Remix (2010) (18 page)

“How much in each?”

“Up to fifty thousand pounds, he said. But with ten accounts, that’d only be half a million pounds, so Ric’s not happy about it. He’d have to open a thousand accounts, I guess, and he couldn’t do that. Though Phil’s talking about setting up a business as cover, or an offshore company.”

“How well does Ric know his brother-in-law?”

“He’s known him since he was a student.”

“And he trusts him?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I doubt what he suggests is possible.” James’s manner became authoritative; he looked the successful banker he was, rather than the amusing friend I’d known since kindergarten. “Governments are on the alert for criminals who launder their proceeds via international banks. Terrorists and drug cartels. A big thing in banking today is KYC - know your customer. If you deposit a large sum of money in a bank, they’re going to take an interest in you - not just because if you’re rich they want to sell you products, but because of the FATF—”

“What’s the FATF?” I’ve never figured out why men love acronyms.

“Sorry, Caz, it’s the
Financial Action Task Force. It issued the
Forty Recommendations
for banks (plus nine on terrorist financing, if you’re being pedantic). They’re the anti-money-laundering standard. The recommendations are things like, do background checks on depositors, and report anything suspicious. So if you’re a modest earner, and suddenly you’re paying in shedloads of money, they’ll take an interest.
Nowadays banks use computer programmes to detect dubious activity.
The FATF suggests banks report transactions above a certain amount, and in most countries this happens.”

“Above what amount?”

“It varies, but I can tell you it’s one hell of a lot less than fifty thousand. And as for offshore companies, banks want to know who the ‘beneficial owner’ is - not just the person whose name the account’s in, but who is profiting from it.”

“What about putting the money into diamonds? Would that work?”

“Dealers in gold and precious stones come under the same rules - the Money Laundering Regulations, 2007. If it’s a cash transaction above the limits, they have to report it.”

I digested this. So Phil was misleading Ric, making it sound a lot easier than it was…why? To get him to leave the country, probably; he must have thought the package he’d put together would be more persuasive than it had proved. What were his options, now it hadn’t worked? Now that Ric’s hostility had exploded into violence, what would he do?

At the end of the performance, James walked with me north over the Millennium Bridge. It spans the oily black Thames like a dinosaur’s backbone; the view from it of a floodlit St Paul’s, rising above the lit-up offices edging the river, was fantastic. I love London.

James gestured at my bike. “Let me push that for you.”

“It’s okay.”

We reached Queen Victoria Street, and paused.

“Thanks for a lovely evening, James. It was great.”

“Have a drink before you go. There’s a place round the corner…”

“D’you mind if I don’t? I’m a bit tired.” Perhaps, when I got home, Ric would be there…

“Another time, then. And I’ll see you tomorrow for my birthday supper.” James bent forwards to give me a good night kiss. For the first time ever, his lips met my mouth, not my cheek. I was so surprised I nearly fell over my bike. “Good night, Caz.”

Why did he do that? He watched me set off. I turned as I pedalled up Peter’s Hill, and he was still standing there. I rang my bell and he waved.

James surely didn’t fancy me…did he?

Ric wasn’t there when I got back. I could tell as soon as my tyres bumped over the cobbles in the Yard; above the glare of the security light, all the windows were dark. When I opened the door, Dog jumped up at me as though he’d been alone for a week. I lugged the bike up a floor, then took him out for a quick walk.

On our return he followed me up to the flat. I was Ric’s deputy, in Dog’s eyes. I pottered about for a while, made myself a cup of coffee I didn’t want, and went to bed. I read a couple of chapters of Dick Francis’s Enquiry
. I felt jumpy. When I finally put out the light, Dog sneaked on to the bed and curled up near my feet. He was not allowed to do this, and he knew it. I pretended not to notice. It took me a while to get to sleep; I couldn’t stop thinking, and listening to the small noises a building makes at night; waiting to hear a key in the lock. In the end I drifted off.

Suddenly I sat up, barely awake, sweating and panting. I glanced at the clock. It was five past three. I’d had a terrible dream. I was in my flat, but on the floor unable to move; the realization came to me that I was tied up. Below me in the workshop someone was dragging things about, quietly, furtively, and I knew when he had finished whatever he was doing he would come and kill me… I turned on the light. Dog’s eyes glinted behind shaggy fur, but he didn’t stir. He was lying doggo, so I wouldn’t see him and turf him off the bed.

I got up and went to the bathroom. My eyes were big and scared in the mirror. I drank a glass of water. A police siren screeched through the quiet. All at once the conviction gripped me that Ric was dead. I’d never see him again, or hear anything about him, or find out what had happened; how he had died. The days would pass slowly, like the hours were doing now, then the weeks, and eventually I’d settle back into my pre-Ric life. Not knowing. I felt cold.

I slid under the duvet and switched out the light. The dream reached for me. Think of something else…Emma had made Phil believe Ric had raped her. Phil had not told Emma Ric was alive, or that I was not Vikki Wilson. He hadn’t told me Emma’s rape story, even though he knew Ric was staying in my house. Or informed Ric it was next to impossible to hand over fifty million dollars. What else wasn’t he telling? I picked over what had happened, trying to make sense of it…and somewhere in my mind pieces moved, and clicked together to make one perfect corner of the puzzle.

I saw with complete clarity that Ric did not kill Bryan. It was not that I didn’t believe him capable of it, in the extreme heat of the moment; but his behaviour was not that of a guilty man. Only a psychopath could appear normal after murdering a friend, and I did not believe he was a psychopath. My reasoning might not impress anyone else, but it was enough for me, and it lifted a weight from me that had been there since I’d witnessed his attack on Phil. If only I could shake this feeling of foreboding…

I thought I wasn’t asleep, but Dog woke me as he jumped off the bed and skidded across the floor, his paws clicking fast down the bedroom stairs.

