Remix (2010) (20 page)

“Oh, thanks, Caz. That should stop them all taking a kindly interest in my lack of a girlfriend.”

“Have you told Rosemary you and Posy have split up?”

There was a thoughtful silence. “Not as yet…”

Posy, I’d gathered from the little James let slip (he was a loyal son) was the only woman he’d ever been out with who had won maternal approval.
James’s mother is critical to a fault, especially of her son’s female friends. I’d had to conceal my surprise when I first learned that she got on with James’s latest.
Posy was what Rosemary called Suitable, a Nice Girl, and according to her, hardly anyone was. She wouldn’t think much of me as a substitute, even for one evening.

When I woke Saturday morning, the day of Rosemary’s dinner party, Ric was fast asleep. I slipped out of bed, showered, dressed, went downstairs and had breakfast without waking him. My brain had been working overnight while the rest of me slept, and I wanted to check its results.

I searched for one of the photos of Emma I’d found before on the internet. It took me a little while, but eventually there it was on the screen; Emma, young and pretty in a line-up of strangely-dressed people, her eyes seeking reassurance from Phil who was only just in shot. And this time I knew what it was; it was the Eurovision Song Contest audition she’d told me about. Four or five years ago, Emma had said. I checked the date; yes, she was right. But…it was a whole year before she was supposed to have met Phil Sharott while she was temping. Nearly four years before Paula, his wife, died. Four and a half years before she publicly became Phil’s girlfriend. Her association with Phil had started long before she was admitting.

So she’d never temped at all - that was why she could only type with two fingers - it was simply an excuse to spend a week with her lover, and allow her to get a glimpse of the music industry she wanted to get into. The advantage to Phil was, he got her company in a way that would not arouse the suspicions of his wife, plus the opportunity to impress Emma by introducing her to The Voices. That bit had backfired, because Emma had met Bryan and decided he would benefit her career more than Phil. Phil must have been devastated. I guessed that while Emma was using him, he genuinely loved her.

If Phil had been having a long-term extra-marital affair with Emma, and she’d dumped him for Bryan, he’d had a motive for murder. I was certain she’d gone back to him once Bryan was dead. Murder was an excessive reaction to a girlfriend’s defection, but not unknown. And who else was there? Not Ric. Or Dave Calder - I just couldn’t believe it of him. Jeff Pike…now there was no doubt in my mind he could be violent, and he loved Ric…but he knew Ric was heterosexual; what would he gain by murdering Ric’s best friend? Emma had no reason to kill Bryan, either. She’d just moved in with him, and he was rich, successful and devoted to her. Whether she loved him or not, it was an excellent career move for an ambitious woman. Even after he found her and Ric, she must have thought it likely, infatuated as he was, that he’d forgive her.

It seemed increasingly obvious to me that Phil was the killer. Not that I had any proof.

I gazed at the picture; I was out of my depth, and I had the nasty feeling that Ric was too. He had to hand himself over to the police. That was an essential first step in sorting out the mess he was in. If he did that he’d be safe from Phil, who must now be thinking how much easier things would be, if Ric was dead as well as Bryan. He’d keep Ric’s money, and Bryan’s murder case would stay closed. Alarm grew in me.

The cello snippet. I looked up to the mezzanine and saw Ric’s arm emerge from under the duvet.

“Hi…I’ll call you back, dude. When I’m awake.”

Jeff Pike. Calls from him now featured regularly and frequently in our lives. Ric sat up, swung his legs to the floor and pulled on his jeans. I reached out and flipped the kettle’s switch as he and Dog came downstairs; his hair was tousled, his chest bare; he was a dead ringer for a jeans commercial. I wondered how long it would take me to get used to his dazzling good looks, and whether I was going to get the chance.

While he tipped some food into Dog’s bowl and changed his water, I told him the conclusions I’d reached. He listened in silence. I finished,

“What
I
think you should do is hire a really good solicitor and a private detective. You can afford it - you’ve got the Euros, and the diamonds. The only evidence against you is circumstantial. There must be proof somewhere that Phil killed Bryan. And if you go to the police, you can tell them all the dodgy things Phil’s been doing, and that’ll make them investigate him. Once you’re officially alive, Phil will have to hand back the money. The solicitor will know how to sort it out.”

“There’s a lot of sense in what you say.” Ric nodded slowly. “I hate not doing anything. And I don’t want Emma deciding she’ll give the rape story to the
News of the World
- if she hasn’t already, that is.”

“Then you’ll do it?” I could hear the hope in my voice. I was positive this was the best course of action.

“I don’t want to, Caz. The first thing they’ll do is throw me in jail. If I could just give them something so they know it wasn’t me…”

“I’ve been round to everyone now. What more can we do?”

“There might be something incriminating at Phil’s house.” Ric’s eyes glinted. “I’ll break in. See if I can find anything.”

I looked at him, hoping he didn’t mean it. He meant it. A cold, panicky feeling fluttered in my chest. Eventually I said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“He’s got a burglar alarm, for one thing.”

“I’ll go when he’s there so it won’t be on. At night, when he’s asleep.”

“But don’t people with big houses have those alarms where you set it at night just for downstairs?”

“Phil hasn’t. I’ve stayed there. He has a panic button by his bed.”

“What if he wakes up and catches you?”

“I’ll be careful. I know the house. If it came to it, I can handle Phil.”

This confidence worried me. Ric underestimated how dangerous Phil was, I felt sure, just because his manner was mild and he was no fighter. Appearances can be deceptive. Look at Dr Crippen: diminutive and meek, yet he’d killed his wife, dismembered her, destroyed the body in acid, put her head in a handbag and thrown it into the sea on a day trip to Dieppe.

