Until it's Over Page 10

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Pippa.

  ‘Really, Dario’s got something to say,’ said Davy.

  ‘Have I? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, Dario, but you have.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll turn out to be nothing. But someone died. Two people died. And you’ve got to come clean.’

  Dario spluttered.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ said Davy. I could see he was nervous. Making a stand like this wasn’t in character for him.

  Dario stubbed out his cigarette, ground it, then lit another. We waited in silence. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s true that Astrid was right when she thought she saw someone. It was a guy who lives round the corner. He dropped round. He was on his way out when you appeared.’

  ‘Why was he there?’ asked Miles.

  Another silence. Dario gulped. ‘Just collecting something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is that any of your business?’

  ‘Dario?’ I said. ‘Just tell us.’

  ‘I’d got some stuff for him. And he came over to collect it.’

  ‘Stuff?’ Miles’s voice had sunk to a kind of growl.

  ‘Yeah. Stuff.’

  ‘As in what? Weed?’

  ‘I’ve had some cash-flow problems. I needed some money to see me through. So. As you see, it wasn’t relevant. But I didn’t want to shout about it in front of the police. And don’t blame Davy. I asked him not to tell you.’

  ‘You fucking idiot,’ said Miles.

  ‘What?’ said Dario.

  ‘You’ve been dealing out of this house?’ he said.

  ‘It was just a favour for a friend.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Miles said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Dario. ‘I didn’t realize there was a house rule.’

  A row of some kind started. I heard it as if it was the wind blowing through the trees, but I paid no attention to the meaning. I was trying to think and for a moment I put my hands over my ears. Then I made my mind up. ‘What’s his name?’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your druggie friend.’

  ‘He’s not a druggie. He works in advertising.’

  What’s his name?’

  ‘Lee.’

  ‘You know where he lives?’

  ‘I’ve got his number somewhere.’

  ‘You should call him.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re asking.’

  ‘I do. And, Pippa -’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Pippa, ‘what is this? The Inquisition? OK, OK, I’ll tell the police about Jeff. Happy now?’

  Chapter Twelve

  Monday morning, and I was wheeling my bike along the alley beside the house when something flashed. I blinked, looked up and it happened again. Then I realized two men were standing on the pavement outside the house, and one was taking photographs. Taking photographs of me. I put up a hand to shield my eyes and stared at them.

  ‘Miss Bell?’ one called.

  ‘ Alice?’ shouted the other.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘It’s Astrid,’ I said. ‘Astrid Bell. Where did you get the Alice from, anyway?’

  The man without a camera shrugged. ‘You found the body, right?’

  Something about the language made me wince. The body. As if the poor woman was just a thing, a meaningless object I had happened to stumble across. There was a short silence. The photographer raised his camera again and fired off a few shots.

  ‘I didn’t say you could do that,’ I told him. ‘And you can’t.’

  ‘What was it like?’ asked the reporter.

  ‘How did you get my name?’

  ‘Is it true you broke in through the window?’

  ‘Did the police tell you?’

  ‘Can I say at least that you were very shocked?’

  ‘Of course she was bloody shocked.’

  Dario had appeared at my side. He was wearing grubby purple tracksuit trousers and a bright yellow anorak with arms that hardly reached his elbows. The two men stared at him.

  ‘Don’t you dare take a photo of him,’ I said grimly, but too late.

  ‘Wouldn’t you be shocked if you were at the murder scenes of two women in just weeks?’ Dario continued. ‘You’d think it was bad karma, wouldn’t you?’

  I groaned out loud.

  ‘You said two women?’

  ‘Right,’ said Dario. ‘First Peggy Farrell and then this other one.’

  A look of bewildered fascination appeared on the reporter’s face. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘Astrid. Miss Bell.’

  But I had swung my leg over my bike and mounted. I cycled away to the sound of the camera clicking and Dario calling my name.

  That evening after work I met Pippa in the Horse and Jockey for a drink. We made an odd pair: she in her trim suit and sensible shoes, her hair coiled neatly at the back of her head, little earrings in her lobes, carefully invisible makeup, and a leather briefcase, me in my black Lycra and scuffed boots, sweaty and grimy. As if conforming to our parts, she ordered white wine while I had half a pint of lager.

  ‘So,’ she said, taking off her jacket, unpinning her hair and having a hearty swig of wine. ‘First of all, money. I wanted to talk to you about it before speaking to the others. You know what those big group discussions can get like.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I got an email from Miles today at work. I’ve printed it out so you can have a look at it, but basically what he proposes is that each individual gets paid according to the amount of time he or she has lived in the house. So you and I get the most, and Davy and Owen the least. But he’s also suggesting that since that might end up being a bit unfair on them, he should give us each a lump sum, then top it up with an adjustable amount. So it’s x plus y times t.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s how Miles puts it – x is one sum, y another, and t is time.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Right. Has he mentioned actual figures, or are we stuck in Algebra Land?’

