The Perfect Murder

up with his anger so early.

No numbers showed on the display. It simply said: Call.

She answered nervously. Was it Victor calling from a new phone? Was it Kaspar hiding his number?

A male voice she did not recognize said, ‘Hello, this is Constable Black from Brighton and Hove Police.’

Kamila felt a stab of panic. Was she in trouble for working at the Kitten Parlour? ‘Yes?’ she said anxiously.

‘We are looking for Mr Victor Smiley, who has been missing since Monday evening. Calls to his mobile phone are being monitored, and it was reported to us that a call was made to his phone from your number at 6.55 p.m. yesterday. Are you the person who made the call?’

‘Victor is missing?’ she said.

‘Yes. We are concerned for his safety. Are you a friend of his?’

‘Yes,’ she said in her broken English. ‘I very good friend.’

Victor was missing? She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling gutted. What did this mean? Had something happened to him?

‘We’d like to talk to you,’ the constable said. ‘Can we come over to see you? If you’d prefer, you could drop into Brighton Police Station.’

Kamila walked past the police station every day on her way to work. She always walked, to save the bus fare. She had to be at work by midday for the lunchtime trade. ‘I can come about half past ten. Is okay?’

‘That will be fine. May I have your name?’

She told him.

‘At the front desk, ask for me, Constable Black.’

‘Please, can you tell me, is Victor – is he okay?’

‘We don’t know. We are anxious to find him. We are concerned for his safety.’

Kamila thanked him, ended the call, and stood up. She was far too wide awake to sleep any more.

Concerned for his safety.

Victor was the only man who had ever been kind to her. The only person who offered her an escape from the horrible life she was stuck in. Now the police were concerned for his safety.

She would do everything she possibly could to help them. She stared at the phone again. Please call. Victor. Please call!

Then a thought struck her. Victor often talked to her about his wife. He said she was a bad person. That she made him very unhappy. She wondered if she should tell the police this.

Chapter Nineteen

‘You look like shit,’ Don said.

‘Well, thank you, lover boy! You certainly know how to make a girl feel great!’

Joan sat at the kitchen table with a blinding hangover and no make-up. She’d had about one hour’s sleep. She felt like shit.

There were three messages on her mobile phone. They were all from Madge, who had rung last night. Joan had been busy in the garage with Don and had not heard her phone ring. Madge said that she and Ted had had a visit from the police, who told them that Victor was still missing. Was she okay? Why hadn’t she called them? Would she like them to pop round?

‘Don, Victor was here in the house last night. It was after you left,’ she said.

‘Then he should change his name to Houdini!’ Don said. ‘If he’s capable of getting out from under six feet of earth and a concrete screed!’

‘Victor was here,’ she said.

‘Was the Pope here too?’ he asked.

‘I’m serious.’

Don stroked her hair. ‘It’s going to be tough, love, but we have to keep calm. Yeah? Keep cool, right?’

‘Easy for you to say. You weren’t here.’

‘Ghosts don’t exist,’ he said.

Joan stared at him, angry that he doubted her. She looked at him, sitting across the table. She realized he wasn’t the big, powerful hero that he had seemed only a few days ago. In his leather jacket, sweatshirt and jeans, with his close-cropped hair and his weathered face, he looked weak. He looked so bloody weak. Victor, despite all his faults, suddenly seemed twice the man that Don was.

He got up and tried to kiss her, but she jerked back.

‘Come on, love, what’s the matter?’

She said nothing. She turned her face away from his and stared out at the garden. She looked at the lawn Victor had tended and at Victor’s shed. She looked at the greenhouse, with Victor’s tomato plants. She looked at the flower beds, at the plants that Victor had deadheaded. ‘Just take the stuff you were coming to collect. Take it and get rid of it!’

‘I love you,’ he said.

She turned and stared past Don. She gazed at the open doorway where she had seen the ring of tobacco smoke drift in, just a few hours earlier. Shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit,