venom of a black mamba snake.
A black mamba? Pope thought for the hundredth time that day. Every paper in the world was going loony over that angle, and she’d missed it.
It only made her more determined when she went through the doors of the Candy Club, submitted to a security search of her bag by a very large Maori woman, and then entered the ground-floor bar. The club was surprisingly crowded for a Thursday night, and the reporter instantly felt uncomfortable when she noticed several glamorous women watching her, evaluating her.
But Pope walked right up to them, introduced herself, and showed them a photograph of Selena Farrell. The bar staff hadn’t seen her, nor had the next six women the reporter asked.
She went back to the bar then, spotting a pink matchbook that looked like the one described in the evidence list. One of the bartenders came over to her, and Pope asked what she’d recommend for a cocktail.
‘Candy Nipple?’ the bartender said. ‘Butterscotch schnapps and Baileys?’
The reporter wrinkled her nose. ‘Too sweet.’
‘Pimm’s, then,’ said a woman on the barstool next to Pope. Petite, blonde, late thirties, and extremely attractive, she held up a highball glass with a mint sprig sticking out from the top. ‘Always refreshing on a hot summer’s night.’
‘Perfect,’ Pope replied, smiling weakly at the woman.
Pope had meant to show the picture of Farrell to the bartender, but she’d already walked away to prepare her Pimm’s. Pope set the photo on the bar and turned to the woman who’d recommended the drink. She was studying the reporter in mild amusement.
‘First time at the Candy Club?’ the woman asked.
Pope flushed. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘To the trained eye,’ the woman said, a hint of lechery crossing her face as she held out a well-manicured hand. ‘I’m Nell.’
‘Karen Pope,’ she said. ‘I write for the
Nell’s eyebrows rose. ‘I do so enjoy Page 3.’
Pope laughed nervously. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t.’
‘Pity,’ Nell said, her face falling. ‘Not even a wee bit?’
‘A pity, but no,’ Pope replied, and then showed Nell the photograph.
Nell sighed and leaned closer to Pope to study the picture of Farrell with no make-up, and wearing a matching peasant skirt and scarf.
‘No,’ Nell said, with a dismissive gesture. ‘I know I’ve never seen
Pope laughed again before gesturing at the picture and saying, ‘Think of her in a tight cocktail dress from Liberty of London or Alice by Temperley, and her hair done by Hair by Fairy, and, well, you can’t see it from this angle, but she has this tiny mole on her jaw.’
‘A mole?’ Nell sniffed. ‘You mean with little hairs sticking out of it?’
‘More like a beauty spot. Like Elizabeth Taylor used to have?’
Nell looked confused, and then she studied the photograph again.
A moment later, she gasped, ‘My God – it’s Syren!’
Chapter 73
KNIGHT HEARD FEET padding around at seven-thirty that morning. He opened his eyes and saw Isabel holding her Pooh Bear blanket.
‘Daddy,’ she said in high seriousness. ‘When am I three?’
‘August the eleventh,’ Knight grumbled, and glanced at that picture of Kate on the moor in Scotland. ‘A week from tomorrow, honey.’
‘What’s today?’
‘Friday.’
Isabel thought about that. ‘So one more Saturday and one more Friday, and then the next one?’
Knight smiled. His daughter always fascinated him with the out-of-the box way her mind worked. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Give me a kiss.’
Isabel kissed him. Then her eyes widened. ‘We get presents?’
‘Of course, Bella,’ Knight replied. ‘It will be your birthday.’
She got wildly excited, clapping her hands and dancing in a tight circle before stopping dead in her tracks. ‘What presents?’
‘What presents?’ Luke asked from the doorway. He was yawning as he came into the room.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ Knight said. ‘It won’t be a surprise.’
‘Oh,’ Isabel said, disappointed.
‘Lukey three?’ his son asked.
‘Next week,’ Knight assured him, and then heard the front door open. Marta. Early again. The world’s first perfect nanny.
Knight put on a tracksuit bottom and a T-shirt, and carried the twins down the stairs. Marta smiled at them. ‘Hungry?’
‘It’s my birthday two Fridays and a Saturday from now,’ Isabel announced.
‘And Lukey,’ her brother said. ‘I’m three.’
‘You
‘We’ll have to plan a party then,’ Marta said, as Knight set the kids down.
‘A party!’ Isabel cried and clapped.
Luke hooted with delight, spun in circles, and cried, ‘Party! Party!’
The twins had never had a birthday party, or at least not on the exact date of their birth. That day had been so bittersweet that Knight had moved cake and ice-cream celebrations to a day or two later, and had kept the celebration deliberately low-key. He was torn now over how he should reply to Marta’s suggestion.
Luke stopped spinning and said, ‘Balloons?’
‘Mr Knight?’ Marta said. ‘What do you think? Balloons?’
Before Knight could answer, the doorbell rang, and then rang again, and again, and again, followed by someone pounding the knocker so hard that it sounded like a mason chipping stone.
‘Who the hell is that?’ Knight groaned, heading towards the door. ‘Can you get them breakfast, Marta?’
‘Of course,’ she said.
The pounding on the door knocker started again before he looked through the security peephole to see an exasperated Karen Pope on his front step.
‘Karen,’ he called out to her. ‘I don’t have time to—’
‘Make time,’ she barked. ‘I’ve made a break in the case.’
Knight ran his fingers back through his sleep-ravaged hair, and then opened the door. Looking like she’d been up all night herself, Pope barged in while Marta went towards the kitchen with Luke and Isabel.
‘Lukey want sausages,’ Luke said.
‘Sausages it is,’ Marta replied as they disappeared.
‘What’s the break?’ Knight asked Pope, heading into the living area and clearing enough toys off the couch for
