‘You even thought Douglas had faked it at first, didn’t you?’ laughs Sue. ‘That was a delightful surprise. Not my plan at all, but I was happy enough to go along with you for a few days. You were my useful idiot, Elizabeth, if you don’t mind me saying?’
Elizabeth tries to take her mind off the ambulances, their sirens now faint in the distance. ‘Siobhan comes back to you, empty-handed. The next day you enter the safe house on St Albans Avenue. You shoot Poppy first, I’m guessing?’
‘Correct,’ says Sue. ‘A shame, but needs must sometimes. She’d seen the letter.’
‘And helpful in encouraging Douglas to let you know where the diamonds were? What did he tell you? Before you shot him? He obviously didn’t let on?’
‘He just said, “Stick close to Elizabeth, she’ll find them.” I thought that sounded true enough, and the best I was going to get, so I shot him.’
‘And you did stick close to me, I’ll give you that.’
‘And you did find them. So thank you,’ says Sue. ‘As I say, a useful idiot. I’ll be out of your hair very soon, I promise.’
The van pulls to a halt. Sue puts her gun hand into her handbag, but keeps the gun pointing at Elizabeth. The driver opens the back doors.
‘After you, ladies,’ says Sue, and the driver helps Elizabeth and Joyce climb down. Sue follows, needing no help.
‘We won’t be long,’ says Sue to the driver. ‘Just need to spend a penny.’
It is 5 p.m. The sky is darkening, and lights are coming on across Coopers Chase. The normal business of a normal day. Quizzes on the TV, books being read, grandchildren on the phone, a few tardy birds flying to their roosts. Elizabeth sees Colin Clemence taking in a garden chair from his patio. Miranda Scott from Wordsworth Court is posting a letter. She enters competitions, and last year won a lifetime’s supply of washing powder. Persil must have rubbed their hands with glee when they discovered she was ninety-two.
All is quiet in this happy place. Another day done, family safe and sound, curtains closed and heating on. Nothing you’ll ever see on the news, but something you should really pay more attention to, just the gentle hum of contentment.
Take a look out of the window, and there is nothing to see except two old women taking an evening stroll together. It’s Joyce and Elizabeth, isn’t it? Thick as thieves, those two. There is a younger woman walking a few steps behind. Heading over to Joyce’s, I think.
‘As soon as the shooting on the pier had finished, I was on the phone,’ says Sue. ‘Three men Martin Lomax put me in touch with a while ago. Men who could do a few jobs off the books. Ex-special forces, armed to the teeth. They were standing by, so I sent them straight here with Siobhan. I knew someone would know where the diamonds were. Your friend with the broken ribs, or that husband of yours, Elizabeth. Though from what I read you could tell him anything and he wouldn’t remember. Poor thing.’ She sees Elizabeth stiffen in front of her and she smiles.
‘My God, this was harder than it was supposed to be. “The perfect crime,” Douglas had said to me. No victims. How many deaths now? Five? Although we all heard the ambulances, so who knows? Maybe a couple more.’
Elizabeth’s phone starts ringing in her bag.
‘Don’t touch it,’ says Sue.
Elizabeth does as she is told. But she doesn’t need to touch it. She has recognized the personalized ringtone.
They reach the front door of Joyce’s building. Elizabeth looks up at her best friend’s window. The curtains are shut. They were not shut when she picked Joyce up this morning. Joyce keys in her security code and the three women enter the building.
The lift doors are directly in front of them. Elizabeth presses the button and the doors open. Sue Reardon smiles.
‘If you try anything in that lift, I’ve got three armed men upstairs.’
‘We’ve given up, Sue,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Don’t you get it? Just get your diamonds and go.’
The doors close and the lift jolts upwards. Sue stands behind Joyce and Elizabeth, the gun at their backs. As the lift doors open on the first floor, her view is obscured.
‘Joyce, hit the ground!’ shouts Elizabeth.
Elizabeth and Joyce throw themselves to the floor, giving Bogdan a clear shot. He hits Sue exactly where he aims, through the shoulder. Sue drops her bag and her gun, her eyes wide in surprise.
Bogdan kicks Sue’s gun away, then helps Joyce and Elizabeth to their feet.
