Death By Sugar. Helen Goltz
Читать онлайн книгу.
shoot.' He leaned forward across the table and glared at me as though preparing for a round of Who Wants to be a Millionaire.
'I'll be asking other people questions too, not just you.'
'Oh, sure,' he relaxed and his expression changed. 'Like who?'
'It'll depend where each of the leads - uh - leads me. I may need to talk to the cops, your insurance company, your mechanic, witnesses at the coffee shop, that kind of thing.'
'Fine. Just make sure they know you're working for me. I don't want them to think I'm being investigated.'
'I understand,' I assured him. 'So, do you have any natural enemies?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, you know, sharks are natural enemies for seals. That kind of thing…?' He looked lost. I had to simplify. 'Do you know anyone who would want to blow up your car?'
'Shit yeah. Who wouldn't want to blow it up? If you saw a guy driving a sleek Mercedes convertible wouldn't you want to rough him?'
'No.'
He shrugged.
'I would. It's like the haves and have-nots. People check me out and think "How did that guy get that? What kind of business is he in? Let's get him".'
I nodded. I was going to need a stronger drink than tea.
'So?'
'What?' He asked. I reiterated the question.
'Not off the top of my head,' he answered, 'like, I don't have any enemies, if that's what you mean.'
'That's what I mean.' Rich and stupid, I thought. I made a mental note to ask short and direct questions.
'Tell me exactly what you did that morning from the time you got up until your car exploded,' I instructed. I opened my pad and waited, pen at the ready. I thought that looked professional; my publicity clients liked to see me taking notes.
He thought for a few seconds.
'I got up, had a shave and a dump…'
I winced - my fault for saying "exactly".
'… got in the shower then got dressed. I checked on Vince - he's my best friend, he's staying with me for a while - but he was out of it, so I got in the car and went to get a coffee. I parked, went straight to the front counter and ordered. I was drinking it when the phone rang so I answered it, but I couldn't hear who it was, so I went outside to see if reception was better. As I walked towards my car, it blew up. Jeez, if I hadn't taken that call, I could be history now.'
He looked at me. I hadn't made any notes. I sighed and started from the beginning, breaking down each thing he did and working him through it in detail. Fifty minutes later, he looked glazed over so I let him go. The publicity business was starting to look good again.
CHAPTER THREE
'Have you heard of Elizabeth J. Rowan?' Ed accosted me as I walked back into the office. The windows were open and the air conditioning was off. Ed liked to breathe fresh air.
'Did she write the Harry Potter books?' I asked.
'No, that's J.K. Rowling. Not even close.'
'Okay, I give up, who's Elizabeth J. Rowan?'
'Our new publicity client!' Ed announced. 'She came by while you were out. I told her I would have to check with you, but I was fairly confident we could handle her work.'
'We're finishing up the film and the play this week, aren't we?' I asked.
'Yes, and we have two more weeks on the water conservation campaign. We can handle it.'
'I'm happy for you to make those decisions, Ed. You don't have to consult me. We've worked together long enough to know if it's right for the agency.'
'I'm touched,' he placed his hand on his heart. 'Anyway, she's an artist.'
'Really?'
'Well, she thinks she is. Her exhibition, Memories of Summer, opens the first week of autumn at the High Lane Gallery. She wants us to handle the publicity.'
'Charming.' I boiled the kettle and raised a cup to Ed. He nodded. 'Memories of Summer. I still remember summer clearly.'
'That's because it's still summer,' Ed reminded me. 'But it won't be when the exhibition opens.'
'Oh, right, makes sense … no need to see the exhibition now then, just look out the window! Is she reasonably talented?' I asked.
'She can string a sentence together; she'll be okay on radio.'
'And TV and print?'
'Well, she's no glamour puss, but not frightening either.'
Ed had a way with words. That was why he was one of the best publicists around and why I snapped him up to join my business.
'What did you quote her?'
'Our middle-of-the-road rate. She looked a bit hungry.'
'That's fine. Here's to summer!' I handed him his coffee and sat down at my desk. 'Any messages?'
'Dom rang. What a shame he isn't gay,' Ed sighed.
'A real waste,' I agreed.
'I told him you were seeing a client. So, got any leads?'
'Indeed,' I pulled out my notes from Renzo Leonardo. 'I'm going to start with the room-mate, Vince Palino.'
'Brilliant, Watson!' Ed grinned.
'My mother's maiden name was Watson!' I said.
'See, it's in the blood!' Ed exclaimed.
****
I pushed the buzzer on apartment six and waited. So this is where Ren the Italian Stallion lived. Nice.
'Yeah?' a male voice came through the intercom.
'Hi, Jesse Clarke to speak with Vince Palino.'
'Yeah, come on up. Second floor, apartment six.'
I heard the buzzer and pulled open the front door. It was a beautiful building on the outside - old world façade and great fretwork - and the inside was just as up-market. My heels clicked on the marble floor. I stopped and thought about what I was doing. Should I go up alone? I should have asked this guy to meet me in a public place.
I rang Ed and told him the address. He offered to come over, but instead we agreed he would call my phone in fifteen minutes. How much damage could Vince do in fifteen minutes? Images of Law and Order chalk outlines raced through my head. I needed to be more careful if I was going to continue in this line of business.
Before my knuckles could rap on the door, it opened. An unshaven, paunchy and balding man checked me out.
'Jesse?' he asked.
'Yes. Vince?'
'Yeah, come on in.'
He moved aside and I entered. Vince was in need of a hose down. He looked like he hadn't shaved for a few days and smelt like a bottle of scotch. But the apartment was pristine, like, eat-off-the-floor clean. It was totally modern and a contradiction to the rest of the building.
I thought about Renzo. His home was a complete contrast to his workplace. The flat had an unlived-in, display unit feel. Everything was white walls, cream rugs and mirror tiles - way too many mirror tiles. There was a reasonable view of the park square and district on all sides. The cream curtains were obviously a necessity given the proximity of the building next door. I wondered if Ren was happy to be on show in his glass house; he was a bit of a peacock.
Vince looked out of place, almost as if he should have been in the garage. I wanted to get a cloth and run behind him to wipe off his fingerprints, but I got over that quickly.
'Nice place,' I said for want of a conversation starter.
'Yeah,