Satisfaction at doing something pulsed through her. She wasn’t gonna get out of this by rolling over and surrendering. If she was right, somebody had slaughtered her husband, her bridegroom, and she had business with them. Yeah, Josh was a controlling, cheating bastard, but she didn’t want to see him dead. They had been happy together at one point. He deserved to be avenged.
And the same somebody had tried to kill Lisa too. By the bullet or the hangman’s noose, after a show trial and months spent rotting in some south-east Asian jail.
Hell no, she thought. I’m not going out like that. I will get out of this, and nothing is going to stop me.
She looked around the hostel bathroom with a pang of regret. It sure would be nice to stop for a few minutes, lay her head down, go to sleep. But she knew in her gut that every second, every minute counted.
She wanted to get back to the West. And that meant stealing another passport.
It was time to go see her old schoolfriend. The one person she knew in Hong Kong.
Alice Kennedy.
She moved back into the dormitory, packed up her pathetically small amount of clothes and put them in her new nylon holder. Then she slipped out of the front door and walked down the crowded street, hanging on to her bag for dear life. There were buses to the Peak, but she wasn’t sure exactly where Alice lived; she’d recognise it if she saw it - maybe.
She was going to walk. At the very least, the climb would improve her fitness.
With each step, Lisa strained to remember what Alice looked like. Dumpy, chestnut-brown hair, a little shorter than her, but that wasn’t something she could help. It had been eight years since they’d last seen each other face to face. Was her hair now red or blond? Was she thin? Had she been aged by children? Wasted by anorexia . . . all the things that could happen to a person. The likelihood that she would still be suitable, still be OK for Lisa to impersonate - what was that?
In the end, it didn’t matter, of course; Lisa was a twenty-eight-year-old alone in Hong Kong, and this was the only choice she had left. Would Alice even be living there, in that same old house? That was the first thing. If she was, but her hair was a different colour, Lisa could change her look again, her hair wouldn’t fall out . . .
The ascent was steep in the humid air. Lisa’s T-shirt was sticking to her now, and she was grateful for her neutral-coloured Hanes bra; anything else in this weather and she would be advertising her lingerie choice to any passing stranger. Imagine if she’d chosen red. You’d be able to see it through her wheat-coloured T-shirt like she was starring in a wet T-shirt contest. In future she’d save the beige Ts for Europe and stick to black out here. But it was no use complaining. She was halfway up the mountain now, and clothes changes were not possible.
Lisa breathed hard, trying to regulate her heart. The road was steep and she was moving quickly. God knew why, because if Alice wasn’t here, she was all out of ideas. Maybe she’d go down to the docks, try to find some Triad guys who would ship her in a crate to Australia, except they’d frisk her and take all her money, maybe rape and kill her too . . .
Holy shit. Holy shit. There it was. Lisa’s breath caught in her throat. That was it, that was the house. She actually remembered. Now that she was standing in front of it, the memories rushed back at her, shocking her with what the brain filed away. This was Alice’s old house, where she’d stayed that one time, for a week, when she was fourteen, and hated every minute of it.
But that hadn’t been Alice’s fault. Lisa couldn’t stand the heat, the smell, the people packed in every store and on every pavement. Alice had tried to show her a good time, taken her to Ocean Park, the giant aquarium, the zoo and a little bird market . . .
They had parted civilly enough. Thank God, because all her hopes rested on that.
She looked at the door. Number thirty-four. The house rose on stilts, its foundations propped up on logs, carving it a space on the mountainside, hung round with green creepers; there was a garage in the space underneath, unheard-of luxury round here, Lisa thought. On the front of the house were wooden boards painted a brilliant reflective white, visible from miles away. It was a prosperous house for a well-to-do family. Hardly the spot someone like her should be right now . . .
Lisa couldn’t be nervous; she was sweating too hard, breathing too hard. That was the good thing about exercise, it didn’t give you any time to think. She climbed up the stone steps carved into the mountainside and rang the bell.
