Take Two

CHAPTER 49

Terry poured red wine into Carolyn’s glass. ‘That better not be Ribena,’ she said. ‘I spent all morning sipping blackcurrant juice.’

‘Darling, this is a Nuits St Georges and it cost Gabe thirty quid a bottle.’ They were in Terry’s home, sprawled on a sofa in front of the television. Carolyn had been shooting on location until nine o’clock, scenes of her arriving at the townhouse they used as Diana’s home and a scene from another episode where she and Seb were having an argument. That had been quite good fun because she got to slap Seb across the face and Harrington had made her do it half a dozen times from different angles.

The house wasn’t far from Terry’s place so Carolyn had asked him if she could pop around. She wasn’t planning on being there for long so Billy was waiting for her outside in the Mercedes. She’d asked if he’d wanted to come inside to wait but, ever the professional, he said he’d stay with the car. On reflection, he had probably made the right choice — Terry didn’t live in the best of areas and there was every chance they’d get back to the car to find it on bricks with the wheels missing. She sipped the wine and sighed appreciatively. ‘Now that is nice,’ she said. ‘Well worth Gabe’s money. Where is he, by the way?’

‘He’s gone to see his grandmum. She not getting any better.’

‘And he still hasn’t told her he’s gay?’

Terry shook his head. ‘The thing is, with her Alzheimer’s he could tell and she’d forget about it within hours. But he says she’s lived this long without knowing and he doesn’t want to cause her any distress now. His mum and dad know and they’re cool about it. About the gay thing, anyway. The dad’s still coming to terms with the fact I’m black.’

‘Seriously?’

‘He pretends to be cool about it, but I can see it in his eyes that he’s not comfortable.’

‘You’ll grow on him, babe,’ said Carolyn.

‘That’s what Gabe says. So dish me the dirt on Richards. What’s the story?’

‘My private dick has checked him out,’ she said.

‘Darling, I love it when you talk dirty. But really, you should have got a better class of detective. You know, Magnum butch or Hazell cute. Maxwell Dunbar is just a sleazebag.’

‘Terry, you’ve got to stop watching those old TV shows.’

‘Come on, Nicholas Ball in the Eighties, couldn’t you just eat him alive?’

‘I think you’ll find Hazell was late Seventies,’ said Carolyn. ‘He was good in EastEnders, remember? Played a gangster. What was his name?’ She grinned. ‘Terry, that was it. Terry Bates.’

‘Who the hell comes up with these names?’

‘The writers?’

‘Yeah, but Terry Bates? How is that a villain’s name? Now Warwick Richards, that’s a classy name for a villain.’

‘But he’s not,’ said Carolyn. ‘Not a villain. That’s what Max says, anyway.’

‘He’s sure?’

‘Says he’s spoken to the cops and he doesn’t have a record.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Terry. ‘I suppose. Or is it?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘It would have made more sense if he was a gangster or had been inside for assault.’

‘Nice guys don’t commit murder? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘He’s handsome and charming. Hard to think of him as a killer.’

‘Ted Bundy was handsome and charming,’ said Terry.

‘You’re not helping,’ said Carolyn. ‘And you’ve clearly got a thing about Ted Bundy.’ She sipped her wine and sighed. ‘I’m so bloody confused.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s still this nagging doubt at the back of my mind it was him I saw in Cohen’s house.’

‘Darling, was it or wasn’t it? It’s a simple enough question.’

She sighed again. ‘I don’t know for sure it was him, and I don’t know for sure it wasn’t. I mean, yes, when I saw him I thought he looked like the guy I saw in the house. But maybe that’s because he’s tall and good-looking and has dark hair.’

‘Carolyn, is it him or not?’

‘That’s the thing, I really don’t know for sure. If I was in court and a barrister asked me was I absolutely one-hundred percent sure, I couldn’t say hand on heart that I was. And what if he has an alibi? I mean, what if it wasn’t him and I say it was and it turns out he was in the nightclub that night and he’s got a hundred witnesses. How am I going to look then?’

‘You’re over-thinking it again, darling.’

‘I’m just considering the options. When I saw him at the charity do, I was sort of sure it was him. At first. But then he sat down and talked to me and I wasn’t so sure. And now, when I think back to that night, it’s Warwick’s face I see. But is that because I’ve met him? I’d been drinking. It was late at night. I might be wrong. And he doesn’t drive a Bentley. He has a Porsche. A Cayenne.’

‘I wouldn’t trust a man who drives a car named after a condiment,’ said Terry. ‘Besides, he could have switched cars.’

‘Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve,’ said Carolyn. ‘And he didn’t know Cohen. If he didn’t know Cohen, why would he kill him?’

Terry poured more wine into their glasses. ‘I don’t know what more you want to do.’

Her mobile phone rang and she picked up her bag. She pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she said.

‘Cohen?’ said Terry, frowning.

‘Warwick.’