The Soloist

I couldn’t kill Max Silento. He was already dead.

I was nervous enough when I knocked on the door, and it didn’t help when there was no answer. I stood in the corridor for ages not knowing what to do before remembering what Ada had said about the terrace and the back door. I was pleased with myself for this, but it didn’t stop my heart pounding. I don’t like problems. I don’t like the unexpected. It was all planned out and he was supposed to answer the door. It had been hard enough working myself up to do it in the first place without it all going wrong from the start.

I took a deep breath, counted slowly to ten and went back down the corridor, through the restaurant and into the courtyard. Even though it was late, there were plenty of people sitting around drinking. I pretended I was a Russian spy escaping with secret papers, sticking my chin in the air and walking carefully so as not to trip over my heels. No one looked at me, so it must have worked. His room was at the end of the corridor, so now that I was outside it would be at the end of the building. I checked for cameras as I approached, and, seeing none nearby, stuffed my baseball cap into the backpack and smoothed down my hair. Hesitation wouldn’t help; I marched straight onto the little porch and up to the door, my hand ready to knock. It was open. Just a crack, but open, and swaying ever so gently. It was a still night – I’d noticed on my way, because I’d been worrying about the wind messing my hair, but it hadn’t. Had someone else just gone in? Or left?

Paralysed by uncertainty, I hesitated. Stick to the plan, Scarlet, stick to the plan, Ada’s words echoed in my brain. Whatever happens, she’d said, stick to the plan. OK, the plan was to knock on the door. Not this door, but it would have to do. I held onto the handle with one hand and knocked with the other, feeling pretty stupid but not knowing what else to do. There was no answer, and I couldn’t risk anyone asking what I was up to, so I stepped inside. Despite everything, I couldn’t help noticing what a gorgeous room it was. It was just like the pictures on the website, only better. Except for the mess. And the dead man on the bed.

The relief of knowing I didn’t have to do it after all allowed my heart to stop thumping, but blind panic wasn’t slow to fill the gap. What was I supposed to do now? Ada had sent me to kill him. Stick to the plan, she’d said. Stick to the plan, no matter what. It’s foolproof, remember. We’d planned for all sorts of eventualities. What to do if someone else was there, if he was in the bar, if it was raining, if he came on too strong. You name it, we’d planned for it. But not for this. And I couldn’t ask Ada for help this time. I had to work it out for myself.

Stick to the plan. The bed was on the other side of the room, and I thought I’d better check to see if he were really dead and not just asleep. I pulled on the thin gloves ready in my jacket pocket, slipped out of my heels and went to the bed. He was a horrible waxy colour and his chest wasn’t moving but I needed to be sure. A pair of reading glasses lay on the bedside table and I held them over his mouth and then his nose but they didn’t steam up. He was definitely dead. I stood still, listening to the thrum of the air conditioning and the voices of the drinkers outside, considering my options. I could just leave everything as it was and creep away. Max was dead after all, and that’s what Ada wanted. Maybe he had died of natural causes after all.

But she’d told me to stick to the plan and I knew she’d grill me on every detail. I’m no good at making stuff up, and I was pumped full of adrenaline, knowing I had to do what she’d told me. I’d gone over it so many times in my head, I couldn’t walk away now without carrying out Ada’s instructions, even if they weren’t needed. I slipped the backpack off my shoulders and removed the contents. I couldn’t get Max to drink the champagne but I could still get the morphine into him. It was in a tiny bottle, ready for me to add to his glass when I got the chance. I took out the syringe and filled it with the surprisingly clear liquid. I pulled off his soft leather slip-on shoe, eased off the silk sock and checked the syringe was primed. I’d never used a syringe like this before, but Ada had made me practise with it when it was empty so I had an idea of what to do. And he was dead anyway, so as long as I got it into him my injection technique wasn’t too important. It was easier than I’d expected. It went straight in, the pinprick hidden between his toes.

I rinsed out the syringe in the sink and repeated the injection, this time with the air that Ada said would go to his brain and kill him. He couldn’t have been dead long because his feet weren’t stiff, but it still took some fiddling to get the sock back on, and I was glad not to have to tie any laces. The champagne was still cold; wrapping a towel around it while I opened it muffled the pop, and it went straight down the plughole, just like it was supposed to.

