Expose! (25 page)

“Here she is!” Neil broke into a huge smile and engulfed me in a bear hug that was so friendly it took me completely off-guard. “Were you inside watching the show?”

“I came with my friend,” I said, extricating myself from his embrace. “I also know Sadie Sparkles very well.” Despite Neil’s warm welcome, I wanted him to know I hadn’t come to the Banana Club alone.

“Sadie is a darling. The punters love her,” said Neil. “This is Tyler.”

“You say you brought a friend?” Tyler leered. On closer inspection, it looked like he had misguidedly shaved off his eyebrows as well as his hair.

“Yes,” I said. “Why?”

“Maybe we could make a foursome later on tonight?” said Tyler. “Are her eyes a beautiful as yours?”

“I’m here on business, actually.” Even though the answer would have been no, I felt flattered. With all the hot dancers in the Banana Club, it felt good to be singled out.

“Don’t take any notice of him,” said Neil. “He asks every woman out and keeps a score. How many was it last night? Eleven?”

“Twelve, man.” Tyler gave Neil a playful punch.

So much for being singled out.

“As I say, I’m here on business, Neil, so can we get on with it?”

“I snagged the small conference room,” he said, and turned to Tyler. “We’ll be about twenty-five minutes.”

Neil led the way back into the club and up a narrow flight of dimly lit stairs. Judging by the sound of the African drums vibrating through the floorboards, I suspected Sadie was still trying to avoid being boiled alive.

We entered a windowless, soulless room, containing nothing but a round table and four chairs. A titanium briefcase stood in the corner.

I began to feel nervous, again. Did Douglas Fleming know I was on to him and tipped Neil off? What was in the briefcase—instruments of torture? Why had he brought me up here? If I screamed, no one would ever hear my strangled cries for help.

Gallantly, Neil pulled out a chair for me then sat down opposite. He snapped open the briefcase, withdrew a spiral bound document and slid it toward me. “For your newspaper.”

I glanced at the title page.
Go-Go Gothic Business Plan—Our Passengers Go All The Way!
“Goodness. You’ve put a lot of work into this.”

“I’ve done my research,” said Neil in a pompous voice. “Now you keep your part of the bargain and we’ll both get rich.”

“Of course,” I said weakly. “I do have a few questions—”

“I’ll be taking questions after the presentation.” Neil got to his feet and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Looking me directly in the eye, he launched into a highly impressive presentation of his long-term goals for Go-Go Gothic. Neil spoke of profit and loss calculations, projected sales over a five-year period, an interactive presence on the Internet, and—the ultimate—a Go-Go Gothic Global empire. “After all, Virgin’s Richard Branson started with just one airplane.”

I applauded politely and couldn’t help wondering if taking money to dispose of a body was also in Neil’s business plan.

“I want to make Go-Go Gothic a household name,” Neil went on enthusiastically. “And with your newspaper behind me the world is our oyster.”

“I have to talk to the editor, first,” I said hastily, kicking myself for not mentioning that the
Gazette
was just a little weekly newspaper. “Let’s talk about you.” I took out the small notepad that I always carried with me. “How did Go-Go Gothic begin?”

Neil pointed to the spiral-bound document. “It’s all in there.”

“Great. I can’t wait to read it,” I said. “But how do you attract your clients? I couldn’t find you on the website.”

“Technical difficulties,” Neil said. “I’m using a virtual consultant in Mumbai. Should have it up and running next week.”

“So you’ve been relying on word of mouth? Referrals?”

“Sadie puts a lot of business my way. Stag nights, hen parties, that kind of thing. I give her an intro cut.”

“Why don’t you take me through a typical booking?” I said slyly. “How about the Fleming funeral last Thursday?”

“That was a favor,” Neil said. “I don’t like doing coffin transfers—that’s what we call them in the business.”

At last I felt I was getting somewhere. “Really? Why?”

“Coffins are heavy—”

“Because they’re lined with zinc?” I put in. “Hence the hospital gurney?”

