Love You Dead

  Christ, he thought. I can see why men fall for her.

  And he was uncomfortably aware that the two officers, outside in their car, were listening to every word.

  102

  Thursday 12 March

  A fine drizzle was falling and a haze of mist shrouded each street light. Tooth, again dressed as Thelma Darby, drove his small rental Ford along Jodie Carmichael’s road as the wipers clomped away in front of him, pleased with the weather conditions. Poor visibility. Perfect. In this affluent neighbourhood, where every home had its own private driveway and off-road parking, there were only a few vehicles out on the street which, he was aware, made him conspicuous. He passed her driveway and pulled over behind a Range Rover one hundred yards or so further along.

  With every movement sending twinges through his chest and ribcage, he wormed his way out of his dress. Beneath he wore black jeans and a black roll-neck sweater. He pulled on sneakers, struggled into his anorak and slid the steel pipe down inside the front of his sweater. Then he put the dead mouse, which he had bought from the aquarium store, into one of the pockets and zipped the anorak tight.

  He removed a pair of black leather gloves from another pocket, put them on, and glanced at his watch. 7.05 p.m. He didn’t know how long he had, but for sure a good hour at the very least. She’d only left at 6.45 p.m. Dressed to kill. He probably had plenty of time, but he wouldn’t need long. He intended to be in and out in minutes. Pulling on a baseball cap, he left the car and made his way through the rain towards No. 191.

  A man in a raincoat appeared out of the darkness walking towards him, tugging a toy poodle on a lead. ‘Cicero!’ the man called out to it, petulantly. ‘Cicero, come!’

  Tooth crossed the road to avoid him, then strode quickly and stealthily back to Jodie Carmichael’s front gate and down the steep driveway to the house, checking over his shoulder every few steps.

  As he stood in the front porch he used the set of keys he had taken on his last visit to enter the property. Closing the door behind him, he switched on his torch and shone it on the alarm box. A single green light glowed.

  As before, she had not set it. Don’t like to attract attention to yourself, do you, lady? Very wise. Nor would I, if I were you.

  He stepped across the hall, glancing up at the light fitting where he had placed one of the cameras, vaguely amused that when he returned to his hotel he would be able to watch himself on video. He found the Mercedes keys easily, in the first place he looked – the central drawer in the hall table – then unlocked the door to the garage.

  All garages had a familiar smell, of oil, metal, leather and rubber compound, and this was no different. The dark blue Mercedes sat there in front of him, in the beam of his torch. There was not much else in here apart from a trickle charger, a tyre pump, a mountain bike with flat tyres, a stack of suitcases and some gardening tools.

  He pressed the unlock button on the Merc’s key fob. The indicators flashed, along with a satisfying clunk from the door locks, and the interior lights came on. He opened the driver’s door and inhaled the sweet, rich smell of the cream hide leather. Then he pulled the metal pipe out and set to work.

  He unscrewed one end and carefully pulled out the Arduino relay, the mercury tilt switch and the end of the rubber-coated wire. He removed the insulating tape from the wire, then set the relay timer to thirty seconds. Too many bombers were killed by their own devices with faulty timers, but he’d always found Arduinos to be reliable. Thirty seconds gave him a safety margin to get away in case he activated it accidentally. Using the insulating tape, he connected it to the tilt switch. When she drove it up the steep ramp of the driveway, the mercury would slide down and activate the timer. Thirty seconds later the device would detonate.

  He inserted the tilt switch and timer back into the tube, being very careful to hold it parallel to the ground, then slid it under the driver’s seat until it was out of sight.

  He then closed the car door, locked it and went back into the house. He replaced the car key, climbed the stairs and walked along the corridor towards the secret door. Entering the room before it, he opened the closet door, took out the remote and pressed the button to slide the false wall open. Then he checked through the glass door to ensure there were no escaped creatures and entered the warm reptile room, wrinkling his nose against the sour smell.