I said, “He’s not likely to have left evidence lying around the place, especially after three years. You’d be wasting your time.”

“There’s his safe.”

“I saw what was in there! Hardly anything, just some jewellery cases, the cash he gave you and a folder.”

Ric pounced on this. “There was a folder?”

“Yes, a pink A4 cardboard one.” Its sides had bulged; it was full of something, but I wasn’t going to tell Ric that. It would only encourage him. I wished I hadn’t mentioned it.

“Why keep a folder in a safe?”

“Insurance policies? Maybe it’s fireproof. And how do you propose to open the safe, anyway? The whole point of safes is burglars can’t get into them.”

“Phil’s crap at remembering numbers. He’ll have the combination written down somewhere in the office.”

“It’s too risky.”

Ric grinned at me. I spent the next five minutes trying to dissuade him, to no avail. He said he’d just break into the office, see if he could get into the safe; if he could, then check it out, and leave. He made it sound straightforward. “It’s a big house. The bedrooms aren’t over the office. He won’t hear me.”

“He’s got CCTV cameras.”

“So? He’ll know it’s me. He can’t go to the police.”

“What about the dogs?”

“They’re not proper trained guard dogs. They might remember me from last time, with a bit of luck. I’ll take some meat for them.”

I was sweating at the very thought of what might happen if Phil found Ric breaking into his safe, and I couldn’t make Ric see it was a crazy thing to do. The idea of another night like last night, lying awake worrying about him, but this time knowing he actually
was
doing something life-threatening, made me go cold. At last I said,

“I think you’re insane to go, but if I can’t persuade you not to, I’ll come with you. When are you going to do it?”

“Tonight, while you’re in Winchester with James, and I’m going alone, Caz. Dog’s not coming, either.”

“I can put off James. You need me, I’d be useful.”

“No.”

“Please, Ric. I couldn’t bear waiting here in the small hours, not knowing what’s happening. I’m coming with you. I’m not letting you go alone.”

Ric’s eyes met mine. He was not smiling. He said, in a voice of finality, “No, Caz.”

I stood up and went downstairs to the paint workshop. I spread newspaper, got the brackets and swing irons out of the shoebox marked
SALADIN
, and fetched emery paper and wire wool. I started to remove the rust and old blistered paint, thinking about the night ahead. If interviewing suspects was, in James’s words, poking a furnace with a short stick, this was more like jumping into the furnace to have a good look round.

Ric would have to give me a time by which, if he wasn’t back, I could ring the police. I made a mental list of what he needed to take with him, then got pencil and paper and wrote it down. The door opened. I didn’t look up.

“Caz…”

“Go away. I’m not talking to you.”

Ric came up behind me and wrapped me in his arms. “Don’t be like that, Caz…”

I went on rubbing the brackets with emery paper as best I could. “It’s no good trying to get round me. I’m sulking.”

He nuzzled my neck. “No, you’re not,” he murmured. His pheromones and my endorphins were trying for their usual effect of infusing me with happy compliance, but I was too anxious for them to get a straight run at it. “It’s quite safe, Caz. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“If it was safe, you’d take me and Dog with you.”

Still holding me, Ric reached for my list. He read aloud,

“Torch

Pepper

Wrecking bars

Camera

Rope

Duct tape

Scissors

Penknife

Glass cutter

Meat, bones, treats for dogs

Dark clothes

Gloves

Balaclavas

Camouflage face paint?

Socks.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I never realized you’d put in time with the S.A.S.. What are the socks for? Do we fill them full of sand and attack Phil with them?
Sock
him over the head?”

“They’re to go over your shoes, so no one hears you.” I’d got this out of a Dick Francis novel. “You said
we
.”

“I’d be a fool to turn down an S.A.S. graduate.” I dropped the bracket on the bench, turned and hugged him. “You can hold the torch,” he added.

“Huh.”

“Okay, you can be in charge of the dog meat too. And the socks.”

“I’ll ring James.”

“Don’t do that. We’ll go tomorrow. It’ll be better, Sunday he’s more likely to have an early night. Gives us time to get all the stuff on your list. Then Monday morning I’ll get a lawyer, whether we find anything or not, and go to the police.”

I kissed him.

It was only later it occurred to me: he’d somehow manoeuvred me into being grateful for inclusion in a venture I thought was a Seriously Bad Idea.

Chapter

23

*

I fetched all the things on my list I already owned, and laid them out on the coffee table. I had two wrecking bars, one sixty centimetres, one thirty, each with chisel and swan neck ends; my Canon IXUSi, though we might not be able to use it because of the flash; some lengths of fine rope I keep for holding together awkward glue joints, neatly coiled.

I walked to Hoxton Street market, and bought men’s black socks (three pairs for two pounds fifty), duct tape, and a glass cutter. At Iceland I got some ground pepper, as I only had peppercorns, and two packs of diced beef, which should do for the bull mastiffs. We could take some of Dog’s treats as well. I looked unsuccessfully on the stalls for a black hoodie for Ric; there was a navy one which I thought should be dark enough, so I splashed out four pounds on it.

Ric was lying on the sofa with one of my detective novels. He seemed amused by my comings and goings, and watched the accumulation on the table with interest, without actually helping. I consulted my list.

“I haven’t got a decent torch. I’ll nip to Maplin’s, they’ll have them. D’you think we need balaclavas?”

“Too hot.” Ric stood, zipped on the navy top and brooded at his hooded self in the big mirror over the fireplace. “This’ll do. Cheap and nasty, but I guess the whole idea is no one will see me.” He picked up the longer steel wrecking bar and swung it experimentally.