It took an age. The sound faded inside the house. She waited; there was nothing else to do. At last she heard footsteps, pad-pad-pad. Alice? Lisa’s mouth was dry. She hadn’t had a decent conversation with another human being since the night Josh Steen was murdered. Now she was here, what exactly did she say? It was a hell of an ice-breaker, face it . . .
The door opened.
It was not Alice. It was a Chinese woman in a black dress with a white apron. A maid, somewhere in her late forties, heavy-set and unimpressed.
‘Yes?’ she said, looking Lisa up and down, her lip curling.
‘Is Alice Kennedy in?’
What the hell would she do if the answer was no?
‘Miz Watson now.’
Right, so Alice had married. But she’d always be Alice Kennedy to Lisa.
‘Who is asking, please?’ the housekeeper demanded. Slightly more politely. At least the visitor knew her employer’s name.
What should she say? Lisa was frightened to give her own name. She was news now; her blonder, paler self had made the TV screens, even if they didn’t realise where she was.
‘Susan Wilkins,’ she said, in a burst of inspiration. Susan, a petite redhead with a passion for ballet and smoking behind the rhododendron bushes, had been Alice’s closest friend at school.
‘Just a minute,’ the fat woman replied, shutting the door in her face.
Lisa tried to breathe deeply, to steady herself. Alice and she had been friends - kind of. They socialised at parties and went to each other’s houses. But they were hardly best chums, and after that one invite to spend half-term out here, they had not kept up after school. Lisa had no idea how Alice would react when she saw her again.
But she could already hear the footsteps, and now her heart gathered speed again, and the door opened and there was Alice Kennedy, her brown hair still short, thank God, and artificially straightened, and she had put on thirty pounds but it was well distributed, and her skin was perma-tanned from the subtropical heat . . .
‘Susan!’ Alice exclaimed joyously, but of course it wasn’t Susan. She stared at Lisa for a moment, uncomprehendingly, and then let out a great gasp, partly fearful, partly shock. Lisa could see the fat housemaid behind her look sharply at her mistress.
‘Alice,’ she said, tears in her eyes, and she didn’t have to act it. ‘Alice, hon, please . . .’
And the grovel worked; Alice pulled herself up straight, and nodded to Lisa and said, ‘Susan - how nice to see you. Come in,’ and then, even better, she turned to the nosy maid lurking behind her shoulder, ears pricked, and said, ‘Miss Wilkins and I will have tea upstairs.’
The housekeeper padded away on her slippered feet, and Lisa was left staring at her last hope, a woman she hadn’t seen or spoken to for years.
‘You’d better come upstairs,’ Alice said, and Lisa was so grateful she could have kissed her.
The room made Lisa smile. It was so Alice; weird how people didn’t change. It was all pink, pale pinks and dusty mink shades, not the bubblegum brights of her youth, but there they were; she even had a couple of kitsch Hello Kitty lampshades. It was Alice, fifteen years on and girl-made-suburban-good. Lisa somehow knew that this lifestyle was provided by a husband. Alice Kennedy had never been the career type, never been ambitious. Not like Lisa. Once, Lisa had wanted more for herself, but she’d settled when a rich man picked her out of the rat race. Maybe she ought to have been stronger. But it seemed so ridiculous, fretting over a raise that might have got her another ten grand in salary when h
er man was worth over a hundred million.
Too late to regret that stuff, Lisa thought.
Alice carefully shut the door. There was something about the set of her back. Lisa knew she was angry and frightened, but she sensed that her old classmate was also a little thrilled. Alice had never been one of the cool kids in class. This was her opportunity to have an adventure.
‘What are you doing here? Why did you come? The police are looking for you, Lisa. You’ve got to turn yourself in.’ Alice was red-faced and clucking like a hen. ‘My husband has a respectable job, you know. He’s a pilot on Cathay Pacific . . .’
Oh God, she was starting to get hysterical. That wasn’t good. Lisa wanted her to embrace the adventure part of it. She put one hand gently on Alice’s plump arm.
‘Al, I came because I needed someone to talk to - and you were always the cleverest girl I knew. I need your advice.’
