Destroying Angel (17 page)

‘No, no,’ Cooper blustered. ‘We had it all worked out. I was taking my rescue plan to the bank tomorrow. You can check with them.’

‘I know that,’ Gage countered, ‘and I also know they would have rejected your plans, as do you.’

‘No, seriously, it was sweet. We had good customers, I’d just overdone it on the stock a bit, that’s all.’

‘Overdone it by just under a million pounds?’ Gage turned the screw, enjoying himself immensely.

‘Okay, so I fucked up,’ Cooper conceded, ‘but that doesn’t mean I torched the warehouse!’

Gage had seen Cooper’s manner before. It was typical of the sort of tough background Joe Cooper evidently came from. He wouldn’t break until the evidence was shoved right under his nose: maybe not even then. Gage had known villains of Cooper’s type who’d continued to protest their innocence – even when they’d been convicted with evidence that damned them without question. It was pointless to continue or to arrest him without more evidence.

‘Very well, Mr Cooper,’ he sighed. ‘We’ll leave it at that for now, but don’t think we haven’t got our eyes on you.’

They left Joe Cooper vehemently protesting his innocence.

‘What do you reckon?’ Gage asked Berner as they walked back to the car.

‘He’s a thug,’ Berner replied. ‘He’s done well for himself, but at heart he’s a thug.’

‘I can see that. But do you reckon he did it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Berner said thoughtfully. ‘He certainly wouldn’t have done it himself; I’d put money on his alibi checking out. But if Susan’s right about the attacks being done from a canal boat, we can try and link him in with the hire or ownership of one.’

‘Good. And check on his known associates, as well. He must know half the villains in London.’

‘Searching them out… interviews… checking alibis…’ Berner said. ‘It’s a long grind.’

‘That’s what gets results – unless you can come up with a better idea.’

‘Actually,’ Berner said thoughtfully, ‘I think I can.’

‘Oh yeah? Well, spit it out.’

‘I reckon Cooper and the boys who work for him are a pretty close-knit mob. Close enough for any one of them to be in the know if any other was responsible for the arson.’

‘Yes,’ Gage agreed, cautiously.

‘So, we get someone to infiltrate and found out what they can.’

‘Wouldn’t work.’ Gage shook his head dismissively. ‘It’d take too much planning to get it right. We don’t have that kind of time on our side.’

‘Come on, guv, the investigation’s been dragging on for months now. It’s about time we got an arrest.’

‘And don’t you think I know that?!’ Gage snapped. The whole damned episode was really stressing him out.

‘So guv,’ Berner egged him on conspiratorially, ‘let’s do something to get a few results.’

Gage considered Berner’s proposal for a few minutes, and eventually said, ‘And who would you suggest we use to do this? There’s no way I’m asking for volunteers at such short notice.’

‘We don’t have to,’ Berner smiled. ‘We’ve got Susan MacQuillan.’

Paulette sat in the garden of the hotel, feeling uneasy and not at all confident. Since the previous day with Christian Charrier, she had become convinced that he was Alan Sowerby’s murderer. From their first sexual encounter, she had considered him not just sadistic but not entirely in control of himself. Taking pleasure in punishing her was one thing, but there was something almost demented about the way he went about it, something very different from Susan’s playful behaviour or Annabella’s poised dominance. She shivered at the thought of what they’d done together, even as she tried to convince herself that before he’d shown her the Destroying Angel it had been okay. After that she’d felt distinctly unsafe, despite the logical fact that he had no reason to really harm her.

Getting away was a distinctly attractive prospect, yet she had no samples from the co-op, and was sure a longer search of their files would provide some interesting reading. But the idea of facing Charrier again unsettled her immensely, especially as he was bound to want a last sex-session before she left. She got up and walked towards the hotel reception, only to falter as she pondered Susan’s reaction if she returned to England with no samples.

Susan, Paulette was certain, would brave Charrier. And Susan would probably break into the co-op and copy the papers she needed. Paulette knew she had to do the same, especially after the lengths Susan had been to to help her. She sat back down and finished her coffee, wondering how best to go about the task.

