Nothing but Trouble (15 page)

‘Yes,’ Choi said, giving a terse nod of his head. ‘Okay, I understand.’

‘You said you were told you to keep quiet,’ Jess prompted. ‘Quiet about what?’

There was a short pause while his eyes darted over to the counter and back again. ‘It was the phone calls,’ Choi said eventually.
‘The calls Lynda made on the night she died.’

‘So it wasn’t just Sam Kendall that she rang,’ Jess said.

‘She called all of them, all the girls who were with Minnie Bright that day.’ David Choi raked his fingers through his hair,
the pain clearly visible on his face. ‘I wanted to know what Lynda had said to them. I was trying to understand, to make some
sense of what she did.’

‘You don’t think her death was an accident?’ Harry said, recalling Sam Kendall’s thoughts on the subject.

‘She’d have wanted to make it look like one,’ Choi said. ‘For our parents’ sake. Lynda never got over what happened. She couldn’t
move on. She couldn’t build a proper life for herself. She blamed herself for leaving Minnie there. They gave her counselling,
therapy and all that, but … it didn’t make any difference. She lived with the guilt every single day of her life.’

‘It must have been tough,’ Harry said. ‘Tough on all of you.’

Choi took another deep breath. ‘She was a good girl, kind, but she was always sad. As she got older, the doctors called it
depression. They gave her pills, lots of them, but nothing helped. It was like a disease inside her, like a cancer that just
kept on growing. In the end …’

There was a short, gloomy silence, broken only by the persistent hiss of the coffee machine and the clatter of cutlery.

‘So you called the other girls,’ Jess eventually prompted gently.

Choi briefly closed his eyes, and when he opened them
again, he had a more determined look on his face. ‘Yes. A few weeks after she died, Lynda’s mobile phone bill arrived. I went
through it carefully and checked all the calls that she’d made that night. I thought … I thought that if she’d talked to someone,
they might have an idea as to what it was that finally pushed her over the edge. I was just trying to get some answers, but
the more I asked … I don’t know, it was like they were hiding something, that they were worried about what I might find out.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Harry asked.

‘Because they lied to me.’ His dark eyes suddenly flashed bright, his right hand clenching into a fist. ‘Apart from Sam Kendall,
they all claimed that they hadn’t heard from her.’

Harry frowned, beginning to wish that he’d had this information before his visit to Kirsten Cope. ‘But the phone records said
otherwise.’

Choi’s face twisted with anger and disgust. He reached into his pocket and took out a sheet of paper. ‘You see this,’ he said,
placing it on the table and jabbing at it with a finger. ‘It shows that she made four calls, one to each of them.’

Harry pulled the phone bill towards him and he and Jess stared down at it. Choi had written the names next to the numbers
in small neat print. The call to Sam was short, only a few minutes, and the one to Becky wasn’t much longer. But the call
to Paige had lasted nine minutes and the one to Kirsten Cope, made just after eight o’clock, for forty-three.

Choi poked a finger towards the bill again. ‘You see. That Cope woman swore to me that she hadn’t talked to Lynda, but she
must have. It’s there in black and white.’

‘So you confronted her?’ Jess said.

‘I found out where she lived and went to her flat, but she wouldn’t let me in. She said she’d call the police if I didn’t
go away, that she’d have me arrested for harassment. She called me
a stalker, but it wasn’t like that. I was only trying to find out the truth. I wasn’t—’

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Harry said, seeing how distressed Choi was getting. He stretched out a hand and placed it gently on the
younger man’s wrist. ‘It’s okay. We get it.’

Choi waited until Harry had removed his hand before speaking again. ‘And then, two days later, I was threatened by a man.
He grabbed me on my way home from work and put a knife to my throat. He told me to lay off, to stop asking questions or he’d
shut me up for good.’

‘Did you report it?’ Harry asked. An incredulous look appeared on Choi’s face. ‘I’ve got a wife,’ he said. ‘Two small kids.
He swore it wouldn’t just be me he went after next time.’ A visible shudder ran through his body and his dark eyes widened.
‘What if he finds out that I’ve talked to you? What if—’

‘I don’t think he’ll come after you again,’ Harry said, hoping that he was right. ‘Things have moved on since you went to
see Kirsten Cope. If anyone’s going to be in the firing line, it’s more likely to be me or Jess.’

