The Mystery of Mercy Close

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Authors: Marian Keyes
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do.’ (… but, on the other hand, this meant I was starting to get inside Wayne’s head.)
    Jay looked at me in admiration. ‘See. I knew you were the right person for the job.’

7
    ‘What now?’ Jay asked. ‘Too late to canvas the neighbours?’
    ‘Way too late.’
    ‘We could go to see John Joseph.’
    ‘It’s midnight,’ I said. ‘Won’t he be in bed?’
    ‘Hardly,’ Jay sneered. ‘Rock ’n’ roll never sleeps.’
    ‘My point exactly. John Joseph is about as rock ’n’ roll as prostate cancer. Anyway, the hour you paid me for is up. If you want me to go anywhere, you need to pony up with more jingle.’
    Jay sighed, reached into his hip pocket and produced a fat bundle of notes. He peeled off several. ‘Two more hours, at your extortionate rate.’
    ‘
Thank
you. John Joseph, here we come.’
    John Joseph was to be found in a newly built compound in Dundrum. An electronic gate manned by a uniformed security guard in a Plexiglas hut blocked our entrance.
    ‘Alfonso. Come on,’ Jay said, nudging the bonnet of the car at the gate. ‘Open up.’
    ‘Mr Parker? Does Mr Hartley know you’re coming?’
    ‘He will in a minute.’
    ‘I’ll just ring through.’ Alfonso picked up a peculiar brown phone, the type that you’d find in films from the seventies and Jay gunned the engine in frustration.
    ‘I thought you had the key to all your artistes’ places,’ I said.
    ‘I do,’ Jay said. ‘But only for when they’re not there.’
    ‘And then you do what? Sneak in and rub yourself with their oven gloves? Lick their cheese and put it back in the packet?’
    The gate was sliding open and Alfonso was waving us through.
    ‘
Muchas gracias
,’ Jay called as we sailed by. ‘Some day, Helen,’ he said, ‘you’ll see I’m not the scumbag you think I am.’
    ‘Is that the garage?’ I asked, as we passed a building the size of a warehouse. The famous garage, jam-packed with vintage cars. ‘Let’s just look at the Aston Martin.’
    ‘Don’t mention the Aston Martin.’
    ‘Why not?’
    Jay nosed his car into a parking bay beside a gigantic front door. ‘Just don’t. There goes your phone again. Popular girl, aren’t you?’
    It was Artie again. Now wasn’t the time. Not with Jay Parker right beside me and a certain amount of momentum underway in this case.
    It didn’t feel right, though, letting the phone ring out, knowing it was Artie, but I made myself chuck it back in the bag. I’d ring him soon as.
    I looked up to find Parker’s dark eyes on me. I recoiled. ‘Stop … staring at me like a …’
    ‘Who was that on the phone? Your fella, was it? Keeps you on a short leash, no? Or is it the other way round?’
    ‘Jay, just …’ Fuck off. No one was keeping anyone on any sort of leash.
    ‘Serious with you two, is it? And there I was thinking I was the only man you’d ever love.’
    Blood rushed to my head and my mouth got ready to launch some choice put-downs, but there were so many words fighting to come out that, like drunks in a raid in a crowded bar, they got caught in a tangle at the exit and none of them could escape.
    ‘Joking!’ He laughed into my paralysed, speech-deprived face, then jumped from the car. ‘I know how much you hate me. Come on.’ He bounded up the sweeping granite steps and a small Hispanic woman in a black dress and white apronadmitted us into an enormous entrance hall, at least three storeys high.
    ‘
Hola
, Infanta,’ Jay said, with a faceful of grins. ‘
Cómo estás?

    ‘Mr Jay!’ Infanta seemed delighted to see him. Obviously an astonishingly poor judge of character. ‘Why you not come see me for three days! I miss you!’
    ‘I missed you too.’ Jay grabbed her in a bear hug, then launched her into a waltz around the entrance hall.
    I watched them as they danced. My hands were shaking and my face felt like it was sunburned. Anger, I supposed. If I took this job, I’d have to limit my exposure to Jay Parker; he had an awful

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