67
Elizabeth and Joyce are in the minibus, on their way down to Fairhaven. Joyce has flapjacks and Elizabeth has news. Joyce intends to share the flapjacks, but Elizabeth is keeping the news to herself.
‘Just tell me,’ says Joyce.
‘In good time,’ says Elizabeth.
‘You’re such a bully,’ says Joyce.
‘Nonsense,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Are you getting a dog, by the way? Stephen wanted to know.’
‘None of your business,’ says Joyce. She is beginning to think she might not offer Elizabeth a flapjack, but she has made them with coconut oil, and is desperate for someone to try them. So she is in a bind.
Elizabeth had sent her a message first thing.
We are going to Fairhaven this morning. Wear something that goes well with diamonds.
However, she has been no more forthcoming than that. Joyce is wearing another new cardigan. Navy blue. It had better be worth it.
‘What are we going to do about Ryan Baird?’ asks Elizabeth.
‘You tell me,’ says Joyce. ‘You always have the answers.’
‘Are we having a row, Joyce?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘How novel.’
‘Friends don’t keep secrets,’ says Joyce.
‘It’s a good secret though, so don’t get crotchety,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I just want to surprise you.’
The minibus pulls up outside the Ryman’s in Fairhaven and Carlito bids them all farewell. He is vaping, and Elizabeth tells him to smoke a proper cigarette for goodness’ sake.
‘So where are we going?’ asks Joyce.
‘You know where we’re going,’ says Elizabeth, and sets off towards the seafront.
‘You’re so infuriating,’ says Joyce, setting off behind her.
‘I know,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I honestly can’t help it. I have tried.’
The shops peter out, and they find themselves on a familiar route. They pass the rows and rows of lock-up garages. They pass Le Pont Noir. Elizabeth striding, Joyce hurrying to keep up.
‘Are we going back to the train station?’ asks Joyce.
‘By George, I think she’s got it,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Why are we going to the station?’ But Elizabeth is hurrying ahead.
The walk continues, until they find themselves inside Fairhaven train station. No need to follow the signs this time. They stop at the Left Luggage Office and the receptionist takes off her headphones and smiles.
‘Welcome back!’
‘Thank you,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Do you need anything?’
‘No, thank you, dear,’ says Elizabeth, and holds up the key to locker 531.
Elizabeth and Joyce enter the rows of lockers, and Elizabeth stops by the first one.
She takes something out of her handbag, and passes it to Joyce. It is the locket that Douglas gave her.
‘You found something in the locket?’ asks Joyce. ‘Is that why we’re back here?’
Elizabeth holds up a finger to stop her. ‘Joyce, you solved this for me.’
‘Oh, good,’ says Joyce.
‘Well, you and Bogdan.’
‘I don’t mind sharing with Bogdan,’ says Joyce.
‘You worked out that Poppy overheard my conversation with Douglas. Which made me really think about the conversation. I’ve told you, there’s never a word out of place with Douglas. He is meticulous. Even in our wedding vows I noticed he put the slightest question mark after “I do”.’
‘Ooh,’ says Joyce.
‘When we were by the tree, he reminded me of a dead-letter drop we had had in East Berlin, only, you see, the dead-letter drop was in West Berlin. I put it down to old age. It hits men harder, as we know.’
‘But it wasn’t old age?’
‘Open the locket, and what do you see?’
Joyce opens the locket. ‘Nothing, just the mirror.’
‘Just the mirror, precisely. The worthless mirror that Douglas was so keen to give me. But what does a mirror do? It turns East Berlin into West Berlin. It turns NIKE into EKIN. And?’ Elizabeth holds up the key.
Joyce almost squeals. ‘It turns 531 into 135!’
Elizabeth nods, and motions along the line of lockers. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’
Joyce follows behind her. ‘No, you.’
They reach locker 135, and Elizabeth slides the key into the lock. It is a perfect fit. She turns it, and the door swings open. Inside is a blue velvet bag, with a drawstring around the top. Elizabeth motions for Joyce to take it. Joyce lifts the bag and loosens the drawstring.
Diamonds sparkle inside. Thirty or so. Big ones.
She was wearing exactly the right cardigan.
