Kiss Me When I'm Dead

by Dominic Piper

  ‘Of course not; me neither. How long has Fisher worked for Mr Raleigh?’

  ‘I don’t know. Certainly before I arrived on the scene. One of the girls told me that Fisher was head of security when that kidnap attempt happened and that was about three years ago. He wasn’t present when it actually happened, but I think Mr Raleigh was a bit annoyed at him, and she said that Fisher had become much more of a suck-up since that time. It was as if he was always trying to prove himself, even though there was nothing he could have done about the kidnapping stuff. I suppose the search thing they tried on you was one of the side effects of that.’

  ‘You’re probably right. I should be careful looking at other people’s computers like that, though. There are a million ways of telling what someone’s been looking at and at what time.’

  I finish my dessert and place my spoon by the side of the bowl. ‘Would you like anything else? A coffee or something?’

  ‘We could have coffee at my place, if you like.’

  ‘Sure.’

  After several attempts, I manage to attract the attention of a waitress and pay the bill. As we leave, I slip my arm around Anjukka’s waist and she moves in close. I must find out what that perfume is.

  The evening is still warm as we stroll down towards Oxford Street. I’m still having problems connecting Fisher’s perusal of call girl sites with Viola. It’s almost certainly part of his job to procure girls for Raleigh’s clients and he would know what Viola had been up to, but the more I think about it the more I’m inclined to think that it’s just a coincidence. It could be that he’s the sort of man who hires call girls for himself.

  Just as we walk past The Old Explorer pub I get a little moment of light-headedness, as if someone’s attention is on me, and I know we’re being followed.

  9

  BURNED IN LIBERTY’S

  I don’t know who this is, who they work for or what they want, but I’m damned if I’m going to let it ruin my evening with this girl. We keep walking at the same slow pace, enjoying being in such close proximity.

  We cross the road at Great Castle Street and I manage a quick glance behind us in the reflection of one of Ponti’s windows. There’s an unshaven man in his forties in a bright red Vans hoodie and faded black 501s on the same side as us. He’s got a big spirit level slung over his shoulder and is smoking a small cigar.

  On the other side of the road, a middle-aged woman in a dark red business suit carrying a pale green leather tote bag is looking in the window of a branch of BHS. The window display is all beach towels, deck chairs and picnic hampers. The woman. The bag. The display. Her interest level. Not right. It’s her.

  ‘Where do you live?’ I say to Anjukka, just to keep things as normal as possible under the circumstances.

  ‘I never give my address to strange men.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘You never know who might turn up in the middle of the night.’

  I spin her around so that she’s facing me. ‘How do I make myself a little less strange to you?’

  As we kiss, she presses her body close to mine. I hold her waist firmly just beneath her breasts. I look up to see Tote Bag walk slowly away from the window she was inspecting. This is a bad road to loiter in without looking conspicuous and she knows it. I suddenly get the whole plan in my head, complete in every detail. It’s not perfect and it’s a little risky, but it’s the best I can do after drinking two Black Velvets and the best part of a bottle of champagne.

  I disengage from Anjukka. Her lips are parted and she’s panting slightly. ‘I live in Battersea. Do you know it?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it. And you’ve definitely got coffee? I wouldn’t want to get there and find you only had tisanes or something.’

  ‘I’ve definitely got coffee. And I’m sure you’ll like the taste of it.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. Let’s walk down to Regent Street. Better chance of getting a cab coming up from Piccadilly.’

  She gives me an arch look. ‘Are you in a hurry?’

  ‘No hurry. We could even look in Liberty’s, if you like.’

  ‘I love Liberty’s.’

  We continue our slow pace as we walk down to Oxford Street. We’re now holding hands. Ditching a tail while accompanied by a woman wearing an ostentatious, strapless, green, red and orange dress is not something I’ve ever done before. I also have to keep it a secret from her that we’re being followed. I don’t want her to get frightened and I don’t want her to turn around and look at Tote Bag, who doesn’t yet know I’ve pinned her, but she soon will.

