Stephen Leather - Take Two

Richards spent most of Sunday morning nursing a wicked hangover. He got up just after eleven and made himself tea and toast and sprawled on the sofa in front of the television watching Italian football. He didn’t remember getting home, so assumed he must have taken a taxi which meant he’d left his car in the club’s car park. At just before two he phoned Alistair Cumming, the genial Scot who managed the club.

‘Bet you’re feeling rough, boss,’ said Cumming.

‘What time did I leave?’

‘Three o’clock. You were away with the fairies so I had one of the staff drive you back in the Porsche. I didn’t want anyone taking advantage of you.’

‘I woke up in bed naked,’ said Richards. ‘Please don’t say it was the gay Russian who put me to bed.’

Cumming laughed. ‘Anita took you. And she said she got you to the bedroom, gave you a bottle of water and left you to it. Apparently getting the burglar alarm code from you took some doing but she managed.’

‘Tell her thanks,’ said Richards.

‘Will do. The car’s in the car park, she said. What’s happened to the Bentley, by the way?’

‘Got rid of it,’ said Richards. ‘It was always giving me problems.’

‘The Cayenne’s a cool car,’ said Cumming. ‘Are you in tonight?’

‘Probably not,’ said Richards. He ended the call and went to shave and shower.

As he stood in the shower with water from six high-powered jets spraying every inch of his body, he suddenly flashed to Carolyn in the trunk and he shuddered. The drug he’d given her would have kept her comatose for at least six hours so he was sure she would have been unconscious when she went into the water. Death would have been quick and painless and her last few moments of consciousness were spent drinking claret on his boat. He arched his back and let the hot water play over his face. He’d killed before and never felt like this. He’d smashed Cohen’s skull with the crystal dolphin and hadn’t regretted it. Cohen was a thieving bastard who’d stolen two million pounds from him. And Richards had told Halpin to kill Maxwell Dunbar without a second thought. Dunbar was a nasty piece of work who had been more than happy to betray Carolyn. There had been others who had died, some at Richards’ hand and some because he’d ordered it, but he had never regretted it afterwards. Until today. He took a deep breath and shook his head under the torrent of water. He really, truly, hadn’t wanted to kill Carolyn. If there had been any alternative, he would have taken it. Grabbed at it, even. She was one of the sexiest women he’d ever met, she was smart, she was fun, she was stylish, she was pretty much everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. The only downside was that she had seen him commit a murder and, for that and that alone, she had died.

He closed his eyes and tried to think about something else but the same images kept coming back. Carolyn, bent over in the chest, gasping and choking as it filled with sea water. He knew that’s not what had happened, that she’d been unconscious when the chest went into the sea, but knowing that didn’t change the images that flashed through his mind. He slammed his hand hard against the tiles, relishing the pain, and then he bunched his hands into fists and punched the wall, left and right, until his knuckles were bloody and bruised.

Richards fell asleep on the sofa in front of the television. He slept fitfully, plagued by dreams of Carolyn and the chest filling with water. His mobile rang at two o’clock in the afternoon and he retrieved it from the floor. It was Halpin. ‘You okay, boss?’ he asked.

‘Fine and dandy,’ said Richards, ‘considering all the booze I put away last night. The boat’s back at St Katherine’s Dock?’

‘All good,’ said Halpin. ‘And Parker’s squared away.’

Richards took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Every time he thought of sea water pouring into the trunk he felt as if he was about to throw up.

‘You going to the club tonight, boss?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s Sunday, it’ll be a quiet night.’

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about, boss.’

‘I’m all ears.’

Face to face, boss. It can wait until this evening.’

‘This evening?’

‘The Mint, boss. You’re seeing him at nine tonight, remember? I’ll pick you up at eight.’

Richards ran a hand through his hair. He’d forgotten all about his meeting with The Mint. He was supposed to see him at the Mayfair Bar in the West End to discuss the deals he was putting together. As usual The Mint was reluctant to say anything over the phone and on Monday he was leaving for Spain.

Richards ended the call. He went to the kitchen and looked in his fridge but there was nothing he wanted to eat. He called up a local Indian that did decent takeaways and an hour later he tucked into a chicken tikka masala and a lamb biryani. The food helped to get rid of his headache. He opened a bottle of Cristal and polished off half of it.

The more he drank the less he thought about Carolyn. He finished the bottle and watched football on Sky Sports until he fell asleep.

Carolyn ran a hand through his hair and pulled him towards her, her mouth opening. Richards kissed her, his tongue slipping easily between her lips, and she moaned softly, grinding herself against him as she returned the kiss. He reached up and cupped her breast and she moaned again, louder this time. He felt her nipple stiffen and he caressed her breast, softly at first and then harder. He heard a buzzing sound but he ignored it and continued to kiss her, his lips pressed hard against hers.

He broke away, his heart pounding. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he said.

‘I’ve missed you too,’ she said.

‘I’ll never let you go again,’ he said. He could smell her perfume. Coco Mademoiselle. The buzzing was louder, more insistent.

‘You didn’t let me go, Warwick,’ she said, looking deep into her eyes. ‘You killed me, remember?’

The buzzer went again and Richards woke up. He was lying on the sofa and the television was still showing football. He wiped his face and sat up. The door entry phone buzzed again. He looked at his wristwatch. It was just before seven-thirty. He tried to work out if it was morning or evening. It was evening, he realised. He’d slept away most of the day.

He stood up and walked over to the entry phone, wondering why Halpin had turned up half an hour early. There were four buttons on the unit at street level but only the top one was connected. He reached for the handset but he froze when he saw the face on the monitor. A woman, her face soaking wet, her hair drenched, her eyes wide and staring. It was Carolyn.

Richards raced down the stairs, figuring that would be quicker than the lumbering lift. He hadn’t picked up the handset, he’d just grabbed his keys and run out of the flat. His heart was pounding and it wasn’t from the physical exertion of running down the stairs. Carolyn? How could Carolyn be at his front door when she was in a trunk at the bottom of the North Sea?

He reached the second floor, grabbed the metal rail that ran the full length of the onside wall and swung himself around. There was a fire door at the very bottom of the stairwell that led into a small tiled lobby. The front door was to the left and he fumbled with the lock before yanking it open. It was pouring with rain and, as he stepped outside, there was a menacing roll of thunder off in the distance. The pavement was deserted. A black cab drove by with its yellow FOR HIRE light on.

He whirled around but there was no sign of her. A young couple sheltering under an umbrella walked by him. ‘He’s got no shoes on, did you see that?’ he heard the woman say in a strangled Essex accent. ‘What sort of idiot goes out at night in the rain without shoes?’