Thirteen Steps Down (25 page)

presence. A sacking matter, or at best a last-chance matter. To hell with

it, he couldn't worry about that now. If he got the body out from under

the floor and out into the garden after dark, he would never manage to

dig a deep grave and put her in it in a single night. Anyway, he'd be fit for

nothing in the morning. He was once more in the room where she lay,

nauseous from the strengthening stench but contemplating lifting the

floorboard now, when he heard Queenie "Winthrop's loud, fluting voice

yelling at him from the first floor.

"Mr. Cellini, Mr. Cellini, are you there? Can you hear me? Can you

come down a minute?"

He'd have to or she'd come up. You could smell the smell atthe top of

the stairs now. "Okay, I'm coming."

He shut the door and went down the tiled flight and thenext one. Ma

"Winthrop looked flushed and excited. "Gwendolen has pneumonia. I

can't say I'm surprised. Dr. Smithers is downstairs now, phoning for an

ambulance to take her to hospital."

Mix seemed to feel his heart leap in his chest. She was going away! He'd

be alone in the house, maybe for a week. He had to ask.

"How long for?"

"Doctor doesn't know. A few days, certainly." She addressed him as if he

were fourteen years old. "Now you'll be responsiblefor the place while

she's away and we're relying on you. Don't disappoint us."

Chapter 17

Steph came too, of course. She always did. Those two were inseparable at

the moment. That would last a couple of years, Mix thought, and after

that, especially if there was a baby, Edwould start going out on his own

again.

They were already in the Sun in Splendour when he arrived. He had

come very close to forgetting their arrangement and it was a quarter to

eight, while he was planning what to say and what excuses to make to

Mr. Pearson and Ed's name cameinto his calculations, that he

remembered. If he failed to turnup, Ed would definitely never speak to

him again. Anyway, he wouldn't mind getting out, having some fresh air

and talking toreal people instead of those old women.

He ran down the stairs, feeling almost cheerful. The ambulancehad

taken her away at three-thirty and Queenie Winthrophad left with it. No

need now to try going into thegarden without being detected. No need to

move the body yet.He'd lain down on the sofa with his feet up and read a

Reggiebook he'd had for a long time and read at least twice before, Death

in a Deckchair, coming to the part that at present interested him most,

how decay had proceeded in the bodies of those women, Ruth Fuerst,

Muriel Eady, Hectorina McClennan,Kathleen Maloney, Rita Nelson, and

the murderer's own wife, Ethel.

It wasn't the best of the Reggie books he had read. The firstprize had to

go to Killer Extraordinary, but he'd finish this one chapter. Funny, if

anyone had told him six months before that he'd find a book, any book,

more fascinating than TV or a game online, he'd have laughed at them.

He was still thinking about Reggie and the way he hid those bodies, only

two of them buried in the ground, a couple of them partially burnt, when

he walked into the pub.

Ed laughed when he saw him and said, "Late as usual.Never mind, eh?"

Mix didn't much like that, but he decided not to argue. Instead he

admired Steph's engagement ring and asked when they were getting

married.

"That's a long way off," Ed said, fetching him a gin andtonic. "Moved on

to the hard stuff, I see."

Mix thought this undeserving of a reply. He expected Ed to ask him to

be his best man. Before their row he would have done; maybe he still

would, if not tonight.

"You're up shit creek at head office," said Ed. "But I expectyou know

that by now."

"You're the second person to say that to me today. I don't want to

discuss it."

"When Mr. Pearson's the third person you'll have to."

Steph giggled. But she wasn't an unkind girl and she changed the

subject to weddings and homes and mortgages. They talked about that

for a while and then she said what was very nearly the worst thing Mix

wanted to hear.

"They've been looking for that missing girl in here."

"What missing girl?" He had to pretend.

"Danila Kovic or however you pronounce it. Two policemencame in and

talked to that guy Frank, the one who's thebarman. I heard them say

she'd applied for a job in herebecause what she was getting at some gym

wasn't enough tolive on."

"She didn't get it," said Ed. "Didn't have the experience, Frank said after

they'd gone. He knew all about it, he rememberedher. Poor little kid, he

called her, said she didn't look old enough to drink, let alone sell booze."

"That wasn't much use to the police," said Mix, ratherrelieved.

They were searching for her, but he already knew that.

Thank God he'd never brought her in here. Talk about somethingelse.

"When's the wedding to be?"

"You asked me that already and you'll get the same answer.

Not for a long time."

"We want to get everything straight and everything paid for," said Steph,

"before we actually get married. That gives the marriage a better chance,

don't you think?"

Mix hadn't an opinion on this, but he agreed and they continued to talk

about the new flat and the mortgage and building societies and interest

rates until Ed suddenly said, "Frank said he saw her again. Walking

down Oxford Gardens withsome guy."

Mix spilled some of his drink. It made a small bubbly pool. He knew he

should have said, "Saw who?" but he didn't, he knew as soon as Ed

spoke who "her" was. In rather too loud avoice he said, "Tell the police,

did he?"

"He said he would. It had slipped his mind at the time he talked to

them."

This was the nearest they had got to finding a man in her life. Would

this Frank be able to describe him? Would he recognize him?

"Is Frank on tonight?"

Mix fancied his voice hadn't been quite steady when hespoke and he

thought Ed looked at him strangely. "He'll be on later."

Wait, don't say you're leaving now, they'll think it a bit dodgy if you do.

He forced himself to remain in his chair, though it felt as if every nerve in

his body was straining to pushhim out of it and drive him through ~door.

But he stayed,sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Have another?" Ed was tired of waiting for Mix to offer.They could sit

there all night before he did that. "Same again?"

