Take Two (A psychological thriller) (11 page)

‘Not porn,’ she said. ‘Anything but porn.’

Terry laughed and wagged a finger at her. ‘Visitor’s choice,’ he said. ‘Can I open a bottle of wine?’

‘My fridge is your fridge,’ said Carolyn. ‘There’s a bottle of Bollinger in there, we can toast my award.’

‘You don’t like champagne.’

‘No, but I know you do.’

‘You’re such a sweetie.’

CHAPTER 21

Terry woke up and blinked at the ceiling. There were cream curtains over the window and three watercolour paintings of Venice scenes on the walls. He stretched and rolled over. The sheets were as smooth as silk, cool against his skin, and he made a mental note to ask Carolyn where she’d bought them. They were the most comfortable sheets he’d ever slept on. He stretched his arms and then looked at his watch. It was just after seven. They’d sat downstairs and demolished the Bollinger and fallen into bed at two o’clock in the morning. Terry had offered to take the spare bedroom but Carolyn had told him not to be so stupid and insisted he share her bed. It wasn’t the first time they’d slept in the same bed, and for most of the time he’d held her in his arms.  Terry was convinced Carolyn’s best option by far was to go to the police, but he couldn’t convince her.

He rolled out of bed. He was still wearing his jogging pants and his Pineapple Studios sweatshirt and he found a white silk robe hanging on the back of the door and slipped it on as he went downstairs. Carolyn was sitting cross-legged on a sofa in the sitting room watching the television above the ornate Victorian fireplace as she sipped a mug of coffee. ‘Can’t sleep?’ asked Terry.

‘I wanted to see if there was anything on the news.’ She was watching Sky News and she used the remote to click over to the BBC. ‘But there’s nothing.’

‘Maybe he’s not dead,’ said Terry, dropping down next to her on the sofa.

‘Or maybe they haven’t found the body yet.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘There’s coffee in the cafetiere if you want it.’

‘I have to get it myself? I’m a guest.’

‘You slept with a TV star last night. You want me to get you coffee as well?’

Terry laughed and went through to the kitchen. He poured coffee and a splash of milk into a mug and took it back into the sitting room.

‘Terry, I need to ask you a favour. Just hear me out before you say no.’

‘Sure,’ said Terry, sitting down and swinging his feet up on the coffee table.

‘I want to go back to the house. Will you come with me?’

‘No,’ said Terry flatly.

‘Just hear me out.’

‘I did hear you out. No. Why on earth would you want to go back to that house? What if the cops are there? And if the cops aren’t, what if the killer is? Either way it’s a no-win situation for you.’

‘I just want to know what happened,’ said Carolyn.

‘You know what happened. You were there, remember.’

‘Pretty please.’

‘No.’

Carolyn moved closer to him. ‘Pretty, pretty please.’

‘You’re like a kid with a loose tooth,’ said Terry. ‘If you keep messing with it you’re going to lose it.’

‘It’s Saturday. We can go for a drive. We’ll have a pub lunch. Lots of pubs in Surrey. I’ll buy.’

Terry tried to look at her sternly but she started making puppy whining sounds and his face broke into a grin. ‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘You know that?’

‘Think of it as doing a recce for a crime show.’

‘Okay darling, now listen to me. You can’t go prowling around crime scenes. Everyone knows who you are.’

‘So give me a makeover. You were in hair and make-up before you were in props. You haven’t lost the knack, have you?’

‘Darling, I could take ten years off you, easy. But we’ll have to go to my place.’

She grinned. ‘Then let’s do it.’ She raised her coffee cup and clinked it against Terry’s. ‘You’re a star.’

‘No darling,’ he said. ‘You’re the bloody star. I’m just one of the minions who makes you look good.’

CHAPTER 22

Terry lived in a converted clothes factory in Kilburn, close to the main high street, with his boyfriend, Gabe, and hundreds of movie and theatre props.  While Terry was under contract with the company that made Rags To Riches, he and Gabe also ran a firm that specialized in props and costumes for film and television productions. The downstairs area was packed with movie props, everything from furniture and paintings to half-built robots, fake trees and plants and hundreds of labeled cardboard boxes.  The main door led into the storage area the size of a tennis court and to the left was a metal staircase that led to the upstairs living area, two large bedrooms, a sitting room, two bathrooms and a kitchen.  Terry took Carolyn up the stairs and switched on the kettle.  ‘Coffee, then I’ll get you fixed up,’ said Terry.

