Death is the New Black
Page 36
‘There is someone I know who you could go and see. It’s only about five minutes’ walk from your offices. Wimpole Street.’
‘Wimpole Street? Won’t that be terribly expensive? Don’t you have to book months in advance?’
‘Not in this case. She’s an old friend of mine. I’m sure I can persuade her to see you as soon as it’s convenient for you and at a reduced rate. You could pop in for a chat during your lunch hours.’
Aziza will be fuming, particularly at the reduced rate, but she’s sexy when she’s fuming.
‘She’s a charming Egyptian woman. Her speciality is the type of thing you’ve had to deal with. I think you’ll be comfortable with her.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll give her a call tomorrow.’
‘It was the day before yesterday.’
‘What was?’
‘When we had that meeting in the Wallace Collection brasserie.’
God Almighty. Sixty hours ago. No wonder I feel so tired. I’m covered in aches and pains. I need to get a full check-up at some point in the near future. My little finger still throbs painfully and it’s going a dark brown/green colour. I think I fractured it hitting Shortass.
‘I’d like to go to bed now. Can I stay in your bed with you, please?’
‘If you’re sure you’re OK with that.’
‘I just need someone to hold me. I want to feel safe in case I wake up with nightmares. I doubt if either of us has the energy or inclination for anything else. I’m feeling rather delicate. Anyway, you’re still working for me, remember?’
‘Of course. It’s just part of the service. Aftercare.’
We finish our drinks and five minutes later we’re in my bedroom getting undressed. We’re both too tired for our nakedness to bother us. It’s a relief to actually lie down and feel the clean, soft cotton of a quilt against my skin. Sara lies on her side and I lie behind her, my arms naturally sliding around her waist. She’s having difficulty getting comfortable and moves around a lot. It’s very distracting. She turns on her back and looks at me. It’s dark, but I can still make out the amber of her eyes. I run my hand gently down the side of her body and hear the tiniest of gasps.
‘Actually,’ she whispers, ‘I’m not feeling that delicate.’
35
A DRIVE IN THE COUNTRYSIDE
By the time I’m heading towards Alaska Street the following day, it’s close to lunchtime and I’m starting to feel hungry. Before I do anything about that, I have a little matter to attend to.
It’s not especially warm, but it’s a bright day and I can feel the sun on my face as I walk across the road from Waterloo Station and past The Wellington pub. As I walk down Alaska Street and turn the corner into Brad Street I can see Mr Ralph Blake, my eighty-something Italian car freak lock-up neighbour. I knew there’d be a good chance that he’d be around, though to be honest I was hoping that he wouldn’t be.
He smiles and raises his hand when he sees me. ‘Good morning, Mr O’Shaughnessy! Taking her out for a spin?’
‘I thought I might put her through her paces in the countryside. Seems like it’s going to be quite a nice day. How are you?’
‘Fine, fine.’
He’s attempting to get some greasy black muck off his hands with a red and white checked tea towel and not succeeding. He’s wearing worn-out brown corduroy trousers, fluorescent yellow trainers and a white Nicki Minaj t-shirt, featuring the singer posing in what looks like a bikini with Pollock-style coloured paint splashes behind her. He sees I’m looking at it.
‘My great-grandson got me this for Christmas a few years ago. Look at her, will you? That’s what a woman’s body should be like, not these stick-thin things you see everywhere wearing men’s clothing. Great big full breasts, flat stomach, wide hips and a bloody big arse. That’s what a real man wants, eh?’
I laugh. ‘I can’t argue with that.’
He looks at my face with concern. I have the beginnings of an impressive-looking black eye, almost certainly from Shortass’s efforts last night or whenever it was. The rest of my face is dappled with grazes, smaller bruises and cuts.
‘You look like you’ve been in the wars! Scrapping again?’
‘Just trying to have a quiet drink. Fight between some lads broke out. You know what it’s like.’
‘Bloody idiots. I bet you gave them what for, though. You look the type.’
‘Thank you.’
I grin and turn towards the door of my lock-up. I have to get Footballer Dad sorted and disappeared. Ralph is a pleasant enough chap, but I haven’t got time for this today.
‘Before you go, take a listen to this,’ he says, continuing his hand cleaning efforts.
I can see his red Alfa Romeo Giulietta inside his lock-up which seems to have half its engine out and one of the doors off. The white Bugatti Veyron Vitesse is almost parked on the pavement with its bonnet open. He slams the bonnet shut, gets in the driver’s seat and turns it over, hitting the accelerator. I still have a slight drug hangover and the roar of the engine make me feel like someone is trying to saw my head in half. He turns it off and gets out, grinning all over his face.
