Authors: Tony Strong
Around them, one or two heads have turned curiously in their direction. But there's going to be no confrontation, no overspill of New York stress. The woman is grinning.
'Hey, Frank. What kept you?'
'Hey, Claire.' He picks the bag off the chair and hands it to her so he can sit down. 'Just paperwork. Jesus, I thought our system was bureaucratic, but the French… Which reminds me.' He takes a large manila envelope out of his jacket and slides it across the table. 'Those papers you wanted. It's all there. Just send it to Immigration, they'll do the rest.'
'Thanks.' She drops the envelope into her bag.
'So.' Frank looks around. 'What do I have to do to get a beer around here?'
She shakes her head. 'Uh-uh. Curtain's up in ten minutes. And I absolutely refuse to be late. These tickets are like gold dust.'
He sighs. 'This is the guy who had you audition for his next project, right?'
'The same.'
'Then I guess we'd better go and check him out.' He doesn't get up yet, though. 'I assume you got the part?'
She makes a rocking movement with her hand. 'Maybe. Maybe not. I'll know in a couple of weeks.'
He laughs. 'Come on. I know you better than that, Claire. I bet you were terrific.'
'I wasn't bad,' she says. 'No, I wasn't bad.'
And she smiles, and after a moment he smiles, too, because they both know the truth is a little different from that.
'In that case,' he says, getting to his feet, 'after you, Miss Rodenburg.'
THE END
Many people helped with the research for this book. In particular, I wish to thank the distinguished pathologists and morticians around the world who responded to e-mail enquiries from a total stranger with grace and forbearance. The late Professor Chao of Singapore's Institute of Science and Forensic Medicine was a mine of useful information, as were the many helpful voices on http://www.funeral.net/.
This book would not have been written were it not for two very different accounts of the decoy operation that followed the murder of Rachel Nickell on Wimbledon Common in 1997:
The Jigsaw Man,
by Paul Britton, and
Who Really Killed Rachel?
by Colin Stagg and David Kessler. I hope that all those involved will forgive my using a real-life tragedy as the germ of my fiction. I am also indebted to several books on acting and stagecraft, particularly the writings of Keith Johnstone and Patsy Rodenburg.
Many friends read this book in its early drafts. I especially want to thank Michael Ward, Clark Morgan and Paul Philips for advice on all things American; Natasha Taylor and Anthea Willey for invaluable help with Baudelaire's
Les Fleurs du Mal;
Mandy Wheeler for advice on acting; Clive Tanqueray for his enthusiasm; the inhabitants of VirtualChicago for insights into MUDs, MUSEs, netsex and netiquette; Brian Innes for his forensic expertise; Ian Wylie and Siân Griffiths for their support; and, most of all, my agents Caradoc King and Sam North at AP Watt for their seemingly limitless ability to pretend that there was nothing they would rather do than read
The Decoy
one more time.
This book is dedicated to Michael Durban, who will never read this, but thanks anyway.