*
Her answer machine was flashing when she got back to her flat.
‘I was going to call you on your mobile,’ she heard a familiar voice say. ‘But I’ve tried once or twice before and you’ve had it switched off, so this seemed the best way to get hold of you. Seems ages since I saw you, Alex, so how about a night out on the town? I’m free tomorrow night, so I could call round about eight o’clock if you like. If that’s not convenient, let’s fix another date. Nothing heavy. Just a few drinks, perhaps, so call me when you can. You know my number.’
She did indeed. And why not? Why the hell not? Exeter wasn’t going to go away, and tomorrow was another day, she thought in best Scarlett O’Hara style — as she so often did. She dialled his number at once.
‘Phil. Nice to hear from you. I’ve been away for a few days, and in fact I’m off again soon, so you just caught me between trips. But a night out would be great, so if the offer still stands, I’ll see you tomorrow evening.’
‘Fantastic,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘And you can tell me all about where you’ve been and your latest case.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t want to know, and I don’t particularly want to talk shop. Let’s just have a good night out.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ he said, as cheery as ever.
She hung up, still smiling. Odd that he should have called her right now when she hadn’t heard from him in weeks. But he was good company, and if she spent too much time alone she’d just carry on brooding about Jane Leng being a sitting target for a mugging ... or wishing Nick was still here.
Before that thought took too much of a hold, she called Mrs Dunstable and booked her room again, fully aware from the cautious note in the landlady’s voice that she clearly thought the big romance had fallen through again, and that Exeter was proving a refuge for a broken heart. Oh well. Better that, than having her know what the real purpose of the visit was.
*
Phil Cordell arrived sharp on time the following evening, looking dapper and smelling of aftershave, his fair hair salon-sleek. He was probably a wow with his female students, Alex thought briefly. Shame he did absolutely nothing for her. Or maybe it wasn’t such a shame. It saved any complications.
‘You look terrific,’ he said, holding her hands and assessing her. ‘You certainly know what colour to wear to greatest effect with that gorgeous hair and those stunning green eyes, Alex.’
‘Black isn’t really a colour, is it?’
She really didn’t know why his compliments made her squirm, unless it was because they were just too perfect, too calculated.
Nick would have said in a sexy voice: Hey babe, you look far too luscious for me to share you with the outside world. What say we forget all about going out, and just hit the sack?
‘Black is your colour,’ Phil said solemnly, sliding his arm around her waist and giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘And you know it.’
‘OK, and you look good too, so now that we’ve done with the flattery, where are you taking me?’ she said lightly.
‘I thought we’d go to the Roadway. You’ll like it and they do a great pizza. You look like a woman who likes her food — nothing personal intended, mind.’
It was a stupid remark if she ever heard one. How else was she supposed to take it if not personally? But when she realized she was starting to analyse everything he said, she made herself laugh.
‘You’re right, I like my food, and pizzas are OK.’
‘Nice OK or just OK?
‘Edible OK,’ Alex said, wondering if he was always this tedious, or if it was just her mood. She followed him out to his car and found herself hoping it wasn’t going to be a long evening in more ways than one.
The Roadway was a pleasant enough pub with plenty of mock-oak beams, the added gimmick of a covered wishing-well in the middle of the stone-flagged floor, and a landlord who resembled Mr Pickwick. It was noisy and brash, with a darts match going on in one corner and a group of students at the other end, and a cross-section of all ages in the middle.
‘So how’s the investigating going?’ Phil said easily, when he had brought her a large vodka and lime and a pint of beer for himself.
‘As well as can be expected,’ Alex said, telling him nothing.
He took a long draught of beer before wiping the foam from his top lip before it resembled a moustache. Not good for his image, Alex thought swiftly.
‘As good as that, huh?’ he said. ‘So have you found out anything to keep the widow-woman happy? I must say her letters to the press have become a bit less waspish recently.’
‘I daresay it’s because she’s glad to be rid of her husband, which isn’t a nice thing to say, but unfortunately true.’
