‘Someone left our compensation in a box here.’ There was more knocking at the door. He went towards it, but said over his shoulder. ‘There was even a note saying how we should divvy it up.’
He pointed at the hole in the front of the stage and Barbara realized there was a person in there. As she approached, a hand shot out.
‘Count them.’
‘Is this for me?’
‘Yes. I heard you say thirty-two? We have enough for everyone.’
‘It was forty-three, actually. I hate to say it out loud.’
There was a pause. Was this anonymous man angry with her? She peered into the space under the stage.
‘What did the note say?’
A face appeared. He had the same rounded jaw as Red Sweater; his son, perhaps?
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Barbara Sinker. I’m on the victims’ WhatsApp group.’
As he manoeuvred himself in the crawl space, she caught sight of the hoard. Piles of twenties and fifties, arranged in a line, like tower blocks on a main road, stretching back into the shadows.
The man lifted a sheet of A4 paper and read. ‘This money is donated to the victims of the scammer at the radio station, so each can have what they’re owed. The rest to be donated anonymously to the station itself.’
‘Oh goodness.’ Barbara was nonplussed. Then: ‘Does it have my amount on there?’
He checked the list. ‘Sinker, yes, forty-three.’ He handed her another pile and a reusable Sainsbury’s bag. ‘Here you go.I think you should go now. We don’t want this getting out. No reference on the WhatsApp group please.’
‘I saw the message was deleted.’
‘Went after an hour. Dad screenshotted it. We got here first. You’re the …’ He paused. ‘The twelfth, I think.’
‘I hope no one gets missed out.’
‘We’ll do our best.’ Again, the hint of impatience.
The door to the hall opened again. The long-necked man was challenging everyone, it seemed.
‘I hope we’re not breaking the law if we take money like this.’
‘There’s a law against “theft by finding”, but you can’t steal a gift, can you? No one lost this, they gave it.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Barbara uncertainly. She moved away, pushing the notes deeper into her tote bag. Forty-three thousand pounds in cash … she felt very, very nervous. Would she keep it at home? She could make it last for years. She would store it in a vase. She knew which one.
Barbara straightened up. Suddenly, today was looking like a very good day indeed.
Chapter Fifty-One
A month after the scene in his garden, Edward Temmis went on air with Jordan Callintree sitting opposite him in the studio.
Wendy Wrigley had been picked up in Scotland. She was facing a second investigation for her role in the death of her husband. But Devon Police were now making progress ‘at pace’ in the Toppings case.
‘So Acting Chief Constable Callintree, what can you tell our listeners about that?’
‘We believe lethal ampoules were being delivered to addresses around Devon to people desperate to end their lives. They were being charged more than ten thousand pounds to receive a single delivery. It is likely that Lev Malnyk had no idea what he was carrying or how dangerous it was.’
‘Who was behind this?’ asked Edward, the next in his list of agreed questions.
