Death is the New Black

by Dominic Piper

  I pop my head around Sara’s door. ‘Can we go outside to a café or something?’

  ‘Sounds very mysterious. Of course. If you want.’

  We find a place on the corner of Thayer Street and Wigmore Street. A waitress takes our order and we sit outside. The traffic is busy here and it’s a little too noisy, but that’s OK.

  Sara’s looking a little bit pale. I can tell she has mixed feelings about what happened last night and is still a little shaken. She’s probably also wondering what sort of person I am. She looks very lovely, though, and is wearing a pale brown short skirt and a matching blouse. She doesn’t need makeup, but there’s a dusting of cobalt blue eye shadow, which somehow highlights the unusual colour of her eyes.

  ‘So what happened with him? Who was he? Did he tell you anything?’

  I’d already rehearsed my story on the way here in the cab. ‘It was the same guy who called you a bitch in Heddon Street that time. Your description of him enabled me to spot him straight away.

  ‘He’s a medium range crook. Retired now. Used to rob building societies and all the rest. Said that someone from the old days rang him up and asked him if he’d like to make a bit of easy money. He said yes.

  ‘They sent him the cash, your photograph, where you could probably be found and at what time. Just told him to be aggressive and threatening towards you. It didn’t matter how. He could improvise. He only did it on the two occasions we know about. There was another one that he was going to do, but you didn’t appear so he abandoned it.’

  So far, so good; I almost believe it myself.

  ‘How much did they pay him?’

  ‘Three hundred for each time.’ I don’t know where that figure came from. It just sounds good.

  ‘Wow. I almost feel flattered.’

  The waitress places our coffees on the wobbly table. I can tell by just looking at mine that it’s going to taste awful. Contempt for the punter – found in coffee bars the world over.

  ‘It couldn’t have been him that broke into your flat, by the way. He was too old, too heavy and didn’t strike me as agile enough. That would have been someone else. Presumably they were on a higher rate.’

  ‘And he had no idea who it was that ordered this?’

  ‘None at all, and I believed him.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll do it again?’

  ‘Unlikely.’

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘I’d just like to ask you a couple more questions. I know we went over this before, but I keep wondering about the motivation for all of this. What would happen if these incidents caused you to completely screw up these two shows?’

  She’s sitting opposite me. I have to force myself not to look at her legs, but she suddenly crosses them and they demand my attention. She notices, smiles and flicks her hair back.

  She’s concentrating; thinking about what I’ve just asked. I don’t imagine she considers screwing things up as an option and maybe has no way of articulating the concept.

  ‘I’d be very disappointed.’

  She plays with her hair for a few moments, trying to find the right words.

  ‘I’ve always tried to improve on what I’ve done before. Once I’ve achieved one aim, the next one has to be an even greater challenge or you’re just standing still. Doing just one show would seem an anti-climax once you’ve thought of doing two and I sort of get off on the challenge and the work that would be involved.’

  ‘But what about your reputation as a designer? Would that be damaged? Could you lose your position at Maccanti? Would you have trouble getting another job?’

  ‘The next stage for me is to start my own label. I’m going to need suits for that.’

  ‘Suits?’

  ‘The money people. Investors. Backers. If I did these two shows at the same time and they were a success, it would be like – BANG! – it would make the suits sit up and take notice. I mean really take notice. It would be news. It would be news outside the fashion industry. It would mean a smooth transition to starting my own label. Now that’s not to say that the suits aren’t aware of me as a force right now, but what I’m hoping to do would certainly speed things up and get me better deals. Sometimes you have to whack the industry on the back of the head with a cricket bat.’

  I clasp my fingers together behind my neck and stretch backwards in my chair, staring at the clouds. So this is not career damage, particularly. This is something that would inflict tremendous personal hurt on Sara. It would frustrate her. It would set her back a year or so. I remember what Footballer Dad said:

  She’s just a fucking slut who needed to be brought down a peg or two.

