Poisoned Cherries ob-6

by Quintin Jardine

  I threw the guy a ‘sad bastard’ look and steered Alison towards a table under the window.

  She eyed me up and down as I settled into an armchair. ‘You look just the same,’ she said.

  ‘Check your contacts, honey,’ I told her. ‘I don’t.’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh you’re older, sure, and there’s a harder edge to you, more serious, but essentially you’re just the same. I don’t know, maybe I thought there would be sparks shooting off you now you’re famous, but there aren’t.’

  ‘I still pee standing up,’ I said.

  ‘I hope you hit the bowl more often,’ she murmured. Now that definitely was not the old Alison.

  ‘So tell me about you,’ she went on. ‘I’ve read the odd article about you, but they weren’t very informative. What have you been doing since you and I split up, apart from becoming a film star, that is?’

  ‘I’m not a star,’ I corrected her. ‘I’ve taken to acting and I’ve been lucky to have made a couple of movies, but I’ll never be top billing. Apart from that, I’ve just been living a life. I’ve been married, widowed, and married again. Now I’m in the process of getting divorced, and I’ve just had a child by a woman I don’t live with. That’s it.’

  Her face fell a little; I wondered if she had pumped herself up somehow for our meeting. ‘I knew the last part,’ she said. ‘That was in all the Sundays last weekend. But I didn’t know you’d been widowed. I’m sorry, Oz.’

  ‘It’s not something I discuss with journalists.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t like to discuss it with anyone. Now tell me about you, for you very definitely have changed.’

  ‘For the better?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I don’t know anything. I don’t even know why I’m here.’

  ‘I’ll come to that. Okay, about me. I’ve you to thank for it, in a way.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For chucking me. You were as nice as you could be when you did it, of course, but you still left me feeling that I’d bored you to tears. So I took a look at myself, and when I did, I realised that I bored even me. I looked like a bloody Sunday School teacher, I was hiding a pretty good body in drab, awful clothes, and I didn’t even have the confidence to smile properly.’ She paused as the barman arrived with our drinks and my change. . even less than I’d expected.

  ‘Plus,’ she said quietly as she picked up her vodka, ‘I wasn’t any better when the lights were out. . Not that you were any great shakes yourself, mind you. All cock, no technique, that was you.’

  ‘Thank you very much, ma’am,’ I muttered into my lager.

  ‘Don’t take it to heart; we didn’t really interest each other so we didn’t try very hard. That’s the truth of it.’

  I thought about it; she was probably right.

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I gave myself a makeover. I started with my teeth, then my hair, and then my wardrobe. I chucked my job, too. Remember I worked in the Scottish Office Information Department?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well I left, and got myself a job as an accounts manager with a public relations company. I did very well there and was promoted after a couple of years. I also got myself a fiance. He worked for a rival firm, so we didn’t announce our engagement, in case our respective bosses didn’t like the idea, but we couldn’t keep it secret forever. Neither of us was fired when it became public knowledge, but our client lists were scrutinised to make sure there was no conflict. I was taken off one account as a result, and I wasn’t allowed on new business pitches in case I wound up competing with David.

  ‘It wasn’t an ideal situation for either of us, so we did the obvious thing. We both quit and set up on our own.’

  As she told me her tale, I sensed something else that was new about her; she seemed to be brittle inside, in a way she never had been before. The old Alison might have been quiet, serious and ultimately boring, but she had never been nervous, or anything approaching highly strung; yet that was coming across the table in waves.

  ‘So how did it go?’ I asked, as she paused for refreshments.

  ‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘We called ourselves Goodchild Capperauld. .’ She picked up on my frown at once. ‘His cousin,’ she said, forestalling my question.

  ‘Does the name help in business?’

  ‘It does until the prospects see the letterhead and realise it isn’t him.’

  ‘Still. .’

  ‘No, it doesn’t work that way. He and Ewan don’t get on; David’s younger by about ten years, so they weren’t close as children. Then something happened between them, when David was at university, and they haven’t spoken since.’