‘Fixed up?’ repeated Gabe, walking sleepily into the kitchen. He was unshaven and wearing only black silk pyjama bottoms, showing off his six-pack abdomen. He ran his hand through his tousled blonde hair and smiled at Carolyn. ‘Not planning on stealing my boy are you?’ he asked.

‘As if she could,’ said Terry, planting a kiss on Gabe’s cheek and patting him on the backside. ‘Get her a coffee while I take a quick shower.’

Carolyn sat down at the breakfast bar and sighed.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Gabe. ‘Terry said you were a bit distraught last night.’

‘I’m going through some shit at the moment,’ admitted Carolyn. ‘Not the least being that my boyfriend of two years has decided he’d rather shag a younger model.’

‘Men,’ said Gabe. ‘Can’t live with them, can’t shoot them in the nuts.’

Carolyn laughed. ‘In this case I might make an exception.’

Gabe made three mugs of coffee and Terry reappeared just as Carolyn was sipping hers. He’d changed into a Nike tracksuit. ‘Right, let’s get started,’ he said to Carolyn. ‘I’m thinking estate agent. Both of us. Drumming up business. I’ll run off some business cards and we’ll get you in a suit.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Gabe.

Terry patted him on the cheek. ‘Secret squirrel stuff,’ he said. ‘We could tell you, but then we’d have to kill you.’

Gabe smiled sarcastically and folded his arms. ‘Don’t fuck around, Terry. What are you up to?’

‘I’ve got a problem, Gabe, and Terry’s trying to help me with it,’ said Carolyn. ‘It’s personal. Really personal. And Terry’s being an angel.’

‘And you can’t tell me what it is?’

Carolyn looked pained. ‘I’d rather as few people know as possible. If that’s okay. If you really, really want to know I’ll tell you, but I’d much rather not.’

Gabe nodded slowly. ‘Okay.  I get it. Mum’s the word.’

‘You can see why I love him, can’t you?’ Terry said to Carolyn. ‘Now come on, downstairs. Let’s see what we can do about your hair.’

They went down the stairs to the main storage area.  There were three columns of metal shelving units each twelve feet high with just enough space between them to manoeuver a stepladder.  Every inch of space was filled with labeled cardboard boxes and objects swathed in bubble wrap.  Terry found the box he was looking for and pulled it out. ‘Wigs,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking dirty blonde with a slight curl.’  He pulled out a blonde wig and Carolyn tried it on. Terry grinned. ‘A bit of tidying and it’ll be fine,’ he said. He went over to a rack of women’s suits and pulled out a dark blue skirt and jacket. Carolyn pulled a face and Terry laughed. ‘It’s not high fashion, darling, it’s camouflage.’

‘And you’re wearing a tracksuit?’

‘I’ll change once we’ve done your face and hair,’ said Terry. He took her back upstairs into the kitchen and sat her at the breakfast bar. Gabe had gone back to bed. Terry retrieved a make-up case from his bathroom and spent half an hour fixing her wig, applying a small beauty spot by her lip and applying make-up that accentuated her cheekbones. When he’d finished, he showed her the new look in a mirror. Carolyn nodded as she admired his handiwork. ‘You said you were going to take ten years off me but you’ve gone and added five years,’ she said.

‘I’ve given you a certain maturity,’ he said. ‘It’ll make you much harder to spot. Whenever you’re in the papers, they Photoshop you to make you look younger.’

‘They do not!’ protested Carolyn.

‘You know they do,’ said Terry. ‘So no one ever sees you this way. Your own son won’t even recognise you. How’s Robbie doing, by the way? He’s in his second year now, right?’

‘He’s doing just fine. Still wants to be a journalist, which worries me a bit. But hopefully he’ll grow out of that. Last year he wanted to be a pilot. And the year before that an astronaut.’

‘He’ll do all right,’ said Terry. ‘He’s a smart boy. Takes after his mum.’ He put away his make-up brushes. ‘Okay, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it.’

CHAPTER 23

Terry’s car was a blue BMW Z4 Roadster and he insisted they drive down to Surrey in it.  ‘Just in case,’ he said. ‘If someone notes down the registration number, my name’s in the frame and not yours.’ It was a convertible but he kept the top up because otherwise the wind would have played havoc with Carolyn’s wig. She didn’t know for sure where the house was, but they had plotted a route on Terry’s laptop that took the direct route for the hotel which had hosted the awards ceremony.  They had printed out the map and Carolyn had it in her lap though the SatNav seemed to be taking them along the same route.

