Mirror Mirror: A shatteringly powerful page-turner

by Nick Louth

  At the sound of the car doors, she looked in the mirror. Two policemen with flat caps and high vis jackets had emerged from the patrol car and were walking along the road towards her. All she had to do was squeeze.

  She squeezed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  DAY ZERO

  Virgil was invited to stay that night with Ram Dipani’s family. He was given his own luxurious room, while Mira and Ram, who was just back from New York, were allocated separate rooms under the watchful eye of Mrs Dipani. The family matriarch was also a qualified doctor and insisted on overseeing the application of more cream on Virgil’s face and neck and an inspection of the dressing. ‘At least you can afford to relax a bit now,’ she told him. ‘You’ve done your job very well.’

  Certainly the hardest part was over. At the suggestion of the police, Mira had agreed to drop out of tomorrow’s planned trip to visit injured servicemen with Prince Harry. The required security would have just been too onerous, and it was increasingly clear that Mira herself was exhausted. Instead, Ram had suggested to Mira that they bring forward their flight to Mumbai by a week. They would leave in the morning, for the month’s rest and relaxation that she desperately needed. Virgil wasn’t going, but he was confident they would be safe. After a few days in Mumbai they would head off by train to a country estate in the hills owned by Ram’s uncle. No one outside the immediate family knew exactly where they were going and when they returned, Mordant would almost certainly have been caught and locked up again.

  Virgil just had to get Mira safely through one more night. On their return from Essex at eight o’clock he had familiarised himself with all the door alarms, had gone up to the roof terrace and had the intruder detection systems there explained to him by Ram. There were two uniformed Special Branch officers outside the front door, and an armed response vehicle stationed in the square. Two officers would remain overnight. Mira was about as secure as she could be. From behind net curtains Virgil scrutinised the twenty or so journalists and the dozens of onlookers who had gathered outside. There were a few familiar faces from TV, but no sign of Mordant.

  It was Mira’s state of mind that concerned Virgil most. In the car back from the hospital she had spent most of the time on her phone, or just staring out of the window and looking self-indulgently miserable. Perhaps he was being a little unfair to her. She had been so stoical through all the stalking, the bleach-throwing and the death of Kelly. But she wasn’t now. She looked thin and tired, a normal look for many washed-out catwalk models, but never for her. Her face was her fortune, and she had always exuded vitality.

  After rechecking the doors and windows, Virgil turned in just after eleven, his own face sensitive and throbbing. He awoke shortly after midnight, when he heard a door bang and then some sobbing. Mira’s voice. He was already halfway out of bed and reaching for his tracksuit before he heard the voices of Ram Dipani and his mother attempting to calm her. A little later there was more noise, and what sounded like an argument between Mira and Ram. Finally Virgil managed to get back to sleep, though the dressing on his eye was uncomfortable. In his dreams he roamed through Helmand. It was night, a cold, still, starry night, and there was an ugly cinderblock town in the distance. Grey smoke billowed from behind a building half a mile away, flame-flushed orange from below. He could see the remains of a vehicle beyond. In his heart he knew it was the blazing personnel carrier with his oppos in. He had to get there. Then he realised he had no boots and the ground was covered in broken glass. A click near his head made him start. Taliban, behind him! He murmured something, and then awoke.

  ‘Shhh.’ There was someone in the room. For a moment he was unsure where he was. ‘Shhh. Don’t make a sound.’ The voice was familiar. There was a gradual weight on the double bed. It was Mira.

  ‘What’s up?’ Virgil whispered. ‘Has something happened?’ She didn’t reply, but eased the duvet up and slid in next to him. The bed gave an ominous low squeak.

  ‘I’m frightened,’ she whispered. She was wearing pyjamas, and he could feel her warmth as she brought her mouth up to his ear. His body, clad only in a pair of boxers, started to awaken very rapidly and he caught his own sharp intake of breath.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me snuggling up.’ Her breath was warm and minty.

  God, how could I mind? ‘Is it Mordant you are frightened about?’ Virgil asked.

  He felt her head nod against his neck in the darkness. ‘I had a nightmare about him. I can’t go to Ram’s room because his bloody mother is on patrol.’ She laughed, gently. ‘So I’ve come to yours.’

  ‘I’ll always protect you, you know that. It’s my job and I take it very seriously.’

