Femme Fatale

by Dominic Piper

  Unless, rather like I imagined in Tansil’s case, you’d got away with it before and thought that you could get away with it again. If Jamie’s guess about his age was accurate, I reckon Gable would have been in his late thirties or early forties when this incident occurred. Certainly old enough to know much booze he could handle before launching himself at innocent civilians. And physically, he would have known that the averagely built guy (or girl) wouldn’t have stood a chance against him.

  A big, important police officer like that an insecure drunken bully? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Did he not like seeing guys with their girlfriends? Was he jealous? Hey – now there’s a thought. Could that behaviour be linked to what’s going on with Paige? Are we looking at a cabal of violent, couple-hating ex-policemen? Unlikely, but there’s an unpleasant streak of misogyny running through all of this that I don’t like one tiny bit.

  Also, it hasn’t escaped my notice that Declan Sharpe was in the Serious Crime Division of the same police force and also left, I suspect, under a cloud. Sharpe is a fair bit younger than Gable. I wonder if they knew each other? Was Gable his boss? Did Gable get Sharpe his job at Temple Security?

  I take a sip of my coffee and stare at the computer screen. Both Tansil’s and Gable’s stories seemed a little too big to be that difficult to find. Tansil’s would have the sort of thing you’d see in all the papers and perhaps on the television, and The Elstree Enquirer’s scoop looked like it had been acquired from several other less obscure sources. So why didn’t I come across any of those other sources?

  Gable wasn’t a cop in London and he wasn’t as high-up as Tansil, but a brutal attack like that would have made the news even if he hadn’t been in the police force. The article in The Manchester Evening News was relatively small, and Tansil’s story didn’t even make the front page of The Elstree Enquirer.

  Were those two stories so small that they were missed? Did someone have a crack at killing all traces of those stories, but the two I found were somehow under the radar? And rather like Tansil, Gable lands on his feet with a well-paid, prestigious job at Temple Security. And Temple Security gloss over the background of those two scoundrels on their website.

  Tansil and Ricketts – those in the know spill the beans!!!

  So what have we got? Two senior staff in Temple Security are a pair of bent/psycho ex-cops who landed on their feet after doing stuff that would, under normal circumstances, almost certainly have got them both jail time.

  Gable’s attack on Ms Jaworska alone would have put a normal person away for anything up to twenty-five years, yet he gets a four-year suspended sentence. Perhaps some kind-hearted judge thought that being kicked out of the force would be punishment enough for the poor devil.

  And as for Tansil, we have perverting the course of justice, accepting bribes, assisting the execution of armed robbery – I’d have to ask an expert, but I think he’d be looking at twenty years plus.

  They were both directly involved in the assault on Jamie Baldwin, but that assault seemed to be planned by and executed on behalf of someone else, who I’m still calling Mr X. With Baldwin, Tansil mentioned these very important people, as if there was a committee of them, but when he tried to warn me off, it was down to treading on the toes of a single person. He probably just forgot his lines.

  Both Tansil and Gable are, for want of a better word, fearless. Whatever they get up to, it looks as if they are confident that there will be no repercussions, or at least nothing like the repercussions that they deserve.

  Temple Security (or someone working for them) seemed to have the clout to replace Tom Nyström with Declan Sharpe in a very short space of time, ostensibly to keep track of Paige McBride’s love life. They were able to lean on Tom Nyström and effectively get him out of the way. Did they offer him a bribe or a better job? Declan Sharpe is also, perhaps not surprisingly, an ex-cop. An ex-cop who was not quite perceptive enough to see what the real relationship between Paige and Rikki was and who was easily taken in by me.

  Someone places Declan in regular and close proximity to Paige. It’s unlikely to be an official job by Temple Security itself, so I’m assuming that Declan receives his unsanctioned instructions directly from Tansil and reports back to him.

  Declan’s function must be to keep a close eye on Paige McBride and also those in her immediate orbit. The moment she appears to be on the cusp of having a relationship with any male, it has to be nipped in the bud, so he informs Tansil. Tansil, with or without Declan’s help, then locates the male in question and firmly warns him off. If the male fails to heed the warning, something worse happens to him.

