Death is the New Black

by Dominic Piper

  But she’d have to make the connection between Sara and Isolda. She’d have to discover that Sara’s original surname was MacQuoid. Then she’d have to make the MacQuoid/Jennison connection. Only then could the blame be laid at Jennison’s door.

  But Olivia Bream is the wrong generation. The sort of police officer who would be familiar with The Legend of Tommy Jennison would be retired by now. The trail, in effect, would end at the point that Eve Cook dropped us off at Exeter Street. Is that right? My thought processes are still foggy.

  I try to remember how I got here in the first place. How I made the link with Isolda. It was pure chance. I just happened to get a lead that took me to Dolly’s. While I was there, Black Suit mentioned Exeter Street when he was on the phone. That was it. That was the lead. Isolda was the only person who knew that Sara was at my place.

  If Black Suit hadn’t rung whoever it was to check up on me, I would never have known about Isolda’s involvement. It was an unrepeatable and fortuitous set of circumstances that the police would never be lucky enough to encounter.

  That makes me the only outsider who knows or could even suspect where Sara is and indubitably puts me in the deepest shit. It also puts Sara in deep shit, of course. I have to get Sara out of this. But how? This is the deepest of deep shit.

  ‘Now I know what you’re thinking,’ smiles Jennison. ‘Age difference of over forty years; it won’t work!’

  He and Shortass have a good old snigger at this.

  My head is spinning. I’m trying to decide whether Jennison is altogether sane. I think he probably is. Sane but twisted; sane but with the morals of a rattlesnake and that’s an insult to rattlesnakes.

  All this makes total sense to him. It’s the way of things. It’s what you do. It’s the rules. He’s conservative and inflexible.

  ‘I don’t know why they built this place,’ says Jennison, looking around as if he’d never been in here before. ‘Just a bit of fun for someone, I think. Isolda used to play here when she was little. As I said, this is where Miss Sara Holt will live. I won’t be having her in the main house. Don’t want Mummy to hear what’ll be going on. It’d be embarrassing.

  ‘It’s totally escape-proof. Had it altered in the Nineties. Just some justice being served, that’s all you need to know. She’ll get used to it. It’s got a bedroom, bathroom, toilet and kitchen. Her dad put me in prison and now she’s going to be in prison. But it’s a nice prison, I think you’ll agree. No slopping out in the morning and conjugal visits whenever me or the boys feel like it. It’s a sweet arrangement.’

  Jennison glances at Shortass, who gives him a matey, obsequious grin. He leans forwards so our faces are six inches apart. I can smell his breath. ‘And now, Mr Beckett, we come to the interesting subject of you.’

  29

  A HOT KNIFE THROUGH BUTTER

  In the last five minutes I’ve noticed that I’m feeling a little better. I’m getting intermittent cold sweats, but the hallucinations seem to have died down, apart from a vague orange glow around Jennison’s face, which may well be the result of too many tanning bed sessions.

  My body still feels like it’s made of lead, but it’s not quite as bad as when I woke up in that room. I’m still feeling symptoms of disassociation, as if my consciousness is trying to leave my body. It’s a bit panic inducing, but deep breathing helps a little.

  I have to assume that Jennison has used this drug on others, so he’ll know the symptoms and he’ll know the signs of recovery. But recovery must be different for each individual; it always is when you’re dealing with downers. I just wish I knew exactly what I’d been given. If I knew that, I could fake it more convincingly. I‘ll just have to improvise and hope for the best.

  I can’t allow Jennison to glimpse even the tiniest improvement. I let my eyes go out of focus. I let my head droop onto my chest. I scratch at my arms. I lick my lips. I make my breathing shallow. I make my breathing deep. I allow expressions of bafflement and/or confusion to pass across my features. It may work, it may not.

  ‘I realise that this was just a job for you, Mr Beckett. I imagine you were pretty suspicious when you first took it on. It must have seemed like Holt was making it all up and that was part of the point, yeah?

  ‘I know that it was Isolda who suggested to her that she get a bodyguard and that led to her hiring you. Bit of a pain, but what could we do?

