Dying to Read

by John Elliott

  ‘We are there, aren’t we?’ said Hamish. ‘There was another Augustin.’

  ‘Patience.’ Jerzy continued to read.

  The second letter was very similar in tone and entreaty to the first. In it Maria gave more information about her husband and his business trips. She was aware he still picked up women on the road. The third, however, finally drew back the curtain. The light came on in what until now had been total darkness in the investigation.

  ‘The games we used to play. Do you remember? Although he wouldn’t be back for two days how afraid I was he would see the marks. I was the servant girl who betrayed you, stole your money, whored around. You were the master, once loving and protective, now cruel though I begged and begged. How you liked to finger the welts when you held me tenderly in bed. How in the threshold of pain I was bound to you and you to me. I believed you utterly when you said the accusations were false. Those girls were lying, predatory little bitches. They had lied about their age. They had lied about you. Then I lied about your whereabouts when the police traced me. Of course, it was too dangerous for you here. I knew that. I accepted you had to go, but not this, this terrible unknowing. I feel banished by you, Aram. There, I’ve written it. I’ve put your name. I can no longer uphold this Augustin charade. Even if you’ve tired of me. Even if you never want to have anything to do with me. At least tell me. End my torment and let me grieve for a love I know in my bones is dead.

  Yours being flayed alive,

  Maria.’

  The final one both readers felt was an intrusion too far into what was clearly a private hell.

  Pat reappeared, sufficiently hydrated. ‘I ate the last of the macaroons yesterday. I remember now. I gave the other one to young buggerlugs when he came on shift. Sorry. New slant, aren’t they?’

  ‘Timing,’ said Jerzy. ‘We’ve been hampered by bad timing. I‘ve wasted effort with the Super this morning. What’s happening on the fingerprint front? Tell them it’s high priority on the paddle and the camcorder You two know what to do. We must liaise with the Montevideo police, get details of the crime committed, contact Maria Pinson Guisbert, and put a surname to our friend, Aram. Let’s get cracking. I’ll fix region. There’s another thing, by the way. You can stop digging, Pat. I’m going to take early retirement. In three weeks I’ll be gone.

  In the brief silence which ensued, if someone really had been frying eggs on the car park tarmac outside, their sizzle would not have been as extraordinary to Pat and Hamish as the breaking of Jerzy’s sudden bombshell.

  Chapter 22

  Afternoon Ices and a Tap on the Head

  ‘Say it isn’t so.’ Norma’s injunction, although softly spoken, still reached the ears of Micky Rubin across the table, in spite of the background chatter of discerning tourists regaling themselves with the delights of Fortnum and Mason’s choice ices and assorted delicacies in the recently refurbished Parlour Restaurant.

  Geraldine watched Micky’s lips tighten forcefully before they relaxed once more into the now benign portals of a fully reformed ex-hard man turned trustworthy e-Bay entrepreneur. This whole scene was terra incognita for her, and she felt she had slipped not so much down a rabbit hole into a vacant seat at the Mad Hatter’s tea party but rather had strayed into a Woody Allen concoction of gangsters in Piccadilly.

  ‘It isn’t so, Norman. Sorry. I mean Norma.’ Micky’s reply was as bland and innocuous as a polite comment about the continuing fine summer weather or the inappropriateness of fish paste sandwiches with the orange pekoe.

  Norma, upholding her aversion to anything emanating from the proximity of a tea bush, spooned a generous dollop of cream and fruit from the summit of her Knickerbocker Glory. ‘I’m glad to hear it because, you see, I started to have worries,’ she said after wiping her mouth with her napkin.

  ‘Worries. Why on earth have them at our time of life? You and I should leave that to the younger generation. Don’t you agree, Geraldine? Anyway, I’ve settled all my accounts with legit society, as they say. I’ve a clear conscience.’

  ‘That was always your problem, I’m afraid.’

  Before Norma could elaborate further on the exact nature of Micky’s failings in the deeds and consequences department, his mobile phone burst into life with the sonorous tones of ‘Do Not Forsake Me O My Darling!’ A Western motif which Norma immediately recognised with a remark on its showdown appropriateness, but which musically and lyrically entirely bypassed Geraldine.

