Nicci French - Until it's Over

‘I didn’t say you could do that,’ I told him. ‘And you can’t.’

‘What was it like?’ asked the reporter.

‘How did you get my name?’

‘Is it true you broke in through the window?’

‘Did the police tell you?’

‘Can I say at least that you were very shocked?’

‘Of course she was bloody shocked.’

Dario had appeared at my side. He was wearing grubby purple tracksuit trousers and a bright yellow anorak with arms that hardly reached his elbows. The two men stared at him.

‘Don’t you dare take a photo of him,’ I said grimly, but too late.

‘Wouldn’t you be shocked if you were at the murder scenes of two women in just weeks?’ Dario continued. ‘You’d think it was bad karma, wouldn’t you?’

I groaned out loud.

‘You said two women?’

‘Right,’ said Dario. ‘First Peggy Farrell and then this other one.’

A look of bewildered fascination appeared on the reporter’s face. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘Astrid. Miss Bell.’

But I had swung my leg over my bike and mounted. I cycled away to the sound of the camera clicking and Dario calling my name.

That evening after work I met Pippa in the Horse and Jockey for a drink. We made an odd pair: she in her trim suit and sensible shoes, her hair coiled neatly at the back of her head, little earrings in her lobes, carefully invisible makeup, and a leather briefcase, me in my black Lycra and scuffed boots, sweaty and grimy. As if conforming to our parts, she ordered white wine while I had half a pint of lager.

‘So,’ she said, taking off her jacket, unpinning her hair and having a hearty swig of wine. ‘First of all, money. I wanted to talk to you about it before speaking to the others. You know what those big group discussions can get like.’

I nodded.

‘I got an email from Miles today at work. I’ve printed it out so you can have a look at it, but basically what he proposes is that each individual gets paid according to the amount of time he or she has lived in the house. So you and I get the most, and Davy and Owen the least. But he’s also suggesting that since that might end up being a bit unfair on them, he should give us each a lump sum, then top it up with an adjustable amount. So it’s x plus y times t.’

‘What?’

‘That’s how Miles puts it – x is one sum, y another, and t is time.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Right. Has he mentioned actual figures, or are we stuck in Algebra Land?’

‘He suggests that x equals seven and a half thousand, y equals two and t is a year or part of a year.’

‘So you and I, for instance – that’s seven and a half add two, times – what is it? Four and a half years, that’s five – so plus ten thousand, makes seventeen and a half.’

‘Right. While Davy and Owen get nine and a half.’

‘Which is also an awful lot of money. How much is Miles going to shell out altogether?’

‘Lots.’

‘Leah won’t be pleased.’

‘I know, but it’s based on how much the value of the property has risen, which you wouldn’t believe.’

‘Try me.’

‘He bought it five years ago for about a quarter of a million. Guess how much it’s worth now?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Try.’

‘Let’s see. Seven bedrooms, big garden. Um – five hundred thousand?’

‘More.’

‘OK, six hundred.’

‘More.’

‘More?’

‘Eight hundred.’

‘Fuck. For that? Even after Dario’s work?’

‘So you don’t need to worry he’s being too generous.’

‘Do you think he’s offering about the right amount?’

‘It seems fair enough.’

‘Will the others think so?’

‘Dario won’t. But Dario thinks he’s committing a terrible crime by throwing us out in the first place and no amount of money could compensate for that betrayal. We’re all the family Dario’s ever had, remember. It’s like a divorce.’

‘But the others?’

‘Who knows? Money makes people act in all sorts of strange ways. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of behaviour I come across at work. It’s cash, by the way. Strictly under the table.’

‘You mean, he’d pay us in cash?’

‘I think the idea is that he’d pay you and you’d hand it out.’

‘Me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘I think he doesn’t want to face any more of it.’

‘Sounds like Miles.’

‘Do you want another drink?’

‘Go on, then.’

I watched her as she made her way to the bar. Men stood aside to let her by, then closed in again, following her with their eyes. She appeared not to notice.

‘What’s happening with Owen?’ she asked, as she sat down.

‘Nothing. Anyhow, he’s away at the moment on some photo-shoot. More importantly, what’s happening with Jeff?’

‘Jeff?’ She stared at me, wrinkling her brow. ‘Jeff, as in…?’

‘Jeff as in Jeff-who-stayed-with-you-on-the-night-of-Peggy’s-murder.’

‘Oh, that Jeff.’

‘Yes, that Jeff.’

‘I know what you’re going to say. And you don’t need to say it -’ But at that moment she was interrupted.

‘It’s the attractive and visibly distraught Ms Astrid Bell,’ cried a voice, and I turned to see Saul’s beaming face.

I had known Saul since I was fifteen. We met at a party, where we spent three hours sitting on the staircase and talking about music and movies, and had been friends ever since. It was Saul who got me my job with Campbell; he had been a despatch rider for nearly seven years now, and every month he swears will be his last. ‘What are you on about?’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That you’re the enigma at the heart of the mystery.’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘You’re the key, but where’s the lock?’

‘Saul!’

‘You really don’t know?’

‘I really don’t know – I don’t even know what it is I don’t know.’

‘Look! Hot off the press.’

He pulled the local newspaper out of his messenger bag and flung it on the table. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was looking at. There I was, standing outside our house holding my bike, one hand raised and my jaw jutting out. I was wearing the same gear I had on today and looked both thuggish and mildly pornographic. But that was nothing compared to Dario, who was in the background and weirdly shrunk by the angle of the camera lens. In his ill-fitting yellow anorak and trousers, with his hair half over his face and his mouth open, he had the appearance of an evil dwarf.

Pippa gave a horrified giggle.

‘ “Messenger Murder Mystery”,’ I read from the headline.

‘You should see the puns,’ said Saul, who was tremendously cheerful about the whole affair. ‘Look here: “cycle-ogical thriller”. You’re at the centre of something weird.’

‘It’s not that big a deal,’ I insisted, but I shivered. It was as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun, turning the warm, crowded room cold and dark.

I stepped out of my room and almost collided with Owen, weighed down with his camera bags and tripod from a shoot. His face looked smooth and young. ‘Astrid,’ he said.

I needed to say something. I took a step towards him, or perhaps he took a step towards me, then brisk steps coming up the stairs halted us. It was Leah, looking mildly impatient. ‘There you are,’ she said.

‘What is it?’

‘Someone to see you downstairs,’ she said.

‘Who?’ I said.

‘If you go down, you’ll find out,’ she said.

I shrugged, glanced at Owen, and walked down the stairs. Detective Chief Inspector Paul Kamsky was in the hallway. Miles was standing next to him but they weren’t speaking. Kamsky caught sight of me.