Death on Demand (20 page)

She smiled sardonically. “Actually that's not a bad guess, but I already had a nice big bed. Personally, I wouldn't know what sort of beds they have in brothels, but I'd be surprised if they pay as much for them as I did. The way I look at it, we spend a third of our lives in bed, so you owe it to yourself to splash out on a decent one. No, he bought me that.” She pointed to the biggest domestic espresso machine Ihaka
had ever seen. “I'm also fussy about coffee, but I couldn't bring myself to spend three grand on a coffee machine.”

“That's all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Jesus,” said Ihaka. “I would've picked you to do better than that.”

She walked past him into the living area, subsiding gracefully onto a sofa. The hem of her short skirt rode up to the tops of her thighs. Ihaka couldn't help himself. She casually pushed the hem down, and when his gaze tilted back up she was waiting for him, eyebrows raised. “Snap,” she said.

Ihaka sat down opposite her. “So we're meant to believe you weren't in it for the money?”

“It was never about the money,” she said. “It was about his wife.”

“Lilywhite said you didn't like her much.”

“That's not quite true. I didn't like her one little bit.”

“Why not?”

“Way too bright and breezy for my taste. There's something wrong with people who are like that all day, every day; something askew in their DNA. Having an off day, being in a grump, getting out of bed on the wrong side – whatever you want to call it, it's natural, it's part of being human. You know what it was like working for her? It was like spending nine hours a day in an aerobics class with one of those fucking Energizer bunnies who keep telling you, ‘Come on, you can do it,' with a big, cheesy, Colgate grin. Oh yeah, and she also didn't have a sense of humour. Literally none. She would've been blown away that anyone could even think that. She thought she had a wicked sense of humour – ‘I mean, come on, I'm always having a giggle.' Which is the whole point. If you laugh at everything, including stuff that's not remotely funny, that doesn't mean you've got a
great sense of humour. It means you're a pain in the arse and a borderline idiot.”

“Would hate be too strong a word?”

Hadlow's expression turned thoughtful. “Possibly not. Whatever it was, the antidote was to screw her husband right under her nose. Once I started doing that, she didn't shit me nearly as much.”

“I seem to remember she was very popular with her staff.”

“Sure she was. But most of them were salespeople and, as I'm sure you know, salespeople tend to be suck-arses. And Joyce was the biggest one of all – she was the saleswoman of the century. She was always selling something, whether it was her crappy little strollers or her desperate housewives' cafés or herself. I used to say to Chris, ‘She's a fucking machine, except there's no off-button.' She created this atmosphere, it was almost like a cult. You had to be upbeat and positive from the moment you arrived at work till you went home. And they all bought into it.”

“Except you.”

“Except me. I'm like that, a bit contrary. Always have been. I'm the one, everybody else thinks the movie or the restaurant or the club is awesome, I'm sitting there going ‘Actually, it's not that good.' It pisses people off sometimes.”

“Okay, the boss gives you the shits, so you get back at her by banging her husband. I can see that would've been a bit of a buzz for a while. But you carried on with it. Why?”

“Believe it or not, I quite liked him.”

“That is hard to believe.”

She cocked her head. “So your opinion of him hasn't changed?”

“We're talking about your opinion, not mine.”

“My point is there was another side to Chris, and I bet you saw it.”

“He made an effort,” said Ihaka. “I'll give you that. But then he had a lot of ground to make up.”

“True.”

“Plus he was dying and remorseful. That always brings out the best in a cold-blooded killer.” Hadlow's expression went blank. “So if he was such a charmer, why didn't you stick around and become Mrs Lilywhite the second? You'd be laughing all the way to the bank.”

She smiled, but mirthlessly and not for Ihaka's benefit. “I'm not going to lie, the thought has occurred to me. What happened was I woke up one morning and knew it was time to move on. That's the way I roll. I mean, it was never going to be happily ever after. I doubt Chris believed that even in his wildest moments. Well, maybe in his wildest moments, but he certainly got no encouragement from me. I'm just not cut out to be a trophy wife – I get bored too easily.

“To start with, every time we did it, it was like sticking a pin in a Joyce voodoo doll, which was kind of fun. And Chris didn't have much of a clue about sex. Hard to believe you can reach that age and still be on L plates, don't you think? So it was also kind of fun teaching him how it should be done.”

She smiled again. This one
was
for Ihaka's benefit. “He was very grateful, and it's nice to be appreciated. But as you said, the buzz or novelty or whatever only lasts so long, and then you start to notice the flab and the wrinkles. I mean, really notice them as opposed to being vaguely aware. And once you've really noticed them, you can't un-notice them. In fact, you can't put them out of your mind. That's when it hits you that you're selling yourself short. After that, the only way you can get through is by pretending, and I'm not into pretending.”

“Who says romance is dead?”

“Get stuffed,” she said good-naturedly. “And then what really sealed the deal, he started missing Joyce. At least that's what I thought at the time, anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Look, I like a drink as much as the next girl, but I'm not big on drinking at home. I don't really get it. To me, drinking is something you do when you go out. But Chris liked a drink, full stop. Go out, stay in, it was all the same to him. So if he was settling down in front of the TV with a bottle of single malt, I'd just leave him to it. He'd complain, but as I kept telling him, getting shit-faced in front of CNN or some crappy old British comedy isn't my idea of fun. Anyway, this night I was sleeping over, but I couldn't get to sleep so I went back downstairs. He was out of it on the sofa, with this big wet patch down the front of his shirt. He'd obviously cried his eyes out.”

“Or had a wet dream.”

“No, I'm pretty sure he'd emptied the tank earlier.”

“Some guys blub when they're pissed,” said Ihaka. “It's just the way they are. Anything can set them off.”

