Femme Fatale

by Dominic Piper

  I’m hoping that a good night’s sleep might have allowed some of yesterday’s information to form itself into some sort of logical and enlightening pattern. The first thing I think about is Footitt. Taken in isolation, his evening’s entertainment was nothing special, apart from maybe the lateness of that meeting in Yeoman’s Row, if a meeting it was. Perhaps it was a gentleman’s club or private drinking establishment of some sort. Did Footitt’s taste for risk extend to drink-driving in a car that conspicuous?

  But his pickup of the kid and the girl was interesting nonetheless. No matter how tenuously, that activity linked him to Friendly Face and Big Bastard in a way that was separate from all the Jamie Baldwin injury/hospital stuff. I don’t know what to call it: an interest in relatively unsavoury sexual activities, perhaps?

  Now you might not call Big Bastard getting his thong on, oiling himself up and holding Jamie Baldwin like they were engaged while Friendly Face destroyed his arm an unsavoury sexual activity per se, but it certainly isn’t ordinary behaviour and you could argue that it had deviant overtones.

  If you were in a situation where you were beating or torturing someone in their own home, even with a colleague present, it would be unnecessary and time-wasting at best. And, so far, pointless. I just can’t imagine why you would do something like that, unless you liked showing off your musclebound physique at every opportunity, no matter what the risk. You’d have to really need to do it. In which case, you’d certainly have psychiatric troubles. Could that be a link? Friendly Face and Big Bastard have psychiatric troubles and Footitt is a psychiatrist? Is he their psychiatrist?

  And now we have Friendly Face’s suggestion that Jamie and Paige be filmed having sex for, quite possibly, a third party’s pleasure. And then mentioning that if Jamie didn’t play ball she could be raped and disfigured. Now thinking up something like that is definitely in the unsavoury sexual activity ballpark, particularly when you mix it up with the aggression and threats.

  Whatever – all three have a strangeness in common that I’ve set my subconscious to work on while I think about the other stuff.

  Anouk leans over and flings her arm across my chest. ‘I’m not going to open my eyes,’ she purrs. ‘Do something. Anything.’

  ‘Is there something you had in mind?’

  ‘Mm. Perhaps that thing last night, you know?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure. Yes, I’m sure.’

  As if on cue, my mobile starts ringing. I reach down. I pick it up. I answer it. It’s Mr Sheng.

  ‘Hello?’ he says.

  ‘Hi. Daniel Beckett. How can I help you?’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Beckett. I do hope that this call is not too early for you.’

  Anouk climbs on top of me, brushing my chest with her breasts. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. She has a morning after stale perfume smell on her that I like.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I was just about to start my regular morning workout.’

  ‘Good, good. Please do not think I am checking up on you, Mr Beckett. Miss Chow has spoken very highly of your investigations so far. She told me that you have made good progress. Exemplary progress.’

  ‘I’ve been looking into Rikki’s personal affairs. I’m building up a picture of his life and who he was in contact with. I’ve already interviewed several people.’

  ‘Excellent! I had a feeling you would be a fast mover, so to speak. Oh. By the way, Miss Chow told me all about your evening together.’

  I certainly hope not.

  ‘I found her very useful, Mr Sheng. She has a lot of knowledge which I put to good use.’

  Anouk closes her eyes, smiles, open her mouth and sighs.

  ‘I’m sure. She is a very professional young woman. It’s just that she forgot to tell you that it is not only The City of Willows restaurant where your money will not be accepted from now on. There are forty-seven others. I have made a list of them for you. I have taken the liberty of putting crosses against the ones that I consider to be the best. There are nine.’

  Anouk places her hands on my shoulders. As slowly as possible, she rocks her hips to and fro while closing her eyes tightly, as if in pain.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Sheng. You should not have gone to all that trouble.’

  ‘It was no trouble at all. And Li-Fen has made you some more candies.’

  ‘Give her my thanks, but tell her I cannot accept such a gift.’

  I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘I will pass that on to her, Mr Beckett.’

  Anouk bites her lower lip, a look of intense concentration on her face. I can feel her trembling. Even though it’s still cool in here, droplets of perspiration are starting to appear on her forehead. She whispers something obscene in Dutch.

  ‘I’m sure you have heard this many times before from many people, Mr Beckett, but it must be such an exciting job being a private detective!’

  Anouk continues her slow rocking motion. Now she presses her body tightly against mine. I hope Mr Sheng can’t hear her harsh and uneven breathing.

  ‘It has its moments, Mr Sheng.’

  ‘You must do things that ordinary people do not do.’

  Anouk pushes herself up suddenly, her eyes heavy-lidded and unfocussed. She moans quietly to herself. That pained look hasn’t left her face.

  ‘That’s often the case, Mr Sheng. Well, I thank you for your call and the information, but I must leave you now. I have some important matters I have to attend to. I’m sure I shall be meeting you very soon with some good news.’

  ‘Of course. Good luck, Mr Beckett.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Sheng.’

  I click the mobile off, grab Anouk’s shoulders and flip her onto her back.