  ‘Where’s this going?’ she discreetly asked, while Micky excused himself and entered into sotto voce instructions about the forthcoming movement of goods. ‘We seem to be organising our investigation by food. First kedgeree then boiled eggs and now ice creams and slices of Viennese-style cake.’

  ‘Hungarian, actually. Named after Count Esterhazy.’ Norma looked around approvingly. ‘Although it’s new it’s still retro, don’t you find? English to a Tee. Speaking of which, I’m glad to say I’m not having any. Patience. Our time is not wasting.’

  ‘Include me out.’ Geraldine nearly said, but was prevented from doing so by Micky switching off the mobile and apologising for the break.

  ‘High Noon. Interesting choice of ring tone,’ said Norma. ‘I can’t help wondering, though, whether you’re on Gary Cooper’s side or with the gunmen getting off the train. Perhaps, in your case, Frankie Laine shouldn’t be singing to a new bride on her wedding day but to a departed darling daughter.’

  For a moment Geraldine thought the outwardly genteel and metropolitan scene was about to disrupt into chaos. Micky grasped the edge of the table with both hands. His lips parted to reveal expensive dental artifice. His eyes were suddenly burning like Blake’s tiger. Another second and the table and its contents would smash into them. She tensed, her senses trying to deal with impending violence. Norma, however, still sat contently swallowing her ice, to all intents and purposes completely unperturbed. The maître d’ glided over. ‘Everything alright, Mr Rubin?’ he enquired suavely as if the tea might have been served at the wrong temperature or a hair had somehow inveigled its way into a slice of cake.

  Micky let go his grip. ‘Thank you, Carlos. Perfectly.’ The stiller of troubled waters gave a short inclination of his head and withdrew. Micky leant back in his chair. His eyes switched to neutral. ‘Prison rules,’ he said. ‘Remember prison rules, Norman.’

  Ignoring a gender not in keeping with the femininity and swishness of her summery outfit, Norma said mildly, ‘But we’re not in prison now. Unless you’re going all philosophical and telling me that Fortnum’s, Piccadilly and perhaps the entire world is nothing but a prison. No, I didn’t think so. You’re a daughter, Geraldine. I’m sure you can understand the concern of a father, divorced, only seeing his child on occasional visits to the Scrubs. Powerful, yes, but not powerful enough to stop her mingling with people he’d never tolerate, getting into a trade he might exact protection money from but which morally he would despise as much as nonces and honest coppers.’

  Micky clapped his hands. ‘Quite a speech. You kept it buttoned better inside.’ He turned to Geraldine. ‘You should seriously think about who you associate with. After a time old farts get less and less amusing.’

  ‘We’re just trying to get at the truth, Mr Rubin.’ Geraldine spooned out the last now melting splodge of her hazelnut parfait. ‘Did you know your daughter, Lucy, and Augustin Cox used to eat ices together?’

  ‘Slippery thing, the truth. Depends on who owns it. What is it exactly you think I’ve done?’

  ‘Had done, more like. I don’t suppose you moved for a moment from the comfort of your office here.’ Norma, with an admiring look, again savoured the surrounding buzzy ambience. ‘Networking was made for you. All those people out on the street at your beck and call, and all you need to do is select a number or send a text. Trouble is there are two dead bodies at the end of the line: Augustin Cox and Blythe Fuller, whose funeral, by the way, is in two days time.’

  Micky didn’t reply but instead looked stea
dfastly from one to the other then raised his finger to draw the attention of a discreetly lurking waiter. He ordered more tea. ‘Can I get you something else?’ he enquired solicitously.

  Geraldine shook her head.

  ‘And I’m quite replete thanks. That was a real nostalgic treat. I used to covet these when a mere stripling.’ Norma tapped her tall glass now devoid of both Knickerbocker and Glory. Everything was simply too pat when I left you last,’ she continued. ‘A convenient, quickly found ex dip ready to give the gen on Joan Oliphant. Dear old Bunny suggesting I contact you. Then someone with the tradecraft, as Le Carré would say, to trail me and Blythe from our erstwhile client’s suburban semi of pain. Then follow her and...’ Norma paused. ‘Retribution, perhaps, which you had long planned, and I was a useful link. Payback time for those you thought had corrupted Lucy and had taken her away. Not to kill Joan, the main perpetrator, but instead those she loved so she would suffer more.‘

  Micky gently cupped his hand round the individual teapot of Malawi white and stared briefly into the empty delicate china cup the waiter had also brought. ‘The books you read have quite affected your brain. It needs three minutes to let it brew.’

