Dead at First Sight

68 Wednesday 10 October

Dawn had come in the form of an oppressive grey sea mist, coating the windscreen of Tooth’s Polo in a film of moisture. From time to time he switched on the ignition and flicked the wipers to clear it. He listened on Radio Sussex for the news. But neither the 7 a.m. nor 8 a.m. bulletins carried any relevant updates.

There had been few signs of action in the apartment block. During the past hour, a handful of cars had driven out of the lot, but not the Kia, nor had any of them contained Jules de Copeland. A couple of people had left in taxis, one a weary-looking young woman — had she been the grumpy one he’d disturbed, he wondered, idly? The other, in a long dress, who looked like she was doing the walk of shame, had clambered hurriedly into the rear of a cab.

No Kia. No rush.

Take all the time you need, Jules de Copeland. Enjoy your last morning on earth, and tell your pal, Dunstan Ogwang, to enjoy his, too.

Tooth switched on the local radio, again, in time to catch the morning news.

To see if there was any update on the suspected homophobic attack of last night.

There was.

It was the second news item, after a concerned piece on the rise of Sussex burglary statistics and defensive soundbites from an aggressive-sounding Assistant Chief Constable called Cassian Pewe.

‘Following a brutal attack on Sussex motivational speaking expert, Toby Seward, Sussex Police have confirmed they have arrested a suspect. The events of last night are still unclear, but Sussex Police have announced that during the — possibly homophobic — attack, Mr Seward had his right hand severed. Trauma surgeon Robin Turner and his team worked through the night to reattach it. A hospital spokesman said the operation went well but it was too early to tell if it would be successful.’

Suspect, Tooth thought, with gloom as grey as the mist engulfing his car. Ogwang?

In custody?

He thought about his explicit instructions to eliminate Ogwang and Copeland.

Now one of his targets was possibly out of reach, in custody.

And if he was, for sure he would squeal. His paymaster, Steve Barrey, was not going to be happy.

Should he still go after Jules de Copeland? Or bail out while he could? The money from Barrey was in his bank account. Enough to live on comfortably for the retirement he had planned. Enough for the rest of his days.

He could fly out today and be in Ecuador tomorrow. End of.

Except, never in his life had he left a job unfinished. If you did that you would forever be looking over your shoulder. Because one day, whatever you left unfinished behind you, might instead come looking for you.

He was feeling lousy. Clammy. Giddy. Those flu-like symptoms again from that snake bite?

He dialled the number he had for Steve Barrey. It was answered after just one ring and Barrey did not sound happy.

‘You’ve failed again, Mr Tooth, is that what you’re phoning to tell me? I’ve made a mistake hiring you — you’re a has-been, aren’t you?’

Tooth bristled. But Barrey was right, he had screwed up. He’d lost the plot.

He was a has-been, it was time to quit. This was it, his last job. He’d had enough. ‘I think Ogwang may be in custody,’ he said. ‘I’ll try to find out.’

‘Don’t bother. I have contacts. If Ogwang is in custody I’ll have someone I can trust take care of him. Just deal with Copeland.’

Barrey hung up.

Tooth needed air. He got out of the car and walked around in the salty breeze, as he had done every hour or so during the night, trying to fight the nausea that was overwhelming him. He felt unsteady, his balance all over the place. He clutched the car for support, then sat back in it again and lit a cigarette. Thinking. There had to be a caretaker or janitor or concierge on the premises here, of such a big apartment block. As soon as he felt better he would go and find him.