Philip Kerr - Research

When I was satisfied that the apartment showed every sign of a recent visit from Colette’s absent Russian boyfriend — more than enough to severely unnerve John, who was convinced he was mafia — I fetched my Kindle from the windowsill where I’d left it and went back down to the garage.

Colette was biting her lip and looking anxious. I kissed her in an effort to reassure her. Was it my imagination or was there just a hint of semen I could taste on her lips?

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘We can go now.’

She winced. ‘I’m sorry, Don. I left my iPad on the kitchen worktop.’

I shook my head. ‘Not to worry. I’ll go and fetch it now ...’

‘You’re a very thoughtful man, do you know that?’

I took hold of the handle and opened the car door, but Colette clasped my arm and shook her head.

‘On second thoughts, don’t bother. I have my Apple Mac. I’ve got everything on there that I need. I really won’t need the iPad.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘Yes. Besides, I just want to get away from here. Now.’

‘Really. It’s no trouble. And wait, suppose John finds the iPad. Won’t he worry that you’ve gone away without it?’ I shrugged. ‘Won’t you worry that he might go through your diary?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Besides he doesn’t know the passcode.’ She frowned, ‘At least I think he doesn’t.’ She shook her head. ‘I told him once — but no, he never remembers anything like that. He couldn’t even tell you my mobile number.’

I shook my head. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure. Please, Don, let’s just go, huh?’

‘All right.’

Colette started the car and we drove slowly out of the Tour Odéon garage; but instead of turning up the hill and driving through Beausoleil — which would have been the quickest way to the airport — she drove down, toward the sea, and through the city.

‘Why are we going this way?’

‘Because the best time to see Monte Carlo is always in the summer, just before the dawn, at about four in the morning. In fact it’s the only time it looks really beautiful and you have a sense of what it used to be like before money made it so — so nauseating. There aren’t any sweaty tourists greedy for a celebrity at this hour and you can’t smell the stink of gasoline from all those unbearably ridiculous Lamborghinis and Ferraris.’

I nodded and as we came into Casino Square I saw her point; what she’d said — it wasn’t the first line of Casino Royale but still, it was all right. I put my hand on her knee and squeezed it gently.

‘Yes, I agree. It’s quite different. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like this.’

‘You know something? I’ve never even been into the Casino.’

‘Neither have I.’

‘Let’s do it now,’ she said. ‘Just for ten minutes. We’ll leave the car out front, go in the Salon Privé , and have one spin of the roulette wheel.’

‘Really, we ought to get to the airport. And besides, I’m hardly dressed for it.’

‘Please, Don. I need to feel lucky again. And you are so English — you’ve left us loads of time to get to the airport. At this time of the morning it will take twenty minutes. And your clothes are fine. You’re not wearing jeans. You have a jacket. You don’t have to look like Daniel Craig any more to go in there, you know.’

I smiled at how much like a little girl Colette seemed; it was easy to see why John had fallen for her; I was falling for her, and I wanted to indulge her a little. To encourage her, to enable her to take her mind off things; she’d had a difficult evening and it seemed only fair that we should do something that was important to her.

‘If you like,’ I said. ‘But just a few minutes, mind. We don’t want to miss our planes.’

We parked out front — easy at that time of the morning — and went inside. The casino entrance hall looked more like a nineteenth-century opera house than a place to lose money; then again, when was the last time that opera made money? We presented our passports to the caissier — to prove we weren’t Monégasques, forbidden by law to gamble in the casino — bought a couple of ten-euro tickets for the Salon Privé and passed into a large, high-ceilinged room that was still surprisingly busy with people sitting around blackjack tables and roulette wheels. Some of the gamblers and croupiers looked at Colette with open lust as if wondering how many chips it took to walk in with someone like her. They might have been surprised when I bought Colette a single 500-euro plaque and handed it to her.

‘One spin of the wheel,’ I said.

‘I promise.’

She took a circuit around the room before stopping at one of the many roulette tables, where she put the plaque on black and waited while the croupier turned the wheel and rolled the ball; and when the ball hit black, she squealed so loudly you might have thought she’d beaten Le Chiffre and won millions instead of another single 500-euro plaque. She hugged me excitedly and then we cashed in and left before the temptation to roll again became too great for her to resist.

Outside the sweet early morning air was already warm on the face and the sky was the colour of manuka honey. It was going to be another hot day. A small truck was washing the street in front of the Hôtel de Paris. Consciences are cleaned with equal facility; take it from someone who knows.

‘That was such fun,’ said Colette, as we walked back to the car. ‘I can’t believe I won. Thank you. I feel so much better.’

‘I’m glad,’ I said, and before we got back in the car I kissed her again, only this time I let my hand make free with her breasts.

Less than thirty minutes later we were driving into the long-term underground parking lot at Terminal 2; with its signal-red walls, low ceilings, bright lighting and polished concrete floor, the Nice airport car park was a very pleasant alternative to its malodorous English counterparts. And at that early hour the car park was quiet, with no one else around.

I pointed out a space at the far end of an empty row. ‘There,’ I said. ‘No need to drive any further.’

Colette turned smartly into the spot, switched off the engine and popped the trunk with a button on the driver’s door.

‘I’ll get the luggage,’ I said and jumped quickly out of the car. ‘And I think because you’re earlier than me, I’ll walk you over to your check-in.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Nonsense. Besides, I’ve got your ticket.’

I put Colette’s bag on the ground, and then my own, and as she came around the back of the car I pointed at something lying on the floor of the Audi’s big boot.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing at the back of the boot. ‘There’s something shiny lying on the floor. Is that — is that your missing earring?’

Of course, I knew it was her missing diamond earring; I knew because it was me who had placed it there in the boot.

‘Oh, my God. You’re right. It is my earring. How did it get there? Is this my lucky day, or what?’

‘It’s your lucky day, all right. You win five hundred euros and now you find your missing diamond earring. That means something else good is going to happen to you now because these things always happen in threes. Take my word for it.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right.’

Colette leaned into the boot to fetch her missing earring, and as she did I pulled out the silenced Walther P22 from under the back of my belt and shot her twice just behind the ear. She was probably dead before her face hit the carpet and all quite painlessly, I might add. It took only another second to sweep up her legs and tip the rest of her body into the trunk. I lowered the lid for a second, glanced around the car park and having ascertained I wasn’t being watched, lifted the lid once more and shot Colette twice in the chest, just to make absolutely sure. The gun was so silent I might have been pulling the trigger on a gas barbecue. I chucked the gun after her, dumped her case in the boot beside her body and then closed the lid, permanently.