraid we can," smiled Charles. "Didn't you hear the Inspector say he got copies of your bank statements for the last couple of years? The payment you received - nineteen thousand pounds - from Robert Maudsley for helping with the fraud case and subsequent frame shows up beautifully. You banked the sum six months and three weeks ago. I expect the Inspector will want to see Robert's bank statements now, won't he? Sign or not, you're finished. But I'd prefer you to sign because I want my father home quickly. Remember I've got to come down to the Station with you now, to corroborate the fact that J.B. was acting middleman for me in buying the firm; if you don't sign, then I might find myself digressing on to all sorts of other topics when I make my statement."

"We'll sign," said Bianca. She took the pen from Robert, skimmed through the statement, made a face, and signed. The others signed too. I had been right in thinking that Julian had been crying.

A second police car shot up the drive as the Inspector, J.B., and the Sergeant came out of Julian's den. All three were looking thoughtful.

Charles handed the statements to the Inspector, who glanced down them without comment. No doubt J.B. had been putting him in the picture.

"I'll get my coat," said Ruth. Robert watched her put it on and then, clumsily put his arm round her shoulders and gave them a squeeze. It was the first gesture I'd ever seen him make towards her, but she was too enclosed in her misery to respond. She shook off his arm and walked out of the house without looking back. Suddenly Robert looked too small for his clothes. He flicked a quick glance at us to see if we'd notice the incident, and followed her.

"I must lock up," announced Bianca.

"We will see to that," said the Inspector. "You will give us your permission to have a look around, won't you?"

"To search my house?"

Julian laughed unhappily. "No longer our house, dear. It will have to be sold to repay what we stole."

"Not my house," she repeated, beginning to realise that her life as a rich and elegant woman was over. She revolved, looking round the room, impressing it on her memory, bidding it farewell. Whatever happened, Bianca wasn't going to return to the scene of her defeat. She stopped at J.B. "You do realise that you are not only sending your precious son to jail, but also breaking up his marriage?"

"For the first, I am sorry. For the second, you cannot expect me to grieve."

"And your money? I suppose you'll leave it to Charles?"

"Already done," said J.B. Charles started and would have spoken, but J.B. silenced him with a raised hand. "Charles knew nothing of it, and I suppose I shall have difficulty getting him to accept it. No, let me finish, Charles. I've made you my heir because I like the thought of my money going to someone who will know how to look after it."

"So Charles gets everything," mused Bianca. "The money, the house, the yacht, the girl... I knew he was the sort to go far, as soon as I saw him. I hope... I wish... you shouldn't have refused me, Charles!"

Before Julian could stop her, she reached up, wound her arms round behind Charles' neck, and pressed her mouth to his. We all stood there and watched, too shocked to do anything about it. Charles hardly seemed to notice what she was doing at first, and then he put his hands up to break her grip, and pushed her away from him. Her lipstick left a garish stain on his mouth, so that he looked as if he'd bitten his lip.

She took one step back, and then another. I couldn't bear to look at her face. Julian caught at her arm. He spoke her name. I heard her laugh... and then she was gone, and he, poor fool, ran after her.

"It is not wise," said Charles conversationally, "to frame a man for a crime if he has three able-bodied sons to defend him."

Ronald snapped shut the lock on his briefcase, and Charles shuddered as if waking from a bad dream.

Of course, it wasn't the end of the matter. J.B. arranged for Julian to be represented by a solicitor, and even found him a job of sorts until the trial came up. He visits Julian every other month in prison, but won't talk about it. Bianca went to a hotel until the trial, and sent the bills to J.B. That marriage is definitely over. As far as we were concerned, our involvement with the police ended when Charles and J.B. left the Station that afternoon, but Charles still had one more battle to fight.

I had been waiting for him in his car, knitting and listening to the radio. I felt half asleep, but forgot my own troubles when Charles came. His face was incandescent with fatigue. He got into the car and sat there, playing with his keys.

"I've failed, you know," he said. "I've cleared Dad. I've got the family firm back, and I've made a lot of money, but it's too late. He'll be dead before the summer's out."

"Now that's nonsense..."

"He gave up when he was forced to plead guilty. I could see it in his face when he told us what he'd agreed to do. He'd been fighting the cancer before that; he'd wanted to live, to see David's three little girls again, to see Jane's baby, to see me settled. But after that night he stopped fighting. Mother thinks he had just resigned himself to the situation, and that's why he was so pa.s.sive. She said it was because he'd got used to prison routine, and being known by his surname and number. I tried to fool myself that was what it was, too... but I'm not much good at fooling myself. I ought to have thought of something which would have worked more quickly... No, the damage was done that first night! I must remember that." He sighed, and fitted the key in the ignition. "Another thing - Jane's baby is no good. It moved late and feebly. She's had trouble all along. She may carry it to term, but if it isn't stillborn, it won't live long. She knows it; I see her put one hand on her stomach to try to feel movement, and all the time her eyes are frightened... She thinks she's let Ronald down. She looks at him as if expecting him to stop loving her because she can't bear him a healthy child."

"You have an overactive imagination. You can't possibly know these things for certain. You've been overworking. You'll feel better..."

"And you hate J.B., don't you? You won't share me with him; I could read that in your face as soon as you met him. So I must leave him, and he will die, too."

I didn't know what to say to that. If he'd understood that I hated J.B., then he'd also understood that J.B. hated me.

He tried to start the car, and flooded the engine. "I must get a licence tomorrow," he said. "Will your parents be very angry if we get married without any fuss, quickly? Strange to think I've never even met them. One thing - they won't like me. How could they? I've no job now, no home to offer you, and I can be difficult to live with. But at least we'll have sons."

"How many?" I asked, trying to break his mood.

"How the h.e.l.l should I know?" he asked irritably. He tried to start the engine again, failed, and handed me the keys. "You'd better drive - I'm bushed."

The Sue Stephens of this world don't usually get invitations to stay at places like Whitestones; they buy a ticket to go over it on Open Days. The drive was half a mile long. On one side of the house lay a heated outdoor swimming pool, tennis courts, a croquet lawn, a formal maze and a rose garden. Then there was a walled vegetable garden, a paddock, and stabling converted to flats for some of the staff, with garages beneath. The house itself was early nineteenth century, stuffed with antique furniture and portraits of heavy-faced English gentry. There was also a lot of valuable china scattered around the place in display cabinets. It smelt like a museum. I found it cold in spite of the central heating; but then, I wasn't predisposed to like it.

Charles handed me over to Mrs. Green, a black-clad housekeeper, who showed me to a luxurious guestroom where I might wash and brush up. Unasked, she found me a new pair of tights, since my own were in shreds owing to the rough treatment they'd received that day. Her manners were almost perfect, but I felt she was making an inventory of my clothing and would report to the other servants on everything she saw.

Drinks were dispensed in the vast Blue sitting-room, with J.B. jocularly presiding, and Mary Ashton alternately laughing and crying with joy. The phone rang, and it was David, wanting to hear all the details. Mary Ashton couldn't sit down, she was so happy.

"Susan - our little heroine!" she cried, when she saw me. She almost ran towards me, with arms outstretched. It was beautifully done and possibly even genuine. I tried not to resent being called "Susan" or "little". She pressed her scented cheek to mine, and introduced me to Jane, whose wan face and big brown eyes were also showing both tears and smiles. I liked Jane on sight, because she was as plain as I. She had heavy eyebrows which needed thinning out, and she wore the very minimum of make-up. When she spoke, it was in such a shy voice that you had to bend over her to catch her words. I felt we were going to get on well together.