Academy of the Dead

by Christopher Wright

  "It is all right," Zoé said. "He is moving on again."

  "We'll stay here for a few minutes. I just hope he doesn't know where we live. I don't want him calling round to see you when I'm not home."

  "Matt Rider, you're not only silly and jealous, you are also paranoid -- paranoïaque. You have a guilty conscience because you did not give him any money outside the restaurant."

  Matt shook his head. "I'm not jealous, I'm worried. I don't want anything to happen to you."

  Chapter Four

  MATT SAT on the edge of Ken's desk and explained how he'd dropped the film round to Blake last night, making Ken observe that Blake ought to be impressed with the efficiency of Habgood Securities.

  "Anything interesting to report?" Ken switched on his computer and flicked a speck of dirt from the top of his polished desk. He waved to Matt to get up, but Matt stayed where he was.

  "Blake was being thrown out of his apartment by a woman. I imagine it was his partner."

  "Did he ask you in?"

  "You're joking. He'd just told her he'd arranged the photo shoot by the pool."

  "So you handed him the film and left without getting involved. Good." Ken found another speck to flick. "Damn biscuit crumbs. I hope you don't use this desk when I'm out."

  Matt decided to ignore the question. He rarely ate biscuits. "Zoé wanted to go with me. She wasn't feeling well. We had a bit of a run-in with a homeless man outside Le Perroquet Bleu."

  Ken was checking for emails but seemed to be listening. "You never did like the street people."

  "I had too many problems with them when I was with the police. The man grabbed hold of Zoé. Left some nasty bruises. Really scared her. And then she told me off. Said we should have helped him. It's funny, but I'm feeling guilty that we didn't. I never know what's best."

  There were no emails. Ken went off-line and opened a spreadsheet. It looked like he was about to see if anyone owed him money. "He shouldn't be allowed to get away with it. Get in touch with the police."

  "Zoé wouldn't want me to."

  "You've got to put her first, kiddo. How about that priest who rescued you in France, when you were wanted for murder? Isn't he over here working at the Homeless Anchor place? He'd give you some advice."

  "You mean HAT, the Homeless Anchor Trust." Father Alban had assisted at their wedding in Clermont-Ferrand in the Auvergne, the old volcanic region in central France where Zoé had been brought up, where Zoé 's mother had been unhappy about the marriage.

  Yes, the young priest should know the right thing to do. "He only lives a mile away, but we haven't seen him lately. I'm always afraid he'll invite me to church, but he never does."

  Matt stopped speaking at the sound of high-heeled shoes running up the wooden stairs to the office. It wasn't Zoé. A dark-haired woman flung the door open and stood glaring, with a small white terrier in her arms.

  "Are you the creeps who've been snooping on me?" she shouted. "I'm gonna prosecute you for an invasion of privacy." She dropped the dog onto the floor. It joined in the noise by barking ferociously.

  Ken scooted his red leather captain's chair behind his desk. "Now hold on a minute." His voice sounded slightly unsteady. "I don't know who you are."

  Matt knew. He'd photographed this woman by the pool yesterday afternoon. Even with clothes on she had a good body. What surprised him was her voice. Blake hadn't said his partner was American. The dog bared its teeth. This looked like a good time to join Ken.

  "Why the hell did you give the film to Edward Blake?" she continued in a slightly calmer voice. "I mean, don't you need some sort of license to spy on people with cameras? I thought the cops had to train you or something."

  Matt was about to say he'd been in the police force, but remained silent. He didn't want his past dragged out. It wasn't his fault he'd had to leave the police in a hurry. Not really.

  "What are you, a pair of perverts?" the woman yelled suddenly, making them both jump. This encouraged the dog to bark again.

  Ken went on the defensive. "Please control that dog. It's tearing at my carpet."

  The American did nothing.

  "I'd have thought it was perfectly obvious why we were there," Ken continued.

  "Well, it isn't obvious to me. Tell me."

  "Your partner went out for the day, and he wanted to know what you were doing in his absence."

  "My partner?"

  Ken shrugged. "We're just doing a job and getting paid for it. It's perfectly legal, but if you've got a problem, go and sort it out with your lawyer."

