The white suit made Carlos easy to follow. Linda kept her distance on the opposite side of the street, and paused by shop doorways in case he turned around. She watched as he stopped and looked at his reflection in a shop window, patting his hair and straightening his tie before continuing down Wardour Street and entering a small French bistro.
The bistro had a mid-line red curtain across it. Standing on tiptoes, Linda could just see Carlos being led across the restaurant by a waiter. A blonde woman smiled and waved at him. Well, if he was doing the dirty on her, at least it was with a woman... But it was the waiter, not Carlos, that the blonde was waving at.
Carlos was ushered to a booth at the back of the restaurant, where he stood chatting to someone. Linda couldn’t see who it was, but she did see a hand reach out and squeeze Carlos’s backside. Then whoever it was leaned forward and kissed Carlos on the cheek. For a fraction of a second Linda saw the other man’s face clearly. It was enough. It was true. Dear God, it was true. Arnie Fisher and Carlos were lovers.
Linda’s head was spinning as she ran across Wardour Street without looking, causing a car to swerve and almost crash into a bus stop. She ran toward a telephone kiosk, went inside and scrabbled through her jeans pockets for some change before she remembered that 999 calls were free.
Later that night, Linda had sex with Carlos. She hadn’t wanted to, but she had to make him think nothing was wrong. Afterward, when she was satisfied he was asleep, she slid out of bed and paced round the room before sitting at her dressing table.
Carlos had only pretended to be asleep. He opened his eyes a fraction and watched her beautiful naked body as she sat staring at herself in the dressing table mirror, his pendant hanging between her breasts. She frowned, picked up a piece of cotton wool, squeezed some make-up remover on it and wiped her face. Something’s the matter with her, he thought. She’d been edgy at the arcade and the sex was not as wild and passionate as usual. As she got up from the dressing table and climbed back into bed, Carlos pretended to stir. Slipping his arm round her, he stroked her gently, rolled on top of her and they had sex again. After he finished, Linda turned away from him.
‘What’s wrong?’ whispered Carlos.
‘Nothing,’ said Linda. ‘I’m just exhausted.’
Carlos squeezed her again and kissed the back of her neck. He had never told her he loved her, but he wanted to tell her now. He leaned up on his elbow and whispered her name, but she had fallen asleep. Gently, he moved a strand of hair from her face before turning over and going to sleep himself.
In the dark, Linda opened her eyes and stared at the curtains. She felt as if her heart was turning to stone. Could that arrogant cow Dolly be wrong? Maybe Carlos was stringing Arnie Fisher along for cash and didn’t actually sleep with him at all? But Linda knew she was just clutching at straws.
Carlos was up and dressed before Linda. He knelt on the bed and shook her awake. ‘Sorry. I’m late for work. I don’t suppose I could cadge a lift?’ Relieved that was all he wanted, Linda got up.
She drove in silence, Carlos’s silk suit was crumpled, his tie flung on the dashboard and the overnight growth of stubble on his chin gave his face a swarthy look. He turned on the radio and rested his arm along the back of her seat. Linda felt pangs of guilt as she arrived at the top end of the U-shaped mews.
‘Drop me here,’ said Carlos. He got out and leaned back in the door across the passenger seat and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You OK?’ he asked as he cupped her chin in his hand.
Linda nodded and then he was gone, whistling as he walked down the mews with his hands stuck in his pockets. Suddenly she noticed his tie on the dashboard. Leaving the engine running, she got out and chased after him. She didn’t want any evidence of him anywhere near her if he was going to be nicked.
Inside the garage, Johnny, the young apprentice, sat handcuffed between two uniformed officers while three detectives looked through the books and filing cabinets. As they heard Carlos’s whistle and his footsteps approaching, the officers tensed up and got themselves into position. Outside, Carlos fished in his pocket for the door keys...
‘IT’S THE LAW, CARLOS!’ Johnny shouted.
‘Go, go go!’ one of the officers in the garage shouted down the radio to his colleagues parked round the corner. In a split second, Carlos had turned and was racing toward the blind exit at the other end of the mews. The unmarked police car skidded round the corner, accelerating past Linda, who dropped the tie and ran back to her car.
Slamming the driver’s door shut, she screeched off down the road, not really knowing which way she was going. She drove straight to the top of the road and made a left, but just as she was about to make the next turn she heard a loud thud, a scream and a screech of brakes.
Up ahead of her was the other entrance to the mews. Pulling over, she saw a red Post Office van halfway up the pavement, crashed into a lamp post. As she watched, the driver stumbled out of the van holding his head, blood dripping from a cut over his right eye.
Still in shock, Linda edged closer, gasping for breath. There was no sign of Carlos. Craning round the unmarked police car in the middle of the road, she saw a group of uniform officers clustered around the Post Office van. One was talking on a police radio.
She knew she should drive off in the opposite direction, but she was desperate to know if Carlos had got away. As she drove slowly past the van, an officer stepped out and waved at her to move on. Then she saw Carlos.
Jammed between the Post Office van and the lamp post, his white suit was covered in blood. His face was contorted in pain, his eyes were open, blood was running from his mouth and a deep pool, as red as the Post Office van, lay on the pavement around his feet. The officer on the radio shook his head, while another laid an empty post office sack over Carlos’s upper body. As Linda stared, Carlos’s beautiful white suit got redder and redder.
The hammering on the front door was so loud and so sustained that Bella thought she was being busted. As she got closer, she could hear Linda sobbing outside, shouting and screaming to be let in. When she opened the door, Linda fell into her arms.
‘I’ve killed him! Bella, I’ve killed him! You’ve got to help me. Please. Oh God help me, I killed him!’
Linda began to heave as though she was going to vomit and Bella rushed her to the bathroom sink.
‘OK,’ she said, ‘Calm down. What’s happened?’
‘He was covered in blood,’ Linda sobbed hysterically. ‘It’s not OK, Bella! I’ve killed him!’
Bella slammed her hand over Linda’s mouth. ‘Stop it!’ she demanded, ‘Before the whole block comes knocking.’
Linda slumped to the floor at the side of the bath and sobbed.
Ushering her into the bedroom, Bella poured her a glass of whisky and held it steady while Linda knocked it back. Bella poured her another one, and sat down beside her on her the bed. ‘Tell me what happened,’ Bella asked again.
As Linda spoke, she twisted the Sagittarius pendant round and round between her fingers. ‘He’s dead, Bella. He’s dead.’
‘Yeah, I got that bit. Who’s dead?’
‘She said I had to do it. She said I had to phone the police and tell them about his garage and his dodgy cars.’ Linda suddenly yanked the chain from her neck and threw it across Bella’s bedroom. ‘That bitch!’ she screamed. Bella stroked her back and waited. ‘She said the most terrible things about him, Bella. But I didn’t know — I swear I didn’t. I was with him all last night... just looking at him, at his beautiful face and his beautiful body and I couldn’t believe what she said was true. How could it be when he’s lying there with me? I was so sure she was wrong... but it was too late. I’d already rung. I’d already told them about him and I couldn’t take none of it back. They were waiting for him when he got to work this morning. He ran and...’ Linda put her head in her hands. Through the tears, she carried on, desperate to tell Bella everything. ‘The van hit him and he was dead in the road and there was blood everywhere!’