‘Come in,’ says Bogdan. ‘I’ve put the kettle on.’
78
‘You’ve never seen anything like it,’ says Stephen, sitting on Joyce’s sofa. ‘I was having forty winks in my chair, when I hear a noise. I open my eyes. Three fellas pointing guns at my head. “Hold your horses,” I say, “what’s this about? I’m imagining you’re looking for Elizabeth?” You know, all dressed in black, guns and what have you. “Not a bit of it,” says the fellow in the middle. “Tell us where the diamonds are.”’
He is interrupted by a low moan. Joyce is tending to Sue Reardon’s shoulder while she sits on a kitchen chair.
‘Stop moaning, you big baby,’ says Joyce, tightening a bandage.
‘So I play the innocent Frenchman as it were, “What diamonds?” all this caper, and they don’t like it one bit. Then madam here …’ Stephen nods to another kitchen chair, where Siobhan sits, hands tied behind her, ‘walks in, friendly as you like, “Just tell us, Stephen, tell us and we’ll be on our way.” Anyway, I stall for time, I couldn’t remember where you’d gone, Elizabeth, but perhaps you’d be getting back soon. So here’s me, “Oh, I don’t know about diamonds, I’m afraid, not my area, you need the boss, she’ll be back presently,” and this lady – I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name?’
‘Siobhan,’ says Siobhan.
‘Beautiful name. She’s saying, “Elizabeth won’t be back any time soon, and she won’t be back at all if we don’t get the diamonds.” Well, I think, then you don’t know Elizabeth like I know Elizabeth. One thing you can rely on with Elizabeth is she’ll be back. Never let me down yet.’
‘Never will, darling,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Tensions start to run high. “Where are the diamonds?” “What diamonds?” A couple of the fellows start ripping the place apart. Becoming a regular occurrence eh, dear?’
‘Not even worth tidying the drawers these days,’ agrees Elizabeth.
‘And then I hear a key in the lock and think, well, here she is, but the door opens and it’s the man himself.’ Stephen motions over to the figure in the corner of the room.
‘Ron had gone home to watch snooker and I thought Stephen would like to hear about the shootings,’ says Bogdan.
‘Before you know it, the three chaps all have their guns pointing at Bogdan, the poor bugger, and I’m thinking, get out of this one then.’
Bogdan takes up the story. ‘Stephen says these guys are looking for the diamonds, and I say, “Well, you came to the right guy, follow me, they’re at Joyce’s. If I show you, I get to keep one?” and they look at Siobhan, and she’s like, sure. “So come with me, but hide the guns when we get out the front door, I don’t want you scaring the old people.” So they’re grumble, grumble, but OK, and out we go.’
‘Immediately, I hear the most terrific noise,’ says Stephen. ‘Twenty seconds or so. Then in walks Bogdan and asks me to give him a hand clearing up.’
Elizabeth: ‘So, the ambulances?’
‘That was the three guys, yes,’ says Bogdan. ‘So I say to Siobhan, look, who’s behind all this, and she’s looking at the guys with the guns on the floor, and thinks maybe she should tell the truth. She says she works with Sue, OK, I get it. So I say send message to Sue, tell her you have the diamonds. “Where shall I say they are?” she says. And I don’t know, so I look at Stephen.’
‘And I say, “Tell her the truth,” no reason not to. “They’re in Joyce’s microwave.”’
Elizabeth looks over at Sue. ‘I hope that’s agony, dear.’
‘We had a good l
augh about it, didn’t we, Elizabeth?’ Stephen continues. ‘She had to move them because she kept forgetting, and making cups of tea.’
‘Oh, I’m the figure of fun now?’ says Joyce. But she is smiling.
‘The ambulances came, they had a lot of questions, understandably.’
‘I told them to talk to Chris Hudson,’ says Bogdan. ‘He owes me a favour.’
‘Oh, does he?’ says Elizabeth.
‘And then we toddled over to Joyce’s to wait for you.’
‘I saw you through the curtains,’ says Bogdan. ‘Gave you a ring to let you know I was here. Then I shot Sue.’
‘And that’s us up to date,’ says Stephen.
