Legacy of Lies (23 page)

He felt the bump as the red hatchback hit his rear bumper. It was so gentle, so cautious that at first Marcus wasn't sure it had been deliberate, then he realized that the driver of the red car was just testing out his own skill and nerve. He rammed him then, red car crunching into Marcus, pushing him faster than the accelerator would go. Marcus tried to twist away, wrenching the steering wheel and momentarily freeing himself from his pursuer.

Marcus screamed. A car in the oncoming lane sounded its horn. He glimpsed a pale and terrified face as he wrenched the wheel the other way, could feel the rear tyres stepping out of line before he steered back into the embryonic skid and straightened his line.

How far was Fallowfields. How far?

Marcus realized that it was closer than he'd thought. He could see that wide, sweeping bend coming up and after that would come the sudden left turn into Fallowfields' drive. He had to make it there. He had to make that turn.

Pure willpower seemed to propel his car forward so that it inched away from his pursuer. Marcus found that he was praying. He took the bend wide, pleading that nothing would be coming the other way, then swung across, and dived into the opening in the hedge that spelt safety. Sheer momentum carried the red car forward and Marcus was convinced he would be broadsided. Instead, the unexpectedness of his actions had gained him just enough time. He slithered messily into the gravel drive, the red hatchback clipping his back end and sending him even further out of shape. Dragging on the wheel he straightened out of a second potential skid, the drag of the gravel helping to slow down his sideways slide. Then foot down and spraying small stones skyward he made it to the house, braking just in time.

For what seemed like an eternity he sat quite still, engine still running, front wheel wedged against the ornate porch. He clutched the steering wheel so hard Alec had to prize his fingers free.

T
he flat that Rupert still owned up until the time he died was on the top floor of an Edwardian house. The area had been on the rise for the past few years and, although this street was still shabby, the neighbouring area had already benefited from the redevelopment grants and the spreading out of people from the more fashionable areas a couple of miles down the road.

Small cafes and restaurants had sprung up and, although the bars had not entirely overtaken the more traditional pubs in popularity, there were signs of gradual encroachment about which Billy Pierce had mixed feelings.

Pierce had spent the morning doing his research. The land registry told him that Rupert Friedman owned the flat. 23c Oban Road. A chat to the neighbours told him that it was rented out and had been for years. To the same woman.

Billy Pierce had examined the mail laid out in open pigeon holes in the ground floor lobby and that confirmed what he already knew.

‘Well, well, Rupert Friedman,' he said. ‘Weren't you the sly fox.'

There was no one home when he knocked, so he crossed the road again and went into a small café he'd spotted earlier. Sitting in the window, he could watch the length of the road and had the house in view. He had a good idea who he'd be looking for. It was just a case of playing the waiting game.

Pierce sipped his tea and smiled wryly to himself. It felt good to be useful but one thing he had not missed was the mind numbing monotony of surveillance. He had settled in the café just after three and it was almost five when she came home.

Billy Pierce knew it was her. It could, of course, have been one of the other two women – one a wife, one a singleton, who lived in the same house, but he doubted it. This woman was the right age, right height,
right
from what he remembered, though it was many years since he had last seen her.

He gave her a chance to get inside and then left his seat, aware that the woman who ran the café stared after him as he walked down the street.

At the house, he pressed the buzzer for the top floor.

‘Hello?' The woman's voice was light. She sounded happy, friendly, Billy thought.

‘Is that Elaine Ritchie?' he asked, though he knew it was. ‘I've come to talk about Rupert Friedman.'

Marcus allowed himself to be taken into the house. He was shaking so badly he could hardly stand, and although he could hear the words coming out of his mouth, he knew they were making no sense. They didn't even make sense to him.

Harry handed him brandy and he swallowed in between convulsions, feeling the heat in his throat which warmed him to the core.

‘Is brandy really the thing for shock?' Naomi's voice, anxious and uncertain.

Marcus didn't think he cared. The spirit seemed to steady him, at least for the moment, and he extended his glass, hoping for more. Someone obliged and he swallowed again, then leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes.

