The Man Who Died Twice (The Thursday Murder Club)

by Richard Osman

  What sort of business though? Diamonds? Murder? Perhaps a bit of both? That would be nice.

  23

  Elizabeth looks at her watch and sighs. She speeds up a touch.

  They are about twenty minutes behind schedule, because Joyce had insisted on stopping for a coffee. Joyce loves to sit in coffee shops and look out of the window at the people passing by. She would sit there all day if you let her, saying, ‘Ooh, umbrellas are going up,’ or, ‘Do you think I would suit that coat, Elizabeth?’ She doesn’t even particularly like coffee, she just feels too awkward asking for tea in a coffee shop.

  Douglas has asked to see her, and it’s the least she can do in the circumstances. He was very nearly killed on her watch. She hadn’t officially started looking after him, but even so.

  They are on their way to the new safe house in Hove. Number 38 St Albans Avenue, one of many parallel streets leading down from the cafés of Church Road to the ice-cream parlours of the seafront.

  ‘Isn’t the sea air lovely?’ says Joyce.

  ‘A tonic,’ agrees Elizabeth, as a large lorry drives past them.

  Something wasn’t right with Joyce. Elizabeth has learned to read her pretty well by now, and she is definitely being over-jolly. That was Joyce’s trick. It worked on everybody else, but it didn’t work on Elizabeth. Elizabeth stops outside the Nando’s on Church Road, and puts her hand on Joyce’s arm.

  ‘Before we see Douglas and Poppy, why don’t you let me know what you’re hiding?’

  Joyce looks up at her, those bright eyes so innocent, that halo of snow-white hair.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean?’

  ‘Joyce, you’ve held us up for twenty minutes already. I really don’t want to stand here for another twenty minutes trying to get it out of you.’

  ‘Sometimes, Elizabeth, you act as if you’re my boss. And you’re not.’

  Elizabeth sighs. ‘Please, I’m begging of you, don’t be tiresome. Just tell me.’

  Joyce looks at the Nando’s. ‘Do you know, I’ve never been to a Nando’s?’

  ‘You’re clearly keeping something from me. Is it to do with Douglas, perhaps?’

  ‘I might bring Ibrahim. He’d like a Nando’s, don’t you think? And we need to make sure he gets out.’

  ‘Something to do with Poppy, then?’

  ‘Sometimes, Elizabeth, you just have to accept that you don’t know everything. And there it is, I’m afraid.’

  Elizabeth stares into Joyce’s eyes and nods. ‘So, it is something to do with Poppy? You’re good, Joyce, but you’re not that good.’

  Joyce smiles. ‘This is just making us later, dear. We’ll look rude. I haven’t even brought anything for them. Do we have time to pick up some fudge?’

  Elizabeth is thinking. ‘Well, we know it’s Poppy, that’s written all over your face. Perhaps Poppy asked you something? But you weren’t alone with her, were you?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree. There’s a lovely bookshop further up, City Books? I could pick up a John Grisham for Douglas?’

  ‘So Poppy gave you something? Is that it? On her way out, she slipped you something?’

  ‘I think someone’s slipped you something, Elizabeth. I’m right about Ibrahim, aren’t I? We need to make sure he gets out. He won’t want to. I think Nando’s is mainly chicken, but they must do puddings and things.’

  ‘What could she possibly have given you? And why you and not me?’

  ‘I was thinking of going to the dog rescue centre. I might ask Ibrahim to drive me as soon as he’s back.’

  ‘A message, perhaps? Did Poppy give you a message? Slipped it into your hand as she was leaving?’ Elizabeth looks long and hard at Joyce.

  ‘He’ll object, you know Ibrahim. But we’ll talk him round. And dogs are very healing. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, but his mental injuries will last far longer than his physical injuries.’

  ‘Something personal.’ Elizabeth steps aside as a group of youths barrels into the Nando’s. ‘That’s why she chose you. An errand. Something she knew she could trust you with?’

  ‘I checked on the website. Alan is still there. That’s the dog. Though I’m going to call him Rusty; you’re the first person I’ve told that. I wrote it in my diary, but I haven’t said it out loud.’