  ‘He suggests that x equals seven and a half thousand, y equals two and t is a year or part of a year.’

  ‘So you and I, for instance – that’s seven and a half add two, times – what is it? Four and a half years, that’s five – so plus ten thousand, makes seventeen and a half.’

  ‘Right. While Davy and Owen get nine and a half.’

  ‘Which is also an awful lot of money. How much is Miles going to shell out altogether?’

  ‘Lots.’

  ‘Leah won’t be pleased.’

  ‘I know, but it’s based on how much the value of the property has risen, which you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘He bought it five years ago for about a quarter of a million. Guess how much it’s worth now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘Let’s see. Seven bedrooms, big garden. Um – five hundred thousand?’

  ‘More.’

  ‘OK, six hundred.’

  ‘More.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Eight hundred.’

  ‘Fuck. For that? Even after Dario’s work?’

  ‘So you don’t need to worry he’s being too generous.’

  ‘Do you think he’s offering about the right amount?’

  ‘It seems fair enough.’

  ‘Will the others think so?’

  ‘Dario won’t. But Dario thinks he’s committing a terrible crime by throwing us out in the first place and no amount of money could compensate for that betrayal. We’re all the family Dario’s ever had, remember. It’s like a divorce.’

  ‘But the others?’

  ‘Who knows? Money makes people act in all sorts of strange ways. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of behaviour I come across at work. It’s cash, by the way. Strictly under the table.’

  ‘You mean, he’d pay us in cash?’

  ‘I th
ink the idea is that he’d pay you and you’d hand it out.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think he doesn’t want to face any more of it.’

  ‘Sounds like Miles.’

  ‘Do you want another drink?’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  I watched her as she made her way to the bar. Men stood aside to let her by, then closed in again, following her with their eyes. She appeared not to notice.

  ‘What’s happening with Owen?’ she asked, as she sat down.

  ‘Nothing. Anyhow, he’s away at the moment on some photo-shoot. More importantly, what’s happening with Jeff?’

  ‘Jeff?’ She stared at me, wrinkling her brow. ‘Jeff, as in…?’

  ‘Jeff as in Jeff-who-stayed-with-you-on-the-night-of-Peggy’s-murder.’

  ‘Oh, that Jeff.’

  ‘Yes, that Jeff.’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say. And you don’t need to say it -’ But at that moment she was interrupted.

  ‘It’s the attractive and visibly distraught Ms Astrid Bell,’ cried a voice, and I turned to see Saul’s beaming face.

  I had known Saul since I was fifteen. We met at a party, where we spent three hours sitting on the staircase and talking about music and movies, and had been friends ever since. It was Saul who got me my job with Campbell; he had been a despatch rider for nearly seven years now, and every month he swears will be his last. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That you’re the enigma at the heart of the mystery.’

  ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘You’re the key, but where’s the lock?’

  ‘Saul!’

  ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘I really don’t know – I don’t even know what it is I don’t know.’

  ‘Look! Hot off the press.’

  He pulled the local newspaper out of his messenger bag and flung it on the table. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was looking at. There I was, standing outside our house holding my bike, one hand raised and my jaw jutting out. I was wearing the same gear I had on today and looked both thuggish and mildly pornographic. But that was nothing compared to Dario, who was in the background and weirdly shrunk by the angle of the camera lens. In his ill-fitting yellow anorak and trousers, with his hair half over his face and his mouth open, he had the appearance of an evil dwarf.

  Pippa gave a horrified giggle.

  ‘ “Messenger Murder Mystery”,’ I read from the headline.

  ‘You should see the puns,’ said Saul, who was tremendously cheerful about the whole affair. ‘Look here: “cycle-ogical thriller”. You’re at the centre of something weird.’

  ‘It’s not that big a deal,’ I insisted, but I shivered. It was as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun, turning the warm, crowded room cold and dark.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I stepped out of my room and almost collided with Owen, weighed down with his camera bags and tripod from a shoot. His face looked smooth and young. ‘Astrid,’ he said.

  I needed to say something. I took a step towards him, or perhaps he took a step towards me, then brisk steps coming up the stairs halted us. It was Leah, looking mildly impatient. ‘There you are,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Someone to see you downstairs,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’ I said.

  ‘If you go down, you’ll find out,’ she said.

  I shrugged, glanced at Owen, and walked down the stairs. Detective Chief Inspector Paul Kamsky was in the hallway. Miles was standing next to him but they weren’t speaking. Kamsky caught sight of me.

  ‘Sorry to drop in unannounced,’ he said.

  ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘Is there anywhere we can talk?’

  ‘You could go downstairs to the kitchen,’ said Miles.

  ‘It’s not very private,’ I said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Kamsky.

  ‘We’ll keep out of the way,’ said Miles. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

  As Kamsky sat down at the kitchen table, he looked around with a smile. ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a floating population,’ I said. ‘People come and go.’

  ‘Like a commune?’

  ‘It’s just a house-share.’

