Quintin Jardine - Alarm Call

Susie doesn’t know what she’s missed , I thought to myself.

That thought extended to the message left on my cell-phone, and to my e-mail. Whatever was on it, I knew it would be grief of some sort; I really didn’t need any more at that point, but I knew that I had to get it over with. So I fetched my laptop, booted it up and plugged the modem lead into the dedicated jack-point in the suite’s office area.

I went straight to my AOL box; it had been a couple of days since I checked it, so there were quite a few messages waiting, including one from Ellie and one from Jonny. They were in touch all the time, and I was pretty sure they would be routine, so I left them unopened and concentrated on the two that were of interest, new mails from Paul Wallinger and from Susie, hers despatched more recently, judging by its place in the queue.

I went to Wallinger’s first; as soon as it appeared on screen I saw that it was addressed to both Susie and me. There was no heading and no message, just an attachment labelled ‘Untitled 2.1 zip’. I hit the download button and watched as a series of images was displayed in a strip at the foot of the screen. After the week I’d just had, nothing should have shocked me, but these did.

‘Come here and see this,’ I called out to Prim, with an edge to my voice that brought her running to stand behind me, her hands on my shoulders, as she looked at the laptop. I hit the command that says ‘view as a slideshow’, and watched as each picture was displayed, full screen size.

There were five of them and they had all been taken in our hotel in Minneapolis, from a point high on one wall, on our first night there, when we’d got back to our room after dinner and a few beers in Gluek’s. They showed the living area and a part of one of the beds, beside the screen. All but one of the images featured Prim, almost facing the hidden camera. In the first, she was unbuttoning her shirt, in the second she was stepping out of her jeans, in the third she was letting her bra fall on to the floor, and in the fourth she was naked, back to the camera and heading towards the bedroom. The last of the images showed me; I was in my boxers, thank God, and I’d been going from the bathroom to my bed, but anyone looking at the shot would have thought I was about to get into the one in which Prim could be seen lying.

We stared at the incriminating photographs, as they ran over and over again before us. Prim’s fingers were digging into my shoulder, harder and harder with each frame. ‘He bugged our room, Oz,’ she gasped. ‘The dirty bastard bugged our room. How could he have done that?’

‘Probably quite easily if he was in the room next door,’ I told her.

‘But why’s he sent these to you now?’

‘For information, you might say. He’s also sent them to Susie.’

‘Oh, no!’ Her hands left my shoulders; as I killed the slideshow and turned round to face her, I saw that they were pressed to her cheeks. ‘God,’ she gasped, ‘what’s she going to think?’

‘What she was meant to think, when he cancelled our second room and set this up.’

‘Paul did that?’

‘The very boy.’

‘But why?’

‘I have no idea.’ I looked up at her. ‘Leave me alone for a bit, will you? There’s a message from Susie; I’d better read it.’

She went back to the window, and I opened Susie’s mail. I winced as I read it.

So this is the bloody great suite you told me you had. It looks like an ordinary hotel room to me. You lied to me, Oz, and I don’t think I’ll ever believe you again. If you want her, fucking stay with her, but don’t think you’re getting anywhere near the kids .

I tried to make myself angry with her, but I couldn’t. If that had been her in those photos, with someone else, someone would have had to scrape me off the ceiling. I thought about picking up the phone there and then, but could see only a yelling contest in prospect, so instead I replied to her mail.

My darling [I wrote], you must believe me when I tell you that nothing’s happened between Prim and me, in Minneapolis or anywhere else. We were set up there by Paul Wallinger; he cancelled our second room by pretending to be on my staff, and he occupied it himself. He bugged our room and took those pictures. We had had a couple of drinks and maybe we were not as decorous as we should have been, but I promise you that it was no more than that. I don’t know why the guy did it, but I expect to catch up with him pretty soon, and when I do, and when Prim has got Tom back, I promise you I will get the truth out of him.

He’s playing a game with Prim. He’s showed part of his hand, in that he’s given her a draft agreement to sign, swapping Tom for the money she has in Vancouver. He wants to make the trade here in Las Vegas. Whether she does it or not is her call. I’ve still got her with me in the hope that when he contacts her again, I’ll be able to locate the kid while they negotiate, and enforce Harvey’s court order. We need to be close if this is going to work, or she could lose her money and her son. I don’t like this any more than you do, but you sent me, remember. If your trust in me has evaporated, get on a plane and come straight out here. Believe this or not as you will, but I’ve missed you from the moment I stepped out of our front door .

Love

Oz .

I re-read it, hit the ‘send’ button, then went back over to the window, and Prim. I picked up my abandoned glass and stared out at the city for quite a long time, seeing none of it.

‘Is she as steamed up as I’d be in her shoes?’ she asked, at last.

I shook my head. ‘Compared to Susie, your temper is a breeze beside a hurricane. You have been in her shoes, remember. She’s much more steamed up than you ever were.’

‘Can you fix it?’

‘I hope so. I love her, Prim, don’t be in any doubt about that,’ I felt grimmer than at any time before in my life as I picked up the bottle and refilled my glass. ‘If I lose her, and Wallinger’s to blame, you can forget anything I’ve said up to now. I’ll make a phone call and he’ll be dead.’

She looked at me anxiously. ‘Then you’d better not lose her, and drag yourself down in the process.’

As she spoke I heard a click from the laptop, telling me that I had more mail. I went back across and reopened my box. Susie must have been sitting beside her computer; my message had been answered.

It was not good news.

All well and good [she’d written], but if I put detectives on your trail what would they find, in Vancouver, and in San Francisco or in Los Angeles? Give me a straight answer, Yes or No, to this question. Did you and Prim sleep together in the Century Wilshire last night?

I took a deep breath; I hadn’t told her we were booked into the Century Wilshire. I began hammering on the keyboard.

I’m not playing, Susie. This is my straight choice for you. You either believe Wallinger’s lies and insinuations or you believe my truth. I am not having an affair with Prim or anyone else .

I sent the message and stayed by the laptop. The reply came through inside three minutes.

When the chambermaid in the Campton Place made the beds in your discreet two-bedroom suite on Friday morning, yours hadn’t been slept in. Shove it, Oz.

I sighed. She had indeed put detectives on my trail, or Wallinger had spoken to the chambermaid himself. Either way, I’d stitched myself up, well and truly.

I sent her one last message.

It’s all smoke and mirrors, Susie. I love you.

Then I switched the damned machine off.

‘What can I do?’ I asked myself aloud. What have you always done when you were in deep shit? I heard myself reply, inside my head.