Death is the New Black

by Dominic Piper

  ‘My tests are pretty exhaustive.’

  ‘I just hope I can stay the course.’

  ‘I have ways of testing that, too.’

  She looks straight into my eyes. I feel my stomach turn to water.

  And now back to the story. ‘I guess you’re worried about her, are you?’ I say, casually checking out the six disappointed woman as they leave.

  She raises her eyebrows and takes a sip of her cocktail. ‘It’s just – I don’t know how to put this without it seeming that I’m a real cow.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, sometimes first impressions are the ones you have to go with, d’you know what I mean? When Sara told me that she’d gone home after work one night and that coffee mug wasn’t where it should have been, I just thought, well, things like that just happen, you know? I mean, I’m always losing things that I’m absolutely one hundred percent positive should be where I left them before I couldn’t find them again.’

  She giggles. ‘Did that come out like a normal sentence?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I know what you mean.’

  ‘Example: I’d been reading a book for about a week and last Thursday, just before I was going to work, I couldn’t find it anywhere. It was missing for about three days. It was The Butcher by Alina Reyes; do you know it?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I was sure I’d put it next to my bag, but it seemed to have disappeared into thin air. I eventually found it under a couple of magazines in the kitchen. I couldn’t imagine why I’d put it there as I usually don’t take my book or my bag into the kitchen. I never take books into the kitchen, you know?

  ‘But it would never have occurred to me that someone had come into my flat and moved it; do you see what I mean? Even if something like that happened half a dozen times, my first thought would still not be that someone was coming in my flat to move things around just to annoy me or whatever. Sometimes you do things and you forget about them.’

  ‘So you think she may be imagining it all?’

  ‘Well, not all of it, perhaps. Maybe she’s been hassled in the street a couple of times. It happens to all of us. I mean, you’ve seen her, she’s very pretty, she’s got a sexy figure and she’s the sort of woman that people notice.’

  ‘So you’re saying that a few street incidents have helped to hype her up to the degree where she’s imagining lots of other things.’

  ‘Well, it’s possible, isn’t it? To be honest, I think she’s wasting your time and she’s wasting her money. I know that sounds awful, but no one’s seen any of these things happen. She wasn’t even sure herself if some of them were connected to what she thinks has been going on. Did that sentence make sense? I think I’ve been drinking too much.’

  ‘But what about the fact that all these things only seem to have been happening over a four-week period? Might not that give them a common source?’

  She frowns. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But at the same time, isn’t it possible that there had been some things happening before that four weeks and she just hadn’t noticed them?’

  ‘That’s possible, yes.’

  The waiter brings our drinks and hands us the dessert menu. ‘No pressure!’ he says, smiling at Isolda’s breasts.

  ‘The reason,’ she continues, ‘that I half-jokingly suggested her getting a bodyguard was, was if these things were happening, then she’d at least have an independent witness. Then she’d know for sure and the bodyguard could tell the police and they might take it a bit more seriously. I think that’s what I was thinking, anyway. I didn’t expect her to take it seriously and get an actual private detective involved.’

  ‘But at the same time,’ I say, ‘the presence of a bodyguard might make her harassers, if that’s what they are, back off. Whoever it is might wait until she dismissed the bodyguard and then start all over again.’

  She takes a sip of her drink and licks her lips. ‘Oh, I don’t know, then. It just seems a bit funny that there are no witnesses to any of this and the police couldn’t see any signs of a break-in at her flat. That’s what she told me, anyway. I so want her to do Milan and New York. It’ll be such a great thing for her and it’ll be a real boost for Maccanti. The publicity it’ll get – well. Also the parties, of course! And if it leads to her getting her own label, she’ll hopefully drag yours truly along with her!’

  She takes another drink and holds both of my hands in hers. ‘It did occur to me that it might be someone from a rival fashion house, you know? But people in fashion aren’t like that. A lot of them are superficial, controlling, narcissistic and catty, but they don’t call each other bitch on the street or break into each other’s houses.’

