Shimmers of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 3)

by Richmonde, Arianne

  “So, had you spoken to Laura?” A loaded question. What Alexandre really wanted to know was, how much do you know?

  “Of course. She told me she wanted to get back with you and that you were still in love with her.”

  Oh fuck! “And you believed her?”

  “Well, yes. Why would she lie about that? It’s one of the things that drove me into treatment. She was disgusted by me, and rightly so. I was a fuck-up, a disaster. A junkie. How could I have expected her to live with a man like me? There you were, all sorted out. Making a mint. Good looking. Together. And there was I like a fucking loser, jacking up every day.”

  Alexandre laid a hand gently on James’s shoulder. After all, they’d been friends before. Sort of. “What she said wasn’t true. I’m in love with Pearl, my fiancée. I have never wanted Laura back. Ever. You have to believe me, James.”

  James flinched his shoulder and Alexandre took his hand away. “I don’t know what to fucking believe. Here we are, the pair of us, sitting next to a dead woman. My wife. The woman I was in love with. The woman I got clean for. I have a feeling you killed her but, obviously I can’t prove it.”

  “James, you don’t seem to be that distraught about Laura lying there dead. I could just as easily suppose you killed her.”

  He looked up at Alexandre, his brows furrowed. “And why the hell would I do that?”

  “Jealousy. Rage. Revenge. Or simply to stop her taking you to the cleaners. I don’t know – you could have a million reasons.” Alexandre thought of the evidence. Was it possible that it was right here, in the house? He was desperate to check it out before the police arrived. He knew how most women’s minds worked; they always kept things of value hidden in their bedrooms. “I’m going upstairs to the bathroom.”

  “There’s a bathroom down here, use that.”

  “I’d prefer to use the one upstairs.”

  “Why? So you can do a quick robbery while you’re at it? Steal Laura’s jewelry?”

  “Don’t be absurd, James.”

  “Do what you like, the police will be here any second and you can tell them your bullshit excuses about why you broke into our house.” He sat like a stone, not budging from the bottom step.

  Alexandre skirted around him and mounted the stairs. At the top, he made a right and followed the corridor all the way to the end. The master bedroom door was open. He entered, and scanned his eyes about the room. He’d been to this house on several occasions over the years, and knew his way around. He could hear sirens from two or three vehicles, outside. He looked out of the window, down onto the street. Two police cars and an ambulance had arrived. There was a frantic knock at the front door and he heard James opening it and talking in muffled tones to the police. The living room was filling up rapidly with more voices and commotion. Alexandre didn’t have much time. He looked under the bed – nothing. Laura used to like keeping important things in her closet – letters and personal stuff. He opened the closet door, rummaged through hanging dresses, pants and shirts and he glimpsed something shiny at the back – was it the titanium hip? No, just was a silver sequin jacket.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” It was James standing behind him. Alexandre spun around. James edged closer, a scowl set on his sharp face as if he was about to lash out.

  “Nothing. Sorry,” Alexandre replied. But James leapt at him, launching his slim body at Alexandre like a missile, his right fist flailing in the air aiming for his face. Alexandre ducked and clamped James’s wrists tightly behind his back. Fighting was the last thing he wanted to do.

  A policewoman quickly entered the bedroom, and a policeman rushed from behind, barging her out of the way and diving at the two men locked together; Alexandre was still immobilizing James who was thrashing about like a fish on a hook.

  The policeman and another colleague, also pushing his way through the room, shouted out, “I want you two to come with us down to the police station.”

  James shouted out, “This bastard killed my wife! He broke into my house, uninvited. He must have shoved her down the stairs. They were lovers.”

  Alexandre shook his head and mumbled, “It’s not true.” What a fuck-up. He knew, though, that the best course of action was to remain calm and wait for his attorney. He’d call Sophie and get their legal team onto it. He had never needed a criminal lawyer before, but they had a good one on HookedUp’s payroll, just in case.

  Alexandre was silent. He released James’s wrists and put his hands up peacefully. Oh shit. He needed his attorney, and fast.

