Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

He was wearing a baggy tan suit and a tie, and beads of sweat sparkled on his broad forehead with the exertion of running up and down the stairs. ‘I trust Miguel is taking good care of you?’

‘He certainly is,’ Ingrid answered. She had used her Portuguese to charm the servant and he had responded by looking after us very well.

‘Good, good. Let me know if you have any problems. But I’m sure Tony will be back tonight.’

‘Mr Hoyle?’ Ingrid said as he tried to leave.

‘Yes?’ He frowned. He had things to do.

‘Can you tell us how the investigation is going? We’ve been left in the dark up here.’

‘Of course,’ Hoyle said reluctantly, lowering himself on to the edge of an armchair. ‘As you know, they’re interviewing Tony at the moment. But they haven’t arrested him yet, and I don’t think they’re going to. He’s innocent, and I’m quite sure we can prove it.’

‘How?’ I asked. ‘Does he have an alibi?’

‘Yes. But not a reputable one.’ A companion from the Nice bordello Guy had mentioned, I thought. ‘No, we’re, um...’ Hoyle hesitated, ‘working on something else.’

‘So who did kill Dominique?’ Ingrid asked.

‘It must have been a thief. Someone broke in in the middle of the night, stole some jewellery and disturbed her. When she saw him, he suffocated her with the pillow. She had taken heroin, so she was probably disoriented.’

‘So there’s some jewellery missing?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Just her day-to-day stuff. But still worth a few hundred thousand francs.’

‘And the police are certain she was suffocated?’

‘They’ve done the post-mortem. She had some heroin in her bloodstream, but it wasn’t an overdose. She died of asphyxiation. And the pillowcase was missing.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means the murderer got rid of it to avoid leaving any traces for the police to find. After he’d used the pillow to smother her.’

‘Do you have any idea why they wanted to examine our shoes?’

‘Not specifically. But it’s good to hear they’re checking other leads. They probably realize they’ve got the wrong man.’ He shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe Dominique has been murdered. It just doesn’t seem real. Tony and I have been in some scrapes together, but nothing like this.’

I nodded in agreement. It all seemed totally unreal to me.

Hoyle checked his watch. ‘I need to get back to Beaulieu. I’ve got Tony a good criminal lawyer, the best in Nice. But I want to make sure they don’t try to keep him in the station overnight.’

With that he heaved himself up out of the armchair and left us.

Sure enough, he returned an hour later with an exhausted-looking Tony. They ignored us and shut themselves in the study. Tony clearly wasn’t off the hook yet.

I went to bed but stayed awake reading my book. Guy came in at about eleven. He ignored my greeting, quickly stripped off his clothes and jumped into bed.

I carried on reading.

After a minute or so, Guy leaned on his elbow and glared at me. ‘Turn the fucking light off, Lane.’

I turned the light off. It took me a long time to get to sleep that night.

I was woken by a violent banging. I opened my eyes to see the door flung open. It was Sauville and two uniformed gendarmes. Morning sunlight streamed in behind them.

‘What the...?’ Guy began.

Sauville’s eyes scanned the floor and found a pair of trainers. He picked one up and glanced at the sole.

‘Is this yours?’ he demanded of Guy.

‘Er... Yes.’

‘Put on your clothes and come with me down to the police station. You are under arrest.’

Guy sat up in bed. ‘I’m what?’

‘You heard me.’

‘That’s stupid!’ Guy protested. ‘You’ve got no reason to arrest me. I didn’t kill anybody!’

Sauville picked up some of the clothes at the end of Guy’s bed and flung them at him. ‘Get dressed!’

Guy swung himself out of bed and put them on, glaring at Sauville the whole time.

Sauville muttered something in French to one of the policemen behind him. The man produced a pair of handcuffs, gesturing for Guy to hold up his arms. Guy stared at the cuffs, as if he was only just realizing what was happening to him, and slowly did as he was told. They closed around his wrists with a snap.

‘Good luck,’ I said.

Guy turned towards me. For a moment I thought he was going to ignore me again. But then he spoke. ‘This is all bullshit. They have nothing on me.’

‘We will see,’ said Sauville, as the policeman grabbed Guy by the elbow and shoved him roughly out of the room.

May 1999, Wapping, London

‘So, how did you do last night?’ Guy asked. The two of us plus Owen were getting down to work in the cramped Wapping flat. It was the Wednesday after the Tuesday before.

‘Not too well. It was a zoo. I couldn’t get a word in.’

‘How many cards did you get?’

‘Only three.’

‘Three! That’s pathetic. You’ve got to hustle, Davo. You can’t get trampled by the herd.’

‘I did come across one VC I knew from my accounting days. I talked to him for a bit.’

‘Did he like the idea?’

‘I didn’t ask him. It didn’t seem appropriate.’

‘Didn’t seem appropriate! Why do you think you were there? Why do you think he was there?’ Guy shook his head. ‘I knew I should have gone myself,’ he muttered.

I felt a flash of anger, but bit my tongue and put my head down. I was angry because I knew Guy was right. I felt guilty and inadequate. I was not good at this. Guy had hired me to help him raise money. He relied on me. I didn’t want to let him down, especially at this early stage.

Guy and I worked on in angry silence. Of course, Owen was working in silence too, but there was nothing new in that. The tension crowded in on us in the small flat, hovering over the dining table we all shared as a desk.

Determined to make up for the previous evening’s failure, I sent our plan to the three venture capitalists I had met, including Henry. I took some time over his covering letter. I toyed with elaborate excuses as to why I had suddenly discovered a need for funding the day after I had told him I didn’t have one, before settling on the truth, which sounded better anyway. He just hadn’t looked as if he wanted to hear yet another elevator pitch.

I looked up the British Venture Capital Association website, found three more likely names and sent the plan off to each of them.

Now all I could do was wait and see.

‘Coffee?’ asked Guy, after an hour or so of silence.

‘Please,’ I said.

He returned a couple of minutes later with a mug. ‘I’m sorry I jumped on you like that,’ he said. ‘I know you tried your best.’ He smiled a smile that said ‘friends again?’ and was impossible to resist.

‘No, you’re right. You probably should have gone. You’d have done better than me.’

‘Next time.’ He sipped his coffee. I was pleased that the tension had eased a little. We just didn’t have the room for it.

‘Bet you can’t guess who else I saw last night?’ I said.

‘Who?’

‘Mel.’

‘Mel Dean?’

‘That’s the only Mel I know.’

‘Well, well,’ Guy said. ‘There’s a memory. What does she look like? Has she changed much?’

‘She’s aged a bit.’

‘Don’t they all? What about those lovely breasts?’

‘They’re in great shape.’

‘That’s good to know. They always were fine specimens.’

‘She’s still a lawyer,’ I said. ‘Apparently she does a lot of work with internet start-ups. I’ve just faxed her our shareholders’ agreement. Remember I was unhappy with it?’