The Vinyl Detective--Flip Back, page 31
“So it’s a heroin overdose,” said Nevada. “Then what?” I had to admire her aplomb, even now.
Max Shearwater spread his hands in a gesture of helpless mystification. “Who knows?” he said. “Who knows? But you will find out. You and your beloved.” He nodded at me. “The two of you—and your friend.” He lifted his chin to include Tinkler in the discussion. I suspect Tinkler would have been very happy to be left out of it. “You will all be setting off on a journey together into the final great enigma. Now, I’m not what you’d call conventionally religious, but even I believe that something—”
“No,” said Nevada, shaking her head in disgust. “I don’t mean that. I have remarkably little interest in your surmises about the afterlife. I meant, how do you propose to explain our disappearance? We have friends and family and they know where we are. They even know we were coming to see you—”
“If you mean your friend with the shaved head, we already have a plan in place—” My heart leapt at the mention of Clean Head. Could they be aware of her out in the garden? My body suddenly crawled with warm sweat. Of course they couldn’t. They wouldn’t be sitting here casually chatting with us if they knew about Clean Head.
“No, I don’t mean her,” said Nevada tersely. “If you do anything to her, you’re just compounding your problem. You’ll have four disappearances to explain instead of one. All of us have friends, family, connections…”
Cats, I thought, with stupendous irrelevance. But I imagined the furry little fools waiting at home for us, waiting forever… And the thought wrung my heart the way nothing else had yet. Perhaps because it was small enough to get in under my guard. It made the whole thing real to me in a way it hadn’t been until now. My heart began to slam in my chest with such force that I could feel my blood in my toes and fingertips. My body wanted me to escape from this, prolong our survival, avoid the brutal, idiotic ending that was rushing towards us.
But how?
“There’s no way,” said Nevada. “There’s no way all of us can just disappear. If you kill us, that will be the end of you both. You will be found out and you’ll both go to prison for the rest of your lives. How will you like that? Maybe you can turn your cells into installations. Man in cell. Woman in cell. A final work of art. But a pretty fucking boring one.”
“There’s no way you can all disappear?” said Max Shearwater. He smiled and looked at Ottoline. “Do you want to tell them, dear, or shall I?”
“You tell them. This is your project, after all.”
Max rubbed his nose and smiled at us. “You’ve actually prepared the perfect method for us.”
“To be fair,” said Ottoline, “it wasn’t really them, darling. It was you. It was all you.”
“Was it? I suppose it was, if you think about it. I suppose I did, we did, when we lured you out onto the causeway just when the tide was coming in.”
“You would have saved us all a lot of bother if you’d just let it happen to you then,” said Ottoline. She sounded genuinely pissed off.
“Just stayed out there and drowned, you mean?” said Nevada. She was smiling at them. I hoped I would never have occasion to have her smile like that at me.
“But what have you gained by not staying out there and drowning? By coming back? What have you really gained?” Ottoline shook her head with disgust. “A few shitty little pitiful days.”
“Don’t get angry, love,” said Max.
“I’m not getting angry, it’s just such a nuisance.”
“But it sets the scene so superlatively well for us now.”
“Yes, I suppose it does,” conceded Ottoline sulkily.
Max looked at us. “That little episode has made you famous on our island. Famous as the mainlanders who don’t know how to read the tide tables.”
“You’re going to do that again?” said Nevada.
“Well, we’re going to process you here, and dispose of your remains in such a way that no one will ever find them. But yes, we’re going to use that as the explanation. We’re going to make everyone believe that you drove out on the causeway at the wrong time again.”
“Drove out? Drove out in what? Our car has been totalled, Einstein,” said Nevada.
“Oh, that’s no problem,” said Max good-humouredly. “We’ll just rent one for you online. Using your phones and your credit cards. Get it dropped off here. No problem. We’ll see that it ends up in the ocean in the right spot. I’m afraid you’ll lose your deposit, though!” He chuckled. “So it will be just like last time. Except this time you did drown. And your bodies will never be found. There will be a big search for them, but they will never be found.”