  ‘When you got here Isolda asked me not to hurt you and she asked me not to kill you. I’m sorry she’s not around at the moment, by the way. I think she was a little surprised it all went this way, but she’s only got herself to blame. I don’t think she really felt comfortable seeing you or Miss Holt. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t want to embarrass her by letting her see me like this.’

  ‘I’ll do anything for her; she knows that she can twist me around her little finger. But even though I love her, I can’t have her telling me who to kill and who not to kill and who to hurt and who not to hurt. This is business and she’s just a woman.

  ‘I told her we’d just give you an injection of that stuff. Give you a bit of a scare, pay you off and then send you packing. Of course you and I know that isn’t what’s going to happen, don’t we, Mr Beckett. We’re men of the world. We both understand the reality of situations like this where a mere girl like Isolda certainly doesn’t.’

  His eyes narrow menacingly. ‘I’ve also got a pretty good idea why she’s so concerned about you. But that’s her business. She’s a grown woman. She can do what she likes.

  ‘But I’m not going to kill you yet. I want to know what the hell’s been going on with you and my boys and I want to know who knows about all of this apart from you. Like I said earlier, you somehow found Dolly’s and I want to know how that happened.

  ‘This has got out of control. I have to keep my nose clean, you get me? I can’t have stuff like this happening. I can’t be investigated. I can’t have loose ends like you hanging about. It’s like in a film: you know too much.’

  I nod my head like this is some sort of business meeting, which he probably thinks it is.

  I’d like to have met his wife. I’d like to see a photograph of her, at least. It must be Yazmine that Isolda takes after. I can’t see any of her in old Tommy at all. I wonder where Isolda is? I wonder if Yazmine had a knockout figure like Isolda? If she did, she was too good for Tommy. Yazmine. Such a lovely name. Must be a variant of Jasmine.

  ‘You see, Mr Beckett, if it was just you turning up as a meddlesome private investigator and sticking your nose where it wasn’t wanted, I could probably have made a deal with you.

  ‘We tried that already, as you know. We tried to give you five grand to disappear before we snatched Miss Holt. You turned it down, I don’t know why; maybe you don’t need the money. Can I ask you how much you charge? Just out of interest?’

  ‘A thousand a day plus non-negotiable expenses.’ I’m amazed I can remember. Jennison and Shortass have a little schoolboy snigger together. I’ve no doubt that money like that is peanuts to them both, big time bastards that they are.

  ‘Maybe you turned it down because of some sense of duty you have to your client. I can understand that. I like integrity. Maybe you fancied her. Maybe you thought you might get to sleep with her, but it’s me that’s going to be doing that! It’s me that’s going to be having the time of my fucking life with her!’

  He and Shortass have another snigger session. It takes them a minute or so to recover.

  ‘But anyway, what I’m saying is if it was just a matter of making you go away and forgetting all of this I think we could have been talking business. I would have been prepared to offer you something in the region of twenty grand to just lose yourself. Would that have been enough for a man like you? Or would it have to have been more? I’ll be honest with you; I can’t tell. I can’t work you out.’

  ‘I’m too enigmatic for you.’

  ‘But this is all irrelevant. It’s too late now. You’re going
to have to go,’ he continues. ‘Because apart from the fact you know too much, you also ripped through some of my best boys like a hot knife through butter. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s almost admirable.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘In my book, that gets the death penalty. If I could kill you twice, I would, and I’d take great pleasure in doing it.

  ‘Those two boys who took Miss Holt from Baker Street in the Explorer out there. Jake Merriman was one of my up-and-coming lads. He’s a fucking kickboxing champion. Has been for seven years. He said that you took on him and Robbie Hyland like it was nothing. He said you almost snapped Robbie’s arm off at the elbow.’

  For a moment, I don’t know who he’s talking about, then I remember. This is Blue Suit and Blond Hair.

  ‘And Robbie’s dead. Well, you know that. You saw him.’

  I shrug. ‘You should have got him faster medical treatment.’

  ‘And Jake is in intensive care. He’s severely concussed. They think he might have brain damage. His jaw is broken. His nose and forehead is smashed so bad that he’s going to have to have plastic bloody surgery when he comes round, if he comes round. Five of his teeth snapped off, as well.’