‘You’re holding twenty million pounds, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Slip it into your bag, will you? And promise not to get mugged on the way back to the minibus.’
Elizabeth reaches into the locker again and pulls out a note. It is from Douglas. She reads it, then shows it to Joyce.
Darling Elizabeth,
So you found them? Sorry for the wild goose chase, but it was fun, no? Did you get it from East Berlin, or did you need the mirror? Belt and braces, I know. I didn’t want to make it too easy, but I wanted to make sure you would get there eventually. I hope you didn’t go down to the cottage in Rye? They built a bypass through it years ago.
In any event, congratulations. Aren’t they beautiful? What will you do with them? You really should keep them. Go on, you know you want to?
On a slightly more sombre note, it goes without saying that if you’ve found this note then I am dead. So it is swings and roundabouts, isn’t it? Though life is always swings and roundabouts, so I don’t see why death should be any different.
I wonder if I’ll be heading upstairs? I doubt it, don’t you?
I will love you always,
Douglas
Joyce hands the letter back to Elizabeth. Elizabeth folds it up and returns it to the locker. Joyce looks down into her bag, at the diamonds. They are tucked away under a Kate Atkinson.
‘So what are we going to do with the diamonds?’ she asks. ‘I don’t suppose we could just keep them?’
Elizabeth slips her arm through the arm of her friend. ‘We’re going to use them as bait to catch Poppy and Siobhan.’
Joyce nods. ‘It will be nice to see Poppy again, even if she murdered Douglas.’
‘And maybe bait for a few more people who deserve catching, too,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Perhaps we could just keep one or two of the diamonds?’ says Joyce. ‘I don’t think anyone would notice?’
‘I think,’ says Elizabeth, ‘that we need to convene an emergency meeting of the Thursday Murder Club.’
‘Wonderful,’ says Joyce. ‘I’m sorry I was angry earlier.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I’m infuriating.’
Joyce smiles. ‘You certainly are. Would you like a flapjack?’
‘Finally,’ says Elizabeth.
68
Donna is drinking whisky on Chris’s sofa. They have just been watching Succession, her favourite show. Billions of pounds, family rows, people in and out of helicopters every five minutes. She could handle a bit of that. Chris has never seen it, because he is nearly fifty-two, and never watches anything new unless he is forced to. She knows he would happily watch repeats of The Inbetweeners and Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares until the day he dies.
Chris is currently on FaceTime with her mum.
‘Wish you were here, Patsy,’ he is saying.
Patsy? Christ! Also, ‘Wish you were here’? My company not up to scratch?
Patrice replies, ‘I’m coming down on Sunday, Big Bear.’
Donna can’t help but smile. Let them enjoy themselves. The chat with Ibrahim has done her good. Life was not running away from her. Just the opposite, she was running away from life. So onwards and upwards. All that nonsense.
There is a ring on her mum’s doorbell and she says, ‘Hold on, gorgeous, let me get that.
’
‘Leave it,’ says Chris quickly. Donna looks up. That doesn’t sound like him. But Patrice ignores him, of course; it runs in the family.
‘Leave it?’ asks Donna.
Chris dismisses her with his hand. ‘I was just enjoying chatting.’ His eyes flick back to the screen. Patrice is still not there.
Donna tilts her head. ‘Is something up?’
‘Stop being such a police officer, Donna,’ says Chris.
‘What a mentor you are,’ says Donna. ‘Every day I’m learning.’
Patrice is still not back. Chris starts to whistle. But his leg is jiggling up and down at speed. Something isn’t adding up here.
‘So did you enjoy Succession?’ Donna asks.
‘Yep, yep,’ says Chris, but his eyes don’t leave the empty screen. The top of a sofa, a dying pot plant and an old school photo of Donna with a missing front tooth.
‘You looking at an empty screen instead of me?’
‘Sorry,’ says Chris, and gives Donna the briefest of glances before looking back at his computer. What was going on here? Perhaps he’s in love? He’d better be.
‘You’re not hiding anyth–’
Donna is interrupted by the return of Patrice. ‘Sorry, dear, it was the Lib Dems at the door. I had to put them straight on tuition fees.’
Chris’s leg has stopped jiggling. And he has sucked his stomach in again.