  “He basically broke into my house,” offered James, nursing the burns on his wrists and glowering at Alexandre.

  The policeman, a pale-faced man in his fifties, eyed both men up and down and said, “Look, there is a dead woman below and I don’t have time to play Sherlock Holmes. I want you both down at the station, now, to make a statement and give interviews. I’ll want to take DNA swabs – meanwhile, the forensic team will tell us if there’s been any foul play.”

  “I know my rights!” James yelled. “Either arrest me now, or leave me be. You have no right to force me to come down to the station, let alone take any bloody DNA samples! I’ll give my statement, right here, in my own house, thank you very much.”

  Alexandre noticed the policeman’s thin lips quiver with rage. James answering back in his pompous Etonian accent, had really got his goat.

  The officer, a small and ‘important’ man, told him, “Alright, so be it. I’m arresting you both on suspicion of manslaughter.” He puffed up his chest and said in a monotone, “You have the right to remain silent, if you give up this right, anything you say can, and will be used as evidence against you in the court of law. You have the right to…”

  The man’s voice was a swirl of words spinning about in Alexandre’s dazed head. He felt as if someone was smothering him with cotton wool. He tented his fingers in front of his face and mumbled, “This is crazy.” But he noticed a sneer on the policeman’s lily-white face. Damn. He shouldn’t have spoken.

  The other officer said, in a broad Cockney accent, “What are you? Bloody foreign or something?”

  Alexandre was aware that he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. His French accent would not go down well. At all. The English hated the French, it was common knowledge. Frogs, they called them. The French, in return, nicknamed the Brits ‘Roast Beef’, not because of their national dish, but because of the color their bodies turned in summer as they slumped about Mediterranean beaches sporting agonizing sunburns.

  James piped up, “It’s him you should be questioning, not me! He broke into my house, I tell you.”

  Alexandre wanted to defend himself, explain he’d been invited, that the back door was open and he had a key to the garage but he bit his lip. He needed to stay calm, wait for his attorney to be present. He simply shook his head.

  “So you don’t know this man?” asked the policewoman looking at James.

  “Yes, I do know him, I told you that, downstairs. He’s my wife’s ex-boyfriend.”

  “Is this true, sir?” the Napoleon complex officer asked Alexandre.

  “I’d rather wait to give my statement down at the station with my lawyer present, if you don’t mind,” Alexandre answered quietly. He knew his rights. He couldn’t be kept at a police station for more than twenty-four hours without being charged, although this could be extended to thirty-six hours with the authority of a police superintendent, and for up to ninety-six hours with the authority of a magistrate, which is exactly what could happen if they got wind of the whole IVF nonsense. He could hear them downstairs now, probably the forensics team – shit, now he thought about it, traipsing upstairs wasn’t such a great idea. His footprints would be all over the staircase, proof that he could have pushed Laura. After all, it wasn’t his house. James could have his footprints or fingerprints anywhere, and so what? But Alexandre was another story, altogether. That, plus coming in from the back when nobody was home, did not look good at all.

  James crie
d out, pointing his skinny finger like a weapon at Alexandre, “It’s him you should be worried about. He was having a bloody affair with my wife!”

  The policeman smirked as if he’s made a great discovery, and said to James, “So, sir, that would give you a good motive, wouldn’t it?”

  “Should I handcuff them, sir?” the female officer asked.

  “Look, that really won’t be necessary,” James blurted out. “This is absurd. This is my bloody house! You think I’m going to kill my own wife? I’m the one who called you, for Christ’s sake? You think I would have made that phone call if I’d been guilty of murder?”

  “Actually, a neighbor called 999 before your call came in,” the woman said. “She heard a woman scream.”

  The officer in charge shot her a poisonous look. She’d obviously said too much. She covered her mouth with her hand in embarrassment.

