Cold Justice (Willis/Carter #4)
Lee Weeks
Prologue
Grand Hotel, Park Lane, London
Thursday 2 January 2014
As the bath was running, Jeremy Forbes-Wright laid out his toiletries on the bathroom shelf. The room was in the art deco style that he loved, the tiles on the floor were black and white and the wall lights above the shelves were mounted with elaborate chrome fittings: sleek, shiny and with a touch of the ostentatious.
He had chosen to come back to this hotel because it was one of his favourites. It had an old-fashioned class and service about it that made him feel at home and there was a comforting solidness about its dark curtains, dark wood, its quiet corridors and the fact that it didn’t object to him bringing his dog – there was no way he was leaving him home tonight.
He caught a glimpse of himself but didn’t linger on his reflection. Instead, he went across to the bath and poured in some orange-blossom bath oil and breathed it in deeply – a little smell of heaven as it turned the water an apricot colour. He turned off the water and left it to steam gently while he went back into the bedroom. The television was on. The 24-hour news channel had moved on to world affairs, wars and massacres, and typhoons; but along the bottom of the screen ran the words:
Former senior politician drops out of race for top Tory seat.
He went back into the bathroom and sat on the side of the bath, dangling his hand in the water, checking that it wasn’t too hot. As he did so, he looked back into the lounge. He had placed the dog basket where he could see it from the bathroom, and now Russell, the Jack Russell terrier, rested his head on the side of his basket and looked at his master with worried eyes as he gave a tentative whine.
‘Hush now, Russell, you’ll be all right.’ Jeremy looked at his reflection in the misting mirror and could see only half of his face. ‘I’m dammed if I’m going to just fade away, Russell, that’s for sure.’
The dog seemed to contemplate a reply as it opened its mouth but then closed it again with a sigh.
‘Exactly, Russell, no one to blame but myself. That’s the trouble – all I ever had was myself and I turned out to be so bloody unreliable.’ He laughed and his laughter echoed in the bathroom.
He smiled at the dog as he stood and pushed the bathroom door to. Then he hung the thick white cotton dressing gown neatly on the back of the door. He stepped into the bath and lay back with a sigh into the warm scented water; closing his eyes he breathed deeply, felt the sting of a tear as the scented steam filled the bathroom, misting the black and white tiles on the wall, steaming up the cold mirror completely.
He reached for the razor blade and positioned it on the inside of his wrist where he could see his pulse beneath the skin. He pushed and dragged into the vein and pressed his hand beneath the water as a ribbon of blood snaked from the wound and turned the bathwater the colour of blood oranges.
Chapter 1
Greenwich apartment
Monday 3 February
‘Are you okay, baby?’
Lauren Forbes-Wright came up behind her husband Toby and slipped her hands around his waist to hug him; she looked over his shoulder out of the French windows down towards the Thames. He’d taken off his jacket but was still wearing the crisp white shirt they’d had to buy him especially for the funeral.
‘Yes.’
She felt his body resist her touch as she tightened her arms around him, her chin resting on his shoulder. He stayed where he was, hands in his trouser pockets, gazing out of the window. Visibility was down to twenty feet. It was all a mass of grey with the rain sleeting against the window. She knew he wasn’t really looking at the view. She knew he was thinking of a million things, none of which brought him peace. They had been married three years but she felt she knew less about him than ever. Now, when he had something monumental like the death of his father to cope with, was the time she realized how distant they truly were.
‘Sure?’ she asked.
‘Of course – why shouldn’t I be?’ He sighed again, shook his head. ‘Sorry, Lauren, that came out wrong.’ He placed a hand on her arms wrapped around him and gave them a dismissive squeeze. She didn’t let go.
Lauren closed her eyes. ‘You don’t have to say sorry,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘It’s a big thing.’
She felt Toby shift his weight. She felt his body prepare to move, long to move, but she fought to hold on to it a moment longer. She wouldn’t let him run from her and find his cave.
But Toby managed to unhook himself from her arms and Lauren accepted defeat as she watched him walk away from her and into the kitchen, passing their son Samuel on the way.
She watched her husband’s back disappear out of sight and picked up Samuel, who had started grizzling; then she followed Toby.
‘Shhhh.’ She kissed her son’s blond curls as she stood rocking him on her hip.
From inside a metal cage in the corner of the kitchen, Russell observed the world with the fixed, worried expression he’d had ever since they’d brought him home from the hotel.
‘Shall we go down to your dad’s apartment tomorrow – we need to go through his things?’ she asked.
Toby picked up his wine and walked past her as he went back into the lounge and sat, elbows on knees, on the sofa. ‘Maybe.’
She followed him. ‘It has to be done.’ He didn’t answer. Lauren put Samuel back down on the floor with his toys and walked towards the window as the sun came out. The glare bounced around the room, ricocheted off the glass table, the mirror, the stark white walls. The day outside transformed itself in seconds. She sighed as she stood looking out across the Thames. In the distance, the sun hit the sides of the Shard.