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’re very sweet, but I don’t think you can save me.

  Did you know Ram’s got a gun now?’ she said. ‘He says we’d better have one in case Mordant gets in.’

  ‘He’s not going to get in, believe me,’ Virgil said. ‘And I’d be a bit concerned if Ram’s got himself an illegal weapon and hasn’t had any training.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m worried about, Virgil. I’m worried about me. I’ve made mistakes that are coming back to haunt me,’ she whispered. She ran her hand across his chest. Her body was hot against his side.

  ‘What things have you done?’ Virgil had a lump in his throat almost as hard as the one between his thighs.

  ‘I’m so selfish. I wanted Lawrence to be hurt, and I didn’t care about Kelly.’ There was a catch in her throat, as if she was about to cry. ‘I let her run around after me, and ignored her, and let her open my post. She died opening my post. And the whole time I just thought about myself.’

  ‘That parcel wasn’t addressed to you,’ Virgil whispered. ‘It was addressed to me. Kelly told me. Mordant wanted me out of the way. So if anyone should feel guilty, it’s me.’

  Mira sobbed. ‘I’ve no time left, Virgil. No one can help me.’

  ‘I can help you. But you have to be honest with me. The website, you know what it is, don’t you? Countdown to a wedding. Why else would he send you a dress? And this woman, Dawn Evans, knew about it. It all adds up.’

  ‘Virgil. I’ve been meaning to tell you something. It’s awful, but I have to confess to someone. It’s eating me alive.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can, so long as you tell me the truth.’

  ‘It’s an absolute secret. You cannot ever tell anyone,’ she whispered, caressing his face.

  ‘Okay. I promise.’

  ‘I know William Mordant. From years ago. He was called Mr Peirce, and he turned up one day as an art teacher at my school in Clitheroe. He was absolutely gorgeous. Even though I was only thirteen, and very shy, secretly I fancied him as much as all the other girls did. I was plain, spotty and a bit goofy until I had my teeth fixed. I was also being bullied by these three girls; hateful, mean bitches. He reassured me, he nurtured me. He saw something in me that no one else did, and I sat for him for a couple of drawings. I loved it!’

  She ran her hand gently down Virgil’s hairless chest.

  ‘He gave me a couple of the drawings but made me promise not to show them to anyone. I still have one at home, and you saw the other in Mum’s room. He only stayed at the school a few weeks, I think he must have been a supply teacher. But one of the books he gave me had an address, a studio on an island in Venice. I asked him about it, and he said that he had been going to Murano every April for years. A few months after he left, our school had an educational trip to Venice, in April. It was expensive, but I begged my mother to let me go. Unfortunately the girls that hated me also went. They gave me a terrible time. I wagged off a museum visit and went to see him. I didn’t really expect him to be there, but he was. He was very sympathetic and I poured out my heart to him.’

  Mira laughed, a curious ironic tone. ‘This wonderful man is the same one who was convicted of dissolving those three girls with acid.’

  ‘I’d guessed something along those lines,’ Virgil whispered.

>   Mira closed her mouth over his ear. ‘But he didn’t kill them,’ she whispered. ‘They were already dead. It was a terrible accident.’ Then she breathed three more words in his ear.

  ‘I killed them.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  DAY ZERO

  There was movement in the corridor outside Virgil’s room, and they both fell silent. A moment later they heard Mrs Dipani’s slippered feet padding away. They lay still for two more minutes, until they were convinced the coast was clear. Mira seemed to have second thoughts about her confession. She refused to answer Virgil’s urgently whispered questions, and did not elaborate on her disclosure. She just slid out of bed and slipped quietly back to her room. Virgil lay awake half the night, wondering what to do. It hardly seemed credible that she could have been involved in such an awful event, yet she seemed utterly convincing.

  When he finally did sleep it was for a long time. It was after nine when he awoke. There was a tapping on the door, and Mrs Dipani came in with a cup of tea. ‘Our own blend of orange pekoe and Darjeeling,’ she said. ‘I think you’ll like it.’ She asked how his burns were feeling, and as he raised himself in bed, he realised they were quite sore.

  ‘You’re the only one I’m bothering to make it for. Ram is snoring away with jet lag, while Mira’s just gone out.’

  ‘Mira? Where to?’