Glasses next. Now that I was carrying out the plan, even with variations, I felt calmer. I had to wash the glasses out and put them back in their places. But there weren’t any glasses – we’d not drunk the champagne. Thrown by this problem, I decided to tidy up instead. We hadn’t expected a mess like this one, and I knew Ada wouldn’t want me to leave it. The seating area looked like a bull had been charging around, and as soon as I picked up the side table the smell hit me, making me feel small and scared and nauseous. A whisky bottle was under the toppled chair, minus what I reckoned to be two generous slugs. The top was on so it hadn’t spilt on the carpet, but it doesn’t take much to set my mental alarm bells ringing. A glass lay close to the table and another had rolled under the built-in desk, each containing a few drops of amber liquid.

This wasn’t in the plan either, but I decided it wouldn’t hurt to put the whisky bottle and one of the glasses by the bed. I wiped them clean and pressed Max’s fingers around them, leaving the dregs where they were in the glass. The second glass could have come from the tea tray or the bathroom, and I picked the latter, rinsing it out and popping his toothbrush and paste inside. Washing a glass was part of the plan and I felt I was back on track. And I was proud of myself for thinking to put the bottle by the bed. It would help it to look like natural causes after all.

It was surprising what a difference the tidying-up made. It really looked as if Max had gone to bed with a nightcap and died in his sleep, which wasn’t much different from the original plan. Perhaps everything would be all right. It didn’t matter how he’d died; the important thing was that he was dead and I’d done what Ada told me to do. I looked around the room before leaving. A man asleep on a bed. A tidy room. A clean sink. It should have been reassuring but something was off. My nerves were screaming at me to leave now, before anyone could come in and find me there, but I made myself wait until I could work out what was wrong. The lights; why would they all be on if he were supposed to have died in his sleep? Sighing with relief, I crossed to the bed and fiddled with the three switches set into the wall, leaving just the lamp by the bed on. Much better. I picked up my shoes, slung the bag back onto my shoulder and eased quietly out of the door.

A couple strolled into the car park just as I stepped outside the room, holding hands and laughing. I held my breath as they walked to their car, glad to be wearing a black dress. I waited until they drove out before shutting the door, not wanting to make even the smallest of movements while there was a chance they might see me. I pulled off the gloves, put my shoes back on and dumped the champagne bottle with the hotel empties by a bin in the corner of the car park, just as Ada had told me to. I was terrified of having forgotten something important, but I’d attract attention if I hung around any longer. No one saw me as I walked out of the car park and into the night.

Once clear of the hotel, I stepped into a doorway and took off the heels. It had been fun to wear them, it was all part of the ‘killing Max’ plan, but there was no way I was going to walk home in them. As soon as the thin ballet pumps were on my feet the adrenaline started to drain away, leaving me so faint I had to crouch down to stop myself from passing out. I put my head between my knees and counted to ten, and that was enough for me to get going again. The last thing I needed was to be hanging around in a doorway on a Friday night. I knew I couldn’t go straight home. If everything had gone to plan it would have taken well over an hour, and a glance at my phone told me I’d barely spent half that time in the hotel. I didn’t like the idea of walking around on my own at this time of night so I went to the bus station and sat on a bench near the stop for Hull. The last bus leaves after midnight, so I reckoned I’d be safe until then. Waiting on the bench gave me time to think, to go over everything I’d done. The important thing was, I’d stuck to the plan. I could go back to Ada with a clear conscience and say that I’d done what she wanted me to and Max was dead. Well, not quite what she wanted, but nearly everything, and he was still dead.

I didn’t know why Ada needed him dead, but if he was a threat to the Rosewoods that was good enough for me. Nothing good ever happened to me before I met Ada, and nothing good would ever happen again if I had to leave her house. The way she’d explained it, I had no option, and I was looking forward to seeing her face when I told her Max was dead. She’d be proud of me, and I’d be able to plan properly for the future.

For the first time, I wondered how he’d died and who’d done it. It could have been a stranger but people don’t get murdered by complete strangers. Perhaps he was threatening other people as well as us? No, he was a pianist, not a gangster, and anyway, that would be much too like an Agatha Christie novel – it must have been someone in the family. Perhaps they put poison in his whisky, although that didn’t explain the mess. Maybe they’d not had time to tidy up. I realised with a jolt that I must have interrupted whoever it was and that was why the outside door was open. The realisation that I’d probably only missed the real murderer by a matter of seconds took me completely by surprise. Ada liked to say that truth is often stranger than fiction, and I thought this might prove her right, although I could hardly tell her about it. I decided it didn’t matter who did it. All that mattered was Ada thinking it was me. And keeping to her side of the bargain.

