Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(80)

Ross was walking towards the bar when an angry Pugh stormed past him. He had only just sat down when his wife reappeared.

Ross climbed onto a stool at the far end of the bar, ordered a coffee and continued to read his newspaper. He looked up to see Pugh raising his glass in a toast, to which his wife happily responded. He drained his glass, and she took a sip from hers, as their main courses were placed in front of them.

No sooner had Pugh picked up his knife and fork than his face turned ashen. He began to shake and fell forward onto the table, foaming at the mouth.

‘Fetch a doctor!’ shouted Mrs Pugh hysterically. A man seated a few tables away jumped up and hurried across, but after only a cursory examination it was clear to everyone watching that there was nothing he could do to help.

Ross watched as events unfolded in front of him. A few moments later two waiters appeared carrying a stretcher, accompanied by the ma?tre d’. Some of the guests turned away, while others looked on with morbid fascination as the lifeless body was lowered onto the stretcher and carried out of the room, followed by the distraught widow.

Ross took advantage of the commotion and quietly left the restaurant. As he passed the ma?tre d’, he slipped him a hundred-rand note which he acknowledged with a slight bow. From the foyer Ross watched discreetly as the stretcher was carried out to a waiting ambulance, where two redundant paramedics took over. Mrs Pugh burst into tears as one of them checked her late husband’s pulse, closed his eyes and gently pulled a sheet over his head.

Ross had come across many grieving widows over the years, and he wasn’t in any doubt that Mrs Pugh’s tears were genuine, which took him by surprise. Was it possible she really had loved that odious creature? Perhaps she would have felt differently had she known it should have been her, not him, being whisked off to the morgue. As the ambulance drove off, he strolled across to the reception desk to pick up his key.

‘You have a message,’ said the receptionist.

He unfolded the little slip of paper, and after reading it he said under his breath, ‘You’re good, choirboy. Very good.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said the receptionist.

‘Can you tell me the time of the next flight to London?’

‘The first flight in the morning is at nine o’clock,’ she said, before glancing at her watch. ‘But if you were to hurry, sir, you might just catch the red-eye which leaves in a couple of hours.’

‘Please have my bill ready, and book me one business-class seat on that flight. I’ll also need a taxi to take me to the airport.’

Ross bounded up the stairs to the third floor, where he quickly opened his door and began throwing all his possessions into his suitcase, before he ran back down to reception and paid his bill. A porter put his bag into the boot of a waiting taxi, its engine turning over. The promise of a hundred-rand tip if he made it to the airport in time ensured that the driver ignored every speed limit. Ross was the last person to board the plane that night.

‘Will you be wanting dinner tonight, sir?’ asked the steward, once they’d taken off.

‘No, thank you,’ said Ross. ‘Just a pair of eyeshades.’

‘Of course, sir.’

As there wasn’t a Larry T. Holbrooke the Third seated next to him, Ross looked forward to a good night’s sleep. He should be back in time to have breakfast with Jimmy the dip at the Putney Bridge Café, before reporting to Chief Inspector Warwick at the Yard. He could only wonder how much the choirboy already knew.





CHAPTER 28


‘ARE YOU PC PLOD?’ ASKED Peter, when Juan came down for breakfast the following morning.

‘No,’ said Juan, taking a seat opposite the twins. ‘My youngest daughter tells me I’m not as clever as PC Plod, because I don’t solve every one of my cases immediately. She thinks I’m more like Inspector Watchit.’

Artemisia giggled, as Beth placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of their guest.

‘My father will be jealous when I tell him what I had for breakfast this morning,’ said Juan, picking up his knife and fork.

‘Doesn’t your daddy have breakfast?’ asked Artemisia.

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ said William.

‘Who stole the pearl necklace?’ asked Peter.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Juan.

‘We’ll find out when Daddy gets back tonight and reads us the last chapter,’ said Artemisia.

‘If Daddy gets back tonight,’ said William as the phone in the hall began to ring.

‘Who can that possibly be at this time in the morning?’ said Beth.

‘Probably The Hawk,’ said William as he got up and headed for the door.

‘It’s PC Plod,’ whispered Juan.

‘I hope so,’ said Artemisia, ‘then he can help you solve—’

William closed the door behind him and picked up the phone on the hall table. ‘William Warwick.’

‘Good morning. Geoff Duffield from Heathrow security. DI Hogan flew in from Cape Town first thing this morning, and has just passed through passport control.’

‘Thank you, Geoff. At least that’s one of my problems dealt with. Thank you,’ he repeated before hanging up the phone and returning to the kitchen.

‘Have you met PC Plod?’ Peter was asking Juan.