“That’s right,” Neil nodded. “You have to hire extra people. Pushes the cost up.” Neil pointed at the spiral bound document again. “You’ll see on page nine—”

“So Sadie referred Douglas Fleming to your company?”

“No.” Neil shook his head. “It was a woman who made the booking.”

“A
woman
?” This was puzzling. “Was her name, Eunice Pratt? When did she call?”

Neil reached into his jacket pocket and brought out an iPhone. His hands were the size of hams. “Here we are, April twentieth. Melanie Carew. She called me at nine-oh five.”

Melanie Carew? Good God!
I found that hard to believe although Melanie hadn’t seemed too bothered about Scarlett’s demise. “Did Go-Go Gothic supply the coffin?”

“Too much trouble. A custom-made one will set you back a few thousand and if you buy one on the Internet, you don’t know what you’re getting.”

“So you’re saying that Fleming supplied the coffin?”

Neil shrugged. “Must have done and I’ll tell you something else, it was a very fancy coffin. Egyptian looking. Covered in hiero-whatever.”

“Hieroglyphics?”

“That’s it. And a snake was carved into the lid.”

“That
does
sound fancy.”
And expensive
. My Internet research had also revealed that so-called fancy carved coffins took weeks to build.

Fleming was guilty all right. A prebought custom-made coffin! A prebooked car! A premeditated murder!

“Bollocks!” Neil said looking at his watch. “They’ll have my guts for garters. I’ve got to get back on the door.”

Thanking Neil for his time and promising him to call should I have any further questions about Go-Go Gothic, I picked up the PowerPoint report and followed him out of the room.

I found Annabel wandering around the corridor downstairs looking agitated. “For God’s sake! I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she cried. “Where the hell have you been? We’ll be late!”

“I thought the clubs didn’t close until two.”

Rather than answer, Annabel merely grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the Banana Club. I tried to say good-bye to Neil but he was handing out his business card to a bunch of young women waiting to get in. I heard snatches of “discount for parties of six or more” and “yes, we can provide a Chippendales stripper.”

Annabel walked briskly along the Hoe. I only just managed to keep up and was surprised that she hadn’t bombarded me with questions about my meeting.

Suddenly, Annabel stopped next to the illuminated statue of Sir Francis Drake, famed Elizabethan circum-navigator of the world.

“I’m tired,” she said, and promptly sat down on a stone bench at the base of the statue.

“I thought you wanted to go clubbing.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said irritably. “I want to sit here for a minute.

Annabel closed her eyes, which was just as well because Topaz’s Capri cruised slowly on by. Even though Topaz kept her eyes firmly ahead, I knew she’d seen us. Twenty yards farther on, the car mounted the pavement and Topaz cut the lights. She was beginning to give me the creeps.

“Can we go back to the car?” I said. “I’m getting cold.”

Annabel’s eyes snapped open. She glanced at her watch and looked toward the end of the Hoe. A tall man in a leather trench coat was walking toward us. “Wait . . . I don’t believe it.” Annabel got to her feet and waved. “Dino! Is that really you?”

The man drew closer and smiled. He had thick, wavy hair, a hooked nose, and wore heavy-framed spectacles. “Annabel Lake. Well I never! What are you doing here?”

They exchanged a stiff hug. “We were just leaving,” she said. “This is my friend Vicky Hill.”

“Hi,” I said, looking from one to the other suspiciously.

“You’ve got beautiful eyes,” said Dino.

“Everyone tells her that,” Annabel laughed. “Don’t you think they’re an unusual sapphire blue?”

“Very unusual.” Dino nodded thoughtfully. “Why don’t I take a photograph of you girls together and e-mail it?”

“Oh, lovely.” Annabel clapped her hands. “Would you?”

“It won’t come out.” I hated having my picture taken. “It’s too dark.”

“Stand closer together. Under the light . . . and smile!” Dino withdrew his iPhone from his jacket pocket and took a snap. “I’d suggest a drink but I’ve got a meeting.”

