Stephen Leather - Take Two

‘He’s gone to see his grandmum. She not getting any better.’

‘And he still hasn’t told her he’s gay?’

Terry shook his head. ‘The thing is, with her Alzheimer’s he could tell and she’d forget about it within hours. But he says she’s lived this long without knowing and he doesn’t want to cause her any distress now. His mum and dad know and they’re cool about it. About the gay thing, anyway. The dad’s still coming to terms with the fact I’m black.’

‘Seriously?’

‘He pretends to be cool about it, but I can see it in his eyes that he’s not comfortable.’

‘You’ll grow on him, babe,’ said Carolyn.

‘That’s what Gabe says. So dish me the dirt on Richards. What’s the story?’

‘My private dick has checked him out,’ she said.

‘Darling, I love it when you talk dirty. But really, you should have got a better class of detective. You know, Magnum butch or Hazell cute. Maxwell Dunbar is just a sleazebag.’

‘Terry, you’ve got to stop watching those old TV shows.’

‘Come on, Nicholas Ball in the Eighties, couldn’t you just eat him alive?’

‘I think you’ll find Hazell was late Seventies,’ said Carolyn. ‘He was good in EastEnders, remember? Played a gangster. What was his name?’ She grinned. ‘Terry, that was it. Terry Bates.’

‘Who the hell comes up with these names?’

‘The writers?’

‘Yeah, but Terry Bates? How is that a villain’s name? Now Warwick Richards, that’s a classy name for a villain.’

‘But he’s not,’ said Carolyn. ‘Not a villain. That’s what Max says, anyway.’

‘He’s sure?’

‘Says he’s spoken to the cops and he doesn’t have a record.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Terry. ‘I suppose. Or is it?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘It would have made more sense if he was a gangster or had been inside for assault.’

‘Nice guys don’t commit murder? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘He’s handsome and charming. Hard to think of him as a killer.’

‘Ted Bundy was handsome and charming,’ said Terry.

‘You’re not helping,’ said Carolyn. ‘And you’ve clearly got a thing about Ted Bundy.’ She sipped her wine and sighed. ‘I’m so bloody confused.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s still this nagging doubt at the back of my mind it was him I saw in Cohen’s house.’

‘Darling, was it or wasn’t it? It’s a simple enough question.’

She sighed again. ‘I don’t know for sure it was him, and I don’t know for sure it wasn’t. I mean, yes, when I saw him I thought he looked like the guy I saw in the house. But maybe that’s because he’s tall and good-looking and has dark hair.’

‘Carolyn, is it him or not?’

‘That’s the thing, I really don’t know for sure. If I was in court and a barrister asked me was I absolutely one-hundred percent sure, I couldn’t say hand on heart that I was. And what if he has an alibi? I mean, what if it wasn’t him and I say it was and it turns out he was in the nightclub that night and he’s got a hundred witnesses. How am I going to look then?’

‘You’re over-thinking it again, darling.’

‘I’m just considering the options. When I saw him at the charity do, I was sort of sure it was him. At first. But then he sat down and talked to me and I wasn’t so sure. And now, when I think back to that night, it’s Warwick’s face I see. But is that because I’ve met him? I’d been drinking. It was late at night. I might be wrong. And he doesn’t drive a Bentley. He has a Porsche. A Cayenne.’

‘I wouldn’t trust a man who drives a car named after a condiment,’ said Terry. ‘Besides, he could have switched cars.’

‘Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve,’ said Carolyn. ‘And he didn’t know Cohen. If he didn’t know Cohen, why would he kill him?’

Terry poured more wine into their glasses. ‘I don’t know what more you want to do.’

Her mobile phone rang and she picked up her bag. She pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she said.

‘Cohen?’ said Terry, frowning.

‘Warwick.’

‘Maybe she’s ignoring you,’ said Halpin. He puffed on his cigar and blew smoke up at the ceiling. He was sitting on one of the two massive white leather Italian sofas that dominated the Clerkenwell flat where Richards lived. Richards was pacing up and down in front of the cast iron fireplace that was almost as tall he was. The fireplace had once been in a stately home that belonged to a second cousin of the Queen and it had cost Richards a small fortune. They’d had to use a crane to get it through the window of the fourth floor flat. It was on the top floor, and Richards owned the three flats below. He had bought the flats one at a time, then acquired the freehold, but he only used the top flat. He was planning to convert the lower floors into a gymnasium, a sauna and a games room but was having trouble finding a designer who was on his wavelength.

‘You sure Dunbar gave me the all-clear?’

‘He said the sun shone out of your arse, pretty much.’

‘While I remember it, where’s the five grand?’

Halpin chuckled and took the envelope from his pocket and dropped it onto the coffee table. ‘I was just waiting for the right moment,’ he said.

‘Of course you were,’ he said. He held up his hand, telling Halpin to be quiet. Carolyn had answered the call. ‘Carolyn, how are you?’ he asked.

‘Tired,’ she said.

‘Rough day?’

‘A long day,’ she said. ‘I’m halfway through a bottle of wine as we speak.’

‘I don’t know how you can work such long hours.’

‘The alternative is unemployment, unfortunately. If you work on a soap you don’t get to choose your hours.’

‘So how about I take your mind off work this weekend? Come and have a drink on my boat.’

‘I’m not very good on boats, Warwick,’ she said. ‘I get queasy in the bath.’

‘It’s a gin palace at St Katherine’s Dock, near the Tower of London,’ he said. ‘We won’t be going anywhere. Just a couple of drinks and then we’ll go eat. There’s plenty of good restaurants around there.’

‘What’s the point of a boat if you never go anywhere?’

He laughed. ‘I do take it out sometimes. It’s big enough to take across the Channel, if that’s what you want. But mainly I just use it to entertain clients, pop up and down the river, show them the sights. Foreigners love it. But I just thought Saturday we could have a drink or two. Then have brunch. Are you up for it?’

For a few seconds there was silence. ‘Sure, why not?’ she said eventually.

‘I’ll pick you up,’ he said. ‘Tennish, is that okay?’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Terrific. See you Saturday.’

‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ she asked.

Richards frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll need my address.’

‘God, yes, sorry. Let me get a pen.’ He paced up and down. He didn’t need a pen because he already knew where she lived. ‘Okay, go ahead,’ he said. She gave him the address and he ended the call. He looked over at Halpin and winked. ‘Easy, peasy,’ he said.

‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Halpin.

‘I take her on the boat and slip her a mickey,’ said Richards. ‘I’ll put her in one of those metal trunks and then pop off to the club to establish an alibi. You can take the boat out and do what we did with Cohen’s body. Dump it in the North Sea at night.’

‘You’re sure about this?’ asked Halpin. He puffed on his cigar.

‘She’s suspicious or she wouldn’t have gone to that scumbag, Dunbar,’ said Richards. ‘Sooner or later she’s going to get suspicious again.’