by Linda Coles
“Good to meet you, Alistair. Thanks for coming out at such short notice.”
The two men sat down on deeply tinted wooden bar stools, the seats themselves were covered in matching soft leather.
The big man carried on. “Divorce can be a real bitch. I should know; I married her,” he said, and threw his head back, laughing at his own joke.
Alister followed suit to be polite, though not as raucously. Yes, divorce could be a bitch; he’d heard the joke many times before and everyone always thought it was themselves delivering the line first. So as not to appear rude, he always chuckled along with it.
“And that’s why you called me,” Alistair said confidently, avoiding commenting further on ‘bitch.’ He leaned in and asked, “Do you want to talk here or do you want to walk out on the patio? Walls have ears sometimes.”
Understanding what Alistair was implying, the big man nodded his approval and picked up his tumbler by way of agreement.
“Let’s get you a drink and we’ll head out,” he said, catching the bartender’s eye and raising his glass and two fingers. It seemed Alistair didn’t get a say in what he was about to drink. The men slowly made their way to the door and out onto the patio that overlooked the green expanse of immaculately mown lawn. There were tiny flags dotted about, but they were perfectly still, as there was no breeze. The bartender would find them outside.
When he was confident there was no one close enough to eavesdrop, Alistair was keen to take the lead. “I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Jamieson,” he began, “that this could get messy, like most LA divorces invariably do. You’re just as famous as she is, so we need to keep this under wraps as much as possible and get it settled as quickly as possible. Do you know who her lawyer is yet, who she’s appointed?”
“Yes, I do, but that’s not why I called you.” Jamieson took the last mouthful from his original tumbler and placed it on the low wall nearby. Alistair waited a beat while the man composed what he was about to say next. It was obvious from his face it was going to be a little out of the ordinary.
“I’m looking for a different solution, actually,” Jamieson said casually, “one that will save me a hell of a lot of money in the long run.” The man’s pale blue eyes bored into Alistair’s as though he was trying to read the inside of his head. Alistair felt the pinpricks again, or did he imagine it?
“I’m not entirely sure I follow,” said Alistair. The bartender interrupted his train of thought by delivering two fresh tumblers of clear liquid; each man took one. The interruption gave him something to do while he thought. He took a sip; the heat from the alcohol both warmed and refreshed his throat.
“I believe your partner Philip has just had a quick trip to the UK, to a funeral I believe.”
Something passed over Alistair and it didn’t feel good. “He did, yes. Someone from his old school days, I believe.”
The big man smiled in a way that said ‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ and added, “A rather sudden death, though, I’d heard. Such a shame when death occurs unexpectedly.”
Alistair knew exactly what the big man was insinuating, and it turned his stomach. They weren’t in the market for taking care of other people’s problems.
“I think you have the wrong man, Mr. Jamieson. I’m a divorce lawyer, nothing more.”
“Oh, I think I have the right man, Mr. Crowley. The question is, how much do you want my business? And since I already know the answer to that question, I’d say quite a lot.” The big man raised his tumbler at Alistair as if to say cheers, a sinister half smile on his lips that made him look like a cartoon character.
Alistair fought to keep his face neutral: How the hell could this man in front of him possibly know about Philip’s trip to the UK and the state of their finances? He needed to get out of this whatever this was, fast. He put his tumbler down on the wall next to the other empty glass and said, “I think you’ll need to find somebody else. Thank you for the drink.” He turned and proceeded to walk away, hoping Jamieson didn’t call him back. That could get embarrassing.
Alistair didn’t look back as he left the patio and marched back through into the bar. He caught the eye of one of the four men who had been previously stood with his prospective client. Neither smiled, but the man’s eyes followed Alistair. For a split second, he wondered if the man knew about the conversation he’d just had. He picked up his pace and strode straight out the front entrance towards the car park, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. When he was safely out of the building, he turned around to make sure nobody had followed him, then slowed his pace as he approached his vehicle. The experience had been surreal. And frightening.
If one man knew exactly why Philip had been to the UK, then others probably did too.
Chapter Thirty-Three
For the second time that day, Philip said, “Come again?”
“It’s a worry, isn’t it? The fact that he knows why you went to the UK. I mean, what are the chances that he would know? How could he have known?”
Alistair had eventually called Philip from his car on the way back from the golf course. There was little point in going back to the office, so he was headed straight home. But he felt he needed to fill Philip in; Philip was his partner, after all. He was stuck in the afternoon traffic now with everyone else in LA going home after work; it was going to be a long journey home. The airwaves between them went quiet while both men thought about their predicament. A car horn blared in one of the lanes nearby. Alistair was itching to get back to his apartment, get out of his work clothes and crack open a cold beer. He needed time to think; he needed time to go over what had happened back in the bar. As someone cut in front of him, slipping into a gap that you’d have been hard-pushed to manoeuvre a scooter into, Alistair put his own hand on his own horn and screamed at the open-topped sports car now directly in front of him. Philip caught the outburst over the car’s speakers.
“Heavens, Alistair!” Philip said, just as loudly as Alistair had cursed.