  ‘I read somewhere that Sara had some sort of nervous breakdown a few years back. Is that true?’

  She looks surprised that I know about this. ‘Oh. Oh, yes. But I don’t think you can really bring that to bear on this situation, can you? I think that was to do with pressure of work when she was a student. She’s always pushed herself really hard.’

  ‘Like she’s doing now, you could argue,’ I say, with a fake expression of sympathy on my face. ‘And – just speculating – if we’re talking about someone in the fashion industry trying to put her off her stride, they would probably know about that breakdown, wouldn’t they. It’s in the public domain.’

  ‘Hm. Well I suppose so. But she’s always been a teeny bit paranoid, as well. I suppose you could even say she had a bit of a persecution complex. She’s always been worried about people pinching her ideas and so on. I even heard her say that Anneliese Orie would hack into her computer and steal her designs if she could find someone who could do it for her.’

  ‘Who’s Anneliese Orie?’

  ‘She’s the chief designer at Fanucci.’ She laughs, then adds a disdainful tone to her voice. ‘Do you know nothing, Daniel?’

  ‘I’m beginning to think that might be the case.’

  ‘I may have to teach you a few things.’

  ‘I hope you’re not too strict.’

  ‘Only if you want me to be.’

  That’s enough of Sara for now, but it’s given me more stuff to think about. When she was talking to me this afternoon, I took the whole thing on face value, but Olivia Bream’s comments changed the emphasis a little for me and now Isolda is doing the same. I’m not making judgements, just keeping everything in mind.

  What was it Olivia said? All I had to do was find out whether it’s all really been happening or not. Well that seems like common sense to me. That’s the key that will start to unlock the mystery and give me somewhere to begin.

  We take a look at the dessert menu. After staring blankly at the huge variety of stuff on offer, I finally choose the chocolate-filled dumplings with sweet green cream, while Isolda plumps for the Vietnamese coffee jelly with roasted sesame seeds and shredded coconut.

  ‘So where do you live, Daniel? In some rundown hotel in Soho with only vodka in your fridge and a gun under your pillow?’

  ‘It’s a sawn-off shotgun. And it’s the vodka that’s under the pillow.’

  ‘I should have known.’

  ‘I live in Exeter Street, WC2.’

  ‘You’re kidding. Really? God! That’s only about ten minutes’ walk from here. That’s amazing. That’s where Joe Allen’s is. I love Joe Allen’s. We should have gone there!’

  ‘Maybe another time.’

  ‘Maybe, indeed.’

  Our waiter places the desserts in front of us. I order two more drinks.

  ‘I live directly above it. Third floor.’

  ‘I had no idea people actually lived in Covent Garden.’

  ‘That’s what they all say.’

  ‘And you’re right next to the Lyceum.’

  ‘I go to see The Lion King every night. I can’t get enough of it.’

  ‘That’s so cool. Not The Lion King bit. What sort of place is it?’

  ‘It used to be a wood storage place for a local carpentry firm. That was in the 1940s. I’ve got the e
ntire floor. It runs across two of the original houses. The carpentry people had the walls knocked through. Had to do a lot of work on it, but it was worth it.’

  Is this how ordinary people talk? I really must look into it.

  ‘It sounds incredible. I’d love to see it.’

  ‘Strictly appointments only.’

  ‘What sort of notice do I have to give?’

  ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘I’ll have to check my diary.’

  ‘How’s your dessert?’

  She licks her lips slowly and deliberately, holding my gaze the whole time. ‘Very, very moist.’

  And then we’re walking, a little unsteadily, it has to be said, down the pedestrianised section of Adelaide Street. We haven’t spoken since we left the restaurant. I’m holding her hand. She’s looking downwards, intentionally avoiding my gaze. As we walk past a freshly whitewashed office building, I swing her around and push her hard against the wall, pinning her there by her shoulders. It makes her gasp with shock, then her arms are around my neck and we’re kissing. Her kisses are hungry and abandoned. She tastes good; alcohol, lipstick and spices, and the scent of her perfume, sweat and arousal is exhilarating.

