by Anna Smith
‘No.’ Sharon shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. Knuckles hasn’t a good word to say about your family or any of your organisation.’
‘Yet he did business with us,’ Kerry said quickly.
‘Course. Because it suited him.’
‘He’ll not be doing any more business with us. He’ll have got the message by now that the bastards they sent up here to my brother’s funeral are never coming back.’
Sharon raised her eyebrows.
‘You’ve already dealt with that.’
Kerry blinked but didn’t answer.
‘He’ll go mental,’ Sharon said. ‘Honestly. He’s a fucking psycho, Kerry. Word will get round that you’ve had your revenge and he’ll have to hit back bigger. He will.’
‘I’m not worried about that,’ Kerry said, calmly. ‘We can deal with him.’ She glanced over her shoulder even though they were alone. ‘But, listen. Before we go any further, I have some questions to ask you.’
‘Sure. Anything I can tell you I will. I can promise you this. I have no loyalty to Knuckles Boyle. Not any more. Not now. He tried to have me murdered. I’m the bloody mother of his child and he tried to get me killed. I’m going to ruin him.’
Kerry nodded. ‘Okay. How are you going to do that? What have you got on him?’
Sharon patted her handbag beside her. ‘It’s me who has moved his money around over the years, set up his accounts so he could launder his dirty money. I have all the inside information, know where the money was being spent, and more. I have it all – the warehouses in Amsterdam: it was me who bought them for him. Knuckles just let me do everything because he trusted me, and he knew I was capable of organising things to make sure he was covered. Well, now I have it all on an external hard drive that can bury him.’
‘Good,’ Kerry, said, impressed. ‘But tell me this. Frankie Martin . . .’ She studied Sharon’s face, and saw a flicker of recognition. ‘You know him, right?’
Sharon nodded. ‘I know him. I met him twice. Once when he was down in Manchester with your brother Mickey, and once in Marbella when he came over for a meeting. Maybe I’ve met him three times – I’m not sure.’
‘When was that – the meeting in Marbella? Was that long before Mickey was murdered?’
‘Few weeks before it. Maybe a month. I remember him being over. It wouldn’t be surprising for the main men from other crews to come over to Marbella and meet up with Knuckles for a bit of golf or something if they were cutting a deal. Mickey and Frankie were here a couple of times over the past two years, when they were making the deals with Knuckles.’
‘But Frankie came on his own a few weeks before Mickey got shot. Was that not unusual?’
Sharon shrugged slightly. ‘I suppose it was a bit. I mean, it was clear that Mickey was the boss when they were over. But Frankie seemed to get on with Knuckles well, probably better than Mickey. I only met your brother briefly, but he seemed a bit offhand and I suppose kind of brusque. Frankie was a charmer with everyone he met. I remember a dinner one night in a restaurant in Puerto de la Duquesa and Frankie had everyone in stitches telling stories. Mickey didn’t look too happy. But to be honest, all that banter was usually going on with the lads at the other end of the table, and I was with the girls, not really involved in it. I mean, I always had one eye on the game, but I wouldn’t be getting told anything Knuckles didn’t want me to know. I wouldn’t know if anything underhand was going on between Frankie and Knuckles. But I do know they spoke on the phone a couple of days ago, which I thought was strange after what happened at the funeral. I overheard it from my hallway. Knuckles sounded like he was giving Frankie a hard time. I heard Knuckles mention your name, saying that you needed to understand business was business.’
Kerry felt suddenly hot as the truth dawned on her. It was Frankie. It was him all along. And this was as close to confirmation as she could get that he’d betrayed them. She saw Sharon look at her.
‘Look, Kerry. All I can tell you is what I saw. I don’t know anything between the three of them. They worked together. Mickey was in charge and Frankie was his sidekick. If I knew any more I would tell you.’
Kerry leaned forward and gripped Sharon’s wrist.
