Death & the City Book Two (49 page)

"I think it's called 'having free will,'" Connor reminds me, chuckling.

Junior has never flown a kite before, but has seen them on TV, and in the distance on the beach occasionally. She demonstrates her verbatim memory by reciting the Health & Safety kite-flying riot act, regarding cliff-tops, power-lines and lightning storms, while Connor watches her put it together.

"We'll be all right here," he reassures her. "Even if you rolled down this hill, the worst you'd get is a few grass stains."

"What if I take off, like a parachute?" she asks.

"That's a different sort of stunt kite. This one just does loop-the-loop."

We're a long way outside of town, not far from the cemetery, overlooking the broad flat reclaimed plains between the original Tudor-era coastline, forming a range of steep hills overlooking more recently established farmland, and the outer new coastline, bordering the drained marshes, originally designated as Naval defences. It's still military land mostly, along the reshaped coast, with most of the smaller historic Tudor ports in a chain of geographical outcrops positioned a long way inland now, leading away from the city, like giant cobbled stone-walled stepping-stones.

"Will they be able to see it from space?" Junior asks, untangling strings.

"Guaranteed," Connor mutters.

We've parked on a lane off the B-road, just past the only house on our right, which is almost hidden from eye-level view, built into the landscaped hillside. I had originally thought it was a bungalow from the road, but can now see its split-level design stretching down into the terraced garden, making it much larger than I thought. To our left, the lane ends in a landowner's gate onto woodland, next to a stile and footpath, with a tiny green sign denoting public rambling access, barely visible.

"This isn't a private road, then," I remark. "I was worried the folks in that house would be annoyed, if a kite dumped out of the sky in their garden."

"Nah, he's away," Connor remarks, checking the knots fastening the strings, before nodding to Junior that she can try it out. She heads away from us onto the open hillside, away from the trees nearby. She squeaks happily as the updraft catches the kite right between her hands, starting to unwind the lines in either hand. She's even rolled up her balaclava for a better view. "Permanently away. Head office cleaned it out yesterday and changed the locks."

"Whose is it?" I ask, giving it a longer and more curious glance.

"One of yours," he says simply.

"Don't know any doormen who could afford to live here," I admit. "Not one of my targets. Thought they were all Mummy's boys. Still in their first dodgy bed-sits, rented in the red-light district, I assumed."

"This one was a Mummy's boy all right. He inherited it from his."

I try to dredge my memory, which doesn't take long - the only work colleagues whose home addresses I know are Elaine, and Lynette, because I've had to take her home on occasion - after she's been refused a taxi for being too drunk.

"Don't know where any of them live, to be honest."

"Any of them know where you live?" he queries, sharply.

"No, it's too far out of town for them to find in passing, thank God," I smirk.

"So would this be," he suggests. "He kept it quiet."

"Are you trying to get me to look at a retired hit-man's old house?" I ask.

"You said you'd look," he reminds me.

A dark blue BMW 4x4 rolls into the lane behind us almost silently, and pulls up behind the Audi. It's bigger than an old VW camper. I didn't know they made urban crossover vehicles so big. I wonder how big the dogs are that must need walking.

"It's all right." Connor pushes his sunglasses up on top of his head. "He's with us."

The driver's door opens, and a Chinese man in an Aran sweater, jeans and a tan suede jacket gets out, dwarfed by the gigantic car. I make a private bet with myself that Warren's got one as well, his next choice of vehicle after the refrigerated truck, and custom Mitsubishi Warrior.

"Mr. J.D," he greets Connor, sticking out a hand. Connor shakes it. "Good to see you here."

"Lara, this is Fucheng," Connor introduces us, and I shake hands also. "He's in Requisitions."

"Nice to meet you too," Fucheng grins. "This is my colleague, Miss Dee Jai. She's with Aftercare. Widows and Orphans, the usual. A lot of them in Thailand, as you can imagine."

The Thai woman is older, perhaps in her fifties, looking like she doesn't enjoy the descent to the ground from the height of the BMW passenger seat.

"I always need a ladder," she grumbles, before joining us and shaking hands also, switching to a cheerful smile once the beast of a car is behind her. "But I'm in a good mood today, finally I fit into my Chanel suit. Bargain on iBay."

"Very nice," I approve, as she does a twirl. "Congratulations."

"Not exactly right for countryside, but if you got it, flaunt it," she nods. "Is that your daughter? Wow. She's amazing. I love her trousers."

"Thank you," I reply, feeling a little twist of mixed feelings, guilt and pride both at once. "I'll tell her."

"Dee is here to check there's nothing material or solvent left from the inventory to claim for the family abroad, after we cleared out the property yesterday," Fucheng tells us. "It all goes, from bedding to curtains to photographs. Then we rent the property out and pay the bereaved the income, in lieu of child support."

"Makes sense," I agree. I still feel strangely detached from the concept of
The Bereaved
. Like it's all red tape still, dealt with elsewhere by other people. All my job is meant to involve afterwards, is running away effectively. That's the reason we're called Deathrunners.

"Connor said you might be interested, in which case you get first look," he continues. "Far as Dee is concerned, the sooner it gets rented the better. So if you want a peep now, come on in."

I nod, resignedly. Connor's obviously not going to give me much peace on the matter about my tiny dwelling, until I at least show willing to look at the alternatives. I am glad it's not a skyscraper apartment or a houseboat, though. I might as well get myself a t-shirt saying 'Hollywood Hit-Man' in that case.