Choi worried on his lower lip, his hands starting their restless dance again.

‘This guy – what did he look like?’ Harry asked.

‘It was after eleven, dark. I couldn’t see his face too well. He was wearing a hood.’

‘Tall, short, black, white? How old was he?’

‘White,’ Choi said. ‘About the same height as you.’ He paused and then added, ‘But much younger, I think.’

Harry heard Jess make a tiny noise in the back of her throat, probably the result of having to swallow one of her wisecracks.
‘And what about his voice? Was it local?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘And there was nothing distinctive about him?’

Choi began to shake his head but then stopped. ‘Only the rings,’ he said. ‘There were gold rings on his fingers, lots of them.
Those coin ones.’

‘Sovereigns,’ Jess said.

Before any more questions could be asked, Choi rose abruptly to his feet. His face was drawn, his voice tight and strained.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you any more. I have to go now.’

‘Okay,’ Harry said. He touched the phone bill. ‘Is it all right if I hang on this?’

‘Sure.’

‘Thanks for coming to see us. We’ll let you know if—’

But Choi had already turned his back and was heading for the exit.

‘That’s one scared guy,’ Jess said.

‘Well, when some crazy goon puts a knife to your throat, it doesn’t do much for the nervous system.’

‘Some crazy
young
goon,’ Jess said with just the hint of a snigger.

Harry picked up the remains of his sandwich, decided that he wasn’t that hungry any more and put it back down. ‘One day you’ll
be old and grey, Vaughan, and then you’ll regret your ageist attitudes.’

Jess laughed, but suddenly her face grew serious again. ‘You know, I reckon the guy who attacked David could have been Micky
Higgs – Paige Fielding’s other half. He wears those rings on his fingers.’

‘Him and plenty of others.’

‘Yeah, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Kirsten tells Paige that David Choi has been harassing her about that call, and Paige
sends out her own personal storm trooper to scare him off.’ She lifted the cup to her lips and took a few fast gulps of the
black coffee. ‘What the hell are they all so worried about?’

Harry idly drummed out a beat on the table with his fingertips. ‘I believe that’s what they call the million-dollar question.’

‘And why did Lynda Choi even have their numbers on her phone? It wasn’t as if she was friendly with them. She didn’t have
anything to do with the others after the trial. Sam reckoned she was the only one Lynda kept in touch with.’ She paused and
glared hard at his hand. ‘Do you have to keep doing that?’

Harry stopped his fingers mid-beat, his hand poised in the air. ‘What’s the matter? Is it aggravating your hangover?’

‘It’s aggravating every part of me.’

‘I never realised you were so highly strung.’

‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘But my head is.’ She carefully rubbed her temples and gave a low groan. ‘God, remind me never to go
out and enjoy myself again.’

‘So what happened to the girl who could party until dawn?’

Jess narrowed her eyes and gave him one of her dry looks. ‘Hey, I can still do the partying – it’s just the day after I have
the problem with.’

‘Okay,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve got a theory, if your addled brain can take it.’

‘Fire away.’

‘Right. We know that Lynda Choi made a call to Sam and that Sam’s phone was turned off. But there was obviously something
on her mind, something that was bugging her about the day Minnie Bright died and which she felt the need to share. With Sam
not around to talk to, who would she turn to next?’

Jess frowned while she thought about it. ‘Well, it wouldn’t be Paige. She was a bully back then and she hasn’t changed much
now. And Becky was always the brainless sidekick, so I guess that leaves Kirsten Cope. Yeah, I suppose of the three, Kirsten
was the one she would have disliked the least.’

‘But in order to get her number,’ Harry continued, ‘Lynda
might have had to contact the other two.’ He slid the bill across the table so that it was sitting in front of Jess. ‘You
see, she called Becky first – her number’s probably in the phone book so it wouldn’t have been difficult to get hold of –
and got Paige’s number off her. Then, five minutes later, she rang Paige.’

