Earthly Delights (31 page)

By the time I got back to Earthly Delights, Jason had woken Daniel, and the Prof, dropping in for a roll, had also been included. Ms White was there. So were Trudi and the Hollidays.

‘All right,’ Ms White said. ‘I owe you one. What is it?’

‘The tests came back? I asked.

‘Yes. The blood sample was loaded with an organo-chloride poison. The forensic chemist said it was called Buggy Death.’

‘Is the patient alive?’

‘Yes. They can mop the stuff up with some clever chemical thingy. So who did it?’

‘This way,’ I said, and led the multitude into the building, into the lift, and in stages up to the correct floor. There I knocked politely and the inhabitant answered. He blinked at so many people in the morning. Ms White produced her badge.

‘Can we come in?’

Mr Pemberthy shuffled away and allowed us inside the over decorated apartment. He shuffled to a chair and sat down.

‘It’s all gone amiss, hasn’t it?’ I said sympathetically. ‘Ever since Meroe put a curse on you.’

‘Witches!’ he snarled with surprising strength. ‘Women! All whores! I had you scared, though. I had you widdling your drawers.’

‘You did indeed,’ I told him. ‘Drawers were being widdled all over the building. You know where it went wrong, don’t you?’

‘It was her!’ He shot an accusing finger at Meroe, who smiled sweetly. I suppose it was nice to know that Mamma’s curses still worked. ‘The daughter of Belial!’

I remembered that he had once been a lay preacher. The vocabulary had lingered. I went on.

‘No, it was you. You meant this as a cover for the murder of your wife, a prime candidate for murder, we all agree about that. The Buggy Death was a good touch. But you forgot that she always shared her food with that rotten little mongrel, Traddles. No one was going to test Mrs P for pesticide poisoning. But vets always test for it because dogs have a habit of eating snail bait. Then, you were hoping to inherit this apartment. You like it here. It would be paradise without your wife. But as a result of your activities, she was going to sell up and leave. It didn’t work out, did it?’

‘It was just the letters at first,’ he said into his yellowing moustache. ‘Just to give you all a scare. I used to see you in the garden. Drinking. Laughing! Why should you laugh? I’d show you. I got those boys to find things out for me. Just a joke,’ he said lamely.

‘Then you stole the pesticide,’ I prompted.

‘It was just sitting there. She never stores her things properly. It was like a gift. I do all the cooking. I just added it to things with a strong taste. Garlic bread. Curry. She ate it all up like a good girl. Once she even asked for more!’ He began to laugh.

‘You’ll find red paint on his cuffs and pesticide on one of his shoes,’ I told Ms White. ‘A Buggy Death burn on his foot. The Lone Gunmen have tattled. We don’t need to stay here any longer,’ I said.

‘Elias Pemberthy, I am arresting you on a charge of attempted murder,’ began Senior Constable White calmly. ‘Threatening words. Threat to kill. Attempted arson. Anything else I can think of. You shithead. You are not required to answer questions, but if you do, it will be taken down and can later be produced in court. You are entitled to attempt to contact a lawyer—’

‘You’re another of the witches! There are witches everywhere!’ screamed Mr Pemberthy.

Ms White walked him out of the room. She locked the door of the apartment as she left and was gone.

Then we all looked at each other. Such hatred had stung. We must never underestimate, said Germaine Greer, how much men hate us. Pemberthy hated his wife, but he hated all women as well; mysterious, tormenting, dangerous, sinful creatures. I shivered. So did Meroe. She made a complicated gesture in the air and some of the oppression, I swear, dissipated. I just felt very tired.

‘Gross,’ commented Cherie Holliday.

‘Goddess, did we get
him
wrong,’ sighed Meroe. ‘This will teach me to believe what any man says about himself!’

‘He was very convincing,’ I said. He had been, too.

‘You work in mysterious ways,’ said Professor Monk to me. ‘This has all been very instructive. What are you going to do now, Corinna?’

‘I’ll meet you on the roof at six,’ I said. ‘Right now,’ I grabbed Daniel’s hand, ‘I am going to bed.’

He came quietly.

We fell asleep as if poleaxed and surfaced to make love sleepily and sweetly and go back to sleep again. I woke heavy and sated in every limb. The sun was crossing the window. I blinked. Daniel blinked. I could not believe that he was really sharing my bed. But there he was. Smooth, sleek, beautiful Lord-I-am-not-worthy Daniel Cohen.

He read my mind.