  Lamps glowed behind the glass of each of the stacked vivariums in there. Trying not to look at the ones containing large, hairy spiders and small, sleeping snakes, or another containing dozens of small, live white mice, and another teeming with cockroaches, he took the heavy-duty gloves hanging on a wall hook and pulled them on, with difficulty, his hands a lot bigger than Jodie’s.

  He fumbled nervously with the catches on the lid of the vivarium containing the huge coiled boa constrictor, its long narrow head bigger than his fist, with a jagged black stripe running diagonally up to its right eye; slowly, warily, he lifted the lid away.

  He waited for some moments. The snake did not move.

  He removed the plastic bag from his pocket and shook out the dead, thawed-out white mouse, ensuring it dropped close to the snake’s head.

  The snake fixed its eyes on him.

  ‘Eat the fucking mouse!’ he said.

  The snake looked like it would rather eat him.

  He stared down into the dimly lit environment. Rocks, ferns, branches and dense, miniature undergrowth. He could see the memory stick lying deep inside the undergrowth. Very tentatively he reached forward.

  The snake, still looking at him, did not move.

  He reached further, slowly, cautiously. He was never normally afraid, but this creature was scaring the shit out of him.

  ‘Eat the goddam mouse!’ he said.

  There was no reaction.

  He lunged his hand in, grabbed the memory stick and withdrew it, then immediately slammed down the lid. He tugged off the heavy-duty gloves, put the stick down on the table, then pulled out the handful of assorted memory sticks he had bought earlier today. None was an exact match, but one was close enough. If Jodie lived long enough to find it, she would never spot the difference. Until she tried to load it into a computer.

  And discovered it was blank.

  Once more eyeballing the monster snake, he lifted the lid and dropped the blank stick in. To his relief it tumbled to the bottom of the foliage, in pretty much the same place as the one he had taken out.

  He replaced the lid and closed both of the locking clips. Then he carefully zipped his prize, the USB memory stick that his paymaster so badly wanted back, into the top pocket of his anorak, glanced around, checking he had left nothing behind, and left the room, closing the glass door behind him. Then he shut the electric wall, too.

  Not that he particularly cared but it would be nice, he thought, if Jodie discovered her memory stick was blank before she died.

  He liked it when people got what they deserved. And there was no pain greater than mental anguish.

  When he was a small boy, one of the series of foster mothers who had taken him in had dragged him along to a strict Baptist chapel every Sunday. People there talked constantly about forgiveness of transgressions. But they also often quoted from Romans 9:18: ‘God will have mercy on whom He will have mercy, and whom He will He hardeneth.’

  On the wall there had been a sign.

  IT IS A FEARFUL THING TO FALL INTO THE HANDS OF THE LIVING GOD.

  He liked that sign. He believed that if there was such a thing as God, He was like himself, with a heart full of hatred. He took all the darkest passages to heart, constructing in his twisted mind a God who was a monster, who hated His creation:

  ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’

  ‘At His wrath the earth shall tremble, and the nations shall not be able to abide His indignation.’

  ‘And I will execute vengeance in anger and fury upon the heathen, such as they have not heard.’

  That was the closest Tooth ever came to a connection
with God. His belief was that God wasn’t that big on forgiveness. That came later with His son, Jesus.

  Tooth identified with that interpretation of the Old Testament God. Like Him, he didn’t do forgiveness.

  103

  Thursday 12 March

  Norman was aware he had drunk too much and was feeling a little pissed. Warning flags were going up. But so was the confidence the alcohol was giving him. And he liked Jodie.

  He was having to focus, really focus.

  To remember his mission.

  But this beautiful woman was making that hard. He was feeling all kinds of emotions right now, including guilt. Guilt that the woman he loved was dead and that he was here, being chatted up by a gorgeous woman who was turning him on. A deadly, dangerous woman. As well as guilt that he had drunk alcohol whilst on duty, albeit as part of his cover. Or so he assured himself.