  She presses her body hard against mine and adjusts to allow my knee to insinuate itself between her thighs. She’s grinding her hips a little and her eyes are becoming unfocussed. ‘Can you imagine?’ she whispers. ‘Doing it here? Now? Like this? With people watching?’

  She moans. It’s a low, guttural, animal noise. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, Daniel.’

  For the second time today, the words ‘holy’ and ‘shit’ invade my brain. They’re getting to be regular visitors.

  7

  PSYCHIATRIST’S COUCH

  My alarm clock goes off a few seconds after I wake up and I give it a quick slap to silence it. It’s seven o’ clock now and I can remember glancing at the display after Isolda and I had finally finished with each other. It said 4.19 am.

  My mouth is so dry I can hardly open it, and as I lick my lips I can taste garlic. Isolda is lying next to me, still asleep, and the whole room smells of her perfume and her sex. I turn so I’m lying on my back and try to focus on what I have to do today. I’ve got a very slight headache, but I can’t truly say that I’m feeling hungover, just a little dehydrated, though I’m experiencing varying degrees of muscle-ache.

  Usually, this is always a good time of day for me to think things over, but this morning I’m having problems bringing things into focus. This is Day One, and the first thing I’m going to do is check out Sara’s flat. But there’s another call I want to make before that, even though, for various reasons, I’m a little reluctant to do it.

  While I’m lying there thinking, Isolda starts to wake up. She groans and stretches, and in the same moment, rolls over so she’s lying on top of me, her breasts squashed against my chest, her arms snaking around my back. I can think of worse ways to start the day.

  After five minutes, she suddenly sits up and runs a hand through her hair. She looks into my eyes, the expression on her face amused, curious. ‘I thought you’d be bad, but I didn’t realise you’d be that bad,’ she says, gently stroking the hair out of my eyes.

  I hold her waist firmly in both of my hands. ‘Well, you know what us detectives are like. You’re just dames to us, there to be used.’

  ‘Maybe I like being used.’

  ‘Maybe you do.’

  ‘Maybe you like doing the using.’

  ‘Anything’s possible.’

  She laughs and gets up, heading towards the bathroom. She looks over her shoulder, catching me staring at her ass. ‘If you were a gentleman, you’d make me a coffee.’

  ‘You still think I’m a gentleman after last night?’

  She narrows her eyes. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’

  I laugh. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do it. I need to see if I can still walk.’

  I go into the kitchen, load the Siemens with Black Ivory coffee beans and start it up. I’m just about to look for a couple of big cups, when I feel Isolda behind me, her arms around my waist, her breasts against my back and her chin resting on my shoulder. I should have heard her approach, but I didn’t, and feel mildly annoyed with myself.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Well,’ she purrs, ‘coffee will do for a start.’

  ‘Then what?’

  She pulls back and slowly drags her fingernails down my back. ‘Then maybe something to eat.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find.’

  ‘You do that.’

  She sits down at the kitchen table and looks around. ‘This is such a cool looking place. Why have you got bars on all of the windows?’

  ‘To stop people escaping.’

  ‘I should have known. And what about the squeaky floor in the hallway? That’s some sort of old-fashioned security thing, isn’t it.’

  I stick four plain croissants in the oven. ‘Well spotted. It’s called a nightingale floor. In the unlikely event of a burglar being able to pick my door locks without me noticing, they’d find it difficult to sneak through the hallway without making a terrible racket.’

  ‘You’re obviously very security conscious.’

  ‘Or I don’t want people running away in the middle of the night. It works both ways.’

  ‘Does that happen often?’

  ‘All of the time.’