  ‘Let me guess, it involved a girl.’

  ‘Naturally. She was a student too; David was going out with her and he took her to Ewan’s younger sister’s wedding. Big mistake!’

  ‘It’s worked out okay for you, though.’ I glanced at her left hand, as she picked up her glass again. There were no rings; curious. ‘Are you Mrs Capperauld now?’

  ‘I was going to be,’ she answered. ‘We were going to get married last year, but we had so much business that we postponed it. We took on three new clients and set up a lobbying division, to help people put their cases to the Scottish Executive.’

  ‘First things first, eh.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ she said, defensively. ‘We love each other.’

  ‘Lucky you. And you get your priorities right too.’

  ‘We think so.’

  ‘I’m not disagreeing with you. Now, before you eat the rest of that vodka, and the glass as well, do you want to tell me what this is about? You’re in love, I’ve got a new baby, we could have said all this over the phone, but you wanted to meet me. Why?’

  For a moment the old Alison seemed to creep out from behind the teeth, the hair and the make-up. ‘I want to ask for a favour,’ she murmured. I shrugged my shoulders. She gathered her confidence around her, sat up in her chair, and went on.

  ‘I have a client who runs an office equipment business. His name is James Torrent.’ I recognised it from vans I had seen around town, in Edinburgh and Glasgow. ‘He supplies everything other than stationery; furniture, fittings, computers, photocopiers, the lot.

  ‘It’s a really big company; Mr Torrent plans to go public in a year, but first he’s moving into new corporate headquarters on the outskirts of Edinburgh, near the airport. He’s a very important client for us, our biggest, in fact, but the thing is, he’s very difficult to deal with. What he wants he gets, and if you can’t give it to him, you’re out; fired, no appeal, that’s it.

  ‘My problem is that when we got the business, part of my pitch said that we would arrange a big opening ceremony for the new headquarters, and that we would have a national celebrity to cut the tape. That’s where I was hoping. .’

  I gasped; I couldn’t help it. ‘You want me to open this guy’s office?’

  She flushed, and let out a nervous sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough. ‘Well, not exactly. . I mean it would be great if you could come on the day as well, but. .

  ‘The thing is, Mr Torrent wants Ewan to perform the ceremony; in fact he’s told me that if I can’t get him to do it, he’ll give his business to another company. He means it too. It would be a disaster for us, Oz, if we lost that account so quickly. He’s our biggest client and word would get around the marketplace like wildfire. On top of that, he owes us quite a bit of money. He’s a very slow payer, and I reckon that if he fires us we’ll never see any of it. We’ve bought in things for him, printed material, high quality photography, and we’ve paid our suppliers already. We could go belly-up if he defaults on us.’

  I had a sudden vision of Alison, belly-up. I also guessed what she was leading up to, but I played it out.

  ‘I see your problem. So how do you want me to help? I can think of one way. Remember that guy Liam at GWA, who gave you my number? He could pay your man Torrent a visit,
with a couple of the boys. You might not keep the business, but you’d get your money, even if it did have blood and snot all over it.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ she said gloomily. ‘I’m not so sure they could frighten this man, though.’

  ‘You’ve never met big Jerry.’ I laughed to myself at the thought of my enormous friend. ‘But if that’s not a runner, do you want me to introduce you to a good lawyer? My guy Greg would sue him for you, I’m sure.’

  ‘That would take too long. The bank’s getting twitchy about our overdraft as it is. No, Oz, what I’m hoping is that you’ll agree to approach Ewan on our behalf.’

  My guess had been spot on. ‘Christ, Alison, I don’t even know the guy. Why can’t you ask him? Okay, so he pinched your boyfriend’s bird once. Big deal. If you talk to him he might fancy his chances of doing it again.’

