Part 6 (2/2)
”I can't do it, because I didn't have an accomplice. Do you seriously imagine I'd stay silent to protect somebody who's prepared to stave an old lady's head in? Not on your life. Especially not if the police were offering me good solid reasons for making a clean breast of it. Which is precisely what they are doing.”
”So the stuff really was planted?”
”Put it this way. The first I knew about any of this was when the police came hammering on the flat door at seven o'clock on Monday morning brandis.h.i.+ng a search-warrant. I wasn't happy to see them, but I was happy to let them into the shop, because I knew there was nothing there. When I saw the Tunbridge Ware, standing in a card-board box on the table in the back-room, well, you could have knocked me down with a feather.”
”How do you think it got there?”
”Somebody must have broken in during the night and put it there. One of the panes in the window next to the back door was knocked out. And I'd left the key in the lock. I'm careless that way.”
Derek did not doubt his brother's carelessness. But he knew the police would. They would have viewed the broken window as a clumsy attempt by Colin to cover his tracks. ”You heard nothing in the night?”
”Not a thing. But I'd been hitting the scotch. It would have taken a bomb to wake me. Which reminds me . . .” He leaned forward. ”I haven't had a drink since then. You didn't have the good sense to smuggle in a half-bottle, did you?”
”No, I certainly did not.”
Colin grimaced. ”A pity. But not a surprise. You always did have too much respect for rules and regulations.”
H A N D I N G L O V E.
39.
”If you had the same amount, we wouldn't be here now, would we?”
”Maybe not.” Colin forced a grin. ”Let's call a truce. When I took the police into the shop, the back door was locked, with the key in it.
Simple enough for an intruder to arrange by reaching through the missing pane after he'd left, of course. But the police weren't interested. They had the Tunbridge Ware. And they had me. So they were satisfied. As they were intended to be.”
”Intended by whom?”
”I don't know. That's the whole point. n.o.body hates me enough to go to so much trouble. I've put a few noses out of joint over the years, admittedly, but not that far out. Besides, if they were prepared to kill and had it in for me, why not go the whole hog and stave my head in?”
”Well?” Derek could tell by the twinkle in Colin's eyes that he had an answer.
”I've thought it through, step by step. I've had plenty of time to think this past week, believe me. And I've come to the conclusion that I'm not what all this is about. I'm just the fall guy, the shady antique dealer who takes the blame.”
”So . . . what are you saying?”
”I'm saying the police are looking at it the wrong way round.
They see burglary as the objective, murder as the result. Whereas I reckon murder was the real objective. The stolen Tunbridge Ware-and me-were just camouflage.”
For a second, Derek seriously entertained the possibility. Then scepticism got the better of him. ”Isn't that rather far-fetched, Colin?”
”Listen to what happened. Then tell me whether it's far-fetched or not.”
”All right. I'm listening.”
”About six weeks ago, I had a telephone call from a woman who gave her name as Beatrix Abberley. She said she had some Tunbridge Ware she wanted valued with a view to disposal. We agreed I'd call a few days later and take a look at the stuff. The address was Jackdaw Cottage, Watchbell Street, Rye. When I asked how she'd heard of me, she said she had relatives in Tunbridge Wells and often went there.
She'd seen my display of Tunbridge Ware in the window and had remembered the name of the shop. Well, I wasn't arguing. Off I went to Rye. She'd been specific about the time I was to arrive. Ten-thirty on Wednesday the twentieth of May. I was there on the dot. A 40 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.
housekeeper answered the door. She said she didn't know anything about the appointment, but she showed me into the drawing room and went to fetch Miss Abberley. I was giving the Tunbridge Ware the once over when the lady came in. As soon as I saw her, I knew something was wrong. The woman who'd phoned me was much younger. And she'd had a tw.a.n.g to her voice, like a faint American accent. Or one being disguised. But Miss Abberley was an old refined English spinster. And she was adamant she hadn't called me. Well, I knew she was telling the truth. That was obvious. But what was I supposed to do? Say it had all been a ghastly mistake? Since I was there, I reckoned it was best to try and brazen it out. The Tunbridge Ware was a nice collection. Very nice. I tried to negotiate a price. But she wasn't interested. Not a bit. So, I decided to call it a day. I gave her my card in case she ever changed her mind and left with fulsome apologies. As to the 'phone call, I wrote it off as a misunderstanding. Maybe I'd misheard the name or the address. Or both. I knew I hadn't, of course, but no amount of speculation on my part was going to explain what had happened. So, I forgot all about it.”
”Until the police arrived on your doorstep?”
”Not quite. That's where it gets odder still. About a week later, Miss Abberley-the real Miss Abberley-telephoned me. I thought for a moment she must have reconsidered my offer. But no. She simply wanted me to tell her why I'd visited her. Well, I'd already done that. But she wanted more: everything I could remember, in fact, about the original telephone call. The woman's voice. Her exact words. Every detail I could recollect.”
”She believed you?”
”Yes. Strange, isn't it? It's the sort of story I might have made up just to get over the threshold. But it happened to be true. And she believed it. She hadn't when I'd called at the cottage. She'd made that obvious. But now she did.”
”Why the change of mind?”
”She wouldn't say. She simply thanked me for the information and rang off. And that was the last I heard about it. Or expected to hear. Until Monday.”
”Did you tell the police all this?”
”Of course. But I was wasting my breath. They had their solution.
They had their suspect. And they weren't going to be deflected by anything I said.”
”It's understandable.”
H A N D I N G L O V E.
41.
”Maybe. But they don't need your understanding. I do.”
Derek looked away for an instant. Almost everything he knew about his brother const.i.tuted grounds for doubt. Except for the fact that he could never have been stupid enough to incriminate himself in the way the police alleged. Colin's version of events made more sense than any other Derek had heard-and was the more disturbing because of it.
”Would you do something for me?” asked Colin.
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