Web of Lies, Sally Rigby [list of e readers .TXT] 📗

‘If that happens, I’m finished.’ He rested his head in his hands, and they left his office.

‘At last, we’re finally getting somewhere,’ Birdie said once they were back in the car.

‘He’s certainly given us more information. If he was the one to arrange for me to be attacked he must be a bloody good actor because he seemed genuinely shocked.’

‘I agree. Do you think Donald was blackmailing others as well as his brother?’

‘It’s quite likely, that’s why I want to interview Tony Yates again. His investment was not only large, but he’d never gone in with Donald before and it was also fairly close to when Edgar invested.’

‘What about Andrea Wood?’

He frowned. ‘You think she might have been blackmailed, too?’

‘She invested a large sum of money around the same time the others did. Coincidence?’

‘I agree it’s worth investigating further. Let’s interview Tony Yates first. He works here in the city. He’s a quantity surveyor and has his own practice.’

‘Another person with his own company. Then again, they’re the ones who can invest large sums of money.’

‘Donald’s investors weren’t all like that. Some, like Bert and Pearl, invested money from the sale of their houses.’

They drove to Yates’s workplace and hurried to the reception.

‘Sebastian Clifford to see Tony Yates. Is he around? I’m a friend of his.’

‘I’m sorry, he’s off today. I believe he’s at home.’ She covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh. I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘It’s okay, I won’t say anything. Thank you.’

They left the building.

‘Do you know where Yates lives?’

‘Yes, a village called Clipston, near Market Harborough, which I’m sure you must be familiar. His address was in Donald’s records.’

Chapter 30

18 May

Birdie drove them into Clipston village along the windy Naseby Road until they reached the large L-shaped barn conversion, set back from the street, belonging to Tony and Pauline Yates. A separate three-car garage had been built next to it.

‘Nice house. Being a quantity surveyor must be very lucrative,’ she said, as she pulled into the circular drive and stopped outside the front of the house.

The door was answered by a tall, elegant woman in her fifties, with dark hair cut into a short bob with a fringe, and wearing a blue and white dress patterned with geometric shapes teamed with a pair of white trainers.

Birdie stood up tall, but the woman was still intimidating.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘I’m Sebastian Clifford and this is my colleague. I’m looking for Tony Yates, is he available?’

‘I’m his wife, Pauline. I’ll get him for you.’ She disappeared for a few minutes, leaving the door open so they could peer inside. The large entrance hall had a flagstone floor and on the wall to the side hung a massive painting of the woman with, who Birdie assumed, was her husband Tony.

‘Look over there,’ she whispered, giving Clifford a nudge.

He turned and stared. ‘Hmm,’ he muttered.

‘I think, yikes might be a better response,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t hide your spots on a painting that large?’

‘Shhh,’ he said, nodding his head.

Heading towards them was the couple, with Pauline leading the way.

‘What do you want?’ he said, an angry expression on his face, as he glared at Seb.

‘Tony,’ his wife admonished. ‘That’s no way to speak to our visitors.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘How can I help you?’

‘We have some further questions, if you don’t mind?’

‘What about?’ his wife asked, looking at Seb and then back to her husband.

‘Mr Clifford came to see me at work to ask about Donald Witherspoon’s suicide.’

‘Him,’ she spat. ‘What’s this all about? Are you from the press and doing some exposé on him? If so, you can keep our name out of it. He’s made us suffer enough. We don’t wish to be ridiculed by everyone we know. We’ve managed to keep what he’d done quiet, so far.’

And if they were reporters, the silly woman was giving them even more to write about. Birdie could just imagine the heading.

Naïve victim of Ponzi scheme monster fails in attempt to keep hidden their downfall.

‘No, we’re not part of the media,’ Seb reassured her. ‘His wife had questions regarding the suicide verdict, and she asked us to look into it.’

‘Why are you speaking to Tony? He had nothing to do with his death.’

‘He was a close friend of Donald’s and we thought he could give us an insight into him as a man.’

‘A friend. Is that what you call the bastard? You don’t steal money from a friend …’ She paused, staring at Seb’s face. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I was mugged in Market Harborough on Saturday night.’

‘Mugged, and you end up looking like that. Were they on something? I’ve said for a while that place is going downhill. That’s why we live out here.’

‘May we sit down somewhere?’ Birdie asked, curious to see more of the house to find out if there were any more portraits of the pair of them.

‘Yes,’ Tony said. ‘We’ll go into the day room.’

They followed him through to the large rectangular room with beams going across the vaulted ceiling and a large open fireplace on the far wall. Birdie and Clifford sat on two tan leather easy chairs and Pauline and Tony sat next to each other on the matching sofa.

‘I discovered during my investigation that Donald had been blackmailing one of his investors and I wondered if he’d approached you, Tony?’ Seb asked.

Nothing like getting straight to the point. Why didn’t he lead into it gradually?

‘What a ridiculous thing to suggest,’ Pauline said, answering for her husband. ‘What could he possibly blackmail us about? We’ve done nothing. Tell them, Tony.’

‘Pauline’s right, Donald didn’t try to blackmail me. The only reason I helped him out was because he was a friend in trouble and desperate for money.’ He glanced at his wife; trepidation etched across his face.

Was he telling them the truth? Or was it just he was scared of admitting it in front of her?

‘I wish you’d asked me first, though,’ his wife said, turning to him. ‘I’d have said no because it was too