Read Online Worse than Death (Anna Southwood Mysteries) by Jean Bedford - Free Book Online
Authors: Jean Bedford
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office was a byword — the Malaya in George Street. I had the restaurant’s number under his name in my book.
I put the phone down. The psychiatric angle had seemed like a good one — just to check if there was a reason for Leonie’s erratic behaviour, if there was anything in her past that might have led her to feeling murderous towards her daughter. I wondered if Rita would be able to find out anything through her contacts. I rang her, but she was in a meeting so I left a message.
“There’s an awful lot of sitting about waiting in detective work,” I complained to Graham later. I was full of frustrated energy. I wanted to talk to Leonie Channing myself, to get some idea of what she was like, but I couldn’t very well go in right on Graham’s heels. And she’d probably already told him all she’d tell anyone. Graham was bored, too, practising push-ups dangerously near to Toby, and making endless cups of coffee. I finally gave up pretending to work, had a sandwich and thought I’d spend the rest of the day gardening.
I got out my favourite disposal-store overalls — so paint and grime-bespattered you could hardly see their original dark blue colour — and spent a happy hour with my hands plunged in rotting compost and chicken shit. I once had my chart done and the astrologer had looked at me with awe when she realised I had all air and fire signs. “You must find day-to-day reality awfully hard,” she said. “I hope you like gardening.” Her prescription had been at least an hour a day touching ground, and I’ve always found it good therapy. So I was annoyed when Graham yelled from the window that I had a phone call.
I washed my hands hastily at the laundry tap and loftily ignored Graham’s pained sniff as I passed him.
“It’s Evan,” he said. “It’s a great accent.”
Evan sounded tired. “He’s seen lots of people. He eats out three times a day, doesn’t he? He’s had lots of visitors, too. And he’s been out to Liverpool cemetery. How long d’you want me to stick, d’you know?”
“Have you got any photos?” My desire for revenge rose again.
“Reels. Why don’t I get them printed up at one of those instant places and come in for a cup of tea and a sit down then?”
“Okay.” I went upstairs to shower and change and when I came down again Graham was leaping about like a chimpanzee.
“I got it!” He grabbed me and waltzed me roughly around the room, bumping into furniture. “They just rang. I got it, Anna honey, ah got the part…”
“Shit,” I said ungraciously. “Let go of me, dickhead. When do you have to start rehearsals?” I looked at him balefully from the chair he’d dumped me in, rubbing my thigh where a table had got me.
“Not for a fortnight. Plenty of time to clear up this little business.” He waved regally towards our desks. “Come on, Anna, me old love. This calls for champagne.” He went to the fridge and got out a bottle of the Bollinger I was saving for the day we solved our first real case.
I managed a smile. “It’s great, Graham. Really good. I’m pleased for you, really. But, shit.” Evan arrived then and we poured him a glass, too. Graham opened another bottle and we sat down to look at the photos: lots of lookalike men in dark expensive suits getting in and out of pale expensive cars; exteriors of restaurants; Rex and a blonde woman on a wharf, about to get onto a sleek yacht; same blonde outside Rex’s gracious home, looking bleary in the morning light.
“A bit young for Rex,” I commented.
“She’s even younger, close up,” Evan said disapprovingly. “Hardly above the age of consent. I’ve got a daughter looks older than that, doesn’t she?”
“Hang on,” I said, looking at the next picture. It was a shot of Rex and yet another man in a dark suit. Rex was in a low-slung sports car, outside the gates of his place; the other man leaned on the car, talking through the driver’s window. He looked angry. He also didn’t
I put the phone down. The psychiatric angle had seemed like a good one — just to check if there was a reason for Leonie’s erratic behaviour, if there was anything in her past that might have led her to feeling murderous towards her daughter. I wondered if Rita would be able to find out anything through her contacts. I rang her, but she was in a meeting so I left a message.
“There’s an awful lot of sitting about waiting in detective work,” I complained to Graham later. I was full of frustrated energy. I wanted to talk to Leonie Channing myself, to get some idea of what she was like, but I couldn’t very well go in right on Graham’s heels. And she’d probably already told him all she’d tell anyone. Graham was bored, too, practising push-ups dangerously near to Toby, and making endless cups of coffee. I finally gave up pretending to work, had a sandwich and thought I’d spend the rest of the day gardening.
I got out my favourite disposal-store overalls — so paint and grime-bespattered you could hardly see their original dark blue colour — and spent a happy hour with my hands plunged in rotting compost and chicken shit. I once had my chart done and the astrologer had looked at me with awe when she realised I had all air and fire signs. “You must find day-to-day reality awfully hard,” she said. “I hope you like gardening.” Her prescription had been at least an hour a day touching ground, and I’ve always found it good therapy. So I was annoyed when Graham yelled from the window that I had a phone call.
I washed my hands hastily at the laundry tap and loftily ignored Graham’s pained sniff as I passed him.
“It’s Evan,” he said. “It’s a great accent.”
Evan sounded tired. “He’s seen lots of people. He eats out three times a day, doesn’t he? He’s had lots of visitors, too. And he’s been out to Liverpool cemetery. How long d’you want me to stick, d’you know?”
“Have you got any photos?” My desire for revenge rose again.
“Reels. Why don’t I get them printed up at one of those instant places and come in for a cup of tea and a sit down then?”
“Okay.” I went upstairs to shower and change and when I came down again Graham was leaping about like a chimpanzee.
“I got it!” He grabbed me and waltzed me roughly around the room, bumping into furniture. “They just rang. I got it, Anna honey, ah got the part…”
“Shit,” I said ungraciously. “Let go of me, dickhead. When do you have to start rehearsals?” I looked at him balefully from the chair he’d dumped me in, rubbing my thigh where a table had got me.
“Not for a fortnight. Plenty of time to clear up this little business.” He waved regally towards our desks. “Come on, Anna, me old love. This calls for champagne.” He went to the fridge and got out a bottle of the Bollinger I was saving for the day we solved our first real case.
I managed a smile. “It’s great, Graham. Really good. I’m pleased for you, really. But, shit.” Evan arrived then and we poured him a glass, too. Graham opened another bottle and we sat down to look at the photos: lots of lookalike men in dark expensive suits getting in and out of pale expensive cars; exteriors of restaurants; Rex and a blonde woman on a wharf, about to get onto a sleek yacht; same blonde outside Rex’s gracious home, looking bleary in the morning light.
“A bit young for Rex,” I commented.
“She’s even younger, close up,” Evan said disapprovingly. “Hardly above the age of consent. I’ve got a daughter looks older than that, doesn’t she?”
“Hang on,” I said, looking at the next picture. It was a shot of Rex and yet another man in a dark suit. Rex was in a low-slung sports car, outside the gates of his place; the other man leaned on the car, talking through the driver’s window. He looked angry. He also didn’t
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