Femme Fatale

by Dominic Piper

  There’s a moment of silence. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  More silence. ‘OK. Look. I can’t ride a motorbike.’

  Shit.

  ‘Don’t worry. Listen. The woman who’s with you. Has she got a car? Ask her what type and if it’s got Sat Nav. If not, a mobile with a GPS app will do.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  I can hear muffled talking. I can feel my heart beating in my chest. I’m shivering even though it’s still warm.

  ‘She’s got a BMW X6 and it’s got Sat Nav.’

  ‘Tell her I’ll give her two thousand to pick me up and drive us to Berkeley Square. It’ll have to be quick.’

  ‘Hold on.’ More muffled talking. ‘She said make it three thousand. That covers the risk of her getting a speeding fine or fines.’

  ‘Done.’

  I give Caroline all the location information that Doug Teng gave me.

  ‘There’s a big gate that leads into this place. I’ll wait for you there. Let her know she’ll have to wait in the car while I show you Rikki. Tell her I’m a detective if you like. And warn her that I’m not in good shape.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’ll explain later. If she puts her foot down I should see you in about twenty-five/thirty minutes.’

  ‘OK. We have to get dressed first, though.’

  ‘Oh. And there’s a hammer in my kitchen. It’s in the cupboard under the sink to the left. Can you bring it with you?’

  ‘Doing some DIY?’

  ‘Putting some shelves up. Also, you need to find my spare key ring. It’s somewhere in the bedroom. It’s a black Maserati leather fob.’

  I take a big gulp of night air and head back down into the mausoleum basement. I can’t remember what I touched here, but I’m sure my fingerprints are all over the place. That problem can wait. I want to do a more thorough search of Gable’s clothing. I look at him lying on the floor in his posing thong, one trouser leg still wrapped around his left ankle. His eyes are still open. I don’t bother to close them.

  I take his wallet and his mobile. His wallet contains a current police warrant card under the name of Detective Sergeant Samuel Conway, Fraud Squad. I take a careful look. It’s an outstanding fake. God knows what he’s been up to with that.

  There’s a driver’s licence and credit cards in his real name, a gym membership card, a Paperchase loyalty card and a bunch of coffee bar loyalty cards. There’s also forty pounds in cash which I slip into my pocket. His mobile is out of juice, but I keep it anyway.

  I leave the mausoleum and lock the door behind me. I open the door of the transit van, turn the interior lights on and take a look inside. Nothing. I look at my face in the rear view mirror. It’s much as I expected: big split on the cheekbone, incipient black eye, lots of small cuts, various swellings, bruising on the jaw and a lot of dried blood everywhere. My nose is bleeding, but at least that head-butt didn’t break it.

  My neck is red from Gable’s throttling attempt and I can see the dark imprints of his thumbs on the front of my throat. My skin is so pale it’s almost translucent and I look like I haven’t slept for a few months. Apart from all of that, I’m looking pretty good. I may even go out on the pull later.

  I shut the door, find the path that heads towards the main gate, sling my jacket over my shoulder and start walking. Apart from everything else in this phenomenally huge mess, that van will have to go. So this is it. It’s coming to an end. I’ve done what Mr Sheng asked and found out what happened to Rikki. All I’ve got left is the fallout. I’ve got to get Paige McBride out of Chudwell’s clutches, hand Sheng my invoice and tie up a couple of loose ends.

  Gable’s body and the van are a bit of a pain, and I’ll probably have to sort it out myself. Perhaps someone else will deal with Gable when whoever it is goes to sort out Rikki’s body. I can’t imagine the police or any of the emergency services will be involved with that. Caroline will have to see both corpses. Perhaps she can help out. I’m tired of thinking about it all.

  I’m going to have to get myself checked out in a hospital as soon as possible. Most of my injuries are superficial, but I certainly need a brain scan and someone to look at the back of my head. The first person I think of is Annalise, but then it’s not her speciality. When that’s sorted, I’ll sleep for a few days, then book a holiday somewhere.

