“We’ll have to drag him up the stairs,” Alma panted, and her employer’s face dropped.
“But—”
“There’s no time to argue,” Alma insisted. “We can carry him together.”
“He’s too heavy, especially with the rug.” Ella stood back, frowning, and with the back of one elegant hand wiped the space where her eyebrows should be.
“Wait,” Billie said, bending, and unwrapped the rug as if it contained a grim present. She worked to sit the body upright. It was stiff, rigor mortis having begun, but she could still do it with some effort. When she was finished, Zervos sat with his back against the wall of the lift, legs slightly bent, arms unnaturally stiff at his sides. His mouth was gaping a touch, and the bruises around his neck had darkened to a deep blue. “There,” Billie said, and the doors successfully closed them in. Billie ignored the revulsion of her living companions and pressed the button for her mother’s floor. The lift came to life with a whir of gears. She had never been more grateful that the building had been designed with an automatic lift, one of the first blocks of flats to boast such a luxury.
A few agonizing minutes later, the women found themselves in Baroness von Hooft’s flat, breathless and staring at a suspicious-looking rug with two feet sticking out of it. Bodily decomposition had begun immediately upon death, and this poor soul had passed away at least five hours earlier. Things were not set to improve anytime soon. It wasn’t anything like the reek of a field hospital, but the inevitable stench of death was still unpleasant, particularly in such a domestic setting, bringing to mind the rot of putrid flowers and meat. Death, though, had its own distinct odor, and it wasn’t something one forgot.
Billie opened all the windows in the flat to let a breeze through, while Alma locked the front door and slid the bolt, then disappeared into the kitchen. Soon Billie was in her mother’s boudoir, pocketing the first bottle of perfume she saw and stalking back down the hall. Thankfully, the lift had not moved. She opened the doors, sprayed perfume inside, wafted the air around as much as she could, and closed them again. Truly, there was no dignity in death. She returned to her mother’s flat and locked and bolted the door again behind her. Her mother had not moved an inch.
Ella’s naked brow was uncharacteristically corrugated, deep lines running up her forehead. Billie offered her an apologetic smile, then accepted a cup of coffee from Alma gratefully, along with a couple of aspirin from the medicine cabinet. After a few minutes she felt the heaviness of her head lifting a little more. A plan began to form. “This will work,” she said under her breath.
Her arms were aching, she realized. Her mother and Alma, both much older, would most likely be hellishly sore after that lifting. Had the man been larger, like the portly Georges Boucher, for example, the task might well have been impossible, no matter the necessity.
Georges Boucher.The auction was today. She had to get there.She couldn’t let sleeplessness, or an interrogation with the cops, prevent her.
She moved to the telephone table and was rather surprised when Sam picked up on the fourth ring, sounding quite awake. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early,” he said when she greeted him down the line. His throat didn’t sound the best, but he seemed lucid enough.
“Trust me, neither did I,” she replied and cast a sideways glance at her still unmoving mother. She seemed to have frozen in place.
“Are you feeling okay this morning? You seemed a bit...” Sam’s voice trailed off.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I? I’m sorry to do this to you, Sam, but I need you to get dressed again in what you were wearing last night and pick me up in Quambi Place, the street behind Cliffside Flats, in about half an hour.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m afraid I need you to dress again and pick me up,” she reiterated. “I realize it’s inconvenient. I’ll spot you when you pull up in Quambi Place and I’ll get into the car. Don’t bother getting out, and whatever you do don’t cruise around the front of the building or down Edgecliff Road, as I think the flats are being watched.”
Sam took a moment to absorb her instructions. “Billie, are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
“Can you do it, Sam?” She held her breath while she waited for his answer.
“Well, my jacket is a bit crumpled now. It will take a while to press, and—”
“Don’t bother. Crumpled is fine. Just wear it, same as last night.Can you get here in half an hour, in your car? You know it’s important or I wouldn’t ask.”
There was a pause. “Yeah. I can get there in thirty minutes, or a touch longer.”
She had another idea. “Also, do you have a mate you can borrow a motorcar from this afternoon? Someone trustworthy and not prone to gossip?”
“I don’t like gossips,” Sam said simply, then paused again, evidently thinking. “Stevo isn’t driving much on account of having his touch of shell shock. His missus doesn’t like him behind the wheel. I could borrow his car, I think.”
“Is the car reliable?” Billie ventured.
“Oh yes, his missus drives it. It’s solid.”
“Good. I’ll explain more when I see you.”
“Got it, Ms. Walker.”
Billie hung up and looked down at herself, then at the clock. “Mum, I’m going to have to borrow some of your clothes. I don’t think I ought to go back to my flat now.” They’d been lucky to get Zervos out before seven. But if she was right about what her unknown nemesis had in mind, the police would come knocking very soon. They could be there already, searching her place.
The baroness led her daughter into her luxurious, burgundy-painted bedroom. She indicated the double robes with a raised eyebrow, and Billie opened them up. Either from a strong bond with her past or from her current state of relative impecuniosity, Ella’s closet was dominated by 1920s haute couture and ready-to-wear fashions. Billie frowned.
“You don’t have anything more... fashionable?” she asked,somewhat foolishly. She realized her mistake as soon as she’d spoken. “I mean... newer?”
