Sisters Three

by Jessica Stirling

‘You know now, don’t you?’ Harker said.

  ‘How big is the shipment?’

  ‘Twenty thousand notes.’

  ‘A hundred grand, my God!’

  ‘Packed in two boxes.’ said Harker. ‘I want you here at ten-thirty when the movie show gets out downstairs. There’ll be enough goin’ on in the street so the cops, if there are any cops, won’t notice. I’ll park round back an’ bring the boxes up by the stairs. Have the door open, won’t you?’

  ‘Smart,’ said Johnny, nodding. ‘Very smart.’

  ‘You got a safe cleaned out?’

  ‘All ready an’ waiting,’ John Flint said. ‘Who’s makin’ the collection?’

  ‘I am,’ Harker said.

  ‘You an’ who else?’

  ‘Just me,’ Eddie Harker said. ‘Me an’ my little friend here.’

  ‘What is that?’ Johnny said. ‘A gun? Is that a gun?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ Harker said. ‘Chopped liver?’

  ‘Guns? I dunno about guns. I’m not very clever with guns.’

  ‘You don’t hafta be,’ said Harker. ‘I’m just takin’ precautions.’

  ‘Precautions?’ said Johnny, dry-mouthed. ‘Against what?’

  ‘In case anyone tries to get smart.’

  ‘You – you wouldn’t actually use it, would you, Eddie?’

  ‘You bet I would,’ said Harker.

  * * *

  There was no real reason for drinking, none at all. It had been weeks since she’d felt the need to tipple at the gin bottle in the early part of the afternoon. Victor Shadwell had cancelled her morning appointment, however, and she’d felt a little lost and lonely without a lesson to fall back on. If she’d been just a pinch more attentive, a shade more clear-headed she might have noticed tension in the girl. But she was in no mood to dilute her new-found power by helping out with housework or arbitrating in squabbles below stairs.

  She was in the front lounge, lying on the big leather sofa listening to dance music on the wireless when Dominic arrived home.

  She sat up, slid the highball glass under the sofa and peered at the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. Ten past four. She hadn’t even heard Patricia leave to collect the children. She rose, swaying slightly, and looked towards the window.

  The weather was indecisive, bright one minute, raining the next, more like April than May. A blustery wind shook the evergreens and sprinkled blossom petals from the park on to the wet lawn. Polly stood motionless, a hand over her mouth. She heard a car door slam, the front door open, the thump-thud of her children clambering upstairs to the playroom where Patricia would have laid out milk or lemonade and a plate of chocolate biscuits to keep them going until supper.

  ‘Patricia?’ she said, not loudly.

  No answer: voices in the hall sounded furtive and threatening, like plotters. She took a step towards the door, changed her mind, seated herself in the sofa. She reached down and pushed the highball glass further out of sight, tugged down her skirt, clasped her hands in her lap.

  ‘Dominic,’ she called out, ‘is that you?’

  His head appeared around the door.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d gone out?’

  ‘Lesson,’ Polly said, ‘cancelled.’

  ‘My fault,’ said Dominic. ‘I needed a consult with Victor this morning.’

  ‘Might,’ said Polly, ‘have told me.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  ‘Probably,’ Polly said, ‘not.’

  He didn’t enter the room. Nothing visible but his head peeping around the door-jamb, like the sort of game her nephew Angus might invent to tease her.

  ‘I collected Pat and the children in the car,’ he said. ‘I was passing the school and it seemed a bit daft not to.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Polly. ‘Good.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Having,’ Polly said, ‘a little nap.’

  ‘Yes, you have been overdoing it somewhat lately,’ Dominic said.

  There were sounds upstairs, faint whisperings, muffled thumps to which her husband paid not the slightest attention. She glanced up at the ornate ceiling, saw – or thought she saw – the chandelier sway slightly, followed its motion not with her eyes but her head.

  ‘Sorry if we disturbed you,’ Dominic said. ‘Finish your nap. I’ll keep them quiet for a while.’ He closed the door before she could think of anything to say. Then he opened it again, showed her his face once more. ‘By the by, I won’t be home for supper. I’m meeting Hughes for dinner in Glasgow.’

  ‘Should – shouldn’t I,’ Polly said, ‘be there too?’

  ‘Not tonight, darling,’ Dominic told her. ‘No, definitely not tonight.’

  * * *

  The night was a lot less dark than most of those on Islay. There was a long clear pink afterglow in the sky to the west and a gaseous haze hung over Clydebank and dappled the underbelly of the cloud that covered the small towns and villages.

  Kenny had put on a stout pair of boots. He reckoned the rain showers would have left the farmyard muddy and the fields slippery and felt that boots would give him an advantage if a hot pursuit was called for.

  Dominic had picked him up outside the picture house at Anniesland Cross. It had still been light then, almost full daylight. They had driven over the Switchback at a leisurely pace.

