Dead Alone (19 page)

Tarek locked the door of the Portakabin and pulled his jacket closer around him. He’d stayed late organising job interviews for himself once the others had gone. Ray had been cheerful all day, the Eve Wirrel show had been a hit. The phones were beginning to ring with legitimate stories of ‘stars’ behaving atrociously, erratically, obscenely. The gloves were off. These people couldn’t hide any more. Tarek hoped the police would move quickly, otherwise Ray would become too big to stop.

For some reason, Alistair didn’t seem to be enjoying Ray’s meteoric rise. He never smiled. In fact, he seemed even more withdrawn. He had hung around the office until an hour ago. Tarek was fast becoming more nervous of Alistair than he was of Ray. Avoiding the rain-filled potholes, he walked through the car park and pushed the chicken wire gate open. The new job couldn’t come fast enough. Tarek was hungry, he decided to stop for a kebab before walking home. It was hours past dinner time.

The French fashion house L’Epoch had tented over Bedford Square. Jessie stood back as the flashbulbs popped for Maggie. It was always a freakish moment, Jessie thought, the sudden activity, the rush of men with enlarged lenses, jabbing and straining against the flimsy barrier between them and their catch. Who was preying on whom, Jessie was never sure.

‘Maggie! Maggie, over here! Maggie! Lovely …’

Jessie watched her flatmate pose and smile, flick her long thick hair and lift her chin. She counted to five and watched Maggie move. It was always five. Maggie said there was a threat of overshoot if you stayed for longer. They destroyed the ones who wanted it at any cost.

They handed in their invites and immediately got caught in a bottleneck. Like cattle to the slaughter, skinny women and men in Gucci rolled their eyes and dug in their heels as they fought the push of the crowd. No one wanted to be first into the empty tent. The guests and the staff eyed each other across the expanse of seagrass. Maggie grabbed Jessie’s hand.

‘Stop fiddling with that dress, you look great. Don’t let go of me and don’t catch anyone’s eye. If we break through now, we’ll be first to the bar.’

They ducked through the madding crowd and hobbled in the direction of the bar. A barman handed them shot glasses suspended in crucibles of crushed ice. They saluted each other, and threw
the flavoured vodka down their throats.

‘Watch them come,’ said Maggie, looking back as the jostling pack of guests suddenly split apart and spread like tentacles towards the various bars. ‘Sheep.’

Jessie needed more vodka. ‘Another one?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Maggie, her eyes scanning the room. Suddenly she turned her back on the room. ‘Shit!’

‘What? Who is it?’

‘Cosima Broome. Let’s get out of here.’

‘Too late, she’s coming over.’

The girl was surrounded by a horde of inbred men, all vying for her attention, pecking at her like feeding chickens. Maggie decided to make a run for it just as Cosima looked over in their direction. Their eyes locked for a second and both froze. Then, like a DVD resuming play, without a flicker, Cosima turned back to the men and Maggie bolted into the open arms of Dame Henrietta Cadell. No one had noticed. Except Jessie. She was trained to notice things like that. Not so dissimilar to the gossipmongers, she thought, following her flatmate across a world of riches safely protected under a twinkling night sky. Artificial, like everything beneath it.

The celebrated queen of literati greeted Maggie with a barbed comment about her ‘getting around’, but Maggie smiled through the insult. Jessie wondered what would happen if someone stood up to the old trout. Told her a few home truths about her
disgraceful lack of manners, her terrible lack of taste and her general disregard for anyone other than herself. She’d probably wither, like all good bullies.

‘You don’t like her, do you?’

Jessie turned round, startled.

‘I’m Josh. We met at the film party.’

‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ said Jessie.

‘It’s okay, I don’t mind. She’s an acquired taste, I suppose.’

‘Honestly, I was thinking about …’ She paused. ‘She is a bit overbearing, I suppose.’

Joshua smiled. It completely changed his face. ‘Honesty! A rare commodity in these parts.’

‘Well, thankfully, I don’t inhabit these parts.’

