Next of Sin: A psychological thriller

by Lisa Gordon

  Vazz cackled, his mouth hanging open, grossly exhibiting three gold teeth. He sidled up to Chantelle. “Maybe we can arrange payment in kind,” he suggested as he grabbed hold of Chantelle’s bum.

  “Oi, take it easy geezer,” she shouted as she slapped his hand.

  He relented, but winked as he walked back to his car. “Monday week it is.”

  Chantelle and Gaby made their way casually back to Camden station with their stash, where they boarded the tube and travelled one stop to Kentish Town. At Kentish Town they entered a busy pub and headed for the lavatory, where they changed clothes and adjusted their appearance. Looking like any two women shopping on a Sunday, they headed back to Loughton.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Notting Hill

  Dressed in the most boring grey suit, which she had found in a busy chain store on Oxford Street, with flat sensible shoes and her new red hair scraped into a matronly bun, she stepped up to one of the many antique stalls at the Portabello Road market. After some low-key browsing, her eyes settled on a large mantelpiece clock shaped like a Cape Dutch house. The white face boasted raised Roman numerals and was housed within an intricate, pewter latticework of swirling leaves and flowers. The base was solid wood. Immediately, she was inspired and she lifted up the clock, examining the back and noticing the weight of it: it weighed at least three kilograms. She made her way to the till and placed it on the counter. “I like to buy,” she said softly, imitating Renata’s accent.

  The woman at the till had long grey hair and was dressed in a bohemian ankle-length, tawny-coloured dress. “What a delightful purchase you are making.” She continued with enthusiasm, “This clock comes with a certificate and a Romance card detailing its history.” She began to rummage through some old wine boxes for the aforementioned.

  “You take euros?” asked Gaby, keeping the accent consistent.

  “I am afraid not, Dear. We do take credit and debit cards though.”

  “What about traveller’s cheques?”

  “No, I am sorry.”

  Gaby feigned a pained expression and removed her bag from her shoulder, looking inside dolefully. Eventually, and with much apparent reticence, she removed the correct amount in cash from her bag and handed it over. The stall owner was most satisfied and spent more than twenty minutes wrapping the clock in bubble wrap and telling Gaby more about where and when she had acquired it. Gaby nodded and smiled at the appropriate intervals, remaining conscious of her aim not to make a lasting impression.

  “It is simply stunning,” remarked Clinton as he handled it carefully. “Where did Emma find it?”

  “In Amsterdam at an obscure little stall apparently. Do you think Stephanie will like it?”

  “Certainly. Anyone would love this standing on their mantelpiece. It’s got an enthralling history; what a fantastic talking point. She’ll love it.” Clinton reached out to hand the clock back to Gaby.

  “Just leave it on the table, Clint. I’m going to get us some wine from the kitchen. Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay?” Gaby casually waved towards the table as she headed for the kitchen.

  “Chardonnay would be lovely,” he shouted after her.

  Gaby returned with the two fluted glasses and the bottle of wine. “You don’t mind taking it over to Bangkok with you, do you? I know it’s heavy, but you get thirty kilos in Business Class. It’s the only way I can think of to get it to her.”

  Clinton sipped his wine. “Not a problem. I’m only taking lightweight summer clothes.”

  “I’ll wrap it all up in bubble tomorrow so it won’t get damaged. It’s a joint wedding present from Emma, Julia and me. I can’t wait to hear Steph’s reaction.”

  “What does Stephanie do in Bangkok?” he asked curiously.

  “Her new husband’s a hotel manager and so she is always in some far-flung place,” answered Gaby confidently. “How long will you be there? I am going to miss you so much.” She crossed her fingers mentally and smiled sweetly at her brother.

  Gaby and Chantelle hovered over the clock: both were wearing hairdresser’s gloves and shower hats.

  “He had a good old dekko at this last night; his prints will be all over it,” announced Gaby proudly.

  “You sure he suspected nothin’?” checked Chantelle.

  “Oh no, I have played the role of dipsy, ‘gonk with no memory’, to perfection. That, and the role of loving, grateful sister of course.”

  “Good thinkin’ with the gloves and caps; we don’t want to be gettin’ our DNA near it.”