  ‘Ah, you mean genre stuff like Peter Cheyney where some fleeing nogoodnik legs it to Southend or exotic Hayling Island, and sooner rather than later an old acquaintance bumps into him in the street or in a pub, and, well for old time’s sake, this time he really does disappear. Joan Oliphant’s husband, known colloquially as The Elephant, let’s say historically speaking. Thus setting in motion a right old tit for tat.’

  After giving himself time to pour a half cup, bending forward to sniff appreciatively its aroma and lifting the pot lid to admire the unfurled leaves, Micky said equably, ‘No I was thinking rather of the one where some old gent is so demented and confused he believes books are the real world and the real world simply behaves according to books.’

  ‘Don Quixote,’ supplied Geraldine looking at Norma, who beardless, more consolate than dis and far from scrawny, failed in every aspect to uphold the standard depiction of Cervantes’s knight errant.

  ‘Precisely. To dream the impossible dream. A wonderful song. You give me desires of revenge I just don’t have, Norman. Some people are shits. This we know. My daughter will always be my daughter whatever happens. Even if I never see her again. Now, I’m only a go-between with the past. Media friendly. I certainly don’t have people murdered as you seem to think. A, it would be bad for business, and B, it would be incredibly stupid and unnecessary.’

  This time Geraldine’s mobile rang, Bjork’s reedy pipe causing heads to turn and mouths to pucker in a collective tut. ‘Sorry. I’ll take it in the foyer.’ She rose undismayed. Some people whose own music selections left a great deal to be desired, she reckoned, could ill afford to be snooty about the Icelandic song thrush. It was Hamish, somewhat breathy and sounding more bedworthy than ever but short on the niceties of the state of her health and her glowing attributes. ‘I’m at Fortnum’s for ices,’ she told him.

  ‘Never mind that,’ he replied. ‘There’s been a big development in the case. Though I guess I’m contravening Jerzy’s warning by filling you in so quickly. He put me on the straight and narrow this morning about being loyal to the team and not helping you.’

  ‘Contravene away. Didn’t I say sleuthing together would be fun? You sound out of breath. How many cabers have you been tossing today?’

  ‘Be serious, Geraldine. Promise me you’ll be discreet.’

  Her promise solemnly declared he outlined the Montevideo connection and the new man in the frame. ‘I’ve got to go. Jerzy wants to talk to Norma tonight. It’ll be after eight.’

  ‘She should be back at Dollis Hill by then. Why?’

  ‘It’s connected with a Micky Rubin. Joan Oliphant thought he was involved. I’ve got to go. Love you.’ He signed off before she had a chance to reciprocate the sentiment but made up for it by texting it to him with a ‘when next meet?’ addition.

  A tall man clad in a light linen suit with a Panama hat set squarely on his head hovered just inside the doorway when she made her way back. By his hesitancy to move forward and his hand signals he was clearly trying to attract Mickey’s attention but seemed uncertain as to whether his company was wanted or not.

  ‘Chap over there appears inclined to join us,’ she said as she regained her seat

  Norma swivelled round. ‘Bunny, old man. What a pleasant coincidence. We were extolling your virtues only a quarter of this excellent Esterhazy cake ago. Get him a chair, Geraldine. I’m sure our host won’t mind.’

  Spreading his palms in a gesture of defeat Micky smiled wryly. Once a spare chair was rapidly commandeered, Bunny sat down and removed his hat to reveal a distinctly perspiring forehead and a thinning top of sandy coloured hair. Perching uncomfortably, he refused any offer of ice cream or pot of specialist tea but continued to look to Micky for guidance.

  ‘Slightly different from a four ale bar or the multi screen comforts of Ladbrokes don’t you find?’ Norma said to him benignly after formally introducing Geraldine. ‘I’m afraid my stable girl info today concerns a hot favourite. Very skinny odds. Not really your glass of Glenmorangie at all. But please feel free. Anything you want to say to Mr Rubin you can say in front of us. This very afternoon he’s kindly hired Geraldine and myself to help him find his daughter.’

