Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

‘Davo. It was just a bit of fun. We weren’t doing anything.’

I looked at Ingrid.

‘Why?’ I said.

Without waiting for an answer I turned and left the room, shutting the door behind me. I ran downstairs and grabbed my own key from behind the desk in the hallway. I remembered the number clearly now: room 214. I climbed the stairs two at a time and opened the door, although my hands were shaking so much with anger I could barely hold the key steady enough to insert it into the lock.

‘Davo! Davo, wait!’

I turned to see Guy approaching me down the landing.

‘Davo. I’m sorry, OK?’ he said, following me into my room.

‘Piss off, Guy.’

‘It was nothing. It means nothing.’

‘I’m quite sure it meant nothing to you.’

‘Or to Ingrid,’ Guy said.

‘Yeah. Well, it means something to me.’

‘Oh, come on. It’s not like you were going out with her or anything. You told me you weren’t even sure you wanted to try.’

‘So that makes it OK, does it?’

‘No, no it doesn’t. I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry.’

He smiled that Guy smile. Just for a second I felt like saying everything was all right. He could forget it. But only for a second. Then the anger returned. I wasn’t going to let him charm his way out of trouble again. Suddenly I wanted to pin him down.

‘What happened in France, Guy?’

Guy scowled. ‘Not again. It really would be best to forget all about France, Davo.’

‘I can’t. Mel told me about the cover-up. She says she overheard you and Patrick Hoyle talking about paying the gardener Abdulatif to disappear.’

‘That woman has a serious problem with her imagination,’ Guy said dismissively.

‘I know she overheard you two talking about him because I caught her at it. Until tonight I didn’t know what you said. Now I do.’

Guy closed his eyes and sighed. ‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’

‘No,’ I said firmly.

‘OK. You’re right. We did discuss it. Owen told me he had seen Dominique with the gardener and we talked about telling the police. It seemed a good idea because it would put the gardener under suspicion. Then I thought it would be an even better idea if he scarpered. So Hoyle paid him off. And he did an excellent disappearing job.’

‘Until last month.’

‘Until last month.’

‘Do you know how he was killed?’

‘You heard Owen. He was found in some slum in Marseilles in a garbage can. That’s all I know about it. I don’t want to know any more.’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘To help Dad,’ Guy said. ‘He was under a lot of pressure from the police. It was clear they were about to pin the murder on him. Hoyle and I thought this idea would take the pressure off. It worked.’

‘Did you think he had killed Dominique?’

‘No.’ Guy shook his head emphatically. ‘Of course not.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s my dad. He’s not a murderer. Do you think your father’s a murderer?’

‘No. But then my stepmother hasn’t been murdered.’

Guy glared at me. ‘I knew Dad didn’t do it,’ he said with contempt. ‘He was with a hooker at the time. The police established that.’

‘All right. But if your father didn’t kill Dominique, and Abdulatif didn’t, who did?’

‘I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps it was a thief who came in off the street. Or perhaps it really was Abdulatif after all.’

‘Hm.’ I considered Guy’s response. It sounded honest, but could I trust him? ‘What about the jewellery case found in Abdulatif’s room?’

‘We grabbed the case from Dominique’s bedroom and gave it to Abdulatif. He left it in his room.’

‘What happened to the jewellery?’

‘He kept it.’

It all made sense. But I had one more question. An important question. ‘And the footprint they found outside Dominique’s window?’

‘My footprint? I told you before, I was having a pee in the bushes.’

‘That’s a lie, Guy. I know it’s a lie. I was there, remember?’

Guy tried his smile on me again. This time a bit more sheepish. ‘Come on, Davo. We’re both too strung out for all these questions. Let’s find the manager and get him to rustle up a couple of whiskies.’

‘It just washes over you, doesn’t it?’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean France. I mean being so cruel to Mel. I mean trying to sleep with Ingrid when you know I like her.’

‘Look, I said I was sorry about that.’

‘You don’t get it, do you? You nearly killed us all today. You would have done if I hadn’t pulled the control column away from you.’

‘Yeah, thanks for that. You reacted quickly. But we were unlucky to be hit by such a big storm. I’ve never seen one like that before.’

‘We weren’t unlucky! You flew into it, Guy. You were deliberately flying us to our deaths and then you expect everyone to just forget about it afterwards. As usual.’

As I thought about that flight, the anger boiled over. The tension and fear of those minutes had been bottled up inside me, the pressure rising, and now it all came out.

‘Face it, Guy. You’re a loser. A rich loser. You say you’re an actor, but you never actually get off your arse and get a job. You don’t have to. Daddy will bail you out, again. He’ll buy you a plane. A car. A flat. And you’ll get pissed again and whine that you might have to do a job like everyone else.’

‘So you want me to be like everyone else,’ Guy sneered, no trace of charm left now. ‘The thing is, I’m not like everyone else. You might lead a sad little life, but there’s no need to expect me to.’

‘There’s nothing sad about getting a job.’

‘Give me a break! You’ll become a chartered accountant and then you’ll get a wife and two point two kiddies and a mortgage and a nice family saloon, just like your parents did.’ Guy’s words were laden with contempt. ‘It’s your destiny, Davo. Sure you can come out for a few beers with me now and again but you can’t escape it. I’m not going to live like that. I don’t want any of that.’

Something inside me clicked. I was angry, I was drunk and I had nearly died only a few hours before. And Guy was pressing on a very sensitive spot. Hard.

I swung. Fast. My fist connected with Guy’s nose with a light crunching sound. Guy swore. Suddenly there was blood everywhere.

Guy bent down and held his nose. Blood poured out on to the carpet. He straightened. I prepared to hit him again.

‘What the hell’s going on here!’ bellowed a strong Scottish voice. It was the manager, closely followed by Ingrid.

I pushed Guy out of my room, shut and locked the door, and ignored the banging and angry shouts from outside.

I got up early the next morning, paid for my room and walked the half-mile to Mrs Campbell’s. I woke Mel up, organized a taxi and began the long journey with her back to London. We stopped off in Glasgow for an hour so that I could buy a couple of accountancy books for the rest of the trip. The last two months had taken its toll on my work. I did want to qualify as a chartered accountant. I did want to get a decent job in a bank.

Above all, I didn’t want to piss away my twenties in a pub with Guy.

September 1999, Notting Hill, London

It was very late by the time I got home. I was far too wound up to go to bed. I looked for some whisky, couldn’t find any, and so I opened a bottle of wine. I slumped on to the sofa and thought about Tony.

He had been a horrible sight. He must have died instantly, but if his death was quick, it was also messy. The shock had been numbing, but as it wore off it was replaced by a feeling of great unease, which it took me a while to realize was guilt. I didn’t like Tony. Seconds before he had died I was very angry with him. Angry about what he had done to Guy, angry about what he was doing to Ninetyminutes, angry about what he was doing to me. And then, in an instant, he was dead. I knew I hadn’t killed him. I hadn’t even wished for his death. But the source of my present problems had been removed, as if by a miracle of the devil.