  ‘You were wearing your new cardigan, of course. Which suits you a great deal, by the way. So perhaps she just slipped it into your pocket?’

  ‘Thank you about the cardigan. When I was a child the neighbours had a dog called Rusty, you see.’

  ‘I wonder, Joyce, if she wanted you to contact someone for her? Just to let them know she was all right? That’s the sort of thing I would absolutely trust you with.’

  ‘He was a retriever, I think, though I get them mixed up with Labradors. We’re all a bit of everything, though, aren’t we? When you start looking into it?’

  ‘Who does Poppy trust?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘That’s the question.’

  ‘Everyone loves John Grisham, don’t they? He’s a safe bet.’

  Elizabeth puts her hands on Joyce’s shoulders, nods and looks her directly in the eye.

  ‘I wonder, Joyce. Did Poppy give you her mother’s phone number?’

  Joyce throws her hands up. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Elizabeth. I can’t have anything, can I?’

  ‘You held out longer than most. Did you ring her?’

  Joyce nods. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘It’s fine, I’m not surprised someone would want to talk to their mum the first time they killed someone. I mean, I didn’t, but I’m me.’

  ‘She seems lovely. I’ve invited her down, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s a nice idea. Now, shall we get on?’

  Joyce smiles and the two friends walk towards St Albans Avenue.

  ‘You’re not cross?’ asks Joyce.

  ‘Not a bit,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Although I will say this: They don’t like you to change the names of the dogs.’

  ‘I know, but Alan,’ says Joyce.

  ‘Well, why don’t you let Ibrahim decide? That’s the sort of thing he’s good at.’

  ‘I can’t wait to have him back, can you?’

  Elizabeth slips her arm through Joyce’s and they continue walking.

  ‘Where was Ron off to, by the way?’ asks Joyce. ‘I saw him driving off before we left. He never drives these days.’

  Elizabeth looks at her watch. ‘Ron has a plumbing job. He was very keen to get to it.’

  ‘A plumbing job?’

  ‘You know Ron, he can turn his hand to anything.’

  24

  Selling cocaine is less glamorous than people imagine, and Connie Johnson is thinking that it is nice to have the opportunity to dress up for once.

  It’s not every day that Bogdan Jankowski wants to buy ten grand’s worth of prime Colombian blow and Connie has been excited all day. The lock-up next door sells fake perfume, and she had dabbed some on earlier, only to have to wash it off immediately as the smell overpowered her. She has even had to reapply her mascara after the tears streamed down her face. She thinks she has got rid of the worst of it.

  Why did Bogdan want coke all of a sudden? He wasn’t the type at all. Perhaps he had developed a drug problem, and needed to fund his habit? Connie hopes so; it would certainly mean she would see more of him.

  What was it about him? The sense of extreme danger and absolute safety in the same man? Or just the looks?

  There is a rattling knock on the metal lock-up door. Connie adjusts her hair, spits her gum into an old filing cabinet and lights a menthol cigarette. Here we go.

  She opens the door, sunshine floods into her dark world and there he is. Bogdan. Shaven-headed, tattoos snaking up both arms, deep blue eyes and an expression of total indifference. The full package. He shuts the door behind him and it is just the two of them. How should she play this? Nice and cool? She had tried flirting with Bogdan before and it had got her nowhere. But she su
spects he had just been playing hard to get. Is he undressing her with his eyes? Connie thinks so. He’s certainly doing something with his eyes. She nods down at his sports bag.

  ‘That the money?’

  Bogdan nods. ‘Yes.’

  Connie takes a long drag on her menthol cigarette, savouring the fresh minty taste.

  ‘Ten grand?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Bogdan.

  ‘Do I need to count it?’

  ‘No,’ says Bogdan, and puts the bag down on Connie’s large, wooden desk.

  When Connie’s old secondary school closed they auctioned off the contents, and Connie bid on, and bought, the desk of her old headmistress. The desk she had stood across from so many times, being reprimanded for this, that and the other. For a while she delighted in using it to weigh out cocaine and to have sex. What would Mrs Gilbert have to say about that? Now business has expanded, however, she uses it mainly for admin. She has to admit, it is a good desk.