  "I'll sort it out with my lawyer all right." The woman burst into tears. "You two have no idea what you've done. Blake isn't my partner."

  Ken passed a wad of tissues from the box on his desk and waited while the visitor wiped her face. Then he beckoned to Matt to come with him into the outer office.

  "Excuse us a moment," he said to the woman. He shut the door to his office and turned to Matt. "Is she crazy or am I? You photographed her by the pool yesterday -- yes?"

  "It's her okay, but I'm not sure if she's the woman I saw last night."

  "You said you saw her throwing Blake out of the apartment."

  "I saw someone throwing Blake out. That's all I can say."

  Ken groaned. "So let's start by finding out who she really is."

  They returned to the office. The woman glanced up.

  "If Edward Blake isn't your partner, who is he?" Ken demanded. "Your husband?"

  She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "You two have no idea what a terrible thing you've done."

  Matt noticed that the American had smudged her make-up, making dark streaks of mascara run down her cheeks, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell her.

  Ken scuffed a shoe over the long fibers the dog had ripped from the carpet. "You'd better explain."

  The woman dabbed her eyes with one of the tissues. "Edward Blake's the dean at the Helios Academy, and I teach the violin." She grabbed the remainder of the tissues. "The Academy's the only connection there is between us, you stupid man."

  Ken put on a professional expression. "Sit down," he said, pulling a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. "Maybe we can sort it out now." He flicked the top off his pen. "You'd better tell me your name, Mrs. ... " He paused. "It obviously isn't Mrs. Blake, if you're only partners."

  "Too damn right it isn't." She sounded exhausted. "My name is Shelley Carpenter. Ms. Shelley Carpenter. And we are not partners."

  Matt had seen this sort of charade before. Someone caught in the act, unwilling to admit infidelity. That man isn't my husband, so how can I have been unfaithful to him? Easy enough to say -- and easy enough to check. Maybe Blake was too embarrassed to admit to having a straying wife.

  "Matt," Ken said, rising to the occasion, "you'd better make coffee for the three of us. Drop the catch on the downstairs door. It looks like we're going to be busy."

  The woman opened her purse. "My credit card," she said. "Just in case you still think I'm Mrs. Blake."

  Matt leaned over and read the name on it. Shelley Carpenter. He went into the little kitchen to put the kettle on, making sure the door to Ken's office stayed wide.

  "Do you have some additional identification?" he could hear Ken ask. "Distrust goes with our profession, so I'm afraid we make checks on people. Do you have something showing your address?"

  The woman sighed loudly. "The Helios Music Academy."

  "I need to see it written on something." Ken sounded remarkably calm.

  "Such as?"

  "A driving license?"

  He heard the woman say, "Not on me."

  Matt smiled to himself. She'd obviously not expected that one.

  "I have an envelope. It was mailed to me only yesterday. Will that do?"

  Matt put his head round the door to see the woman digging into her purse. She produced an envelope and Ken glanced at the name and address.

  "Apartment eight. Thank you, Miss Carpenter. All right, you're from the Helios A
cademy. Only we can't be too careful. I don't want to discuss this business with a stranger."

  Matt switched the kettle off. His boss was giving the woman too easy a ride. He went back to Ken's office, intrigued to see what happened next.

  The woman reached forward, retrieved the envelope and pushed it back into her purse. "I hope you believe me now."

  Ken nodded and the little white dog barked again. Ken put out his foot and pushed it away from the patch of carpet where it had started to tear a new hole. "I'm sorry, Miss Carpenter, but Habgood Securities didn't set out to cause you any offence. We were the innocent party in this."

  "No, Mr. Habgood, I was the innocent party. If I wish to swim, that is my affair. And who I choose to do it with is also my affair. It has nothing to do with Edward Blake. Do you understand?"

  Ken nodded.

  "I'm glad. I'm going straight back home to phone my lawyer. Good day." With the white terrier in her arms, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Its shudder reverberated along the walls, rocking the long-dead plant on the tall filing cabinet.