“I’m not in the mood for pricks, and since a prick has just pulled in front of me when there wasn’t a gap, I want to rip his head off and shove it up his…”
“I get the picture, but ranting at the dickhead isn’t going to get you very far. What are your plans for this evening?” he said, changing the subject.
“I’m getting pissed first off, then I’ll see after that. Why? What are you doing?”
“I kind of have a date, but I think this is a whole lot more urgent than me getting laid. I propose I come over to your place, bring a couple of beers, maybe a pizza, and we try and figure out what to do next. For all we know, someone could be listening to this conversation.”
“You think it’s that serious?”
“Well, if somebody found out why I went to London, I can’t think how they would have done that unless they’d overheard a conversation. Only you, me and Carmel knew I was even going, never mind why I was going. That only leaves you and me, and I didn’t tell anybody else. Did you?”
“I’m not even going to answer that—of course I didn’t.”
“You just did answer that.” Philip chuckled, trying to lighten his friend’s mood.
“You know I didn’t tell anyone. No story to tell.”
Now that the idea that someone could be listening had been planted in their minds, both men suddenly became careful with their words.
Alistair continued, “You bring the beers, and I will order pizza when you get here. But I warn you now—looking at this traffic, I could be a while yet. The place is jammed.”
“Well, I’ll see you when I see you, then.” Philip hung up, leaving Alistair to slowly chug along with the rest of Los Angeles.
Philip was sure nobody had known anything about that trip, never mind what he had been going to do when he got there, and it puzzled him how a well-known movie mogul would have had that snippet of information in the first place. And even more importantly, why he’d have the information. It didn’t make any sense at all. All thoughts of a
nice payday from a juicy celebrity divorce had flown out the window. Now, the only way they were going to get a payday off this gig was if they…
What, exactly?
They weren’t hit men. They weren’t contract killers—they were divorce lawyers. While not everyone liked divorce lawyers, they were certainly several rungs higher up than the aforementioned on the ladder of life’s occupations. Now, not only did they need to drum up more business, but they had the added stress of someone knowing their little secret. How could Philip and Alistair trust what Jamieson had on them, to keep it to himself, to keep quiet? They couldn’t. And just like in the movies—probably one of the man’s own movies, Philip thought, groaning inwardly—that would mean being in his pocket for life. It was like a scene out of The Godfather. Philip wasn’t prepared to go there, and he knew Alistair would feel the same.
But they couldn’t get rid of the problem that easily; the genie was out of the bottle. As Philip approached his apartment, he wondered who they might be able to talk to without letting that person in on exactly what had happened on his trip to the UK. Not many people would understand that sometimes taking a life was actually an okay thing to do.
Not even a priest would understand that one.
Philip slipped the key into the lock and opened his front door. Immediately, a tingle ran up his spine; something didn’t feel right. Instinctively, he turned around and scanned the walkways, looking for someone watching him. But at this time of day, the immediate outside area was a hive of activity, with dog walkers and runners and everyone in between. Was he being paranoid? Maybe, especially since that conversation about possibly being overheard. Satisfied there was no one obvious loitering nearby, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, slamming it harder than he meant to. The noise rattled around the lounge and vibrated his nerves just a little more. His senses fired again. There was a definite feel to his place, and it felt out of sorts.
He wanted to go for a run. But he’d just agreed to have a beer with Alistair, and they needed to talk. There would be time for a run later. Dropping his keys on the table, he went through to his bedroom and got changed anyway. Just getting out of his work clothes felt better, and he slipped on his running gear so he could be ready to go after his meeting with Alistair. It was while he was hanging his trousers up that he noticed something out of the ordinary. Something had been moved. The alarm clock was just a little out of place. He scanned the room. The blinds had very definitely been moved. He didn’t say a word out loud, but walked through to the bathroom, then the kitchen and then back to the lounge, his eyes covering every surface to see what else was out of place. Since Philip was an exceptionally tidy individual to the point of being OCD, he appreciated and expected things to be and stay just so. But he found more anomalies. The fruit bowl’s contents were stacked out of order, the TV remote control had been moved slightly on the coffee table and the basil plant on the kitchen windowsill wasn’t perfectly dead centre.
Someone had very definitely been inside his apartment.
Moving things.
Looking for something.
He grabbed some change and his door key and headed out. There was no point meeting Alistair at his place now. They needed a different location.
There were still plenty of payphones dotted around, and Philip found one nearby and fed in the relevant change. A homeless man sat in the sand nearby, two empty beer cans by his side. He smiled a toothless grin. Philip dialled Alistair’s number and was wondering if he would pick up when his phone flashed: no caller ID. Alistair would let it go to voice mail, no doubt. Finally, Alistair picked up. Philip dove straight in.
“Change of plan: I’ll meet you at Muscle Beach. I’m going for a run first, so I’ll meet you there at seven.” Philip blurted the words out in a rush, hoping Alistair wouldn’t ask any questions. If he wondered why he was being called from something other than Philip’s mobile phone, he never asked. But Alistair was a smart man and didn’t question it.
