by Joseph Knox
‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘The place they first met,’ he said. ‘Wherever that was.’
When I arrived, Incognito was uncharacteristically quiet. It was after eight, still early in bar terms, and there was no queue to push past. The same bouncer who’d dragged me out last time was standing on the door, and he chuckled to himself as I approached.
‘Y’know, the goal is to try and get the drink in your mouth,’ he said.
‘I’ll bear that in mind this time.’
He grinned and I saw the veins go pulsing across his skull. ‘There’s not gonna be a this time, pal.’
‘I’m going up,’ I said, walking by him. ‘You decide if our names are in the paper tomorrow.’
He pushed me back and then held up his hands. ‘Look, I don’t want any trouble, but your fuse is too short for this place. You go in there throwing round threats and drinks, scaring people off who just want a night out, and it’s me who’s in the shit.’
‘If it makes you feel any better I don’t want to see your boss.’
‘He’s not in, anyway. Really this time.’
‘So who’s in charge?’
‘I am,’ said Alicia, descending the stairs. She was dressed more sedately tonight, the wild day-glo colours replaced with a smart, dark skirt and blouse. ‘It’s OK, Phil, I’ve got this.’ The doorman grunted, put his hands inside his pockets and shunted out of hearing distance. I was impressed by the way that Alicia carried herself, and when she looked at me, coolly, I saw that I’d misjudged her the first time we’d met. Without the tinted contact lenses there was an undeniable intelligence in her eyes, and I thought perhaps she’d worn them to hide it. Having met her father last time, I wondered if she was the brains behind the operation.
‘Miss Russell.’
‘Detective …?’
‘Waits.’
‘That was it. What can we do for you tonight?’
‘A drink would be a start.’
‘Off duty? I wouldn’t have pictured you spending your free time here …’
‘Where would you picture me?’
‘I don’t know. Somewhere dingier. Moodier. Probably sat on your own nursing something hard.’ She smiled at the innuendo. ‘Daydreaming about what might have been.’
‘All that daydreaming led me here.’
‘Of course it did,’ she said, looking at me for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better come inside then.’ I went by her and she spoke to my back. ‘This visit wouldn’t have anything to do with our friends Sophie and Oliver, would it?’
‘Who?’ I said, turning to look at her.
She was smiling again. ‘If you could just settle for throwing the book at him rather than your drink …’
The floor was so sticky it felt like part of the design. I didn’t pass anyone on the staircase, and I could tell by the subdued, hollow sound of the music that the place would be emptier than last time. I emerged slowly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. There were only around fifteen people dotted about, most of them ensconced in booths at the far side of the room. I was grateful to see that the doorman had been telling the truth about Guy Russell’s absence. His regular seat was empty.
I saw Oliver Cartwright immediately, though.
He was wearing a dark, loose suit and sitting with his back to me. Sophie was opposite him, wearing the jacket I’d returned to her, like she might get up and leave any second. She looked pale and couldn’t meet his eyes. Neither of them noticed me, and I ordered a beer, watching them in the mirror behind the bar. Cartwright looked as though he was concluding some prepared speech and he sat back with a satisfied, curious look on his face. It was a look I associated with people who came from power and money. They conducted experiments on the rest of us, simply curious to see how we’d react. Alicia allowing me inside was no different, and I saw her emerging into the bar, taking a seat in the far corner for the best possible view of the action.
Cartwright swirled his drink and regarded Sophie, his girl zero. I could see his mind working. Thinking that perhaps she’d go home with him, perhaps she wouldn’t, but that his findings would just go into refining the process for next time. For the Ollie Cartwrights of the world there was always a next time.
When Sophie didn’t reply to whatever he’d said, his hand crawled slowly across the table like a fat, pink tarantula, enveloping hers. She blanched. I turned from the bar, crossed the room and sat down beside her. She drew her hand back when she saw me, looking to Cartwright like he’d set this up.
‘Detective Waits,’ he said, smiling. He was red-faced from too much drink and too little exercise, and I could see the gin blossoms, blooming in his cheeks.
I smiled back. ‘Pretend I’m not here, Ollie.’
‘With pleasure. Although a part of me wonders why you are …’
‘Yeah, well, don’t tell me which part.’ He didn’t say anything. ‘Anyway, I hope you don’t mind sharing the table but there’s nowhere else to sit.’
He looked around the half-empty room, snorted, and spread his arms across the back of the booth. ‘You’re welcome to it. Sophie and I were just leaving.’ She didn’t move and Cartwright went on. ‘It’s our second date. Early days, but I think she might be the one.’
‘That’s not why I came here,’ said Sophie. It was the first time she’d spoken since I’d sat at the table, and I was glad to hear some anger in her voice. Cartwright’s smile slipped a little and he took a drink to cover it. ‘I came here to say that what happened between us will never happen again. Whatever you do, I’m not going with you.’
‘Whatever I do …’
I looked at him. ‘And you’re not going to do anything. Are you, Ollie?’
