Candleland (15 page)

“What makes you think I know?” She crossed her legs, bouncing one off the other. Andy's eyes followed, tennis-fashion.

“If you do know please tell us. We won't hurt her.”

Diana smiled, thinking for a moment. Eventually she placed her glass on the floor, the phone back on its table. She stood up slowly. It was like watching a snake uncoil. She pointed a hand towards Andy.

“Come.”

Andy looked pleasantly startled, as if Christmas had arrived unexpectedly early. He looked towards Larkin, who shrugged.

“Come.” Diana was smiling, this time with an approximation of warmth.

Andy stood, took her hand, and exited the room. Larkin watched them go down the hall, enter Diana's entertaining room. Her walk had returned with a vengeance, he noticed.

Larkin sat there trying not to listen, but not being able to help himself. Muffled voices were replaced by muffled fumblings. Five minutes became ten and ten was about to become fifteen when suddenly Andy's raised voice was heard.

The door opened and Andy burst out backwards, buttoning his trousers, pulling his trainers back on.

“Fuckin' 'ell,” he said, ashen-faced, as he sat back next to Larkin, continuing to button himself up. “Fuckin' 'ell …”

Soon Diana emerged, adjusting her breasts, smiling as if she was a higher form of life. She walked across the room, swinging her hips in langurous sensuality, and resumed her earlier seat.

“Well,” she said, as if she had been triumphant in battle, “I believe you are telling the truth.”

“And how have you worked that one out?” asked Larkin.

Diana smiled smugly. “I know how to find out if a man is lying to me. And he,” – she pointed to Andy – “is not lying.”

“Good,” said Larkin. Andy's head had dropped. He couldn't look at either of them. “But what have you done with him?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“Andy?”

At first he didn't move, then his head suddenly jerked up. “She's a fuckin' fella!” he shouted, rage and shame vying for space on his face. “A fuckin' fella!”

“No!” Diana barked, pride and anger in her voice, “I am a woman!”

“No you ain't, darlin” said Andy, “I've seen for meself.”

“Perhaps not here,” she said, pointing to her groin. “Not yet, but I am here,” – she moved her hand over her heart –“and I am here.” Her other hand pointed to her head.

“OK, you've made your point,” said Larkin. “Now can we get back to what we came here for?”

Diana's face became a closed book. “I have nothing to tell you. I do not know where they are.”

“But you have seen them? You did help them after they ran away from Les?”

She might as well have been carved from stone. “I cannot help you.” She stood up. “Please leave.”

Andy was quickly on his feet, making for the door. Larkin wasn't so fast.

“Please –” he began to implore.

“No. I cannot help you. It is unfortunate for your friend. But I cannot help you.”

“Can't or won't?” asked Larkin.

“Goodbye.”

Larkin reluctantly made his way down the stairs after Andy, Diana escorting them off the premisies. At the door Larkin turned to her.

“Look,” he said, scribbling Faye's number on the back of his business card and passing it to her. “If you think you can help call that number. Please. We just want to see she's all right.”

Diana's stone-like mask almost softened for a second.

“Goodbye,” was all she said, and closed the door.

Andy set off for the car.

“Wait,” said Larkin.

Andy stepped back on to the pavement. “What?”

“Let's walk this way.”

They set off down the street towards the shops.

“Why are we doing this?” asked Andy.

“Because she lied to us,” Larkin replied. “She knows something, and since she's the nearest thing to a lead we've got, we're going to have to watch her. So I don't want her to know what kind of car we've got.”

Andy nodded, head down studying the paving stones.

“So,” said Larkin, once he realised nothing more would be forthcoming from Andy. “What happened back there?”

“I don't wanna talk about it,” he mumbled. “I've never been so humiliated in all my life.”

Larkin smiled. “I don't believe that for one minute.”

“Oh, fuck off,” grumbled Andy.

They stopped short of the main street, crossed the road on the right and walked slowly round the block to where they'd parked the Saab. They climbed in and had the car ready to go when a minicab pulled up directly outside Diana's flat, blocking the street.

“Look,” said Larkin.

