Read Online False Picture by Veronica Heley - Free Book Online Page A

prescription drugs, a couple of condoms. Dust. A small notebook filled with columns of numbers … what was that all about?
    The bedclothes were rank. Bea stripped the bed and bundled the dirty bedclothes into one of the dry-cleaners’ bags. ‘Do we have any clean bedding?’
    â€˜He should have his own,’ Maggie yelled back from down the corridor. ‘Charlotte told me to bring my own and I did. Well, I borrowed from you, but I suppose that’s all right.’
    Bea opened a double-fronted, built-in cupboard, cascading smelly sports equipment on to the floor. On the top shelf of the cupboard were two sets of laundered bedlinen, still in their laundry bags. Bea smiled to herself, imagining Velma making sure he had everything clean when he moved in. Mind you, it didn’t look as if he’d changed the sheets in weeks.
    There was also a space where a man might conceivably have stored an empty suitcase or rucksack. Surely that was one item a flat-sharer would be bound to have? She thought of the items of luggage Maggie had brought with her the previous night; a large old suitcase which predated wheels, a sports bag and a couple of outsize carrier bags. So what luggage had Philip brought with him when he moved in? And where was it now? It did rather look as if he’d hastily packed a few things into – whatever – and lit out for parts unknown.
    Bea started to make the bed with the clean linen, only to find that one set was incomplete. There was a duvet cover and two pillow cases, but no bottom sheet. What on earth had he done with it? She checked over the second set. That was complete.
    Then she had an idea. She tipped up the mattress and discovered a flattened business envelope addressed to Mr P. Weston. It contained a flock of bank and credit card statements which made dire reading and a letter from a production company in Soho, dated a fortnight ago, terminating Mr Weston’s employment after he’d ignored three previous written warnings about being drunk at work. There was also a polite letter on good notepaper from a club Bea had never heard of, reminding Mr Weston to pay his overdue account.
    â€˜Trouble.’ Bea was thinking aloud. ‘No job. No income. What was he living on?’
    Maggie, also rubber-gloved, appeared in the doorway. ‘I forgot to say, I think Philip’s not paid his rent for a while. I was only half listening but the men were griping about it, saying it was just as well I’d come to join them to help with the rent.’
    â€˜Could you look to see how many shaving outfits are in the boys’ bathroom?’
    Maggie was loving this. ‘You think he’s done a runner?’ She vanished, only to return within a minute. ‘Two lots, in expensive toilet cases, one plain and one with a monogram of a letter “L” on it. Which means …?’
    â€˜Philip’s is not there. This is getting complicated. I really ought to have brought a special camera with me to take copies of his paperwork, because I don’t understand what’s going on.’
    â€˜Like James Bond? His cameras are all disguised as something else, though, aren’t they?’
    Bea made a note of the club name on the letterhead and made up the bed, leaving the paperwork in place. She picked up the dirty clothing piece by piece, exploring pockets. Nothing but receipts and reminders of unpaid bills … there was also a letter from the gym pointing out that his membership had lapsed and suggesting that he renew. No wonder he hadn’t been back there for a while.
    She hung up the clothing that still looked reasonably clean, and stuffed the dirty bits and pieces into another dry-cleaner’s bag. She tried to get the hoover going – it was an asthmaticky old thing – and failed. The carpet sweeper was clogged with hairs. She cleaned it out and did her best with it.
    She considered wiping down all the dusty surfaces in the room but