He was crying, Marcus realized in horror. Weeping like a child but he couldn't seem to stop. ‘I'm sorry,' he whispered. ‘I'm so, so sorry.' Not sure if he was apologizing for his tears or for something else.

The driver's side front wing had been wedged tight against the brickwork of the porch by the impact of the crash. Harry inspected it for signs of structural damage but, apart from a few scaled bricks, the porch seemed to have won. The heavy columns on either side were, Harry noted, what was really keeping the porch roof up and the brickwork had only a secondary role.

‘It looks all right,' he told Patrick. He glanced anxiously down the drive, expecting at any moment to see Kinnear, or whoever had been chasing Marcus, come charging up. In Harry's imagination, Kinnear would be in a tank or at the very least an armoured car.

‘Something red hit the back end,' Patrick said. He stood back from the vehicle, careful not to touch. He'd been around Naomi and Alec long enough to know about preservation of evidence. ‘Dad, I think someone rammed him from behind and then hit the rear wing, maybe when he turned into the driveway. Whatever it was hit hard. There's a bloody great dent.'

Harry nodded. Behind him in the hallway he could hear Alec on the phone, calling the police and presumably trying to get hold of DS Fine.

‘I suppose we ought to check the end of the drive,' he fretted. ‘If the other car hit as hard as you think the driver might have been hurt.'

Patrick cast him a speculative look. ‘Do you really want to go down there?'

‘No, not really.'

‘The police will be here before we know it.'

‘We might need an ambulance.'

Patrick sighed. ‘OK, we'll take a look. You're not going on your own. Just hold on.'

He slipped back into the house and returned with a heavy iron poker he had taken from the living-room fireplace.

‘Isn't that called going equipped?' Alec asked as he came out into the hallway.

‘No, I think it's making like a boy scout and being prepared. Dad thinks we should see if anyone's hurt. He's not going on his own and you're not leaving Naomi. Marcus is no use at the moment and Kinnear might try and come here.'

‘You're giving the orders now, are you?'

‘Not making a habit of it, but …'

Alec nodded. ‘OK. But Patrick, you take a quick look and get straight back here. I'd suggest you drive, but both Harry's car and mine seem to be wedged in.' He frowned at Marcus's impromptu parking. If the porch hadn't stopped him he would have ploughed straight into Alec's vehicle. As it was they'd have to shift Marcus's car before either of them could get theirs out.

‘We'll be all right.'

Alec watched them go and then shut the door and returned to Naomi and Marcus, glancing into the room to see if Marcus was talking yet. He went through to the kitchen and then the dining room, checking the doors and craning his neck to see the garden.

‘Where are they going?' Naomi had heard part of the exchange.

‘To see if anyone's hurt. Whoever was following Marcus seems to have collided with him.'

‘If it's Kinnear I don't give a damn.'

‘Not Kinnear,' Marcus whispered. ‘It was the other one. He came to the shop and I ran. I got into my car and drove out here but he must have guessed. He was on the main road. He tried to force me off the road, bumping and barging from behind and then I just managed to make the turn and he hit my back end.'

‘Yours is a heavy car,' Alec mused, thinking about the ageing BMW Marcus had been driving. ‘Marcus, what was he driving? Who is he? You must have seen him before.'

Marcus stared in bemusement and Alec realized his brain was not capable of processing more than one thing at a time.

‘Who is he?' he began again.

‘I don't know his name. I saw him with Sam Kinnear once, just by chance. Another time he was waiting in the car when Kinnear came to the shop. He only came that one time and that was just after Rupert died. He was in a dreadful rage. I was just closing up and I suppose he waited until everyone had gone. He said Rupert owned him money and that just because Rupert was dead didn't mean he wasn't still owed.'

‘Did he tell you where the money was from?'

Marcus nodded miserably. ‘He told me. He said he had proof. He had something Rupert had written, but he didn't show me all of it, just enough to see that it was written in Rupert's hand. He said Rupert had been paying him back, paying him by using the shop and his stock and all sorts of other things. He made Rupert sound like a common thief.'