  Of course, the only real example I have of this MO is Jamie Baldwin’s unfortunate experience. I’ve had the skewed first warning myself, but I’ve no idea what happened to Rikki. The only hint came from Lee Ch’iu when he told me that Rikki had had hassle. Despite what I might think, or what Caroline Chow said, neither of us really have any idea how Rikki might have reacted to his first warning as neither of us witnessed it. We also don’t know how many warnings he had; how many encounters.

  I’m also keeping in mind something that Annalise told me about Footitt. The rumour about him selling off transfusion blood and getting away with it, plus that alleged assault on a nurse. That’s another link between him, Tansil and Gable. All three did serious stuff and got away with it; relatively, at least. Are they somehow above the law? Is the law somehow on their side?

  ‘You have no idea of the shit you’re in, my friend. You have no fucking idea.’

  I spend around fifteen minutes looking for stuff on Footitt. Apart from appearing on the Chelsea’s website, there’s little else: he gave a talk in Rhyl four years ago and attended a conference in Bradford a couple of weeks later. That’s it. Declan, of course, is a complete dead end. Not a big enough fish to be mentioned on anything at all, unless his internet history has been whitewashed as well.

  I’m just about to turn my attention to the Yeoman’s Row files when I hear the barely noticeable noises outside my front door.

  34

  RÔLE PLAY

  It’s the cigarette smoke from that distinctive tobacco that gives her away. I think I’d sensed her silent footfalls coming up the stairs, but was too wrapped up looking at the computer. I can tell that she’s right outside, maybe wondering if I’m in or not; wondering if she should start work on the cylinder locks again. I turn the latch and quickly jerk the door open.

  ‘Shit!’

  She almost loses her balance. She’s squatting down in the hallway so that she’s at eye level with the lower of the two locks.

  ‘Are you the new cleaner?’

  ‘You frightened me, baby.’

  ‘I told you never to call me that.’

  ‘Hah!’

  As she walks by me into the flat, I take a quick look at what she’s wearing. I can’t believe she just walked down the street like this, though by now I should know better. I’ll start with the unbelievably sexy, knee-length, tight-fitting, black pencil skirt with the five-inch slit up the back. If this didn’t accentuate the impertinent jut of her bottom enough, the black five-inch heels with the red soles certainly finish the job. You’d almost miss the black seamed stockings from staring at that hot ass.

  Above the waist is equally impressive and I’m beginning to get the picture. She’s wearing a simple, white cotton short-sleeved blouse with the top four buttons undone so you get a tantalising glimpse of the curve of her small breasts which are dramatically pushed up by a black lace half-cup bra.

  She has her hair tied up in a bun and, er, she’s wearing black horn-rimmed glasses. I assume they have plain glass lenses. I follow her into the kitchen, inhaling the heady scent of Ombre Mercure Extrême. I visualise her spraying the perfume over her body while she was getting herself ready in her hotel room. I badly want to grab her.

  ‘What are you trying to do to me, Caroline?’ I say, laughing.

  ‘You like it? I look pretty hot, uh? You remember I a
sked you if you thought I’d make a good secretary in an office?’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘And I asked you if you’d take me out to dinner and then to have sex and you said probably? Well, I thought I’d become your secretary. We can do rôle play, yeah? You think I look the part? The glasses aren’t too much? They cost forty pounds.’

  ‘You look really secretarial. I see girls who look like you walking around London all the time. As soon as I opened the door I wanted to start dictating.’

  ‘Good. I think I’m kinda shy and I had a crush on you for months and this is the first time we’ve been alone together in the office. I think about you just before I go to sleep each night, you know what I’m saying? So how’s the case going?’

  She drops her cigarette in the sink and turns a tap on to extinguish it.

  I make us both a coffee. ‘It’s going OK. Those two guys who assaulted the boxer. I’ve found out who they are.’

  Her eyes widen. ‘Who? What are their names?’

  ‘Larry Tansil and Mark Gable. They’re both ex-police and they both work for a company called Temple Security.’

