Kiss of Death

by Paul Finch

‘Yeah, I hear that a lot. You’ve no idea how boring it gets.’

  ‘It won’t be seen as inappropriate if I kiss you on the head?’

  ‘No, kiss me on the head. I need it.’

  He did so, before backing away. She watched him in vague surprise, as if she hadn’t expected her words of homespun wisdom to find their mark so quickly.

  ‘You can still come,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to—’

  ‘Shut up. Staying here.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He backed off faster now, towards the door. ‘But I’m going to shout your name from the rooftops tonight, Gail. I’m going to let everyone know that you were up to your eyebrows in that case. That you were every bit as important as I was.’

  ‘Don’t overdo it, Heck.’

  ‘I’ll tell them that not only have they got a brilliant young detective in Gail Honeyford, they’ve got a potential new DS … and that they should act on that ASAP.’

  ‘Heck, I … what?’

  But he was already out of the door.

  Heck was halfway up the Edgware Road, when he got through on his hands-free.

  ‘Yeah, Bob Hunter,’ came a voice at the other end.

  ‘Bob, it’s Heck.’

  ‘Well, well … it’s the man of the moment.’

  ‘Is that DI post still open?’

  ‘Yeah, sure …’ But Hunter sounded wary.

  ‘And you guarantee you can swing me the requisite promotion? No bullshit, Bob, I need to know.’

  ‘Already had it OK’d. Told you you had money in the bank. Heck, what’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll get back to you later. Before the end of tonight, I promise.’

  ‘I thought after your latest success you’d be pretty well cemented into SCU.’

  ‘Nah …’ Heck shook his head even as he drove. ‘I don’t think there’s much future with SCU.’ And he cut the call.

  Long before he reached his destination, he pulled up beside an off-licence.

  Inside, though he half-hesitated when it occurred to him that he might be tempting fate, he paid £36 for a bottle of Moët. When shopping in the Fulham minimart, this was more than he would have paid for a crate of beer, but one thing Heck rarely did was chuck his money away – not through choice, but because he had relatively little to chuck it away on. On impulse – and on this occasion, he really wondered if he was tempting fate – he also bought a cellophane-wrapped block of eight PVC champagne flutes.

  ‘You won’t get much in each of those with only one bottle,’ the woman behind the counter said, trying to lure him into buying a second.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Heck said. ‘I’ll either need two … or none.’

  Chapter 39

  The Ace of Diamonds was officially a London pub, but stood within a stone’s throw of the countryside. Located just off Cockfosters Road, in the capital’s outer ring of suburbia, Gwen Straker had chosen it for the party because it was reasonably close to Staples Corner – close, as within a thirty-minute drive. When Heck got there, it was just short of nine o’clock.

  Even though this was a Wednesday, the car park was crammed with vehicles, so he drove to a secluded side lot and, after stowing the champagne in the passenger footwell, walked around to the front entrance. He entered a small lobby, with open glass doors on the left giving way to the main downstairs bar, which was only sparsely populated. To the right, meanwhile, an easel carried a Private Function notice on it, and an arrow directed him towards a carpeted stairway.

  As he ascended, the sounds of a noisy upstairs party embraced him. The doors to the function room were wedged open, so thumping rock music emanated, along with the intense heat of numerous bodies milling jovially together in a confined space.

  Heck loosened his tie before entering, his brow immediately turning damp.

  It was a well-designed venue, long rather than wide, with pub-type tables and chairs along its entire length, but also boasting several lower tables inserted between pouffes and sofas. The buffet lay along a row of worktops to his left, and though much of it still nestled under silver foil, what he could see looked mouth-watering. The bar was located at the far end, though he could barely distinguish it, such was the thicket of customers clamouring for drinks.

  Though he’d hoped to make an instant impression in his smart gear, Heck realised that it was already a lost cause. He stripped his jacket off, hung it in a side cloakroom, and loosened his tie further as he sidled into the crowd. He felt progressively stiffer and more uncomfortable – making a full-on approach to Gemma had seemed like a great idea a few minutes ago, but now that he was here, he was less sure; he wished he had Gail at his back to egg him on. Instead, he had to make do with Charlie Finnegan, who materialised in front of him, red-faced and sweaty, his normally greased-back hair hanging in damp strings. But he was in a good mood as he drained the last dregs of what looked like it might have been a large malt and ice, even going so far as to clap Heck on the shoulder.