Donna’s phone buzzes. A message from Elizabeth.
You are cordially invited to a meeting of the Thursday Murder Club, tomorrow at eleven in the Jigsaw Room. I recommend attendance.
69
Chris could live without this. Two spies had been shot. Or one spy had been shot by another spy. Or no spies had been shot, and the whole thing was one big magic trick? But, whatever the truth of it, it wasn’t something he could get involved with. He could catch and handcuff the killer himself, but no one would ever get to hear about it. This was one for the Security Services.
It was interesting, sure, murder and diamonds, and if he was in a better place he could enjoy it. But all he can think about is Connie Johnson. Connie Johnson and Patrice. When Patrice’s doorbell rang last night, he had feared the worst. And had hid it badly from Donna. Perhaps Ron and Bogdan could work a miracle?
But here he is regardless. Out of politeness. In the Jigsaw Room, with the Thursday Murder Club in full flow.
Dominating the room are three huge boards, each covered in a sheet of perspex. Beneath the perspex sit half-finished jigsaws of The Haywain, Sydney Opera House at Sunset and a 2,000-piece puzzle of the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana. So far only the borders of that jigsaw, and the eyes of the happy couple have been completed. During the opening pleasantries, Chris had been looking into Diana’s eyes. The future was there for all to see. Poor Diana, he thought, I hope you had a bit of fun along the way.
But now Elizabeth has dropped the bombshell, and she has Chris’s full attention.
‘So you have twenty million pounds’ worth of diamonds?’ asks Chris Hudson. ‘In your possession?’
‘Yes, give or take,’ says Elizabeth.
‘And where are they?’ asks Donna.
‘Never you mind where they are,’ says Elizabeth.
‘They’re in my kettle,’ says Joyce.
‘Do your spy friends know you’ve got them?’ asks Chris.
‘Not yet,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I’ll tell them, but I need a plan in place first. I thought you could help?’
‘If we help, can I see the diamonds?’ asks Donna.
‘Of course, dear, I’m not a monster,’ says Elizabeth.
‘What can Donna and me do?’ asks Chris.
‘Donna and I,’ says Elizabeth. ‘If I tell you, you have to promise not to get angry.’
‘Oh, here we go again,’ says Chris.
‘I want to organize a meeting with the mafia. In Fairhaven.’
‘Of course you do,’ says Chris. ‘Any reason? Or was bridge cancelled and you had a slot in your diary?’
‘You know I don’t like humour, Chris,’ says Elizabeth.
‘We want to drag Poppy out of hiding,’ says Joyce. ‘Get her to break cover.’
‘She’ll still be looking for the diamonds,’ says Elizabeth. ‘So she’ll be keeping track of me somehow. Or she’ll be keeping track of Sue Reardon, or Martin Lomax. So I want us all together in the same place, with the diamonds. Monday afternoon. Say threeish?’
‘I don’t understand what you need from Donna and I?’ says Chris.
‘From Donna and me, this time,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I need you outside, keeping those keen eyes peeled for Poppy.’
‘None of this is my business, Elizabeth,’ says Chris. ‘I can’t just suddenly get involved. Donna, back me up. It’s not our case.’
Donna agrees. ‘The killings are not our case, Martin Lomax isn’t our case, the mafia’s not our case. Unfortunately. I’d love it if the mafia was my case.’
‘And even if we were there,’ says Chris. ‘What’s your plan while we’re waiting outside? Give a load of diamonds to the mafia?’
‘I haven’t worked out that bit of my plan yet,’ says Elizabeth. ‘But I will.’
‘You can be sure she will,’ says Ibrahim.
‘Sorry,’ says Chris. ‘I’ve done all sorts for you, and I’ve always wondered where I’d draw the line. And I think that line might be keeping watch as you hand over twenty million pounds to the largest crime syndicate in the world.’
They are at an impasse. Until Ron clears his throat.
‘I’ve got a suggestion. A good one, if anyone’s interested?’
‘Ron, I love you dearly,’ says Elizabeth. ‘But are you sure it’s a good one?’
‘I was just thinking,’ says Ron. ‘Seeing as it’s not Chris’s case. Why don’t we make it Chris’s case?’
‘This does actually sound like it might be good,’ says Joyce to Elizabeth.