  “That’s why I thought it best to hire this hotel room and wrap it in here,” explained Gaby. Gaby removed a screwdriver from her kit and carefully set about removing the mechanism from the rear of the clock. Next, she produced a sealed plastic bag filled with other plastic bags. “You know how he puts everything in plastic bags?” She looked at Chantelle briefly for confirmation. “Well, I’ve been collecting those bags; no doubt they are full of his prints.” Gaby went on to explain how they would funnel the ‘nose candy’ into the very same plastic bags. With Chantelle holding the plastic bags, Gaby siphoned portions of the white powder into each bag and carefully arranged the bags in the cavity where the clock mechanism had been and behind the pewter lattice work. Gaby was satisfied that she was able to squeeze ninety per cent of the fine white powder into the back of the antique clock; the more the better. Before resealing the clock, she reached for her tote bag once more, this time producing a plastic bag containing a brush and an electric razor. She carefully removed three hairs from the brush with a pair of tweezers and dotted them around the coke-filled plastic bags, which sat neatly within the clock’s housing. She then tapped the brush several times over the back of the clock and repeated the tapping routine with the razor.

  Chantelle giggled. “Looks like you’re seasonin’ a spaghetti bolognaise, Gabs.”

  Gaby smiled broadly, wondering why it had taken her so long to begin to like Chantelle. “Well, I want to make sure it bears his hallmark, so to speak.”

  Satisfied, Gaby replaced the rear covering of the clock. With Chantelle’s help, she began to wrap the clock carefully in reams of bubble wrap, after which they set to work on wrapping the now-bulky parcel in some metallic gift wrap.

  “Gabs,” frowned Chantelle, looking concerned. “How can we be sure he won’t be picked up at Heathrow, rather than in Bangkok?”

  “I’m banking on the theory that they’re more concerned about what comes in than what goes out. I’ve removed the mechanism and there are no circuit boards, so this is clearly not a bomb — hence no need for anyone to take a closer look. What’s more, no one smuggles dope out of the UK, only into it, right?”

  “Yeah, but the whole parcel may look mighty suss under them X-ray scanners.” Chantelle continued to be sceptical.

  “I watched a TV documentary while I was laid up; it was all about the guys who sit watching the luggage pass through the scanners. Basically, they’re on minimum wage and the job is dead boring. They read the papers, play cards, listen to music, sleep and, between all that, manage to inspect about one in five cases. They were filmed with a secret CCTV camera. I’m pretty certain our little creation here will pass through without any drama.”

  “Okay, so how do you know he’ll definitely be copped over there then?”

  “The Bangkok customs will get a tip-off won’t they?” Gaby smiled mischievously.

  “You’re a cunnin’ one, you,” smirked Chantelle.

  “Takes one to catch one.”

  The girls continued to tape up the gift until they had produced a delightfully wrapped, shiny pink parcel encircled with pink glossy ribbon and bedecked with an organza bow. Gaby flushed the excess coke down the lavatory and carefully cleaned the table where they had been working with a flushable wipe.

  Despite Gaby’s confidence, Chantelle was still doubtful. “Gabs, surely when he gets picked up or wha’ever, he’s gonna say it’s you what gave him the parcel and shafted him up?”

  “Yes, ind
eed he will, but all traffickers who get caught have an excuse; they always claim that someone else gave it to them and that they were oblivious.”

  “But Clinton’s rich and all. Why would he need to smuggle drugs? Why would someone like him take a risk like that?” Chantelle continued to probe Gaby with her thoughtful questions.

  Gaby answered immediately. “I think the Thai police will be inclined to arrest first and ask questions later. If they go so far as to examine the clock for DNA, they will find his everywhere and mine nowhere.” Gaby continued to reassure Chantelle, “The Thai’s are very tough on drugs. In numerous previous cases, Westerners have been held for lengthy periods with no proper trial. I think it’s safe to say he’ll be banged up for a good long while. While he’s safely locked up, we can continue to find the evidence we need to prove what he has really been up to.”