‘You’re still wondering why I love you rather than all those thin girls?’ he asked. I nodded, blushing.

‘Well, my accountant,’ he said. ‘Look at it this way. I like long term investments. When all those thin girls are fifty they will be wattled, haggard and wrinkled, mourning the loss of their beauty. You will be plump and rosy and there won’t be a line on your face. Or other parts,’ he said, running an assessing hand down my shoulder to my breast, then resting it comfortably on my belly.

‘I’ll sign off on that company account,’ I said, and kissed him again. ‘Why did you do that to yourself?’ I asked, smoothing the two weals from a whip.

‘Because I knew you wouldn’t hit me hard enough to leave a mark,’ he said. ‘Why are we getting up?’ he asked.

‘For the Agatha Christie finish,’ I said. ‘Have a shower, slave. You’re still covered with floor dust and henna. I’ll watch.’

He sluiced off dust and grime and scrubbed off some lipstick but the henna stayed. It was my mark, he had said. I was aware that it was an uncertain world and I was also aware that the last woman Daniel had been close to had only lived for three months after the marriage. In any case I didn’t want to live with him, not yet. My life was neat and routine and ruled by yeast and cats and I wasn’t ready to change it yet, if ever.

But a demon lover who belonged to the night and appeared suddenly on balconies, who made me feel like fizz and spring and joy, that was worth having. More than enough for me. Much more than I deserved. Something had changed in me once I had put on Mistress Dread’s red dominatrix gown. When Daniel was dry and dressed I picked up Horatio and ordered, ‘Bring the champagne.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ he responded. And there was a tingle. Not a hot flush of mastery, but a tingle.

The whole tenancy of Insula was gathered on the roof and the Prof, I noticed, had already distributed the first round of champagne. Jason was there, in his baker’s whites, sipping gingerly. I suspected that he wouldn’t be getting stuck into any real alcohol any time soon. Trudi was drinking gin. She did not care for champagne. The Hollidays were sitting on a wicker seat with Pumpkin Bear. He was the only one without a glass. Wonder of wonders, there were the Lone Gunmen, in sunlight yet, sitting together on a picnic rug and looking as uncomfortable as three young men in possession of six bottles of Arctic Death can look.

Mistress Dread, in her Country Road clothes, was sitting with them, talking about a video game, and they were actually talking to her. Strange.

Horatio went off into the undergrowth again. What did he do there? Senior Constable White was lounging on a love-seat and sharing the gin with Trudi. She looked quite different out of uniform; taller and much less tired. Kylie was sitting with Meroe, who was not only drinking but lighting a cigarette. I went over and borrowed one immediately. A Gitane! Bliss. Everyone I was fond of on the one roof. Daniel opened another bottle. Jason brought around a big tray of muffins. I took one and bit it.

‘These are new! Scrumptious! What are they?’

‘Apricots. They keep their flavour because they start off dried,’ he explained. ‘After Goss and me shut up shop I just tried out a few ideas. I cooked the apricots in the microwave in brandy and water,’ he explained. ‘Try one of these.’

They had a different texture to the ordinary muffin; more crumbly but very light. I gave them their due: ‘Equally yum. And they are …?’

‘It’s the cinnamon and sugar tea-cake recipe,’ he explained, beaming. ‘They’re little tea cakes. I reckon we’ll sell as many as we can make.’

‘Louis, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,’ quoted Daniel.

‘Do you like
Casablanca
too?’ I demanded.

‘One of my favourites,’ said Daniel. ‘Along with
Bladerunner
.’

‘You two are a match made in heaven,’ said the Professor. He was pottering about, refilling glasses. Then he stopped and sat down next to Pumpkin Bear, whom he patted absent-mindedly.

‘Tell us all,’ he decreed. ‘Not one more bite or sup do you get until we are thoroughly enlightened.’

‘Where do I start?’ I asked. ‘The junkies, or the Mr Pemberthy poisoning his wife thing?’

‘Both,’ said the Professor severely. ‘The addicts are probably first in time. Explain, young woman! Expound!’ He waved a professorial finger and I began with Suze, Daniel, Jason, the bakery, the soup van and the Goths.

‘Lestat was at the club two days on and one day off, when he went to visit his Alzheimer’s mother in a nursing home,’ I said. That accounted for the pattern. The different places of death depended on how far the junkie travelled before they took their hit. He gave them the full syringe. He didn’t think it was odd that they died because he’s insane and thinks his gift is death. But he was handing out full-strength heroin that Vic stole from the dealer’s car. A terrible thing. Of course, if my friend Jason, who worked in the club, had been more forthcoming, we might have solved it earlier, but he makes superlative muffins so we forgive him. Anyway, he told Daniel all about it as soon as he could.’

