Everything looked fine. Pulling on her heavy-duty protective gloves, she removed a cockroach and dropped it into one of the vivariums containing a saw-scaled viper; moments later, she watched the snake pounce on it. She fed the other three vipers similarly. Next she took a live white mouse by the tail and dropped it into the emperor scorpion vivarium. Then she took out another mouse and carried it over to Silas the boa constrictor’s vivarium, unclipped and lifted the lid, and dropped the wriggling, terrified creature in.
She knew the snake must be hungry as it had excreted the last food she had given it. But instead of instantly coiling itself around the terrified-looking creature, as it normally would have done, it did not move. Then she noticed the small bulge about a foot down its body, and frowned.
The bulge could only be caused by something it had eaten.
She felt a stab of panic. What was going on? She peered down into the foliage and saw, to her relief, the USB memory stick lying there. Then she stared back at the bulge. ‘What have you eaten, Silas?’ she asked, out loud.
Tooth, watching her on the screen in his car, smiled. Nice to see you worried. Don’t want you dying happy.
Jodie left the reptile room, closing the secure door behind her, mystified. That looked like a food bulge — the kind made by the snake swallowing a rodent. But she had not fed it. Was Silas sick? Was it a tumour? How the hell could a rodent have got into the vivarium? She tried to think back to the rush she was in before leaving for the cruise. Was it a mouse she had left him in his tank that she’d not noticed, and which he had only just now eaten?
Fretting, she went back downstairs, took her Mercedes key fob out of the hall table drawer, then went into the kitchen. She opened the door to the integral garage, switched the light on and stared for a moment at the beautiful dark blue car. Although, if all went well in the coming days, she decided, maybe in time she would buy the car she had always really dreamed of, an Aston Martin.
She pressed a button on the fob and the doors opened with a clunk, the indicators all winking together. She climbed in, picked up the garage door clicker and pressed it. The door began to rise. She fired up the engine and watched the dials come to life, put on her seat belt, then let off the handbrake. She was about to move the gear shift to D when she suddenly noticed a distinct whiff of alcohol. She frowned, placed her hand in front of her mouth and exhaled. The smell of booze was on her breath.
Just how much had she drunk last night?
She tried to calculate. How many units? A lot, for sure. And she actually wasn’t feeling that great, as if she still had plenty of the stuff in her system. She would feel a lot better after a good workout in the gym, she knew. She pulled an open pack of chewing gum from the door pocket, popped a piece in her mouth and chewed, enjoying the instant minty taste explosion. But as she put her hand on the gear shift her head swam.
Am I fit to drive? she wondered, thinking about the piece in the Argus yesterday, about the new police blitz in the city on morning-after drinkers.
That would not be clever, to be caught in one of those spot checks. Quite apart from the risk of blowing her date with Paul Cornel, the consequences of being arrested could be catastrophic if any of her alternative identities were uncovered. She switched the engine off, walked round to the rear of the car, opened the boot and took out a breathalyser kit she had bought a long time back. She read the instructions, clipped a mouthpiece into place, switched it on and blew into it as hard as she could.
The dial glowed red. It showed a reading of 51.
She cursed. The legal limit for a breath alcohol reading in England and Wales was 35 microgrammes per hundred millilitres of breath.
For the cost of a taxi, it wasn’t worth the risk, she decided. She went back into the house and called Streamline.
Tooth watched her in impotent fury. Testing her breath? Over the goddam alcohol limit? Ordering a taxi? You bitch! Think you are being clever? I’ll show you what clever is. Get back in that goddam car!
106
Friday 13 March
Tooth had to wait nearly four hours for Jodie Carmichael to return. The neighbourhood was quiet. A few cars pulled out from driveways and returned a while later. He saw a man emerge in Lycra, on a racing bike, and pedal off. A red post van stopped at each of the houses in turn, the driver keying in gate codes and then running in with the day’s mail. Around 11 a.m. he saw a vehicle that didn’t fit, an old, beat-up-looking Volkswagen Golf driving slowly, the driver wearing a baseball cap low over his face.
With a stab of anxiety he wondered, for a moment, if it was an undercover police surveillance officer. But from the slow speed the car was travelling at, and the way he drove past his car without paying him any attention, he ruled that out. A burglar casing the area? he wondered.
Finally, shortly before 11.30 a.m., a taxi pulled up at the top of Jodie’s drive. When she emerged, holding several grocery store bags, he noticed she’d had her hair done. Tooth followed her on the cameras as she entered the house. She emptied the bags, putting most of the stuff, including a bottle of champagne and a bottle of wine, into the fridge, then went up to the bedroom, dialled and ordered another taxi for 12.15 p.m. Then she began to take off her clothes.
Another taxi?
Drive your car, lady, drive your goddam car!
How long was he going to have to wait here before she drove anywhere?
Seething with anger and frustration, he watched her slip off her underwear. At least she was giving him a show. She had a good body. He’d had no sex for weeks and he was starting to feel aroused. Long, slender legs, a flat stomach, large but firm breasts.
She sat down naked, provocatively, theatrically, in front of her white dressing table. She was behaving almost as if aware she had an audience, and was deliberately flaunting herself.
His arousal was deepening. Rays of sunshine lay across her white flesh. He looked at his watch. 11.40 a.m. The last flight today out of this freezing shithole country and back to the US was in just under five hours. If he left soon he could make that flight. He could slip in through the front door now, up the stairs, fuck her, break her neck and be gone in ten minutes. In plenty of time to make the flight.
The bang on his window sounded like a gunshot.
He turned his head, startled, his body instantly coiled for action, his laptop sliding on his dress and wedging against the steering wheel.
Peering in through the window he saw a severe-looking elderly lady in a tweed coat and a Tyrolean hat. He snapped shut the computer lid and hit the button to lower the window. She leaned in and said in a booming voice, ‘I’ve seen you’ve been here for a while. You haven’t noticed a small black and white dog — with pointy ears — have you?’
Tooth, gathering his composure, gave a sweet, Thelma Darby old-lady smile and shook her head.
‘His name’s Bonzo and he’s a rascal. Just a puppy, you see. Must have got out of the hole in our fence — I’ve been on at my husband to fix it for ages.’ The woman was looking at him oddly. Had he missed something with his make-up,? he wondered.
He gave her another sweet Thelma Darby smile.
‘No, well, thanks anyway!’ she said.
As he raised the window, there was another sudden sharp rap on it. He lowered it once more and she peered in again. ‘By the way, I’m the local Neighbourhood Watch coordinator. I’ve had a few calls from people who have noticed you. It’s a free world, of course, but we like to keep an eye on strangers. Just so you know.’