Warhol's Prophecy (9 page)

She sat up in bed, glanced first at the radio alarm, then at her own watch: 1.43 a.m.

Rob had rung her over two hours ago from his hotel in Manchester.

He’d eaten a meal, been to see a film.

Blah, blah, blah . . .

She had tried her best to sound amiable, managed to resist asking him if he was really alone.

Thirty minutes later she’d rung the Picadilly and asked the receptionist if there had been any messages for
Mrs
Gibson in room 422. The receptionist had checked: as far as she was aware, Mr Gibson was alone. Hailey had thanked her and hung up.

Very clever.

Hailey felt satisfied that Sandy Bennett wasn’t at the hotel.

She would check again the following night.

Happy now?

She ran a hand through her hair, catching a brief glimpse of her naked image in the mirror on the wardrobe door opposite.

For interminable seconds she stared at it, studying her own features as if she was seeing them for the first time.

The narrow face and the pointed chin, the finely chiselled cheekbones.

She allowed the sheet to slip down to reveal her firm breasts, her flat stomach.

Hailey rose up on her knees, still watching the figure of the woman in the mirror. She allowed her gaze to rove, to trace the curve of her hips, the small triangle of downy hair between her thighs. She touched one index finger to her slim legs, and felt how smooth her skin was.

What was so wrong with this body?

Her image stared back.

She sank down onto her heels again, then lay down, covering herself with the sheet, pulling it tightly around her neck like a cocoon.

Still sleep eluded her.

There was a portable TV in the room, but she decided not to switch it on in case it woke Becky. There were books on the cabinets on both sides of the bed. Rob was reading a biography of Michelle Pfeiffer. It was propped on top of another hardback, about the class system in Britain.

On her own side of the bed there were a couple of thrillers, neither of which tempted her.

Inside the bedside cabinet was her Walkman and a handful of tapes, and for a second she considered trying to drift off to sleep with the aid of music. In the end that idea didn’t appeal either.

She wondered what Rob was doing.

Sleeping soundly, she guessed. He never had trouble sleeping alone – or in strange beds.

Well, he’d had more practice, hadn’t he?

She reached out a hand towards his side of the bed, longing to feel him there.

For the first time in months, as she thought about him

(
and the affair
)

she was filled not just with anger but also with a feeling of incredible sadness. It felt as if she was in mourning.

She wondered how much longer the feeling would last.

Weeks?

Months?

Years?

As the first tears began to flow, she turned her head into the pillow.

CASA CASUARINA, OCEAN DRIVE, MIAMI, FLORIDA

The bullets felt heavy in his hand.

The young man in the white shirt and grey shorts fed the .40-calibre rounds into the magazine, and watched: eyes alert for the one he sought.

He would not be difficult to spot.

The target’s routine was so predictable it was almost robotic.

Every morning around 8.30, the man with the silver-grey hair would exit through the ornate wrought-iron gates of the mansion. He would then walk a few blocks at a leisurely pace, enjoying the magnificent weather, occasionally nodding greetings to those he recognized.

Then he would return, to be swallowed up again by the palatial grandeur of the residence he loved.

So predictable.

The young man studied the huge villa – seeing others walk past its stone steps.

Some would look up towards the Mediterranean-style gates. Others merely passed by.

The young man watched as patiently as a bird-watcher waiting to get a glimpse of some incredibly rare species.

He hefted the pistol in his hand, feeling its weight. The coldness of the steel was a marked contrast to the warmth he felt on his bare flesh.

The sun in Miami that morning was warm, even at such an early hour. It hung in the sky like a burnished talisman, suspended in a cloudless firmament.

The young man took off his dark glasses for a moment, wincing up at the sun.

He didn’t look at his watch. He hardly needed to. The man he waited for seemed to have his own built-in timing device. His morning stroll was like a ritual.

The young man knew: he had watched him perform it enough times.

When he saw the grey-headed figure approaching the gates, his expression didn’t change. He merely watched as the older man mounted the steps, newly purchased magazines gripped in one hand.

He began to pull open the ornate gates.

The young man strode towards him, his heart thudding harder against his ribs.

The time had come.

He pulled the pistol from his shorts and raised it so that the barrel was practically touching the back of the grey-haired man’s head.

In the stillness of the wakening day, the sound of the first shot was thunderous.

The bullet erupted from the muzzle of the pistol and – from point-blank range – drilled its way through bone and brain. A geyser of blood erupted from the wound, some of it spattering the young man himself, who barely blinked.

He fired again.

Another thunderous discharge.

More blood.