  ‘I asked you before if you had any enemies. There’s nothing at all that you can think of, no matter how trivial, that might have triggered something like this? Someone you criticised in a magazine or on a website. Someone you promised something to and didn’t deliver on. An interview or an appointment you didn’t turn up for.’

  ‘I’m not like that. If there was someone I hurt, I’d have remembered and I’d remember because it would be so unusual for me to have done something like that.’

  ‘Can I see your mobile?’

  She looked baffled for a moment, but rummages in her bag and hands me a very smart Vertu Constellation in orange calf leather. I take it apart and check it for tampering. There’s nothing in it that I can see, so I put it back together again and hand it back to her. I should really do the same with the phones belonging to both MTAs, but that can wait for the moment. If Sara’s hasn’t been physically bugged, it’s unlikely theirs would have been, either. But you never know.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  I may as well be honest with her on this. Keeping her in the dark about everything requires too much memory.

  ‘I was approached by a guy this morning who offered me five thousand pounds to drop this case.’

  Her eyes widen. ‘What?’

  ‘I said no. But whoever this guy was and whoever he worked for, he seemed to be a few steps ahead of me.’

  ‘But how can that be possible?’

  ‘I think that someone has access to the calls made on your mobile and I suspect the same may be true of Isolda and Melody. Maybe Gaige, too. I don’t know who else because I don’t know all of your staff. I’m also considering the fact that your flat and your office may be bugged. That’s why we’re out here and not inside.’

  Her hand goes up to her mouth. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

  ‘That makes two of us. Don’t panic. I may be wrong about the bugging, but I want someone to check your offices and your flat, just to be on the safe side.

  ‘There’s a company called Marton Confidential, which is actually just one guy. He does a bug sweeping service. I’m going to give him a call and get him to check out your flat and your offices immediately.

  ‘It won’t take long and you don’t have to explain to your staff what’s going on. He’s very discreet and will make it look like he’s doing something else. You can tell Isolda: just let her know that he’s coming when you get back to the office.

  ‘Also, I’d like you to courier your two spare keys over to John Kimmons right now and ask if he can let a guy called Doug Teng into your flat. He can supervise him if he wishes. Doug is Chinese. He will have ID.’

  I give Doug a call while Sara orders a motorcycle courier and rings Kimmons. Doug is working his bollocks off as per usual, so I have to sling him an extra five hundred to get him to do this ASAP. By the end of the conversation he’s hailing a cab to get up to St John’s Wood. He’ll probably get there before the keys arrive. There are so many angles I have to check with Sara that they’re beginning to drift out of my mind. Oh yes.

  ‘Isolda mentioned that you had a previous MTA2 you had to let go. Thai something?’

  ‘Thai Hunter. That’s right. There was no bad feeling and she’s doing well at Jigsaw now. It was just the stress of the work she couldn’t cope with. You have to keep a lot of things in yo
ur head. Some people, like Isolda and Melody, have a talent for it, a knack for it, and some do not. I think she was relieved when it finally happened.’

  ‘OK. This lunch you’ve got today…’

  ‘I’m not cancelling.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Listen. I feel much safer with you around, particularly after last night. But I’m not going to go and hide in my shell until all this shit is sorted out. What can happen? Rachelle is lovely and she’s important to the shows I’ll be doing. I really need to see her. Besides, the restaurant is only around the corner and it’s the middle of the day. What could possibly happen?’

  I press my fingers into my eyes and hope that my brain will suddenly allow all of this to fall into place. It doesn’t.

  ‘OK. Let’s go back to your office and have a word with your MTAs, then I’ll allow you to go to lunch.’

  ‘You’re so kind.’

  ‘I’m famous for it.’

  As soon as we get back, Sara removes her keys from the back of The Makioka Sisters book, pops them in an envelope with Kimmons’ name on the front and hands them to the courier, who arrives three minutes later.

