Quintin Jardine - For The Death Of Me

‘So what do we do now, Clouseau?’ Dylan growled.

‘You’re the fucking author, Benny,’ I shot back. ‘Make something up.’

‘Let’s go for lunch,’ he proposed. ‘When we find a place, we’ll ask for a telephone directory. That may provide what we mystery writers sometimes call a clue.’

We climbed back into the Cadillac. I didn’t bother with the clever system this time. Instead I headed along Nassau Street, until Prim spotted a seafood place called the Blue Point Grill. They were still serving and we were very lucky, the waiter told us, because they had two tables left. They also had a telephone directory, which contained no listings for either ‘Raymond, T.’ or ‘Raymond, Professor’; there was only one and his forename was Norman.

‘She may commute,’ Prim suggested. ‘She may not live anywhere near the campus.’

‘No. Her mother definitely said that she comes here for Thanksgiving every year.’

‘Why don’t you call her and ask for her address?’

‘That’s a last resort. I don’t want to have to explain what’s going on to the old lady. She’s got enough trouble with her son facing a stretch inside.’

‘You could ask him,’ Dylan volunteered. ‘You know where he is.’

‘The last thing Trevor said to me had the word “fuck” in it. I don’t imagine he’d react any differently. We’ll ask around here before we get to Plan C.’

The food was good, but the information was lousy. They didn’t know Theresa Raymond, and if she was anyone important in Princeton, they were sure they would have. ‘Unless she’s allergic to seafood,’ I said to the waiter.

‘I’ve never met anyone who’s allergic to seafood,’ he replied.

‘Maybe that’s because you work in a fish restaurant.’

We left no wiser than we had come in, but Prim had a bright idea. We should split up and go into as many shops as we could until we found someone who knew the Prof, and could point us at her. She volunteered to do the dress shops. Surprise?

We agreed to meet in front of the Blue Point Grill in an hour for an update on progress. I crossed the street and started walking, feeling more than a little daft. I tried a pharmacist first: she was a woman, so she must need. . things; makeup and stuff. . and the campus was nearby. They had no clue; I could have asked the people in there for the time and they’d have had trouble. I tried a hardware store: as far as I knew Theresa Raymond lived alone, so she probably handled her own DIY. If she did, she didn’t shop there.

I almost walked past the Cloak and Dagger bookstore. In fact, I would have, if I hadn’t spotted in the window Lethal Intent, the brand new Skinner novel I’d begun at Ellie’s. Alongside it a sign, ‘signed by the author’. I’d met the guy, when we did the movies of the first two books.

I went inside; the place was neat, and full of well-displayed stock. ‘Have I just missed him?’ I asked the lady behind the counter, as I handed her the book. She wore a name-tag which identified her as ‘Aline Lenaz, proprietor’.

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘These were signed in London. He has been here, though; last year, in fact.’ She took a closer look at me. ‘Aren’t you. .?’

Instead of replying, I handed her a credit card. ‘What brings you to Princeton?’ she asked.

I’d taken a punt once before in a bookstore and it had paid off. In my experience, such as it is, the independents stand or fall on the strength of their mailing list. The ones that make it keep in touch with their regulars at every opportunity. There’s a place I use in Westwood Village, Los Angeles, and I’m often invited to in-store events there.

‘I’m trying to find somebody,’ I told her. ‘She’s the sister of a lady I know, and I promised I’d look her up, but being basically disorganised I’ve lost the damn address.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Raymond, Professor Raymond. She teaches philosophy at the university.’

The woman’s friendly face lit up. ‘Ah, Trey. Theresa Raymond, she lives at seventeen Mimosa Avenue. She’s one of my best customers, reads a lot of Sarah Paretsky, Val McDermid, Patricia Cornwell.’ She tapped Lethal Intent as she bagged it. ‘And this guy, too.’

‘How do I find her?’

‘Easy. You go along Nassau past the main campus, until it becomes Stockton. Then you turn right into Elm Road. Mimosa Avenue is second left.’ She handed me a credit-card slip and a pen. ‘That’s how you find her house,’ she said as I signed, ‘but you won’t find Trey. She’s on vacation or, rather, a lecture tour, in India.’

‘Damn,’ I muttered. ‘I should have phoned her. Of course, I don’t have the number either, do I?’

‘I can give you that.’ She took a bookmark, wrote on the back and handed it to me. I thanked her, and took my purchase. I was about to leave when she asked if she could have a photo taken with me to go on a board at the back of the store. Naturally, I agreed. ‘Jerry!’ she called. A tall slim guy came out of a back office. ‘My husband,’ Aline said. ‘And photographer.’

I was really pleased with myself when I left. The team leader had come up trumps. I walked back towards the Blue Point, and saw Prim standing there waiting for me. ‘Mimosa Avenue,’ I told her.

‘I know. I found her hairdresser.’

We’d have had to wait another half-hour for Dylan, but I spotted him coming out of a coffee shop and gave him my best piercing whistle. ‘Any luck?’ I asked, as he drew close.

‘Not a bit.’

‘Just as well you’re with us, then. Come on.’

If I’m ever a Princeton academic, and my life has been so strange that I will never discount the possibility, I’ll want to live in a place like Mimosa Avenue. It was quiet, it was secluded, it was exactly the sort of place you would want to hide out if you were on the run from a murderous gang. . and from a movie star.

We sat in the Caddy, parked outside number six, with a clear view of Trey Raymond’s place. It was a white two-storey house, the sort of dwelling I’d hire as a location if I was making a movie and needed a home for a model American family. But it was still and silent: nothing was moving, the garage door was closed and there were no toys, or anything else, in the yard.

‘And now?’ asked Prim. ‘We go up and ring the doorbell?’

‘That would be a very bad idea,’ Dylan, in serious mode once more, told her. ‘The last guy who walked in on this lady had a gun placed against the back of his head and his right eye blown out.’

‘So? We just sit here? Which one of you two guys is Dumb and which one is Dumber?’

‘Neither,’ I said. ‘This is what we do.’ I took out my mobile, checked the signal strength, then keyed in the number Aline had given me. The phone at the other end rang, ten times, unanswered. I disconnected and tried again. The fourth time I called, it was picked up, on the sixth ring.

‘Yes? Is that you, Trey?’

‘Maddy,’ I said, as gently as I could, ‘why the fuck are you running from me?’

‘You bastard!’ she screamed. ‘Leave me alone. Come near me and I’ll kill you too.’

‘I’m not going to come near you if you don’t want me to. But I want you to tell me why you’re acting like this. We made a deal in Singapore, remember? I’m ready to complete: I’ve got fifty thousand dollars with me right now, as agreed.’

‘Sure,’ she snarled. ‘And when I show up to meet you, someone else is waiting, your other hired killer.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘What happened to Tony?’ she shouted. ‘What happened to my husband? Are you telling me he isn’t dead?’

‘I’d love to be able to tell you that, Maddy, but if I did I’d be lying. Tony was killed in the Next Page, when he turned up to meet me, like you just said. Somebody was waiting for him. If Tony had the film, I guess he took it after he stabbed him.’ I heard her sobbing. ‘If it’s any consolation in the long term, you killed the guy on Dayang.’