Twenty minutes later she was parked outside the co-op, praying that Charrier had already gone to lunch. He hadn’t, but was in the tasting room with a party of tourists. He smiled as she entered, indicating that she should wait in the office. She went in, smiling at the secretary who was typing at the desk by the filing cabinets. The secretary smiled back and returned to her work.

Paulette pretended to study a map of the region as she waited, picking out Choray village, the co-op, and the wood to which Charrier had taken her. Her bottom still hurt. It had been good, and the orgasm had been wonderful, but the next time she allowed someone to birch her it would be a more sympathetic partner.

The sound of a chair being pushed back drew Paulette’s attention. The secretary was getting up, reaching for her bag and giving Paulette another polite and silent smile. Barely able to believe her luck, Paulette waited for the secretary to leave and then turned to the filing cabinets. She could just hear Charrier still talking, and the occasional murmur of amusement or amazement from the tourists in the tasting room. With her heart in her mouth, Paulette moved stealthily to the cabinets and pulled the relevant draw open. The file on de Vergy Fine Wines was where it had been before. She pulled it out and began to scan the letters and order forms. As she had expected, without exception they were signed by Philip Ruddock.

Susan had asked for enough data to allow her to estimate how much wine the co-op supplied to de Vergy Fine Wines. With trembling fingers Paulette photocopied several order forms and an annual summation for the previous year. The damned machine seemed to be the loudest she’d ever used. Surely someone would hear. Hastily stuffing each copy to the bottom of her bag, she listened for the soft drone of Charrier’s cultured voice. She moved to the ajar door and listened. Damn! He was thanking the tourists… accepting an order… he needed a new invoice pad…!

Paulette stuffed the file back in the draw, pushed it shut, and sank into the secretary’s chair just as the door opened. Her heart was thumping, and she was sure Charrier would be able to hear it. She gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile and tried to look as natural as possible. What might have happened if she’d been caught didn’t bear thinking about.

‘A minute more, my dear,’ Charrier said smoothly. ‘Could you give me that?’

Paulette passed the invoice pad he pointed to and watched him leave the office. She breathed deeply and her tension start to subside. She had done what was needed and now only had to collect her samples and get clear. Susan’s job had always struck her as exciting, but having tried it she would stick to what she knew best in future.

The tourists had left, and Paulette went through to the tasting room as Charrier was shutting the door behind them.

‘A glass of Sauvignon?’ he asked, indicating an open bottle of white wine on the table, its green glass beaded with condensation. ‘So, you are going back today. A pity.’

Paulette accepted the wine and shrugged, smiling at him with as much candour as she could manage.

‘I will miss you, my Paulette,’ he said softly, raising a hand to stroke her hair.

‘And I’ll miss you,’ Paulette lied, although his sudden and unexpected gentleness had rather taken her aback.

‘Maybe we could meet in England?’ he suggested. ‘I am there often. In fact, I was there for an exposition only a few weeks ago.’

‘That would be nice,’ Paulette said, feigning real interest. ‘Perhaps I could ring you.’

‘Of course.’ He took a business card from an inside pocket. Paulette studied him as he wrote his home details on the back. She remembered the violent, almost demented quality of his lust. He was remarkably composed on the surface, but the sadistic beast was never far below.

Paulette shuddered just as he looked up. His eyes searched hers.

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ he asked silkily as he handed her the card.

‘Y-yes, I’m fine,’ she stuttered. ‘May – may I buy some wine?’

‘Buy some wine?’ Charrier chuckled. ‘Of course you cannot buy some wine. You must take some, with my complements. I will fetch some bottles from my own stock.’

‘I’d like a mixed case of the ordinary ones as well, if I may,’ Paulette insisted. ‘I really don’t mind paying.’

‘Come, come,’ Charrier said. ‘They are good enough wines in their way, but all from our lesser vineyards, and last year was not a great success. No, for you only the best. I will bring some Côt and bottles of a Chenin Doux my father made in seventy-one. It is true nectar.’