"I've got to go," Mix said.

What did this Frank look like? He couldn't remember and he couldn't

ask. Leaving, he might easily bump into him out in Pembridge Gardens

without knowing who he was. But Frank would know him. He said an

abrupt good-bye to Steph and "See you" to Ed.

There were plenty of people about. There always were, these fine warm

nights. Any of the youngish men might be Frank. The one coming up

from Notting Hill Gate might be him or that one getting out of a car. At

any rate neither of them seemed to recognize him. Mix could get the bus

or walk, buts tanding at the bus stop he'd be more easily spotted, while

walking would get him away from the danger area and, besides,it was

good for him.

Usually, when he came home to St. Blaise House if it wasn't very late, a

dim light showed in two or three windows. A grayish-yellow glow lit the

glass half-moon over the front door, the drawing room casements and

perhaps one in her bedroom.Tonight there was nothing, the house looked

full of unrelieveddarkness, a darkness strong enough and thick enough

to pushitself against the windows from inside. Stop imagining things,he

told himself, you know it's all in your head. He unlocked the door and

went into the silence he expected and wanted.

Ghosts don't exist, there are no such things. That Shoshana would say

anything for a fast buck. Don't shut your eyes when you get to the top.

Anything you think you see is only in your mind. He kept his eyes open,

stared down the passages and saw nothing. And don't start drinking now

you're home, keep aclear head.

On the way home he had made up his mind to get the bodydownstairs

tonight. But why? There was no need to do it atonce. Old Chawcer would

be away for a week. Leave it till tomorrow,try and get home by four and

do it then. Then you can dig the hole on Saturday in daylight. If any of

the neighborssee you digging in the night they'll be suspicious.

He'd start it all tomorrow and meanwhile have a very smal lgin and go

to bed. Once there, warm and comfortable, he began to worry about the

interview with Mr. Pearson in the morning. Suppose he said, "We're going

to have to let yougo"? But he wouldn't, not for a few missed

appointments.Would Frank bother to tell the police? And if he did, how

could he tell who he'd seen with Danila? She might have hadother

boyfriends and any of them could have been walking herback to Oxford

Gardens. He slept, woke, dozed, got up andput the light on,

contemplated his reflection in the long mirror.How would he be

described, anyway? He was just ordinary to look at, not as thin as he

ought to be, pinkish face, blunt nose, eyes vaguely gray or hazel, hair fair

going on brown. Anidentity parade would be another thing altogether but

even Mix in his current state of nerves could see that once again he was

letting his imagination run away with him.

Mr. Pearson wasn't going to sack him, as he had half feared,but was

giving him a last chance. He was given to delivering sententious little

lectures to his staff when they were in troubleand he gave Mix one now.

"Exemplary behavior isn't demanded of you simply on your own

account or even on mine. It is for the benefit of the wholec ommunity of

engineers in this company and for the reputationof the company itself.

Think what it means to a client atpresent when you speak the firm's

name on the phone. Theclient has a pleasant warm sensation of safety,

of reassurance and satisfaction. It will be all right. It will be done,

andpromptly. No matter what the problem, this firm will solve it.And

then think what it means when an engineer repeatedly lets the client

down, fails to turn up as promised, neglects to call back. Doesn't he--or

most probably she--begin to see the company as unreliable,

untrustworthy, no longer first-class?And isn't she then likely to say to

herself, 'Maybe I should gothrough the Yellow Pages and find someone

else'?"

In other words, thought Mix, he's saying I've let the firm down. Well, let

him. It won't happen again, anyway."

It won't happen again, Mr. Pearson."

Downstairs, in the reps' room where he had use of a desk,Mix phoned

Shoshana's Spa. Shoshana herself answered, forthe temp had left and no

replacement had yet been found forDanila.

"I'll be along to look at those machines next week."

"I suppose that means next Friday evening," Shoshana said nastily.

"Not as long as that." Mix tried to put the sound of a smileinto his tone.

"It had better not be." When he had put the receiver down she dialed

the code that would tell her the number he had called from. She expected

a negative result as supposedly hephoned from a mobile or else his home

number, but insteadshe got the London code and seven unfamiliar digits.

Thoughtfully,she made a note of them.

Mix next called Colette Gilbert-Bamber and received a torrent of abuse.

After all she'd done for him, as she put it, to betreated like some call girl

to be picked up and dropped whenever he fancied. She'd found out the

name of his company'sc hief executive and considered telling Mr. Pearson

what she'dalmost told her husband, that Mix had tried to rape her.

"So what do you think of that?"

"I never heard such a load of bollocks." He nearly said she'd never be

raped because rape was only when the victim was unwilling, but he

thought better of it and silently put the receive rdown. After that he went

into the stock room where theykept a limited number of new machines

for immediate deliveryand found what he was looking for, a very large

bag in thick but transparent light blue plastic of the kind used to protect

stationary bikes and treadmills.

This packed safely in the boot of the car, he drove from client to client,

enduring their reproaches and promising prompt follow-up visits. At two,

with a Pret-a-Manger sandwich and a can of Coke (the diet kind because

he was slimming), he gave himself the treat of a sojourn outside Nerissa's

house.

It was his first visit for days but, though he stayed for over an hour, she

didn't appear. Once he'd dealt with that body he'd have to make himself

a new strategy, a real campaign plan, for at present, as he reminded

himself, he'd only spoken to her on one single occasion since meeting her

at Colette's. Just after three-thirty he made a last call, this time at a big

place facing Holland Park, and by four-fifteen, carrying the plastic bag,

hewas in St. Blaise House.

So was Queenie "Winthrop, though he didn't know it until he had been

all the way upstairs and into his flat and downagain to check that he'd