The Vanishing Point (35 page)

Authors: Val McDermid

BOOK: The Vanishing Point

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‘T
hat’s settled, then.’ Scarlett topped up both glasses. This time, Stephanie joined in the celebratory clinking of glasses. ‘You’ve no idea how much I missed you, Steph. The one good thing about not having to keep things hidden from you any more is that you’ll be able to come and visit. There’s even a little outbuilding on the edge of the forest with a wood stove. You could come out here to write, if you wanted to.’ There was nothing to distinguish her cheerful expression from the one Stephanie had grown used to over the years.

‘That might be fun.’ It was beyond bizarre, she thought, desperately trying to come up with a plan that would mean safety for Jimmy and life for her and Nick. Nothing she could think of worked. Whether they went with or without him, they’d never feel safe again. Scarlett was cunning, clever and ruthless, and Simon appeared to be entirely in thrall to her narcissism. Stephanie and Nick would never know the day or the hour. The only thing they could be certain of was that their knowledge was a death warrant where Scarlett was concerned.

But Stephanie had meant what she said about Jimmy being her primary concern. By any measure, putting the child first meant ensuring he didn’t grow up in a household where murder was high on the list of approved solutions to complex problems. They had to walk out of here with Jimmy. She had a feeling that if she said as much, Scarlett would laugh and say, ‘Over my dead body.’

Well, maybe that could be arranged.

Stephanie, who had never done anything more violent than set a mousetrap, let her mind race through the dramatic climaxes of films she’d seen and books she’d read. Scarlett turned away from her and opened the fridge. ‘I’m sure there’s olives and cheese in here, we can have some nibbles while Simon finishes cooking,’ she said. ‘You two must be starving.’

Stephanie knew she’d simply have to act without thinking about it. In one smooth movement, she picked up the knife Simon had been using on the onions and stepped up close behind Scarlett. With her left hand, she grabbed the thick tail of hair, twisting it round her hand and yanking it backwards. Scarlett yelped in shock as her head jerked back, exposing her soft throat to the sharp blade that Stephanie drew from left to right. The knife was so sharp that neither woman felt the impact of the cut.

A sudden gusher of crimson spurted forward, staining the packed contents of the fridge and splattering against the brilliant white interior. Stephanie pushed Scarlett away from her and stepped back. Her former friend crumpled to the floor, blood spreading in a pool from the grinning gash in her throat. Air gurgled in the blood, a gruesome sound Stephanie thought she would hear for ever in her nightmares. Spasms racked Scarlett’s body and her hands twitched and contorted as they tried to reach the wound.

Stephanie threw the knife down. Then she remembered all those TV dramas and picked it up again, taking it to the sink. She grabbed a nearby towel and rubbed the handle clean, then ran it under the hot tap. It would be identifiable as the murder weapon, but it wouldn’t have her fingerprints on it. She did the same with her Prosecco glass. She didn’t think she’d touched anything else, but she kept hold of the towel. She felt like she was outside her body, watching herself do these things but not actually part of them.

She glanced down at her clothes, checking for obvious bloodstains, but saw none. The blood had all spurted forward, leaving her clean. She took a deep breath then turned back to the mess she’d made. The blood wasn’t flowing any more, just seeping. It was amazing how fast someone could bleed out. And how much mess that blood could make.

Stepping carefully to avoid contaminating herself with Scarlett’s blood, Stephanie made it to the door. Using the towel, she opened it and stepped into the cosy hall, carefully shutting the door behind her. Ahead of her, a wide wooden staircase rose to the upper floor and Stephanie climbed carefully, taking her time over each step. She remembered having felt like this on the one occasion she’d smoked dope; her body didn’t seem to be a living thing any longer. It was more like a giant robot suit inside which she was manipulating the controls.

On the upstairs landing, light and noise spilled from a doorway. Stephanie walked unsteadily to the doorway and made herself smile. ‘You look like you’re having fun,’ she said. Jimmy and the two men were putting the finishing touches to building a Lego railway, testing the motors in the trains and the levers that moved the points.

‘It’s the most fun I’ve had in years,’ Nick said, looking as if he meant it.

‘I’m sorry I’ve got to break it up,’ she said. ‘Jimmy, we need to go home. If there’s anything you want to take with you, grab it now, because we really do need to be on our way.’

Nick was first to react. He scrambled upright and hoisted Jimmy into the air. ‘What do you say? Anything you can’t live without, Jimmy?’

‘Wait a minute,’ Simon said, struggling to get to his feet in the tight corner where he was penned by Lego and a toy chest.

Jimmy looked around, frowning. ‘My DS,’ he said, pointing to the small Nintendo console lying on the bed. Nick scooped it up and headed out the door. Stephanie moved back to block the exit.

‘Wait a minute,’ Simon said, lunging towards the doorway. But Stephanie didn’t budge, and his reluctance to hit a woman bought Nick and Jimmy valuable seconds. He gripped her upper arms and tried to shift her bodily out of the way, but Stephanie resisted. ‘What have you done, you mad bitch?’ he shouted. ‘Where’s Scarlett? Scarlett?’

Finally, he used his superior weight against her and simply pushed her back. He ran down the stairs, shouting Scarlett’s name. The yelling stopped abruptly as soon as he opened the kitchen door. By the time Stephanie had recovered her balance and made it to the bottom of the stairs, he was kneeling in Scarlett’s blood, cradling her head in his lap. ‘She didn’t leave me any choice,’ Stephanie said. ‘It was me or her. You know that.’