‘No. You’ve wandered a little off your patch, Detective Inspector.’

Jessie was taken aback. Her professional title always jarred in social environments. She looked over to Maggie; the girl was incapable of keeping her mouth shut.

‘I saw your press conference.’

‘Oh. Well, I –’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that I’m impressed. Models, actresses, presenters, I meet many of those, all dull, self-obsessed, ineffectual women who talk only about themselves. When I first saw you, I thought there was something different about you. Now I know why. God, I’m gushing. Sorry.’

Jessie suppressed a smile. ‘Most people run a mile.’

‘That’s only because they are intimidated.’

‘You think? I always thought it was a guilty conscience.’

‘Probably a bit of both.’

‘But not you?’

‘I’m not intimidated by women. I’ve known they were the superior race since I was two. And as for a guilty conscience, it’s true, I did overfeed my goldfish to see if they would explode.’

‘Did they?’

‘No. Very disappointing.’

Jessie felt the effects of the vodka radiate through her. She relaxed as Joshua pointed out the people around them. The diminutive pop stars, the unattractive models, the stick-thin actresses. Wherever they looked, gorgeous women were accompanied by balding grey-haired men.

‘Old impresarios, club owners, criminals, gun runners,’ explained Joshua.

Jessie took a lump of brie off a passing tray.

‘True love every time,’ he said, winking. Jessie smiled, then regretted it. Maggie was suddenly standing beside them. Between them.

‘What are you two getting so cosy about?’

Joshua looked at Jessie and smiled gently.

‘We are laughing at those hideous models, the ones with the inverted chests,’ he said.

‘There is probably a nice stash of rock cocaine in their rhinestone-encrusted baguettes,’ said Maggie, putting her hand on Joshua’s arm.

‘I’m off duty,’ Jessie replied, stepping back.

‘Does that mean you don’t have a set of those plastic handcuffs in your bag?’ asked Maggie slyly.

‘Not that off duty.’

‘Didn’t think so.’ Maggie laughed. ‘I’m sure most of the men in this tent would hand over their dealer’s number just to be arrested by you looking like that. Don’t you think, Joshua?’

He looked flustered.

‘I leave that up to the narcs. I’m strictly a murder girl me,’ said Jessie.

‘Darling, there isn’t room for two murder experts, and I’m afraid I got there first.’

The three of them turned and watched Henrietta move like a carnival float across the floor. ‘You two fighting over my son already? And it’s so early.’ Henrietta Cadell rubbed a bejewelled hand up Joshua’s long, lean back. Maggie winked at Jessie. Mothers and only sons. A lethal combination.

‘Mother, I –’

‘Joshua, dear, they don’t seem to stock any Grey Goose behind the bar and I’m simply not going to drink that cheap Eastern European rocket fuel. Would you be a darling and run to the car and ask the driver to go and find some?’

‘What about a glass of champagne?’

‘If I wanted champagne, Joshua, I wouldn’t have come all the way over here and asked you to get me the vodka, would I?’

‘Sorry, I’ll go now,’ said Joshua. He began to walk away.

‘I’ll keep you company,’ said Maggie, smiling broadly at Henrietta.

‘That’s a shame. I wanted to talk to you about an idea my agent has had. We’re looking for a presenter …’

Maggie stepped back. ‘Oh.’

‘Run along, Joshua,’ said Henrietta.

Run along? Didn’t Henrietta realise her son was out of shorts? ‘If you’re going to talk shop,’ said Jessie impulsively, ‘I may as well go with him.’ Joshua tried to hide it, but Jessie could tell he was pleased. They walked out of the marquee together, leaving Maggie and Henrietta staring after them.