“Because we will have cremated you in my kiln,” said Ottoline. “And scattered the remains into the sea. Through the garderobe in the utility room.”
“I showed that to them earlier, dear,” said Max, as if this mattered.
“No one will believe it,” said Tinkler.
“Why not?”
“No one will believe we’re stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.” But his voice wavered and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. That is exactly what they’d believe.
“On the contrary. Far from making anyone think that, your little fiasco previously will have convinced them you’re arrogant, careless mainlanders who are absolutely just the sort of people who would make such a mistake. The sort of people with no respect for the lethal majesty of nature.”
I saw Ottoline stirring impatiently now, looking at her watch. “Actually, darling…” she said.
I could see she was eager to get on with the ‘project’. We had to stall them, to give Clean Head time to arrive with the cavalry.
So I quickly said, “Why did you frame Jimmy for murder instead of killing him?”
Max opened his mouth to reply—always eager for a natter, was Max Shearwater—but at that moment the doorbell rang.
Ottoline and Max exchanged a quick, worried glance. Obviously they weren’t expecting anyone. My heart swelled with joy. Clean Head had got here with the cops really quickly.
“I’ll go,” said Max. He hurried out. Ottoline shifted her chair just a smidgen, to face us more squarely, adjusting her shotgun and aiming it carefully. Not that it mattered with that thing. The misshapen bust stared at us over her shoulder, as if supplementing her wary vigilance.
There were voices in the hallway. Max’s and somebody else’s. A male voice. At any moment I expected to hear the shock and surprise from Max as he was clapped in handcuffs. But the voices remained casual and grew closer.
Max came back into the room with Stinky Stanmer.
Stinky smiled at us and said, “I knew they were here because I saw Clean Head outside.”
“Clean Head?” said Max. He had a companionable arm over Stinky’s shoulder.
“You know, the mixed-race girl.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Agatha. Such a striking young lady.” Max released Stinky and took a step back. “Where exactly did you say you saw her?”
“Outside. In your garden.”
“Thank you. You have been very helpful indeed, Mr Stanmer. Now please join your friends.”
This was the point where Stinky saw the gun that Max was holding. He turned to us, aghast, and then also saw the gun Ottoline was holding.
“Over here, Mr Stanmer,” said Ottoline. And Stinky obeyed, coming to stand beside me. Meanwhile, Max hurried out.
“What have you fucking done?” I hissed at Stinky. “You told him Clean Head is out there?”
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know about any of this. I just came here looking for the record.” Tears filled his eyes. “Why are you always getting me into these situations?”
“You’re supposed to be filming at the fucking Lorettos’.”
“There was a problem with police permission. My friend in the police…” Suddenly the tears stopped welling in Stinky’s eyes. He turned to Ottoline. “My friend in the police knows I’m coming here. I told him I was coming here.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Ottoline, with massive confidence.
At my side, Stinky began to tremble. Full points to him for trying to lie. Though of course lying was what Stinky did best.
This time he just hadn’t been able to sell it, that was all.
There was the sound of a door opening and closing and a moment later Max came back in with Clean Head at gunpoint. To her credit, she didn’t look frightened. Just disgusted. “I found her hiding behind Homage to Brâncuşi,” said Max.
He prodded Clean Head and she came over and joined us.
The gang was all here.
Max sat down again and looked at me. “Now, what was your question?”
“About framing Jimmy,” said Ottoline. She pronounced the word with contempt.
Max shook his head. “That wasn’t the plan. The plan was to have him commit suicide.” He frowned as if I’d made some critical remark in response to this. “I know, I know. It was the same scenario as with Pete and Sarita Loretto. Murder and suicide. That was its chief flaw. Repetition. A true artist doesn’t repeat himself. I’m ashamed I even tried.”