As they watched, Diana emerged, fur coat back in place. She scoped both sides of the street, checking for Larkin, Andy or anyone else. Instinctively the two of them ducked beneath the dashboard.

Satisfied that no one had seen her, she climbed into the minicab and off it went.

“Follow the money?” Larkin asked Andy.

“Follow the money,” Andy replied.

Leaving a couple of beats to allay suspicion, Larkin put the car into first and, as inconspicuously as possible, began to follow.

“Shagged,” sighed Larkin, flopping down on the sofa. “Put the kettle on, Andy.”

Andy turned towards the kitchen then stopped, hesitant. “Yeah, I … D'you fancy somethin' a bit stronger?”

Larkin nodded. “Sure.”

“I'll open some wine. Red.” Andy stood there, unmoving, a perplexed look crossing his features.

“You OK?” asked Larkin.

“Yeah …” He was struggling towards something. “I shoulda known. I shoulda known … She didn't … smell right.”

Larkin barely suppressed a grin. “Surprised you'd let a little thing like that bother you,” he said. “Or maybe it wasn't such a little thing, I don't know. Anyway, she was a lot better looking than most of the women you manage to beg to sleep with you.”

Andy opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find the words. He reddened, turned and left the room, re-emerging with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He wordlessly set them down on the floor, poured, handed one to Larkin. As he stood up he announced, “I'm gonna take a shower,” and left the room.

Larkin, alone now, sipped his wine. Thoughts roaming, he tried winding down.

Although he had put on lights and heating, the house still felt empty, lacking in warmth. Missing that vital spark. He knew what that spark was. Faye. The house needed her. Larkin was looking forward to seeing her again.

He took another mouthful, thought back over his day. It seemed to him that there was a subconscious link, a thread, uniting all the people he'd met and the situations he'd encountered. Of wanting to belong, looking for acceptance, finding home. Tara putting up with abuse, coping with dependency; Diana with her reconstructed room, her reconstructed identity.

And then there was Karen. Although he didn't yet have any concrete results, Larkin believed he was moving closer to finding her. He couldn't say how, it was just a feeling.

A sudden thought struck him, sending a frisson down his spine. What if she'd gone back to Edinburgh? Gone back home. His mind speedily worked over the possibilities and calculated the odds. Slim. Very slim. Everything indicated she was running away, not going back. There would be no sense in her going back. He doubted she could ever go home again. That was a feeling he was familiar with.

He thought of his own childhood home, a small town just outside Newcastle called Grimley. Apart from a work-related visit which had resulted in Andy and him slugging it out in the British Legion, he hadn't been back there in years, hadn't wanted to.

Home. He wondered if there would ever be anywhere he could call home. Perhaps this would be the house. Although he hadn't known her long, he knew he liked Faye. A lot. Probably more than he could admit to himself. The murderous end to his marriage had left him unable and, for the most part, unwilling to face commitment again. Could things be different with Faye? He didn't know. And he didn't want to think about it; it was a path of speculation he couldn't afford even to look down yet.

The wine was finished and Larkin went into the kitchen in search of another. He had settled himself back on the sofa and was idly flicking through channels, not stopping long enough on each one to get involved, when Andy re-emerged, dressed and wearing enough aftershave to keep Boss going for a whole year.

“Going out? Off to reaffirm your fragile heterosexuality, then? Have casual sex with some woman too drunk to remember her own name?” asked Larkin with a smile.

“Piss off,” replied Andy, blushing, and left.

Larkin wasn't alone for long. The key turned in the lock and he heard Faye and Moir's voices. They made their way to the front room.

“Hi, Stephen,” said Faye pleasantly. She was wearing a long, woollen overcoat and fake fur hat, and was busy unwrapping a long scarf from around her neck. Larkin caught flashes of cleavage from underneath as she did so. The effect was both simultaneously erotic and homely.

“You on your own?” she asked, with what Larkin might have only imagined was a trace of guilty embarrassment.

“Yep. Just me.” He pointed to the wine bottle. “I've just opened this if you want to join me.”