  *

  Paige McBride lives in a spacious three-bedroom flat in St John’s Wood Road, just across from Lord’s Cricket Ground. When I phoned her at eleven, she sounded a little odd. But of course there was a party last night for the end of her Bordello residency, so perhaps she was just a little hungover.

  She answers the door wearing a pink silk pyjama set, with long trousers and a loose, sexy top that’s prevented from falling open by a wide sash belt which accentuates her small waist. Very 1930s and very decadent. All she needs is a foot-long cigarette holder with a black Sobranie poking out of the end to complete the look. I want to tug the belt so the top falls open. I badly want to see what it looks like when she’s just wearing the pyjama trousers. She’s wearing no makeup, but she has one of those faces where there’s no point; it would only spoil things. She sees me smiling at her appearance.

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Very louche.’

  ‘It’s from my own range. Come in and I’ll tell you about it.’ She looks at the rolled up wall calendar under my arm. ‘Have you brought me a poster?’

  ‘Charlie XCX.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Thanks for the naked pic, by the way.’

  ‘Was that you I sent it to? I do it so often I lose track. It wasn’t one of the very crude ones, was it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Who were the other girls?’

  She laughs. ‘You should be so lucky, darling. Besides, I’ve deleted all of those.’

  Her fourth floor flat is mainly cream, beige and brown. It looks professionally done, rather like Rikki’s secret flat. There’s a big white marble fireplace with stone cats either side and there’s a row of modern gold candle holders on the mantelpiece. Above them is a large abstract print which I don’t recognise; wide orange and green semicircles, the paint continuing off the canvas and onto the frame.

  ‘It’s Howard Hodgkin,’ she says, noticing where I’m looking. ‘It’s called Lovers. Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘Please. Black with a dash of milk. No sugar.’

  I follow her into the kitchen. This, like the living room, looks like she’s had the interior designers in. White, roomy, loads of tech; there’s even a red leather sofa in the corner and a bookshelf fi
lled with cookery books. Big windows and a great view over Maida Vale. I sit down at a large, dark wood kitchen table and watch her as she makes the coffee. Her movements are measured and elegant and I think I might guess she was some sort of performer if I didn’t already know.

  She places two blue and white Marimekko coffee mugs on the table, then leaves the kitchen briefly, returning a moment later with a large red folder which she places in front of me.

  ‘That’s the Mademoiselle Véronique lingerie collection. All of the ideas are mine, but all the hard work was done by Adonay Robel. He’s a marvel. All you have to do is describe what’s in your head and he’s sketching straight away.’

  She heads towards the kitchen hob and starts making whatever it is we’re going to be eating. I flick through the pages. Paige is the model in all of them. It’s lingerie, corsets and loungewear. All have a slightly retro look to them, but that’s no surprise; it’s been the fashion for quite a few years now and is well-suited to her professional image.

  Wearing a variety of different wigs and appropriate makeup, she looks incredible in every shot, particularly the ones featuring the leather corsets. She has a fresh, youthful prettiness in the photographs that offsets any latent sleaziness. These look quality and so does she.

  ‘Anouk mentioned that you had your own clothes line,’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise it was this sort of thing.’

  ‘What did you expect? Big purple feathers and nipple tassels?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She places two plates on the table. Waffles with a dark chocolate sauce. They look delicious. I place the red folder back on the table and start eating.

  ‘Which is your favourite?’ she asks.

  ‘The black and red velvet corset that pinches your waist in and makes your hips look really wide.’

  She purses her lips and nods her head. ‘Was it the design you were appreciating or just that photograph?’

  ‘Not sure. I’ll have to get back to you on that when I’ve discussed it with my sex therapist.’

  This makes her smile. ‘I think I’m starting to like you, Mr Beckett.’

  ‘That would be a mistake. I’m poison.’

  She laughs and shakes her head. We eat in silence for a while. I know she wants to ask me about Jamie Baldwin. I’m not sure how much I should tell her.

  ‘What’s that thing you’ve got rolled up there, then?’

  ‘It’s a wall calendar.’

  ‘I’ve already got one.’

  ‘I need to work out a timeline with you. I’ve done a bit of it, but I need some more information.’

  ‘Did you speak to Jamie?’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  She drinks some coffee and eats a piece of waffle. I’m grateful for this small respite.

  ‘What did he say? Did he say anything about me?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. I don’t really understand what’s going on, but there are some very dangerous people involved in all of this, and I don’t yet know what their motivation is. Well, that’s not strictly true. At present, their motivation seems to be stopping you having a relationship with anyone.’

  She goes suddenly pale and her voice quavers. ‘What?’

  ‘Jamie Baldwin was coerced into finishing your relationship. He was threatened and seriously assaulted.’

  I tell her about the visit of Friendly Face and Big Bastard. I leave out the fact that Big Bastard was covered in oil and only wore pants. I leave out Footitt’s involvement as that would just complicate things. Besides, Footitt may have no direct connection to Rikki Tuan, whatever the hell might have happened to him. I leave out the anabolic steroid business for the moment, though I can’t see how I can avoid telling her if she presses. I leave out their threat to rape and disfigure her and I leave out the request to film them having sex. I’ve already left out so much I don’t know what we’re going to talk about. The weather, perhaps.