‘I want you to think hard, Sharon. Think. Try to remember everything that was said. Any little reactions or asides. Anything you heard Knuckles talking about during the meetings when Mickey and Frankie were there, and when Frankie came over on his own. I know it was Knuckles who put the hit out on my brother. I know that for sure it was Knuckles who sent the men to his funeral. I need to know more of the betrayal. That’s what I need.’
Sharon looked at her.
‘You think it was Frankie?’
Kerry nodded slowly.
‘Yes. I believe it was Frankie. But I need to be sure.’
Chapter Seventeen
It had taken less than twenty-four hours for Jack Reilly to give Kerry the name of the men who’d visited Maria at her home to issue the threats on Cal and Jenny. When a deal went bad and a fortune was lost in drugs and cash, news tended to spread like wildfire on the streets. There was plenty of gloating when word got around that it was Rab Pollock’s deal that had gone tits up in Manchester. He was a dealer from Glasgow’s East End who’d got too big for his boots when he broke away from the main unit who ran that side of town. So there was no shortage of people to stick the knife into him. And worse than that, he had sent a daft boy south for the pick-up, and now the lad was in the pokey, probably spilling his guts. But everyone knew the money was the least of Pollock’s worries. The man he’d sent with the young boy for the pick-up was nowhere to be found. Denny Thomson had disappeared off the face of the earth, and that could only mean one thing: he’d grassed them up for his own reasons. Kerry had listened as Jack filled her in on all the details, while they worked out where to go from here.
‘Cal is on his way up to Glasgow,’ Kerry told Jack. ‘So we won’t know much detail until Marty and his mum get a word with him.’
‘Course,’ Jack said. ‘But we know for sure that it was Pollock’s deal, and I know who the thugs were who visited Maria at her house. One of them is a vicious bastard who just likes hurting people. He’s not long out of jail. We should hit Pollock’s mob sooner rather than later, Kerry. Sending bastards to put the frighteners on an innocent woman isn’t on in my book. Plus the fact they’re sending a wee laddie on a drop like that. It’s fucking outrageous. Amateur night. That’s what it is.’
None of this made Kerry feel comfortable. Cal and Maria had never wanted to be part of the Casey outfit, but they were in it now – through no fault of Maria’s, but down to the stupidity of her son. Not that she could blame him. She had barely spoken to Cal, but from what Maria had told her of the boy, he would be doing it to help his mother make ends meet. That made her even more guilty. Sure, she was in a position to do something about these bastards who had sent her son down to Manchester, but in reality that didn’t make her much better than them. The cycle went on, and she was embroiled in it as much as anyone else. It was people like Maria, like Cal, and his poor drug-addled sister, that were the real victims here. And it was the people at the top who made money from drugs – people like the Caseys – who lived off the victims. That would never sit well with Kerry.
‘Okay,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m going to leave it with you, Jack. Do what you need to do. But my main concern right now is what we do with Maria and Cal. They can’t go back to that house. Can you sort out one of our flats for them in the Merchant City or somewhere?’
‘No problem. I’ll get someone onto it. Once she gets here and you talk to her, you’ll get a better idea. But she needs to understand that her life has changed now.’
Kerry nodded in agreement. Nobody had to tell her about how life can change in the blink of an eye.
*
Cal had said very little from the moment the police arrested him in the café at the train station in Manchester, until an officer came into the cell where he was being
held and told him he was being released on bail. He had no idea how that happened, but he found himself looking at the officer and muttering ‘Thanks, sir.’ The officer had looked at him and shook his head as though he couldn’t quite comprehend how a boy his age, who was not an obvious toerag, had become so mixed up in a crime like this. One after another, the detectives had come in and questioned him, albeit without much force, to tell them who he was working for. All Cal could say was the truth – that he had no idea of the names. And he hadn’t even been told what was in the cases. Whether they believed him or not didn’t matter, because at one point the door opened and a lawyer walked in all confident in a smart suit and coat, and told them he was Marty Kane and he was here to bring Cal to Glasgow.