  Their meal was over and now Jodie was drinking a Zombie whilst he was on his second vintage Armagnac. Thirty quid a glass. What the hell, Sussex Police would pay. It was on their credit card – or rather Paul Cornel’s credit card. Hey, a few drinks either way weren’t going to make a hill of beans of difference.

  ‘You know, Paul,’ she said suddenly. ‘It’s weird, but I feel an extraordinary connection. Do you believe in soulmates?’

  ‘I lost my soulmate in a house fire,’ he replied after some moments.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she said.

  He froze for an instant, realizing he had revealed something about himself.

  ‘When did that happen?’

  ‘Oh, a long time ago, before I was married.’

  Her hypnotic eyes were fixed on him. ‘But you’re still suffering, aren’t you, you poor darling?’

  He smiled. ‘You know something, you’re the first person I’ve met in years who . . .’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘Who what, you lovely man?’ She slipped her hand across the table and touched his.

  He shrugged, entwining his fingers with hers. Her back was to the window. Behind her through the darkness and the misty rain he could see the street lights of King’s Road, the beams of the passing cars and the inky blackness of the English Channel beyond. He was enjoying himself, he really was. And only partly acting.

  ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say, Jodie, is just how good you make me feel. That just when I thought my life was over, you’ve come into it. I know it probably sounds – you know – crazy. We’ve only just met and all that, and hell – I’m old enough to be your father!’

  She smiled. ‘I need a cigarette. Do you smoke?’

  Yes, I smoke a pipe, he nearly said but just contained himself in time. An American computer tycoon wouldn’t smoke a pipe. Shit, he thought, that was close. Need to sharpen up my act. No more alcohol. ‘Cigars,’ he said. ‘I enjoy the occasional cigar, although my doctors advised me to give them up. I’ll come outside with you if you’d like a smoke.’

  ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  A few minutes later they stood outside the front of the hotel, huddled together against the elements, his arm awkwardly round her waist as she lit their cigarettes. He wondered where out there the surveillance car was parked.

  ‘I really like you, Paul,’ she said.

  ‘I really like you, too, Jodie. But I can’t offer you any kind of a future. I’m terminally ill – I’ve inoperable prostate cancer that’s spread elsewhere.’

  ‘Come on, let’s talk about something more fun! What other famous people like you come from Brighton?’

  She drew on her cigarette, then exhaled. As he breathed in the sweet smell he said, ‘Do you remember the actress Vivien Leigh, in Gone with the Wind?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I remember when I was a child, she was once married to Laurence Olivier – and they lived a short distance from here, in Royal Crescent, in Kemptown.’

  ‘Vivien Leigh’s the person who once said something that’s been a kind of maxim to me all my life. “The best thing to do with the past and the future is to ignore them, otherwise there’s never an enjoyable present.”’ She gave him a knowing look.

  He nodded. ‘Wise words.’

  ‘Aren’t they?’ She took another drag on her cigarette. Both of them were shivering in the cold. ‘You might be old enough to be my father, and I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. So?’

  ‘Hopefully not by one that’s got my name on the front!’

  ‘I thought you had to be dead to get your name on a Brighton bus?’ she said. Then she added, hastily, ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean it that way.’

  He grinned. ‘Hey, you know, the Ancients needed pyramids or grand tombs in the Valley of the Kings to achieve immortality. I guess it’s a lot simpler to be on a Brighton bus.’

  She crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the wall and shivered again. ‘Shall we go inside?’ He did the same with his and nodded.

  Seated back at their table, Norman raised his glass and clinked it against hers. ‘To both of us keeping away from buses.’

  ‘I love your sense of humour.’

  ‘Yours, too.’

  ‘So what are your plans now you’re back here?’