‘And you’re not answering the question,’ he said with a smile.
‘I’m not, am I?’ Alex said, smiling back. And why should I, she thought, when it’s none of your damn business?
‘So where have you been for the last few days?’ he went on casually. ‘Hot on the trail, or on holiday? I suppose a successful operator like you can afford a winter holiday any time it suits you.’
Alex suddenly sensed that he was fishing. He really did want to know where she had been, and her intuition told her it was more than just casual conversation. She didn’t know why, but she decided to play his game.
‘I’ve been to France for a few days. I’ve got friends there.’
She kept her eyes fixed on his as she spoke, and she had the satisfaction of seeing them flicker. He didn’t believe her, and she didn’t know why he shouldn’t. It was almost as if he knew exactly where she had been — but even if he did, he couldn’t know why. And how could he possibly know? She would do better to keep her wild imagination under control.
‘Taking a break from the case then?’
‘Perhaps. Or perhaps I was checking up on a possible sighting of Steven Leng. How about that for headline news?’
‘That’s impossible!’ Phil said quickly. ‘Everyone knows he’s dead, and it’s only his pathetic mother who perpetuates the myth that he’s still alive.’
‘You seem very sure about that.’
His attitude went from tense to relaxed in a split second. If she hadn’t been so sure of the former, Alex would have said she imagined it. But she hadn’t, and she knew it. Curiouser and curiouser.
‘I only know that you’ve got to be wasting your time.’
‘Well, since Mrs Leng is happy enough to pay me for wasting my time, I see no reason for not continuing to do it. Now can we please talk about something else, or I shall think you only asked me out to find out what I’ve discovered? Which is precisely nil, as a matter of fact,’ she added for good measure.
He leaned towards her, wafting the concentrated scent of the aftershave she wasn’t sure she liked, and looked deep into her eyes.
‘I asked you out because I like your company a lot, and for no other reason. And I suppose the boyfriend’s still on the horizon?’
‘Very much so,’ Alex told him firmly.
*
Long after he left her that night, she couldn’t put her finger on why she didn’t altogether trust him. He was almost too smooth, too upright a citizen. There seemed to be no flaws about him, and nobody was that perfect. Everybody had hang-ups and a darker side to their nature, but by all accounts everybody liked and looked up to Philip Cordell.
She finally gave up thinking about him, and thought about her proposed meeting with Lord tomorrow. Providing he agreed to see one of the common herd ... and thinking like that annoyed her even more. As if he really was Lord God Almighty. She wasn’t overly religious, and rarely went to church. She ignored the unexpected stab of guilt, but she had been brought up in a Christian household, and there were some things you didn’t do — like calling yourself Lord, and fancying yourself as the Saviour of all Mankind, when there was only one of those.
At the thought, she decided she was possibly more religious than she gave herself credit for, and tha
t God would surely forgive a poor sinner the delights of so much flesh whenever she could get it — if he didn’t ostracize her altogether for such blasphemous wicked ways. Still smiling at the thought of Nick Frobisher’s sinfully rampant flesh, she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
*
She awoke with a start around four in the morning, her duvet on the floor and her limbs cold and shivering. She was sure it was nothing physical that had woken her, no intruders in the night, or the scrawny neighbourhood cats fighting in the darkness like a couple of banshees. It was a feeling of unease, of something she should have considered or missed. Whatever it was, it continued to elude her, but it finished her sleeping for the rest of the night — or morning, she conceded, seeing the signs of dawn through her bedroom curtains.
It was far too early to start the day, but it was also far too cold to stay in bed. She wrapped herself in her duvet, made herself a cup of coffee and curled up on her sofa with the gas fire full on to watch some early-morning TV. Thank God for cartoons, she thought weakly, as the antics of Tom and Jerry assailed her senses. At least their fights were all fantasy, and you didn’t need to concentrate too hard.