‘Boosted it to 1200 bhp. Does 0 – 60 in 2.3 seconds now. Went out on the motorway a few nights ago. Two, three in the morning. Got it up to 250 mph for a few miles. Still not as it might be. Work in progress.’
If anyone else had told me that they’d been on a UK motorway doing 250 mph, I’d think they were lying or mad. Not him.
‘You can give it a spin when it’s fully sorted, if you like. See what you think. Second opinion and all that. Personally, I don’t think the tyres on there are up to speeds like that. I can feel a bit of drag.’
I nod my head. ‘Let me know when it’s sorted. I’ll see you later.’
‘Wide hips and a bloody big arse,’ he mumbles to himself, opening the bonnet of the Bugatti once more.
I press the codes into both keypads on my lock-up door and hear the inertia tube locks grind open. There’s a cold blast of air as I go inside. I make sure I close the door before I switch the lights on. Footballer Dad is where I left him, lying on the floor to the left of the Maserati. I pull the blue cover off the car and unlock it.
The smell in here is still mainly petrol, oil and plastic; there’s no odour coming from the corpse, nor should there be; it’s only been here for about thirty-six hours and this place is always on the chilly side. I push it with my foot to see if the rigor mortis has gone and it has.
I open the door on the passenger side and pull the seat forward. There isn’t much room in the back of these cars and it’s a struggle to shove the body into the limited space. He’s quite a heavy individual, but it’s the cumbersomeness is the problem, not the weight.
It takes me about fifteen to twenty minutes to get him in a position I’m happy with. Once that’s sorted, I put the car cover over him and push the passenger seat back to its original place. I take a look through all of the windows and everything seems fine. It doesn’t look like there’s a body there, which is the main thing.
I drive down towards Guildford on the A3, being careful to keep under the speed limit, and stop off at a branch of B&Q to purchase a spade and a garden fork. I also get a sandwich and some chocolate milk from a machine there.
After a few miles, I turn off the main road and drive through the village of Thursley towards Frensham. This whole area is mainly pine forest wilderness and is described on the maps as an area of outstanding beauty.
Twenty minutes later, I turn off the main road onto a dirt track, continue for a mile and a half, then take a sharp right, eventually parking the car in the middle of a small grouping of Corsican pines where it can’t be seen. I get out, drag Footballer Dad out of the car and put him on the ground.
I stand still and listen. I can only hear a few birds and a light wind in the trees. This is a fairly deserted, obscure and difficult-to-get-to area and isn’t normally frequented by tourists, ramblers, dog walkers
or whatever, but you always have to avoid getting cocky about being the only person somewhere. If you’re there, there’s a chance that someone else might be.
I haven’t been here for a few years, but I can still remember the topography. I grab the garden tools in one hand and with a grunt, sling Footballer Dad over my shoulder.
It would be a lot easier to follow the paths to where I’m going, but the risk is too high, so I keep to the thickly forested areas, despite the difficulties this creates.
I actually trip and fall at one point, Footballer Dad and the tools crashing to the ground with me. It was almost funny. I’m sure it’ll be hilarious in a few months, maybe even side-splitting.
I’m going to be walking for just over an hour. The weight and awkwardness of carrying a body this far through troublesome terrain is exhausting and very uncomfortable. The leaf canopy makes it quite dark, which just adds to the problem. I try to convince myself that this is some sort of countryside gym workout or a cheery Outward Bound task.
By the time I arrive at my destination, I’m soaked with sweat and my left shoulder is absolutely killing me. My fingers are numb from gripping the spade and the garden fork. Still psyching myself into thinking of this as a workout, I put the corpse and tools on the floor, hang my t-shirt on the branch of a nearby tree and get down to digging Footballer Dad’s grave.
In an hour it’s complete. I jump down into it and only my head is above the surface of the ground, which’ll do fine. It doesn’t have to be too long; he’s going to be in the foetal position. I take his clothes off, roll him into it, and get down in there with him to sort his position out.
When I get out again, I throw some assorted vegetation over him to help encourage anaerobic/aerobic bacteria and suddenly wonder if this is how the custom of throwing flowers or petals onto a coffin originated. It takes me fifteen minutes to fill in the grave and make a decent-sized mound.
I create a makeshift bag out of his jacket and roll the rest of his clothes into it. I’ll dump this elsewhere; I don’t want pieces of fabric turning up on the surface for the next six months, courtesy of the worm population.
I should have brought some tins of various animal repellent with me, but I’d have had problems carrying them. I’ll just have to hope that whatever lives around here isn’t that hungry or desperate. Five foot is a long way down for a small to medium sized mammal, anyway.
I cover the mound in some more vegetation and make my way back to the car. Just as I get in, it occurs to me that I have a loose end to deal with. I check my mobile. Amazingly, I have a signal. I give the Royal Free Hospital a call. Someone answers almost immediately.