The grey-haired man fell forward, crashing face down onto the stone steps. Blood from his head wounds began to cascade down them like a viscous waterfall.

The young man stood there for precious seconds, staring at the body, then he turned and hurried away, aware that someone was already hurtling down the main path from the palazzo, shouting at him.

On the steps themselves, a spreading pool of blood stained the stonework around the bullet-blasted head of Gianni Versace.

14 July 1997

S
HE HAD HEARD
the doorbell, but hadn’t yet been able to reach the door in time to open it.

Hailey muttered to herself as she padded across the hall towards the scattered letters lying on the mat. She picked up the correspondence quickly and scanned the addressees, then she opened the door itself.

The postman was already making his way down the street, but once he heard her door open he waved back cheerily to her.

The package in the porch stood almost two feet tall: wrapped in shiny red paper, topped by an enormous silver bow.

There seemed to be no label on it, and for a moment she wondered if it had been delivered to the wrong house. But, as she bent to retrieve it, she spotted a small tag attached to the bottom.

MISS R. GIBSON
, it announced. Then their address.

Hailey picked up the parcel, surprised at how light it was.

Becky had already wandered out into the hall to see what was happening. She was dressed in her school uniform, ready for her first day back after half-term.

‘What is it, Mum?’ she said, looking at the large package.

‘You’d better open it and find out,’ Hailey told her. ‘It’s addressed to you.’

Becky’s eyes widened in delight, a huge smile spreading across her face.

They took the package back into the kitchen, Hailey looking on with a combination of curiosity and delight as her daughter pulled open the immaculately wrapped parcel.

She wondered where Rob had ordered it from.

Would flowers for her follow later that morning?

Nice touch. Away for a couple of days, so send a present. Good psychology.

‘Mum, look,’ Becky said delightedly, as she pulled the last of the wrapping paper free.

The teddy bear was about eighteen inches tall with big blue eyes and an inviting stitched-on smile. It wore a school-cap and a little knitted scarf.

‘He’s lovely, darling,’ said Hailey, smiling.

Even cleverer, Rob: the teddy was wearing the same colours as Becky’s school uniform.

As Becky lifted the bear to cuddle it, Hailey noticed the label hanging around its neck. She reached across and flipped open the small card.

Adam?

Hailey frowned slightly as she read the label again.

‘I’m going to put him in my bedroom,’ Becky said.

‘Later, darling,’ said Hailey. ‘We’ve got to go now, or you’ll be late for school.’ She sat the bear on the kitchen table. ‘He’ll be here when you get home.’

Becky shrugged, then scurried into the hall to fetch her coat.

Hailey looked at the bear.

Then at the label.

LOVE, ADAM.

This bear couldn’t have been cheap.

What a lovely thought.

She picked up her car keys, seeing her reflection momentarily in the big blue eyes of the bear.

A lovely thought.

Hailey shepherded her daughter out of the house, after ensuring she had all the necessary paraphernalia for her return to school. Then she followed her out, pulling her own jacket around her shoulders.

As she reached the end of the path, the phone in the hall began to ring, but she decided to leave it for the answering machine.

The caller left no message.

‘D
ON’T SAY MUCH
, do you?’ Hailey chuckled as she passed the teddy bear on the table, wiping her hands on a tea-towel.

The toy sat where she had left it, blank stare fixed on her as she moved about the kitchen.

Every now and then she would stop and glance at the label.

LOVE, ADAM.

She picked up her mug of coffee and stood looking at the smiling bear for another moment.

She was still standing in the middle of the kitchen when the phone rang.

Hailey answered it. ‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said the voice, and she recognized it immediately.

‘Adam. I was just looking at the teddy bear.’

‘She got it. Great.’ He sounded genuinely excited.

‘It was a lovely thought. You shouldn’t have.’

‘I saw it in a shop window the other day, and I just thought, why not? I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not. Becky loves it. It must have cost you a fortune, though. You’re very kind.’

‘I just wanted to give her a surprise.’

‘You certainly did
that.
And in her school colours too. How did you manage that?’

‘She told me which school she went to that day I found her. I got a friend to knit the scarf and hat.’

‘Well, like I said, it was a very nice thought, and she loves it.’

‘Is she OK? She goes back to school today, doesn’t she? Like most of the schools around this area do, don’t they?’

‘I’ve not long got back from dropping her off, as a matter of fact.’

‘Well, I won’t keep you talking. You must have things to do.’

‘No, it’s OK. Listen, I never did get around to really thanking you for finding Becky that day.’

‘You had other things on your mind.’