‘This is very good,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Very Elizabeth.’
‘Thank you,’ says Joyce. ‘So what I suggest is this. Elizabeth, you do as much or as little as you choose, we are here for you. As for the rest of us, those of us who are able to get some sleep, get some sleep. And soon, we let it be known that we have found the heroin. Not where we found it, not where it is, but that we have it in our possession. And then we wait.’
‘Wait for them to kill us too?’ says Ron. ‘Very Elizabeth indeed.’
‘Precisely that,’ says Joyce. ‘We wait and see who comes to kill us. We will use the heroin as a trap and see if it leads us to whomever murdered Kuldesh. You never know, do you? You have to make things happen.’
She gives the gang her very best stern look. She is not to be disagreed with.
‘That’s our gift to Stephen. OK, Elizabeth?’
Elizabeth nods to her friend. ‘It’s whoever murdered Kuldesh, but, other than that, yes.’
69
He has never had a dinner party before. Is this a dinner party? Vegetable curry on a Sunday lunchtime?
‘Turn the heat down,’ Patrice says to Chris, before pouring a glass of wine for Joyce.
Chris supposes it is a dinner party. Of sorts. Donna and Bogdan. Joyce and Ibrahim. Chris and Patrice. The heroin has been found, well of course it has, why did Chris ever doubt it, and now all they need to do is use it to catch a murderer. Simple.
‘I have created a WhatsApp group entitled “Who Killed Kuldesh?”’ says Ibrahim. ‘You are, naturally, all included in the group. I am sending you through a spreadsheet, now I am paper-free.’
‘You know they mine cobalt to make these phones?’ says Patrice.
‘Please,’ says Ibrahim. ‘One fight at a time.’
Various phones ping in different tones.
‘Ron and Elizabeth are both in the group too,’ says Ibrahim. ‘But I think we shouldn’t expect too much from Elizabeth right now. Do you think, Bogdan?’
‘I think,’ says Bogdan. ‘Yes.’
‘And Ron is stubbornly refusing to understand how WhatsApp works,’ Ibrahim adds.
Donna has opened the attachment on her phone and reads. ‘“Who is dead?” That’s a bold start.’
‘Thank you,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Who is dead? Kuldesh is dead. Dominic Holt is dead. Samantha Barnes is dead. According to Donna, the man named Lenny is dead.’
‘Worked for Mitch,’ says Donna. ‘Killed in Amsterdam. I picked that up by the coffee machine yesterday. One of the NCA team was trying to show off to me.’
‘You give me his name,’ says Bogdan.
‘It was a she,’ says Donna. ‘Stop being so binary.’
‘Let me add him in,’ says Ibrahim. ‘That curry smells delicious, Chris.’
‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can help with?’ says Joyce.
‘Everything chopped, everything peeled, everything simmering,’ says Chris, from the hob. ‘You just drink your wine, and talk about drug-related murders, and Donna being chatted up.’
‘OK, I have added Lenny to “Who is dead?”,’ says Ibrahim.
‘So who is still alive?’ reads Bogdan from his screen.
‘Mitch Maxwell is still alive,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Luca Buttaci, and, probably, Garth, though he hasn’t been seen since his wife was murdered. I would suggest that one of the names on our “Who is alive?” list will turn out to be the killer of at least some of the names on our “Who is dead?” list. We must also add Nina Mishra and Jonjo Mellor to “Who is alive?”, as they were involved right at the beginning. Joyce, why aren’t you looking at your phone?’
‘I couldn’t make the spreadsheet work,’ says Joyce. ‘But I promise I’m following it all. Nina Mishra would make a very glamorous murderer. Jonjo Mellor might be a bit wet though? Can we still say “wet”?’
‘Can we add the middle-aged woman who keeps visiting Connie Johnson in prison?’ suggests Donna.
‘Grub’s up,’ says Chris, carrying a steaming pot of curry to the table. The table that, for so many years, sat unloved, covered in takeaway menus, old newspapers and, occasionally, crime-scene photographs. And now look at it. People sitting around with knives and forks, ladling rice onto their plates. What a long way he has come. He does note, however, that there is a large photo of the dead body of Samantha Barnes right next to the okra, so some things don’t change.
‘This is very good, for vegetables,’ says Donna.
‘It really is,’ says Joyce. ‘Ron would hate it.’
‘Where is he today?’ Patrice asks.
‘He’s gone to aromatherapy with Pauline,’ says Ibrahim.
‘So it’s back on?’ says Patrice. ‘It’s like Love Island with those two.’
‘In Poland, Love Island is called Love Mountain,’ says Bogdan. ‘And one time someone froze to death.’
‘Help yourself to more,’ says Chris. He’s always wanted to say something like that. The conversation is flowing, and the food really isn’t at all bad. Donna was right: you honestly wouldn’t know it was aubergines.
‘How are you getting on with the horse thefts?’ asks Joyce.
‘Our toughest case yet,’ says Donna. ‘We’ve been all over. No horses.’
‘Where’s the heroin now? Out of interest?’ says Chris.
‘Somewhere safe,’ says Joyce.
‘That usually means your kettle, Joyce,’ says Donna.
‘There was too much for the kettle,’ says Joyce. ‘So it’s in my microwave.’
‘Not still in that box?’ says Bogdan. ‘Was filthy.’
‘No, I gave the box a good scrub, and it’s perfect for all the bits and bobs I keep under my sink.’
‘Waste not, want not,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Chris, did you know that the aubergine is actually a fruit, and the Americans call it eggplant, because early varieties were white in colour and oval in shape?’
‘I didn’t know that, no,’ says Chris.
‘I’ll send you an article,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Donna, I need to update you on our Tatiana scheme too. I believe we have had a breakthrough.’
Again, various phones ping. A group message. Chris takes a look. It is from Ron, and it is, for no discernible reason, a picture of a panda wearing a hat. They see Ibrahim composing a reply, and it pings through. Thank you, Ron.
‘How are you going to let them all know you have the heroin? How do you set the trap?’ asks Patrice.
Everyone really seems to be getting along, thinks Chris, conversation really flowing now. Could this be described as a success? He thinks it could.
‘It’s very simple,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Tomorrow I’m visiting Connie Johnson again. I will tell her that we have found the drugs, and I will tell her that she mustn’t tell a soul.’
‘And then we wait for her to tell everyone,’ says Joyce. ‘I wouldn’t say no to another drop of that wine, Patrice. We wait, and we see if anyone tries to kill us.’
70
This time Ibrahim has been a little more professional. He’s finished his hour with Connie, and given her full value for money. They have been talking about pain. The shapes we twist into when we try to avoid it.
As he leaves, Ibrahim drops the bombshell.
‘You just dug it up?’ Connie asks. ‘A hundred grand’s worth?’
‘I am told it’s worth a hundred thousand, yes,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I’m not as up on the market rate as I should be.’
‘What did it weigh?’ asks Connie.
‘1.2 kilos,’ says Ibrahim. ‘According to Joyce’s kitchen scales.’