The Vanity Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

zoned out and had wild visions of the Chic! team turning up a week early and photographing the mess. It would have sold millions.

FIVE

    The chiming of electronically re-created bells startles me. Where am I? I'm freezing cold, I'm sitting on the kitchen floor, the worktop and cupboards above me. I turn my head to the left and see her. Oh God, it all comes back. It's fucking real. The bells again…someone's at the gate. The Old Bill? The paparazzi? My heart's beating so fast. But no, it can't be them, they don't know, not yet, no one does, or do they? How long have I been asleep? Serge, I called Serge, yes, maybe it's him. I stand up slowly, my whole body aches, and I stagger towards the small TV screen which is linked up to the CCTV cameras on the gates. It is Serge and I'm so relieved. The fucker is standing there looking pissed off.
    I press the button next to the TV screen to open the gates and watch Serge walk out of the camera's view. Then after a few seconds I hear a car engine grow out of the silence as it approaches the house, and I run to open the door as he pulls up outside it.
    "Bleeding hell, Monty, what's all this about…then?" he says, as he brushes past me, but then trails off as he turns to face me. He finishes up staring, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open.
    "Jesus Beaumont, what the hell…?"
    I'm covered in blood, I suddenly notice it myself.
    I can only point down the hallway, towards the kitchen. Serge turns slowly to follow the direction of my finger and begins to walk. He smells of whisky and fags like he always does. It is a tiny speck of comfort in this ocean of fear and uncertainty.
    I'm forced to confront it properly as we walk into the kitchen. She is grey and totally still. Definitely dead. There's blood everywhere, the knife is still on the worktop, its blade pointing at me. Accusing me.
    "Jesus…" Serge says again as he takes in the scene, looking from the body to me and back again, same wide eyes, but can't I detect a glisten of admiration in there? Like I've actually done something to make the old gangster proud?
    "Out of hand domestic was it?" he asks eventually, and he removes his leather jacket and lays it carefully on a chair. I nod slowly.
    "It was…an accident…I just picked up the knife…I never meant to…" I can't speak properly, I can't think of what to say.
    Eventually I manage to tell him a few more details. Serge nods at me as if he's a doctor who's listening to a patient describing how ill he feels.
    "Right," he finally says, "here's what we'll do. We need to get the body wrapped up, then clean this place up. And I mean clean it an' all. I know a deserted dock down near the Thames barrier. Let's just say it's been used before for such business as this. We'll take it in your Land Rover. We'll have to do all this tonight, while it's still dark – and it gets light early at this time of year. Then tomorrow you report Krystal's gone missing, say she's been depressed recently, maybe started using again, yeah?"
    He talks quietly, almost whispering.
    "Shit, but you know the press are gonna have a field day with this…one way or the other?"
    "Yeah," I'm steadying myself against the kitchen table and gulping hard to stop myself being sick. I want to wake up now and find everything is really okay.
    "Oh yeah, then we're gonna have to do something with the Land Rover. I'll sort that out, maybe it could turn up burnt out on an estate in Hackney where the Old Bill's too chicken to go looking. You've got so many cars, they won't notice one missing will they?" Serge chuckles, but I can't return the smile. At least, I tell myself, Serge has a plan.
    "And that fucking knife... We'll bleach it and then bury the thing in the garden. It'll leave a space in the knife block, but I guess you can buy a new one."
    He starts looking through the kitchen cupboards until he opens one and goes "Ah". It's the cupboard where Olga keeps her cleaning supplies. I'm still standing there, staring at the body,