  ‘So much for kickboxing, then.’

  ‘And then there’s Colin who had the misfortune to run into you at Dolly’s. The one you shoved in the car boot. He’s in the Royal Free Hospital. Timmy here spoke to one of the doctors. One of the worst shoulder dislocations she’d ever seen. Ripped ligaments, ruptured tendons, torn muscles, nerve damage, severed blood vessels; the fucking works. Probably never be able to use that arm properly again. They said he was delirious with it.’

  He glares at me like this is all my fault or something. People are always looking to put the blame onto someone else. I can see Shortass looking at me in a strange way. I’m afraid it may all be coming back to him.

  ‘And then,’ continues Jennison, ‘we have the mystery of what happened to Jackie Heath. That was Colin’s uncle, did you know that? What’s more, he was one of my oldest friends.’

  ‘You have friends?’

  I don’t think that Black Suit/Colin was well enough to repeat what I’d told him about Footballer Dad. If he had, Jennison would be a lot angrier than he is.

  ‘Jackie Heath goes out to lay a bit of hassle on Miss Holt – some poncy fashion thing off Piccadilly – and no one’s heard from him since. Now I don’t care if that name means nothing to you, but I reckon you were behind that as well. Where is he? What happened to him?’

  I can’t be bothered to lie and I want to see what happens when I tell him. I want him to know. I want to hurt him.

  ‘He’s dead. You put him in a situation that he simply wasn’t up to handling. I didn’t kill him. He just died. Heart attack probably. I was questioning him at the time.’

  ‘Questioning him? You mean torturing him?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess you could say that, but I hadn’t really started. Not properly.’

  I wish I could shut up. It takes five or six seconds of goggle-eyed incredulity for this bombshell to sink in, then Jennison gets up and slaps me around for a bit. He goes a bit berserk, really. He grabs my hair. He punches me again and again. I can’t do much against this, but I keep turning my head to the side so he doesn’t break my nose. Vanity will be the death of me.

  He shoves me back into the chair. He’s getting pissed that I’m being so unresponsive. I’m sure I’ll have many marks and bruises on my face and neck from this, but it doesn’t really hurt that much. I’m lucky that there’s little real strength in his withered arm. He has a good left hook, though. I spit into my hand. There’s quite a bit of blood in my saliva.

  He sits back down on the sofa, drops his head into his hands and sobs. I feel so guilty now.

  ‘Oh no. Oh God. Not Jackie. Oh fuck. Oh, Jackie, mate. Oh, Jackie. I’ll tell Nancy for you, mate. I’ll tell her, I’ll tell her. I’ll look after her.’ He looks up at me. His eyes are dead. ‘You are not going to believe what’s going to happen to you, Beckett. I’m going to make it last a long, long time.’

  ‘Just make sure you sterilise the six-inch nails. I wouldn’t want to get an infection.’

  Suddenly, Shortass’s eyes widen. He’s so angry he can barely speak. He points a finger at me.

  ‘You! It was you!’

  He launches himself at me and once again I try to protect myself against another volley of punches and kicks. This is awful and painful, but the adrenalin it’s producing is helping to wake me up. Jennison looks amazed; he doesn’t understand what the problem is.

  ‘Timmy! What the hell’s the matter with you?’

  After another dozen or so blows to my head, Shortass pulls away and stands up straight, angrily nose breathing and vibrating with rage. He points at me once more.

  ‘This guy. This is the guy that did this to my face. He took me by surprise. Right out of the blue it was. Just attacked me. No reason. Just after I’d had lunch with Isolda the other day. Got me down on the pavement. I didn’t do nothing to him. He ripped my suit. I only just realised it was him.’

  ‘You forgot to mention the four girls who kicked the shit out of you. Shortass.’

  ‘What?’ says Jennison. ‘What’s this? What girls?’

  ‘I don’t know what he’s talking about, boss. He’s crazy.’

  Jennison looks incredulous and vibrates with rage. ‘So, what, over a two day period, you’ve either seriously assaulted or killed five of my boys? Is that what I’m hearing here? Jesus Christ Almighty. And on top of that, you’ve been banging my fucking daughter! What – what the fuck sort of person are you, Beckett? Are you a fucking psychopath?’

