Val Mcdermid - Clean Break

“It’s for a divorce, isn’t it?” she said.

I winked. “I’m not supposed to release information either. Let’s just say this pair shouldn’t be doing what they’ve been doing.”

Suddenly, her hand snaked out and the dosh disappeared faster than a paper-wrapped prawn off Richard’s plate. She tapped Gail’s photograph with a scarlet fingernail. “She’s been coming here with this bloke for about a year now. They always book as Mr. and Mrs. Chester. It’s usually a Wednesday. They arrive separately, usually about half past two. I don’t know when they leave, because I go off at half past four.”

I nodded, as if this was exactly what I’d expected to hear. “And when are they booked in next?”

“I think you’ve dropped lucky,” she said, consulting her screen. “Yeah, that’s right. They’ve got a room booked today.” She looked up at me, smirking. “I bet you knew that, didn’t you?”

Again, I winked. “Maybe you could let me into the room they’ll be in, then book me in next door?”

Eagerly, she nodded. Funny how excited people get when they feel like they’re part of the chase. “I’ll give you their key,” she said. “But bring it back quick as you can.”

I picked up the key and headed for the lift. Boom 103 was a couple of doors down the corridor from the lift. The whole floor-was eerily silent. I let myself in, and gave the room a quick scan. I could have drawn it from memory, it was so similar- to every motel room I’d ever camped out in. Because I hadn’t been able to get into the office to pick up proper surveillance equipment, I’d had to rely on what I could pick up from the local electronics store. A small tape recorder with a voice-activated radio mike hadn’t made much of a dent in my payoff from Turner. I took out my Swiss Army knife and unscrewed the insipid seascape from above the bed. I stuck the mike to the back of the picture with a piece of Blastoplast, than screwed it back onto the wall. There was a gap of about a quarter of an inch between the picture and the hessian wallpaper, but I didn’t think Grail and Desmond were there for the decor.

I quickly checked the mike was working, then I was out of there. I returned the key to Janice and went over to the burger joint for supplies. I settled down in my room with a giant cheeseburger, fries, a large coffee and a bag of doughnuts. I stuck the earpiece of the tape recorder in my ear and waited. I couldn’t believe myself. I felt like I was playing the starring role in the worst kind of cliched private-eye drama: staking out the seedy motel for the couple indulging in illicit sex. All I needed was a snap-brim trilby and a bottle of bourbon to feel like a complete idiot.

While I was waiting, I rang Michael Haroun. “Sorry about last night,” I said. “I was helping the police with their inquiries.”

“They arrested you?”

“Behave. They only wanted a friendly chat. They were just a little insistent about having it right that minute.”

“My God, you like to sail close to the wind, don’t you?”

“My yachting friends tell me that’s where you have to be if you want to travel fast,” I said. What was it about this man that brought out the portentous asshole in me?

“So is this a social or professional call?” he asked.

“Purely social. I wanted to offer you dinner tomorrow as a penance for canceling yesterday.”

“You cook, as well as everything else?”

“I do, but that’s not what I had in mind. How does the Market sound?”

“Fabulous. My favorite restaurant in town. What time?”

“I’ll see you there about half past seven,” I promised. To hell with Barclay.

The feeling of well-being that I got from talking to Michael didn’t last long. There’s nothing more boring than sitting round in a featureless motel room waiting for something to happen. Patience and I aren’t normally on speaking terms, so I always get really edgy on jobs like this. It’s not so bad doing a stakeout in the car; at least I can listen to the radio and watch the world go by. But here, there was nothing to do but stare at the walls.

The monotony broke around twenty past two. My earpiece told me that the door to the next room had closed. At once, I was on the alert, my free ear pressed to the wall. I heard the toilet flush; then, a few minutes later, the door closed again. There was a mumble of what sounded like greetings and endearments, irritatingly incomprehensible. At a guess, they were still in the passage by the bathroom, rather than in the room proper.

More mumblings, then gradually, I could make out what they were saying.

“… taking a risk,” a man’s voice said.

“You said what I told you to, didn’t you?” Gail’s voice. Unmistakably.

“Yeah, I told my mother I needed some time on my own, that I was going for a drive and would she look after the kids.”

“And did she act like she thought you were behaving oddly?”

“No,” the man admitted.

“Well, then,” Gail said. There was the instantly recognizable sound of kissing, the groans of desire. “I needed to see you,” Gail went on when she next surfaced. “I wanted you so bad, Dessy.”

“Me too,” he said. More of the kind of noises you get in Tom Cruise movies. I half expected to hear “You take my breath away” swelling in the background.

“We did it, you know,” Gail said exultantly in the next break. “We’re going to get away with this. Nobody suspects a thing.”

“What about that private eye? You sure she doesn’t know anything?”

“Positive. She was just on a fishing expedition, that was obvious. If she’d had anything solid to go on, she’d have let me know. Cocky bitch.”

I wasn’t the only one who was cocky. Only I had better reason to be. I checked that the tape was still running.

“Have you seen the news?” Gail asked.

“What news?” Desmond said, sounding nervous.

“About the chemical company,” she said. “It was all over the Evening Chronicle and the local TV news.”

“We haven’t had the TV on much. We’re supposed to be in mourning,” Desmond said cynically. “What’s been going on? Are they admitting liability?”

“Better than that,” Gail said. “Apparently, somebody’s been trying to blackmail Kerrchem. Product tampering, they said it was. The police have arrested a man and a woman. Hang on, I’ve got the paper in my bag.” There was the sound of rustling, then silence.

Then Desmond let out a low whistle. “Fantastic!” he exclaimed. “The icing on the cake. Nobody’s going to look twice at us now, are they?”

Famous last words, I thought to myself.

“Exactly. It’s turned out even better than we planned. The police might think I had a motive for wanting rid of Joey, but they’re not going to bother digging round in my life when they’ve got a perfect pair of scapegoats.”

And even though his access to photographic chemicals meant Desmond Halloran could probably get his hands on cyanide without too much trouble, I reckoned the police weren’t even going to think about suspecting him while they had Simon and Sandra behind bars. Besides, according to Alexis, the Hallorans were supposed to have had an idyllic marriage. No one had an inkling that Desmond Halloran’s Wednesday afternoons were spent in a motel room near War-rington.

The smooching noises had begun again. Then Gail said, “In a year or so, when we’ve got to know each other because of the court cases we’ll be filing against Kerrchem, no one will be surprised when we decide to get married. After all, we’ll have had so much in common.”

Desmond giggled, an irritating, high-pitched whinny. Never mind his murderous instincts, that giggle alone should have put any reasonable woman off him for life. “Talk about coincidence,” he cackled. “I bet those two blackmailers are sweating.”