A blur of movement from his blind side — and he was slammed against the car as Meadows tackled him, his head cracking against the window. Before he could recover, she had grabbed him in a judo hold and thrown him to the ground, pinning one arm up behind his back. ‘Oh, well done!’ proclaimed Gold. ‘Do you need any help?’ Meadows gave him an irritated look as she grappled with her prisoner.
Brownlow jogged up behind her, his overcoat flapping. ‘William Jarnow!’ he shouted as he took out his handcuffs. ‘You’re under arrest for the murder of Som Niratpattanasai, and conspiracy to murder Desmond Perch. You do not have to say anything…’
As the detective continued to read Jarnow his rights, Gold regarded the scene with satisfaction — then, to the surprise of both officers, reached inside his jacket and took a slender champagne flute from a pocket. ‘What?’ he asked, feigning bafflement at their reaction, as he poured himself a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon. ‘It would be an awful shame to waste it. And I think this definitely counts as a special occasion…’
As Brownlow secured the cuffs around Jarnow’s wrists with a metallic rasp, Gold raised the glass. ‘Cheers!’
The following morning, Gold was stretched out on a sofa in his lounge, a tabloid newspaper in one hand and a phone in the other. ‘I assume you’ve seen this morning’s front page, Julian,’ he said, with relaxed pleasure. The reply from the other end of the line was in the affirmative. ‘Well, this is a textbook example of what happens when you rush to the presses without waiting to check if your so-called prime suspect has been released without charge and left Scotland Yard by the back door, isn’t it?’ He read out the headline. ‘“Gold Fingered: Celebrity Arrested For In-Flight Murder”. And would you say that the way the actual story is worded implies that I’m guilty?’ He listened to the answer from Harcourt-Boles. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you thought it did more than merely imply. Libellous, you say? Marvellous. Yes, issue a writ, by all means. And how was Miss Kanthachai after her release? Good, I’m relieved. I must give her a call and make sure she’s all right.’
He looked round at a buzz from the entryphone. ‘Oh, excuse me, Julian,’ he said as he stood, ‘there’s someone at the door. Yes, let me know how they respond. I’m sure they’ll be willing to settle this out of court as quickly as possible. Ciao.’
The entryphone’s screen revealed two now-familiar faces. ‘Ah, Detective Inspector Brownlow,’ he said a minute or so later as he let them in, ‘and Detective Constable Meadows. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Mr Gold—’ began Brownlow.
‘Levy, please! I don’t hold grudges.’
‘Thanks.’ Gold led them into the lounge. ‘Anyway, you could call this a sort of courtesy visit to let you know what’s happened. We just came from the crown court. Jarnow pleaded guilty right off the bat to the murder and conspiracy charges. We thought he was going to be a tough nut to crack when we questioned him last night, but when we showed him the photos of Niratpattanasai’s body in the flat, he just broke down. I suppose he cared more about him — her — than he realised.’
‘I suspect that poor Som was the only person who still had any feelings for him,’ said Gold, shaking his head. ‘And he killed her nevertheless.’
‘He confirmed that everything happened just the way you’d thought,’ Meadows told him. ‘The champagne bottle, Niratpattanasai posing as a flight attendant, the whole thing. There’s one thing you didn’t explain, though.’
‘What would that be?’
‘When we did the Lexis search on the other passengers, both Jarnow and another businessman, Peter Lewis, came up as having been mentioned in articles in Perch’s paper. How did you already know it was Jarnow?’
‘Oh, that was simple,’ he replied with a smile. ‘Lewis was wearing a suit by Gieves and Hawkes of Saville Row. I recognised the cut at once.’
‘And Jarnow was wearing…?’
‘Some shabby high street off-the-peg affair. I wouldn’t even pretend to know from which chain. His other clothes, and even his suitcases, were equally cheap. A man so parsimonious would never consider spending ten thousand pounds on a first class suite just to have access to in-flight wi-fi, when he could have got it at a fraction of the cost by travelling business class.’
She nodded. ‘I see. I guess you really do know about a lot of things.’
A look of sly amusement spread across Gold’s face. ‘That almost sounded like an apology, Detective Constable Meadows. Are you saying that I’m not quite as worthless and unbearable as you first thought?’
Her own smile was better hidden, but discernible. ‘Not quite.’
He grinned. ‘Excellent. Then there’s still a chance for me to win you round in time.’
Brownlow raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean, “in time”?’
‘Don’t you see?’ he proclaimed. ‘I think I may have found my new calling — more pictures for my wall.’ He nodded towards the last of the framed pictures. ‘I’ll certainly be adding today’s front page — accompanied by a copy of the cheque Perch’s rag will be sending me as an out-of-court settlement for libel. But I’ll also add the headlines about Jarnow’s conviction, which will be far more satisfying. Being a detective is a career path I’d never considered before, but I think I did rather well for a first attempt, don’t you?’
Brownlow and Meadows exchanged looks; his of bewilderment, hers of muted horror. ‘What career?’ she asked.
Gold took a long breath. ‘The thing is, when I told you I went to Bangkok looking for pleasure, that was the truth… but not the whole truth. I was looking for purpose.’ On their confusion, he elaborated: ‘This may sound a very odd thing to say, but success can be astonishingly tedious! Once you’ve climbed a mountain once, there’s a hugely diminished return in doing so again. Why do you think I’ve done so many different things? And while you’ll no doubt consider this appallingly egotistical, everything I’ve achieved so far in my life has been done so with relative ease. I need challenge. I need to pit my wits against people who have more incentive to outsmart me than scoring points on a comedy panel show — to have real consequences for failure. Consequences like the guilty going unpunished.’
‘So…’ Brownlow slowly asked, ‘are you saying that you want to join the police?’
He laughed. ‘Oh, good God, no! For a start, there’s far too much sobriety required. And a bobby’s helmet would ruin my hair. But should you happen to encounter another case that seems impossible, then I’ll be more than happy to act as a consultant.’
If Meadows’ expression as described by Gold the previous day had been like sucking a lemon, she now appeared to have a mouthful of battery acid. ‘That’s… very generous,’ said Brownlow carefully, before she could blurt out anything more heartfelt. ‘But I think we’re more than capable of handling our own investigations.’
‘I thought you might say that,’ Gold replied with a smile. ‘But the offer remains open. Who knows? You may want to take me up on it sometime.’
‘We’ll bear it in mind,’ Brownlow said, trying to hold in his sarcasm. ‘But anyway, we just wanted to thank you for your help.’
‘Oh, don’t mention it.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ Meadows muttered. One corner of Gold’s mouth creased upwards.
‘Anyway, we’ll be going,’ said Brownlow. ‘Goodbye, Mr Gold.’
Their host picked up a glass of champagne as if to toast them with it. ‘See you soon,’ he said, beaming.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andy McDermott is the author of nine international bestsellers, including the Nina Wilde/Eddie Chase series of adventure thrillers and the spy thriller