  ‘She didn’t say.’

  As soon as Mrs Dipani left, Virgil leapt out of bed and got dressed. He rang Mira’s mobile but it went to voicemail. He left a message, knowing she wouldn’t call back. He now suspected what Mira was doing, and he was already too late to stop it. He knew he really should put some more burn cream on his face and neck, and should certainly have a shower, but he didn’t have time. He went to the lounge and peered out of one of the grand windows onto the beautiful square with its mature plane trees, just coming into bud. He saw the two policemen by the door, and a TV crew packing up their gear into a van. There was no sign of Mordant, but Virgil recognised Aaron and Jack, two young Mira fans. They were dressed as Qaeggan and hanging around by the railings on the square. The battered black Vauxhall Nova parked nearby confirmed they were the two who had been near Mira’s apartment in Battersea nearly two weeks ago. Besotted but harmless. Virgil descended the stairs to the front door, opened it and called to the two young uniformed policemen who were standing on the pavement.

  ‘Did you see Mira leave the house in the last few minutes?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir, just a couple of minutes ago. She left the underground car park driving a black Toyota people carrier.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to go with her?’

  ‘We offered, but she just said she was moving it to a less obvious location, and would be back in a few minutes,’ the other PC answered. His face betrayed the smear of boyish glee that a few words from Mira wiped on the countenance of any male.

  Virgil thanked them, went back into the house and rang Mira again. Voicemail. Ram emerged from his room in a silk dressing gown, looking every inch the Indian playboy. He saw Virgil’s agitated state and asked him where Mira was.

  ‘She’s driven off somewhere.’

  ‘But we’re going to Mumbai in two hours!’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she has other plans,’ said Virgil.

  ‘What plans, Mr Bliss?’

  ‘Did she mention a stalker?’

  ‘The footballer?’

  ‘No, someone a bit cleverer than Lawrence Wall.’ Virgil could see from Ram’s expression that Mira had kept him completely in the dark about William Mordant. The Indian sat down on an enormous damask-covered sofa, one of a pair that dominated the lounge. ‘You know, I thought it was odd that she asked for the underground car park keycard last night when we’ve already got a car booked to take us to the airport. Maybe she had some luggage to move…’

  ‘She didn’t take her Porsche. It was a people carrier.’

  ‘A black Toyota?’ asked Mrs Dipani, overhearing. ‘That’s mine. The cheeky little cat! Why didn’t she take her own car?’

  ‘A turquoise Porsche convertible is a lot more noticeable than yours,’ Virgil said, getting up and shrugging on his jacket. ‘And she doesn’t want to be followed. But I’ve got an idea. Ram, keep calling her phone. Ring me if you hear anything. And Mrs Dipani, why don’t you call the police and report your car stolen. We need all the help finding her we can get, and the Met might at least alert other forces.’

  ‘Tell her to be careful with my car,’ Mrs Dipani called after him, but he was already out of the door. She turned to her son: ‘See? I told you that nice girl from Hyderabad would suit you better, but did you listen to your own mummagee? No. You always know best, don’t you?’

  Ram shrugged, and turned the TV on, hoping to find some cricket.

  Virgil walked out into the square and up to the two Qaeggan. ‘Hi, remember me?’

  ‘Yeah, what happened to your face?’ said Aaron, the taller one, looking at the dressing over Virgil’s eye. He was wearing a food-stained Village of the Dead sweatshirt.

  ‘I had an argument with a bottle of bleach,’ Virgil said. ‘I’m actually Mira Roskova’s head of security…’

  ‘We guessed that,’ said Aaron.

  ‘…And now you’ve lost her, aintcha?’ said Jack, smirking. ‘She drove off a little while ago. In that direction.’ He pointed towards Buckingham Palace Road, and looked a little smug. ‘You won’t catch her now.’

  ‘Have you updated Qaegglog with it?’

  They looked suspiciously at him, and then at each other.

  ‘Look, I know you Qaeggan fans all share sightings of Mira,’ Virgil said, taking out his phone. He keyed in a website address, logged in and then read from the screen. ‘“7.37pm. Mira arrives at home of Indian boyfriend in Belgravia.” That’s from your friend Colin. “8.03am. Mira leaves in black Toyota Land Cruiser, alone, destination unknown. Aaron.” That is you, right?’

