Love You Dead

114 Saturday 14 March

After a sleepless night, fretting about DS Norman Potting, Jodie Carmichael finally gave up on trying to get any rest, and went into her bathroom.

Standing under the jets of the shower, she was trying hard to think everything through. She was reasonably satisfied she’d said nothing to Detective Sergeant Potting that the police could use against her. What exactly was his game plan?

To try to take a look around her house for evidence? Good luck with that one! The only thing she had here that she could, in theory, be arrested for was the memory stick, and the stash of dollars she’d taken in New York. It made her smile that the dollars were sewn inside the mattress that he had spent the night sleeping on. She doubted very much that the owner of the memory stick and cash would have made a complaint to the police.

She thought about seeing the detective studying the landing wall last night. If he brought in a search team they would find the reptile room. And then?

So her first husband, Christopher Bentley, a reptile expert, had died from a snake bite. So had Rowley Carmichael — in India — from a bite from a snake that killed 158 people a day in that country.

So she kept saw-scaled vipers among other pets in her home.

So she didn’t have a licence for them, here in Brighton. But she had inherited most of them from her late husband, Christopher Bentley, and still kept up a valid licence for them under his name, at the address of her London bolthole, a small flat in South Kensington. The police might rumble and bust her little secret Brighton address, her bedsit flat near the Seven Dials. But they’d find nothing there. She would always be one step ahead of them.

Were they going to try to show that she’d taken a snake with her in her luggage on the cruise?

No way, José.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer.

Shrewd, she thought. For a few hours at least, with luck, she would have the jump on that fat oaf detective. Maybe if she was smart, and gave nothing away, she could glean information from him. Men were weak creatures. If his prostate problem was his cover — his lie — for not sleeping with her, then maybe if she could seduce him once, and record it, she’d have a hold over him. Men didn’t reject her advances, they found her irresistible.

A plan began to formulate in her mind.

A couple of minutes later she stepped out of the shower, dried herself, brushed her teeth and sprayed on some perfume. She put on her dressing gown, activated her phone’s voice recorder and slipped it into her pocket, then went out onto the landing, rapped once, softly, and opened the guest-bedroom door, ready to slip into bed with her guest, smother him with kisses and work him into a frenzy.

To her dismay he was standing up, fully dressed.

‘Good morning!’ she said breezily, recovering the situation. ‘Just wanted to see what you would like for breakfast — as you forgot to leave your order hanging on the door!’

‘So I did!’ He laughed, then shrugged. ‘Well, I guess I’ll go along with whatever you’re having.’

‘Bacon and eggs, black pudding, fried bread, tomatoes and mushrooms? Would that hit the spot?’

‘A full English? How could I resist? But I have a really important conference call booked to my suite at the hotel for nine a.m., which I have to be there for. So what I’ll do is call a cab, go back to the hotel, take the call, shower and change while I’m there, and pick up a newspaper on the way — I normally get the Saturday Financial Times mailed to me every week in the US. Then perhaps we could have that breakfast when I’m back.’

‘It’ll be on the table, all ready. Oh, if you’re getting papers, could you pick up a Mail, Times and an Argus newspaper for me?’

‘Sure.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I could be back here in — say — an hour and a half?’

She walked up to him, placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and, looking into his eyes, said, ‘That’s too long, I’ll miss you. I really enjoy your company. Try to make it sooner.’

He placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ll do what I can to be as quick as possible.’ She detected a faint change in his expression. ‘The other option is we have breakfast back at my hotel. How would that sound? Save you the trouble of cooking?’

Why was he suggesting that? she wondered. Had he been making calls during the night? Testing him, she said, ‘Hotel dining rooms are so impersonal. I think breakfast should be a very private occasion, don’t you?’

‘I’ve never thought about that.’

‘It can be the most romantic of all meals — if you’re with the right person. And best of all naked in bed.’ She cocked her head and then gave him a light kiss on the forehead. ‘You know how you can tell the difference in a hotel between lovers and old married couples?’

‘No, how?’

‘Lovers are the ones there talking to each other. The married couples are the ones sitting in silence reading newspapers while they eat!’

He nodded. ‘I guess I’d buy that.’

‘And mostly the true lovers are having their breakfast in bed up in their rooms.’ She cocked her head again with a smile. ‘I bought everything for a really nice breakfast, I’d hate it to go to waste. How about I drive you in the Merc? It’s a glorious morning — we could put the roof down — and it would save you the cost of the cab. I can wait for you while you change, and get the papers, to save time.’