  ‘That’s one reason why I can’t,’ she shot back. ‘But it goes deeper than that. Ewan does not like his name being over the door of our company. He wrote to us and asked us to call ourselves something else, but David wouldn’t hear of it. He can’t do anything about it. . I mean, he doesn’t hold the copyright on it or anything. . but his father told David’s father that Ewan thinks we’re cashing in on his fame, and he’s furious about it. Even David’s father and uncle aren’t speaking now because of it.

  ‘No, I can’t talk to him; it would be difficult even if David would let me. Help me, Oz, you’re our only hope.’

  ‘Fuck me! You sound just like Carrie Fisher in Star Wars. Listen, I may have entered Jedi as my religion on the last census form, but it doesn’t mean I am one. I’m a supporting actor; he is big time. I’ve got no grease with the man; he’ll barely even say hello to me on set.’

  ‘Oz, you could talk anybody into anything if you put your mind to it. My God, you talked your way into me, and no one had done that before.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh yeah? You reckon I could do it again, then?’

  She looked at me, over her glass; I saw that her hand was trembling, very slightly. ‘If that’s what it takes to get you to talk to Ewan,’ she whispered.

  I nodded towards the door. ‘In advance?’

  ‘Okay.’

  I turned to the barman and made a ‘two more’ sign. ‘You can relax,’ I told her. ‘You don’t have to shag me into it; I’ll talk to him for you. I’ll do more than that; if Capperauld tells me to piss off, I’ll ask Miles Grayson to do it. Mr Torrent will not turn him down, I guarantee you.’

  Her face lit up; it reminded me of the time I gave her a week in Playa del Ingles for Christmas. . hey, big spender.

  ‘You will? You’re wonderful, Oz. I knew I could rely on you. Hell, let’s go to your place; I’ll sleep with you anyway.’

  I laughed. ‘You must be really attached to that fiance of yours.’

  ‘Never mind him. . this is a special occasion! We can call it for old times’ sake.’

  ‘My dear, bitter experience has taught me that going over old ground for the sake of it is always a bad idea. If it wasn’t right then, it wouldn’t be right now. And anyway. . although I am astonished to hear myself say this. . I can’t.’

  The way she smiled at me made me feel good. ‘The girl in Glasgow? The one who had your baby?’

  I nodded.

  ‘What are you doing in Edinburgh, then?’

  ‘Taking things one step at a time.’

  ‘Is it really her, or is it the baby?’

  ‘Until now I’d have said it was wee Jan, but the truth is, it’s her too.’

  ‘I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Don’t be, not yet. It might not work. Just let me be happy for you.’

  A cloud crossed her face, as the barman put down two more drinks on the table. I gave him another tenner and told him to keep the change. ‘What’s up?’ I asked as he left. ‘You not so sure about him any more?’

  ‘I was ready to go to bed with you, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Millions are. Has the business got more important than him, is that it? It could be that way with Susie and me, you know. Up to now, her company’s been her life. There’s a lot of adjusting to be done.’

  ‘Maybe. Probably. Yes. But that’s not what’s wrong, or not all of it, at any rate. It’s David. I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘What do you mean? Have you looked under the bed?’

  ‘I’m serious. Anyway, we don’t live together. No, I haven’t seen him for nearly a week; he hasn’t been into the office since Monday, and he hasn’t been answering the phone at home. I went round to see him on Wednesday, and then again on Friday, but he wasn’t in either time.’

  ‘Has he done this before?’

  Alison shook her head. ‘No, never. He’s Mr Reliable, usually. I don’t know what to make of it.’

  ‘One of two things, I’d guess; he’s either lost his nerve over this problem client of yours and done a runner, or he’ll turn up tomorrow morning smelling very faintly of a fragrance which is not on your dressing table.’

  She pouted. ‘He wouldn’t do either of those things.’

  ‘You were ready to do the second. Why shouldn’t he be? What’s his phone number?’ She recited it; I took out my mobile, punched it in and handed it to her. She listened for a while then shook her head.

  ‘Answering machine.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he’s not there; I do that all the time. Where does he live?’