‘But why call Paige at all? Wouldn’t Becky have had Kirsten’s number?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Kirsten told me this morning that she occasionally hears from Paige, but I doubt
she keeps in touch with Becky Hibbert. I get the distinct impression that Ms Cope, now that her naked body adorns the glossy
lads’ mags, has pretty much turned her back on all things Kellston.’

‘Naked?’ Jess said.

‘We detectives pride ourselves on our powers of observation.’

‘I can believe it.’

‘So what do you reckon? A feasible theory as regards the phone calls?’

‘Up to a point,’ Jess said. ‘But if Kirsten Cope doesn’t give out her number to all and sundry, surely Paige would be aware
of that. Why would she give it to Lynda?’

‘Maybe she just wanted to get rid of her. Sam did say that Lynda sounded drunk, a bit rambling when she left the message.
Or Paige could have realised that Lynda had cottoned on to something important about that day and the only way to find out
was to let her talk to Kirsten.’

‘Okay,’ Jess said. ‘I’ll buy that. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility.’

Harry sat back, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Of course the girls could have had a perfectly innocent reason for lying
to David Choi about the calls.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as not wanting to be dragged into an inquiry about Lynda’s death. Perhaps they simply didn’t want to get involved.’

Jess huffed out a cynical breath. ‘Like you believe a word of that. Those girls are up to their necks in it and you know it.’

Harry did know it. He knew it with every bone in his body – but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

It was Monday morning and the call came shortly after nine o’clock. A package had arrived for him and was available to collect
at reception. He went down in the lift, sharing it with a middle-aged couple in matching Pringle sweaters. Their eyes met
briefly and nods were exchanged. There was a typically British silence and an awkward shuffling of feet as the lift descended
to the ground floor.

The hotel, a high-rise warren of right-angle corridors, was white and sterile and about as devoid of character as any place
could be. Hundreds of people came and went on a daily basis, there to see the city or make deals, to visit friends or simply
be invisible for a while. He smiled vaguely at the receptionist, gave her his name, signed for the DHL package and immediately
returned to the lift.

His room was on the sixteenth floor. He went back up in the lift alone and strolled along the corridor, the package held securely
under his arm, until he came to the right number. He slipped the card in, opened the door, closed it again and then leaned
back, taking a moment to absorb the cold anonymity of what lay before him. How many rooms had he slept in like this one? Too
many. The carpet was utilitarian beige, with curtains to match. There was a
double bed flanked by two small bedside tables with lamps, a closet, a dressing table with a mirror, a TV, a kettle, two cups
and saucers and the usual array of tea bags, coffee sachets, sugar and UHT milk. To his left was a tiny bathroom with a shower,
toilet and washbasin. Straight ahead lay a pair of doors that led out on to a skinny balcony with metal railings. He gazed
out through the glass. From this height there was a good view; in the distance he could see the gleaming dome of St Paul’s
Cathedral.

He shouldn’t be in London. He knew this with every atom, every nerve end of his body. But there was no going back now. A promise
had been made, a promise that could not be broken. He found himself wondering what would happen if he were to drop down dead
in this bleak, sterile room, if he were to suffer a sudden heart attack or stroke. The police would be called and they would
check his identity and would find a man who did not exist.

And what would Anna do? In Cadiz, she would report a husband with another name who had not returned from a trip to Bonn. The
Spanish police, if they ever got around to it, would check the flights and find no passenger bearing his name. Would the connection
be made with the corpse in London? And if it was, would that be better or worse for her? A relief, he supposed, but a tainted
one. She would struggle to understand what he was doing here in this cheap, anonymous hotel on the edge of Kellston. Perhaps
she would suspect that he’d been conducting a sordid affair, a week-long fling with another woman. Why else would he have
lied to her?

‘Jesus,’ he murmured softly.

Quickly he pushed the thoughts aside. They were morbid and distressing, not worth dwelling on. Stepping away from the door,
he went over to the bed and sat down, laying the package carefully on the duvet next to him. It was an innocuous-looking parcel,
wrapped in brown paper, with the name and address of a Munich bookshop stamped across the front. He cut through the tape
with a penknife and opened the flaps. Inside was a thick hardback German dictionary.