“I'll go and get a glass,” she said, seemingly happy to have found a decent exit line.

Moir entered next, mumbling greetings and dropping himself into a chair opposite Larkin. He sat there with a look of apprehensive expectation on his face.

“So how was your day?” asked Larkin.

“Fine,” replied Moir impatiently. “Faye took me to an art gallery and we had lunch in Chelsea. How 'bout you?”

“I'm sorry,” said Larkin. “My hearing must be going. I thought you said art gallery there for a minute. And Chelsea?”

Moir reddened, his gruffness returning. “It was just somewhere to go, for fuck's sake. Now what happened to you?”

Larkin smiled. “Thought we'd lost you there, Henry,” he said. “New clothes, lunch in Chelsea, not the Henry we know and love.”

Moir's eyes flashed fire. “Just tell me what the fuck happened,” he rumbled ominously

“That's more like it,” said Larkin, and proceeded to apprise him with a truncated version of his exploits. At some point Faye entered, handed Moir a coffee, poured herself a glass of wine and perched on the arm of Moir's chair. Larkin decided not to notice.

“So then we followed her,” he said.

“Where to?” asked Moir expectantly.

“I'm not sure.” Once the minicab containing Diana had left the street, Larkin and Andy had given chase in the Saab. They had stayed a few cars behind and, despite not being familiar with the roads and having to make a few intuitive leaps as to lane structures, had managed to follow without being detected.

The minicab eventually pulled up outside of a huge, old Victorian house in Hackney. Diana got out, cast a quick glance either way, and entered the building. Larkin and Andy, hidden just around the corner, managed to avoid being seen. The minicab pulled away. Diana had been absorbed into the house and it now stood still, silent and imposing in the encroaching dusk.

“What now?” asked Andy.

“I don't know,” replied Larkin. “That house looks different from the kinds of places we've been to so far. I don't think we can just barge in.”

“I know what you mean,” said Andy. “How about we do a bit of a stake-out?” he said, smiling. “We could be like Starsky an' 'Utch.”

“Yeah,” said Larkin. “All we need is the junk food and the white stripe down the side.”

“An' I wanna be Starsky,” said Andy.

“Piss off. You've got blonde hair. You can be Hutch.”

“No way! He was the borin' one! Let's have a quiet night in? Not with you, mate. I wanna be Starsky!”

And that was how they sat for the next hour or so, watching the house, keeping the boredom at bay by discussing the comparative merits of Seventies American detective series. As the time wore on and nothing happened, they used up the popular ones and had to resort to the increasingly obscure.

“Now, Longstreet,” said Larkin, “he'd have been crap at surveillance work.”

“How come?”

“Because he was blind,” explained Larkin. “The car chases were pretty good, though.” He sighed, looked at his watch. “In all the time we've sat here, no one's gone in or out. Shall we call it a night?”

Andy nodded. Agreeing to resume watch the following morning, they had made a note of the house's location and headed back to Clapham.

Larkin finished speaking and sat back, refilling his glass.

“So,” said Moir, frowning and rubbing his chin, “you've got no idea what this place is?”

“None at all,” replied Larkin. “Could be the most important thing I've yet come across, could be a dead end. Hopefully we'll find out more tomorrow.”

Dinner followed. Since no one had had the time or opportunity to prepare anything, it consisted of a Chinese take-away. Larkin was happy to eat anything as the wine had sent his head reeling. Faye was happily quaffing, but Larkin noticed Moir hadn't touched a drop. He'd had coffee while listening to Larkin and Coke – Diet Coke at that – during his meal. Larkin thought it best not to mention it.

After dinner they adjourned to the front room and watched some vapid, inconsequential television. It was just what Larkin needed after the day he'd had. He now knew why soap operas and game shows were so popular. Escape and release, passive and vicarious. Moir, he noticed, still wasn't drinking.

Eventually Larkin had to go to the toilet. On returning to the front room he managed to walk in on the end of a comet's tail of conversation between Moir and Faye. On sighting him they immediately stopped and coaxed smiles onto their faces. This is becoming a very annoying habit, thought Larkin.