‘The smell!’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, recalling the appalling stench that had been in his flat on my last visit. ‘It’s gone, hasn’t it?’
‘D’you think so? Sometimes I still catch a whiff of it.’
‘Nothing,’ I said after nosing the air a few times.
‘Thank heaven for small mercies,’ Rolfe said. ‘Anyway, here is Miss Parr’s mail. Dreadful business. Please pass on my condolences to her father.’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘When’s the funeral? I’d like to attend, if possible.’
‘I think that depends on when the police release the body,’ I said. ‘I’ll ask Mr Parr’s PA to let you know.’
‘Appreciate it.’ Rolfe handed over four envelopes held together by an elastic band. ‘The others were clearly junk, so I threw them away.’
I nodded and took a quick look at the envelopes without removing the band. Three looked like bills. The fourth was larger and of superior paper stock.
‘I’ll see that Harry’s father receives them,’ I said.
‘Has there been any progress in finding out who’s responsible for Miss Parr’s murder?’ Rolfe asked.
‘Not that I’m aware.’
He shook his head and said, ‘One wonders what the world’s coming to.’
People have been killing each other since time immemorial but there was no point telling an ex-soldier that. Equally as depressing to realise that things weren’t getting any better as it was to think they were getting steadily worse.
‘I’ll let myself out,’ I said.
While walking down Great Russell Street, I examined the envelopes more closely. The brown ones were a gas bill, what looked like an invitation to join the electoral roll, and one that had a return address for HMRC on its reverse. The white envelope was more interesting. The logo on it was for Hathaway’s bank on the Strand, and the address had been handwritten in a cursive script.
I lost my battle with curiosity outside the British Museum. The contents of the envelope might contain information that could shed some light on what Harry’s movements had been before she died. At least that’s what I told myself.
What emerged was a sheet of watermarked paper. Attached was a cheque made out to Plan B for twenty thousand pounds, with DECLINED stamped across it in red ink. After examining the dishonoured cheque, I turned my attention to the letter.
Ref: Cheque number: 347
Dear Ms Parr,
Please find enclosed a cheque made payable to Plan B for the sum of ￡20,000.
After comparing the signature with that held on file, we were concerned as to its authenticity and have declined to release the funds. This was done only after several efforts to contact you by telephone proved unsuccessful.
Of course it may be that your signature has altered recently. If that is the case it would be helpful if you could visit the Strand branch at your convenience to provide a new specimen signature.
However, if you did not authorise the cheque, we would appreciate you contacting us immediately, as fraud is something the bank takes very seriously.
Yours faithfully,
Peter Trevithick
Manager
I hadn’t been a big hit with Plan B’s receptionist the last time I’d visited. Absence hadn’t made the heart grow fonder. Despite the lateness of the hour, Truda was on the phone when I arrived. Although I suppose the scowl on her face may have had something to do with the person on the end of the line. It had probably been as long a day for her as it had for me.
‘What do you want?’ she said, putting the receiver down.
‘I’m here to see Callum.’
‘He’s busy and there are four people still waiting. It’s best if you come back tomorrow.’
‘I’m here now.’
‘Then you’ll just have to wait,’ Truda said, her voice becoming even less welcoming. ‘You know where to go.’
‘Actually, I think he’ll want to see me now.’ I took out the Hathaway’s letter from my pocket and slid it across the counter. ‘Particularly when you show him this . . .’
Truda looked at the document and then at me. She snatched it up and marched out from behind her desk. She took the stairs quickly and tapped on Callum’s door.
During the next two minutes, I read a notice that said violence would not be tolerated and a framed copy of the serenity poem. I was about to make a start on Plan B’s fire regulations when Truda descended the stairs, minus the letter.
‘You can go up,’ she said, unable to look me in the eye.
‘I don’t have to wait, then?’ I said, just for the badness of it.
Truda slammed the hatch down and started sorting through a pile of documents. Anyone would think I was there to accuse her boss of fraud. On my way upstairs, I passed Kaz, the woman I’d given my cigarettes to on my last visit to Plan B.
‘All right, Kenny?’ she said.
‘Surviving, Kaz. How are you?’
‘Callum’s been giving me a bollocking.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’ve been a naughty girl.’
There were dark circles under Kaz’s eyes, and her skin had a waxen quality. Her hair looked as though it hadn’t been washed since the last time we’d met. Whatever naughty meant, it probably wasn’t scrumping apples or farting in church.
‘Sorry to interrupt your session,’ I said. ‘But I need to see Callum urgently.’
She winked and said, ‘No need to apologise, mate. I reckon you need Cal more than I do. Haven’t got a fag handy, have you?’
The letter and the cheque were laid out on Callum’s desk. He was staring at them intently. For a moment I thought he hadn’t heard me enter the room. I was about to cough to attract his attention when he looked up and said, ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Harry’s neighbour.’
‘Did he open it?’
‘I did.’
‘Does Frank know?’ I shook my head. Callum nodded and picked up the cheque. ‘There’s a perfectly innocent explanation.’
‘I take it that’s not Harry’s signature, then.’
‘No.’
‘You faked it?’
‘There was no other option.’
‘Not sure the police will agree with you on that.’
‘Do they have to know?’
‘I guess that all depends on your version of events.’
I sat in the same chair I’d occupied on my last visit. Callum didn’t join me.
‘You remember I told you that Harry wanted to help raise money for the centre?’ I nodded. ‘Well, things had got to such a stage that we were on the point of closing down. Make that: we are on the point of closing down.’
‘So you forged a cheque to keep the place open. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Only the signature. Harry wrote us a cheque to tide us over for a couple of months while we tried to replace our funding. It arrived in the post a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Unsigned?’
‘I’m afraid so. I called Harry to thank her for her gift – I had no idea she was sending it – but there was no reply. When she didn’t respond to my message I made other efforts to get in touch with her. All to no avail.’
‘Which was when you decided to cash the cheque?’