Simon didn’t even turn his head. ‘My love,’ he kept repeating, his voice cracked and broken.

Still moving like a woman in a trance, Stephanie carried on out the front door towards the little car. She was only a ghost, after all. She’d never been here. A single thought kept reverberating inside her head.
You can’t kill someone who’s already dead
.

You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.

How to Speak Like a Scarlet Harlot

all round the houses:
by a circuitous route; indirectly

all sorts:
all kinds of things

arsed, as in ‘can’t be arsed’:
can’t be bothered

arsing about:
messing around

Asian:
British Asian as used here; from the subcontinent, i.e. India, Pakistan, Bangladesh.

beam ends, as in ‘on their beam ends’:
also, ‘on the bones of his arse’: lacking funds; without a cent to their name

Benidorm:
Benidorm
is a satirical comedy series set in the Spanish resort of the same name, characterized by vast high-rise hotel complexes and ‘English pubs.’ Benidorm is the destination for many cheap package holidays for people who are interested in getting as much cheap drink and sunshine as possible in seven days. Dante would have included it in one of his circles of hell.

blagging:
bluffing

a bob:
a buck (literally, a pound), money: a shilling, in old predecimal money. A nickel would probably be the closest equivalent in relative value.

bones of one’s arse, as in ‘on the bones of his arse’:
lacking funds

the bottle, as in ‘Has she got the bottle?’:
nerve

braces, as in ‘belt and braces’:
suspenders; so, belt and suspenders, metaphorically, would be thorough

carry on (as in ‘all Joshu’s carry on’):
carry on baggage

CCTV:
closed circuit television; spy cameras.

chalk, as in ‘not by a long chalk’:
measure; so the expression means no way; by no means

chops, as in off their chops:
a bit crazy; or drunk. Dependent on context

clogs, as in ‘pop one’s clogs’:
die

come the, as in ‘come the toff’:
pretend to be posh

copper:
police officer

copping off:
attracting a potential sexual or romantic partner; hooking up

cornet:
a waffle cone minus the gourmet pretension

firkin:
Old English unit of measure meaning a quarter barrel. Also, a barrel size.

fist, as in ‘made a better fist of’:
did a better job of

grafter:
hard worker

grass [someone] up:
betray them

home from home :
home away from home

house room, as in ‘giving thoughts like that house room’:
space in your life

Indy:
the Independent, a daily newspaper

jammy, as in ‘jammy bastard’:
lucky

Jansch, Bert:
Scottish acoustic musician, both as a founder of Pentangle and as a solo artist

lash, as in ‘on the lash’:
also ‘on the razz’ or ‘on the tiles’: out drinking, generally late into the night.

Lincoln
: small town in England (Lincolnshire)

lurgy, as in ‘every bloody sexually transmitted lurgy’:
generic term for unpleasant disease or infection

mangle, as in ‘tit in a mangle’:
wringer; an old-fashioned piece of laundry equipment consisting of two rollers set close together to squeeze the moisture out of the laundry. (You can imagine how painful it would have been to catch your breast between the rollers.)

the Manuel act:
behaving like the uncomprehending and incompetent Spanish waiter in the popular sitcom
Fawlty Towers

mid-table (sports):
neither at the top or the bottom of the league table for soccer

MOBO
: awards show specifically for Music of Black Origin

the Moonwalk
: a British breast cancer charity fund-raiser

off, as in ‘got the act off’:
down, got the act down

oner, as in ‘in a oner’:
in one, at once

owt/nowt:
anything/nothing

paps:
paparazzi

Perspex:
Lucite, or hard clear plastic

pillock:
idiot

piss, as in ‘piece of piss’:
really easy

piss, as in ‘taking the piss’:
taking the mickey, making fun

plod:
police officer, usually a uniform of low rank. Beat cop

the prom:
promenade (seafront)

razz, as in ‘on the razz’:
QV ‘on the lash’

red tops:
tabloid newspapers, so-called because their mastheads are red and white, as opposed to black and white

Rollers:
Rolls-Royces, Rollses

saloon, for car:
sedan

Santing, Mathilde:
Dutch singer

sink estates:
housing projects for lowlifes

shaft, as in ‘put the shaft’:
stab someone in the back. Or in the front!

shag:
co-terminous with ‘fuck’ in most variations

slag:
a woman of loose reputation; a woman who will reputedly sleep with pretty much anyone. QV ‘slapper’

slapper:
QV ‘slag’

slebs:
celebrities

spanner, as in ‘throwing a spanner into the works’:
doing something that interferes with the smooth running of things

sprog:
child

stop, as in ‘he’s going to stop here’:
stay

a straight lift from a
Catherine Tate Show
sketch:
something lifted from the sketch comedy of British comedian Catherine Tate. In one recurrent sketch, there is a couple whose catchphrase is, ‘What are you like?’ ‘Mental!’ It usually refers to a pretty commonplace action, the joke is that the couple are acting like they’re special and extraordinary when they’re really very mundane

tenners:
ten-pound bills

thick:
stupid

tiles, as in ‘on the tiles’:
QV ‘on the lash

tod, as in ‘on her tod’:
alone

toff:
aristocrat or pretentious person

toss, as in ‘give a toss’:
give a damn

tosser:
term of contempt for a male. Also, ‘tosspot’. In terms of derivation, probably ‘jerk-off’ is the closest you’ll get in American English

WAGs:
wives and girlfriends (of famous people). Generally of sports personalities, particularly footballers

wet Wednesday in Wetherby:
a generic Yorkshire expression meaning a pretty miserable experience

Table of Contents

Cover

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