  Her eyes narrow. ‘Are either of them Mr X?’

  ‘Very unlikely. And Rikki’s friend. Paige McBride. The burlesque performer, yes? She has a bodyguard-cum-chauffeur who works for the same security company. His name is Declan Sharpe. He’s certainly the leak in her entourage. I’m not sure of his motivation, other than sucking up to Tansil & Co.

  ‘Every time Paige appears to form a relationship, whether it’s a romantic one or, in Rikki’s case, a drug one mistaken for a romantic one – he’s the man that lets those two guys know about it. He was inserted into her retinue thirteen days after that first Café Royal gig. His predecessor resigned about five days before that with some bullshit story.’

  ‘And then they get the iron bar treatment.’

  ‘Well, that only happened once so far, and that was on the second warning. At least it was with Jamie Baldwin, the boxer boyfriend. I have that to look forward to, at least.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘It was what we talked about yesterday. I made it clear to Sharpe that Paige and I were an item and he was dumb enough to swallow it. She played up to it last night at her fashion show at my request. This morning, I paid a visit to Fly a Kite, the charity who organised the burlesque shows at the Café Royal. It was after the first of those shows that all this started. I told Declan Sharpe that I’d be going there and I told him what time.

  ‘There’s something weird going on at that charity. Someone – and I can’t help but think that it’s Mr X – put pressure on them to book more shows that featured Paige McBride. It’s suspicious. It always was suspicious: too many shows in too short a time and burlesque is a little out of character for them. I spoke to a woman there. The Honourable Cordelia Chudwell. When I came out, Larry Tansil was waiting for me.’

  ‘So they got the wrong end of the stick with you, just like they did with Rikki. What happened?’

  ‘I got into an altercation with him so I could lift his wallet. He told me we’d meet again. I don’t think he was going to take me to the football.’

  ‘So what was this Cordelia Chudwell like? Was she attractive? Would you have slept with her?’

  ‘Yeah. I think I would. Very attractive. A provocative conversationalist. Fucked up. Tactile. Great hair. Pretty high maintenance, I would think. Rather like you, but with less expensive perfume and a bigger ass.’

  ‘The sort of high maintenance you’d like to mess up?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Huh. That’s something I’d like to watch. So this warning happened with the boxer guy and it happened with you.’

  ‘Which makes it pretty certain it happened with Rikki.’

  ‘But we don’t know whether Rikki got the second warning. The iron bar warning.’

  ‘Well, that’s the big question. Why isn’t Rikki around nursing a broken arm or some other unsavoury injury?’

  She frowns, lights another one of her cigarettes and drinks some coffee. I inhale the aroma of the tobacco. I’m trying not to look at her, but it’s difficult.

  ‘I don’t understand…’ She looks down at her cigarette and blows on it. ‘I don’t understand what their motive could possibly be. Why stop a girl from having boyfriends? It’s flaky.’

  ‘Tansil mentioned that I was treading on someone’s toes. He said it would be better for everyone if I backed off.’

  ‘Better for Mr X.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  I don’t tell her about Tansil’s suggestion that Jamie and Paige be filmed having sex. I think that would just confuse the issue. Besides, I haven’t really got my head around that one yet. It could have been just a bit of improvised weirdness by Tansil. Would it have pissed off Mr X if he’d found out? Impossible to tell at the moment.

  ‘And what about the third guy?’ asks Caroline. ‘Who was that?’

  For a moment, I don’t know who she’s talking about. Is it Declan? Of course it isn’t. It’s Footitt.

  ‘There was a doctor who visited the boxer guy at the hospital. He was a psychiatrist. No professional business being there and a mildly intimidating bedside manner. It was as if he wanted to confirm that Jamie Baldwin was going to keep his mouth shut about what had really happened. He belongs to a masonic lodge. It’s in Yeoman’s Row near Harrods. Big house with too many security cameras outside.’

  ‘Which didn’t bother you in the slightest, eh?’

  ‘Hm. I burgled it in the early hours of this morning and sent myself the contents of their computer.’

  ‘Is this it? The contents?’

