Peter James - Perfect People

John’s had no response from the Serendipity Rose. Emails get bounced back, and the phone is constantly unobtainable. John’s friend at the Swedish embassy in Washington, Kalle Almtorp, says the US Coastguard has found no wreckage from the helicopter and no sign of the ship. There are moments when I can’t believe Dr Dettore is dead – he was such an inspiring, larger-than-life character – and other moments when I feel that I’m – that John and I both are the victims of some conspiracy.

John is very subdued. That worries me, because he’s always been such a positive person, always known what to do. He seems lost at the moment.

When I was pregnant with Halley I never had any of the cravings you hear about, that you’re meant to have. But now, this frozen pea thing I have is driving me insane! I wake in the middle of the night and go down to the freezer and take out a handful of cold peas. Irwin took us all out to the Ivy last night, and I managed to convince the waiter I was serious, I wanted a side order of unthawed frozen peas. He brought them, beautifully presented as if they were oysters or something, on a bed of crushed ice.

Going nuts? Moi?

This place truly was to die for, Naomi thought, reclining on a lounger on Irwin and Lori Shapiro’s marbled pool terrace, the sky cloudless, the warmth of the sun feeling good on her body.

It was midday, Sunday. Irwin had taken John to his club for a round of golf, which Naomi was glad about – John needed to get out in the fresh air and away from their problems for a few hours. He was severely stressed, tossing and turning all night, and she could tell he was having problems concentrating in the daytime. He seemed to be in a daze, unsure what to do, and that scared her. In the past he had always been so mentally strong – in a world of his own at times, maybe, but in control.

She watched the Shapiros’ two small girls, Chase and Britney, splashing around with an inflatable chair in the pool, and their son, Cooper, hunting for bugs in the shrubbery at the edge of the patio. He was six, born three weeks after Halley. If Halley had lived he might be here, wearing a hat that was too big and carrying a bamboo pole, hunting bugs with Cooper right now, she thought wistfully.

Lori called out to her. ‘We have to leave in ten minutes!’

They were going to lunch at Barney’s, with another girlfriend of Lori’s. Reluctantly, she climbed off her lounger and headed inside. As she entered the cavernous open-plan living area, she glanced at the television, which was permanently on. A police officer was standing outside a colonial-style mansion, in front of a line of crime-scene tape, surrounded by emergency vehicles, talking grimly to a reporter.

‘This is horrible,’ Lori said, looking up from going through a list with her Hispanic maid. ‘Have you been watching?’

‘No, what’s happened?’

‘Get changed, I’ll tell you in the car.’

*

Twenty minutes later, as they waited in Lori’s black, convertible Mercedes at a stop light at the bottom of Coldwater Canyon, Naomi said, ‘Killed – with their babies? Those people on the news?’

‘Yes.’ Then Lori said, ‘Want to go by your house? See if the crazies are still there this morning?’

Naomi looked at her watch, feeling a dark slick of fear spreading through her. ‘We have time?’

‘Sure. Marilyn’s always half an hour late.’

‘OK,’ she said hesitantly. Every morning Naomi had driven to the end of their street and seen to her dismay that the five weirdos with their placards were still camped there. She felt safe staying with Lori and Irwin. They had electric gates, surveillance cameras and ARMED RESPONSE signs all around the perimeter of their property. ‘What exactly are they saying’s happened?’

The lights changed. Lori made the turn and accelerated down Sunset. ‘The guy, Marty Borowitz, was seriously rich,’ she said. ‘Irwin had actually met him one time. He owned a string of shopping malls, and a motel chain. He was found dead with his wife and their twin one-year-old babies in the burned-out wreck of their automobile – in the drive of their house. They’re saying it was a car bomb. Just horrible.’

‘Why?’ Naomi asked. ‘Does anyone know the reason?’

‘They didn’t say.’

They took Doheny South, down past the Four Seasons hotel, crossed Wilshire and Olympic, then Pico, Naomi saying little, just watching the traffic and the road ahead and the places they passed, but barely seeing them. She was lost in her thoughts.

There was so much violence in the world; so much hatred. Your son died in agony from a hideous disease. You tried to make a better life for your next child, but no matter how hard you tried, there were people who reckoned they had a right to kill you or drive you from your home because they didn’t approve of what you had done.

The freaks with their grey van and their old LTD were still on the sidewalk, a few hundred yards in front of them right now, the weirdo man with his ponytail and the silent women self-appointed custodians of their faith.

All the news crews had gone now; there were just a couple of cars. One contained a photographer sitting in the driver’s seat, snapping them through a long lens as they approached. From the second, a young woman emerged holding a small microphone.

‘You want to go in?’ Lori said, slowing right down as they approached the house.

‘No.’

‘We should just both walk in, show them we don’t care. All the time they know they’ve driven you away from your home, they’ll believe they’ve won.’

‘Maybe they have won,’ Naomi said. ‘I just wanted to be a mother, Lori. I never set out to be a martyr.’

‘If that’s how you really feel, then you’d better book yourself an abortion,’ Lori said. ‘Because, boy, it’s not just now that you’re going to have to be brave, it’s going to be for the next twenty years – and probably beyond that. You might find yourself having to battle hostility for the rest of your life. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Pull up in the carport,’ Naomi said.

Lori obeyed.

The two of them got out of the car.

‘Hallo, Mrs Klaesson? I’m Anna Marshall from-’

Lori turned on her with a venom Naomi had never seen in her friend before.

‘SCREW OFF, BITCH,’ she yelled at her, startling the young woman so much she retreated several paces. Naomi emptied the mail box, and moments later they were inside the house, with the door locked shut behind them.

Naomi looked at Lori. ‘That was pretty effective.’

‘Speak to them in a language they understand.’

She laughed, uneasily.

‘And the religious freaks didn’t bite.’

‘Probably vegetarians,’ Naomi said. She sifted through the stack of mail, then went over to the living-room window and stared out. Hate was an emotion she had never felt before, not in any real, true sense. Dislike, yes, anger, yes, blind fury even. Hatred was something new. But it was what she felt for these people with their placards. A deep hatred she never knew she had within her.

At five in the afternoon, after a lunch and then following Lori around the shops on Rodeo, unable to muster enthusiasm for anything, they returned back to Lago Vista, to be greeted at the front door by John, white-faced, totally drained of colour. He put on a cheery greeting but Naomi could tell something was very seriously wrong.

A few minutes later, in the privacy of their annex guest rooms, he told Naomi.

‘I’ve had a call from Kalle Almtorp. This couple who were murdered with their twin babies, the Borowitzes? You saw it on the news?’

‘Yes?’

‘He says it hasn’t been released to the media, but the FBI are taking very seriously a claim that they’ve been murdered by the same people who murdered Dr Dettore – this bunch of fanatics, the Disciples of the Third Millennium.’