  Laura screamed, did she? Alexandre mused. He didn’t think that James was capable of murder, but who knew? His mother had killed - and he hadn’t imagined Laura would be capable of blackmail. People did strange things under pressure. Maybe Laura was threatening James in some way, and he needed her out of the picture. It seemed strange that she would fall down the stairs in her own house, even with heeled slippers. It wasn’t even dark.

  “Look sir, we can either do this peacefully and you come with us nice and quietly down to the station for questioning, or we’ll have to cuff you.”

  It was still very civilized in Britain, Alexandre thought. In the USA, he and James would be on the floor by now, wrists cuffed behind their backs and a gun held to their heads. Yet here, they were politely asking them to come along to the station for questioning. He knew a little about the law in Britain and the way the system worked. His new partner, the one he was starting the video game company with, had once been arrested for dealing marijuana. The police in the UK were able to arrest people much more easily than in the States. American police needed probable cause to make an arrest, but in the United Kingdom, officers could arrest just on suspicion.

  Alexandre pushed out his wrists in front of him to show good will.

  The police officer said, “That won’t be necessary, sir. If you men can both come along with us quietly and do not resist, we won’t be needing restraints.”

  “Sure,” Alexandre told him, offering a limp smile. His mind raced back to the possibility of the evidence being in the closet. Damn, he’d like to have one more look but it would cause mayhem. James was already suspicious; Alexandre couldn’t draw attention to the closet – not even look at it. He’d have no choice but to be led like a lamb to slaughter to the police station, and call Sophie to get his lawyer there ASAP. Meanwhile, he wouldn’t incriminate himself, wouldn’t give evidence – he had ‘the right to remain silent’ and he’d damn well use that right.

  “Come along please,” the small policeman ordered, ushering James and Alexandre out of the bedroom. Alexandre ambled along peacefully but James, disgusted by the Cockney policeman’s hand clamped on his wrist shouted, “Get your hands off me!”

  Alexandre knew that things would now get worse.

  The Napoleon complex officer stood ‘tall’ and commanded, “On second thoughts, cuff them both. I really don’t want any trouble.” He pointed a fat finger at James and hissed, “You, sir, need to calm right down.”

  “He’s upset, sir; his wife’s just died,” the policewoman suggested to her boss.

  “Yes, well. I don’t want any monkey business when I’m in charge, thank you very much.”

  It felt humiliating to be arrested and cuffed. Alexandre’s mind traced back to the time when he ‘cuffed’ Pearl with the string of Art Deco pearls, and wondered if she had felt the same; humiliated. Christ, he hoped not, he hadn’t meant it that way. Jesus, how embarrassing, his cock started throbbing just thinking about her naked, her hands above her head, her legs splayed open and bound to his brass bed with his blue silk ties – her pussy soaking wet as he licked and sucked her to her first, ever, oral orgasm. Pearl was all his. No other man had given her such pleasure sexually. He loved going down on her – she tasted so sweet. Shit! He felt himself expanding; it was as if his heartbeat was right between his legs. He knew that Pearl nicknamed it his Weapon of Mass Destruction and she was right – it could bring him to ruin if he wasn’t more careful. Thank God he was still wearing his overcoat. Jesus, he had a full hard-on now. How he could possibly have an erection in the middle of being arrested was an enigma to him. Pretty fucked-up to be thinking about sex at a moment like this. He’d heard that when men got hung, they found it erotic. It was known as a ‘death erection’ and ‘angel lust.’ He’d read, somewhere, that Christ was depicted by several Renaissance artists with a post-mortem erection after the crucifixion. Maybe, that was what was happening now – he knew he was about to be hung, drawn and slaughtered, figuratively speaking.

  As they exited, the housekeeper, Mrs. Blake, was bustling towards the front door with a bunch of grocery bags. She looked horrified.

  “What on earth is going on?” She gazed at James. “Mr. Heimann, what’s happening? I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t go in there for the now,” the policeman in charge said. “Not until the coroner has finished and forensics have done their bit.”

  James told her in a grave tone, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Blake, Mrs. Heimann took a fall. She’s dead.”

  Mrs. Bake looked at the handcuffs and began to quiver uncontrollably. “But it was an accident, surely?”