  She points at the Yeoman’s Row files waiting patiently on the screen. I nod my head and sit down, waiting for her to drag a chair over and sit next to me. She’s about six inches away. I wish she wouldn’t wear that perfume. Her glasses are slipping down her nose. She pushes them up. I mustn’t forget to call Anastasija today.

  ‘This may be nothing, but they didn’t seem to have any ordinary files that I could access without breaking locks. I didn’t want to leave any evidence that I’d been there. Besides, I wasn’t there to steal stuff, I was there to take a look around. I was just curious.’

  ‘So I don’t usually sit close to you like this, OK?’ she purrs. ‘You’re aware of the warmth of my body. My perfume is driving you crazy. This is the first time you’ve really noticed me as a woman, rather than a secretary. You’re beginning to wonder what I would look like naked. You’re starting to be curious about how I’d make love. What my tastes are. What does that word mean on that file there, Mr Beckett?’

  ‘Eleemosynary? It means relating to charity, Miss Chow,’ I say casually, as if I’ve always been familiar with this word and its meaning. We turn and look at each other. We’re both thinking the same thing.

  ‘Open it up,’ she says, stubbing her cigarette out in the ashtray. She takes her glasses off and places them on the desk.

  ‘I’ve never seen you without your glasses, Miss Chow. You have the most beautiful eyes,’ I say, without looking at her.

  ‘Oh, Mr Beckett. You are embarrassing me.’

  ‘Perhaps you like that, Miss Chow.’

  ‘Perhaps I do, Mr Beckett.’

  I click on the file. It contains three documents: ‘Active’, ’Dormant’ and ‘Possibles’. I click on ‘Active’ and the document opens up. It lists around a hundred charities, each one clickable for further details. AdoptAForest, AnimalAid, British Freedom for Hostages. Alphabetical. I scroll down and there it is: Fly a Kite.

  I sit back in my seat and stare at the screen. Caroline pats her hair.

  ‘You going to look at it? That’s the one you went to see, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s…’

  I sigh. I’m trying to work out the logic and implications of what I’ve just discovered. It’s difficult. Maybe it’s just coincidence. Maybe I’m just tired. I click on the company name. The address in Chelsea I visited this morning i
s there, plus three telephone numbers. I take out my wallet and look at the card that The Honourable Cordelia Chudwell gave me. She had a hot figure, smouldering eyes and great hair. One of the numbers is hers. Well, that’s no surprise; she seems to be in charge of the place, or at least that’s what it looked like. I wonder if I should ask her out? I don’t know why, but like it when a woman wants to go and see strippers. It’s fascinating and mysterious.

  ‘Mr Beckett. It’s rather warm in here. Would you mind if I let my hair down?’

  ‘I think that would be rather inappropriate, Miss Chow.’

  ‘But, Mr Beckett: I am so warm. I am starting to sweat. Perhaps you would like to do it. It is held up by a single pin at the back. It won’t take a moment.’

  ‘Well, if you insist.’

  I remove the brass hair pin. It’s in the shape of a dragonfly. Her hair loosens and falls down her back. She shakes her head to straighten it out, and I’m hit with the full bouquet of her perfume once more.

  ‘Oh,’ she sighs. ‘That’s much better. Thank you, Mr Beckett.’

  ‘Shall we get on, Miss Chow?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Beneath the telephone numbers are a record of monthly payments to the charity, presumably from masonic lodge funds, going back two and a bit years. I’ve no idea what would be normal for charity payments from a source like this, but they look pretty hefty; slightly different each month, but usually around three to four thousand pounds. No. That’s an incredible amount of money. That’s somewhere close to fifty thousand a year. Where does it all come from, I wonder?

  I locate the main list of charities again and choose a random one for comparison. Football for Kids. They get a hundred and fifty pounds a month. I try another one: Lancashire Volunteers’ Committee. They get two hundred a month, but the payments aren’t regular; the last one was three months ago. And one for luck: The Katheryn J. Winner Children’s Foundation. This gets regular monthly payments of sixty pounds, or has done for the last four months.