“Roger that,” he said brightly. “I’ll see you later.” He hung up.
As Philip left the phone booth, he wondered if anyone had seen him make the call. It felt ridiculous, but since things didn’t move around his apartment on their own, perhaps it wasn’t. He made a note to look around when he met Alistair later and see if he noticed anybody that he’d already seen once today; he’d wouldn’t be surprised. He tossed the remaining change to the man with most of his front teeth missing.
Joining in with a small group of runners as they passed by, he hung on the back and matched their stride, settling in to try and enjoy his run.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chrissy was tempted to call in at her mother’s on the way home. If Julie was right, and those diaries had been burned, there wouldn’t be an awful lot left to find, possibly rendering the whole exercise a waste of time. Again, she hoped that burning rubbish wasn’t high on her mother’s agenda.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone ringing; glancing at her console, she noted it was Adam. He often called throughout the day, just for a chat when he had five minutes, but since it was later on in the afternoon he was probably home already. She clicked select on her steering wheel and waited for his voice to fill the car. She loved the sound of it and could listen to him all day without getting bored.
“Hey, you still working?” he asked.
“Nearly home, gorgeous. A bit longer day than I expected. The boys home?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not home myself yet. I was just ringing to tell you I am going to be late and not to worry. I’ll get a bite to eat in town while I’m out, unless you have something planned, of course, that I’m not aware of?”
“Well, I did say I’d cook …”
“Ah. Forgot.”
“Don’t be silly. You go and enjoy yourself. I’ll take the boys, go get burgers. I’ll be home in five anyway.”
“Right. I should be back by nine at the latest. I’ve got an early start in the morning, so you enjoy yourselves and I’ll see you later.” Chrissy smiled at the windscreen as if Adam could see her and clicked ‘end’ on her steering wheel. She’d not been grocery shopping anyway, so not having to cook dinner was an added bonus. While she wasn’t far away from home, she was further out than five minutes, though that didn’t matter because Adam wasn’t home to see her arrive. She glanced more closely at her surroundings and did a double-take. Weirdly, without her realising it, while she been driving along and chatting, she’d absentmindedly steered towards her mother’s place.
“I guess that’s fate. Obviously, I’m meant to go to Mum’s,” she said when she’d realised her mistake. Or was it a mistake? It was a worry that it had happened while driving her car, almost like she’d been on autopilot. No wonder accidents happened, she thought ruefully.
She turned her attention more closely to the road and wondered what her excuse she would give her mother about why she was calling; she had seen her mother more in recent days and she had in recent months and weeks. But funerals did that to people, she knew; you saw more of some than others.
“Anyway, she might not even be in,” Chrissy said to herself.
Ten minutes later she pulled up in front of the familiar house. For a moment she sat in the car, looking up at the door, thinking of her father. She missed him; not that they’d been particularly close, but when something was gone forever you often craved it more than when it had been readily available. She knew that at some time in the future she’d need her dad’s advice, and he was no longer around to give it. The thought filled her with a fresh wave of sadness.
“Come on, then, Chrissy,” she said encouragingly, trying to snap herself out of her maudlin mood. “Let’s go see if she’s still got them.” She climbed out of the car and headed to the front door, but before she reached the top, her mother, small and frail as she was, seemed to fill the doorway. She had a tight smile on her face, but that was nothing new. Sandra Baker had never appeared to be a jovial spirit.
“Hi, Mu
m,” Chrissy said chirpily, feeling like she was putting it on, which in fact she was. She watched her mother’s wrinkled face for signs of her mood.
Tyson or frail?
“Hello, darling. I wasn’t expecting to see you this afternoon. What a pleasant surprise.” If she was surprised or it was indeed pleasant, she certainly didn’t sound or look like it. It was more like she was saying it by rote. Her mother was also on autopilot, it seemed. But there was no sense in saying anything about it, so she let it lie. After all these years, her mother was certainly not going to change now.
“I thought I’d just drop by and see how you’re doing. I wasn’t far away.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, and as she reached in to give her mother a light hug, she hoped her actions were a bit more convincing than her mother’s had just been. Her mother opened the door wider and Chrissy stepped inside and headed down the hallway towards the back of the house. In her head, Chrissy still wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to get to the subject of the diaries without causing a fracas. Last time the diaries had been mentioned, she had almost been banished from the house; she didn’t fancy a repeat of that.
“I would have thought you’d be home making dinner for Adam by this hour.” Her mother had always had an annoying habit of making Chrissy feel inadequate as a wife and mother. It was as if she always had to get her dig in; she never understood that Chrissy worked for a living.
Well, you used to, anyway.
My investments still provide, don’t they?
Sandra Baker had only ever known running a home and family, and she had never been employed as far as Chrissy could remember. Unfortunately, that meant that she judged everybody by her own standards, and that meant all wives and mothers should perform each and every one of their tasks like she herself had done. Without going out to work. Keeping a job and trying to run a family and home was not acceptable, in Sandra Baker’s book.