Ric.

I hopped out of bed and followed Dog. He stood by the door, intent, nose twitching at the crack. Footsteps came up the stairs.

“Ric? Is that you?” Hope and dread made my voice tremble.

“Yeah.”

I lifted the snib on the lock and opened the door. A blur of fur leaped past me and Ric crouched to catch Dog. Dog wriggled and squirmed with delight, his tail wagging, trying to lick Ric.

Ric laughed, holding his face out of reach. “Hey, Dog, I’ve missed you too.”

I watched them in the first dim light of dawn. Ric put Dog down. His arms went round me; I could feel his bike leathers like armour digging into my flesh through the thin cotton of my pyjamas, his cold contrasting with my warmth. I responded with uncomplicated enthusiasm and relief, like Dog had. Ric was alive. He’d come back.

His skin tasted of salt, his stubble was rough against my face. After a minute or two he held me away from him. “So you don’t think I’m a killer…or maybe you do, but just can’t help yourself? God knows, I’m irresistible.”

“Don’t be a fool, Ric. I’m not some dumb heroine in a film. If I thought that, I’d have rung the police, then got the locks changed. Whatever my feelings for you…”

“So you say…” He kissed me again, till I pulled away.

“I’ve been thinking - Phil’s lying - not about Emma, he believes her - but I don’t trust him. James said the bank account thing wouldn’t work. He’s up to something. Where have you been?”

Ric stretched and ran his hands through his hair. “Brighton. I walked for a bit, went for a swim. Fucking freezing.”

“You should have let me know. Dog was worried about you. He thought you weren’t coming back and he wouldn’t see you again. You should have rung me.”

“Come to bed.”

“You’ve got to do something about Phil. I think he killed Bryan.”

“Leave it till the morning.”

“It is the morning, nearly. I thought maybe he’d got you, and he’d killed you too and I’d never find out what had happened to you.”

“Phil wouldn’t kill me.”

“How do you know?”

“Not the type. I’m here now. Bed. I’m knackered.”

“Jeff rang. He wants you to call him back.”

“Okay.”

We went upstairs, and Ric reached for his mobile and dialled. It seemed an anti-social time to ring a friend. I said, “It’s gone four in the morning.”

“Jeff keeps late hours, he may be up. Anyway, he won’t mind if I wake him…Hi.”

He spent ten minutes on the phone, mainly listening, undressing at the same time. I thought it could have waited. As Ric put the phone down, he saw my expression, shrugged and said, “He worries about me. Like Dog.”

Chapter

21

*

Saturday was James’s birthday, when he and Posy were coming over for dinner. Ric offered to make his curry. He still hadn’t made it, and as far as I was concerned there was absolutely no rush. I put my arms round him.

“Your special curry?” I kissed him. “I thought you were going to make it just for the two of us. And think of the hassle.” I’d gathered it was a major exercise, involving hours of preparation, split-second timing, and spring-cleaning the kitchen afterwards. “Cold ham and chicken will be fine for James and Posy. Potato salad, green salad and crusty bread. I can get it ready beforehand.” No one has ever accused me of being a domestic goddess. I’d rather talk to my guests than fuss in the kitchen. “I’ll get James a cake for afters.”

Ric helped me stick pink tissue paper on some old jam jars, put tea lights in and distribute them round the roof, ready for nightfall. Then we drove to Waitrose for the food and drink, light-hearted, making silly jokes all the way.

By eight o’ clock, after a hot day, the roof was warm in the deepening amber of the evening sun. It matched my mood; the golden glow was back brighter than before. In the background crickets stridulated softly. I’d laid the table and made it look festive with bright paper napkins, more tea lights and small pots of pinks, nasturtiums and snapdragons. The food was laid out in the kitchen ready to go, bottles of special offer Australian Sauvignon were in the fridge and I’d changed into my favourite jeans and a cheesecloth top. Ric wore jeans and a white shirt, with most of the buttons undone, and I could hardly take my eyes off him. This was nothing new. Sometimes, when he was out, I’d secretly go to Youtube and watch videos of The Voices performing, so I could stare at him as much as I liked without him noticing and teasing me.

The bell rang and a minute later James came into the flat, Posy following. I gave him a birthday kiss and he handed me a chilled bottle of champagne.

“Happy birthday! Hi, Posy, come in. Have a drink.”

Posy air kissed me and looked around her. “Wow, this is so fabulous! You must be mega pleased with it now it’s finished.”

Posy looks like a Boden model; pretty in a natural way, with wavy dark hair and an open smile. Maybe she wears Boden, too; she had
a red cardigan with ‘fun’ oversized buttons over a patterned shift dress, a big wooden bead necklace, flat green pumps each with a flower on, and a flower-covered clutch bag to match. The outfit was like something a child might draw; the sort of clothes it just wouldn’t occur to me to try on in a shop.

Paws pattered on the stairs. Dog appeared and Posy made a fuss of him. “He’s so sweet! Is he yours?” As she stood up Ric came through the door.

“Posy, this is Joe, he’s an old friend of mine from college. Dog belongs to him.”

Ric gave her one of his smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Posy, staring at him. “You know who you look terribly like?”

“Surprise me.”

“Ric Kealey - apart from the hair, of course.”

“Yeah, I get that all the time,” Ric said. “Where I go climbing everyone calls me Kealey. Shame I can’t sing.”

“But really, it’s amazing, you could get work as a lookalike.”

“Maybe you should do that,” I said. “It’s quite well paid.”

James shook his head. “You’d have to do something about your ears. They’re quite different. But I suppose you could grow your hair over them.”