  ‘Yo, Charlie,’ Heck said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the music.

  Finnegan made a show of looking past him. ‘No Gail Honeyford?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘More’s the pity. Hottest chick we’ve seen here in a while … excluding the Lioness of course, but she hardly counts.’

  ‘Did Gary make it?’ Heck asked.

  ‘Nah. Not up to it. His missus rang earlier. He’s pissed off, but apparently he has to have a few more days without excitement, and strictly no alcohol.’

  Heck nodded, unsurprised.

  ‘Some good news, though, eh?’ Finnegan said this as if Heck would already know what it was.

  ‘What?’ Heck said. ‘Progress up in Liverpool?’

  Finnegan waved that away as if it didn’t matter. ‘Down in Cornwall. You’ve heard what’s happened?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ho-ho!’ Finnegan clapped Heck’s shoulder again. ‘They’ve found bodies, mate.’

  Fleetingly, Heck was distracted from his purpose here. ‘You mean at Trevallick Hall?’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘Ray Marciano?’

  ‘Nah …’ Finnegan shook his head. ‘He’s well gone, they reckon. Tide would’ve carried him away. Nah … these were inside, down in the basement. Well, in the foundations actually. Under about two feet of new cement. That was your idea, wasn’t it?’

  Heck nodded. ‘It was something Ray Marciano said to me … about getting buried in wet cement. Only occurred to me afterwards that he might have meant it for real.’

  ‘Big break, either way,’ Finnegan said. ‘If that hotel had gone up, been finished like … could have been decades before they were found. If they ever were.’

  ‘How many?’ Heck asked.

  ‘Latest count, nineteen.’

  Heck nodded, thinking hard.

  Even though there was still no trace of Ray Marciano, this was terrific news. In terms of the actual murders, they didn’t just have the video evidence now, which, though it required strong stomachs to view, was compelling, they also had the arena where the combats had taken place, and this had so far proved a happy hunting-ground for the forensics teams, who’d already uncovered numerous different DNA profiles, all of which had corresponded with known missing persons, including eleven from the Most Wanted list. If they’d now found bodies as well, the case was almost cut and dried.

  ‘Gwen went down there earlier this evening,’ Finnegan added. ‘Gemma’s going down first thing tomorrow. And that’s not all. Late this afternoon, Trident started locking up members of the Toreadors. That little shit Spencer Taylor’s been singing like a canary. Talk about everything coming together at the right time. They won’t dare close us down now. Imagine how the press would react to that.’

  ‘That’s good, Charlie,’ Heck nodded. ‘That’s all good.’

  Finnegan pointed at the bar. ‘What’re you having?’

  ‘Nothing for a minute. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘Up to you, but you’d better get your skates on
… we’ll be buying our own soon.’

  Heck nodded again, and Finnegan pushed his way past, calling for another treble Glenfiddich. ‘In fact,’ he shouted, ‘make it a quadruple.’

  Heck moved on, still looking for Gemma, but then was called over to one of the sofas, where Jack Reed was propped up on a pile of cushions, a pair of crutches alongside him and his left leg, encased in plaster, resting on the table in front of him, on top of another cushion. Even if he was on painkillers, it wasn’t stopping him chugging beer from a bottle. He looked uncharacte‌ristically scruffy, his jaw bristling, his hair unruly, wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit pants from which the left leg had been scissored away. He guffawed loudly as he swapped saucy quips with two of the team’s secretaries, who, with a marker pen each, appeared to be trying to cover his entire cast with elaborate artwork.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he coaxed them. ‘Bit higher, bit higher …’ He glanced at Heck again. ‘If it isn’t my saviour. Take it you’ve heard?’

  Heck nodded. ‘It’s good news, but I’d prefer it if we could find Ray Marciano.’