‘Marcus,' Alec said softly, ‘Rupert was a common thief. He stole.'

‘Rupert wasn't a common anything,' Marcus contradicted hotly. ‘That man Kinnear, he was blackmailing him. Forcing him to give him money. At first I didn't want to believe him, but it all made sense. All made sense of what Rupert had been doing the past few months. All the things I didn't understand. I thought Rupert was just tired of me, tired of the business. I thought he was getting ready to leave. Somehow, oh I know it sounds foolish, Alec, but this was easier to bear.'

‘You cared deeply for him,' Naomi said.

‘I cared deeply, yes and Rupert was the best friend I ever could have wanted.'

Naomi bit her lip uncertain if she should push this. ‘Were you more than friends?'

Marcus laughed harshly. ‘My dear, I was never that lucky. Rupert wasn't interested in me in that way. Rupert should have found a wife, settled down. I thought once there was someone, but he always denied it. I once saw a gold locket in his study. On his desk. I wondered then, but he said it belonged to a relative who'd been visiting and who had left it behind. I thought it was strange. Rupert didn't have visitors here, not for many years.'

Naomi inclined her head quizzically, but she said nothing.

‘This man that followed you,' Alec asked, ‘what was he driving?'

‘A little red hatchback. On the day I saw him waiting for Kinnear he was in something big and black. I don't really know what.'

‘Did it never occur to you to go to the police?' Naomi asked.

Marcus shook his head vehemently. ‘No,' he said. ‘No, never. I didn't want to see Rupert's name dragged through the mud. I thought I could get what Kinnear wanted and then he'd go away. You had the house and the money Rupert left so no harm done there. All I had to do was find the records Rupert had kept. Then Kinnear could get at his money. That was what he said and that's all I know.'

‘And you knew what the records were?'

‘A ledger Rupert kept, something on his laptop and something he had written in his little leather books. I didn't know which ones, he had so many. Kinnear said they would be recent. He had seen one of them but he thought there might be more. He said to be on the safe side I should get them all, but I failed him, didn't I. I tried to take them away when I helped with the search but the boy was always close by and I'd seen him poking around in the study. I knew he'd notice anything missing from the shelf …' Marcus broke off. ‘I didn't even know what to look for, I suppose. Not much use at anything, am I?'

‘You were unwise, not useless,' Alec said. ‘Rupert hid the things Kinnear wanted. I'm not sure why he didn't destroy them altogether, but maybe he didn't have the time. Marcus, had Rupert been unwell in the weeks before he died?'

Marcus nodded. ‘He was always short of breath and complained of pains in his chest and arms. I believe he had a doctor's appointment just days before he died.'

‘I think Rupe knew he didn't have long left,' Alec said.

Patrick stared at the overturned car. A motorist had stopped and was pacing around close by. Patrick shoved his poker into the hedge before the motorist should happen to see it. He thought it might take a bit of explaining.

‘Did you come from the house back there?'

Harry nodded. ‘We've called the police. We, er, heard the crash.'

‘Right. Joyriders most likely. We've started to get a few of the buggers round here. I just came round the bend and nearly hit it. Thought I'd better stop back there and get the hazards on. I've called the police too.'

‘Joyriders?' Harry questioned. ‘Why?'

The motorist shrugged. ‘Obvious, isn't it? The driver's done a runner. No, he and his mates'll be long gone across the field. Probably spend the evening boasting about it in some pub or other.'

In the distance Harry could hear sirens. ‘Sounds like the police,' he said.

Patrick bent down and peered inside. The car had ended up on its roof, half in and half out of a ditch and wedged beneath the hedge. The window was open, not broken in the crash, so most likely had been open when the vehicle was being driven. The man who had chased Marcus must have climbed out through there. There was blood on the door, Patrick noted. Part of a handprint and crushed grass where he had fallen as he clambered out. The hedge behind was thick and thorny, but he remembered there being a gate just a little further along the road.