Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘They’re sure to ask who he is.’

‘No problem. They won’t expect to be told his fucking name, not until we’ve charged him. There’s a man helping us with our inquiries, period.’

This morning I picked a moment to look through the invoice book. Every transaction is there, names and addresses of sender and recipient, the messages that go on the little cards, and how much the client paid and whether it was cash or card. Sally sometimes asks me to mind the shop while she slips out for ten minutes to buy two takeout cappuccinos at the shop up the street.

This was my opportunity.

It’s stuffed with famous names and intimate messages, that little book. You could sell it to one of the Sunday papers for a small fortune. ‘Forgive me, angel, the blonde bitch is history now.’ ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, Billy is hot and he’s lusting for you.’ ‘See you — all of you — in the penthouse tonight.’

I won’t reveal the senders’ names, but you’ll have heard of them, believe me. I was dying to read on, but if I got too interested, Sally would be back with the cappuccinos before I found what I wanted. I was looking for one delivery on a particular Saturday in June because I remembered it was my birthday and I had a date that evening and wanted to get the job done in time to get to the hairdresser’s.

I thumbed through the pages and found it. ‘26 June. Corsage, pink rose. Buttonhole, red car. To Mr. John Smith, 48 Blahblah Avenue.?5.50 paid cash. ’

John Smith?

The others were going to jump all over me.

I was so blown away that this was his real name that I still had the book open in my hands when Sally came back holding two coffees.

I froze.

She was like, ‘Have you taken an order?’

I snapped the book shut and felt myself go bright red. ‘No, I was trying to remember the name of one of our clients in Blahblah Avenue.’

‘John Smith?’

‘That’s him.’

Sally, bless her, was as calm as a midwife. ‘Nice man. Always buys his wife something to pin on her frock. Well, I assume they’re married. They act as if they are.’

And I’m, ‘You know them, then?’

‘Not really.’

‘Do they come in together?’

‘Not in the shop. I’ve seen them somewhere. Where was it? A Christmas concert in the Guildhall, I think. She’s rather gorgeous, tall, dark-haired, in her thirties.’

Sounds awfully like the go-between I watched in the pub, I was thinking.

And Sally went, ‘What’s your interest in them?’

I dug deep and made up an answer. ‘A friend happened to mention a charming couple she knows who live in Blahblah Avenue and I was curious to know if the man was our client. Stupid of me. I couldn’t remember his name.’

‘It’s forgettable, being so common.’

‘How right you are.’

‘If you’ve finished with the book, would you put it back in the drawer?’

This is as near as Sally has ever got to a rebuke.

‘Of course.’

My insides clenched with shame. I couldn’t wish for a sweeter, more considerate boss and I’d disappointed her.

And now I’ve fallen out with my friends as well. My shameful scene with the invoice book troubled me more than I can say. I spent most of today wrestling with my conscience, asking myself what could have possessed me to be so sneaky. It was like reading someone else’s diary.

When we met this evening in one of the city’s many pubs I bought the drinks and then told the other two I wanted out.

Anita was onto me at once. ‘Out from what?’

‘The sleuthing thing. It started as a game, but it’s got too serious for me. The fun has gone out of it.’

‘Because you recognized my picture of Heathrow man?’

‘Actually, yes.’

‘You know exactly who he is, don’t you?’ She was in my face and looked ready to scratch it. The jolliest people can turn into monsters very quickly. ‘That stuff about not knowing his name isn’t true.’

‘Hold on, Anita,’ I went. ‘I’m not dishonest. If I’d remembered the name I’d have told you at once. What I’m saying is that now I know he uses the shop I’m not willing to put my job at risk.’

‘Yet you were happy enough to go along with the game when it was my job on the line.’

‘You volunteered the story. We’d never have heard about city break man if you hadn’t told us.’

‘Yes, and I’ve got a whole lot more to lose than you have. I’m the branch manager. You’re only a van-driver, sunshine.’ With her Egyptian look she was like Cleopatra dealing with a Nubian slave.

‘It’s still my job and there’s trust involved in it.’ I dredged up a smile in spite of all the mean stuff being said. ‘I don’t want to stop being friends or meeting you. I’m pulling out of the sleuthing, that’s all.’

‘Quite a turnaround after we all agreed it gives us a cause to take on together. What do you say, Vicky?’

Vicky shrugged. ‘It’s up to Ishtar, I guess.’

Anita wasn’t letting her off with a wishy-washy answer like that. ‘Don’t you cop out as well. We’re all involved. From what I understood, it’s given you a new lease of life. When you get a bit low — as we all do from time to time — this is a whole different project to get stuck into.’

‘That’s true,’ Vicky went. ‘I need something outside myself.’

‘Nicely put.’ Anita was pleased to have won a point.

‘But it doesn’t affect my job. I can understand where Ishy is coming from.’ Poor Vicky, she was trying so hard to keep the peace.

‘Why should it affect her job?’ Anita went. ‘She doesn’t work with the guy. She only delivers a bloody buttonhole once in a while. That’s no big deal.’

‘Excuse me,’ I put in. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Loyalty matters to me.’

‘What about loyalty to Vicky and me, your sleuthing sisters? Doesn’t that count for anything?’

I could see this ending in a catfight and I didn’t want that. ‘It was a bit of fun. It’s come to an end for me. That’s all.’

Anita refused to let go. ‘Let me tell you something about this bit of fun, as you call it. This bit of fun is making a difference to someone’s life, someone not a million miles from here. Vicky, why don’t you tell Ishtar what you told me?’

Vicky swayed back as if she’d been hit.

‘Go on,’ Anita commanded her. ‘She’s your friend. She’s not going to broadcast it all over town.’

Vicky swallowed hard and suddenly it was like a tap had been turned on. ‘Things are not going well with Tim,’ she went in a low voice, looking down, avoiding eye contact. ‘It’s been difficult for some time. I try and talk to him and he ignores me. He can look straight through me. I don’t know if anyone close to you has ever done that. It’s chilling, like you’ve become a ghost. Over the last three months there’s been a massive change in him. He never smiles and jokes like he used to. We sleep in separate rooms. Well, we have for some time. Originally it was because he was working late and wanted to sleep on in the mornings and we were disturbing each other. We both needed our seven or eight hours of sleep so we came to this arrangement. But he doesn’t have a job any more and he still sleeps alone. He uses his room like a bed-sit. He’s got a computer in there and a portable TV. He’ll go in there of an evening and I don’t see him at all. He’s put a lock on the door and I have to knock if I want to speak to him and sometimes he doesn’t bother to open it. He’ll talk to me through the closed door. It makes life very hard.’

‘I’m sure,’ I told her, my heart going out to her. ‘What about meals?’

‘He doesn’t want me to cook for him. He lives out of tins mostly and eats in his room.’