Quintin Jardine - Deadly Business

We were hoping that Duncan had caught the Easyjet Edinburgh-Nice flight; that would have landed mid-afternoon, according to the timetable, and he’d have arrived in Monaco ahead of us. A guess, but well-founded; he had no other option.

I thought we might have been held in immigration for a while, but Miles has been there so often for the Cannes Film Festival that they treated him like a local, and we were waved through. The car that I’d booked was waiting for us on the rank. I could have called Audrey and asked Conrad to come for us, but I didn’t want to let even them in on the surprise that was coming. It was going to be too good to spoil for anyone … most of all Duncan.

It’s no distance at all from Nice to Monaco, autoroute all the way until you descend into the principality … but not all the way into it in our case, for the family home that Susie and Oz had shared looked down on to the famous harbour and the Formula One Grand Prix street circuit. It was just short of eight o’clock when our chauffeur pulled up at the gate.

As always, it was closed. Normally visitors announced themselves into a video camera, but there was a keypad beneath for those who knew the entry code, as Tom and I did. I let him punch it in, and the gate slid aside.

There was nobody in sight as the four of us walked up to the front door. It’s on the landward side of the property, and it doesn’t have a keypad, and not even a doorbell, since by the time visitors get that far, the household knows they’re coming. There’s a door knocker, though, an ornamental thing that’s never used. Tom gave it three loud raps, and then we waited. Liam and Miles were standing to one side, so they wouldn’t be seen through the spyhole, should it be Duncan who came to see who was making the noise.

But it wasn’t. Nobody answered, not until Tom had knocked again, harder the second time around. When it did open, Audrey stood behind it, chubby, friendly, bright-eyed little Audrey … only she looked none of those things. She seemed to have shrunk, her cheeks were gaunt and there was fear in her eyes. They told me as clearly as words that something dreadful had happened.

‘Primavera,’ she exclaimed, then stopped as she saw the two guys. ‘Who are …’ she began.

‘Miles and Liam,’ I replied. ‘We bring tidings of great joy … but … what the hell’s up? And where is that bastard Culshaw?’

‘The kitchen,’ she whispered, as if she had to force the words out.

‘This way,’ I said, heading for it. The three guys made to follow me, but Audrey grabbed Tom.

‘No, not you, son. You stay here with me.’

‘Audrey!’ he protested. He could have freed himself from her grasp, easily, but I shook my head.

‘No, Tom. If Audrey says you stay with her, you stay.’

The kitchen door was ajar when we reached it. At first I thought the floor had been relaid. Susie had never liked the Roman-style white tiles, trimmed with brown, and had been threatening for years to do something about them, but red, Susie, no, not red, much too garish.

At first I thought … then I stepped through the door, felt the stickiness beneath my feet, moved past the island work surface in the middle of the room and saw, behind it, Duncan Culshaw, lying on his back, mouth wide open, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, his face a waxy off-white, looking as dead as anyone I’d ever seen. He was wearing nothing but a pair of Speedo budgie-smugglers. It wouldn’t take a detailed autopsy to determine what had killed him. There was a great gaping wound on the inside of his right thigh, and both of his legs were covered in his blood.

Conrad stood beyond him; he was holding wee Jonathan in his arms. The kid’s face was pressed hard against his chest, and his body heaved with silent sobs.

‘Gimme him,’ I demanded, walking around the other side of the work unit, to avoid the great crimson pool. Conrad handed him over, without a word.

‘Why did you do it?’ I asked him. ‘Did he threaten the children? Or did he just push you too far?’

‘Let’s just say I’d had enough of him,’ he replied.

‘It wasn’t Conrad,’ wee Jonathan mumbled into my belly. ‘It was me, Auntie Primavera, it was me.’ The sobs began again, with full sound effects.

Why did I have no trouble believing him? You might wonder that, but the answer’s quite simple. If Conrad Kent had decided to kill Duncan, he’d have done it in a very quiet place with no witnesses, no mess and no fuss.

‘How?’ I didn’t say the word, I mouthed it.

‘Duncan got back three hours ago,’ Conrad began. ‘He told Audrey and me, in front of the two kids, that we were fired, then he went for a swim. He had a few beers by the poolside, then he came into the kitchen. Audrey was here; she’d started to make dinner for the children. Duncan said something to her along the lines of, “Are you trying out for a job as a chef?” Little Jonathan was standing beside her. He started to protest, but Culshaw said to him, “Shut up, you, and learn some fucking respect. I’m your daddy now!” The little chap picked up the knife that Audrey had been using to cut the veg, and lashed out at him. He didn’t think about it, he just did it. He’d have grabbed anything, a carrot, a courgette, a handful of spaghetti, whatever was nearest. It happened to be the knife, and it happened to be as sharp as a razor, as all good chef’s knives are. I was in the children’s day room with Janet when the screaming started. And there was a lot of it, from Audrey, from little Jonathan, and most of all from Culshaw. As soon as I got here, I knew he didn’t have a prayer. You can see that for yourself, Primavera.’

I nodded agreement; the wound was very high on the inner thigh and the whole femoral arterial structure seemed to have been severed. A tourniquet wouldn’t have done much good.

‘He bled out in a couple of minutes,’ Conrad concluded.

‘When?’

‘Less than a quarter of an hour ago.’

‘Where’s Janet now?’ I asked.

‘Where I left her, I hope. I asked Audrey to stay with her.’

I assumed she’d taken Tom there too. ‘Have you done anything?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not yet. There hasn’t been time. I suppose we should call the police.’

‘And have this little boy stigmatised for the rest of his life?’ I retorted. ‘He might be below the age of criminal responsibility, but I don’t care. I’m not having him mauled by the media.’ Wee Jonathan made a snuffling sound, which I took to be agreement. ‘He’s just lost his mother. What’s happened here stays here, just like Vegas. You’re the fixer, Conrad; so fix it.’

‘Primavera.’ Liam spoke from the doorway. ‘Miles can’t be involved in this.’

‘The hell I can’t,’ my brother-in-law protested.

‘No,’ I said, firmly. ‘He’s right. It’s best all round for you to leave. You’ve got too much to lose. Whatever we do to clean this up it’s going to be stupid, and it’s going to be illegal. Our Dawn would kill both of us if I let you get involved then we got caught.’

‘Nonetheless,’ he insisted, ‘I have to do something to help.’

‘Then take the kids, Tom as well, and get them out of here on your posh new plane. Take Susie’s car, leave it in a car park at the airport and once you’ve got where you’re going, text me the bay number and I’ll have it collected.’

‘Okay,’ he agreed, ‘but where? I’d head for California, but the kids would need visas.’

‘Then go back to Scotland. Take them to Mac Blackstone. Better him than my dad, since he’s only Tom’s grandfather, and the two Js have nothing to do with him, and don’t know him. I promised Tom he’d see his granddads this week, and Mac hasn’t seen the other two in a long time. Then you go home; I’ll let you know later how this all pans out.’