But the heat from the fire was soporific and she came to with a jerk as the empty coffee mug dropped from her hands on to the carpet. She realized that the programme had changed, and there was now a news bulletin telling her about some inevitable new crisis in the Middle-East. And it was daylight. The rattle of the postman’s delivery sounded below, and she went downstairs to pick up the handful of letters to shake herself out of her lethargy.
The only thing of interest was an invitation to a party thrown by one of the tenants in her old building in London. Charmaine was celebrating a successful conclusion to her advertising stint, and it would be shown on TV at the end of the month. Partygoers were invited to her flat in order to watch the inaugural event.
‘I’m sure you’ll want to be here if you can, Alex,’ Charmaine had written excitedly. ‘Bring a bottle and a friend — oh, and that old boyfriend of yours will probably be coming too. Just thought I should warn you. Gary Hollis, remember?’
Of course she remembered hormone-packed Gary Hollis, Alex thought with a stab of something half-pleasure, half-lustful. But she doubted that he’d remember her any more. She hadn’t seen him in months, and ‘pastures new’ was Gary’s motto. She wouldn’t go, anyway. It was easy enough to pretend another engagement and promise to watch the ad, or tape the whole evening, so she wouldn’t miss it. Charmaine’s debut would be something to see. Stick-thin and twittery was how she remembered her and then she remembered too, how kind she had been when Alex had got flu, and unexpectedly produced cooking like mother used to make. Which just went to prove the old saying: you should never judge a book by its cover — or the persona that people showed you.
She was wide awake now, and she threw off the duvet and took a shower before having a scrappy breakfast and throwing some things into an overnight bag once more. If she was on the road by nine o’clock she could be in Exeter by mid-morning. However, a fine sprinkling of snow had begun to whiten the roads by the time she left, and it made the surface more slippery than expected, with the result that all the traffic was slowing down long before she turned off the M5 and headed towards Dun Roamin’.
‘Come inside and get warm, dear,’ Mrs Dunstable said, fussing over her at once. ‘It’s really not the kind of weather for travelling, and you’re looking quite pinched. Are you quite well?’
‘Perfectly, thank you.’ And I’m not pining away for anyone, either, though she had to admit there was a little devil inside her that was tempted to play up to the landlady’s romantic soul. But it wasn’t fair, and besides, she didn’t want it spread around the regulars that she was only here because of a broken heart.
‘Actually, I’m celebrating,’ she went on determinedly. ‘I’ve got a new business plan going through, and it looks like being very successful.’
‘Oh well, I suppose that makes you young people happy nowadays,’ Mrs Dunstable said, clearly mystified that any such thing could put a glow on a young lady’s face. ‘You’re in the same room, by the way, dear, so you know the way.’
She was virtually dismissed, Alex thought with a grin, and clearly a huge disappointment after such a promising beginning. But she couldn’t spend time on providing Mrs Dunstable with a fictitious romance. She was here for a purpose, and there was no better time than now, before she lost her nerve, because there was nothing in the rules to say that a PI shouldn’t have nerves. There were no rules at all.
She unwrapped the pre-packed tuna and cucumber sandwiches she’d bought at the last motorway service area and made herself some tea before going out into the cold of the January afternoon and finding her way to Mistral Street. The Old Mission Building, Zelena had told her. It shouldn’t be too hard to find. And then she was going to confront Lord — even though she hadn’t yet decided exactly what she was going to say to him. But now she had the added input of Roger Fry’s query about his son. Far better that she should be making enquiries on his behalf than on Jane Leng’s.
*
The Old Mission was a run down, shabby looking building badly in need of repair. The paint on the front door was peeling, the windows were dirty with net curtains that may once have been white, and there was a general air of neglect about the whole place. Only the soft sprinkling of snow gave the place a habitable look. It certainly didn’t inspire Alex to go boldly where no man had gone before ... though plenty of people had, she reminded herself, and mostly young kids, from the look of the buskers in the main shopping area.
But the general shabbiness of the building contrasted sharply with the appearance of the Followers she had seen. Despite the way Tracey had referred to them so scathingly as the yellow twits, they had certainly seemed to shine with health and cleanliness. As she hesitated outside the building, the door opened, and a young girl appeared in the familiar Followers garb.