  ‘You know, for the first time in decades I’ve freed myself from the tyranny of plans. I’ve worked my butt off for fifty years, trying to make something of my life and distance myself from my roots. It’s cost me dear. I never spent the time I should have done having fun with my wife and family. A couple of months ago I woke up the morning after the doctors had given me the diagnosis that I had less than a year to live, and I thought to myself, you know, what the hell has your life been all about? Building up empires and trying to acquire more – for what? To become the richest man in the graveyard?’

  ‘And have your name on the front of a bus?’

  He grinned. ‘Well, I guess that would mean more to me than most achievements. A humble Whitehawk Estate lad. Immortalized on a bus. Seriously.’ He drained his Armagnac and, though aware he had had more than enough already, he summoned the waiter for another one and a refill, despite her protests, of Jodie’s glass. Then he continued. ‘Guess I had my epiphany that morning. I thought, you know what? When you are about to die you start to wonder what mark you’ve made on the world. How are folk going to remember you?’

  She smiled.

  ‘I knew what I had to do, which was come home to my roots and find the best causes to leave my money to. Everywhere in the world there are people and organizations and causes in desperate need of money. No one person – not even a Bill Gates – can help the whole world. You have your mantra, that lovely Vivien Leigh quote, and I have mine.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘No man made a greater mistake than the man who did nothing because he could only do a little.’

  ‘That’s beautiful. Reminds me of something I read a while back. “If you ever thought you were too small to make a difference, you’ve never shared a bed with a mosquito.”’

  ‘I love that! Maybe I should have it as my epitaph?’

  ‘Stop talking about death, Paul!’

  ‘Sure, sorry.’

  He waited as their fresh drinks arrived, sipped his new Armagnac, then put the glass down. A warning voice inside his head was shouting, Enough! ‘You know what I would love to do?’

  She shook her head and sipped her fresh Zombie.

  ‘You and I come from a very different Brighton. When I was a kid in the 1950s – brought up by my mum, a war widow – this was a seedy, tatty place. It was full of nasty people, violent gangs. It was a dangerous place. Now it’s become the coolest city in the UK outside of London – one of the coolest cities on the planet. I’d love to take you on a tour of the Brighton I grew up in. Do you have any free time before I fly back to California?’

  ‘Well,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I need to defrost my fridge. And I have some paint I need to watch drying. But I’m sure I could find a few minutes.’

  He gave her a sideways look, and chuckled.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be an inconvenience. You’d be a very lovely distraction.’

  He smiled. ‘I’ve a busy morning tomorrow with my accountants and lawyers, but I’ve a clear afternoon.’

  ‘Great,’ she said. ‘How about I pick you up here? I’m a very good driver and I have a nice car. I would be more than happy to be your chauffeur!’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve arranged a chauffeured limousine through the hotel. I could pick you up from your home around lunchtime – we could get a bite to eat then do the tour. How does that sound?’

  ‘Well . . .’ She hesitated for an instant. ‘Yes, that would be great, but I’m not actually sure where I’ll end up tomorrow morning. How about I meet you here – what time would work?’

  ‘Half twelve?’

  ‘That sounds like a plan, if you’re really sure it’s no inconvenience?’

  ‘I’d be grateful for the company.’

  ‘I do have one condition for coming on this tour with you,’ she said.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘That you allow me to cook you dinner at my house tomorrow evening. That is if you don’t have other plans?’

  ‘Well, you know, it’s a strange thing, but I don’t have a goddam thing in my diary for tomorrow night.’

  ‘So now you do!’

  104

  Friday 13 March

  Noah had been grizzly all evening. Finally, past midnight, after numerous trips to his room to feed and soothe him, Roy and Cleo had both fallen asleep.

  Almost immediately, it seemed, Roy was woken by the rasping sound of his phone. He had left it on silent but vibrate mode, in the hope that if it did ring, it wouldn’t wake Cleo, who was knackered.

  He grabbed it, the display showing No Caller ID, slipped out of bed, went through into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and switched on the light. ‘Roy Grace,’ he answered quietly. The time on the display was 12.43 a.m.