  ‘So you’ll be wanting your coke, then?’ asks Connie.

  ‘Yes,’ says Bogdan, before adding, ‘please.’

  Connie senses this is going well. Is there a connection here? Electricity? My God, just look at him.

  ‘It’s out the back, Bogdan. Give me a minute, make yourself at home, there’s magazines. Mainly Ultimate Fighting.’

  Connie opens a padlocked door and walks into a small storage room. There is no mirror here, so she checks herself in the reflection of an old CD-ROM. She is glad she does, as she has a little lipstick on her teeth. Had Bogdan noticed? She kneels in front of a safe and keys in the combination with one hand while rubbing her front teeth with the other. What if he had noticed the lipstick, and now notices she’s rubbed it away? She takes out a kilo of cocaine from the safe, wrapped in brown paper and stamped ‘Fragile – This Way Up’. If he notices then he’ll know she’s checked herself out in the mirror. Will that look too needy? She locks the safe again and heads back out. Too late now, if he notices, he notices. Best foot forward.

  Connie padlocks the storage door once again and puts the package on her headmistress’s desk next to the money. Bogdan is looking straight at her. At her teeth?

  ‘You need to check it?’ asks Connie.

  ‘No,’ says Bogdan. He takes the money from the sports holdall, and replaces it with the package.

  ‘This going to be a regular thing, is it?’ asks Connie. ‘There’s special treatment for regulars.’

  ‘No, just this once,’ says Bogdan.

  ‘Special treatment’ was too far, thinks Connie. Too flirty. Idiot. She decides to shrug.

  ‘Well, you know your own business.’

  Bogdan nods. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me get the door for you.’ Connie walks over and opens the door. That sunshine again. Bogdan walks through, ducking his head slightly as he does.

  ‘Thank you, Connie.’

  Connie shrugs again – perfect – and shuts the door behind him. She falls back against the closed door and lets out a huge breath.

  Christ, that was intense. She’s going to have to take the rest of the day off.

  Bogdan doesn’t have far to walk. He is meeting Ron by the pier. It had gone OK with Connie, there didn’t seem to be any hard feelings. He had felt for her because she had lipstick on her teeth. He was going to mention it, because it looked like she was going on a date later. But she had obviously noticed herself as it was gone when she came back with the cocaine. He was relieved he didn’t have to mention it, as she didn’t seem in a very good mood with him.

  He is glad to be outside, not least because there was an awful smell.

  Bogdan spots Ron and walks up to him. Ron is dressed as a plumber.

  ‘All right, Bogdan,’ says Ron.

  ‘Hello, Ron,’ says Bogdan.

  ‘That it, then?’ says Ron, indicating the bag.

  ‘Yep, that’s it,’ says Bogdan.

  ‘Good lad. I bet you’re wondering why I’m dressed like a plumber?’

  Bogdan shakes his head. ‘Not really. Nothing with you lot surprises me. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t dressed like a plumber.’

  Ron nods, agreeing that’s a fair point.

  ‘How is Ibrahim?’ asks Bogdan. ‘When is he back?’

  ‘He’s all right, old son. Knocked about a bit, you know? Nasty.’

  Bogdan nods. ‘You need help with the guy who did it?’

  Ron takes the bag. ‘You’re already helping.’

  ‘I thought so,’ says Bogdan. ‘Good, I am pleased. You know you just ask, and I do whatever.’

  ‘You’re a good lad.’ Ron sniffs. ‘Jesus, Bogdan, what’s that smell?’

  25

  Elizabeth and Joyce are on St Albans Avenue. It is a road full of small hotels and retirement homes. You could walk the whole length of it without once feeling the need to look up from your phone, and that was perfect. They reach number 38. Blinds drawn in all the rooms facing the street, and a four-year-old ‘Vote Lib Dem’ poster in the front window. Absolutely textbook.

  There is a Virgin Media van parked across the road and Elizabeth knocks on the window. She is expected.

  The driver folds her newspaper, lowers her window and raises an eyebrow.

  Elizabeth repeats exactly what she has been told to say. ‘My reception is on the blink and I don’t want to miss Love Island.’ Someone in MI5 will have enjoyed thinking that one up for her.

