‘Yes.’
‘And I am sorry that it has to end like this.’
As she nodded, great heaving sobs welled up inside her chest.
‘There, there,’ he said, making no effort to dry her tears. ‘At least we can part as friends.’
Stroking himself gently, he waited for the crying to stop. ‘Poor Horatio. Did you know he was addicted to pornography? Or maybe he was just an average teenage boy these days. You know, there have been times when I have wondered: maybe he was mine?’
‘Fuck you,’ Zoe hissed, lunging for the scalpel. But she was too slow. Pulling the blade away from her grasp, he caught her on the jaw with a sharp jab from his free hand, sending her sprawling backwards. Before she could get to her feet, he was dragging her by the hair towards the bed.
‘Come here.’ Breathing heavily, he pushed her on to the duvet, waving the blade in front of her face. If anything, her attempt to fight back had excited him even more. ‘There is no need for that. You have to be pragmatic.’
Pragmatic? That was the story of her life.
The sobs came again but no more tears. She was all cried out.
‘I am sorry about Horatio, truly I am. But you have to realize how serious this is. We have got ourselves into this situation — yes, “we”, because I include myself in that — and now we have to sort it out. If we are successful, no one else needs to get hurt.’ He smirked. ‘At least, no one else in your family.’
‘And if not?’
He looked at her with a mixture of lust and contempt. ‘I wouldn’t think like that, if I were you.’
‘I only ever did this for Ivor and the kids,’ she whimpered. Squirming on the bed, she suddenly felt a desperate need to pee.
‘Zoe, Zoe, Zoe. . don’t lie to yourself. You did it because of who you are. You needed the excitement, the drama, the money and the drugs. Remember how it made you wet. Don’t lie to yourself about it now, because it isn’t worth it. You’ve got to be true to yourself.’ Leaning forward, he brought the scalpel down towards her abdomen, slitting the skirt so that it fell from her like the dead skin of a snake. With the tip of the blade tickling the inside of her thigh, he traced the outline of her Coco Blues briefs. ‘And you know what you are, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Zoe could barely hear her own voice over the furious beating of her heart.
‘It was clear that motherhood was always going to be the wrong choice for you.’ The big man let out a theatrical sigh. ‘And why you married that English loser will always be a complete mystery to me. God! You must have been bored out of your skull for years now!’
Saying nothing, she tried to struggle off the bed.
‘Not now,’ he warned her, grabbing her arm with his free hand.
‘But-’
‘But nothing!’ As he pulled her roughly towards him, she felt her bladder give way. The arc of golden urine spilling across the linen sheets only seemed to excite him more. ‘Do I scare you that much?’ His eyes sparkled with delight. ‘Surely not.’ He gestured to the side of the bed that was still dry. ‘Lie back.’
Engulfed in shame, Zoe did as she was told. Pushing her legs apart, he sliced open the sodden briefs. Carefully peeling the scraps of silk from her skin, he lifted them to his face and inhaled deeply. ‘Ahhh!’ Tossing the destroyed underwear and the scalpel on to the bed, he barely managed to force himself inside her before delivering a shuddering climax.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sliding off the wet bed, Zoe Mosman skulked into the bathroom. After cleaning herself up, she returned to inspect the tattered remains of her clothing. Her skirt was now unwearable, not to mention her panties. How the hell was she going to get home?
A loud fart came from the direction of the bed. ‘There are some jeans you can use.’
Zoe reached for the wardrobe door.
‘Not yet. When we’ve finished.’
‘But-’
‘Take off your shirt. And the bra.’
Descending into a fresh circle of hell, Zoe once again did as she was instructed.
He let out a low whistle. ‘God, you really are in great shape. You must starve yourself.’
Momentarily lost in thought, she ran a finger round her belly button.
‘It’s amazing how you can still excite me after all these years.’
In spite of everything, a small grin crept across Zoe’s face. Hands on hips, she stood at the end of the bed watching him try, and fail, to restore his erection. Finally, tiring of this losing battle, he propped himself up with a pillow. It was time to get down to business.
‘So,’ he began, trying to sound casual, ‘how are we going to solve this little problem of ours? Do you think you can handle the police?’
‘Maybe the police wouldn’t have gotten involved if you hadn’t-’
‘Don’t be silly. It was only a matter of time. Better to deal with it and move on.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I know that if you hadn’t been so determined to bury your head in the sand, I wouldn’t have had to take such. . drastic action.’ He held her eye. ‘Now: can you deal with the police?’
Thinking about it, she scratched an itch between her legs. ‘They know nothing. I would be more worried about the CAG investigation. Harris Highman should be able to complete his audit in a matter of weeks. Then they will know what’s missing. It will come back to me eventually — probably sooner rather than later.’
‘But this guy Highman is just some tiresome old civil servant. We can handle him, don’t you think?’
Feeling tears rising up again, she said nothing.
‘Zoe?’
Wiping her nose on the back of her wrist, she nodded.
‘Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ he smiled. ‘That’s settled. Now come back over here.’
Slowly, slowly, slowly, Carlyle slid back into the here and now. The disconcerting noise that he could no longer ignore meant that either the mice were back or his mobile was dancing on the table next to the bed. Sticking a hand out from under the duvet, he answered it.
‘Hello?’ said a man’s voice. In the background he could hear traffic noises. ‘Were you asleep?’
‘No, no.’ Carlyle yawned. The clock by the bed said 10.02, so he must have slept in. How did that happen?
‘Why didn’t you give me a call?’
‘Well. .’ He still wasn’t quite sure who he was speaking to.
‘Have you got anything for me yet? I can’t sit on this Hannah Gillespie thing forever, you know.’
One small mystery solved. Needing a piss, he rolled out of bed and padded towards the bathroom. ‘I know, Bernie, I know.’
‘Where are you now?’ Bernie Gilmore demanded.
‘Drury Lane.’ It was close enough.
There was a pause while the journalist scanned his mental A-Z. ‘Okay, do you know a place called Il Buffone?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Carlyle mumbled as he entered the bathroom, navigating his way around the piles of clothing that Helen had left on the floor.
‘Good. I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’
He was somewhat perturbed by the idea that one of his favourite haunts was known to a hack like Bernie, but that couldn’t be helped. ‘Fine. See you there.’ Ending the call, he pushed up the toilet seat with his big toe and took aim at the porcelain.
In the event, Gilmore took almost half an hour to reach the cafe. By the time he arrived, the inspector was on his second macchiato and already buzzing nicely. Apart from the two of them and the cafe’s owner, Marcello, the place was empty.
‘What happened to you?’ Bernie asked, as he slipped into the back booth. Today, he was wearing a T-shirt featuring Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street, under a black leather biker’s jacket. His beard looked even more out of control than Carlyle remembered it. The overall effect was of someone who had spent the previous night in a hedge.
For his part, having been somewhat refreshed by his extended sleep, the inspector had almost managed to forget about his run-in with Trevor Miller the day before. His face still looked a mess, but Marcello, busy preparing for the lunchtime rush, had been too polite to mention it.