Now, here he was, sinking into the soft leather seats in the back of this big black Mercedes, gazing out of the blacked-out windows, wondering how he was going to calm his mum down when he met her. Mr Kane had told him that he was being released on bail pending further investigations, but may have to go back down to Manchester in a couple of weeks. He told him he was in serious trouble, but they would do their best to keep him from being locked up. The very mention of ‘locked up’ made his bowels churn, almost as much as they had when the cops picked him up yesterday. He’d felt physically sick all the way to the police station and at one point had to get them to stop the car so he could get out and throw up at the side of the road, with a big cop standing next to him looking disgusted. What a mess, he’d told himself a hundred times over as he lay in the cell overnight at the police station, freezing, angry, depressed and terrified all at the same time. He just wanted to be home with his mum. He was sorry, he would tell her for the rest of his life. There was a big well-built guy sitting on the front seat beside Marty Kane and his name was Jack, and he didn’t speak as polite and posh as Mr Kane, but more like himself. But when they’d stopped at a motorway café to get some food and tea, the big man told him in no uncertain terms what a dick he’d been. He’d waited until Mr Kane went to the toilet, then he’d reached across the table and grabbed him by the collar and told him that if he thought he was going to be a hard man then he’d failed big time and he was an idiot.
‘Forget about it now and get on with your studies. From what I hear you are a good, bright lad with plenty to get on with, so use your brains,’ he told him. Cal wanted to say to him that there was no future in working your balls off to get somewhere when guys like the people he’d worked for over the recent weeks doing drops were driving around in fancy cars and wearing designer clothes. He knew deep down it was all crap, but he wanted a better life right now, not after studying and working like a dog. But he kept it to himself. All he could see now as they were getting into Glasgow city centre was his mother’s image in his head and his hands began to sweat. As they drove out of the city and headed up towards Maryhill Road, he wondered where they were taking him. For a split second he thought maybe they were part of the gang he’d been working for and maybe he was getting bumped off.
‘Where are you taking me, Mr Kane?’
‘To see your mammy, son.’
Cal felt himself blushing, feeling like a stupid child being slapped down.
‘But we don’t live up here.’
‘I know. She’s not in her house at the moment.’
‘So am I going to your office?’ he persisted.
‘No. Just sit tight. Stop asking so many questions. If I was you, I’d be preparing for a thick ear and to apologise to your mother. She’s been off her head with worry.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He sank back, looked out of the window as the landscape changed from the tenements to the bigger houses and finally to the great sandstone villas that spoke of wealth and success and everything he dreamed of.
*
Maria was in the kitchen of Kerry’s house, up and down at the window watching for the car bringing Cal up from Manchester.
‘He’ll be here in the next couple of minutes, Maria,’ Kerry said. ‘Don’t worry.’
Maria turned to her old friend and swallowed the lump in her throat. If it hadn’t been for Kerry, she’d probably have been visiting her son in some young offenders’ unit down in Manchester. But now he was being driven up the road by Kerry’s family lawyer – some guy called Marty Kane, who Maria had only ever heard of in newspaper stories about notorious gangsters, who’d walked free from court because Marty Kane had got them off. She was under no illusion what he was, what all this was, as she’d gazed around the lavish surroundings of Kerry’s big stone house up in the posh end of the city. Places like this she would only have ever seen the inside of if she was cleaning them for the well-heeled owners, or one time when she’d worked with a catering company, and they were doing a twenty-first birthday party for the rich couple’s daughter. It had always stuck in her mind, the splendour of the place, the clothes people were wearing, the polite, well-mannered guests gathered in the big room, the jazz band playing in the corner. It was a different world, and one she could never be a part of, and yet she didn’t feel envious or bitter. The only thing that choked her was the young people, privileged, well dressed and happy, while her Jenny was already a drug addict, living in some squat, using her body to buy heroin, when she wasn’t shoplifting to pay for her habit. The one Maria had been in was the home of a wealthy surgeon. But Kerry Casey’s home was where the Casey empire had grown up. They were gangsters and everyone knew it. They were feared and respected across the city and beyond. But Kerry had long since been away from all that, living, she’d been told, in Spain or London or somewhere and growing up away from all the trappings of the gangster world. Now here she was, running the show. None of it was lost on Maria. Especially since she knew that it was she who had come to Kerry for help. She did it without really giving it much thought, because she was desperate. But she knew that once you knocked on the door of someone like this and asked for help, then you were for ever in their debt. She would have to find out how to live with that. Right now, all she wanted was for those big iron electronic gates to open on the driveway and Cal to come walking out of the car. She felt like shaking the life out of him and hugging him at the same time. But this wasn’t over yet – not by any means. Because Jenny was still missing. And Kerry had told her that she had people working on that, and not to worry. She had handed herself over to her friend, lock, stock and barrel. And she didn’t even care. Because now she felt safe and secure for the first time in many years.