  ‘Shit, don’t worry about him.’ Reed had clearly been here for some time. He was slurring his words. ‘You don’t think he’s going to come after you?’

  ‘No. If he’d wanted that, he could’ve done me on the roof. I’m just wondering where he’s going to show up next.’

  ‘Probably the deepest Amazon, or some such place. Where we can’t get at him.’

  ‘It’ll need to be somewhere Milena Misanyan’s people can’t get at him as well,’ Heck replied. ‘But, somehow, I don’t think any of that’s going to faze our pal Ray.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Reed said. ‘Fancy a ride back to Cornwall tomorrow? For a press conference, I mean. Probably only a small one. I’m not sure how much Gwen’ll want to release yet. Obviously, with some of the stories that have got out, everyone’s going to be there. There are news crews from Taiwan, Australia, Brazil …’

  ‘I’d rather not do press conferences, sir.’

  ‘You should. You’re the star of the show, and I’m not even on duty. I’m only here tonight for the beer.’

  ‘Did Gemma ask for me to do it?’ Heck said.

  ‘No, Heck … she asked me. But I told her what I’ve just told you. You’re the man. So, you’ll step in for me, yeah?’

  ‘Hadn’t we better check with Gemma first?’

  ‘If you must.’ Reed stuck his thumb over his shoulder. ‘She’s back there.’

  Heck pushed on past, feeling the tension tighten in his chest.

  Gemma was on a stool at the far end of the bar. She was sipping some kind of cocktail through a straw and picking at a dish of olives. Though she was alone and didn’t seem to be enjoying the party, she’d patently made an effort for it. She was prettily made up, wearing white heels, a tight denim skirt and a sleeveless blouse, her blonde locks styled in a French plait.

  It reminded him painfully of the first time he’d laid eyes on her, when they were both young detectives, and he’d seen her dancing to hard rock at an equally hot and crazy police party. She’d been wearing high heels and denim that night too, but denim cut-offs rather than a skirt, and rocking out wildly, her damp hair, much longer then, flying. He’d thought she had the best figure and best legs he’d ever seen. How he’d plucked up the courage to wait for her at the edge of the dance floor and press an ice-cold bottle of lager into her hands as soon as she stepped off it, he couldn’t imagine – but somehow he had.

  Incredibly, it was almost as difficult plucking up the courage now – and that was just to go and stand at the bar alongside her.

  They made eye contact briefly, he asking if she needed a refill.

  She popped another olive and shook her head.

  ‘So,’ he said, after his own beer was served. ‘Bodies found, but none of them Ray Marciano.’

  ‘He’ll be there somewhere,’ she replied.

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Come on, Heck … two hundred feet into the sea, assuming he didn’t hit the rocks? There’s no chance he’s made it.’

  ‘And yet we’ve found no trace of him.’

  ‘We will. Contrary to popular belief, the sea often gives up its dead. Anyway, at least we’ve charged Morgan Robbins.’

  ‘True, ma’am, but which of the two would you have considered the more dangerous?’

  She seemed unconcerned. ‘If Ray did survive, he’ll show up again, and then we’ll have him. Speaking of no-shows, I see no sign of Gail Honeyford tonight.’

  ‘She’s not coming.’

  ‘Still sulking, is she?’

  ‘She’s just not coming.’

  ‘That’s up to her. Just so you know …’ Gemma dismounted her stool, ‘I don’t want tonight to be too much of a late one. I know it’s a party and all, but me and you are on our way down to Cornwall tomorrow morning.’

  ‘So I hear,’ he said, resigned to that fate. ‘Are you driving, or shall I?’

  She mused, clearly not having thought that far ahead yet. ‘Now you mention it, I’d rather you drove. I’ve got an awful lot to get through while we’re en route.’

  ‘So, there won’t be much chance for us to talk?’

  She gave him a quizzical look. ‘I imagine we’ll be able to exchange pleasantries.’

  ‘That’s not quite what I had in mind.’

  She regarded him for several seconds. ‘I’d say why don’t we talk now, but I have a sneaking feeling I’m going to find it tiresome and tedious.’

