Sue for Mercy - Veronica Heley Page 0,50
a tense silence next door. I peeped at J.B. and Ronald. J.B. was smiling, and Ronald’s finger was poised over the dish of syllabub which I had left on the kitchen table. As I watched, he dipped his finger in, licked it, and registered pleased surprise. His eye started to wander round the kitchen, looking for a spoon. Charles was concentrating on the conversation next door; he was very tense.
“John Brenner... my father?” Julian sounded hoarse. “But he’s never been a client of Robert’s. He’s always made his own investments through a London... The idea of his putting business through us is absurd.”
“Your records show that he sent you a total of...” Charles’ lips moved in concert, detailing the amount, “...twenty thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven pounds, for which Mr. Brenner has received neither acknowledgement nor Share Certificates.”
“There’s no proof...”
“I have been shown copies of Mr. John Brenner’s bank statements for the last six months, which prove that the cheques have been cashed on his account. I have also seen the covering letters he wrote you, which are in a file under his name in your office.”
“It just can’t be!” wailed Ruth. “There’s no such file for him!”
“I’ve seen it!” said the Inspector tonelessly. “Yesterday morning.”
“Charles!” This was Bianca. “This is Charles’ doing! I can feel it! Inspector, you know that Oliver Ashton had... has a son, a very bright rogue. He was forced to resign his job in London after the fraud case, and went to John Brenner for a job. This is Charles’ way of getting back at Robert and Julian for taking over his father’s firm — oh, quite legitimately! I mean, Robert bought the firm quite legitimately from Oliver Ashton, when... I see it all! Charles has put the cheques in front of J.B. when he’s signing a lot and won’t notice... then he’s made them out himself afterwards. Of course they’ve passed through J.B.’s account! You’ll find the money in Charles’ bank account, unless he’s managed to get it out of the country already.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do. You see, Mr. Brenner is one of the few people I know who insist on the bank’s returning all cancelled cheques to him. He started doing this some while back. He has isolated the relevant cheques, and handed them over to me. They are made out either to Mr. Robert Maudsley, or to Mr. Julian Brenner. I have also received photographic copies of Mr. and Mrs. Julian Brenner’s joint bank account statements for the last two years.”
“How on earth? Charles couldn’t have...”
“I don’t know how, Mrs. Brenner. They were dropped through my letterbox at home in the early hours of the morning. There don’t appear to be any fingerprints on them. They were in a plain business-type envelope, of the type you can buy anywhere, and there was no address or superscription of any kind on the envelope. My wife opened it, in fact, thinking it was a bill from the newsagent’s.”
“Well, what if you do have a copy of our bank statements?” asked Julian. “I still don’t see why you come here...”
“At regular intervals over the last five months you seem to have paid in either the full amount of one of the cheques sent to you by Mr. John Brenner, and then reimbursed some party or parties unknown with half the amount, or have paid in exactly one half of the amount yourself. It looks as though the money sent you by Mr. John Brenner was shared out between you and someone else, don’t you think? I assume that the other person is Mr. Maudsley here, which is why, when I couldn’t find Mr. Maudsley at home this morning, I came on here. Now do either of you have any comment to make?”
So that’s why David had taken such a risk! He’d come over from Ireland specially to photograph the bank statements so as to link Julian with receipt of the cheques; then he’d handed the negatives in at Whitestones. Charles had developed and printed them up overnight, and delivered them to the Inspector’s home at precisely the right moment. No wonder he hadn’t slept last night.
Ronald set down his spoon with a sigh of satisfaction, having reduced the level of the syllabub in the bowl considerably. J.B. was brushing pastry flakes from his finger tips; he’d been at a tin of jam tarts I’d made yesterday.
“That money,” said Bianca, “was a gift from John Brenner to Julian and Robert. It can’t have anything to