Stephen Leather - Take Two

Richards shared a bottle of Cristal with The Mint as they sat in a window seat surveying the models, footballers wives and minor television stars who made up the female clientele of The Mayfair. There were some stunning women decked out in all their finery, but all Richards could think about was Carolyn and her watery death.

A couple of times The Mint had asked him if there was something wrong but Richards had forced a smile and said everything was fine. Halpin sat with them, nursing a tonic and water. The reason for the meeting was simple enough. The Mint was brokering a major cannabis shipment for an Irish consortium and they had come up four hundred grand short. If Richards was interested, The Mint could get him in. The downside was Richards would only have enough for two runs which would make it slightly riskier.

‘But it’s a good ‘un, Warwick,’ The Mint had said, patting his leg. ‘We’re talking about a training yacht that has been completely rebuilt, they could put a team of dogs on it and they’d come up with nothing. They could drill a hundred holes and come up empty. And most of the crew are kids from broken families. It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to a sure thing for a long time.’

Richards had agreed and they’d sealed the deal with a second bottle of Cristal.

They had left the bar at eleven. Halpin left first to collect the car, then called Richards once he was outside. Richards hugged The Mint, blew kisses at the two Eurasian girls who were sitting either side of him, and headed outside. There were two photographers standing on the pavement but they paid no attention to him as he climbed into the Lexus. It had finally stopped raining but the roads and pavements were still soaking wet.

Richards lit a cigar and they drove in silence for a while. ‘Let’s swing by her house, Mick,’ said Richards eventually.

‘Her house?’

‘In Notting Hill Gate.’

‘Castle’s house? Are you serious?’

‘I just want to know for sure.’

‘Boss, what if the cops are there? What if she’s been reported missing and we turn up? The cops aren’t stupid.’

Richards turned and looked at Halpin. ‘Are you going to second guess every decision I make, is that what’s going to happen? Because I’m not standing for that.’

‘I’m just telling you what I think, boss.’

‘Yeah? Well, if I want to know what you think I’ll fucking well ask you. Until then you keep your mouth shut, okay?’

Halpin nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But do me a favour and put the address into the SatNav will you? I don’t know my way around that part of London. It’s out of my price range.’

The SatNav announced they were about to arrive at their destination. Richards and Halpin looked around but there was nothing to indicate it was anything other than a normal, peaceful evening in one of London’s most expensive residential areas. ‘Just drive by, nice and slow,’ said Richards. ‘Her place is on the left. There’s a Japanese cherry tree out front.’

Halpin nodded and edged the car forward. Richards could feel his heart pounding and he took slow deep breaths. He knew he was being stupid. Carolyn Castle was dead. The house was empty. It couldn’t possibly have been her driving the white Audi. It was stress, nothing more. He needed alcohol, that would help him relax. A few drinks at the club and he’d be okay. He needed some female company, ideally long-legged and large breasted, someone to take his mind off Carolyn.

‘You’re right, Mick,’ he said quietly. ‘This is a waste of time. Take me home. I’ll have a few hours kip and then we’ll hit the club.’ He settled back in the seat. That was when they saw the white Audi TT parked outside Carolyn’s house.

Richards got out of the Lexus and slammed the door shut. Halpin pressed the button to wind down the window. ‘Boss, I should come with you,’ he said.

Richards shook his head. ‘I’m just going to have a look-see,’ he said.

‘Boss, it can’t be her. She’s dead.’

‘I know.’

‘I dropped that trunk over the side and she was in it.’

‘So you say.’

‘What, you think I’m lying?’

‘Fuck Mick, I don’t know what to think.’ He pointed at the Audi. ‘All I know is that’s the car I saw and she was driving it. So you just sit tight while I take a look.’ He walked away, slipping his hands into his pockets. He walked up to the car and bent down to look inside the two-seater. There was nothing inside to give a clue as to who owned it, it was as pristine as the day it had rolled off the production line. He peered under the car. The road there was wet, which suggested that the car had been somewhere else during the rainstorm. He straightened up and walked towards Carolyn’s house. She couldn’t be there, he knew that. It couldn’t have been her he’d seen driving the Audi. But the car was there and he hadn’t imagined that.

He pushed open the wrought iron gate and walked down the path. He looked at the front door and wondered if he should ring the doorbell. Carolyn lived alone and she was dead so there was no point, he decided. The path led around to the back of the house and he followed it, treading softly. There was another wrought iron gate at the side of the house and he opened that. There was a paved terrace and beyond it a manicured lawn and, in the distance, a well-tended rockery. He walked on to the terrace. There was a brick barbecue and a round teak table with six chairs around it. He took a deep breath. He could imagine sitting with Carolyn at the table, drinking a decent bottle of wine and looking out over the garden. The house was in central London but the garden wasn’t overlooked and there was a countryside feel to it.

He took out his cigar case and turned to look at the house. To the right was a conservatory filled with palms and ferns, and next to it was a set of French windows leading to her sitting room. He tapped out a cigar. He was just putting it to his mouth when Carolyn walked into the sitting room. She dropped a book onto a sofa and then turned towards the window. When she saw him she opened her mouth and screamed. The cigar fell from his hand as he stared at her in horror.

Richards took a step back as the French windows opened. ‘Who are you and what are you doing in the garden?’ she asked.

Richards opened his mouth but he couldn’t speak. His hands were shaking and his throat had gone dry. He swallowed and almost gagged.

‘If you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police.’ She held up a mobile phone. ‘I’ve already pressed two nines, one more and I’m on to the police.’

‘Carolyn?’

‘What? Who are you?’

‘Carolyn, it’s me. Warwick.’

She frowned. ‘Warwick?’

‘For God’s sake, what are you playing at?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Warwick? Warwick Richards? You’re Warwick Richards?’

‘What?’

She lowered the phone. ‘I went to your flat this evening but you weren’t in.’

‘What?’

‘You like to say that a lot, don’t you?’

‘What?’

‘There you go again.’

‘Carolyn, what the hell is going on?’

She grinned. ‘You see that’s why you’re looking so confused. I’m not Carolyn. I’m her sister, Jenny.’ She held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Jenny?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Her sister? Carolyn’s sister.’

‘Now you’re getting it.’

‘Her twin sister?’

‘See, there’s no flies on you.’ She pushed her hand towards him. ‘Nice to finally meet you.’

Richards reached out and shook her hand.