Elizabeth walks over to Joyce’s microwave and pulls out a green felt bag. It was usually full of Scrabble tiles, but now is full of diamonds. She pours them onto the kitchen table in front of Sue Reardon.
‘Here you are, Sue. This is what it was all for. Poppy, Douglas, Andrew Hastings. Lomax, Frank Andrade. And this is the closest you’ll ever get.’
‘To be fair,’ calls Joyce from the sofa, ‘Martin Lomax and Frank Andrade weren’t really Sue’s fault. That was you.’
Elizabeth nods, conceding the point. She turns to Siobhan.
‘And how did you get roped in, Siobhan? What’s your connection here?’
‘I’m easily led,’ says Siobhan. ‘Always have been. And it’s not really Siobhan. It’s Sally, Sally Montague, if you remember that name?’
Douglas’s three exes. United.
Sue Reardon groans again, a guttural cry. ‘Please, I need to go to the hospital.’
‘I think Bogdan might have used up all the ambulances,’ says Elizabeth.
‘We’ll give it a couple of hours,’ says Joyce. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t die. It’ll be much more fun to see you in prison. Would you like some painkillers?’
‘Yes, please,’ says Sue, the anguish etched onto her face.
‘Shame,’ says Joyce. ‘I don’t have any.’
79
Patrice looks at the clock, sighs and pours herself another glass of wine.
Nine thirty, dark outside, and she is only halfway through marking the Jane Austen homework. She thinks about Chris. She thinks about him more and more these days. Patrice has fallen in love before, and this is beginning to show all the signs. That might just be the wine and the Jane Austen though.
She has always worried about Donna’s work, and now she worries about Chris’s too. Is that something she could get over? At least they are both in Fairhaven. That felt safer than London. How much trouble could there be in Fairhaven?
There were schools down there, weren’t there? Of course there were, Patrice, you idiot, there are schools everywhere. What even made you think about it? It’s not like you’re going to be moving down there or anything.
She had felt safe and happy there during half term. Safe with Chris, and with Donna nearby. Happy with Chris, and with Donna nearby. They both feel a long way away now, as she sits alone in the house. But the weekend? At the weekend she is driving down to see them.
She thinks about ringing Chris. Maybe tell him how much she’s been thinking about him? Maybe. Or perhaps just tell him tomorrow? When she’d had less to drink? Yes. There are certain steps you take in life that you can’t easily turn back from. So take them with care. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself.
Patrice smiles. How could she ever make a fool of herself in front of Chris? She will ring him. She’ll mark three more essays, then she’ll ring Chris as her treat. She will be slurring her words a little bit, but if you slur your words with a man you can get away with saying anything. Maybe she will mention Jane Austen, and see where that leads? It will be nice to hear his voice. Do they have darts on TV on Mondays? If they do she is sure that’s what he’ll be watching.
There is a noise on the street outside. Probably foxes.
She picks up the next essay on the pile. Ben Adams. Patrice suspects that Ben hasn’t read a single word of Sense & Sensibility. She also suspects he has watched the film instead, mainly because at one point he accidentally calls Elinor Dashwood ‘Emma Thompson’. Nice try, kid. Oh God, this is going to take her for ever.
Patrice has said it so many times, marking will be the death of her.
As she picks up the next essay, she hears a knock at the door. Another glance at the clock. That’s late.
Patrice knows she should probably ignore it. But perhaps it’s a neighbour needing something. And she’ll do anything to leave the marking alone for a moment.
Patrice walks down the hallway, glass of wine still in hand. Donna has told her a hundred times to get deadlocks, to get peepholes, ‘Never answer your door to strangers, Mum.’ How old did she think Patrice was? Patrice will get peepholes and deadlocks when she’s older. Patrice isn’t even fifty, and she’s not going to be frightened in her own home. It’s nice that Donna cares, but Patrice can look after herself, thank you very much. She should ring Donna too. She’s been a little down. So, ring Chris, then ring her little girl. Or ring her little girl first?
Patrice puts her wine down on the hall table and gives her hair a quick check. She nods her approval. You should always look your best, whoever’s at the door.
The knock comes again, a little more insistent. All right, all right. Patrice flicks up the latch and pulls the door open.