  We get Isolda and Melody into Sara’s office and I explain to them about Doug and what he’ll be doing here when he arrives. I tell them that he’ll probably come up with some cover story about who he is and what he’s doing and they must stick to it. This ruse isn’t totally necessary, but I don’t want to create anxiety among the staff unnecessarily, and the fewer people who know what’s going on, the better.

  I take a look at Isolda’s and Melody’s mobiles, but once again, there’s nothing physical inside either of them.

  ‘I can’t see how anyone could have put something in my mobile without me noticing,’ says Melody. Melody Ribeiro is a devastatingly gorgeous black woman with a magenta streak through her hair; fantastic legs, an accent I can’t place and a knowing look in her eyes, which I find faintly unsettling.

  She’s younger than Isolda, maybe twenty-two, and does a quick double take when she notices Isolda slowly lick her lips at me. She smirks to herself for the rest of the meeting.

  ‘It’s just something I wanted to rule out,’ I say to Melody. ‘There’s a possibility that someone is listening in on telephone calls of people close to Sara. If I was doing this, her MTAs would be the people I’d be doing it to.’

  ‘I think we should both get a pay rise, Sara,’ says Melody, grinning. She looks directly at me and allows her eyes to slowly and slyly slide in Isolda’s direction. She’s enjoying this.

  Isolda and Melody leave the office. Melody purses her lips and winks at me on her way out. She has a great mouth. I consider calling her when all of this is over.

  Sarah slumps back in her seat and sighs.

  ‘Is it still only the morning?’

  ‘What time is your lunch date, Sara?’

  ‘I was going to walk over there now.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘There’s no need. Really.’

  ‘I’m not going to come in the restaurant with you.’

  ‘You’ll want to if you catch sight of Rachelle.’

  ‘Oh really? Tell me more.’

  She laughs, grabs her jacket and bag and we head down the stairs and out to the street.

  *

  As we walk through Manchester Square towards Fitzhardinge Street I have both hands in my pockets and Sara snakes her arm through mine. We stroll along in the midday sunshine as if we’re an item and it’s not an unpleasant feeling.

  I don’t know whether she’s doing this because she’s friendly or whether it’s because she feels safer. Whatever it is, the effect is the same for me; I feel rather light-headed as I always do when I have attractive females in close proximity.

  She wears the same sweet, flowery perfume that she did when we first met and I slowly inhale it to add to the light intoxication that I’m feeling.

  ‘What did you think of Melody?’

  ‘Very, very attractive. Beautiful, stunning features, great mouth, fantastic legs. Liked the hair, too. Very sexy walk. Sensual, aggressive and passionate nature and very likely sexually dominant.’

  She looks up at me and smiles. ‘That’s pretty detailed for such a short encounter. Is that a detective thing or is it just you?’

  ‘I think it might be just me.’

  ‘How would you describe me in those sorts of terms?’

  ‘I wouldn’t. You’re one of my clients. It would be inappropriate and unprofessional.’

  ‘But say I wasn’t one of your clients.’

  ‘But you are.’

  ‘But say I wasn’t. Come on, Daniel. I’m paying you. I insist.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you won’t be offended?’

  ‘No.’

  Oh well. Here goes.

  ‘Strikingly beautiful, amazing eyes, sexy mouth, dazzling smile. A lissom, athletic, tantalising and sensual figure. A provocative and seductive walk. Passionate but more submissive than dominant.’

  She looks up at me, her eyes widening. ‘Wow. No one’s ever sweet-talked me like that before.’

  This makes me laugh. ‘I’m a silver-tongued devil.’

  We walk along in silence for a while, then turn into Baker Street.

  ‘Is my walk really provocative and seductive?’ she says, looking straight ahead.

  ‘Yes. I noticed it straight away. I’m not saying it’s an intentional thing on your part. It’s just the way it is. Don’t get big-headed.’

  ‘Hm. And can you explain passionate but more submissive than dominant, sir?’

  She said ‘sir’. She’s ribbing me.

