Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(38)

Chapter 21


The Lansdown had a suite waiting for Carmichael. He’d left his bike back at the Velvet Lagoon in Shoreditch and bought a brand-new silver Jaguar XKR on the way. He had it valet parked at the Lansdown and then carried his own bag up to his suite.

As he slipped his card in the lock and opened the door it brought back memories of his life with Louise before Sophie came along. He had wooed her with weekends away. He had been romantic. He’d almost forgotten that. Yes . . . he’d pre-ordered the specific room, the meal. He’d done everything to win her love. So many regrets: he wished he’d never met her. He wished for her sake that he’d never come into her life.

Carmichael showered and hung his new suit in the steamy bathroom to get rid of the creases. Once he was ready he looked at himself in the mirror. He stood tall and stared at himself as if he were looking at a stranger. He hadn’t worn a suit since the day of the funeral. It was a long time since he’d looked at himself, in a suit or otherwise. He only ever saw his face when he bothered to shave. The years working on the farm had turned his body into a lean and muscled machine. There was no fat left on his body or his face. He looked at his expression and hardly recognized the darkness he saw there.

The music from the piano bar drifted across to him as Carmichael walked through the lobby. He walked across to the bar and ordered a Scotch then checked his phone. He had a missed call from Ebony. He knew what she wanted to ask him. She wanted to ask what his relationship with Chrissie Newton had been. He had watched her type up her thoughts. He knew that she’d been to see Harding. Ebony was his eyes and ears. He saw by the GPS signal that she was on her way back to Fletcher House. He flicked his phone back to regular settings and a weather report flashed across the top of the screen. His phone was still giving him a weather report for the farm.

Carmichael swallowed his drink, signed the bill, and left. Outside, the snow was steadily falling. He jumped in a cab and got it to drop him at the end of Brewer Street. Then he walked along the narrow street, listening to the Christmas music and the sound of people: a mix of shoppers and party revellers in the build-up to the Christmas holidays. The streets were decked out with Christmas lights and lanterns. He kept his head down as he approached Cain’s nightclub and ducked inside the door.

Cain’s club was open from nine in the evening until four-thirty in the morning. It was a gentlemen’s club that had gone a little bit shabby. The door was opened for Carmichael by two doormen while two hostesses in bras and suspenders hovered in the warmth of the inner entrance hall. They escorted Carmichael down a short hallway, past a flight of stairs leading to VIP lounges and private rooms, and into the main bar area. It was a mix of old exposed brickwork and swathes of red velvet curtain. Its leather couches and exposed brick pillars divided the club into intimate areas where small groups of men could enjoy a private dance while sitting around drinking.

Carmichael took a seat at the bar. ‘Good evening, sir.’ The barman came across to him. ‘My name is Ray. What can I get you to drink?’

‘Evening, Ray. I’ll have a large measure of good Scotch and have a drink yourself. Tell Mr Cain that Mr Hart is here, please. He’s expecting me.’

‘Of course, Mr Hart, and thank you.’

Carmichael then went to sit in one of the booths. A woman in a black lace corset was dancing on the podium stage where three poles were set in a triangle. She wrapped her thighs around the centre pole and whipped her sleek ponytail through the air in circles. Carmichael was only half concentrating on her, the other half mentally working its way around the club, matching the layout Micky had emailed to him with what he saw in ‘real time’. He knew that at the far end of the bar was the door to the cashier’s office and a link to the clip joint, Crystal Blue, next door. He knew that somewhere past the three poles was the door that led to the upper two floors, the back entrance to the next floor of the club, and Digger Cain’s private apartment. He knew what Digger Cain looked like. It had been many years since he saw him in the flesh. Not since he had attended a firearms situation when he first joined the Force. A man had threatened a customer in the building opposite Cain’s nightclub. He’d talked to Digger briefly then. He saw him now emerging from the door at the far end of the bar.

When the dancer finished her set she came over to Carmichael. He watched her walk across. She sat next to him, her body turned towards him.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Carmichael.

‘Tanya.’

When Ray brought Carmichael’s Scotch she ordered a glass of champagne.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Just outside Kiev.’ She had beautiful strong features and her body was as lean and muscled as a racehorse.

Beneath the heavy makeup it was clear she had been pretty once but her skin had suffered from the lifestyle. Her eyes were dead.

‘You’re a long way from the Ukraine. What brings you here?’

‘I came to study English.’

‘You find this is a good place to learn English?’

She studied Carmichael. ‘Not bad. You meet nice people. Nice men like you. Men who might want to see me dance and pay twenty pounds.’ She smiled.

‘Very good. Not quite perfect. You need to work on your intonation. But here.’ He took out two twenties and gave them to her. ‘Maybe later.’