“I saw him pissed plenty of times; I never once saw him cry.”

She eyed Ihaka curiously. “That other cop I talked to, or didn't talk to…”

“Firkitt.”

“Yeah. He doesn't like you very much, does he? That's part of the reason I said I'd only talk to you: I knew it would piss him off.”

“You like stirring things up, don't you?”

She crossed her legs unhurriedly. Ihaka's reward for maintaining eye contact was a teasing smile. “I just find it makes life more interesting. I would've thought you could relate to that. Why doesn't Firkitt like you?”

“I don't think there's too many people he does like.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “but there's not liking someone in the sense of not really giving a shit about them, and then there's active dislike. I got the strong impression he actively dislikes you.”

“Call it professional rivalry.”

“You call it that if you want. I'd say it's personal.”

“I'd say it's irrelevant,” said Ihaka. “Somebody knew or suspected that Lilywhite wanted to get rid of his wife. You'd have to be pretty intimate with someone to let that slip.”

“Well, don't look at me. First of all, I had no idea he was contemplating it…”

“Even in his wildest moments?”

“Right.”

“And you were the expert on his wildest moments.”

“You'd better believe it,” she said with another lazy lift of the eyebrows. “As I was saying before I was so crudely interrupted, secondly, I don't know any hitmen.”

“I don't believe you.”

Hadlow's eyes bulged and her mouth twisted. “What?”

“If anyone knew how Lilywhite really felt about Joyce, it would be his girlfriend. Common sense and a basic working knowledge of human nature tells you that.”

Animation had flared and died like a match in the wind and now Hadlow was back to her default setting of cool detachment. “I knew he wanted to be with me, not her, and I'm sure there were times when he would've liked Joyce to just go away. But we all do that, close our eyes and count to a hundred hoping that when we open them the cloud that was hanging over us won't be there any more. Shit, I can think of a few guys I would've loved to have been able to snap my fingers and make them disappear. Doesn't mean I wanted them dead, I just wanted them out of my life. I never would've thought that of Chris, not in a million years. I still have trouble believing it. He was too fucking…
straight. And by the way, you might want to do a refresher course on human nature, because if anyone knew what was really going on in Chris's head it would've been the boys' club, Jonathon Bell and company.”

“You're suggesting it was one of them?”

Hadlow shrugged. “I'm just making the point that if he told anyone, it would've been them, and look who they are – big shots, important people, people who know how to make problems go away. And from what Chris said, a couple of them, their marriages were completely shot.”

“One big difference: their wives are still alive.”

She shrugged again. “I'm just saying.”

“You met them all?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Let's just say they're not my kind of people.”

“I would've said that about Lilywhite,” said Ihaka.

“Yeah, but he had one thing they didn't have: Joyce.”

“What about Lorna Bell? Did you see that coming?”

“No way.”

“And now, looking back on it?”

Hadlow shook her head. “She was the only one I liked. She was just a cool lady, none of that ‘I'm rich and you're not' bullshit. Once or twice I might've got the feeling she was maybe a bit fragile, but most of the time she seemed pretty together.”

“So you don't have a theory?”

Her gaze tilted upwards, as if she'd spotted an insect circling Ihaka's head. “No, I don't.” She looked him in the eye again. “Are you investigating that as well?”

“No, just curious. Someone like that, it's strange, don't you think?”

“I wouldn't have swapped places with any of those women, including her. There was her husband, for a start.”

“What about him?”

“I don't know, I just never really warmed to him. There was nothing specific – it's not like he ever did or said anything bad to me. And he was always lovey-dovey with Lorna.”

“They say he's heartbroken.”

“I can believe it.”

“So what are you talking about?”

“I just found him… not cold exactly, but kind of sealed-off. As I said, he was always nice enough to me, but I never felt like it meant anything. Put it this way, I could've been Chris's dog, you know what I mean? Oh, you're a nice doggy, aren't you? Here's a little treat for you, now piss off. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him. I don't think he'd be the forgiving kind.”

“He's not the only one.”

“Meaning?”

“You do realize this isn't my case?” She nodded. “Well, you know old Firkitt, he's not as nice as he looks. If it turns out you've lied or withheld evidence, he'll go out of his way to fuck you up.”

Hadlow clapped her hands, radiant. “I love it – good cop, bad cop. So you guys really do that? I thought it was just in the movies.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you.”

She tilted her head coquettishly. “But if it came to that, you'd put in a good word for me, wouldn't you?”

Ihaka's expression didn't change. “That would depend on the question.”

As Hadlow was showing Ihaka out, her little boy Billy arrived home from school. He was nine or so, a nice-looking kid with big dark eyes and long lashes. When his mother introduced them, Billy smiled shyly and put his miniature hand in Ihaka's big mitt.

“Sergeant Ihaka's a policeman, darling,” she said.

His eyes grew even bigger. “Mum! What did you do?”

She turned to Ihaka. “I think that's a question for the sergeant.”

Ihaka ruffled Billy's dark curls. “Don't worry, mate, I'm not going to take your mum away.”

“I might hold you to that,” she said.

“Mum, I'm starving,” said Billy.

“Okay, sweetie,” she said. “See what you can find, I'll be in in a sec. Say goodbye to Sergeant Ihaka.”

“Bye-bye, Sergeant.”

“See you, mate.”

Billy went inside.

“You should be flattered,” she said. “He's normally very wary with strangers, especially men.”

“Been a few through here, have there?”

She rolled her head, feigning deep disappointment. “And you were doing so well. I'm talking about friends, people from work, tradesmen. There've been a lot fewer of the other sort of men than you obviously think.” She paused. “And a damn sight fewer than there could've been.”