  We cross over to the south side of Oxford Street. Once again I check out what’s behind me in the big window of an optician. My new friend is staying on the other side of the road but still tracking us. Very smooth. She’s looking in shop windows like I am. I think she’s alone.

  ‘You know,’ I say, keeping up a normal-looking conversation for Tote Bag’s benefit, ‘if I manage to track down Viola, I’ll get quite a big bonus.’

  ‘What are you going to spend it on?’

  We turn right into Regent Street. The crowds are thick and chaotic, which is good. If I was on my own I’d have lost her by now. We keep to the west side of the street.

  ‘You’re going to laugh. Or be appalled.’

  ‘I’m intrigued. Tell me.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the pale green tote bag and the red business suit about six yards behind me on the other side of the road. It’s a bad colour combination; too conspicuous and jarring. What is she? Another investigator like me? She needs a bit of advice about her work clothing.

  ‘It was your description about how you’d pose for a nude portrait. As soon as you started talking about it, I thought that it would be a portrait I’d like to see.’

  ‘Oh, would it now?’ Her eyes are sparkling at the idea.

  ‘So are you about to laugh or are you appalled?’

  She laughs. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  It’s getting more crowded. We push through the ever-increasing surge of pedestrians and tourists and I keep getting jostled in the shoulder. I have my hand on Anjukka’s waist and gently guide her in the right direction. We’re opposite Great Marlborough Street now, and cross the road to get to Liberty’s. The traffic is hell and we almost fall victim to a black cab, then a cyclist, but it gives me an excuse to look from left to right. Tote Bag has dropped back about six yards and pretends to look for something in her bag. She acted quickly when she saw we were about to head in her direction.

  Still behaving casually, we head for Liberty’s main entrance, my hand now resting on Anjukka’s bottom. This is not how someone who suspected they were being followed would act. At least I hope not.

  ‘It would have to be a female artist, of course,’ I say, as we enter the main part of the store. We walk around casually, just like a normal couple.

  ‘Goes without saying.’ she replies, running her hand over a selection of expensive silk scarves. ‘Although a man I don’t know seeing me naked has a certain je ne sais quoi to it.’

  I turn swiftly and face the main entrance. Tote Bag would have had time to catch up with us and could be in here by now, but she’s holding back and I can understand why. When someone you’re following comes into a place like this, you might find yourself face to face with them as soon as you walk through the door, with whatever consequences they decide upon.

  There’s another entrance at the side of the building that leads into the perfume department, which is where we seem to be heading. Tote Bag could stand at the corner of the building and observe both exits. I don’t make any suggestions as to what we might look at. I let Anjukka make all the decisions for the sake of randomness.

  ‘Although you may find that posing for a painting is a little boring,’ I say. ‘I think you’d have to sit still for a long time.’

  She sprays a sample of a perfume called Carnal Flower onto her wrist and holds it up for me to smell. Very strong scent of tuberose and some notes I c
an’t identify.

  ‘I don’t think sitting still for a long time would be hard work, do you?’ she says, smiling.

  ‘Perhaps they’d let you watch a movie.’

  ‘Pornographic?’

  ‘Action/adventure.’

  She starts looking at various makeup counters and I move away from her to get a better view of the entrance area. I tell her I’m just going to have a quick look at the stationery. As I’m half way across, I see Tote Bag. She’s pretty smart and she held back for a few minutes before coming in. It’s a risky strategy as we could have been on the third floor by now, but in her case it still won’t work.

  She hasn’t seen me yet, but she’s scanning the store as if she’s looking for a friend, while examining the scarves. If I was her, I’d be looking for Anjukka’s conspicuous dress. I swiftly take my jacket off and let it drop to the floor. When she’s scanning for me her brain will be locked into ‘black leather blazer’, not ‘pale blue shirt’. This deception won’t last long, but I don’t need very long.