***

Ada was supposed to be asleep so I tiptoed into her room and sat in the chair beside the bed to tell her all about it. A fancy fire escape led from Ada’s room to the garden below but it had never been needed before, and I could see she was tickled to see it put to good use at last. She was sitting up in bed reading her book with no apparent sign of anxiety, but she put it down as soon as I was in the room and reached for her hearing aids, eager to hear my story.

‘Done?’ Ada’s never been one to waste words, even at a time like this.

‘Done.’ I matched my whisper to hers and sank into the chair, putting my bag and shoes on the floor.

‘Any problems?’ If only she knew… but I had my story ready, as close to the truth and the original plan as possible, rehearsed in detail in the bus station.

‘No, it worked perfectly.’ There was no way that would be enough, and I knew it. She looked at me expectantly, and any hesitation would have made her suspicious. I leant back in my chair in genuine exhaustion and took a deep breath.

‘It was easy to get in the room, you were right about that.’ Ada nodded with satisfaction; there’s nothing she likes better than being told she’s right. ‘The dress helped, and the makeup of course. I said I was a fan and I’d been plucking up my courage all day to talk to him but was too shy in front of other people, and would he like to share a glass of champagne. He said it was a bit late but why not and he let me in.’

‘Did you manage the morphine?’

‘Yes, I did what you said and asked to use the bathroom. I took my glass with me and put the morphine in while I was there. Then I told him to dim the lights and swapped the glasses while he was fiddling with the switches. There was a big sofa so I sat on that and tried to look inviting. It worked perfectly.’

‘I knew it would. You’re more attractive than you realise, Scarlet. At least you are when you make the effort.’ She didn’t mean to be rude, and I didn’t mind her saying it. It was perfectly true, and being able to switch from mousy and dowdy to glamorous was always going to come in useful.

‘Thanks,’ I whispered, giving her a smile.

‘Did it take long to work?’ she asked. ‘I hope you didn’t have to put up with his unwelcome attentions for too long.’

‘No, I swigged my champagne back a bit and he copied me like we hoped he would. I kept him talking for as long as I could and he started to get drowsy pretty quickly.’ I was getting into my stride despite my lack of experience in lying; perhaps it’s like murder and all it takes is preparation. ‘I said I needed to use the bathroom again to get ready. He asked what I needed to get ready for and I said I thought he might have worked that one out and maybe he should make himself comfortable.’

‘And did he? Make himself comfortable?’

‘He tried. I heard him getting up and bumping into stuff. He was calling for me at first but I didn’t answer. I locked the door and kept quiet. I heard him knocking some furniture over but then it went quiet. I waited for a while and when I came out he was on the floor. He’d knocked a table over, and a chair, but he was out cold.’

‘Excellent. Although I’m surprised he could move around so much. Never mind, what did you do next?’

‘I pulled him onto the bed and injected the air bubble. Between his toes, like you told me to. Then I tidied up the mess and got out.’

‘What about the bottle? And the glasses?’

‘I washed the glasses and put them in the bathroom. They were just the hotel water glasses, nothing special. And the bottle with the hotel empties. And yes, I was wearing the gloves, you don’t need to ask.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ she said, although I was sure that wasn’t true. Ada leaned back on her pillows, apparently satisfied. ‘Thank you, Scarlet. And well done. I can sleep much better now, knowing that man’s dead and the family’s safe. And admit it, Scarlet; it will have been good practice, don’t you think? For when it’s my turn?’

‘I guess so,’ I said. ‘Although that’s a long way off, Ada, let’s not think about it now.’

‘I think about it more than you know,’ she said, relaxing at last. ‘And so would you if you were in my position.’ I was pleased to see her eyelids drooping because I didn’t think I could carry on lying to her much longer.

‘Time to sleep, Ada. Let me help you to lie down properly.’

‘Thank you, dear.’ Sleep was coming, but she was fighting it. If Ada’s got something to say, she won’t stop until she’s said it. ‘You know, Scarlet, I wasn’t sure you could do it. I wasn’t sure you’d have the nerve when the pressure was on. But I am now. I know you’ll be able to help me when I need it. It’s a great comfort. And we’ll go to the solicitor soon. Get those papers signed.’

‘All in good time, Ada. Go to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.’ I turned out her light and tiptoed to the door, not wanting anyone downstairs to know we were still awake. In my own room at last, I lay on the bed in my posh dress and stared at the ceiling. She believed me. She believed I killed him. As long as the police didn’t find out, she’d never know the truth. And I’d be safe.