  ‘I’m going to have to get back and change before I go into work. Got to look a bit more respectable today. I’m having lunch with my dad.’

  ‘Well, it’s still early. What time do you have to be in?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘And where do you live?’

  ‘Farringdon.’

  ‘Well, that’s only a twenty-minute cab ride from here.’

  ‘Plenty of time, then.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  When everything’s ready, we eat and drink for a while in silence, both of glancing at each other’s bodies. Naked, Isolda is just as I imagined she would be. Her breasts are very large but pleasingly firm, and the rest of her body fashioned with dangerous curves that are luscious and captivating.

  Her movements are precise and provocative; she keeps raising an arm to rub her neck or fiddle with her hair, she leans forward, she crosses her legs, she runs a hand down one of her thighs. The effect on me is enormously predictable, but she makes a point of ignoring it.

  ‘So what are you going to do today, Daniel? I can’t imagine where I’d even start, trying to sort something like this out.’ She grins. ‘Won’t it be very, very hard?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’re a few things I want to check out and they’re mainly to do with verifying Sara’s story. It would be unfortunate for many reasons if all of this was in her mind, but if it was, I wouldn’t want to keep charging her for my services. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘So what are you going to do first?’

  ‘The main thing that concerns me is that someone is breaking into her flat. If that’s true, and the police can’t find any evidence that it’s happened, then it could be we’re dealing with professionals of some sort, and I’d like to know which type of professional it is, why they’re doing it and how they can be stopped.’

  ‘So you don’t think it’s some solitary unhinged individual?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. There seems to be more than one person involved, but whether a single individual is responsible for orchestrating it all, I can’t tell. At the moment I’m open to all possibilities.’

  ‘You must tell me what you find. I’m so worried about her. It’s awful when something like this is going on and you can do nothing about it. Me and the rest of the designer posse – we’re more like a family than business associates. Something like this affects us all emotionally.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She sits up and stretches, running her hands down the side of her body. This is killing me, but it’s not disagreeable. ‘I’d really like to see you tonight, D
aniel,’ she murmurs. ‘I really must. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get through the day.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing tonight, yet. I’ll give you a call.’

  ‘Are you playing hard to get, you bastard?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She gets up and walks towards the bedroom, glancing over her shoulder at me as she leaves. To demonstrate my admirable self-control, I hesitate a full two seconds before I follow.

  *

  By the time I’m walking up Wimpole Street, it’s almost nine-fifteen. The road is already very busy and noisy work on a lot of the buildings has already started. As there are so many medical practices here, I wonder how they cope with this racket. Perhaps they don’t.

  All the parking places are already occupied, too. If it isn’t three-ton flatbacks laden with scaffolding, it’s Rolls Royces and Mercedes with smoking chauffeurs leaning against them, slagging off their rich employers to each other. All the chauffeurs, I notice, have really big, expensive-looking watches. Perhaps it’s one of the perks of the job.

  This visit may be a total waste of time or it may be useful in some way that I can’t appreciate yet. Attempting to visit the private practice of a top Wimpole Street psychiatrist without an appointment has its risks, but if I called in advance, there’d be a chance that I wouldn’t be seen at all, maybe with good reason in this case.

  Dr Aziza Elserafie is a former client of mine. She hired me about six months ago when she suspected that her husband was having an affair. She was right, but it was a little more complex than that. He actually had two separate families that she didn’t know existed, as well as an ‘ordinary’ mistress. All of these franchises were financed by bank accounts she had no knowledge of, two of them under false names, one of them in Liechtenstein.

  Her husband was a pretty smart guy – he was a high-profile hedge fund manager – and had covered his tracks with some skill, but eventually I managed to get enough evidence for her to sue for divorce. She didn’t want the money; she just wanted to ruin him, which she succeeded in doing in spectacular fashion, with the help of her attack dog lawyers. He’d been so careful. He truly didn’t know what had hit him.