Eventually, she heard a click and the big gate opened slowly, the security guard walking with it until it opened wide. Then the black Mercedes came through and glided into the courtyard, whispering to a halt. She watched as a tall, elegant man in rimless glasses and a blue suit got out of the passenger seat, as the chauffeur came around and opened the door. Then he opened the back door and she could see Cal. He looked small and skinny in the vastness of the car and she watched as he eased himself out, noticing he was dressed completely differently from what he had on when he left the house two days ago to go for a double shift at the car wash. Little bugger must have stashed his good jeans and Timberland boots in a bag somewhere, knowing what he was about to do. But she buried her anger as she caught his eye and he came across the yard and towards the back door.
‘Mum,’ Cal muttered shamefaced, as he stepped into the kitchen behind Marty. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Maria took a step towards him and pulled him into her arms and held him.
‘I know you are, son. I know.’
He buried his head in her shoulder.
‘I was just trying to get some money for us. I’m sorry. It was stupid.’
‘Yes, Cal. It was stupid.’ She pulled away from him and wiped the tears off his cheeks with the palms of her hands. ‘I hope you’ve thanked Mr Kane for going all the way to Manchester to bring you home.’
He gave her a sheepish look.
‘I have.’
‘Thanks, Mr Kane,’ Maria said. ‘I’m so grateful to you. I’ll never forget what you did for us.’
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Marty shook his head and smiled. ‘No problem, Maria. I’ll have a word with both of you once you get settled.’
Maria turned to Kerry. ‘Cal, this is Kerry Casey. Remember the funeral I was going to the other day? Her mother? Well, you can thank Kerry for getting you out of this mess – as if she’s not got more on her mind.’
Cal looked at Kerry, a little bewildered. He stretched out his hand.
‘Thanks, Kerry. I’m really sorry . . . for everything. Really I am. I . . . I can work off whatever it costs for the lawyer and stuff and the journey. I can do loads of things, odd jobs.’
Kerry looked at him and kept her face deadpan.
‘I think we know the odd jobs you can do, Cal. That’s why you got into this mess.’
Maria looked from Kerry to Cal’s blushing cheeks at the rebuke. She knew what Kerry was doing, giving the boy a dig, and she welcomed it, because she knew it had stung Cal. He would know the Casey family by reputation; Maria had mentioned to him that she and Kerry had been old schoolfriends many years ago. But if he thought he was going to get a warm reception then he was wrong. She let him shift awkwardly on his feet.
‘I’m sorry,’ Cal eventually said. ‘I . . . I just meant that I’m grateful, and I can do things, like about the garden or wash the cars or something.’
Kerry’s face softened a little. ‘Well. We might make good use of you then. Meanwhile, are you hungry after your journey?’
‘Starving. I couldn’t eat on the way up, I was dead nervous.’
‘He’s always bloody starving.’
‘I’m dying to get home and get a shower, Mum.’ He turned to Maria. ‘I’ve been wearing the same stuff since yesterday morning.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘We’re not going home, Cal,’ Maria said sharply. ‘We can’t go back there.’
Cal glanced from his mum to Kerry.
‘It’s not safe,’ Maria added.