‘Oh, Sophie,’ he said, talking to her but looking at me. His lips were dripping wet with drink and there was naked hate in his eyes. ‘I know you’re feeling brave all of a sudden, sweetheart, but your friend here’s only a part-time hero. I could tell you stories about him that’d curl your hair.’ He looked at her. ‘The hairs that aren’t curled already. Did you ever hear of—’
‘I don’t care about him,’ she said, raising her voice. ‘I didn’t ask him to come here for moral support. I didn’t ask him to come here at all. Get it? I came here on my own to look you in the eye and tell you that you’re a fucking animal. Nothing you do to me could be worse than another night in your company.’
‘Animal, eh?’ he said, swirling his glass around as his face grew redder. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought we had a good thing going. It’s not every girl who’s into what you are …’
‘You’re disgusting,’ she said quietly.
‘As I recall, you were the disgusting one. Oh well, good job there’s no video evidence, eh?’ He drank up and started to slide out of the booth. ‘I’m out of the country for a few days from tomorrow night. Dubai. Hope no one steals my laptop while I’m out there.’ He looked at me. ‘S’pose, legally, any fallout wouldn’t be my fault …’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘The law wouldn’t have anything to do with what happened to you afterwards.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘Threats are more your style than mine, Ollie.’
He nodded, got up and crossed the room to the exit. He paused when he saw Alicia watching our conversation, and laughed to himself. Then he descended the stairs without looking back. She raised her drink to me, took a sip and followed him outside.
Sophie sighed and lowered her head. She was shaking.
‘You did well …’
‘Do you think he’ll do it?’ she said quietly.
I know he will, I thought.
‘No,’ I said.
‘I don’t know how I could be so stupid …’
‘All you did was trust someone. The rest of it’s on him.’
‘The rest of it’s online as of tomorrow night,’ she said, rubbing her face. ‘Lads watching it in class, people I work with in five years finding it …’
She thought about it. Swallowed. ‘He looked surprised, didn’t he?’
‘He looked like you’d kicked him in the balls. You know, you could still make an official complaint …’
She shook her head. ‘But thank you for coming. Was it Earl?’
I tried to think of a convincing white lie but came up short. ‘Don’t blame him …’
‘I don’t,’ she said, smiling, in spite of herself, at the thought of him. I could see she was realizing something about her friend that perhaps she hadn’t before. It was a nice moment and I looked away for a second to let her have it.
‘Shall we get out of here?’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’
I walked Sophie to Piccadilly, where she began unlocking her bike. I was impressed that she’d stood up to Cartwright but I worried about what would happen next. He’d taken a blow to his ego, no doubt his most vulnerable spot, and with his impending foreign trip he might feel like he had nothing left to lose. Worse than that, he was right. If he went abroad and reported his laptop as stolen it would be almost impossible to prove that he’d leaked the tape. Perhaps I should remind him that things could be worse.
I pushed the thought out of my head.
Following those instincts had almost ruined my life, perhaps even cost other people theirs.
I looked at Sophie and thought of something else. ‘Can I ask about your helmet …’
‘Course. Do you cycle?’
‘Too unbalanced, but is that a camera?’
‘GoPro,’ she said. ‘Sort of puts drivers on their best behaviour, and if anything bad happens you’ve got it on file.’
As I watched her cycle out of the park, I remembered the note that had fallen from her jacket pocket. A physical description of Oliver Cartwright, along with a time and a place to meet him at. It hadn’t been the right moment to ask, but I was still wondering what it meant when another thought struck me. Alicia had used Sophie’s name when I was entering Incognito. She’d already known who she was.
4
I went back to the office, to the CCTV again, but this time with purpose. Sophie’s helmet had given me a flash of inspiration. I clicked through to the time-stamp of the most recent dustbin burn. I could tell when the fire had started because a passing cyclist looked sharply in its direction as the light began to change. He must have seen the flamer.
The moment a case starts to break, even petty street arson, can be its own reward.
The cyclist had a camera mounted on his helmet.
I requested the footage from his likely route down Oxford Road, hoping to trace him to a destination. If he’d stopped inside a shop and paid with his card, it wouldn’t be impossible to find him. Then I checked the time and bought a sandwich before heading out to meet Sutty for the remainder of our shift. I moved along Oxford Road, thinking about our case. Ali said he’d heard two people arguing. As much as I wanted those voices to belong to Natasha Reeve and Freddie Coyle, he’d been clear that they were two men. Freddie and the smiling man? Marcus Collier and the smiling man? I looked, idly, up at the Palace as I passed it.
I stopped.
There was a light on in one of the fourth-floor rooms. It looked like 413, where we’d found the body. I crossed the road and tried the door. It was locked. I started for the corner entrance, dialling Sutty as I went. The side door was closed as well.
‘Yeurgh,’ said Sutty, answering the phone.
‘Do we still have an officer at the Palace?’
‘Nah, SOCO wrapped yesterday. Why?’ I was crossing the street again, looking up at the building. The light was off. From a certain angle the top-floor windows caught a reflection from the street. Had that been it?
‘Ignore me,’ I said.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Freddie Coyle, crossing the road towards me. I’d been approaching his Sackville Street building to ask some follow-up questions about his infidelity. He had other ideas. He strode past me wearing a dark, mahogany suit, smelling richer than God. ‘If this is more talk about that man in the Palace, you’re wasting your time. More importantly, you’re wasting mine.’