  Bunny forced an objection sustained smile and dabbed at his brow with a large khaki handkerchief unfurled from his trouser pocket.

  Micky pushed aside the Blackberry he’d been studying. ‘You presume too much. You should have come as your better self, Norman. Then you would have remembered some of the chats we used to have on recreation. Here just as there my hospitality comes at a price, and I’m telling you now and won’t say it again to stop meddling in my private affairs.’

  ‘Norma,’ Geraldine decided to interject into the increasingly tense atmosphere, ’there’s something you should know. The call I got put an entirely new name into our case. We might even have been dealing with the wrong victim.’ If she was expecting this surprising turn of events to derail Norma from her purpose of teasing out Mickey’s guilt or at least involvement in the murders of Augustin and Blythe she was disappointed for like an indefatigable Monica Seles, admittedly minus the sexual grunts and gasps, returning shot after shot from the base line against Pam Schrieber Norma proved obdurate.

  ‘Like I said at the start personally I’d be glad if you had nothing to do with all this, but your daughter knew Augustin and possibly through him Blythe as well. If you or Bunny knows her whereabouts then Geraldine and I can depart in good faith. What say?’

  Without replying, Micky summoned the waiter and asked for the damage. An uneasy silence reigned during which Geraldine thought of saying something to Bunny but was unable to think of any small talk which would not sound asinine. Meanwhile Norma seemed contentedly at home, casting several admiring glances at the decor of the walls and smiling beatifically at those passing by. When the bill duly arrived. Mickey signed it with what Geraldine surmised was a Mont Blanc fountain pen. ‘Like this one all my accounts will be settled,’ he said. ‘You know I never renege on what I owe. Bunny, what have you got for me?’

  Bunny looked even more uncomfortable. He bore the air of a sweating sauna inhabitant who’s just been told there’s no cold restorative dip available because the surface ice on the lake outside is too thick to bore through. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  ‘Really. I don’t want these one time acquaintances coming back. They’ve abused my patience Let them know what we know.’

  ‘Well I’ve heard she’s supposed to have gone into the baby trade. More nappies than whips.’

  Micky winced.

  ‘Relatives including daughters,’ said Norma, ‘do the most surprising things. Old school chum from the hill tell you this, Bunny?’

  ‘Annual member Lingfield actually. Address still unknown I’m afraid. Not quite my milieu, Micky.’

  G
eraldine was perplexed. ‘Baby trade I thought that was only in the third world, or something that went out with the Victorians.’

  ‘It’s a man thing. I’ve never heard of a woman wanting the service.’ Bunny kindly elucidated the basic protocols involved from baby talk to potty training which made Geraldine glad she had long dispensed with what now seemed her childish ice cream.

  ‘No accounting for taste,’ said Norma. ‘Let’s have a quid pro quo, Micky. If you find her first let us know. If we find her I guarantee you’ll know.’

  ‘Get rendited for all I care. Your time’s over. Don’t come back.’

  Norma sighed. ‘Sorry to see you take it like this, but at least thanks for the memory. Come, Geraldine, the bird and books await and then to Dollis Hill. Bye all. Felicitous punting, Bunny!’

  ‘Do you think he really masterminded the two murders?’ Geraldine asked when they had regained the tourist thronged allure of Piccadilly.

  Norma shook her head. ‘No. He has a vindictive streak, but Augustin and Blythe were too peripheral to his enmity. He’s not that subtle. Joan Oliphant and Mireille McClelland though are a different matter. He might still have designs. However, we needed to eliminate him from the suspect list if William Wilson is our real guide. I’ve remembered where the book is by the way. It’s at Dollis Hill. I had the collected edition of the Baltimore neurasthenic at the bottom of my decline reading pile. Premature burial and incarceration in confined spaces so cheers one up.’

  *

  ‘Cases take you to places you never thought you’d visit. Places you scarcely even knew existed. Why Dollis Hill?’ Jerzy, seemingly preoccupied and unusually taciturn, broke his silence at last when they reached the approach to Willesden.

  ‘Dunno. Geraldine hasn’t said. The borough of Brent’s a northern patch. Presumably they do things differently here. I suppose in the scheme of things there’s got be somewhere in between Neasden and Cricklewood other than a black hole. Norma’s a one off. Trust her to have a house there.’