  ‘Maybe, but while you’ve mentioned it, now is probably the best time.’ He placed his half-finished drink down. ‘Can we go somewhere more private?’

  Several seconds passed. Eventually, she nodded towards a door standing open atop a nearby fire escape.

  Gemma descended the fire escape first, Heck following. They alighted in the side lot, where Heck’s Megane was one of the few vehicles parked. No one else was around.

  ‘First, can we drop the formalities?’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘You’re the one who insists on calling me “ma’am” all the time.’

  That rather caught him on the hop. ‘It’s just a term of respect.’

  ‘Agreed. It’s not supposed to be a weapon.’

  ‘Right, erm …’ Distracted by that, he struggled to find adequate words. ‘I just want to ask you a question. Last month, you said to me that only certain things are keeping us apart.’

  ‘I did?’ She didn’t sound as if she remembered this.

  ‘Stuff about the job,’ he said. ‘Namely, the different ways me and you do it.’

  She gave him her most frank stare. ‘You say “the different ways we do the job”, Mark, as if it’s a small, non-problematic issue.’

  ‘It is … if there’s sufficient willpower to overcome it.’

  She clearly hadn’t expected this response, but said nothing, allowing him to continue.

  ‘Gemma …’ He felt intensely self-conscious, and already was struggling to remember how he’d decided to phrase this. ‘I think it should be pretty obvious that I love you. I know I’ve not always shown it. I’m not the best at that kind of thing. I didn’t even realise I loved you when we were first together. I didn’t realise it when we separated … and, for the record, I’m well aware that I was the sole instigator of that.’

  ‘That’s not quite true,’ she said, her tone a touch more conciliatory.

  ‘OK, let’s say we both instigated it. Both for selfish reasons.’ He averted his eyes downward as he spoke; it felt ridiculous, but it was easier than looking directly at her. ‘You didn’t want to be attached to someone like me, who was likely to get into trouble. I didn’t like the idea of you being more of a high-flyer than I was. It hit my male pride. When I look back on it, I can’t believe how pathetic that was. But at the same time, I didn’t like the idea of you being at the sharp end either …’ He glanced up. ‘I didn’t like the idea of my girl getting hurt.’

  ‘At least that showed you cared,’
she said, evidently not having expected this degree of self-effacement. ‘Which is something we haven’t seen much of in the last few years … with your endless liberty-taking, your constantly putting me on the spot.’

  He lifted a hand. ‘That’s what I want to talk about. After we split up, I just toddled on as usual … while you soared off into the upper stratosphere of the police service. I was, I dunno … peeved, jealous, frustrated. It wasn’t that I envied your success. It was just that it seemed to prove everything you’d said. With me, you weren’t going anywhere. But when you shook me off, the sky was the limit. We’d made the right decision, plainly … but it was hardly something I could be happy about. Given how lonely it left me. I mean, at least for you the endless promotions must’ve helped …’

  ‘Mark …’

  ‘I know, I know.’ He raised his hand again. ‘I’ve always resisted promotion … but in your case, you got the pips without controversy. Each time, the world cheered. In my case, it would only ever have been in exceptional circumstances, and primarily down to you. So …’ He paused, watching her hard, even desperately.

  She returned his gaze, intrigued.

  ‘So, you had some consolation,’ he said again. ‘But I wonder … did you still feel lonely? Angry? Like me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Of course I did. And, for what it’s worth, I have no feelings for Jack Reed.’

  ‘I realise that now.’

  ‘Other than that’s he’s a very capable officer, who will be an exceptional addition to the Serial Crimes Unit now that our future is assured. On top of that, he’s pretty easy on the eye. But that’s all.’

  ‘So, what does all this mean?’ he asked. ‘I mean for us?’

  ‘Mark …’ She rubbed at her forehead.

  ‘I wouldn’t keep asking you this, Gemma, if I didn’t think I already knew the answer. If I thought it was going to be “Get out of my damn face once and for all!” … I’d do exactly that. But the truth is, deep down, I think it’s the opposite.’

  ‘Haven’t we reached this point before?’ She shook her head. ‘We’ve discussed this thing so many times, and we always come up against the same wall.’