‘Do you know if there’s anyone in the Palace now, Mr Coyle?’
He stopped. Turned. ‘How would I? Ask Ms Khan. Now if that’s all …’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t.’
He held out his arms. ‘Well?’
‘When we spoke yesterday, I asked if you had any enemies …’
‘Did I mislead you, Detective Constable?’
‘After speaking to your wife, it seems like you might have.’
‘Then you didn’t listen to a word I said.’ He shook his head and walked on.
I matched pace. ‘What was it that I should have heard?’
‘It’s no wonder you missed it. All I did was as good as say the words to your face. Of course I have an “enemy”. And it’s no surprise that after speaking to her you suddenly have more questions for me.’
‘Are things as bad as all that between you and your wife?’
‘Ex-wife,’ he said. ‘You’re here, aren’t you? A divorce is one thing, breaking up the business and all that, but to set the police on me …’
‘Do you think Ms Reeve has something to do with events at the Palace, Mr Coyle?’
‘Oh, listen to yourself. Don’t you get sick of pinballing between us? All this he-said, she-said shit?’
‘Frankly, yes.’
‘Natasha’s not an instigator, not a creative or a visionary. She’s a manager. She handles things. She’s simply exploiting this poor fool’s death to get back at me.’
‘To get back at you for what?’
He stopped then. Looked at me and gave a short cynical snort of laughter. ‘So that’s it?’ He looked me up and down and took a step closer. ‘You cheap little boy. Who I share my bed with is my own business.’ He started to walk again and I followed.
‘I agree, but someone tipping off your wife about it sounds like an enemy to me.’
He stopped again, looked at me. Frowned. ‘Tipping off my wife?’
‘What did you think happened?’
‘She copied my key. She followed me …’ He almost said it like a question.
‘Ms Reeve was receiving anonymous notes in the final weeks of your relationship,’ I said. ‘Times, dates, places.’ The news seemed to hit him like a blow. ‘Even pictures. You didn’t know?’ Coyle stared down the street. A convoy of fire engines, ambulances and police cars was blasting by us, and it bought him a few seconds to think. He looked like a man whose worst suspicion has been confirmed. I didn’t think Natasha keeping the notes secret was the source of his pain. He looked angry, betrayed. People walked around us on the street like we were a quarrelling couple. ‘Who was the man you were sleeping with, Mr Coyle?’
At length his eyes came back to me. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘With respect, it really is. I’m trying to identify a dead man found in your hotel.’
‘What? You think I killed my former lover and then framed myself for his murder?’
‘I didn’t say that, but your wife thinks that in the weeks leading up to your separation you’d become preoccupied, distant …’
‘What of it?’
‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’
He looked at me and lowered his voice. ‘I know you may think me cold but it’s not exactly a dream to deceive your partner for years on end. To discover something so fundamental about yourself so late in life …’
‘There’s also the matter of the person writing those notes.’
‘Don’t you see?’ he hissed, taking a step towards me. ‘They’re one and the same. They have to be one and the same. Happy now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that no one but the man I was sleeping with knew about us. I mean that I was careful.’ He was breathing hard. ‘I mean that if someone tipped off my wif
e about our relationship then it had to be him.’ Saying the words seemed to make them true for Coyle and he looked about us, as if he’d never seen the street we were standing on before. ‘You must live for these moments of discount poetry,’ he said at last. ‘The betrayer gets betrayed …’
‘Are you still seeing this man?’
‘No.’
‘I heard someone in your flat when I interviewed you on Monday morning. Can I ask who that was?’
‘You can fuck off.’
I nodded. ‘I can, but first I’ll need the name of the man Natasha found you with.’
‘Fine,’ he said, walking back the way we’d come. ‘I’ve lost my appetite, anyway.’
‘I assume you refer to the precedent of Fuck All vs Never Happened?’
I’d asked Sutty about potential legal options that Sophie could explore for preventing Oliver Cartwright from leaking their sex-tape. He’d made a compelling argument for the impossibility of my situation, the absolute certainty of my failure.
Worse, I agreed with him.
He was eating a Subway breakfast sandwich, his favourite food, while we walked. Because it was their policy not to serve the sandwich after 11 a.m., and because Sutty was never awake by then, it meant that an argument was built in to each order, and I suspected that was what he really kept going back for.
I gave up on Cartwright for the moment, focusing instead on the comparatively simple smiling man. Coyle had given me the name of his former lover but I’d had to report for our shift before I could follow it up. It was getting more difficult to keep this line of enquiry from Sutty as a new vista of lies and betrayal opened up before me. I was wondering again if I could broach the subject with him when I saw the satisfied smile slide off his face. I followed his eyeline to the car to see what was wrong.
There was someone sitting inside it.
We stopped for a second, looked at each other and then went forwards.
‘Och, fuck,’ said Sutty, under his breath. The door opened to reveal Superintendent Parrs, sitting on the passenger side. He hung one leg out of the car and gave us his dark, shark’s smile.
‘The dynamic duo,’ he said. ‘Doom and Gloom.’