Chapter 27
Rosie is in the garden of The Brass Monkey with Amy. She can hear noises of the quiz coming from inside the pub.
Lee, the one bodyguard as yet untroubled by either knife or bullet, is fetching drinks.
Every table in the garden is taken, pints of cider in pink fists, tipsy locals catching the last rays of the evening’s sun. As drinkers walk by the table, Rosie gets the odd nod of recognition, but in the main she has been left to drink in peace.
Rosie is aware that her novelty at The Brass Monkey has long since worn off.
The first time she had visited there was pandemonium.
Selfies, autographs, questions about Warren Beatty, drinks on the house.
The second time much the same, the third and fourth a noticeable cooling of excitement, culminating this evening with walking through the door of the pub to be greeted with ‘Hey, it’s Steve’s mate. ’
Rosie doesn’t necessarily need to be garlanded wherever she goes, she has a fairly healthy self-image, but a bit of light mobbing might be nice.
As if on cue, a portly middle-aged man leans over her table and says, ‘You’re Rosie D’Antonio, aren’t you?’
‘Guilty as charged,’ says Rosie. ‘Selfie?’
The man looks nonplussed. ‘Selfie? No. But if you see Tony Taylor, could you tell him the brake pads have gone on Dave’s Mondeo?’
‘I shall,’ says Rosie. ‘And are you Dave?’
‘Am I Dave,’ repeats Dave, laughing, as he walks into the pub.
Axley, like all English villages, dances to the beat of its own drum.
As Dave opens the door to the back of the pub, he stands aside, and Steve walks into the garden and over to the table.
‘Is it finished?’ asks Amy. ‘Did you win?’
‘At half eight?’ says Steve. ‘What pub quiz finishes at half eight? Ten-minute drinking break, we’re two points off the lead. We’d be one point off the lead if Vern wasn’t convinced that Jude Law was married to Angelina Jolie. I knew he wasn’t, should have had the courage of my convictions.’
‘Sorry that happened to you, Stevie,’ says Rosie.
‘Thanks,’ says Steve. ‘The guy knows his Winter Olympics though, I’ll say that.’
Lee is back with a tray loaded with pints, and Steve budges up.
‘Nice pub,’ says Lee. ‘What’s the one across the road like? The Flagon?’
‘Too try-hard,’ says Steve. ‘It’s all goujons and no fish fingers.’
Rosie had popped into The Flagon once. It is, to all intents and purposes, identical to The Brass Monkey.
‘How do you like The Hunter’s Rest?’ Amy asks.
‘Yeah, nice,’ says Lee. ‘Lots of paintings of horses though, aren’t there? Why are there always paintings of horses in places where there are already horses? Just look out of the window if you want to see a horse. They should have paintings of horses where there aren’t any horses.’
‘That’s a very insightful observation, Lee,’ says Rosie, who makes it a point of honour to be able to hold a conversation with anyone.
‘It’s just … you can’t even picture them together, can you?’ says Steve.
‘Who, dear?’ asks Rosie.
‘Jude Law and Angelina Jolie,’ says Steve.
‘What’s your take, then?’ Amy asks Lee. ‘Who killed Korbin and why?’
Rosie sees Lee pick his pint up. If there’s talking to be done, it won’t be without a drink.
‘Someone knifed him,’ says Lee. ‘Buggered I know apart from that.’
‘I mean, that’s more the “how” than the “who” and “why”,’ notes Rosie.
‘And you had no idea he was working for Jakob Eriksson?’ says Amy. ‘Didn’t even suspect?’
Lee shakes his head. ‘None of it makes sense now. Maybe he was working for both of them?’
‘But you don’t do that,’ says Amy ‘You don’t work for two people. Like you don’t date two men.’
Rosie turns to Amy.
‘Do bodyguards have sex with each other a lot, Amy? I bet they do. Like actors.’
‘Jude Law and Angelia Jolie don’t,’ says Steve into his pint.
Amy looks straight at Lee. ‘And Eriksson never approached you himself? Korbin never approached you on Eriksson’s behalf?’
‘If they had, I’d have said no,’ says Lee. ‘I don’t want trouble.’
‘Bit more action though?’ asks Amy.
‘Yep,’ agrees Lee. ‘If you like action.’