  ‘I couldn’t manage that,’ he said. ‘I like my own space.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’

  Miles put coffee mugs on the table. Kamsky took his and contemplated it, then looked up at me. ‘It’s the package,’ he said.

  ‘You never found it?’

  ‘Did you ever have an itch that you couldn’t scratch because you didn’t know exactly where it was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There are several things about this case that bother me,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what Mitchell said.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kamsky. ‘He’s not a happy man.’

  ‘What about you?’ I said. ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘There’s your involvement,’ he said. ‘And the fact that you gave an interview about your involvement.’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly an interview,’ I said. ‘I shouted something at a reporter.’

  ‘A dignified “no comment” is usually the best policy,’ Kamsky said.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking clearly.’

  ‘And most of all I’m bothered by what was taken.’

  ‘I didn’t think anything was taken.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you something we haven’t released. Please don’t mention it to any reporters. As you saw, Mrs de Soto was wearing expensive jewellery, a necklace, rings, a bracelet. Perhaps you noticed that one earring was missing.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Just one. It had been pulled out, ripping through the earlobe.’

  I flinched.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Kamsky. ‘It was probably done after she was dead. My psychiatric colleague tells me it was probably taken as a trophy.’

  ‘A trophy?’

  ‘A souvenir. By the way, he’s keen to talk to you as well.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be much help.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Kamsky. He paused and took a slow gulp of his coffee. ‘You might have picked it up and put it in your satchel.’

  ‘The package? That’s crazy. I broke into her house and found her lying dead. I didn’t stop to collect a package.’

  ‘As far as I can see, there are three possibilities. Either there was no package, or you took it, or whoever killed her took it.’

  ‘Have you looked for it properly?’ I asked. ‘Sometimes when I arrive to pick something up, they haven’t got it ready. It’s bloody irritating. I arrive and then they go off and get whatever it is and find something to put it in. Maybe she hadn’t wrapped it up yet.’

  ‘That’s a possibility,’ said Kamsky. ‘Another possibility is that the package was something valuable. Or perhaps it was something particular that he was after.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She only booked the pick-up half an hour earlier. The guy happens to steal something in the last few minutes it’s going to be in the house. Is that another coincidence?’

  ‘No,’ said Kamsky. ‘I’m getting allergic to coincidences. But the murderer kills the woman and takes only two objects: an earring and the package you’re about to collect. Doesn’t that strike you as interesting?’

  ‘Strange, maybe.’

  ‘Did you have any idea what you were going to collect?’

  ‘No. When people call us, they only have to specify the size of the package. If it’s a grand piano, they generally don’t send me on my pushbike. But you should talk to my boss about that.’

  ‘I did,’ said Kamsky, with a frown. ‘I don’t think his record-keeping is entirely satisfactory.’

  ‘Tell me about i
t,’ I said. ‘One day the Inland Revenue are going to descend on him and take that place apart.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Pippa, from the doorway. ‘You must introduce me to your guest.’

  ‘Pippa, this is Detective Inspector Kamsky,’ I said.

  ‘Er, Detective Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘Not that it matters particularly.’

  ‘And this is Pippa. She’s one of the many people who live here.’

  Pippa’s eyes lit up and she came and sat at the table.

  ‘Be careful what you say,’ I said to Kamsky. ‘She’s also a lawyer.’

  ‘But a nice person anyway, I’m sure,’ said Kamsky.

  ‘Are you in charge of the investigation of the murders?’ said Pippa.

  ‘I’m heading the Ingrid de Soto inquiry. I’m in informal touch with the team working on the Margaret Farrell killing. As yet there’s no official connection between the two murders.’

  ‘Of course there bloody is,’ said Pippa.

  ‘What’s the connection?’ asked Kamsky.

  ‘Astrid,’ said a voice from behind. I didn’t need to turn round. Bloody Dario, bloody stoned. I could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. He opened the fridge, took out a beer bottle and flicked off the cap with his thumb. ‘You want to watch her. Isn’t there a rule about the person who reports a murder always being the prime suspect?’

  ‘It’s not exactly a rule,’ said Kamsky.

  Dario sat down next to me and took a swig of his beer. ‘There’s motive,’ he said. ‘Peggy Farrell opened her car door in front of Astrid. And then that other woman. Making Astrid cycle all the way up Highgate West Hill. If that isn’t a motive for murder, I don’t know what is.’

  ‘This is Dario,’ I said. ‘Another housemate.’

  Suddenly the room seemed to be full. The word of Kamsky’s presence had spread and everybody was gathering to have a look at him. Davy and Mel came in, hand in hand, revoltingly in love. Owen arrived and sat beside me. Even he couldn’t resist it. Leah, the hostess, pulled the cork out of a bottle of wine. She came forward with a clutch of glasses. She offered one to Kamsky and he nodded.

  ‘Aren’t you meant to say, “Not when I’m on duty”?’ asked Dario, then gave a bark of hilarity.