‘What do doctors know?’ said McKenzie. ‘Anyway, I got a korma and that’s as mild as you can get.’ He figured it best not to tell her about the vindaloo and the Cobra.
‘When will you be back?’ she asked.
‘Tomorrow, late evening,’ he said. ‘The traffic was fine today and I’ll be done here by nine-thirty in the morning.’
‘I’ll put a shepherd’s pie on,’ she said.
‘Lovely,’ said McKenzie.
‘And you drive carefully,’ she said.
‘You know I always do, Debs.’
‘Because I care.’
McKenzie smiled. ‘I know you do, honey,’ he said. ‘You sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.’
‘And you. You’re sleeping in the cab?’
‘It’s the cheapest option, you know that.’
‘But that mattress is doing your back no favours,’ she said. ‘You should insist the company pays for a decent hotel room.’
‘Debs, the way the economy is right now I’m lucky to have a job. Now don’t fuss, I’ll be just fine.’ McKenzie put the phone back in his pocket.
He reached his truck and grunted as he pulled himself up one-handed.
‘Reg?’ said a voice from behind him.
McKenzie dropped back to the ground and turned, wondering if a fellow truck driver had recognised him.
He frowned when he saw the big man in the black coat and his frown deepened when he saw the gun in the man’s hand. He was still frowning when the man pulled the trigger and the bullet slammed into the middle of his forehead, splattering bone, brains and blood over the door of his truck.
CHAPTER 83
Richards sipped his champagne as he studied the bank of CCTV monitors. From his high-backed seat in his office, he could see the queue of people outside waiting to be allowed into the lift and a dozen views of various parts of the club, restaurant and terrace. The only area that wasn’t covered were the toilets and even they had cameras covering the doors. There were three bouncers standing outside the entrance and another half dozen scattered around the club. Not that there was ever any trouble. Troublemakers were stopped at the door. Most of the people allowed in were known to the bouncers and the only newcomers allowed in had to satisfy a number of criteria including dress, appearance and manner.
There was a large clock on the wall above the monitors. It was just after midnight and Richards figured the truck driver was probably already dead. He wasn’t expecting Halpin to call because phone traffic could be traced. Whatever had happened, Halpin would wait until he could tell Richards face to face.
He sipped his champagne again. With Carolyn and Cohen at the bottom of the North Sea and the truck driver dead, Richards was in the clear. With no bodies, no forensics and near-perfect alibis, there was no way the cops could put a case together.
A black man in a sharp suit and a woman in a short black dress walked to the front of the queue and spoke to Jerry O’Hara, the bouncer in charge of the VIP list. Richards recognised the new arrivals – Terry and Jenny. He cursed under his breath as he realised he’d forgotten to add their names to the VIP list. He reached for a transceiver on his desk and pressed the ‘transmit’ button. ‘Jerry, It’s Warwick. Let them in, I know them.’
O’Hara’s hand had instinctively gone up to the earpiece in his right ear as Richards had spoken and he nodded and said something to Terry. Terry and Jenny stepped into the lift. Richards looked at the monitor covering the lift. The camera was up in a top corner and he was able to get a good look down the front of Jenny’s dress. She didn’t seem to be wearing a bra. He sipped his champagne. Jenny looked up and smiled at the camera. It was as if she was looking right at him. Richards felt his stomach lurch. She was the spitting image of Carolyn.
He held the transceiver to his face and pressed the transmit button again. ‘Anita, there’s a couple coming up in the lift. Terry and Jenny. Take them to the VIP section, whatever they want, on me.’
The transceiver crackled. ‘On my way,’ said Anita.
Richards watched Anita walk to the lift doors and greet Terry and Jenny. He followed their progress on the monitors as she escorted them to the VIP area, guarded by two more black-suited bouncers. Anita seated them in a secluded corner and spoke to a waitress. A few minutes later a bottle of Cristal arrived in an ice bucket. Richards raised his glass to the monitor and toasted them.
He waited fifteen minutes before heading out of his office. He walked down a narrow corridor and tapped a four-digit code on a keypad that opened the door to the rear of the club. The door opened at the side of the main bar. A pretty red-haired waitress flashed him a smile as he appeared. She was a recent hiring and Richards couldn’t remember her name but he smiled and nodded as he let himself out of the bar and walked to the VIP area.
Two of his best bouncers were at the entrance to the VIP section, Brank and Stevan, big Serbian lads who spent hours in the gym every day and were keen kick-boxers. They stepped to the side and Richards walked over to Terry and Jenny’s table. ‘Guys, I’m really glad you came,’ he said.
Terry stood up and Richards hugged him and patted him on the back. He shook hands with Jenny. ‘I hope they’re looking after you,’ he said.
Jenny held up her glass. ‘Cristal champagne,’ she said. ‘What’s not to like?’
‘Well, your sister wouldn’t touch it,’ he said.
‘Yeah, Carolyn’s big on red wines,’ said Terry, sitting down. He leaned back and stretched his arms along the sofa. ‘This is the business, Warwick.’
‘It’s select, that’s what makes it work,’ said Richards. ‘We’re careful about who we let in. It means you can let your hair down without worrying some dickhead is going to snap you on his iPhone and sell it to The Sun.’
‘Yeah, Seb says it’s one of the few places he feels safe,’ said Terry.
‘I don’t know why he just doesn’t tell the world,’ said Warwick. ‘There’s no sin in being gay these days.’
‘Seb’s gay?” said Jenny. Her jaw dropped. ‘No bloody way he’s a pillow-biter.’
Terry laughed and slapped his knee. ‘Darling, you can’t go around using words like that.’
‘I’m Australian,’ said Jenny. ‘We speak our minds.’
‘Yes, well, this is England and here you can end up in court for speaking ill of the gay.’ He looked over at Richards. ‘The thing is, the TV world is funny like that. You can be over the top gay like Graham Norton or Alan Carr but if you’re an actor, especially one playing a soap opera leading man, being gay can be the kiss of death, career-wise.’ He shrugged. ‘I know, it doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it is.’
Richards grinned. ‘What, all those moist housewives would switch off if they knew that Seb preferred the dance of the chocolate chutney?’
Jenny was drinking and she almost choked on her champagne. She pointed at him accusingly. ‘Terry, are you going to let him say that?’
Richards grinned. ‘I was joking,’ he said.
Anita came over with a glass and he poured Cristal into it. He topped up their glasses and then waved the empty bottle at Anita. ‘Get me another, darling. The 2004 if we’ve got any left.’
‘It’s actually a real problem for guys like Seb,’ said Terry as Anita went over to the bar. ‘I kid you not. If the tabloids were to get a picture of him in a clinch with one of his young boyfriends, the network would probably let him go. They wouldn’t admit the real reason, of course. They’d say his character had completed its arc or some bollocks like that.’
‘You are serious, Seb’s gay?’ asked Jenny.
‘As a nine-bob note,’ said Terry.
‘He kept looking at my tits,’ said Jenny.
‘He likes to look,’ said Terry. ‘And he loves to flirt. But, trust me, his interests lie elsewhere.’