  ‘Yeah, that is me,’ Aaron said. ‘It’s not illegal. We only watch her in public places.’

  ‘I don’t approve, obviously, but I’ve got bigger worries, and I would really appreciate your help.’

  ‘How did you find out about it? And how did you get a password?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Let’s just say I’ve got a friendly little zombie mole.’ Virgil smiled as he thought of young Ellie, who for the price of a stuffed crust pizza had shown him exactly how to access Qaegglog, the shared private blogging platform of Mira’s hardcore fans. He was just thinking that it might not be a bad idea to ring her, when the phone screen updated.

  9.16am. Mira passes Hyde Park Corner. Car loaded with bags. LE.

  LE? Ellie! Was that her? Virgil showed the screen to Aaron. ‘Do you know Ellie McAllister? Is this her?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s probably her,’ said Jack. ‘She’s a real little fanatic.’

  Virgil wondered why she would be up at Hyde Park Corner on the off chance Mira would pass. It seemed a little unlikely. He dug up her details on his phone and texted her.

  Saw yr mira msg. whr ru?

  The reply took a few minutes.

  In her car under bags (lol!)

  Virgil was gobsmacked. Somehow, Ellie had smuggled herself into the very vehicle that Mira was driving. Getting into the underground car park in the square would have been easy enough, but slipping into the vehicle itself? Virgil guessed that Ellie had her phone on silent mode, so risked another text.

  Amazing! How u mng tht?

  The reply came.

  easy. slipd in whn she went to get last bag frm porsh. Hid undr blnkt. Bit puky. Eek!

  Can u c out wndow?

  No, but gogl maps on fone. Now in edgwr rd

  Ok. If u c mira with blond man William Mordant text me

  It looked like Mira might be heading out of London. Virgil was willing to take a chance on that. He went back into the house and found Ram watching Sri Lanka playing India in Colombo, and absent-mindedly checking his phone.

  ‘Ram, I really don’t t
hink Mira is coming back. That’s why she isn’t returning your calls.’

  He blinked at Virgil uncomprehendingly. ‘But we’re off to Mumbai. She wouldn’t want to miss that, surely?’

  ‘Do you have the keys to Mira’s Porsche?’

  ‘No. But I have my own car if you need to go somewhere.’

  ‘Ram, we have to rescue her. She’s heading into disaster. She’s got half an hour’s head start…’

  ‘Then let’s get a chopper. London Heliport’s in Battersea, and we can be there in twenty minutes,’ Ram said, suddenly galvanised. He picked up his phone, made a quick call, speaking rapidly to someone in another language. When he’d finished, he called down the stairs. ‘Mummagee, just going out. We’ll call, okay?’

  Half an hour later, Virgil and Ram were in a Bell Jet Ranger rented by Ram’s company, lifting off over a partially cloudy London skyline. The thudding two-bladed rotor blasted gunmetal crests on the sludge-coloured Thames as they began to climb high above Battersea. The Houses of Parliament and the London Eye were to the right, and the glinting pinnacles of the City’s skyscrapers beyond, away to the east. The pilot swung sharply to the north, over Fulham, then Hammersmith and Wembley. Ahead was the great loop of the M25, flecked with myriad crawling vehicles, and beyond that the M1, gateway to the Midlands and the North of England.

  * * *

  Leonard Lucifer Smith was feeling quite smug. He was on the M1 heading north towards home territory. Manchester. Grey, wet streets, friendly pubs, real people, his people, his family. He’d risked one call to the family on the stolen phone yesterday, as soon as he’d snatched it from the screws, then chucked it. His brother George had then set everything up in two hours flat: a safe house in Hounslow, West London, ready for him to switch wheels and get some shut-eye, a new phone, some overalls, a pair of scissors and a wet razor to get rid of the beard. Early next morning the rest had arrived: a plain white Ford Transit, fully legit, a pair of sunglasses to cover those frightening black eyes, and a big woolly hat that he could pull down over most of his tattooed face. After the best part of twenty years banged up, the temptation was to use the screws’ cash to buy himself a hot woman and some good beer. That, though, would have to wait. If Mordant had somehow kidnapped Mira Roskova, he owed it to Lawrence, who was still laid up in hospital, to nail the bastard before he got his wicked way.