The brown eyes widened. Advice! She hadn’t been expecting that - more a plea for money or a hiding place. Lisa instantly decided that she had to seem confident, at least a little bit.
‘I’ve got plenty of money,’ she said, trying to sound relaxed. ‘And places to stay. I just don’t know if I should go back to England or stay here and fight this. I didn’t kill Josh, but of course you knew that . . .’
Alice’s face said she didn’t know that at all - but at least she was listening, her breath coming quicker now.
‘Who did kill him then?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. He had a lot of money. Lots of enemies too, I expect.’
‘He did have loads of money,’ Alice admitted, admiringly. ‘Who’d have expected you to wind up with somebody like him?’
Lisa sighed. ‘You’re not the only one to think that.’ She was looking around the room while she was talking; there was a neat little Samsonite suitcase, hard-case, in peach by the side of the bed. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
Alice blushed, obviously pleased to be asked. ‘Actually Ronald, that’s my husband, he gets these free tickets so we fly off at short notice quite a lot. I like to have a suitcase packed.’
‘You’re so organised,’ Lisa said, flattering her. ‘Does he keep your tickets and passports? Josh always looked after mine.’
She held her breath. Was that too obvious? But she had to at least broach the subject. That passport could be anywhere in this house. Alice had opened the door by talking about free flights. But Lisa’s luck was holding: her old schoolfellow wasn’t suspicious; her round face was proud, she wanted to talk. A lot of the girls at school had assumed that Alice would wind up a spinster. She wasn’t pretty enough. But here she was, married, and to a glamorous, jet-setting pilot. Lisa sensed she relished boasting a little.
‘He gets the tickets. My passport’s just there in my bedside drawer. We fly off all the time.’ Alice preened. ‘When we got married, he sold his place in Canberra to live here with me, and he’s doing quite well with the airline. He always treats me. He’s very romantic.’
Just there, in the bedside drawer. Fantastic. Thank Christ for that. Lisa smiled flatteringly. ‘Oh, Alice, that’s wonderful. What a life! Always ready to go!’
She reached for the drawer; the passport was there, lying face down. She flicked through till she found Alice’s photo; a younger, slightly less dumpy girl stared out at her. Even better. The resemblance wasn’t great, but people were often different from their passport photos. Their hair colour, nationality, style, age, those were all the same. That might work. She hoped so.
‘This looks like it was taken this morning. You haven’t aged a day.’
Alice flushed, pleased with the compliment; Lisa made a show of returning her passport, face down again, to the drawer.
‘Do you have children?’ she asked, trying to show an interest in Alice’s life, get her off her guard.
‘Not yet.’ Her old friend blushed. ‘We’re trying. It’s harder than you’d think. They’re going to put me on some special drugs.’
‘I bet it’ll happen, Alice. You’ve just got to relax about these things.’ Lisa felt like Judas Iscariot. The longer she sat here, the clearer it became to her what she would have to do. And yet she was chatting away to Alice and watching her shoulders untense, her guard drop.
‘I hope so,’ Alice murmured. ‘I really do . . .’ Her expression cleared, and she focused on Lisa again. ‘But Lisa, if you’re innocent, how can you prove you didn’t kill him?’ she asked.
Lisa shook her head. ‘I don’t know that yet. They drugged me, Alice, they put the knife in my hand. I would never hurt Josh like that. I can’t let them get away with it. Do you think I should go back?’
Alice tilted her head, the way she had done when she was a girl. ‘But they might try you . . . Do you have a Thai lawyer?’ She was anxious, and that concern cut Lisa to the heart. Poor Alice.
‘I can get one,’ Lisa said with false bravado. ‘Look, Alice. Why don’t you take me to the airport.’ She fished around inside her backpack and produced her own passport. ‘This isn’t cancelled yet,’ she said. ‘I could get a flight to Sydney . . . hire a decent English-speaking lawyer . . .’
‘Yes,’ Alice said with relief. ‘Australia - it’s practically like home, when you think about it.’
