But he hoped that Laura got there first.
It would be the making of her.
In the small hours she would stir, waking from her drugged sleep. She might check the time first and then move – stumble – to the window. The drug would take a little time to wear off. Her head would be heavy. Holding her heavy head she would make her way down the stairs and see the light coming from the kitchenette.
And once in the studio she would utter, “Crikeeey! Shiiit! There’s a fucking wall growing out of the floorboards and…the cellar door is open!”
My goodness, Laura’s scream would be heard three streets away. But it would teach her an invaluable lesson, that shoes can tell you everything you need to know about the man.
From the tiny porthole the lights of ships or oil platforms winked their private message that life went on down there – and death, of course. Paula was nervous, her body rigid, her head forced back and her slender hands gripping both armrests. She trembled, as the more attractive women often do. Only her eyes flicked from side to side. One of the stewardesses kept a discreet eye on her, and smiled sympathetically. Nowadays, quite rightly, they weren’t called stewardesses. Now they were trolley dollies.
“Is it her first time, Father?”
“Like a virgin? Yes, it’s her very first time, but don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”
The trolley dolly, in an excellent thigh-hugging blue skirt tightened her lips at his mention of the word virgin. She eyed the bandage. “Are you all right? That looks nasty.”
“You wouldn’t believe what happened,” he said. “Caught my ring finger in the confessional. All but tore it off.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t believe it.”
She went on her way, checking the other passengers, making sure that their belts were clipped and their luggage was tucked away, noting on the way, which passengers would buy her duty-free and which were tight-arsed.
“Are we up yet?” Paula asked nervously.
“Dear girl, we’ve been up five minutes. We’re over the Channel, somewhere, heading off to the Continent where Neanderthal man still lives. In a few moments you will smell garlic and the fear of subjugation, both of which have led to thriving industries in the production of expensive perfume.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going to leave you, Paula. Goodness me, I’d need a parachute to leave you here. Or wings, maybe, and I’m no angel.” “Please don’t leave me when we’re there, either…” lace, you know? They have a population explosion there. Too many babies being born. And, my goodness, we do know, don’t we, that this world is no place for children?”
“Is it true what they say about Chinese women?”
“I’ve heard the rumours just like you, but honestly, I don’t know. But we will find out. There is one thing, though, Paula, and take careful note of this – write it down so you don’t forget, on the back of your hand, if you like. It’s the salt in their cooking. We must remember that no matter how much we enjoy sizzling king prawn Kung Po style and duck and bean sprouts Cantonese style and crispy won ton with sweet and sour and egg fried rice, we must watch out for the salt.” Paula flicked him another nervous smile. But the smile held too the look of a child who wasn’t old enough to understand. There was, about it, the look of complete dependence. Mr Lawrence peered from the porthole just as they broke through a dense layer of cloud and the heavens stretched out before them, sparkling with riches, playgrounds for the freed souls.
But Paula didn’t see the splendour; her eyes had closed and her head tilted lifelessly forward. The black jacket had fallen open and just below a neat tear across the breast of her blue dress, a patch of purple spread out and resembled an opening bloom of a perfect welted thistle. That strange sac that no one had ever heard of, had filled up and overflowed, like the cup that had overflowed, and she was in her green pastures, as she raced toward the glorious dawn of another Christmas Eve.
And beamed across the universe from all those great dishes that could be seen from space, perhaps catching up or even overtaking Paula’s freed spirit, were the radio waves that carried the Christmas number one. Oh, Mr Lawrence, I think I love you
Oh, Mr Lawrence, I think we’re there…
Chapter 38
“He won’t get far,” DI Rick Cole said to Sam Butler.
Butler’s wife and daughter were in the corridor and knowing how impatient Janet could be Cole was keeping it short. She was one woman he didn’t want to upset.
Butler’s eyes sparkled. “He’s pretty bloody clever at keeping one step ahead.”
“Every exit and entry point in the known world is bottled up. He’ll surface.”
Butler nodded glumly, too wise to know that entry and exit points, particularly in the UK, didn’t mean a damn, then grimaced and instinctively touched the thick swathe of bandages around his head as if checking that they were still there. He asked, “What’s Marsh doing?”
“He’s doing what he always does. Hiding in his office and hoping it goes away. We’ve found the missing women and there’ll be no more going missing, at least for a while. One way or another it’s a result. And to Chief Superintendent Marsh that’s all that counts. That doesn’t mean you’re in for a citation, Sam. It doesn’t mean that I’m not going to kick the shit out of you when you get out of here. You were well out of order.” Cole relented and shrugged. “If Marsh could have us without any flak, then he would. But he can’t. Wooderson’s on our side because he’s got nowhere to run and Baxter’s not going to say a word out of turn. The official line is that you were both on official business. Surveillance, recommended by me and approved by Baxter.”
Relieved, Butler asked, “And Anian?”
“She’s all right. She’s going to be fine. She was pretty well out of it. The wonders of Rohypnol or GHB and whatever else he used. She can’t remember much at all, which is probably a good thing. She’s up and about already and a hangover from hell isn’t stopping her.”
“She’s got some bottle, I’ll give her that, but she’s the luckiest girl in the world.”
“She passed out so didn’t see him leave. Geoff reckons that once Lawrence realized she wasn’t pregnant that was the end of it. He never killed for killing’s sake.”
“Very considerate of him. But how could he tell?”
Cole shrugged again. “I think he knew all along. This was just an ego trip or to teach her a lesson.” “I’ll go for the ego trip. He was taking the piss from the start. I can’t imagine he’d waste much effort on a DC, a slip of a girl. This has all been a fucking joke and, somewhere, he’s laughing out loud. At us, at me in particular.”
“The final count was two men, unidentified, and six women he’d operated on. Cause of death almost certainly blood loss or physiological shock.”
“Why didn’t the radar handsets find the cellar?”
“Good question and it’s already been asked. There’s a few red faces in Tech Support but apparently they don’t penetrate areas they’re not pointed at. The operating theatre was twenty feet away from the Gallery’s own cellar accessed by a narrow corridor that was bricked up.”
Butler nodded again and flinched again.
“Well, anyway, that’s about it. There’s someone in the corridor that wants to say hello.” “Janet?”
“And Lucy, of course.”
Sam Butler smiled. He watched Cole move to the door then said, “Rick.”
With the door half-open Cole hesitated and turned to face his old colleague. “Forget it, Sam.” Butler nodded.