  A security guy is wandering around by the handbags, trying to look inconspicuous, but his darting eyes identify him to me straight away, and the fact that he’s inspecting handbags, and the fact that he’s wearing a smart Hugo Boss suit to go shopping in. Someone needs to talk to him, but it’s not going to be me. The store is closing fairly soon and he probably thinks another boring day is over. He’s watching two French girls wiggle by and isn’t focussed on ordinary customers. Good.

  I approach him in a chummy, matey way, like I’m an ordinary bloke who’s just trying to help. He gives me a hard stare.

  ‘Excuse me, mate. I’m sorry to bother you and I know it’s none of my business, but that lady in the red suit holding the green bag over there has just stuffed three of your Vivienne Westwood scarves into it. Thought I’d better tell someone. Cheers.’

  He frowns, looks at me, and then looks straight at Tote Bag. She sees the both of us staring at her and knows she’s been rumbled. She looks flustered and as guilty as hell, which only serves to convince him I’m telling the truth. He nods to a grim-looking, trainee Sumo colleague who I didn’t notice and who comes up behind her and gently takes her arm.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ says Security Man.

  ‘That’s alright, squire.’

  I collect my jacket and return to Anjukka, who’s spraying something called Carthusia over her neck.

  ‘Shall we go?’ I say. ‘I’m starting to get a craving for that coffee.’

  We step out of the store and I hail a cab.

  On the way to Battersea, Anjukka and I engage in small talk, eavesdropped upon by the cab driver who occasionally interjects with useless comments about the weather and/or traffic. I rest a hand on the top of her nearest thigh and sporadically dig my fingernails into her flesh. She slaps my hand but doesn’t make any attempt to remove it. She smells like Liberty’s perfume department and it’s pretty intoxicating.

  I’m still thinking about Tote Bag. There is no doubt that she was a professional, just not a very good one, at least not for the job she’d been given. There are a lot of people from my past who would have good cause to have me followed, but none of them would hire people who were that easy to shake off.

  So who was she? My first thought is that Raleigh was having me tailed to make sure I was doing my job properly. That sounds ridiculous, but you never know. But if that’s what was going on, why not hire someone a little better? And why do it in the evening, when I probably wouldn’t be working? Perhaps he didn’t want to spend any more money on private investigators than he absolutely had to. Perhaps whichever company he hired told him that they were very good. Perhaps they were very good, but one of their operators had the bad luck to be following me.

  Another possibility is that they were following Anjukka. Now why would someone be doing that? My train of thought naturally returns to Raleigh, maybe Fisher. But what would their motive be? Perhaps Fisher is stalking her in some roundabout way. Maybe some PI’s daily reports about what she’s been doing turn him on. Anjukka said that Fisher and some others had been hitting on her. Is someone there checking on whether she’s really got a fiancé?

  It’s a possibility to keep in mind, but my gut instinct is that it was me that was the target. This is unsettling, mainly because it demonstrates to someone that I can spot a tail and lose it less than five minutes without really trying and while I’ve got company. To be honest, I really can’t be bothered thinking about it right now, but I’ll ratchet my vigilance up a few notches just the same.

  Anjukka lives on the seventh floor of a smart, modernistic block of apartments with a view of the duck pond in Battersea Park. Just after the taxi dropped us off, the driver murmured, ‘Some people have all the luck.’ I’m not sure whether he was referring to the fact that she lived in such a nice place or whether I was the lucky one for having my arm around the waist of such a beautiful woman.

  Inside, her apartment is light and airy with white being the predominant colour. Everything looks new, and I’m reminded of one of those fabulous places you see advertised in the back of glossy magazines.

  Despite the size of the place, she’s kept it sparse and free of clutter. In what I assume is the main living area, there’s a black leather sofa in front of an enormous television, a big wooden coffee table, four sizeable bookshelves containing either books or ornaments, and a black leather chaise longue beneath the large windows. There’s also a small glass dining table with four chairs.

  I can see two stereo speakers on the wall to my left, and there’s a Bowers & Wilkins wireless music system lying on the coffee table. The white of the walls is only broken by two predominantly dark blue prints, Lady with Hat by Klimt and Donna in Blu by de Lempicka.