‘Well, that’s — that’s a— you know — a very kind offer. But — ah — that would delay you getting breakfast ready. I’m already pretty peckish.’

‘Good point. Hey, you told me last night how much you love cars. I have a very beautiful 500SL — take it. It’ll save time waiting for a cab and you’d have fun!’

He nodded. ‘Well, if you’d be happy with that?’

‘Of course!’

‘And you’d trust me not to run off with it?’

‘I think I would!’

‘Well, I guess it would be kind of fun to drive over here on the wrong side again.’

‘The wrong side?’ she chided. ‘Wrong side for who?’

He grinned then looked serious for a moment. ‘Is there any issue with insurance?’

You don’t need to worry, you’re a police officer, you’re probably insured to drive anything, she thought. ‘No, any responsible adult can drive my car. Are you a responsible adult?’

He grinned again. ‘I hope I never will be.’

‘Don’t be; there are far too many of those already in the world. It’s one of the things I like so much about you, your naughty streak. You’re still a kid at heart, aren’t you?’

‘That’s how you make me feel. I don’t think I ever met anyone who made me feel the way you do.’

‘Me neither,’ she said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead again. ‘Come downstairs, I’ll get you the car keys. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back!’

‘What do you say in this country about — you know — going home the next day in the same clothes you went out in?’ he asked.

‘The Walk of Shame.’

‘Same in America. Guess that’s what I’m doing right now, the Walk of Shame.’

‘Been there, done that, didn’t get the T-shirt though — was still wearing it from the night before.’

He laughed.

Tooth, dressed in his normal clothes, ready to catch a plane, was parked down a side street a few hundred yards from Jodie’s house, hopefully safely off the dog-walking route of that nosy Neighbourhood Watch bitch from yesterday. He listened in growing horror to the conversation.

Nothing ever panicked him, usually. But he was as close to it as he’d ever been at this moment as, on his laptop screen, he watched Jodie walk down the stairs, followed by the American.

No. Shit, shit, shit. No.

He watched her slide open the drawer in the hall table and pull out the car keys.

He had seconds, he knew, to act.

Making his decision, he flung open the car door, slamming it behind him and hitting the central-locking button on his key, then sprinted, uncomfortably, up to Roedean Crescent, turned right and raced, limping, along to No. 191.

Jodie kissed Potting on the lips, and said, ‘Drive safe, Paul, hurry back!’ She pointed at the door in the kitchen that led directly through to the integral garage. ‘The garage clicker’s in the car, right by the gear lever.’

‘Thanks. It’s an automatic?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘OK! I’ll be right back!’

‘Hasta la vista, babe!’ She gave him another kiss on the lips.

As he reached the garage door, she was already halfway back up the stairs. She was going to use the next hour, or however long she had, to check out the reptile room and, in particular, Silas. Just how the hell had whatever he’d eaten got into his vivarium? Hurrying along the landing and into the spare room, she grabbed the remote and pressed the button, then opened the glass door and went straight across to Silas.

The boa constrictor was curled up, inside his vegetation, looking content.

‘What have you eaten?’ she asked. ‘I need to know. Let’s have a look at you, shall we? Are you going to be a good boy?’

The creature, now approximately twelve years old, was nine feet long. Her late husband, Christopher, had warned her never to try to handle a boa on her own. He’d told her there should always be two of them in the room. If the creature became nervous for any reason, its natural self-protective instinct would be to wind itself round whatever it perceived to be the threat. When the snake had been younger and smaller he had demonstrated this by handing it to her and scaring it by shouting loudly. Before she’d had time to react, lightning fast the snake had coiled round her arms, pinning them to her midriff, then wound its body round her neck.

Within seconds it had begun to crush her neck, suffocating her. She’d tried, desperately, to free herself but the strength of the reptile had been too much. She was close to choking when Christopher had freed her by unwinding its head and tail.

‘You bastard!’ she’d spluttered as the pressure came off and he lifted the snake away, placing it back in its vivarium. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’

He’d just laughed. She could still remember, years later, how he had looked into her eyes. ‘I love you, my darling, I want you always to be safe. Now you’ve experienced the power of these creatures for yourself, you’ll be safe around them. OK?’

It had been a good lesson. She lifted the lid carefully. ‘Hi, Silas,’ she said. ‘So what have you eaten?’