‘That’s really generous,’ Paulette persisted, ‘but I promised to take some back for my friends, and it won’t be fair to expect too many of your special bottles.’

‘Very well,’ Charrier shrugged, ‘but you must not pay. I insist.’

‘Thank you.’ Paulette wondered about Charrier’s apparent reluctance to part with the ordinary co-op wines. It might be because he didn’t want too many adulterated bottles around, and yet he had been willing enough to have her taste them. Evidently, whatever they were doing was harmless, if not legal. Harmless unless you happened to be Alan Sowerby, she corrected herself.

François was sent to fetch the wines. Paulette returned Charrier’s goodbyes with as much warmth as she could muster. Finally everything was packed into Susan’s car. Paulette gave Christian Charrier a final kiss and turned the ignition key with a strong sense of relief. Ahead of her was the long drive to Caen, then the night ferry and the shorter drive up to London. It was a long journey yet, armed with the possible evidence of the Choray co-op’s involvement with the wine scandal, she knew it would seem to take even longer.

‘Fair enough,’ Susan at last decided. ‘As long as there’s a heavy to keep an eye on me; it could get a little dangerous.’

‘Nice one,’ Paul Berner grinned. ‘I knew you’d be up for it.’

‘You’ve got guts,’ Ted Gage added. ‘I’ll give you that.’

Susan smiled. Her adrenaline was already pumping at the prospect of infiltrating Joe Cooper’s boys. The fact that she was certain they had nothing to do with the fire only added to the thrill. The operation appealed to her sense of devilment; it promised the excitement she thrived on, and Berner and Gage would end up with egg on their faces when she proved their theory wrong.

She was also confident of handling any one of Cooper’s men, especially with a police heavy in the background. She would pick the best looking of them, seduce him, enjoy their sex together, and use her carnal expertise to extract any information available.

‘I’ve done worse,’ she told Gage. ‘I’m not a private investigator for nothing.’

‘Maybe, but you just look so…’

‘Sweet and innocent?’ Susan suggested how he might finish his chauvinistic sentence. ‘Yes, I do, and it gets them every time.’

Berner chuckled to himself. ‘Innocent, she most definitely is not.’

Susan sipped her glass of gin and orange and looked around. The interior of the Bell was much as she had expected it to be. Loud music blared from speakers set high on walls painted a deep reddish brown. Smoke filled the ceiling space, spiralling up from numerous cigarettes. The customers, mainly male, had a consistency about them that was reflected in the fact that the majority seemed to know each other. As a lone female, she was somewhat conspicuous, yet not outrageously so. Twice she had declined drinks from hopeful suitors who did not belong to the group she had her eye on.

Cooper’s friends had been pointed out to her by DC Reynolds, a tall, heavily muscled policeman now involved in a game of darts with a group of the regulars. Two of the men who actually worked for Cooper were there, along with three others. All were in their late twenties, two apparently brothers. Two had girlfriends with them, which ruled them out of Susan’s scheme. Of the remaining three, she had to go for the one who actually worked for Cooper.

He was a tall blond with a lean and craggy face. He was the loudest and brashest of the group, laughing and joking with the two women in a manner that made their partners defensive. She could see him having the arrogance not to take no for an answer, especially when drunk and turned on. The prospect set her pulse racing; a reaction to the thrill of action combined with a touch of fear. True, the operation was simple enough, and the prospect of sex with the man was not unappealing, but to play the evening exactly right was going to take some skill.

When his turn to buy the round came up she made her move. Waiting until he had signalled the barman, she moved behind him, deliberately pressing her breasts against his arm. He turned at the feel of soft female flesh, as she knew he would.

‘Could I get in next to you?’ she asked.

‘Sure love,’ he leered, his eyes glued to the offending bosom, and then he moved just a fraction to allow her to squeeze beside him.

‘Four pints of lager, a lager top, and two rum and blacks, mate,’ he shouted, holding two empty pint glasses across the bar without tearing his eyes from the generous curves stretching her T-shirt.