  ‘Wow,’ I say, grinning. ‘This is a great place.’

  ‘Oh, stop it.’

  ‘I mean it! It’s fabulous. I’m going to live here. Let’s get married.’

  ‘Would you like the grand tour?’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  We head into the kitchen, which is white like everywhere else here. ‘This place was too expensive for me really,’ she says, ‘so I made sure I got high quality basic stuff to fill it up with; stuff that wouldn’t break down in a hurry.’

  ‘Good idea. It looks good. Very minimalistic.’

  The kitchen has a central food preparation area with an inbuilt chopping board. There’s a microwave above the oven hob and an impressive collection of juicers, food processors, electric knife sharpeners and the like. I start to wonder how much Raleigh is paying her. Of course, it may not be just from him; she’s been working for a while now. Perhaps her parents helped her out with all of this.

  ‘This is the kitchen.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘We’ll return here shortly for that coffee I promised you.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  I follow that sexy, swaying walk along a hall. She points towards another white room.

  ‘Bathroom. Bedroom one. Bedroom two. Office.’

  Bedroom one is like the main living area in negative; powder blue walls and white linen on the bed, a black and white print of a laughing Sophia Loren, big wardrobes and a transparent thing containing loads of pairs of shoes. Bedroom two is full of plastic boxes like the storage ones you see in Staples. The office has a small table with an eleven-inch MacBook Air, another, smaller bookshelf filled with paperbacks and a small chest of drawers which is covered in magazines.

  We head back to the kitchen and she starts making the coffee. I’m surprised to find that she uses a cafetière, as opposed to some hi-tech machine that fills a whole wall. As she waits for the kettle to boil, she excuses herself and pops into the bathroom. When she emerges a minute later, she’s reapplied her lipstick. She pours two cups and we sit down opposite each other at the dining table.

  ‘So how did you become a private investigator, Daniel?’

  Here we go. I really haven’t got the energy to lie, but I’ve got to find that energy from so
mewhere. I sip my coffee to give myself a few seconds to think of something convincing. Anjukka is not stupid. That’s why she’s so sexy.

  ‘I worked in insurance, investigating suspicious claims. The job entailed a lot of fieldwork and you were given special training to cover all the possibilities that you might encounter. I went on courses run by people who had worked in corporate security and eventually picked up enough skills to go freelance. I got bored with the insurance stuff after a while and branched out into different areas, like the job I’m working on now.’

  It’s getting better with each telling.

  ‘I guess the money’s better, too,’ she says, grinning. ‘Particularly if you’re considering blowing a huge bonus on commissioning a nude portrait of someone you’ve only just met.’

  ‘I’m impulsive that way. You said that you’d tell me later whether you were about to laugh or be appalled at my impudent suggestion.’

  ‘Oh, I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. Well, this is later. Have you made your mind up?’

  ‘I don’t think I’d laugh and I don’t think I’d be appalled, either.’

  ‘So you’d be…?’

  ‘Interested. That would be the word I’d use.’ She laughs and bites her lower lip. ‘Only if you’re paying, of course. I’m not as wealthy as this place might suggest.’

  ‘Goes without saying. After all, it’ll be hanging in my bedroom.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  She smiles at me, gets up and vanishes down the hallway into bedroom one. I can’t imagine what’s going to happen next. My mind drifts back to Tote Bag. What is she going to say to whoever her employer/employers was/were? ‘Sorry sir/madam/whatever, I was professionally burned in Liberty’s handbag section by some sort of counter surveillance expert with superb situational awareness even though he was mildly plastered and with a girl?’

  Anjukka returns wearing a dark blue silk kimono loosely tied with a white sash belt. I try my best not to look too astonished. She sits down opposite me again. Out of that dress, her breasts are wider and fuller. I know she’s aware of this. I want to take her; immediately, fiercely, and I know she’d respond, but I’m enjoying the tension.