About half an hour after leaving the city, they drove by a stone church with a stumpy steeple and Carolyn stiffened. ‘We’re close,’ she said. ‘I remember passing that church.’

‘In the car or when you were in the truck?’

‘The truck. It was dark but I remember seeing a young couple sitting on the bench at the entrance.’

‘So, how far?’

Carolyn frowned. ‘Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe.’

Terry continued to drive south. They drove through a pretty village and then farmland and then the road dipped down into woodland.

Carolyn looked to her left. She saw a wall and a gate but it wasn’t the house she was looking for. Then she saw a wooden fence. ‘Slow down, Terry,’ she said.

‘Is this it?’

She shook her head. ‘No, but we’re close.’

They drove by a gateless driveway, then more woodland, then she saw a brick-built barn conversion and then she saw the wall and the gate she’d climbed over the previous night. ‘That’s it!’ she said, pointing to the left.

‘I’ll drive by and we’ll come back,’ said Terry. He slowed the BMW to a crawl and they both looked to the left.  As they went by the gate, Carolyn got a glimpse of the house. ‘Do you see any cops?’ asked Terry.

‘No,’ said Carolyn. ‘No cars, anyway.’

Terry drove a few hundred yards down the road, then did a U-turn and pulled up at the side of the road.  ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The gate was locked, you said?’

‘It’s one of those electronic things. I climbed over.’

‘You can’t really do that again, can you?’

‘I did it last night.’

‘And what if there’s someone there? Or what if someone drives by and sees you?’

‘This road isn’t that busy,’ she said. As if to deliberately contradict her, a British Gas van came up behind them, beeped its horn and accelerated by.

‘I’ll go,’ he said.

‘Sure, a black man climbing over a gate. How’s that going to look? They have shotguns out here, you know.’

Terry laughed. ‘I’m a black man in a suit, I’ll be fine.’

‘But you’re right. What if the police are inside?’

‘I can’t believe there isn’t some sort of bell or intercom,’ he said. ‘How do visitors announce themselves?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Carolyn. ‘But it was dark. Maybe I missed it.’

‘Okay, here’s what we do. We’ll brazen it out and pull in at the gate. I’ll look for a bell. If there isn’t one I’ll climb over and have a quick look. The estate agent story will just about stand up.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ve reached the stage where I’d like to know what happened last night,’ said Terry. ‘And for all we know the guy’s up there nursing a sore head and we’re worrying about nothing.’

‘There was a lot of blood,’ said Carolyn. ‘It splattered across the window.’

Terry nodded, took a deep breath, and drove back to the gate. He pulled over in front of it and climbed out. He walked over to the left-hand side of the gate and examined the brick pillar. There was nothing that looked like a bell.  He turned back to the car, shrugged, and then walked over to the other pillar.  There was a letterbox set into the bricks.   Terry grinned when he spotted a small brass button in a grille on the side of the pillar facing the gate. He pushed it and waited but there was no response. He pushed it again, waited a full minute, then went back to the car. ‘There is a bell there but there’s no answer so I’m guessing the place is empty. I’ll nip over and have a quick look. Have your mobile ready.  If anyone turns up text me. And sit in the driver’s seat, just in case you have to move the car.’

‘Have you got a signal? Because when I was here my phone didn’t work.’

Terry took out his phone and shook his head. ‘You’re right. Okay, beep the horn three times if there’s a problem.’ He put the phone away.

‘Be careful, Terry.’

‘All of a sudden you’re worried,’ he said. ‘That’s rich. All morning you’re the one who’s been wanting to play detective.’ He patted the top of the car then jogged over to the gate. He looked left and right down the road, then nimbly climbed up and over. He dropped down onto the driveway and jogged towards the house.

Carolyn had said there were two cars parked in front of the garage last night, but there were no vehicles in sight now as he headed up the driveway. The house was cold and clinical, white walls and large expanses of glass, an architect’s project rather than a home.  He decided to ring the doorbell just in case there was anyone at home, all ready to go with his estate agent story.  He rang twice but there was no answer.  He walked around to the front of the house and peered through the floor-to-ceiling glass window.  Carolyn had said that blood had sprayed across the glass, but it appeared pristine. The room was just as she’d described it, but there was no crystal statue of a dolphin. He moved a few feet to the side to get a different view but still couldn’t see any blood. In fact, there was no sign of anything untoward in the sitting room.