  “Alright, I’m right behind you.” Chantelle gave Gaby a pat on the back. “I’m just wonderin’ what your family are gonna say about this whole thing. It’ll be a bloody big shock to them.”

  “Alison and Meagan have already paid the ultimate price. I really don’t care if they are shocked.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gaby had watched Renata pack Clinton’s case and had verified that she had diligently placed the gorgeous parcel right in amongst the clothes for added protection as Gaby had instructed. The chauffeur-driven courtesy car crunched over the gravel driveway as it drew up to collect Clinton. The chauffeur chucked the waiting portmanteau into the boot and Clinton, crisply dressed in stone linen trousers and a blue Valentino shirt, jumped into the back of the Mercedes, heading off for a rendezvous with Chantelle in Phuket. Gaby’s cases were also packed and she had led Clinton to believe she was off to Lake Garda with Emma and Julia. She waved goodbye to Clinton from the porch with Renata at her side, also waving. Within the hour, a briefed Emma arrived to fetch Gaby and her consignment of luggage. Gaby climbed agilely into Emma’s 4x4 and looked back one last time at the Tudor mansion shaded by those eerie pine trees. She intended never to return and, all being well, she prayed that Clinton would not return either. She gave Renata a last wave as Emma swung the Land Rover over the gravel drive and out through the gates of Havelock House. She looked at her watch; it was eleven thirty: Chantelle would be in Paris by twelve.

  Six thirty and Gaby and Chantelle were sitting in their central London hotel room, working their way through a club sandwich and a pair of beer shandies and watching Sky News.

  “So I got to Gare du Nord. Had to catch the bus to Opéra as the subway was down ’cause of a strike. I made the call from a pay phone with that phone card thingie you gave me. It weren’t that easy findin’ a pay phone, ’specially as them French didn’t have a clue what I was on about. Anyways, then I headed straight back to Gare du Nord, and back to London on Eurostar. So that was my six-hour round trip to Paris,” explained Chantelle with pride.

  “Well done. I thought it would be wise to make the call from somewhere other than London, just in case it was traceable. We want to keep the trail back to us as murky as possible.”

  “You think of everythin’, Gabs.”

  “It’s the Virgo in me,” she laughed, continuing, “Hey, I never asked when your birthday was.”

  “I’m Leo, August twelve.”

  “Really,” remarked Gaby intrigued. “Alison died on the eleventh of August. What year were you born?”

  “Eighty-five.”

  Gaby’s eyes widened as she gasped, “That’s a coincidence! You were born the day after Alison died. She was a Leo too. Her birthday was August the sixth.”

  “That is odd,” said Chantelle thoughtfully as she took a swig of shandy.

  There was a silence as they both returned to their plates of fries and sarnies. The food and alcohol were both contributing to a lethargic, almost melancholy feeling in the two women.

  “Aunt Pen used to say that God never closes a door without opening a window,” began Gaby pensively. “I lost the wonderful brother I thought I had, but I gained a bond with my sister which I had never experienced before. Now Meagan is gone, but I feel so close to you, Chantelle.”

  Chantelle gave Gaby a grateful smile. “I really miss Meagan. We really clicked us two, even though we was both from such different backgrounds. I only have a half-bruver and a step-bruver, no sisters.” She paused, then corrected herself. “Well, to be honest, I have two half-sisters, but I’ve never met them.” She continued explaining disjointedly, “I came to think of you and Meggie as my sisters. Maybe you think that’s weird. It was a real big deal to me when you asked me to be your bridesmaid. I’ll never forget that. I always liked you too, even though — and I hope you don’t take it the wrong way — you was a bit stuck up like sometimes.”

  Gaby giggled. “I was stuck up, it’s true.” She then continued more seriously, “This whole thing has changed me. It has made me question everything about myself and what I once believed was true about my life. It’s been devastating, but it has really shown me who I am. Not Gabriella Harvey, not Gabriella Butler, someone else.”

  Chantelle nodded cognitively. “I know what you mean. I always saw myself in this dumb blonde, Essex girl, workin’-class mode and I didn’t really think I had any chance of breakin’ out of that mould. Somehow, knowin’ you and Meggie made me think that I could be so much more than that.”

