Take Two (A psychological thriller)

Carolyn shrugged. ‘I believe that more than I believe Warwick Richards slit Max’s throat.’

‘Like I said, you’re as mad as a hatter. And I can’t believe you didn’t say anything to the cops. They were there, in Day’s office. All you had to say was that you think you saw Richards smashing Cohen over the head and you asked Dunbar to check him out. They could have gone off and done their police thing and you could have got on with your life.’

‘And what if Warwick didn’t do it? What’s he going to think?’

‘He’ll think you’re crazy but he’ll get over it. If he has an alibi for the night Cohen was killed, and an alibi for when Dunbar died, then that’ll be the end of it. And if he doesn’t have an alibi, then you did the right thing by telling the cops.’

‘And then the papers get hold of it and they’ll ask why I was in the middle of nowhere after being given my lifetime achievement award and then my career will be pretty much over.’

Terry refilled their glasses. ‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to finish my wine. Then I’m going to bed. Then, tomorrow, I’m going for drinks on Warwick’s gin palace.’ She grinned at him. ‘Why don’t you tag along?’

‘Maybe I will,’ he said.  ‘Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?’

‘I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted by that,’ laughed Carolyn.

CHAPTER 55

Carolyn heard a squeal of brakes as a car pulled up outside her house and, a minute later, her mobile rang. It was Richards. ‘Your chariot awaits,’ he said. It was Saturday morning and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky.

‘I’ll be right out,’ she said. She checked her make-up in the mirror above the fireplace. She was wearing a blue and white Karen Millen dress, one of half a dozen the designer had sent over for her to try. And a pair of blue Gucci shoes, also a freebie. She’d paid for her bag – a black Mulberry – and her coat, a long, dark-blue, lightweight Chanel that had been one of her favourites for years.

She set her burglar alarm, locked her front door and walked down the path to the waiting Porsche Cayenne. She breathed out slowly. She had been half expecting him to have turned up in the Bentley she’d seen outside Nicholas Cohen’s house. She saw that Warwick was smiling at her and she waved and walked faster. He didn’t get out of the car or open the door for her and she wondered if he was deliberately not being chivalrous. Not that she minded, she was old enough to open her own doors. She got in and slid onto the buttery leather seat. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek and she caught the scent of an expensive aftershave. ‘You look fabulous,’ he said. ‘And you’re wearing Coco Mademoiselle again. Nice.’

He looked good, too, but she decided as he hadn’t opened the door for her she’d forgo any compliments. But his Black Hugo Boss suit fitted him perfectly and she liked the fact he wasn’t wearing a tie but had buttoned his grey silk shirt up to the neck. He’d changed his wristwatch, this time he was wearing a gold Cartier on a black leather strap. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She looked around the car. ‘Now this is lovely.’

‘I’m a big fan of the Cayenne,’ he said. ‘It’s an SUV so it’s big, but you’ve got the kick of a Maserati when you put your foot down.’ He put the car in gear and pulled away from the pavement.

‘You don’t see many of them around.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, there’s a few. The Sloane Rangers have started using them on the school run.’

They made small talk as he drove to St Katherine’s Dock. A uniformed security guard waved them through to the parking area and they climbed out.  The marina was small but packed with huge cruisers and yachts, and surrounded by multi-million pound flats.  Richards locked the car and nodded towards one of the larger cruisers. ‘There she is,’ he said.

The boat was about sixty feet long, gleaming white with chrome rails around a seating area at the stern which was big enough to accommodate a small cocktail party. ‘My God, you weren’t joking, it is a gin palace,’ she said.

‘Yeah, she’s a bit over the top. But she’s a real boat. Took her to the Med last year. Took a group of pals scuba diving.’

‘I bet you don’t get much to the gallon.’

Richards laughed. ‘If you worry about the cost of the fuel then you can’t afford it in the first place,’ he said. ‘For me it’s a tax write-off. I’ve lost count of the number of contracts I’ve signed on board.’

He took her along a wooden pier to the boat. The name was emblazoned across the stern. ‘ALINA’.  Carolyn pointed at the name. ‘Former girlfriend?’

‘The name’s nothing to do with me,’ said Richards. ‘It was built by a Russian guy and he named it after his mistress. I thought about changing it but apparently that’s unlucky so I’ve left it.’

‘You could always look out for a girl with that name,’ she said.

‘I’m on the case,’ he said. ‘Seriously, it’s not a bad name. It’s not some stupid play on words. Anyway, it’s sort of grown on me.’  They reached the stern and he helped her on board.