Norman Potting pushed open the interior door to the spotlessly clean double-garage, he was scanning it for any obvious clues. He saw the gleaming blue Mercedes sports car, as well as a hybrid mountain bike and a helmet on a shelf above it, a stack of suitcases, a red plastic crate on a shelf piled high with newspapers, and a row of gardening tools on hooks.

To his surprise, the garage door was already up.

As Tooth, panting from his sprint, and in deep discomfort, reached Jodie’s front door, he heard the roar of an engine and saw the blue Mercedes, with a man in a baseball cap behind the wheel, accelerate hard up the steep driveway. The car turned left and shot off down the road.

Shit, shit, shit. Breaking her goddam neck would have to do instead.

He looked into the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, but all were empty. Then he hauled himself up the stairs.

The reptile-room wall at the end of the landing was open.

Through the glass door, he saw her, facing away from him, peering into a vivarium.

Just as he rushed forward, he heard a massive explosion that shook the windows and doors in the house.

Jodie felt the floor of the house shake as she heard the deep boom somewhere close by. Jesus, what the hell—

As she turned, in shock, to run and find out what it was, she saw a small, wiry, shaven-headed, furious-looking stranger, in an anorak, jeans and trainers, hurtling through the door of the reptile room towards her, holding a long, pointed blade.

She had no time to think. She just acted instinctively, in self-defence, doing the only thing she could think of. Finding almost superhuman strength from somewhere, in her panic, she heaved the heavy boa constrictor out of its vivarium and hurled it straight at him.

The creature hit him full in the chest, its weight halting him in his tracks, knocking him off balance, sending him stumbling backward against a wall.

‘Yurrrrggggghhhh!’ the man yelled, as the snake instantly began winding itself round him and bit him on the hand. ‘Yowwwww!’ he yelled, trying frantically to shake the snake free, but it responded by wrapping itself tighter round him, pinning his arms to his sides, then continuing to wind round his shoulders and then neck. He could feel its strength crushing him. ‘Get him off me, you bitch!’

Jodie grabbed a glass vivarium containing four tarantulas, raised it in the air and held it up above her head.

‘Who the hell are you?’ she shouted. ‘Are you police?’

He looked up at the spiders, terrified. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he shouted back. ‘Jodie? Judith?’

‘Both of them,’ she replied, clearly. ‘And more.’

‘Get this thing off me!’

‘Oh yes? And then what?’ She raised the vivarium higher, as if preparing to hurl it at him.

‘No. Noooooo! Please, I hate those critters, please. Look, lady, I’ll go away, I promshhhh.’ The snake was winding more tightly round his throat and it was getting harder for him to speak.

‘Like I believe you. You know something? I’ve killed three people — two husbands and a fiancé — actually, four, if you count my stupid sister. You think I care a toss about some shitty intruder?’

‘Plessshhhhh. Pleassshss gerris off me.’

He was finding it even harder to gulp down air. He stared up, wide-eyed with fear, at the undersides and hairy legs of the spiders.

‘Help you? Tell me who the hell you are!’ she yelled.

His voice was coming out as a croak now. ‘Get this thing off me and I’ll—’

She slammed down the vivarium on his head, knocking him sideways and onto the floor. It shattered, freeing the spiders. She picked up another vivarium containing three light-brown-coloured deathstalker scorpions, and brought that crashing down on the floor beside his head. As it shattered, freeing the scorpions, she took several steps back towards the door, and saw, to her satisfaction, one of them crawling across his face.

‘Helppssshhhhhhhhhh!’ he screamed, writhing in terror, his face bleeding in several places, as the boa increasingly tightened its grip.

‘Who are you?’ she said. ‘Who are you?’

He stared back at her in silence, shaking.

She raced past him and through the open glass door, slamming it shut behind her, shaking with fear and relief. And confusion.

‘Who are you?’ she screamed again, through the door.

He just stared back, transfixed in terror.

Was he a police officer?

But he had an American accent. Couldn’t be. So who was he?

His face was turning blue. A tarantula was crawling down his neck. A scorpion, its sting poised, was standing over his eyes.

The boa was coiling tighter and tighter round his neck.

‘Help me please!’ she heard him gasping. ‘Helpppsssshhh haveshhhhh — plsssshhhhh, pleashhhhh help.’ His eyes were bulging as if they were going to pop, and stared at her, imploring: Have some pity.

She watched the scorpion crawling over his cheek.

Then she went into the spare room, picked up the remote and pressed the button. Instantly the false wall began sliding back into place, blocking the stranger from sight and blocking out his rasping screams.

She didn’t do pity.