  “You are still very young, Chantelle. What’s more, you are very smart, attractive and you have guts. You’ll go far.”

  “This has made me think more about what I want from life for sure, especially as, if it hadn’t have been for you and your mate Emma givin’ you that joint, I could have been on my way to Thailand right now to get done in by Clinton.”

  “It’s surreal. I still can’t fully come to terms with the reality of what Clinton is. It’s hard to accept that any human being is capable of such activities, let alone one’s own brother. Somehow all the planning and plotting we have been doing has kept my mind off the core issue and how very grave this whole scenario is.”

  “So remind me again what time he arrives in Bangkok,” enquired Chantelle earnestly.

  “He left Heathrow this evening at eight; he’ll be in Bangkok tomorrow morning at seven our time, two in the afternoon their time.”

  “You think Sky will really report on it if he gets stopped?” asked Chantelle dubiously.

  “The local press will put it out on the wires for definite; it’s up to Sky or BBC News24 whether they pick up on the story. I think they will, especially if it’s a slow news day. Nevertheless, it’s the kind of story that makes the news.”

  “Well, he seems to have slipped through the net this side, otherwise I am sure we would have heard some’ing.”

  “Well, all we can do now is wait and see.”

  Robbie knocked on the door of the two-bedroom terrace house in Finchley. He had a bottle of Merlot, a pack of savoury biscuits and a selection of dips from Sainsbury’s. Helen opened the door almost immediately. Robbie was surprised to see her wearing a dress; he had only ever seen her in suits and jeans at the very least. The turquoise, white and jade paisley cotton dress gave Helen an entirely new look and her face had been softened with bronzer and a peach blusher. All Robbie could think of to say as he held up his parcels was, “I hope you don’t mind garlic.”

  Helen led him into her sitting room, her thong sandals clicking on the laminate flooring, her exotic perfume mixing with the aroma of roast chicken wafting from the kitchen. “Smells good,” he said.

  “Before you get excited about my domestic skills, I should tell you that it’s a rotisserie chicken and the potato salad is from the deli.”

  They spoke little as Helen emptied the biscuits on to a plate and arranged the dips on her modest pine dining table. She poured two glasses of wine, then sat at the table, her demeanour suddenly businesslike.

  “You’ll be wanting to know about our progress,” she began. Robbie nodded eagerly and he could feel his heart rate quickening. “Detective Mura
se and the Japanese police have passed on a wealth of evidence as well as transcripts from their witness interviews. On the basis of this, the forensic evidence from Japan, your Frequent Flyer statements and the information on the other girls, I have been granted special powers by the magistrate. This allows us to put Butler under constant surveillance, monitor his phone calls, dig into his bank accounts and even his e-mail.” She paused and reached for a sesame biscuit which she dipped in the hummus. “Three senior officers have been assigned to the case. Detectives are interviewing the friends and family of Shelleigh, Sally, Melissa, Trina, Nicola and Jenny. We are liaising with the police in Canada, Mexico, Turkey, Morocco and Sweden. It’s all systems go.”

  “What’s the timeframe, or is it still the piece-of-string analogy?”

  “Any day now actually,” she declared, beaming as she took a sip of wine.

  “What about Gaby, how is she?”

  “The good news is that she’s made a remarkable recovery. The bad news, which may just turn out to be a blessing in disguise, is that she’s lost her memory of her most recent past. She doesn’t even remember getting married. To complicate matters, she is staying with Clinton who’s looking after her.” Robbie immediately drew breath anxiously. “Don’t worry, we have the house under a microscope; the physio, Jeanette, and the Thai masseuse, Noi, have been briefed and they assure us that she is safe and well.” Helen continued with fervour, “Gaby has been visiting with friends and getting out far more. Butler is off to Bangkok on a short holiday; we’ll have a surprise for him when he gets back.”

  “I am sure that was no accident, Helen.”

  “I was aware of your concerns and I have followed up with Surrey Constabulary. I initially heard that the car had been scrapped as the inquest had concluded that alcohol was to blame for the crash; however, when I spoke to the scrapping company, I learned that the car had actually not hit the crusher yet. It’s being examined as we speak.”