‘Can I help you?’ she said, in the same soft monotone Alex was becoming accustomed to hearing now.
‘I hope so. I’d like to speak to Lord,’ she said, feeling totally idiotic and wondering if she should cross herself — though it wasn’t the gesture that readily came to mind.
‘Please step inside, and I’ll see if he’ll grant you an audience,’ the girl said.
Oh God ... but the girl had gone away as silently as if she had glided. Nuns on wheels, Alex thought irreverently, but since it was the only way she could stop a mild hysteria threatening to take over, she knew she had to cut this situation down to size, or she would have fled.
Just imagine all suspects and villains wearing red flannel underpants, Nick always advised her.
The young girl reappeared. ‘Lord will see you now. Please follow me.’
They were all so excruciatingly polite, Alex reflected. It was unreal. Then she stopped her meandering thoughts as she was shown into a large room with plain white walls and basic white furniture. MFI’s best?
She sat nervously on the edge of a long white bench. A door opened at the far end and a tall man in white robes edged with lemon came in smilingly, holding out both hands as he approached her.
‘Peace and harmony, my young friend. In time-honoured hospitality, may I offer you a glass of iced lemon tea? Or something warmer on this cold day, perhaps?’
‘Iced lemon tea will be fine, thank you,’ Alex stuttered, wondering for a moment if she had stepped straight back into the Bible.
She didn’t know what she had expected. Some rampant sex-god, perhaps, intent on ravishing all the young girls who fawned over him. But this man was older than she had expected, his hands and face showing the lines and marks of age. His fingernails were excessively long and his well-groomed but sparse hair was pure white, reaching well below his shoulders.
She was obliged to touch his hands with her own, and as she did so a shudder of pure abhorrence swept through her, if only for the blasphemy of using God’s name. His presence was so awe-inspiring that
she hadn’t noticed the young girl still hovering behind him, but at the soft flick of his fingers she disappeared at once to fetch the refreshments. Then he turned to face Alex with an enigmatic expression.
‘Now, what can I do for you? If you wish to join us —’
‘No. Oh no,’ she said quickly, before she could stop herself.
At which he smiled almost benevolently, with a come-into-my-parlour-said-the-spider-to-the-fly kind of smile.
Chapter 14
Lord waited patiently, as if he had all the time in world, which unnerved Alex even more. She took a sip of the iced lemon tea the young girl handed her before moving silently from the room, and wondered briefly if it contained anything other than the normal ingredients.
‘I’m trying to find someone,’ Alex said, telling herself to stop being paranoid, and placing the glass on the small white table in front of the bench.
‘And you think this person may be here among our devotees?’ he asked.
‘I have reason to believe so. Or perhaps I should say, I think it’s possible,’ she added quickly. ‘I thought I saw him in the town the other day, and his description was somewhat like the photos his father showed me.’
‘Ah,’ said Lord. ‘Then you’re searching for this person on behalf of his family?’
Alex wished she had dared to have her tape recorder switched on so that she could have played it back later and noted any small change or nuance in the voice. But she hadn’t dared, and she was too jittery to have truly said whether or not Lord’s voice became slightly more relaxed when the word family was mentioned.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’m a friend of the family — or more accurately, an acquaintance of the young man’s father.’
She nearly slipped up there. If Lennie Fry and Drew were one and the same, then he would know she wasn’t a family friend. But since he had been away from home for so long, she could easily be a newer acquaintance of Roger Fry. She looked at Lord more boldly, pulling all her acting ability into action. If this guy assumed she was Roger’s bit of fluff, so be it. If he had any such thoughts at all, she amended. From imagining him to be something of a sex-god, she now assessed him as being probably asexual. A nothing. A eunuch, maybe. Wasn’t there some cult in America — it had to be America! — where blokes voluntarily had their testicles cut off for some weird reason no sane person could fathom? That wasn’t the case here, was it.
Deadly Suspicions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 3) Page 18