‘Well, you’ve got plenty of action now,’ says Amy. ‘Esteban and Korbin both dead. Perhaps that’s more fun for you?’
‘No,’ concedes Lee. ‘None of this is fun.’
Amy really is trying her hardest to get something out of Lee, but Rosie sees that it is a little like playing tennis against a wall. Rosie tries to help.
‘How many people have you shot, Lee?’ asks Rosie.
‘What, ever?’ asks Lee.
‘Yes, ever,’ says Rosie.
Lee shrugs. ‘Thirty?’
‘That’s quite a lot,’ says Rosie.
‘The army,’ says Lee. ‘I haven’t shot anyone since.’
Rosie nods. ‘Do you miss it?’
‘Nah,’ says Lee. ‘It’s the worst feeling in the world. You ever shot someone?’
Rosie shakes her head. ‘I once broke a man’s arm in a Turkish brothel. How about you, Amy? How many?’
‘None of your business,’ says Amy.
‘You never answer a personal question,’ says Rosie.
Amy turns to her and sizes her up.
‘What year were you born, Rosie?’ Amy asks.
‘Touché,’ says Rosie.
Vern Blackwood hurries to the table.
‘Steve, we’re back on in two, and it’s anagrams of snooker players.’
‘You having fun, Vern?’ Rosie asks.
‘The most fun,’ says Vern. ‘Has he told you about the Jude Law thing?’
‘Hasn’t mentioned it,’ says Rosie.
Steve picks up his pint and salutes the table. ‘Don’t drink too much. Palm Springs bright and early in the morning.’
Rosie has been thinking about their next move.
‘Actually, Palm Springs via Stockholm,’ says Rosie.
‘Stockholm, Sweden?’ says Amy.
Rosie looks at them both. ‘Yes. What is it with this family and geography?’
‘Why Stockholm?’ Amy asks.
‘Ernesto mentioned someone who lives there,’ says Rosie.
‘The Swedish cop?’ says Steve. ‘Larssen?’
‘Oh, we’re not going to see him,’ says Rosie.
‘Then why are we going to Stockholm?’ asks Steve.
‘Who knows more about criminals than cops?’ Rosie asks.
‘Podcasters?’ guesses Steve.
‘Other criminals,’ says Rosie.
‘So we’re going to see Sara Lindstrat?’ says Steve.
‘Of course we are,’ says Rosie. ‘I figure that the most dangerous woman in Sweden might know something about the most dangerous man in Sweden. Silly not to stop off on our way to Palm Springs.’
Steve sighs and heads back into the pub.
‘You know that’s your seventh pint, Rosie,’ says Amy. ‘Perhaps you should go easy too?’
‘You and I know I could drink every man in this pub under the table,’ says Rosie. ‘I once outdrank Ollie Reed.’
‘Who?’ says Lee.
My God, how quickly we are forgotten in this world.
Rosie feels a tap on her shoulder and turns to the table behind. A woman in her forties is wearing a summer dress and a look of wonder.
‘I’m really sorry,’ says the woman. ‘I didn’t mean to listen, but did you really outdrink Ollie Reed?’
Rosie raises her pint. ‘I did.’ This is more like it.
The woman turns to her table. ‘This old lady once outdrank Ollie Reed from Ringwood Tractor and Tractor Parts.’
Rosie gets a cheer, then feels Amy’s hand on her knee.
‘You’re not an old lady,’ says Amy. ‘Steve’s an old lady. You’ll never be one.’
Rosie squeezes Amy’s hand. She feels old. But an eighth pint will sort that out. When she had her fall in South Carolina she hadn’t been drinking. That was what was so frightening about it.
‘Something’s not right with all this,’ says Lee. ‘I don’t know what, and I can’t work it out. It’s like something’s been stirred up from somewhere.’
Rosie feels the same. But they’ve met Georgie Glazier now, they’ll meet Tommy Griffin very soon, and hopefully Sara Lindstrat will let them know how they can find Eriksson. The picture will surely become clearer.
There is a cheer from inside the pub. Rosie wonders if there is anywhere in the world more idyllic than an English pub garden in the evening sun, but then remembers an evening in 1987 in Motley Crüe’s jacuzzi. The English pub garden is a pretty close second though.