Page 79 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
Course, in that case, having a hand raised when they’d attacked would’ve done me bugger all good and I’d like as not be dead right now. I swallowed. It hurt.
“Stronger than you, you reckon?”
Again, when I thought about it, I wasn’t sure. They’d had me at something of a disadvantage, what with the whole strangulation bit and my right hand not being free. I did a wavy hand gesture.
“Notice anything like perfume? Aftershave? Smell of their breath from the curry they had for their tea?”
I shook my head.
Dave gave a heavy sigh. “So who’ve you been pissing off lately, anyhow? More than usual, obviously.”
Phil cleared his throat. “We’ve been looking into the Fenchurch-Majors case.”
“Course you bleedin’ ’ave. Who’s hired you?”
“The stepdaughter. Although she just wants her necklace back.”
“Hers?”
“Miss Majors reckons it’s hers, as it belonged to her real mother.” Phil gave Dave a sharp look. “Technically, if Amelia Fenchurch-Majors still owned it at the time of her death, it should go to the person who benefits under her will. Although the family might be able to mount a legal challenge to that.”
I scribbled down Who benefits? and was about to nudge Phil and wave it in his face, but Dave beat me to it.
“Come on, then, Morrison, you’re obviously gagging to tell us who she left it all to. Whatever all is.”
Phil dragged it out for another few tantalising seconds, the git.
Then he smirked and told us. “Lance Frith. And before you ask, no, that’s not some old will from before she remarried, which wouldn’t have still been valid anyhow. She made a new will after the wedding.”
Dave scratched his crotch thoughtfully. “Wonder how many people knew about that? And whether it includes the grieving widower. Managed to dig out how much she had to leave?”
Phil nodded. “Not a lot, as it happens. Unless we count that necklace. There’s the events business, but Frith would always have been the only person in a position to benefit from that. Not like they had a right lot in the way of assets. In fact, with her gone, it’s questionable how much of a business is left anyhow. Frith’s been putting up a good front, but while he’s the one who did all the work, she was the one with all the contacts. Trouble was, it seems she had a nasty habit of making promises he wasn’t able to keep. Asking around, I got the impression there’s more than a few people who weren’t all that satisfied with the services of Fenchurch & Frith.”
“Yeah? Can’t have been easy to work with. Although killing her might have been a bit extreme. Thing is, though, who’d want to off Tom? Why? Apart from the bleedin’ obvious.” Dave smirked, the git. Then he must have caught Phil’s expression, and the smile dropped off his face so fast I swear I heard it crash on the floor. “Joking. Any chance of that cuppa?”
Phil was still giving Dave a dirty look, but he did get up and finally make the tea. I had a cup too, which seemed to go down slightly easier than the cup I’d had first thing, although I still wasn’t looking forward to my next attempt at actual food. They’d given me thin porridge in hospital, which I’d only eaten half of as it really wasn’t worth the pain to swallow it. While we drank our tea (and the other two had choccy biccies, the selfish gits), Dave regaled us with tales of the amazing antics of his son and heir, which mostly consisted of puking and pooping, although the peeing-during-nappy-change one was good for a laugh too.
“St. Leonards mob treating you all right, are they?” Dave asked, finally getting back to work.
I shrugged.
Dave made a dismissive huffing sort of sound. “Must be clutching at straws by now, poor sods. Two weeks after the fact and still no arrests? Not looking good.”
Phil stood up abruptly and went to look out of the window.
I stared at him. Dave sighed. “Come on, Morrison, out with it. What’s got your Calvin Kleins in a kerfuffle?”
Phil spun round, his face dark. “They’re using him, aren’t they? Tom. All that business at the funeral, making it so bloody obvious they reckon he’s key to the case.”
“What’s this?” Dave was frowning too now.
“Sharp. Collared Tom in front of everyone and asked him to come for another interview. Which, by the way, turns out to be bollocks, seeing as all they do is show him a bloody rubber duck. Then, what happens? Vi Majors gets a conveniently timed leak and—” Phil broke off and gestured angrily in my direction. “They’re using him as a bloody pit canary.”
“Oi,” I croaked. “Vi didn’t do it. Me,” I added, which, yeah, could have been open to different interpretations, but I was betting they got my drift.
She couldn’t have attacked me, right? She’d been so concerned about me afterwards. I’d stake my life—hah—that was genuine.
Then again, an evil little voice whispered, If you’d just tried and failed to kill someone, you’d be pretty worried about it and all.
