Stephen Leather - Take Two

‘You think?’

‘I can see it in the way she looks at you. I could say there’s a problem back at the club and leave you here.’

Richards chuckled. ‘I’m not a teenager, I don’t need to run scams like that,’ he said. ‘We’re here for coffee, and when we’ve had that you can drive me home. But this time I’ll put myself to bed.’

Anita grinned. ‘Yeah, you were well gone that night,’ she said. ‘We’d never seen you so drunk.’

‘Happens to the best of us. Come on, let’s go get our coffees.’

‘I thought you were using the loo?’

‘The moment passed,’ he said.

‘Well, I need to use it,’ said Anita, and she headed for the toilet as Richards went back to the kitchen.

Jenny had already made three coffees and was sitting at the kitchen table. Richards sat down opposite her, wondering if what Anita had said was true and that Jenny really was attracted to him. ‘You’re serious about working tomorrow?’ he said.

‘Yeah, I have to be in make-up first thing.’ She laughed. ‘I should have followed Terry’s advice and left when he did.’

‘He’s a lightweight,’ laughed Richards.

‘And I’m what? A professional alcoholic?’

‘An enthusiastic amateur,’ joked Richards. ‘I can’t get over your accent.’

‘I’m not the one who talks funny,’ said Jenny. She sipped her coffee. ‘I might just stay awake,’ she said.

‘A cat nap wouldn’t hurt,’ he said. ‘Just make sure you set your alarm. But, seriously, I’m glad you came to the club tonight.’

‘Yeah, me, too.’

‘You should come one weekend, then you’ll be less worried about an early start the next day.’

‘What time do you normally get up?’

‘Me? I’m a real night owl. Usually mid-day.’

‘I’m the opposite. I love the mornings. I love to watch the sun coming up, if I can.’

‘Yeah, well, you don’t have long to wait,’ he said and laughed. ‘How are you enjoying filling in for Carolyn?’

‘It’s easier than I thought,’ she said. ‘The British accent catches me out sometimes.’

‘But you were born here, right?’

‘Sure. But I’ve lived most of my life in Australia and, trust me, you don’t want to have a British accent in Oz.’

‘The whinging Pom thing?’

Jenny laughed. ‘It’s more than a thing, Warwick, it’s a way of life.’

‘And where do you live?’

‘Brisbane. On the east coast. By the ocean. Two million people, just about. I love it.’

‘And what took you to Australia?’

‘Carolyn didn’t tell you about our childhood?’

Richards shook his head.

‘Yeah, well, there’s a reason neither of us hung around,’ she said. ‘It’s just she ran to London and I kept on running. Ended up in Brisbane and married a guy I thought was the one. Turns out that was a mistake, too.’

Anita returned from the bathroom. ‘I know I’m a pain, but my husband always give me an earful when I get home after the sun rises.’ She grinned. ‘I’d like to say it’s a vampire thing but, really, it’s because he doesn’t trust me.’

‘No problem,’ said Richards. He drained his cup. ‘We’d better let Jenny get ready for her close-ups.’ He stood up. ‘It’s been a great evening, we should do it again.’

‘Definitely’. She stood up and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘I had a great time.’

Richards wrinkled his nose. ‘You and Carolyn wear the same perfume,’ he said.

Jenny laughed. ‘I stole it from her dressing table,’ she said.

‘Coco Mademoiselle,’ said Richards.

‘You know your perfumes.’

Richards grinned and shook his head. ‘Just that one,’ he said. ‘Okay, we’ll be off.’ He noticed a red light flashing on the answer machine next to the fridge. ‘You know you’ve got a message.’

Jenny frowned. ‘Message?’

Richards pointed at the flashing light. ‘It’ll be for Carolyn, no one knows I’m here,’ she said. Then she gasped. ‘Oh my God, maybe it’s her.’ She walked over to it and pressed the play button.

‘Hello, I’m trying to get hold of Jenny Castle,’ said a man’s voice. ‘This is Peter Sessions, I’m Carolyn’s agent. I gather you’ve stepped in for her and I really think we should talk. Please call me back when you get the chance.’ The agent gave his phone number, twice, then ended the call.

‘He smells a commission,’ said Richards.

‘Do you think so?’ asked Jenny.

‘He’s circling like a vulture.’

‘That would make me, what, a dead antelope?’

Richards laughed. ‘He wants his fifteen percent, that’s all. But you should give him a call. You do need somebody representing you. Show business is just that, a business.’

‘I will,’ promised Jenny. She took him and Anita down the hallway and showed them out. ‘Drive carefully,’ she said as she closed the door.

Richards and Anita walked over to the Porsche and climbed in. ‘She’s nice,’ said Anita as she started the engine.

‘Yeah, she is that.’

‘Not like you’d think a TV star would be. Really down to earth.’

‘She not really the star,’ said Richards. ‘She’s the star’s sister. But Carolyn was the same.’

‘She definitely likes you.’

‘So you keep saying.’

‘She’s at the window, boss,’ said Anita.

Richards looked across at the house. A light had gone on in one of the upstairs windows and Jenny was standing there, watching him. As Anita started the engine, Richards waved.

Jenny waved back.

Richards blew her a kiss and she did the same back.

As the Porsche pulled away from the kerb, Richards saw a small red dot move across the window and he frowned. Was that a cigarette? Was Jenny smoking? His frown deepened. Jenny didn’t smoke. Carolyn was the smoker.

‘You okay, boss?’ asked Anita.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Richards quietly. He forced himself to smile. ‘Of course I am,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Home, James, and don’t spare the horses.’

The house was in the middle of a long terrace with white-painted brick walls, the window frames painted black and a black front door with a brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. A graffiti artist with delusions of grandeur had sprayed something across the wall under the main window but it had been painted over and was now barely visible. ‘I hope she’s okay,’ said Sergeant Marriott.

‘Her husband was murdered two days ago,’ said Inspector Biddulph. ‘I doubt she’s in any way okay.’

‘I meant I hope she’s not too emotional,’ said Marriott. ‘It upsets me when they cry.’

‘She’s probably still in shock,’ said Biddulph. They were sitting in their car outside the house. It was in Queen’s Park, a run-down area that had once been middle-class but was now occupied mainly by families on benefits and drug dealers. A group of young hoodies stood watching them on the other side of the road, making no effort to conceal the hand-rolled cigarette they were passing around. The sweet smell of marijuana wafted across the street. Biddulph gave them a long stare with the unspoken message that they should move on. They stared back with blank looks that said they didn’t care and would move on when they felt like it. ‘How old is she?’ asked Biddulph.

Marriott flicked through her notebook. ‘Sixty three,’ she said. ‘Four years older than her husband.’

‘Probably not a suspect,’ said Biddulph. ‘Which is a pity.’

‘A pity?’

‘It’s always so much easier when the spouse does it. Or a neighbour.’

‘He was shot three hundred miles away, so doubtful that it was a neighbour.’

‘That’s the thing, isn’t it?’ said Biddulph. ‘That far away, has to be random, right? Wrong time, wrong place.’