‘She should be here any minute,’ said Craig. ‘Kate — you have to stay up for that. I want to find out if she can still bite her own buttocks!’
Kate felt her own phone burr in her bag. She picked it up and saw a message from Death.
‘Hang on — just got to take this,’ Kate said, moving away into a dark corner. A message from Death should never be ignored. She glanced across at Francis, who’d gone back to the flirtathon with Nikki, and was glad he wasn’t watching her. She hadn’t admitted to him earlier that she’d sent a message to Bryan De’ath, the police pathologist back at Salisbury — whom every copper predictably called Death — asking him for a favour. She’d asked if he could find out anything about Martin Riley’s suicide from any contacts in Suffolk. And now, some hours later, he’d responded.
Sorry for your loss, he’d texted. It’s an odd one. People do slit their throats from time to time — and usually make a pretty poor job of it, which is a ghastly way to go. This one did it right, apparently. Sad but could have been worse. Suicide note very strange, though.
Kate thumbed back: Wait — calling you.
She moved quickly into the carpeted lobby outside the club, the sound of more god-awful karaoke caterwauling muffled as soon as the heavy double doors swung shut. Death picked up at once. ‘It’s not the message that’s odd,’ he said, in his clipped way. ‘That’s just the standard “I’m sorry”, and you’d be surprised at how many are just that. The serious ones don’t stop to write much, if anything. No — it’s his choice of stationery that was odd.’
‘What was it?’ Kate pictured a banknote or a pillow case.
‘It was a sanitary towel.’
12
Kate staggered slightly in her high heels and leaned up against a Buntin’s cork board of posters for events and shows.
’A what?’
‘A sanitary towel. Ultra-thin. Adhesive backed.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘I am not.’
‘Uuumm…. right… OK. Was it..?’
‘Clean? Yes. It was. Apart from his note — in red ballpoint. The graphologist matched it to his handwriting and there’s no doubt he wrote it.’
‘Jeeezuz. What was he trying to say?’ she pondered.
‘That,’ said Death, ‘would be the domain of the Suffolk crim psych, if they have one. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a late supper to eat.’
She thanked him profusely and then ended the call in a state of shock. Of all the things she had expected to learn, she would never have guessed at that. Maybe Martin just couldn’t find a bit of paper. But it was hard to imagine him unwrapping a sanitary towel, unfolding it and writing his farewell message on it. Hard to imagine him even having such a thing. Was this something she should share with the others? No. Right away it was a no. It wasn’t any of their business. Not hers, either. She shouldn’t have pried. She shook her head, regretting her actions, and went back into the bar, determined to make her excuses now and get to bed. Her party mood had evaporated.
‘Maybe she changed her mind,’ Nikki was saying, back at their table. ‘Didn’t fancy it.’
‘No,’ said Talia, checking her mobile yet again. ‘I bet she’s doing fucking yoga in her chalet. Let’s go and find her. She’s next to yours, isn’t she Craig?’
‘That’s what Gary said when I arrived,’ Craig said. ‘But I haven’t seen her at all. Mind you, I went for a burger at six-thirty and came right up to meet you guys at the ballroom at seven, so she probably got in after I left.’
They set out along the main pathway towards Julie’s chalet block but on the way there, Nikki started getting extra giggly and demanding to see this legendary Capri that Francis and Kate had arrived in.
‘Come on,’ she said, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘You’ve got a 1980s hot rod and I have GOT to see it!’
‘You’ve got a Capri?’ snorted Bill. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yep,’ said Francis, grinning. ‘Collector’s item.’
Bill gave a derisive hoot of laughter. ‘They’re fucking roller-skates! Has it got go-faster stripes and furry dice?’
‘Shaddup, you,’ said Nikki. ‘Just because you’re jealous! Come on, Frankie — show me!’
So they all rolled past the pool complex and on to the car park, which was well lit enough to showcase the yellowy gleam of Francis’s pride and joy. Kate did her best to say nothing as her brother lovingly stroked the bonnet and opened up the driver side door so Nikki could get in.
‘Keys!’ said Nikki, hand outstretched.
‘You’re not driving it,’ laughed Francis. ‘None of us is going for a spin. We’re all pissed as farts already.’
‘I just want to get a feel for what’s under the bonnet, you know?’ Nikki winked up at him meaningfully, and couldn’t repress a sly glance at Bill, who was kicking the tyres as if he was about to make Francis a low offer. ‘Get the motor running, that’s all!’
Francis passed the keys and Nikki started the Capri up. At the third attempt. The first two key twists produced only a reluctant whine from the starter motor but then the engine burbled into life. ‘See? She’s a beauty!’ said Nikki, clapping her hands on the steering wheel.
‘Did you really drive all the way up here in that?’ giggled Talia in Kate’s ear.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered back. ‘He’s never been so happy! It’s opened up a whole new world for him. It drives like a Tesco trolley and stinks like the fag deck of a seventies bus, but he is so in love!’
‘Oooh, now that’s really turning over nicely now,’ Nikki was saying. ‘Shall I get my revs up, eh, Frankie?’
Francis grinned, and nodded. ‘Go for it!’
Keeping the old gear box in neutral, Nikki put her foot down and produced a growl from the engine.
‘Jesus — look at the smoke out the back of it,’ spluttered Bill. ‘You just put back the UK’s carbon