“I think we’re off home. Aren’t we, Vicky?” Annabel gave a dramatic yawn. “Gosh. I can’t believe I am so tired! Bye, Dino—oh! And don’t forget to send the photo!”

Once we were on the road home, I couldn’t stop thinking about Annabel’s bizarre exchange with this so-called Dino. Why had he wanted to take our photograph? Did Annabel think I’d been born yesterday?

I
knew
it was a prearranged meeting—I’d witnessed plenty of those with Dad—and yet money had not changed hands.

“Dino seems a nice guy,” I ventured. “Have you known him long?”

“Actually, he’s an informant,” said Annabel. “It’s always awkward to bump into one’s informants. I never know what to say!”

“I thought you were having a rendezvous,” I said lightly. “Meet me by the statue at ten, kind of thing. I wouldn’t have minded.” I could have begged Topaz to take me home.

“What an extraordinary thing to say,” Annabel laughed. “You are funny.”

“You were all excited about going clubbing and suddenly—poof—you’re tired.”

“Guilty as charged,” said Annabel. “The truth is, seeing those pole dancers has got me thinking.”

“You’re going to change your job?”

“No silly. I’m going to perform for Jack. Didn’t you say I should spice up my sex life? Well, I’m going to start tonight and can’t wait to get cracking.”

“Oh, lucky Jack,” was all I managed to say.

Annabel had neatly changed the subject, which meant she was up to something, but I couldn’t think what.

The journey home was spent listening to Annabel’s colorful account of what Sadie endured at the hands of her handsome captor. I decided against telling Mrs. Evans about her daughter’s raunchy performance—although recalling Mrs. E.’s steamy afternoon trysts, I concluded that the apple did not fall far from the tree.

As I lay in bed later that night, my thoughts turned to Fleming and Melanie Carew. An affair with the secretary was such a cliché. Was it possible he was leading two women up the garden path while courting Olive Larch?

Armed with Neil Titley’s startling revelations, I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come. Douglas Fleming would be attending the GSRF first race of the season at the Three Tuns and I had a lot of questions to ask him.

26

“Wakey, wakey, rise and shine!” came a cheery voice.

I opened my eyes and bolted upright. Topaz was standing over my bed holding two mugs of tea.

“What are you doing here?” I looked at the clock. It wasn’t yet eight. I’d been hoping for a lie in. “It’s Sunday morning!”

Topaz looked a wreck and was still dressed in her farming gear—though I was glad to see she had removed the heavy mustache. Even so, a faint line of gray glue was visible on her upper lip.

“What a night!” She passed me a mug.

It would appear I was back in her good books again—though I did eye the nightstand for a handy blunt instrument in case she got any funny ideas.

“How did you get in?” I pulled the duvet up under my chin.

“Mrs. Evans was up making the tea.” She took a sip. “I say, this is frightfully good.”

“You didn’t come here to bring me my morning cuppa,” I said grumpily. “And if you expect me to apologize for going out with Annabel last night, it was all work. I had a meeting.”

“That’s why I’m here. This
is
about Annabel.” Topaz was so excited she sat down and bounced on the edge of my bed.

“Careful!” I shrieked as tea slopped onto the sheets.

“Sorry. I’ve been up all night and you’ll never guess what I saw.”

“No games, Topaz. It’s too early and can you move? I can’t breathe.”

Topaz shifted a few inches away. “I’ll tell you, on the condition that I get a front-page exclusive and a real job.”

“It depends what it is, and you know I can’t promise anything. It’s not up to me.”

“All superheroes are newspaper reporters,” Topaz declared. “I’ll go elsewhere and then you’ll be sorry.”

“If you’re thinking about the
Bugle
, don’t bother,” I said. “It prints nothing but rubbish.”

“True.” Topaz gave a peculiar snort, half chuckle, half snicker. “They thought the Caped Kitten was the Beast of Bodmin!”

Quite,” I said. “So what’s this about Annabel?”