  ‘Just intuition on my part. I can pick things like that up off people. It’s nothing personal. Just a comment. Just conjecture. An impression. Don’t expect a collaring just yet.’

  She tosses her head back and laughs. ‘You’re so funny. I like you.’

  ‘Don’t get too fond of me, baby. I’m a dangerous guy to be around.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the broads.’

  ‘Only the ones with tantalising and sensual figures.’

  We walk along Baker Street for a few hundred yards, heading north, until we’re almost at Dorset Street.

  ‘We have to cross over here,’ she says. ‘The restaurant’s on the other side.’

  Baker Street is one-way with three lanes of fast traffic aimed at unwary pedestrians who don’t want to wait for any of the lights to change. We manage to dash across with only a couple of near misses to our credit.

  When we reach the other side, I put a hand around her waist to help her up onto the pavement, but end up pulling her towards me. She places a hand on my shoulder. We have a brief moment of eye contact, then we’re kissing, her mouth hard on mine, her body pressed tightly against me.

  She places her arms around my neck and I hold her waist firmly, keeping her in place. I hear her bag drop to the floor. She pulls away, looks at me briefly and we start again with even more ferocity. I know this is unprofessional of me, but that’s part of what’s making it exciting.

  She pulls away again, panting. She runs a hand through her hair. I grab her wrist, bending it to the right, and then hold the side of her neck, keeping her away from me, controlling her, as her open mouth greedily attempts to reach mine once more. I let the tension escalate for five excruciating seconds then release her, her kisses now urgent and impassioned.

  She stops and looks downwards.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasps. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve just – it’s just all of this has – I don’t know. I wanted you to stop me but I knew you wouldn’t. Does that make sense?’

  She puts her arms around me once more and holds on tightly. I stroke her hair. Her lipstick is a mess. It’s busy here. Passers-by smile and stare. I’m aware of the traffic noise once more.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She looks up at me and I run the back of my hand down her
cheek. ‘You’re going to have to sort your makeup out before you meet your friend. It looks like you’ve been snogging.’

  She picks her bag up, fishes out a small silver compact mirror and reapplies her lipstick. I hold the mirror up for her so she can brush her hair. About a hundred and fifty yards away I can see a tall blonde woman in a bright red coat who’s ostentatiously waving at us. This must be Rachelle. I point her out to Sara who waves back.

  ‘Go on. Have a nice lunch. I’ll be in touch later today.’

  She takes a few quick steps towards me and kisses me on the cheek, turning away quickly and making her way up the road, exaggerating her provocative and seductive walk for my benefit. She looks over her shoulder at me and sticks her tongue out.

  I watch her wiggle up the road for about five seconds, then head down towards Wigmore Street. It’s a little early, but I’ll probably just pop in the Wagamama for a bite to eat. I’ll have to have a think about what to do next, then I’ve got Mrs Doroteia Vasconselos at around three in Fortnum’s.

  It’s terrible, but I’ve actually forgotten what she looks like, even though it was only about fifteen hours ago that we met. She had a lot of eye makeup on and a yummy mouth, but I can’t quite bring her features into focus. I’m sure I’ll recognise her when the time comes, though; at least I hope I do.

  My mobile goes off. It’s Doug Teng.

  ‘Mr Beckett?’

  ‘So what did you find?’

  ‘Oh yeah. Very amusing. I’ve only just got inside. Any special instructions?’

  ‘No, but make sure you check every room. When you get to Maccanti, ask for Isolda Jennison.’

  ‘Okeydoke.’

  ‘It’s possible this woman is having her telephone calls listened to: possibly her colleagues as well. I couldn’t find any physical evidence of this, but I need to rule out conventional bugging for my own peace of mind.’

  ‘I’ll do a scan for frequency interceptors at both sites.’

  ‘OK. Good idea.’

  ‘Speak later.’

  I’m just clicking my mobile off and staring at a couple of girls on the other side of the road when I hear a screeching of tyres and a multiple car horn cacophony that makes me turn around to see where the accident is.