“No, darling,” said Ottoline fiercely. “It wasn’t the same. With Pete and Sarita she killed him and then committed suicide. With Jimmy and Valentyna it would have been the other way around—husband kills wife and then himself. It wasn’t repetition. It was a brilliant variation on a theme.”
“Thank you, darling,” he said, and suddenly took her hand, her non-shotgun hand, in his own non-shotgun hand. They briefly glanced into each other’s eyes. Heart-warming evidence of a long and happy marriage. If only they weren’t a couple of serial killers.
I said, “How the hell did you propose to make Jimmy commit suicide?” It was a valid question—the powerfully muscled Jimmy could have snapped Shearwater in half—but my main objective was just to keep the mad motherfucker talking and prolong our own existence.
“Oh, I’d prepared a hot shot. A syringe containing an overdose of heroin, mixed with some other fun ingredients.”
Ottoline stroked his hand. “You thought of all that so quickly, darling.”
“Inspiration, darling.”
“But how were you going to get the heroin into him?” I said. Again with the notion of him being snapped in half. It was a very attractive notion.
Max’s eyes blazed. “Ah, now that was going to be the fun and exciting bit. The improvisation. I wasn’t sure precisely how I’d do it. But in all honesty I think it would have been pretty easy. My favourite scenario was to pretend I’d just happened to drop by, share in his horror and astonishment at the murder of Valentyna, lying there dead in the kitchen, and simply offer him the heroin by way of comfort for a grieving husband. Knowing Jimmy he would have gone for it like a seal after a fish. Avoiding dealing with unpleasant reality was always his top priority. And when they found him lying there dead in the vicinity of his murdered wife, I think it would have gone down a treat.” He sighed. “But it was not to be, because that girl turned up on her bicycle. The bloody girl from the bloody pub. To collect the bloody herbs and bloody vegetables for their bloody kitchen.”
“That stupid little slag,” said Ottoline, the loyal helpmeet.
“I thought I heard something outside—luckily,” said Max. “So I crept to the kitchen window and peeked out. And there she was in the garden, helping herself. Then I turned around and looked at the kitchen table, the bowl that Valentyna had been filling with fresh peas. It was huge. She couldn’t possibly have been planning to use all those herself. It dawned on me that when the girl was finished in the garden, she’d be coming in here. And at that moment, what do I hear but the sound of a car. It’s only bloody Jimmy. I hear him come in and start bellowing to Valentyna, shouting obscenities about his shoes. Then he slams the front door, and drives away again.”
This would have been Jimmy retrieving his wallet from the coat hanging in the hallway and storming off to go for a drink at The Sea View, where Nevada and I had found him later that evening.
Max shrugged. “So, that was that. Jimmy had come and gone, and it was only a matter of time before the girl came in and found Valentyna. So I just slipped away quietly.” He paused and sighed wistfully. “All a bit of a mess, I fear. But then that’s the risk you run with improvised works of art.”
Then he smiled at Stinky and said, “This one is going rather well, though. Plenty of room for five in a Land Rover.” He looked at Ottoline. “Mr Stanmer drove up here in his Land Rover.”
“Very handy,” said Ottoline. “We won’t have the bother of renting a car for them now.” She checked her watch. “We’ll have to move soon to catch the tides, though.”
“What will your daughter think?” said Nevada.
“Maxine will never know about any of it,” said Max, sounding a little exasperated, explaining the obvious to a dull pupil. “Like I said, she found out about the money but she never knew about any of the killings, and she never will.”
I realised why Nevada had started this line of questioning.
Because, standing there in the living room doorway, was Maxine Shearwater. And she’d heard everything.
Her presence was explained by the bag she was carrying. It was a stylish pink paper confection with the logo of Faddish Fetish on it. This was the same bag from which Stinky had so proudly produced the transparent bikini, except now additionally written on it in large letters in surprisingly bold yet girlish handwriting were the words “Fuck off Stinky”.