  ‘In Union Street, opposite the Playhouse Theatre. Why?’

  ‘Let’s go there now, the two of us, and thump on his door.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘You did already.’

  ‘Yes, but not with you.’

  ‘He’ll answer the door if he’s in there and I thump it. If he’s got a bird in there he’s hardly going to open it if he thinks it’s you, is he?’

  She killed half of her second drink. ‘I suppose not. Okay, let’s do it. But if he has got someone with him, will you at least pretend that you’re sleeping with me?’

  ‘How big is he?’

  ‘About half your size.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Chapter 14

  David Capperauld lived in a main-door flat; that means that it opened directly on to the street. No lights were showing in the living-room window, or in the glass panel above the front door. It didn’t look promising, but it had been my daft idea and Alison was pumped up to do it.

  The Playhouse was emptying its audience into the night when our taxi dropped us at the end of Union Street. I didn’t particularly want a large crowd to see me hammering on a door, so we slipped into Giuliano’s for a coffee, to give them time to disperse, and to allow me to lose some of that beer.

  Eventually we judged it to be quiet enough for us to go back. Capperauld’s door was as solid and impressive as the rest of the building. He could be inside there and moving around and we wouldn’t hear him through it.

  I made Alison stand to one side, so she couldn’t be seen though the spyglass, then I rang the bell. As we expected, there was no answer. There was a big black-painted knocker halfway up the door. I grabbed it and thumped it as hard as I could, then I did it again, and again, and again. If there had been anyone inside he wouldn’t have stood for that.

  ‘Nah,’ I told her. ‘Your boyfriend has definitely done a runner.’

  Her face seemed to crumple; she was on the edge of tears. ‘But it’s not like him! David’s a decent guy. He wouldn’t run away and leave me to sort out the Torrent mess; he just wouldn’t.’ She looked at me with fear in her eyes; she was the mouse again. ‘Oz, do you think we should go in?’

  I looked at her, then at the door, then back at her, as if she was daft. ‘I’m not kicking that fucking thing in. Do you see how thick it is?’

  ‘You don’t have to. I’ve got a key.’

  ‘Jesus!’ The night had turned sharp and cold; my breath came out as a cloud of steam. ‘Now you bloody tell me; after we’ve wakened half the street. Is this what you wanted to do
all along, only you wanted someone with you?’

  She sniffed. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Well bloody do it, then! Get in there, see if there are any clues to where the boy might have gone, leave him an angry note and let’s be done with it.’

  Alison nodded, and fished a brass key from her bag. The lock was a complicated five-lever job, with dead-bolts built in for added security. When she turned the key it sounded like she was opening a cell. She pushed the door and stepped inside, with me at her heels, feeling more useless and awkward by the second.

  ‘David!’ she called out nervously. ‘David, are you here?’

  The place was pitch black and deadly still. ‘No, he’s fucking not!’ I snapped at her; impatience is not one of my usual faults, but I had had enough for the night. ‘Switch on a light and take a look around.’

  She reached over to the wall and felt for the switch; eventually she found it, and in an instant the hall was light. ‘Fucking hell,’ I heard myself exclaim.

  The floor was tiled, not carpeted; from that, and the solidity of the plasterwork and doorframes, I guessed that the house had either been restored to its original condition, or had never altered in the two hundred or so years since it was built.

  The thing that lay at our feet was definitely not an original fitting. He was face down; his right arm stretched out as if it was pointing to something, and his left was by his side. His toes were tucked in, sort of pointing at each other. He hadn’t been a very big bloke, but a bit more than half my size, as Alison had said.

  She gave a sudden mewling sound that was half scream, half cry of fear, and seemed to stagger. Then she turned, as if to run. I caught her and held her. She looked down at him again, her eyes wide with fear. I was aware of a puddle forming on the floor.

  ‘David, yes?’ I asked her.

  She couldn’t speak, she could only barely nod. I held on to her until I was sure she could stand, then let her go and went back to close the door.