  Five? Is it really five? Footballer Dad, Blond Hair, Blue Suit, Black Suit and Shortass here. Yeah. It really is five. I can taste blood in my mouth.

  ‘You’re criminals,’ I say. ‘You’re involved in bad stuff. It’s a high-risk occupation. You’re putting people into unpredictable and dangerous situations all of the time. You’re bound to get casualties. You and your guys are just not as good as you think you are. You’re too dim.’

  Jennison and Shortass stare in disbelief. Shortass’s mouth is hanging open. His teeth are worse than I first thought. How could Isolda ever kiss this guy? Maybe they don’t kiss. Has no one spoken to either of these two like this before? Has the risk element in what they do never occurred to them? Are they more stupid than I think they are? I pretend to have difficulty keeping my eyes open. I take a deep, laboured breath.

  Jennison laughs, but it’s loaded with bitterness and loathing. His breathing is ragged. I’m hoping he’ll have a heart attack.

  ‘God give me strength. Under other circumstances I might have offered you a job, Beckett. You’ve got balls even if you haven’t got a brain.’ He scratches his head. I’m worried about his wig.

  ‘You’re a major fucking pain, Sonny Jim. And now I’m going to have to go to all the trouble of finding a way of getting rid of you so Isolda doesn’t realise what’s happened. I hate having to lie to her and do stuff behind her back, but sometimes it’s the only way.’

  ‘I fully understand.’

  ‘Where’s Jackie’s body? What did you do with him? What happened to him?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  Shortass sees his chance to hit me again and attempts to grab it. ‘Let me have a word with him, boss. I’ll find out what he’s done with poor old Jackie.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Beckett?’ says Jennison. ‘Would you like Timmy to have a little word or two with you?’

  ‘Do you think his vocabulary would be up to it?’

  Before Jennison can think of a good repost or violent attack, his mobile goes off. I’m interested to note that his ring tone is Surfin’ Bird by The Trashmen.

  ‘What the fuck is it? What? Where? Is he alive? What’s his name? OK. Bring him up to the house. I’ll be over there in a minute.’

  He clicks off and gives me a long, hard stare. ‘Looks like the cavalry was arriving
for you, Beckett. Too bad it didn’t work.’ He nods at Shortass. ‘See if he’s got a wallet.’

  Shortass gives me an unnecessarily rough shakedown, finds my wallet in my back pocket and hands it to Jennison, who pulls everything out of it, chucking everything on the floor until he finds what he’s looking for. He nods his head with some satisfaction.

  ‘I knew it. I fucking knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to do all of this on your own.’

  I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  30

  HE’S NOT WITH ME

  The three of us leave Sara’s new pad and crunch across the gravel back to the main house, Shortass still grabbing my arm. I fake a couple of stumbles on the way back, and have a genuine vomit just before we get to the front door. I don’t know what’s going on.

  I’m pushed back into the living room. Jennison’s mother is where we left her, but now she’s leaning over an apparently unconscious Sara, and is carefully combing her hair. It’s a creepy sight. Her breathing sounds laboured. I can hear a hissing sound coming from one of her oxygen cylinders, if oxygen is what’s in there. It would be better if it was carbon monoxide.

  Over by the window is Wide Chest, looking really pleased with himself, his piggy eyes wrinkling at the edges. At his feet is an unconscious male figure. Once glance at the red hair tells me who it is: Peter Dixon, private detective, matrimonial cases, corporate fraud and technical counter measures. There is red blood in the red hair.

  I remember that his business card was still in my wallet. Now Jennison has got a link between us, no matter how tenuous. This may not be good news for Mr Peter Dixon. It may not be good news for me.

  My feelings about his circumstances are ambivalent. Whoever tasked him with trailing me made a big mistake, but they couldn’t have foreseen this outcome. If anything happens to him, his employers are going to think that I’m responsible. That may be to my advantage, it may not. This is not the first time that I’ve felt that a person or persons unknown are keeping an eye on me and I don’t like it.