God, she had no idea, did she? Lisa hated this. She mentally prepared herself. Gotta do it to the girl, simply got to.
‘Alice,’ she said, ‘do you think you could drive me to the airport? And tell your maid to take the day off, come back tomorrow? If she comes in here with the tea, it could be really awkward for me. She might recognise me. I have to get that lawyer . . .’
‘I don’t know,’ Alice said, shaking her head. ‘I mean, if the police find out I helped you . . .’
‘They’ll never guess. You’re entitled to give your own staff some time off, aren’t you? Please, Alice.’ Lisa folded her hands together and fluttered her eyelashes. She felt stupid, but that was what they’d done at school. ‘A lift to the airport, that’s not much. And if you send the maid away now, she’s only seen me one time, she could hardly be sure who I am . . .’
‘You do look different,’ Alice admitted. She paused, but Lisa could see the spark of excitement in her eyes. She was being offered a risk-free thrill. ‘OK. Just a ride.’
‘And you’ll go and talk to the maid?’
Alice got up purposefully. ‘On my way. You stay here, I’ll come back when she’s left the house.’
She walked out of the bedroom, and Lisa was alone. Quickly she reached into her backpack, drew out Janet’s passport and put it in Alice’s drawer, face down, taking hers instead. Could she do this? Alice was heavier than she was. But bored, in LA, with no friends of her own, Lisa had concentrated on fitness, including self-defence. And now she was about to put it to the test. If it went wrong and Alice got away, at least she’d be able to outrun her.
She sat on the bed and waited. Alice was a little while; she came back ten minutes later.
‘OK, she’s gone. Let’s leave now, before the police come calling.’
Lisa shivered a little. ‘Is she really gone, Al? Has she gone out of the front door?’
Alice moved to her bedroom window, hung with chiffon curtains and affording a fabulous view of the Peak and the city-island spread out below it. ‘Look! That’s her car driving down, the red Datsun.’ She turned around, holding up her keys. ‘Ours is the Mercedes - come on, we should go right now if you want to do this.’
‘Thanks, Al, really,’ Lisa said. She meant it. ‘Hope I can pay you back one day.’
‘Doubt it,’ Alice replied, ‘I’m not planning to kill anyone.’
Me neither, Lisa thought. Well, those years of self-defence classes at her Beverley Hills gym had cost enough. Now she would see if they were good for anything.
She got up from the bed, walked over to her friend and opened her arms as though to hug her. Then she brought her elbow sharply down on the inside of Alice’s neck, at the base of her skull, and as her friend gasped in pain and
fear, Lisa delivered a round kick hard to her temple, knocking her to the ground and putting her out cold.
There was some pink notepaper on her desk. Lisa wrote a note and put it in Alice’s jeans pocket: Alice, I’m sorry, I had to. I didn’t kill Josh. Now all she had to do was drag her friend’s heavy body and put it somewhere safe. She left the bedroom and looked around the house. There was a secondary wing and what looked like a guest room. She found some tights and a scarf and bound Alice tightly, hands and feet; she gagged her too. She hated doing it, but her friend didn’t even stir. Most likely she was concussed. She’d need medical attention, but Lisa was going to ensure she didn’t get it. Guilt coursed through her; but Alice was alive, and so would Lisa be. And right now that was all she could think of.
Alice was heavy, a dead weight, but Lisa was getting used to exertion now. She hauled her with all her might, far away from the main bedroom, into the guest area and then into the closet. It would be terrifying for Alice when she woke up. But it was Lisa’s only option.
She ran back into the bedroom, picked up her own backpack and Alice’s car keys, then walked out of the house to the garage. It was an expensive one, opening with a click. The fewer people Lisa had to see, the better. She opened the car, started it, no problems. Once she was safely in Europe she would call, let poor Alice out. Her husband worked for Cathay Pacific. That was enough, plus Lisa had the address.
She told herself all this. It didn’t make her feel any better.
Felix lay back against the soft-grain leather of his imported Italian couch. A copy of USA Weekly was on the leather beside him; he had flicked through it, impressed by the work.
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