‘Chris,’ says Ron. ‘You and Donna have been chasing that drug dealer, haven’t you? The woman?’
‘Connie Johnson?’ says Donna.
‘Is that the one? Yeah, I don’t know nothing about her,’ says Ron. ‘But it’s your case, right?’
‘It is,’ says Chris.
‘Well, what about we get her involved? We tell her we’re some big gang, down from London. Tell her we’ve got a diamond trade set up with the mafia. We’ve got a meeting locally, and we’ve heard good things. Does she fancy getting involved?’
Chris could kiss Ron. He won’t but he could.
‘So Sue and Lance and that mob can swoop and catch Lomax and the mafia geezer. And you and Donna can catch the woman. Remind me of her name again?’
‘Connie Johnson, Ron,’ says Chris. Actually, he will kiss him. First chance he gets.
‘If you say so,’ says Ron. ‘What do you reckon?’
Chris looks at Donna. ‘If we got a tip-off that Connie Johnson was doing a deal. And we had a time and a place? We’d go and investigate, wouldn’t we?’
‘We’d pay it a visit, I reckon,’ says Donna.
‘Ron,’ says Elizabeth. ‘This isn’t bad at all. But how do we convince Connie Johnson that we’re a big London gang?’
Ron motions to himself, offended. ‘I just show up, don’t I? Whack on a suit. Tell ’em I’m Billy Baxter or Jimmy Jackson, down from Camden. Flash the tattoos, flash the diamonds.’
‘Hmmm,’ says Elizabeth.
‘I’m not sure that gangsters have Chairman Mao tattoos,’ says Joyce.
‘All right, I’ll take Bogdan with me,’ says Ron.
‘Well, this is beginning to feel like a plan,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We’ll go and pick up Frank Andrade from Farnborough airport on Monday morning, tell him the good news, we have the diamonds, do come with us. We’ll get Lance to bring Lomax down with him. Get them all over here to meet Connie Johnson. We’ll have Sue listening in a truck, and, no doubt, Poppy loitering nearby. Everybody gets arrested, everybody gets medals, and we’re home in time
for Eggheads. Where should we have the meeting? I need somewhere we can control. Somewhere without escape routes?’
Donna pipes up. ‘There’s a manager’s office above the arcade at the end of the pier. I had to visit it once because of all the underage kids on the machines. The manager tried to bribe me with a grand in 10ps.’
‘The end of the pier sounds perfect,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Oh, and Ibrahim, I’m going to need you to drive us up to Farnborough and back.’
‘Not on Monday,’ says Ibrahim, shaking his head. ‘My ribs, and my eyesight. Maybe in a few weeks. I would love to, but I’m afraid I can’t.’
Donna looks at Ibrahim. ‘I think you probably can, though. Don’t you? Just a little mountain?’
Ibrahim thinks. Then shakes his head at her and mouths ‘sorry’. Chris looks at Donna. What was that about?
‘Splendid,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Everyone has a job to do.’
‘Except Joyce,’ says Ibrahim.
Joyce smiles. ‘Oh, I have a job to do. A secret for now though. Ron, do you fancy walking me over to mine afterwards? I have an idea for you. And, Donna, why don’t you wander over with us too, and I can show you the diamonds before you head off?’
70
Joyce
I didn’t want to say I had found Ryan Baird in front of everyone. Least of all Ibrahim, who doesn’t even know he’s missing.
I had the file that Poppy had given us, all of Ryan Baird’s information, big photo, and lots of details, and I had been looking through it, trying to find a bit of inspiration.
Can I say, by the way, that Poppy had put a Post-it note on the front of the file, and had put a little kiss and a smiley face on that Post-it note? And I just wonder if that’s really the sort of thing a murderer would do?
Perhaps cold-blooded murderers are endlessly drawing smiley faces on Post-it notes? I was going to say I don’t really know any murderers, but of course I do these days.
I know we can all pretend to be all sorts of things. Gerry once pretended to be Dutch when we were camping in the Dordogne. He did the accent and everything. That was just for a bit of fun, to make me laugh, he wasn’t planning on shooting anyone.
The Man Who Died Twice (The Thursday Murder Club) Page 25