Alistair prised himself off the brick wall and stepped silently out of the shadow. He followed Tarek down the street and watched him turn left on to the main road. After four hundred yards, Tarek stopped at the pedestrian crossing and waited for the lights to change. Alistair stepped back under the awning of a newsagent’s as Tarek looked left and right. When Tarek crossed, Alistair slipped between the slow-moving cars. He was walking parallel to Tarek now. Tarek always walked home. It took an hour, but it saved him money. Alistair knew the route well. He’d followed him three times before. In a few minutes he would leave the busy road and turn right down an alleyway that led to the back of an estate. By weaving
through the bicycle-proof railings, he would cut through the estate, descend into a labyrinth of subways and be lost from sight and sound.

Cracking his knuckles, Alistair increased his pace. At the railings he veered off left, then broke into a run, opened the door of a nearby block of flats, ran up a flight of stairs and along the length of the corridor. He could see Tarek below him, cut back across the courtyard to the subway entrance. He pushed on, through another doorway, down another flight of stairs and across a deserted playground. Jumping a low fence, he ran on past a shuttered-up parade of shops and emerged on the busy road the other side. Alistair ducked around the late-night traffic and descended the shallow concrete steps of the subway into darkness. The light he had broken the night before had not been fixed. He pressed himself into an alcove that reeked of urine, gripped the cold steel bar, and waited for the echo of Tarek’s footsteps.

The silver Mercedes S500 limo was parked outside the gates. Jessie and Joshua had to pass the photographers again, but after a cursory glance the paparazzi went back to their cigarettes and notebooks. Jessie and Joshua were not worthy of a shot. Joshua didn’t seem to notice, but Jessie knew the reaction would have been different if his mother had escorted him. She was about to ask
him about it when he tapped a uniformed driver on the shoulder.

‘Aren’t you freezing?’ asked Joshua.

The driver looked at the car nervously. ‘I was having a cigarette,’ he said. Jessie instinctively looked at the driver’s empty hands then the ground. There was no butt on the ground. The driver kept glancing at the tinted windows of the car.

‘It doesn’t bother me, but Mother would like you to go and fetch her some Grey Goose. Do you mind?’

‘Now?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘Right. I’ll bring it in, no need for you to wait.’

‘Okay.’

The driver remained on the pavement. So did Joshua. The driver looked back at the car. So did Joshua. Jessie had heard it too. Someone was in the car.

‘Fucking hell!’ spat Joshua. ‘Not again.’

The driver opened his mouth then closed it.

‘Jesus Christ, there are photographers all over this place!’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

Jessie stepped back. She didn’t want to watch Joshua discipline the driver. A man twice his age.

‘It’s not your fault,’ said Joshua. ‘Just get them out of here. Who is it?’

The driver shrugged. Joshua seemed to deflate. As he turned back to Jessie, the door of the car opened. A be-suited trouser leg stepped on to the pavement. Joshua moved like a cat.

‘Get back in the car. You too. Jesus, at least have the decency to try and be discreet, if not for Henrietta, for yourself.’ Joshua slammed the door shut and indicated for the driver to go quickly. ‘Don’t let them return together.’ The driver nodded. ‘And don’t forget the vodka.’

He rejoined Jessie on the pavement and they watched the car glide effortlessly away.

‘I’m very sorry you had to witness that,’ said Joshua.

So was Jessie. The man who had partially emerged from the car was the man she had pulled off the girl in the corridor of the film premiere party. Worse still, he was the same man that Verity Shore had checked into a hotel with. Christopher Cadell. She was right, she had seen him somewhere before.

‘My father has a penchant for young women. He seems to get a kick out of humiliating my mother. So you see, she may be a discourteous, over-bearing nightmare, but she is a miserable, discourteous, over-bearing nightmare. She only has me. I suppose that’s why I put up with her. I need a drink.’

Jessie couldn’t move. Joshua turned back.

‘Sorry, it’s always a bit shocking the first time you notice the crack in the façade. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m very grateful it was you who witnessed that and not Maggie. I’m afraid your flatmate would use it to her advantage. You won’t tell her, will you? Mother is very protective of her good name.’

A good name that had just been added to a very short list of suspects. ‘No,’ said Jessie. ‘I won’t tell Maggie.’