  The driver replies, as expected. ‘You number 42?’

  Elizabeth nods.

  ‘That’s Sky, not Virgin.’

  ‘Sorry to trouble you,’ says Elizabeth, and reaches in to shake the driver’s hand. As they shake, she feels the key being pressed into her hand. The driver raises her window again and returns to her paper. A very boring job. Elizabeth sympathizes. At least the driver has a paper. There were times in eastern Europe, on twelve-hour watches, where Elizabeth would have killed for a Daily Telegraph. Even a Daily Mirror.

  They cross the road towards the house.

  ‘Was that spy talk?’ asks Joyce. ‘Code?’

  ‘Very basic code, yes. Just an identifier.’

  ‘Joanna watches Love Island. She says I’d love it. Men, and what have you.’

  There is a ‘No Junk Mail’ sticker on the front door. The door looks normal from the outside, but Elizabeth knows it will have steel reinforcements behind it, should anyone get any ideas. The key looks perfectly normal, but is electronic, and the moment it is slipped into the lock there are a series of noises from inside the house, faint enough that they wouldn’t be heard from the street.

  The door opens and Elizabeth looks at her watch: 5.25. Ron should have picked up the package by now.

  Douglas had said to meet them at five, but it wouldn’t do any harm for Douglas to be kept waiting every now and again. Quite what she was doing there was a mystery. It was odd enough that Douglas had chosen to hide at Coopers Chase. Odder still that he wanted to see Elizabeth again, now that Coopers Chase was no longer an option.

  Elizabeth could have said no, but something was going on here, and she wouldn’t at all mind finding out what it was. It was one of Douglas’s games, no doubt, but sometimes Douglas’s games had been fun. Certainly worth seeing if he had one good one left in him.

  Especially with twenty million pounds at the end of the rainbow. Think what you could do with twenty million pounds? But Elizabeth doesn’t need to think. She knows exactly what she would do with it.

  They walk over the threshold.

  ‘I like their hall carpet,’ says Joyce. Her voice echoes around the silent house. ‘We nearly had similar.’

  It shouldn’t be silent, of course, with two people living here. Were they both sleeping? At 5.25? Unlikely.

  Elizabeth feels a breeze. A breeze in a house where every door and window is shut. Bolted and sealed shut.

  ‘Douglas?’ calls Elizabeth. ‘Poppy?’

  Elizabeth steps into the kitchen. It is neat. There is a small table and two wooden chairs. There are two bow
ls and two mugs by the sink. An old calendar on the wall, British castles.

  There is a back door, which leads onto a courtyard garden. Barbed wire atop a brick back wall.

  The back door is wide open.

  26

  ‘And he kicked you in the back of the head?’

  ‘I’m afraid he did, Anthony, yes.’

  Ibrahim had not told the others what time he was coming back today. He knew they would make a fuss, and he didn’t want a reception committee when he was unshaven. Instead he managed to get the final appointment of the day with Anthony, the hairdresser so in demand he now visits Coopers Chase three times a week. Ibrahim hasn’t been at all happy with his hospital hair.

  ‘You wouldn’t be able to tell, honestly,’ says Anthony, running a comb through Ibrahim’s hair. ‘No footprint, nothing.’

  ‘Well, it’s a skull,’ says Ibrahim.

  ‘You said it,’ agrees Anthony. ‘Tell me if I’m pressing too hard, though. We’ll get you feeling better in no time. That’s my job.’

  ‘Thank you, Anthony.’

  ‘You’ll bounce back, I know you will.’

  ‘Bouncing back is for younger men.’

  ‘Nonsense, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’

  ‘Well, I disagree at my age.’

  ‘I’ll give you a for example. I once had a two-day acid trip, in Kavos. You know Kavos?’

  ‘Is that Greece?’

  ‘Ooh, I wouldn’t know, somewhere hot. Anyway, at the time it was terrifying, you know? I thought the walls of the villa were bleeding. I stood on the roof trying to grab hold of the aeroplanes as they were flying over. My mate Gav put it on Insta, 30,000 likes, and now I can see the funny side. But I thought I was going to die, and I didn’t, and the experience has made me a stronger man.’

  ‘In what way?’