‘Kenny, I sent you the apartment details yesterday. If you don’t want to go then okay, but at least let me know, for fuck’s sake.’
What with recent events, Stephie’s offer hadn’t been uppermost in my mind. That didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it at all. What was holding me back was a mystery – fear of change, or something more fundamental? Until I had an answer, there wasn’t much point in calling her. On the other hand, if I didn’t call her pretty soon it wouldn’t really matter. Next week she would be gone and that would be that.
One way or the other, I resolved to let Stephie know that evening. Then I searched on my phone for information about La Cage. There was no official site, and precious little information of any sort. A sex directory said that it was members-only and virtually impossible to join. Eventually I found an article about decadent London in which it was mentioned as the legendary club for the kinky elite.
Whatever demographic I was in, it wasn’t the kinky elite. But if I hired myself a dinner suit from Lipman’s and had a haircut and shave, then I might just pass for suburban depraved. All three activities went on the following day’s to-do list.
Harry had been murdered wearing the Bombaste dress. She’d told the assistant that she had been intending to wear it to La Cage, which didn’t mean she had actually worn it there. Intending to do something and doing it are two different things, as I knew from my own life experiences.
I arrived back at the flat to find the Parminto Deli packed with shoppers keen on buying slabs of hazelnut tofu and vegan cheddar. I turned the key in the lock of the door and wondered if I wasn’t being too dismissive. There had to be a reason the place was making a small fortune. Maybe I should check it out.
It was the last thing that went through my mind before a hand covered my mouth and a forearm folded round my throat.
‘Gimme one reason I shouldn’t break your fucking neck,’ a familiar voice hissed in my ear. ‘I tell you to keep me up to speed and you don’t make a single call.’
I attempted to remove Farrelly’s forearm from my windpipe. A toddler prying a wheel clamp apart would have met with more success. Eventually he released his grip. ‘How did you get in?’ I asked when able to.
‘Don’t matter. What does matter is why you ain’t given me an update.’
‘Things have been hectic, Farrelly. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.’
‘Fuck sorry. Sorry’s no use to me. Sorry’s no use to anyone. Sorry is what useless arseholes say when they don’t follow up.’ Farrelly’s eyes narrowed. ‘You still working for Mr Parr?’ he asked.
‘For another few days.’
‘Tryna work out who killed his daughter?’
‘That’s the general idea.’
Farrelly shook his head in the manner people usually do when they don’t know what the world’s coming to. ‘Tell me everything up until you found her,’ he said.
I recounted the chain of events starting with my interview with Rocco right up to the point that I had made my grisly discovery in Fairview Lodge. Throughout, Farrelly’s stone cold-blue eyes stared unblinkingly into mine.
‘That it?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You sure?’
‘Well, there was one other thing.’
I recounted my visit from Mr Screwdriver. Farrelly asked a few questions about what he had looked and sounded like. He seemed unsurprised to hear that he’d been cranked up; more so that I hadn’t taken heed of the warning.
‘I wasn’t looking for Harry any more,’ I told him.
‘You weren’t shitting it about him coming back?’
‘He didn’t say anything about looking for her killer.’
‘Might be him.’
‘It makes no sense. Someone was bound to discover her body eventually.’
‘Not if they were planning on taking it away.’
‘Why leave it there at all, then?’
Farrelly breathed heavily through his nose, as though an extra influx of oxygen might provide an answer to the question. ‘Get a better lock,’ he said eventually. ‘Six-year-old could do that one.’
‘I’ll look into it,’ I said. ‘So, if that’s everything, I’ve got a few things to attend to, and I’m sure you’re a busy man.’
Clearly that wasn’t it. Farrelly remained where he was. ‘Old Bill’s let Rocco go,’ he said.
‘I’m not surprised. He gave me the key to the house.’
‘Who’ve you got in the frame, then?’
‘No one specifically, but I think it might have been some kind of sex game that went wrong. There’s a club Harry went to the last night she was alive. I’m checking it out tomorrow.’
‘What kinda club?’
‘S and M. It’s in Mayfair.’
‘Toffs getting their arses spanked?’
‘I’d imagine there’d be a bit of that.’
Farrelly grimaced. In the Galaxy days he had terrorised the male staff but never so much as looked sideways at the girls. There had even been rumours he was gay. Now didn’t seem the time to pursue them.
‘You talking to anyone else?’ he asked.
‘A couple of people who were friends of Harry’s and might be able to tell me who she’d been hanging out with.’
‘Reckon her brother was telling the truth?’
‘Why wouldn’t he be?’
Farrelly’s lapsed eye contact made me wonder if he knew something about Roger that I didn’t. ‘Whoever killed Mr Parr’s daughter, I want him first,’ he said.
‘And then what?’
‘Just find the bastard.’
‘I can’t hand someone over so you can—’
‘Do what you’re told,’ Farrelly snapped.
There was no point in discussing due process with him. Nor was there any need. If I located Harry’s murderer, I’d tip the police off anonymously.
And then Farrelly added a rider.
‘Because if the law gets there first, you’ll wish they hadn’t.’
‘What?’
‘Think of it as an incentive.’
‘But they’ll throw all kinds of resources at it. What chance have I got?’
Farrelly shrugged and turned to the door. ‘Just so you know,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘I did you a favour while I was waiting.’
‘Not the washing up?’
‘Nah, I polished off your Scotch.’
‘That was kind of you, Farrelly.’
‘You’re tellin’ me,’ he said. ‘It tasted like piss.’
FOURTEEN
Had Frank’s cheque been on the doormat the morning after Farrelly’s visit, I’d have cashed it in and taken a long trip to a remote destination. All that awaited me was a letter announcing that parking restrictions in Brewer Street were being temporarily suspended. My phone began ringing shortly after I’d binned the letter.
‘Kenny? It’s Dervla Bishop. I got your number from the company website. Hope you don’t mind me calling, but I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I had to be somewhere in a hurry.’
‘Must have been important.’
‘It was,’ Dervla said. ‘D’you still want to talk about Harry Parr?’
‘That would be good.’
‘Okay, well, come round to the studio. I’ll be here until lunchtime.’
‘Eleven o’clock?’ I suggested.
‘I’ll text you the address,’ Dervla said.