Stephen Leather - Take Two

He walked around the side of the house. There was a large terrace at the rear of the building, with a barbecue area and a white circular cast iron table surrounded by half a dozen ornate matching chairs. Beyond it was a large swimming pool with a diving board and stretching into the distance were well-kept lawns dotted with trees.

There was a conservatory at the rear of the building with French windows. Terry walked across the flagstones and tried the handle. To his surprise, the door opened. He stood still for a few seconds as he wondered what to do. If he entered the building, he was trespassing. But if he walked away, he and Carolyn would never know the truth. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. As he crossed the threshold, he saw a burglar alarm sensor close to the ceiling. As he stared at it a red light flashed and he flinched, expecting an alarm to go off, but nothing happened. He figured the sensors were on but the alarm hadn’t been armed. There was a possibility that there was a silent alarm linked to a police station or a security company but they were in the middle of nowhere so even if the alarm was on, he figured he had enough time for a quick look around.

He walked through the kitchen into a double-height hallway and into the sitting room. It was pretty much as Carolyn had described it, except for the fact there was no sign of anyone having had their brains bashed in. The floors were pine polished to a gleaming shine. He walked around and while there were several large crystal figurines, there was nothing resembling a dolphin. He went over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and inspected the glass carefully. The glass was spotless. He frowned. Perhaps too spotless. He stood back and looked at the glass from an angle. It looked as if someone had polished parts of the window. He knelt down and scrutinised the bottom of the frame. It too had been cleaned but he saw a small red spot near the floor. He licked his finger, pressed it against the spot and rubbed it. He removed his finger and stared at the red smear on the frame. Blood.

He stood up and looked around the floor. There was a very slight difference in the colour of the wood in front of the coffee table, more obvious at some angles than others. He moved his head from side to side as he stared at the polished boards. There had been a rug there, probably for many years. The sun had lightened the exposed wood but not where it had been covered by the rug.

Terry’s heart was pounding and he could feel sweat beading in the small of his back. Carolyn hadn’t imagined it. Someone had been attacked in the room and it looked as if the body had been wrapped in a rug and taken away.

As he walked to the hallway, another alarm sensor’s red light winked on. There was a marble table in the hallway with half a dozen unopened envelopes on it. He looked through them. There was a gas bill, a mobile phone bill, and several circulars. He slipped the phone bill into his pocket and then went back out through the conservatory and let himself out. He closed the door behind him and hurried down the driveway.

He climbed over the gate and jogged over to the car. Carolyn got out, laughing. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a shady past, the way you shimmied over that gate,’ she said.

‘Darling, that was not a shimmy,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. The alarm sensor thingies were flashing red, there might be a phone link to the cops.’

He got into the driving seat while Carolyn walked around and got into the passenger side. As they drove back to London, Terry told her what he’d seen in the house.

‘See, I wasn’t making it up,’ said Carolyn.

‘I didn’t think for one minute you were,’ said Terry. He handed her the envelope he’d taken from the hall.

‘Terry, bloody hell. You little thief.’

‘It’s a phone bill, darling, it’s not as if I stole the family jewels. It’ll tell us who lives in the house.’

Carolyn opened the envelope and slid out the bill. ‘Nicholas Cohen,’ she said. She frowned. ‘The thing is, is he the hitter or the hittee?’

‘The hittee?’

‘The guy that got hit. Was he Nicholas Cohen? Or was it Nicholas Cohen who was doing the hitting?’

‘That’s easy enough to find out,’ said Terry. ‘You just call his number. If he answers, he’s the killer.’

‘That’s what you think? That whoever got hit, died?’

‘If there was as much blood as you said there was, it sounds like it. Plus the missing rug suggests they took away a body. You know, now’s the time we should call the police.’

‘And say what? I saw a crime while I was trespassing?’

‘What’s the alternative, pretend that it never happened?’

Carolyn waved the phone bill at him. ‘Let’s see who this Nicholas Cohen is, shall we? If he’s still alive then I need to get a look at him. If he’s the guy who I saw, then okay maybe we can go to the cops and they can arrest him. But if he’s the victim, then we need to think it through.’

‘Think what through?’

‘If I go to the cops, all I’ll have is a description of the killer. And if that gets out, then I won’t know who the killer is but the killer will know who I am and I don’t think I can live with that, Terry. I’ll be looking over my shoulder until they arrest the guy. I’m the only witness, so if he’s killed once he’s not going to worry about doing it a second time, is he?’

‘Darling, I think you’re over-thinking it.’ He grinned. ‘But playing detective is good fun, so let’s give it a go. We can be like Dempsey and Makepeace.’

‘Now you’re really showing your age,’ laughed Carolyn. ‘That was thirty years ago.’

‘I watch the reruns on ITV3,’ said Terry. ‘Michael Brandon was fit back then.’

‘He’s still fit,’ said Carolyn. ‘He was in Hustle a few years back. And New Tricks.’

‘And Glynis just keeps on working. She did Emmerdale, EastEnders and The Royal.’

‘Bitch,’ laughed Terry.

‘Bloody right,’ said Carolyn. She laughed. ‘Actually that’s not fair, she’s a sweetie. But I wish I had her agent.’

Terry drove back to his house and parked in the car park at the rear of the building. They went inside and up the stairs to the living area. ‘Wine?’ asked Terry.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Carolyn, taking off her jacket and dropping down onto a sofa.

‘Red, white, pink?’

‘Surprise me,’ she said. She studied the phone bill that Terry had taken. Nicholas Cohen used the phone a lot, dozens of time a day. Most of the calls were to other mobiles but there was one landline number in central London. She reached for Terry’s phone and began to tap out the number. An answering machine picked up. It was a firm of chartered accountants. Cohen and Kawczynski.

She was putting the phone back when Terry returned with a bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses. ‘Cohen’s an accountant,’ she said.

‘Nice,’ said Terry.

‘I’ll try calling his mobile.’

Terry put the wine and glasses on the coffee table, next to Carolyn’s award. ‘Do me a favour, darling, and don’t use my phone.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because if Mr Cohen is dead, I don’t want the cops asking why I was calling him. And if he’s a murderer I don’t want him having my number. I’ve got a pay-as-you go mobile, you can use that.’

He went over to a low sideboard, opened a drawer and took out an old Nokia phone. He saw the look of confusion on Carolyn’s face and he grinned. ‘I did a bit of online dating before I met Gabe and I didn’t want to have my number out there. I was changing Sim cards every week or so.’

‘You slut,’ said Carolyn.

He tossed her the phone and she tapped out the number of Cohen’s mobile as Terry opened the wine. It went straight to voicemail and she put the phone down on the sofa. Terry sat down next to her and poured wine into the glasses. ‘We’re going to have to phone the police,’ he said. ‘The longer we leave it, the angrier the cops are going to be.’