  ‘What did they do to him?’

  ‘They broke his arm with an iron bar.’

  Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. ‘Oh, Jesus. Oh no.’

  It takes her a couple of minutes to be able to speak. She’s crying. I resist holding her as it would be too sexy and I have no self-control when it comes to women.

  ‘Why didn’t he go to the police? Why didn’t he tell me what had happened?’

  As I start to think how to put this into words, I almost feel admiration for those two bastards. Jamie was completely stitched up from several different directions at the same time. They did a thorough job: he’s fucked on every level imaginable. And I wouldn’t put it past those two to expose his steroid use just for the hell of it one day. And the iron bar thing was thoroughly gratuitous; just for fun, really. The steroid use and the threat to Paige would have been enough on their own, I suspect. Sledgehammer to crack a nut indeed.

  Then it occurs to me: perhaps the iron bar was simply punishment – punishment for sleeping with Paige. God Almighty.

  ‘First of all, they had something on him that he would not have wanted to be in the public domain,’ I say.

  ‘They were blackmailing him? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Pretty much, yes.’

  ‘What – what was it?’

  ‘He’d taken a performance-enhancing drug at the Olympics.’

  ‘When he got his medal?’

  ‘Yes. If that had got out, everything he had would have collapsed. His reputation as a sportsman would be in ruins, it would have reflected badly on the entire Olympic team, all his sponsorships would have been cancelled, all his training of younger boxers, all his exhibition matches for charity; it would all have vanished in a puff of smoke. And who knows what would have happened to his club. He wouldn’t have been able to call it The Olympic Boxing Club anymore, that’s for sure. They hit him where it hurts.’

  Tears start to form in her eyes again. ‘So he’d lied to me, then. All that stuff about the integrity of sport and all the rest of it. It was all bullshit. God. I mean – I wouldn’t have even met him if it hadn’t been for that silver medal.’

  ‘It’s doubtful.’

  ‘How did these men find out?’

  ‘I don’t know. We don’t even know their names. But I’ll track them down, and then we’ll know.’

  ‘How will you track them down?’

  ‘They were a little careless. They gave me a lead without realising it.’

  As I say that, an idea occurs to me, but it’s exceedingly cynical and unduly exploitative. I’ll probably do it.

  ‘So he wasn’t the person I thought he was at all,’ she says.

  ‘Hard to say. I think he regrets it, if that’s any consolation.’

  ‘So he dumped me just to save his reputation and business interests.’

  ‘It’s more complex than that.’ I’m going to have to give her all of it. She’ll be more likely to help me out if she’s motivated. At the same time, I don’t want to alarm her and make her freeze up. I’ll have to choose my words carefully.

  ‘So what else was there?’

  ‘They threatened to harm you if he didn’t leave you alone. That, I think, was his main motivation for dumping you. He didn’t want to see you hurt.’

  She looks understandably alarmed. When I first met her, there was only concern for Rikki and her supply of smack. Now there’s all this. She’s edgy and starts drumming her fingers on the table surface. Then she collects herself and speaks slowly and calmly.

  ‘What sort of harm?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They threatened to rape you and disfigure you.’

  She sits back in her seat and looks out of the window for a few minutes. I don’t say anything. I look over at the kitchen surface. I see she owns a red Delonghi Dedica coffee machine.

  ‘What sort of people would do this, Daniel?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I suspect that the threat against you was just words. My theory is t
hat they were using any leverage they could on Jamie to get him to leave you and they just threw that into the mix. However, he couldn’t take the risk that they were bluffing.’

  ‘Do you think they were bluffing?’

  I drink some coffee. It’s getting cold. ‘I never assume that anyone’s bluffing. I take each point as being a genuine statement of intent.’

  ‘Am I in danger?’

  ‘I think you should be vigilant. You have my mobile number. If you see anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, let me know immediately. An unfamiliar person standing across the road, someone trying to gain access to your changing room, someone speaking to you in a way that strikes you as odd: anything. Let me know straight away, any time of the day or night. I’m never going to be that far away from you. As long as I’m around, you have nothing to fear. There was something else as well.’

  ‘What?’

  I may as well make Jamie look like he’s got the smallest shred of integrity. ‘They said that Jamie could continue to see you if he filmed the both of you having sex. They told him they could set up discreet cameras in his flat and in here. He refused, so he got the iron bar treatment.’

  I give her a few seconds to process all of this. She licks her lips and rubs her left arm. I can see from her expression that she’s trying to make sense of it all, but it’s impossible, of course. Repeating it like this to another person makes me want to really crush these guys. She stares into space for a few more seconds then recovers.

  ‘And what about Rikki? I keep forgetting. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’

  ‘Rikki is work in progress. All of this will lead to him eventually. I just don’t know how or when.’

  She tightens the belt around her pyjama top and stands up. ‘Would you like some more coffee, Daniel?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘You said you needed to work out a timeline with me.’

  ‘It would be a great help.’

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  25

  CAFÉ ROYAL