  I sit on the floor with my back to the gate, staring into space. I start planning the logistics of rescheduling the dates I’ve got lined up next week with Anastasija and Cordelia. I’ve got to call Danielle, I’m still waiting on Kina and I may pop in on Brionna at the tattoo parlour at some point. And of course there’s Anouk to consider. I’m sitting there for a little over ten minutes before I’m aware of the bright headlamps of a slow-moving vehicle lighting up the road.

  I open the gates, stand in the road, let the lights illuminate me and watch as the BMW slows down. It looks new. It’s dark red. I can’t make out the driver, but recognise Caroline before she’s got out of the passenger side. She’s wearing tight black jeans, a tighter black t-shirt with a circular cutaway over the abdomen and a dark green quilted bomber jacket on top. There’s a large yellow ostrich skin chain bag slung over her shoulder. I’m happy to see her.

  ‘You look great.’

  ‘You look like a walking piece of shit. What the fuck happened to you, baby?’

  I allow her to run her fingertips gently over my face. I only flinch once, which is not bad going. As we walk towards the mausoleum, I give her a truncated version of what happened when I got to Chudwell’s place in Berkeley Square.

  ‘So it was the wife. Shit. You think she knew what was being done?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t get much of a chance to chat to her, but Chudwell told me that she demanded that any boyfriend she spotted on social media be aggressively dealt with.’

  ‘So it wasn’t all craziness. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what the results of her demands would be.’

  ‘I don’t think so. She wouldn’t know exactly, but that’s not the point. It sounds a little like schizophrenia mixed in with psychopathy, plus all the delusions. Add to that her background, wealth and power: she didn’t live on the same planet as you and me. People like Jamie Baldwin and Rikki Tuan didn’t really exist to someone like her. They were other. It was as if they were shadows. And it wasn’t the first time this sort of thing had happened. It may have been going on for quite a few years, but in the past, they’d got away with it.’

  ‘But this time they picked on the wrong guy.’

  ‘Certainly looks that way, Caroline.’

  ‘So the chain of command was this: Lady Ombersley can’t stand the Paige woman having boyfriends. She requests that they be frightened off in whatever way. Viscount Ombersley executes this with the help of his two masonic thug bitches. They warn, threaten and hassle and if that doesn’t work or it backfires in some way, then they kill and maim. So: Lady Ombersley at the top, then Viscount Ombersley, then Tansil, then Gable. Am I getting there?’

  ‘Pretty much. You’ve got other players, too. Dr Barnaby Footitt helped out when Jamie Baldwin got admitted to hospital. Delivered a bit of mild threat into the mix. His function was to assure the others that Baldwin wouldn’t be going to the police.

  ‘Declan Sharpe, another ex-cop who worked under Tansil, was the intelligence source from within the Paige McBride camp. He knew her movements and could tell the others where she’d be.

  ‘Then on a lower level, you’ve got Thomas Wade, the Reception Supervisor at Frampton House. He made it possible for them to get that girl into Rikki’s flat and kill her there. After they’d killed Rikki, his disappearance could be explained by that dead girl. I was wrong about it being Tansil or Gable who killed her, though. It was Footitt. He’s a psycho. It’s his thing, and the other two thought it could be used to their advantage.’

  I unlock the mausoleum and indicate to Caroline where Rikki’s remains are located. I wait outside. I don’t really want to ha
ve a full-on dose of that smell again.

  She’s down there for a long time. My guess is that she’s taking photographs for Mr Sheng. When she comes back up, her lips are pursed and even in the moonlight her complexion is pale. She looks down at her ostrich skin bag, opens it up and takes her cigarettes out.

  ‘You want one?’

  It’s tempting. ‘Normally I’d say yes, but I’m not feeling too good. I don’t want to throw up in your friend’s car.’

  ‘Of course. You killed Gable with your bare hands, yeah?’

  ‘It was him or me.’

  She lights one of her cigarettes. The rich smell of the spicy tobacco fills the air: whisky, orange and vanilla.

  ‘He deserved it,’ she says. Then a flash of her usual humour returns. ‘You must be some badass bastard to kill a huge guy like that. Like I said, I’m going to find out about you, baby. You see if I don’t.’

  ‘What were you doing down there?’