‘Emergency Department. How can I help you?’
Black Suit’s name was Colin. Jackie Heath was his uncle. I assume his name is Colin Heath.
‘Oh, hello. I’m just checking on my nephew who was brought in with a shoulder dislocation yesterday. His name is Colin Heath.’
‘Are you a relative?’
God Almighty – I just said he was my nephew. ‘Yes. I’m his uncle. My name’s Jack Heath.’
‘One moment, please. Colin Heath. OK. He’s been admitted under Orthopaedics. I’ll just put you through.’
‘Thank you.’
I click off. That’s all I need to know.
I make a couple more random stops to dump the tools, the clothes and the car cover and then I’m heading back to London.
When I get back to Exeter Street, I have a quick, hot shower and sit in the kitchen, drinking coffee and staring at the bars on the window. I ring China City in Soho and book at table for two at eight o’ clock this evening, then I give Klementina a call and tell her.
She sounds delighted. I’d forgotten how charming her accent sounded. We arrange to meet in the Slug and Lettuce in Lisle Street for cocktails at seven. I’m not that fussed about them myself, but Klementina seemed like a cocktails kind of girl and I want to make this a good evening for her.
One more call, then I’m going to have an hour’s sleep. I call the Hotel Café Royal and get them to put me through to Mrs Doroteia Vasconselos in the Celestine Suite.
‘I was disappointed that I did not see you yesterday afternoon, Mr Beckett.’
‘My disappointment was greater, Mrs Vasconselos. How did your fitting at Rigby & Peller go?’
‘Very enjoyable, thank you. The staff are so attentive, especially when you are spending a lot of money.’
‘Did you get what you wanted?’
‘I did. I found great satisfaction. I bought three balconette deep plunge brassieres and matching briefs. One of the brassieres was particularly charming; made from black corsetry lace. They described it as pure seduction. Almost see-through, I’m afraid to say. At first, they didn’t think they had a double F cup in stock in that style, but they managed to find one eventually. I was so relieved.’
My mouth has gone dry. I swallow so I can continue speaking. ‘Did you buy anything else?’
‘I treated myself to a couple of new suspender belts, a garter belt and a rather lovely basque. They have so many elegant and alluring items. I find it hard to stop once I’ve started. I’m sure you have known many women who are like that.’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘We are so hard to satisfy.’
‘But it’s gratifying when total satisfaction is finally attained.’
‘I agree. Though for some women, it can be very time-consuming to get to that point. The process can be quite strenuous and demanding.’
‘It goes without saying that those demands would have to be met with vigour.’
‘You’re so right, Mr Beckett. Would you like to visit me here, say, tomorrow morning at eleven? I can show you the results of my fitting, if you are interested. I would appreciate your opinion, as a man.’
‘I’d be delighted.’
‘Tomorrow, then.’
‘Tomorrow.’
I click off my mobile and take a deep breath. I just hope I’m up to giving her my best opinion after a night with Klementina.
As I’m making another espresso, I notice a bag near the coffee maker with the Royal Academy of Arts logo on it. I put my hand inside and pull out the Ken Howard blue crystal necklace that I’d bought for Isolda and forgotten to give to her. It’s pretty. I put it back in the bag and drop it into the bin.
THE END
Books by Dominic Piper
Kiss Me When I’m Dead
Death is the New Black
Femme Fatale
Dominic Piper’s Amazon page
Table of Contents
1 THE GIRL WITH THE CATWALK STROLL
2 NEW YORK & MILAN
3 MTA1
4 POLICE INTERVIEW
5 FEMME FATALE
6 THE PERFUME RIVER
7 PSYCHIATRIST’S COUCH
8 BURGLARPROOF
9 GOT YOU
10 BREAKING AND ENTERING
11 BLUE CRYSTAL NECKLACE
12 A HANDS-ON PERSON
13 PICCADILLY AT NIGHT
14 FOOTBALLER DAD
15 BLOND HAIR
16 RED HAIR
17 BAKER STREET EMBRACE
18 A DANGEROUS DRIVER
19 I NEVER SLEEP WITH CLIENTS
20 VENTURE CAR HIRE
21 DOLLY’S NIGHTCLUB
22 BLACK SUIT
23 LOVERS’ TIFF
24 THE CAMPAIGN
25 HYPODERMIC
26 THE DARK PLACE
27 WITHERED ARM
28 THE WENDY HOUSE
29 A HOT KNIFE THROUGH BUTTER
30 HE’S NOT WITH ME
31 CORPSE SURFING
32 EIGHT-INCH BLADE
33 A REALLY SMART MOVE
34 LAST SIGH
35 A DRIVE IN THE COUNTRYSIDE