  “We don’t know that yet, madam. Please move aside. I’m sure Mr. Heimann will get in touch with you when you’re needed.”

  “But Mr. Heimann is innocent!” she screeched. “And this gentleman here, Mr. Chevalier. I know him. They would never have hurt Mrs. Heimann. Never! Handcuffs! You are arresting them? This is madness!”

  “Please move aside, madam. This is being treated as a crime scene until further notice.”

  James stood erect and said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Blake, it’s just a little misunderstanding, that’s all. I’ll ring you very shortly. Meanwhile, consider it paid leave.”

  As Alexandre was bundled into the police car and driven away, he thought of Pearl at the George V. He’d had his cell switched off all this time – he thought Pearl calling while he was dealing with Laura would add fuel to the already raging fire. Pearl had probably been trying to call. But now they’d only allow him one phone call and that would have to be to Sophie. In any case, he didn’t want to worry Pearl in her delicate, pregnant state. Sophie could deal with everything. He hoped she’d pull out all the guns. Get him out of this mess.

  Jesus. What a fucking nightmare.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Daisy is now sprawled out on the living room sofa, sozzled from all the pink champagne. I feel responsible, although she doesn’t seem to care at all. I left her lying there with a grin spread across her face like the Cheshire Cat.

  Amy was rushing about with excitement earlier. I ordered room service for us all, although Daisy was beyond repair and didn’t seem interested in eating. I left her with a couple of large bottles of Perrier water on the coffee table and a ceramic bowl next to her to vomit in, just in case. The place is far too fancy to have a bucket and I didn’t want to call down. I then gave Amy a sumptuous bubble bath in the grand marbled bathroom and put her to bed.

  I return to the living room to check on Daisy and cover her with a blanket. She has miraculously perked up and is in the mood for a chat.

  “You’re not feeling sick?” I ask.

  “No! I’m feeling simply marvelous. Bloody delicious champers – got anymore?”

  “No, we’ve run out,” I lie. “But there’s lots of delicious mineral water.”

  “Bore Ring.”

  “I put Amy to bed.”

  “Good girl. You, not Amy. You’re a good girl for doing that.”

  Yes, she’s tipsy alright. “Okay, I think you’re ready now for the delicious soup I ordere
d for you. Wait there and I’ll heat it up. Organic chicken noodle soup with Shiitake mushrooms and ginger.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “Doesn’t it? Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

  I hear Daisy glugging down some water as I go to the kitchen. It really is like an apartment here. I could get used to this easy luxury; gourmet food on tap, flower arrangements changing daily.

  Still no word from Alexandre. A frisson of fear runs up my spine as I think of all the possibilities. Why hasn’t he called? It can only mean one thing: bad news. Laura has persuaded him to do the IVF and he’s stalling. He doesn’t want to hear me scream and cry about it. I swore to myself I wouldn’t; that I’d remain cool, calm and collected, and accept whatever decision he made, but the more I think about Laura pregnant, the sicker I feel.

  I return with Daisy’s soup on a tray. It smells incredible and I’m tempted to order more, although I had a delicious Club Sandwich, earlier.

  As I lay the tray on Daisy’s lap, I feel as if I’m feeding an invalid. Chicken noodle soup can heal anything, even an impending hangover. “Are you sure you’re not going to take a spoonful and vomit everywhere,” I check.

  “Ha! You think I’m a wimp, don’t you? I used to drink quite a bit, in my day. You should have seen me down the pub; I could drink any man under the table.” I spread a napkin like a bib about her neck and she slurps down some of the broth. “Oh my God, this soup is out of this world.” She looks as if she’s died and gone to Heaven. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to say. Remember when I slipped out of the restaurant this afternoon to go to the chemist to get some Advil?”

  “The chemist?”

  “Sorry, I mean ‘pharmacy’ – chemist is English. Anyway, I didn’t have a headache at all. I went to buy us some naughty toys.”

  I widen my eyes with mock disapproval. “From that sex shop we passed earlier?”