A welcome phrase, and one indeed which, if we’d had a coat of arms—perhaps featuring two cats, rampant—would have been our family motto.
Maxine stared at her parents. Her parents stared at her.
Then she turned and fled.
“Maxie!” said her father in an agonised voice. He lurched to his feet, looked at the gun in his hand, and hastily set it down on the chair. Then he ran out the door after her, moving with astonishing speed for a man that big.
As he disappeared through the door, Ottoline turned to watch him go.
Nevada was a blur of motion.
She reached the table with the bust on it, scooped it up and swung it two-handed at Ottoline just as she was turning back to look at her. The bust must have been hollow, because it rang with a low, throaty note as it connected with Ottoline’s skull, like an exotic percussion instrument.
Despite being hollow, it was still clearly plenty heavy because Ottoline gave a grunt at the moment of impact, her eyes rolled up in their sockets and she slid to the floor in a boneless mass.
“How’s that for being a troublemaker?” said Nevada, looking down at the unconscious woman at her feet. She threw the bust across the room, into the far corner, where surprisingly it shattered. Then Nevada bent forward and plucked the shotgun from Ottoline’s limp fingers. She picked up the other one from Max’s chair, and hurried out of the room, a sawn-off shotgun in either hand.
She came back a moment later, no longer carrying the guns.
“What did you do with them?” said Clean Head.
“I dropped them down the garderobe. Now they’re in the sea, feeding the great cycle of nature.”
“Don’t you think we might need them?” said Stinky tremulously.
“Pull the trigger on one of those things and you kill half the island,” said Nevada succinctly. “Come on, let’s go.”
I made everyone wait while I went into Max’s office to get the flip back copy of Wisht. I wasn’t going to let us go through all this and come out of it empty-handed. When I got back to the living room Nevada and Clean Head were busy trussing up the still-unconscious Ottoline, using bathroom towels. They tied her arms behind her back and bound her legs at the ankles. Even when she woke up, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Outside the house, the only car in the circular parking area was Stinky’s. The Land Rover that Shearwater had been so keen to use in his staging of our deaths at sea.
“No Subarus,” said Tinkler. “Pink or blue.”
I said, “So Maxine took off in hers and Max went after her in his?”
“It looks like it,” said Tinkler.
“Well, let’s get the fuck out of here before he comes back.”
Clean Head nodded. “I suppose we need to go anyway,” she said. “Before the police arrive.”
“The police?” said Tinkler. “The police are coming?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I said. “Or perhaps I mean, how?”
Clean Head gave me a slightly disdainful look. “I called them as soon as I saw you guys were being held at gunpoint. Why wouldn’t I?” She sounded genuinely annoyed, bless her.
Now she said, “Where are the keys, Stinky?”
“Keys?”
“For your vehicle.”
“Oh.” Stinky dug them out and handed them over to her without protest. Clean Head pressed the fob and the Land Rover came to life. We all piled into it and she drove us away from the house jutting over the sea.
At speed.
29. TWO RECORDINGS
Getting out of there fast had seemed like not just the smart, but the only thing to do.
However, we weren’t even back at our B&B before doubts began to besiege me. Should we have stayed and waited for the police to arrive? But, given the current state of their overstretched resources, it could be a while before anyone turned up, even for an emergency call. And in that time, who knew what deviltry the returning Max might have cooked up for us?
Nevada had got rid of the two guns we knew about, but there could have been all sorts of other deadly surprises in store.
On the other hand, now that those guns were gone, there was no physical evidence we could use against the Shearwaters…
I tried to force these worries from my mind and listen to Clean Head. As she drove, she was telling us what had happened since we’d left her this morning. “I went down to see Gareth at his garage and I took Perky’s collar with me.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “I was thinking about your theory that it was some kind of LoJack tracker and I wondered if he could identify it. But while I was down there Foxy Foxcroft came sniffing around. I think she fancies Gareth. Sorry, Tinkler.”