  ‘Took a couple photographs. Mr Sheng would have wanted to see. I’m gonna text them to him in a minute.’

  ‘All that time for a couple of photographs?’

  ‘Then I defiled Gable’s body.’

  ‘OK.’

  41

  DÉNOUEMENT

  The interior of the BMW is cool and comfortable and it smells new. I sit in the back. Caroline introduces me to Qawaya as if we’re at some formal social gathering. She doesn’t give her my surname. She starts texting Mr Sheng. Qawaya doesn’t comment on my failed cage fighter look. We shake hands. From the name, I’d expected her to be Arabic, but she’s Indian. Pretty, very petite, intelligent eyes, expensively manicured, pierced lower lip, much too much makeup and giving off an overpoweringly sexy smell of musk perfume.

  She’s wearing a black silk crêpe jacket with shoulder pads over a dark green corset. Stockings, suspenders, heels; I feel better already. If you saw these two women approaching you on a West End Saturday night, you’d think you were dreaming.

  ‘You want to give me a quick route that the Sat Nav won’t know, Daniel?’ she says.

  ‘This time of night? Head for Camden, then down Albany Street with Regent’s Park on your right. You can put your foot down there. Fewer police. Aim for Regent Street. Cross over Oxford Circus then take a right into Conduit Street. You can drop us at Bruton Street. Is that alright?’

  ‘OK. I’ve got you.’ She has a lovely warm voice and tilts her head from side to side as she speaks. I’m pushed back into my seat as the car accelerates and we’re soon travelling at forty, fifty, seventy, according to where we are, how much traffic there is and what she thinks she can get away with.

  Caroline’s mobile rings. She answers it. Her responses in Cantonese are subdued and terse. I can hear a calm voice on the other end and I think it’s Sheng. I can see Qawaya checking me out in the rear view mirror from time to time. We swerve to avoid a drunken cyclist.

  ‘Fan Mei said that you were a private detective. Is that right?’

  For a moment I don’t know who she’s talking about, then remember that Fan Mei is Caroline’s real name. Is this the result of some etiquette when you’re hiring a professional dominatrix? No fake names? I must ask. I remember what Doug Teng said that name meant. Fan meant lethal, Mei meant gorgeous.

  ‘That’s right.’

  We take a stomach-churning left turn. I notice with alarm that Qawaya is only operating the steering wheel with her right forefinger, her left hand flat on the gear knob.

  ‘Are you Daniel Beckett, by any chance?’ Those big beautiful eyes glance repeatedly in the rear view mirror, waiting for my response. How can she possibly know who I am?

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Ha!’

  She raises her eyebrows. She’s smiling to herself.

  ‘Ha? What does that mean? Have we met?’

  ‘No. But I heard about you.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘Well, that’s something you’ll have to put your mind to, isn’t it? Use all your detecting skills.’

  ‘That’s very enigmatic.’

  She laughs. ‘Thank you.’

  Caroline shuts down her mobile and stares out the window.

  ‘Look,’ says Qawaya, handing me her business card while keeping her eyes on the road. ‘Here’s my card. Give me a call when you’re free.’

  Her card is grey carbon fibre. All that’s on there is her name and a mobile number. ‘I don’t think I’ll be needing your services, Qawaya. Thanks, anyway.’

  ‘Oh no. Not professional. Just for dinner. I don’t like Italian or Hungarian and I don’t fuck on the first date. After that, anything goes, and I mean anything. Just so you know.’

  ‘Oh my,’ says Caroline, putting her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. She shakes her head and looks out of the passenger window, apparently embarrassed.

  ‘OK. I’ll give you a call.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it. We can settle up the money you owe me. Kill two birds with one stone. Three thousand. Don’t forget.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Fifteen minutes later we’re in Bruton Street. Qawaya pulls up outside the Osborne Samuel gallery and Caroline and I get out.

  ‘Thank you for this,’ I say to her. ‘I’ll be in touch soon with the money.’

  She nods her head, then looks at Caroline. ‘If you need me again, honey, you know what to do.’

  ‘Sure, baby. I had a ball.’

  ‘Me too.’

