Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

Our conversation turned to Guy. ‘Have you seen him since that Broadhill do?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. I see him quite a lot, actually. It’s fun.’

‘He sees Mel as well, doesn’t he?’

‘From time to time.’

‘Oh. That doesn’t sound good.’

‘It probably isn’t for Mel. It’s fine for Guy.’

‘Selfish pig.’ Her comment surprised me. Ingrid noticed. ‘Well, he is, isn’t he?’

‘I suppose so,’ I conceded.

‘I mean, Mel is totally gone over him. Always has been.’

‘Even after what Tony did to her in France?’

‘Yeah. Especially after that. You know how much she regretted it. I think since then she’s been desperate to show Guy that she made a mistake.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what they all see in him.’

‘Oh, I think I do,’ said Ingrid with a twinkle in her pale-blue eyes.

‘Not you as well?’

‘Don’t get me wrong. The last thing in the world I would want is to be his girlfriend. I assure you I don’t envy Mel. But one can’t help wondering...’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Don’t you dare!’

I paused to chase a piece of curried fish around my bowl with my chopsticks. Not great technique, but I was hungry. I noticed Ingrid whipping the food into her mouth like a pro.

‘How do you do that?’ I asked. ‘It’s unnatural.’

‘I learned as a child. When I was little and we lived in São Paulo, we used to go to Japanese restaurants a lot. Did you know there’s a massive Japanese community there? And then we lived in Hong Kong for a bit, so I’ve had plenty of practice.’

‘Well I’m afraid I haven’t,’ I said, finally spearing the fish.

‘Mel’s had a rough time,’ Ingrid said. ‘She doesn’t need Guy making her life any more miserable.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’

‘She used to talk to me a lot about her family when we were at school. It sounded like her parents hated each other and used her as a weapon. Especially her father.’

‘Didn’t he run away with a secretary?’

‘That’s right. I think Mel has been pretty uptight about sex ever since.’

‘Tony Jourdan can’t have helped.’

‘No. Yuk.’ Ingrid shuddered. ‘I visited her a couple of times when she was at university in Manchester. For someone who used to look like such a good-time girl at school I think she led a pretty celibate life at university. And afterwards probably.’

‘Until Guy.’

‘Until Guy.’ She helped herself to some more rice. ‘What about you?’ she asked.

‘What about me? Are you asking me about my sex life?’

‘Is it a secret? Like the accountancy? Surely it’s not as embarrassing as that?’

‘Not quite,’ I sighed. ‘It hasn’t been as successful as I would have liked, but it’s not a total disaster. No one really serious, though. And you?’

‘Hey, I’m Brazilian. But actually I only ever seem to sleep with the wrong men. That’s something I’ve decided I’m going to change.’

‘Oh,’ I said. Ingrid went very slightly red. I noticed, but pretended not to. ‘This green curry stuff looks horrible but it’s really tasty. You should try some.’

We went out again, a week later. It was another good evening, but marred for me by some disappointing news. Ingrid’s fears over the future of Patio World proved well founded. It was closing, slipping away from the specialist magazine shelves, leaving only a tiny band of readers with unfinished patios to mourn it. But her firm wanted her to go to Paris for a few weeks to work on a couple of titles that were proving successful there and might translate well to England. Ingrid was excited. It was a good career move, she spoke French and she loved Paris. I made encouraging noises, but I didn’t mean them.

I found myself looking forward to her return.

I saw Owen only once that summer. I hadn’t known he was coming; one evening I went to meet Guy in one of our usual watering holes and there he was.

Guy bought the beer and chatted away as though Owen wasn’t there. But it was hard to ignore his presence. He had filled out. He was now about twenty and he had transformed from overgrown kid to muscular adult. He hardly drank his lager, despite Guy’s attempts to ply him with more. I tried conversation.

‘What are you up to these days, Owen?’

‘UCLA. Studying computer science.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘College sucks. The course is OK.’

‘I know what Californian colleges are like,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen the films. Beaches, babes, parties.’

Owen peered at me suspiciously. It was true I was mocking him, but in what was supposed to be a good-humoured, English kind of way. He didn’t get it.

‘I’m not into that kind of stuff.’

‘Er, no. I suppose not.’ I drank my beer. ‘How long are you here for?’ I asked, hoping the answer was not long.

‘Four days. I’ve just been to see my father in France.’

‘How is he?’ I asked politely.

But Owen had had enough of my small talk. He ignored my question and spoke directly to his brother. ‘Abdulatif’s dead.’

That got Guy’s attention. And mine. He glanced rapidly at me and then spoke. ‘Abdulatif?’

‘Yeah. Abdulatif. The gardener. He’s dead.’

‘Oh. They found him, then?’

‘They found him all right. In, like, a trash can in Marseilles. It took them a week to figure out who he was. Matched his fingerprints.’

‘Do they know who killed him?’ Guy asked.

‘No. He was some kind of rent-boy. The local cops say they get killed all the time.’

Guy drank his beer carefully. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m sad to hear that.’

‘No.’ Owen turned to me and gave me a mocking smile. ‘Did Guy tell you, I saw him humping Dominique?’

‘No,’ I said, my blood suddenly running cold.

‘Yeah. It was the day before you and Guy arrived. Dad was out somewhere. I think she thought I was on the computer. But I wasn’t. I was walking around. Looking.’ He caught my eye and grinned.

‘Oh,’ I said. What else had he seen, I wondered.

‘Of course that would have been a couple of days before you had it off with her. I bet you didn’t realize you were having the gardener’s leftovers?’

I felt the anger boil inside me. Of course I hadn’t realized! Damn Owen.

‘I told the cops of course. That was why they were so sure he’d killed her.’ Owen saw my discomfort and laughed. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you that for years.’

Guy noticed my unease and tried to change the subject slightly. ‘What did Dad say when he heard about the body being found?’

‘He was pretty damn happy.’

‘I bet he was.’

‘He’s coming over next week,’ he said. ‘He’d like to see you.’

‘Great,’ said Guy. ‘But you’ll be back in the States by then, won’t you?’

‘Yeah. He won’t care, though. He wasn’t real pleased to see me in France.’

‘I’m glad you went.’

Owen snorted into his beer.

For the rest of the evening Guy steered the conversation away from France and his father. Eventually we left the pub and headed back to his place to play some music and drink some more. We had just crossed a road when a scrawny red-haired man with a ravaged face and ragged clothes lurched in front of us.

‘Have you got change for a cuppa tea?’ he said to me. He was obviously drunk. But then so was I. I ignored him.

‘Wharrabout you?’ he said to Guy, standing in his way.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Guy politely.

‘Come on. Gi’ us ten p. You can spare ten p, can’t yer?’ He pushed his face close to Guy with an unsteady leer.

Guy tried to step around him.

The man wasn’t having it. ‘Yuppy bastard!’ he shouted.