Free Dead Clever by Roderic Jeffries Page A

sign of mourning. Skilful planning negated by greed or the necessity to be greedy.
    She led the way into the sitting-room. Large, with a high ceiling, originally it would have been sombrely decorated and furnished to provide a fitting setting in which a grave and dignified paterfamilias could digest his lunch and dream of mistresses, but now it had been painted in an off-white, the furniture was modern and occasionally frivolous, and the four modern paintings on the walls were filled with colour if little form.
    She sat in a rocking-chair and began to rock, staring out through the nearer window as she did so. He studied her face which was in profile. He saw strength and determination. Perhaps she had agreed to help in the proposed fraud without any of the hesitations and fears that most women would have experienced. Before, he had assumed that Green had been much the stronger of the team; now he was certain that if she had not wanted to help him, no amount of cajoling on his part would have persuaded her to do so. He said: ‘Miss Collins, how did you hear about Mr Green’s death?’
    She rocked twice before she said sharply: ‘What does that matter?’
    ‘It could be important.’
    ‘Oh God, can’t you understand . . .?’
    He waited, then said: ‘Either I or the police have to question you. I promise you it will be easier if I do so.’
    ‘Why d’you say that? Why should the police bother me?’
    ‘If you’ll answer the question I asked a moment ago, I’ll tell you.’
    She continued rocking for several seconds, then abruptly checked the movement with her feet. She ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips. ‘He didn’t return here when he said he would. I thought maybe business had taken longer than he’d expected, then I wondered if the weather had stopped him flying back, so I rang his hotel in Majorca. They told me . . .’ She stopped.
    ‘They said that his plane had crashed at sea.’
    She closed her eyes, resumed rocking.
    ‘His plane did crash at sea. But as you well know, he was not in it when it crashed.’
    She spoke fiercely. ‘What d’you mean?’
    ‘He parachuted from the plane and was picked up by a boat which landed him on the mainland.’
    ‘If that had happened, he’d have got in touch with me immediately. Why have you come here with such filthy lies? Oh God, isn’t it enough to have to know he’s dead, without having someone like you taunt me . . .’
    ‘I’m not taunting you, Miss Collins.’ His tone was sad, because he hated having to convince her that all their plans had failed. ‘Green needed money and he decided to fake his own death so that a claim could be made against his life insurance. In his last will he named you as sole beneficiary, thereby making certain you’d be paid the insurance money. He hired a twin-engined Fleche and flew to Mallorca where he persuaded a past employer of his to cooperate in the fraud. He then flew from the island and rendezvoused with a motor-cruiser, jumped from the plane and parachuted down, and was picked up. The plane crashed several minutes later.
    ‘The motor-cruiser sailed to Stivas and presumably he telephoned you on arrival to let you know that everything had gone according to plan. He stayed one night in the Hotel Grande before leaving Stivas. Exactly where he is now I don’t know; you most certainly do.’
    ‘That’s all filthy lies.’
    ‘We both know it’s the truth.’
    ‘He’s dead. He never phoned me. D’you hear, he’s dead.’
    ‘Miss Collins, a Spanish detective and I went to Stivas and talked to the employees at the Hotel Grande, where he used the name Thomas Grieves. We also had his passport number checked and it turned out to belong to a passport which had been stolen.’
    ‘That doesn’t prove anything.’
    ‘On the contrary, it proves that Grieves was not who he claimed to be.’
    “Just because a man has a false passport . . .’
    He interrupted, determined to make her understand that it was