Her mouth falls open, marking forgotten, wine forgotten, hair forgotten.
It is not a neighbour. She tries to compute, but there is no time.
‘Look,’ says Chris, standing on her doorstep, flowers in his hand and tears on his cheek. ‘I know it’s late, but it couldn’t wait. I can’t go another minute without telling you. I’m in love with you. I’m sorry if that’s stupid.’
Patrice tries to think of something to say. She is so pleased she checked her hair. What would Jane Austen say?
‘Can I come in?’ Chris asks.
‘Yes, my darling. Yes, you can come in,’ she says. Patrice takes her wine from the hall table and reaches out her hand to lead Chris inside.
That will do just fine.
80
‘I just thought I would come in and have a freshen up,’ says Joyce. ‘I’ll put the hoover round, and a bit of Mr Sheen. I won’t go anywhere near your bits and bobs.’
‘Thank you, Joyce,’ says Ibrahim, sipping his tea. ‘I’m sorry to miss all the fun yesterday.’
‘I’ll fill you in, don’t worry.’
‘Ron is fuming that he missed it,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Especially as Siobhan was there.’
‘It won’t do Ron any harm to keep it in his pants for now,’ says Joyce, dusting the sideboard. ‘How are you feeling? In yourself?’
Ibrahim slides back into his armchair. He gives a small smile and a shrug.
Joyce nods and gets to work. ‘I need your help today.’
‘I’m sorry, Joyce, I can’t. Not today.’
‘You don’t even know what I want yet.’
Ibrahim laughs. ‘Of course I do. It’s the first day of peace we’ve had for weeks, Joyce. You want me to drive you to the animal rescue centre? To pick up your dog?’
‘Well, yes, please, that is what I’d like. Why don’t you finish your tea, and we can head off? Lovely drive?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘You seem to think I might take no for an answer?’ says Joyce. ‘How long have you known me?’
Ibrahim leans forward and puts his tea back down on the low table. ‘Joyce, look at me.’
Joyce puts down her duster and does just that.
‘I know what you are trying to do, and I am moved that you are trying. You know I am frightened, you know I don’t want to leave this flat, and I certainly don’t want to leave this village. You know that is unhealthy, and you want to look after me. You are too clever to come over and tell me to pull myself together. You know I am in too many pieces for that. And so your tactic is different, your tactic is cleverer. “Ibrahim, please help me,” is your tactic.
“Ibrahim, I need you.” But, Joyce, you don’t need to go to the rescue centre today, Alan isn’t going anywhere, I’ve seen his picture, you are the only person in the world who would choose him. And when you do go to the rescue centre you won’t need me to drive you. Get a taxi, or get someone else to drive you. Gordon Playfair has a Land Rover, which would be perfect for dog transportation. Your kindness is welcome but it is transparent. I am not leaving this village again. I have made my peace with that.’
Joyce nods.
‘You read people very well, Joyce, don’t think I don’t spot that. I see how you do it too, coercion through kindness. But understand this. Behind me, in these files, there are people I couldn’t help, people beyond reach, problems I couldn’t fix, whichever way I twisted and turned. You like to fix things, too, Joyce. You can’t bear it when something is out of place. And so you come in, and you smile, and I know your affection for me is genuine, and you ask me to drive you to the animal rescue centre. How could I resist? And before you know it I’m back behind the wheel of that car, I’m outside the village, and I’m soon surrounded by lost, stray dogs and, while I don’t like dogs – quite the opposite – I am sure to feel a kinship with these animals lost and alone. Lost and alone and waiting for Joyce to make things better. It is a terrific plan, you are a very good and clever friend. But, and I need you to really listen to this, it’s not going to happen. I am too scared. There are times when a wise man admits defeat, and I hope you agree I am a wise man. I have many certificates. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, but, just for once, Joyce, this is a problem you cannot fix.’
Ibrahim leans back in his chair.
‘I understand,’ nods Joyce, and places the duster over her shoulder. ‘I wonder, though, if I might just say this …’
Around forty-five minutes later Joyce spies the first sign for the animal rescue centre and Ibrahim takes the exit.
The Man Who Died Twice (The Thursday Murder Club) Page 29