Jason blushed. Goss was sitting close to him, so I went further.

‘And he prevented Lestat from escaping back into the club, which was very brave.’

Goss smiled at Jason. He took her hand. She scowled and snatched it back. Oh, well. I had tried. I went on with my story.

‘I did wonder where Lestat got the money to run those three big rooms, a crypt and a dungeon, when the entrance fees were so low. He had a nasty blackmail game going which ensured that once a person had been suckered into the inner chamber, he had a tape which would ensure that they helped him with the upkeep of his kingdom. Mistress Dread?’

She smoothed her beautifully coiffed short brown hair.

‘Call me Pat when I’m out of uniform, dear,’ she said. ‘I never had anything to do with his rooms,’ she said. ‘But I thought there was something unpleasant going on there. But he was a vampire, what did the Goths expect? Vampires are not nice people.’

That was true. I went on.

‘Mr P always intended to kill his wife, but he wanted it to look like the work of the phantom wall painter. So he sent the scarlet woman letters, made up on his own computer which his wife made him learn so he could do her bridge club minutes and email them to all the other crones.’

‘I still feel sorry for him,’ said Kylie.

‘Feel sorry for his victim,’ said Senior Constable White flatly. ‘He could have gone away, divorced her, gone on the pension. He didn’t need to kill her.’

‘True. Though it is hard to feel sorry for Traddles, he gave me the clue. He tried to nip me and missed. Twice. And a nice fat leg within easy munching distance. Something was wrong with him. I knew the vet’s name and I asked Ms White—Ms White, what is your first name? We must be on first name terms by now.’

‘Laetitia,’ she said. ‘Known as Letty.’

‘I asked Letty to check with the vet if he was being poisoned. I knew Mrs P always gave the little mongrel titbits from her plate. Ergo, if he was bring poisoned, so was she, and then I thought, who would want to kill her?’

‘Wide field,’ said Professor Monk.

‘Everyone here,’ said Goss.

‘Yes, but I mean really actually kill her definitely dead? And it had to be Mr P. Also, he was a lay preacher and the language was biblical. But it all went wrong for him. She was
so scared that she was going to sell up and go, thus taking away what he was poisoning her to get.’

‘So it worked,’ said Meroe with deep, guilty satisfaction. ‘But we didn’t guess about him. He said he was happy as a slave. I suppose even happy slaves get fed-up eventually.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Now, give me a drink. That’s all I know.’

The Professor obliged. It was very good champagne.

‘Not to cast a blight on this gathering,’ he commented, ‘but this does mean that we get Mrs P—and Traddles—back, you know.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Andy Holliday. ‘Maybe she’ll be nicer. Weirder things have happened,’ he said, glancing at his daughter.

‘Letty, what’s going to happen to Lestat and Mr Pemberthy?’ asked Kylie.

‘I don’t know,’ said Letty White. ‘We’ve got Mr P absolutely. He confessed to you, confessed to me, confessed to the desk sergeant, confessed to Legal Aid. Clothes had red paint and metho, fingerprints on the wall near that air brick where he poured the metho in. Remains of the Buggy Death in the kitchen cupboard. They’ll lock him up for life. Lestat? The forensic psych says he’s sane enough to plead. We might not get him on the murders but he’s got a great video library. It sort of argues against him being insane that he could keep such meticulous blackmail records. He might end up at the Governor’s Pleasure in a loony-bin. Where, by the way, they’ll take away those contact lenses that make his eyes black. Mental custody’s much harder to get out of than a jail. And my sergeant,’ she added with a rather nasty smile, ‘will not leave me out of any new investigations, because, like your yeast, I always rise. Here’s to crime!’ she said, and we drank.

‘To bread!’ chorused Jason and Goss. We drank again. I felt obscurely worried. There should be three toasts and I could not think of another. Except possibly ‘To sex!’, which might be considered uncool. But Daniel thought of something. One of the reasons why I love him is that he can always think of something.

‘To life!’ he said exultantly. ‘L’chaim!’

We drank to life, and Horatio brought out his present. A thin calico cat trailed him from the undergrowth, followed by three fine kittens. Horatio sat down at my feet, licking an elegant paw and looking complacent.