  "Distrust goes with our profession," Matt said, repeating Ken's words when he heard the downstairs door bang shut. "Coffee for two is it?"

  Ken brought his captain's chair back close to the desk and sat with his head resting in his cupped hands. "Plenty of sugar. That woman is mentally unbalanced."

  Matt laughed. "You surely didn't fall for the old name and address on an envelope trick?"

  "I need that coffee." Ken looked up wearily. "And use the jar of instant, not that stuff of yours that takes ages to brew."

  "So what do you reckon she's up to?" Matt called.

  "That's what you've got to find out."

  Matt returned, stirring the contents of a white mug. "You'll enjoy this. The milk's fresh for a change."

  Ken took it. "Okay, kiddo, any ideas?"

  Matt shrugged. "You're a bit late if you want me to follow her. She'll be the other side of town by now."

  Ken took a sniff at his coffee and put the mug down. "I've smelt better."

  Matt guessed that Ken was dithering. Not that his boss was the fastest PI around, but he usually came up with a sensible course of action, probably more by luck than judgment. "You let her off the hook too easily."

  Ken appeared genuinely startled, but said nothing.

  "Okay, Ken, so her name probably is Shelley Carpenter if it's on her bank card, but it only takes two days to get a fake address on an envelope. Anyone can find an address they want to use, preferably a house with multiple occupancy -- like an apartment at a music academy. Mail something to it bearing your name, and call round the next day and explain it was sent there by mistake."

  "And they always hand it to you," Ken added. "Yes, I should have insisted on seeing her driver's license, but why would she be lying?"

  At least his boss had the decency to admit his mistake. Matt shrugged. "I'm not really interested."

  Ken raised finger. No doubt a great idea had come to him. "Is that biscuit tin of yours roadworthy?"

  "My Mini? It's still got four wheels, if that's any help."

  "Drive round to apartment eight at the Helios Music Academy. That's the address she showed me on the envelope. Ring the bell and see who comes to the door."

  "And if it is Shelley Carpenter?"

  "Then we'll know she was telling the truth"

  "Yes, I'd managed to work that out for myself. I meant, what do I say?"

  Ken sipped his coffee and looked up in surprise. "This is better than the usual stuff you make."

  Matt crouched down and poked at the loose threads. "What do I say to her?"

  "Think of something, kiddo. And stop making that hole worse. If the woman sues me, I'll file a claim for a new office carpet."

  "Okay, so I go round. Then what?"

  "Find out that she and Blake are partners, then we can stop worrying." Ken began tapping on the keyboard. "You still here?"

  Matt went to the stairs leading down to the service yard without bothering to drink his coffee. Ken's jar of instant was rubbish anyway. "If my car needs a push I'll let you know," he called over his shoulder.

  "And if Zoé rings I'll tell her you've gone to see a naked lady."

  "I can believe you would."

  "Would I make trouble for you, kiddo?"

  Matt decided not to answer back. All he had to do now was to get his old Mini into action. The orange color disguised the rust, but there was no hiding the age of this British car that was all the rage in the Swinging Sixties. Somehow the color didn't seem so swinging now.

  It started first time.

  *

  AS HE DROVE through the gates of the Academy he braked and looked up at the ugly building. The 1960's architecture hadn't passed the test of time well, neither for condition nor for taste. Concrete slabs and acres of glass seemed to be the limit of the architect's aspirations. The design owed nothing to the past, nor did it contribute anything to the future -- except to serve as a dire warning to the next generation to be more choosy in future. Either the brutalist architect or the miserly client, most probably both, had put belt-tightening far above taste. Already the concrete was streaked with black.

  Was it even worth ringing the bell of number eight? He'd seen Blake being thrown out of there, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that the woman shouting on the doorstep last night was Shelley Carpenter. She was telling porkies in the office when she denied Edward Blake was her partner. She obviously wanted to confuse Ken and deter him from further investigation into her infidelity.

  So Blake thought his partner was putting it about a bit. He was right, she was, and now he had the proof on film. Blake must have moved fast to get it processed overnight. You couldn't take those sorts of pictures to a one-hour lab in the High Street. The staff would call the police. The first few exposures would record the couple in what Ken always delicately referred to as a "compromising position." The next pictures would show the couple coming apart, the man rolling over onto his back to look up in surprise, and then jumping to his feet. Definitely pornographic.