  It’s dark now. I wait until the BMW is out of sight, then turn to Caroline, holding her upper arm to get her full attention. Not for the first time since we left the mausoleum, she’s looking distracted.

  ‘As far as I know, there are four people in there apart from Paige: Chudwell and his wife, Tansil and Footitt. Paige and the wife could still be upstairs. They may be expecting Gable to return, they may not. We have to take into account that they’ve tried to call him on his mobile and he hasn’t replied, so they may be suspicious and on their guard.

  ‘The front door virtually opens into the reception room. There’s a hallway, but it’s not very long. The door’s got a mortice lock and a Yale. Picking those would be easy but a little noisy. To go in that way would warn whoever was about and I don’t want that. The basement door only has a Yale. I don’t know what’s down there or if it’s used for anything, but it’s the way we’re going to have to go in.’

  ‘OK. Are you alright? You look peaky.’

  ‘I think I can last a bit longer. You?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Did you bring the hammer and my keys?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ She unzips her bag and produces a steel claw hammer. I take it from her and judge its weight in my hand. It should do. She hands me the key ring. Good.

  ‘We’re going to saunter along slowly. Link your arm around mine like we’re some sort of romantic couple.’

  ‘I want lots of babies.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  We stroll into Berkeley Square. As soon as I can see Chudwell’s house, I check for lights. There’s a room on the second floor that’s lit up with the curtains drawn, nothing on the first floor and lights on in the hallway and reception room on the ground. The basement is in darkness. For a brief moment, I think I see a flash of light from the second floor room, then decide it’s my imagination.

  We stay on the other side of the road from the house. As we get closer, it doesn’t look as if there’s anyone in the reception room. Perhaps they’re in the kitchen, drinking sherry and cleaning up my blood. I realise that I didn’t consciously check for motion sensor lights on my last visit, but I’m sure I’d have noticed if they were there. Besides, the house is equidistant from two street lamps and there’s another across the road next to the square, so they’d probably be superfluous.

  We cross the road. We’re three houses away now. I turn to look at Caroline. ‘Keep close behind me and don’t speak. When we’re down in the basement I want you to look up to the street. Watch and listen. Anything happens, touch me o
n the shoulder once.’

  ‘Got it.’

  I grip the hammer in my right hand as we approach the house. There’s a group of three men heading in our direction about a hundred yards away. A smartly dressed woman in loudly clicking high heels walks past us. On the other side of the road, a small family are quickly approaching; two teenage kids, and the loud dad has had too much to drink.

  From the engine noise, I can tell there’s a black cab coming up behind us. The three men will look at the high-heeled woman whose walking speed will make her about ten seconds away from them. Then the lights from the cab will stop them seeing us clearly.

  The moment the cab gets in between us and the family, I spin around and bring the hammer down hard on the metal rope effect handle of the railing gate. I catch it in my hand as it breaks off, push the gate open and trot down the stairs to the basement. Caroline’s right behind me and closes the gate behind us. She takes the hammer from me and puts it back in her bag.

  I get the key ring out of my pocket and go to work on the Yale with the burglar’s tools. Caroline turns away from me and looks up at the street. There’s a click as the Yale opens. Took two seconds. I push the door inwards. No audible alarms go off. I tap her on her shoulder and she follows me inside.

  I close the door, stand still and listen. It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. It’s another kitchen. Not as smart and hi-tech as the one upstairs. Probably a leftover from when these houses had servants’ quarters. It doesn’t smell like it’s been used for a while. I realise now that I should have brought a torch. Maybe next time.

  ‘What now?’

  Caroline is so close it makes me jump. I realise that from the moment I broke the gate handle her movements were absolutely silent.

  ‘We’re going to go upstairs once I find the door that gets us out of here. Keep behind me and keep quiet.’

  There’s a wooden door right next to an old AGA. I turn the handle as slowly as I can, but it still creaks. When the handle is all the way down I have to pull it hard to make it open. This makes a quick, sharp report. I count to ten while waiting for a reaction to the noise, but nothing happens. I can see an old wooden staircase about ten feet away. I put my mouth right next to Caroline’s ear and whisper.