"I thought you said we were going to do something regular?" I mutter to him, as the other two lead the way to the property, gesturing to Junior to follow us, with her kite now fully airborne.

"Looking at houses is regular," Connor points out. "For normal people. You probably haven't done enough of it in your life so far."

"Okay, I get the picture. Stop, before you expand on anything else you think I haven't done enough of."

"Goes without saying." He tickles my spine briefly, and we pause while Fucheng opens the side gate into the garden, leading the way down some steps.

I step back to let him go first, waiting for Junior to catch up, and pull it closed behind us, warning her to look where she's going, not up at the sky. The steps lead down to join a flagstone patio, then onto a terraced lawn. Rhododendrons and azaleas flank either side of the garden, and mature trees are at the bottom. Somebody liked their privacy.

"You could cut a few of those down to improve the view from here," Dee suggests, and I feel a sudden stab.

"I'm okay with trees," I say, a little defensively. Like a comfort blanket. I turn around on the patio and look up at the house. On this side, it boasts about three levels with a full-height square double bay window profile, stretching up to two dormer windows in the roof, and I feel a bit over-awed. Through the two sets of doors opening onto the patio from the jutting-out glass surrounds of the bay design, I can see an open-plan kitchen and diner, and a living-room bigger than the overall footprint of my current house, probably including the garden. I look back at the hillside reaching out below the property, and wonder how many farmer's fields and rabbit warrens are between this house, and the next road down at the bottom, where the plains stretch out until they meet the sea's faint blue ribbon in the distance. "I'd never see the cat again."

Junior immediately tunes back in also, at the word
Cat
.

"Are we moving here?" she says, suddenly all ears.

"We're just looking," I tell her.

She starts winding the kite in quickly, and Connor steps in to help.

"I'll play with it later, I just want to look around too."

"That's fine, you go ahead," he says, taking the reels from her.

"Is this all one house?" she asks, running up and down the patio, looking in the windows. "It's
massive.
Like the
Tomb Raider
house!"

"Not that big," I say, realistically. Although compared to our shoebox, it might as well be. She points to the far end of the patio.

"Is that a hot tub under there?"

"Don't think I'll need that," I remark, retracting any thoughts I was having about the place not being very Hollywood. Suddenly the presence of an outdoor Jacuzzi means it's got 'Hollywood Hit-Man' written in neon lights in the sky above it.

But Connor just smirks, still winding up the kite strings.

"Spoilsport," he mutters, deliberately loud enough for me to hear.

Fucheng unlocks the patio door leading into the kitchen, not quick enough for Junior, who is at his elbow at the first jingle of keys.

"Whoa, slow down." I put my hands out around her shoulders, not sure I want her to be first through the door of a hit-man's house, deceased as he may be. "Let's walk round it together, like grown-ups."

"Like on the TV," she says, approvingly. "Ooh. Nice kitchen…"

It's
Ooh, nice everything
as we walk round. Everything smells of carpet shampoo and lemon pine cleanser, as if the effort had really gone in to erasing all sense of a previous occupier. On the ground floor is the kitchen diner and large living-room, a utility room, a small WC, and an under-stairs door leading to a narrow cellar which had been used as a wine store - because that's the only place I could smell anything additional to cleaning products - and contains a gun safe, which happily smells of nothing at all. Up one flight on the middle floor, are three bedrooms, two large overlooking the rear garden with a bay window each, and one small overlooking the view to the side where we came down the steps, and a bathroom opposite, across the landing. Meanwhile, the top floor, at nearly 'street level' with the lane outside, has the entrance hall leading into the house from the front doors in the enclosed porch, a room at the front to one side which may have been a study or office, then another WC with a shower, and then one large room at the back overlooking the garden, with the most spectacular views of the coast, which had probably been either an upstairs sitting-room, games-room or gym. The twin dormer bay windows go from nearly floor to apex, giving the room a churchlike identity, and sky-lights and further windows either side make it feel more like an upstairs conservatory, with panoramic three-quarter circle views. I can visualize houseplants and comfy sofas and my library in it. Which is dangerous, because that means I can imagine living there. Whoever had it before, had similar neutral taste to me in background décor, so there is no offensive wallpaper, or scary jazzed-up carpet, or crazy community-centre tiles to catch me out with, mentally. It's a space I can imagine spending some actual quality time in.

A telescope is on a stand in one of the bay windows in the top floor room. Aside from the carpets where fitted, and kitchen fixtures, it's the only thing left in the house.

"That's not on the inventory," Dee frowns, checking a list on her Blueberry.

"That's because it's mine," Connor puts in mildly. "Got a good view of the land around the safari park from here. I was checking it out last night while the locksmith guys were busy. I'll pack it up now."

"No rush," I interrupt. Some part of me is starting to see through the shell of the house. That it's a lifeline for a family somewhere, a family who weren't aware of what the man in their lives was doing to supplement his lifestyle. Or that I would get in his way. And regardless of knowing whether or not I have any feelings or conscience about that in my mind, I'm becoming aware that there is a practical way to take on the responsibility. "What are the neighbours like?"

"Your nearest neighbours are at the top of the lane," says Fucheng. "Mr. and Mrs. Drury."

"That's W.P.C. Drury's parents," Connor confirms for me. "One of the reasons I thought this'd be worth a look for you."

"I thought it was because it was closer to your place than mine currently is," I tease wryly.