  Maybe Blake hadn't bothered to get the film processed. If he'd already told his partner he'd arranged the photo-shoot, she could hardly deny she was having a bit on the side.

  Matt pulled his cell phone from his belt and rang the office. "Ken, I've cracked it. Edward Blake and Shelley Carpenter definitely are partners."

  "Shelley Carpenter told you this?"

  "No."

  "Edward Blake?"

  "Look, Ken, it's so obvious I'm not bothering to ring the doorbell."

  "Ring it, kiddo."

  Matt looked up at the abysmal Academy. "Shelley Carpenter won't be taking you to court. She and Blake live together. She hasn't got a case against you."

  "Against you. You took the photos."

  "I'm coming back to the office."

  "Not until you've rung that bell."

  "There's no point."

  "Listen, Matt." Ken sounded surprisingly dynamic. "I've been thinking over what the woman said. I'm worried we may have overstepped ourselves in this one."

  At least it was 'we' and not 'you'. "But surely ... "

  "Ring that damn bell, and tell Miss Carpenter we know the details of the situation. And tell her I do not want her calling here any more -- with or without her flea-bitten hound. Got it?"

  Matt put his phone away. Maybe he was chicken. Why? In case the woman screamed at him again? In case she set her little white dog on him? He'd encountered worse confrontations in his work for Ken, and even more dangerous ones with the police at Trinity Green. When he was with the police at least he could radio in and get some backup. They wouldn't want to know nowadays, even if he phoned them to say a gang of knife-wielding drunks was attacking him. Leaving the force in a hurry hadn't endeared him to his one-time colleagues. Blowing the whistle on the instructions to drop the drugs case with the MP's son had reverberated right through the ranks, leaving him no place to go but to tender
his resignation rather than face a lengthy inquiry. It was a great life.

  Zoé understood. Thank God Zoé had wanted him. A French nurse, working over here in England at the local hospital, she'd picked him up in the large bookshop in the middle of town two years ago. She denied it now. Said he'd made the first move. That wasn't how he remembered it; but it didn't really matter. They were together now, living on her nurse's salary and the pittance Ken grudgingly paid out every month.

  He wondered what it was like to be personally involved in the matrimonial disputes he investigated. Plenty of men eyed Zoé up and down. At three months her stomach was still flatter than the stomachs of many women not pregnant. Would she ever stray? The thought of Zoé with another man gave him an unexpected arousal. He got quickly out of the rusting Mini -- a not-so-generous gift from one of Ken's cronies for services rendered -- and rang the bell of apartment eight.

  A dog barked in the hall and a few seconds later Shelley Carpenter opened the door. "It's you again." The American woman made it sound more like an accusation than an observation. She scooped the yapping terrier into her arms. "Well?"

  "Ken Habgood wanted me to call."

  "Why?" She sounded hostile, even though the dog wagged its stumpy tail.

  "I'm supposed to check that you live here."

  "The hell you are. I showed your boss my address. Has he got a short memory or something?"

  "We ... he ... wanted to be sure."

  "Does the pervert fancy me?"

  "It's his age," Matt explained. "It does funny things to a man's hormones. He's over fifty, now."

  It was strange how this woman's body did more for his hormones than it probably did for Ken's. Judging by Ken's choice of wife, hormones had never been particularly active in the man's life. He looked Shelley Carpenter quickly down and then up. A close-fitting white cotton top and blue jeans revealed a very feminine outline, with just enough fat to make her body interesting. And he knew what was underneath the clothing. Actually knew. If he took his eyeballs to the photo lab he could get them processed. The image would be sharper and clearer than anything on Blake's film.

  "This is harassment," Shelley Carpenter said, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "I'm seeing a lawyer tomorrow morning."

  Matt kept quiet, unable to think of a suitable retort that couldn't be used against him in court.

  "You can leave now. If I see you here again I'll ... "

  "Set your dog on me?"