  Rain had hastened the arrival of summer and fruit orchards glowed with blossom and tall trees were in full leaf at last. He didn’t know this side of Glasgow at all well. He had walked the Roman wall with Fiona once or twice and had been dragged along the ridge of the Campsie Fells one sweltering Sunday afternoon some years ago, but it was, for Kenny, terra incognita, and he began to wish that he had studied the large-scale maps of the area just a little more carefully. He had a sense where Breslin was and where the farm lay in relation to the little town but Dominic did not take that route and Kenny was startled when the Wolseley jounced abruptly off the road into what appeared to be a cow pasture.

  ‘Where are we?’ Almost the first words he’d spoken since Dominic had picked him up: ‘This isn’t Blackstone?’

  Dominic switched off the headlights but did not cut the engine.

  The car continued slowly up a mud-slicked roadway towards a line of villas on the skyline. Peering from the window, Kenny realised that they were on the edge of a builders’ estate, surrounded by half-finished bungalows.

  ‘Blackstone’s just the other side of the hill,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m going to take the car through the field and park out of sight of the farmhouse.’

  ‘Is someone expecting you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Friend or foe?’ said Kenny.

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ said Dominic.

  Kenny thought he knew where they were. The office maps weren’t sufficiently up to date to show the building site but he guessed they were heading for a prominent knoll that overlooked the old farmhouse.

  ‘Are those the villas that Bernard sold?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bonskeet’s must have made a tidy profit on that lot?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dominic said, ‘but a loss on the rest of the site.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Cancelled reservations. Mortgages hard to come by. Nobody interested in investing in property this close to the shipyards. At Bonskeet’s board meeting last week it was decided to mothball the site, board it up and leave it as it is.’

  ‘Until after the war?’ said Kenny. ‘If there is a war.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Dominic murmured.

  Sitting forward, brow close to the windscreen, he eased the Wolseley through a field gate between thorn hedges, across an open field and around the base of a grassy hillock where, almost arbitrarily, he braked to a halt.

  ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘We’re here.’

  ‘Where’s the farm?’

  ‘Down there, dead ahead.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Qua
rter of a mile, or less.’ Dominic opened the driver’s door. ‘Are you ready for this, Sergeant MacGregor?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ said Kenny.

  * * *

  She had been to the toilet three times since supper but the irritating urgency had not been relieved. She was on the point of going to the closet again when Tony called from upstairs: ‘He’s here.’

  ‘Who? Dominic?’ Penny shouted.

  ‘I don’t know where the hell Dominic’s got to.’ Tony answered as he ran down the stairs. ‘He should be here. Christ, he said he’d be here.’

  ‘What will we do if Dominic does not come?’

  ‘Give Harker the dough, I suppose,’ Tony said. ‘Dougie, is it ready?’

  ‘All ready.’

  Dougie was seated by the hearth with the cat on his knee. He was tickling the back of her ears with his finger and looked absolutely calm except that the cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth twitched and shed little flakes of ash and when he put his hand to his mouth to remove it, his fingers were trembling.

  ‘Bugger it!’ he said, scowling at his hand. ‘I could fair do wi’ a drink.’

  ‘Later,’ Penny said. ‘We will have a drink together, later.’

  ‘I’m goin’ t’ hold you to that, lass,’ Dougie said.

  Getting up from the armchair, he opened the window above the sink and eased the cat out on to the ledge. He paused, watching the headlamps of the van buck and flicker as it rounded the hairpin at the top of the track and began the descent to the yard.

  He closed the window and turned.

  ‘It’s him,’ he said. ‘It’s Harker.’

  ‘Is he alone?’ said Penny.

  ‘Looks like it,’ Dougie said.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Penny.

  ‘Now all we need is Dominic. Where the hell is Dominic?’ Tony asked, and a voice just behind him answered:

  ‘Right here.’

  * * *

  Kenny didn’t dare switch on the electric light or use his pocket torch in case he alerted Harker to his presence in the stables. There was just enough light from the window, however, to illuminate the printing equipment, a ramshackle Heath Robinson device that looked as if it were held together by baling wire and string. He inspected it as best he could, alert for voices in the yard or the sounds of the men entering the stables below where two cardboard boxes were packed and ready to be collected. Sealed with gummed tape and twine, the boxes were not so bulky as he had imagined they would be but it would have cost him several minutes to open one, and he probably didn’t have several minutes. Dominic had timed it to perfection. They had arrived at the side of the farmhouse just seconds before headlights appeared at the top of the track. Dominic had told him to hide himself in the stables and had pushed him towards the door before he could protest. He, Dominic, had gone into the farmhouse through the front door, moving as silently as shadow in his black alpaca overcoat.

  Kenny had barely had time to dart across the yard to the stables before the beams of the van’s headlamps spilled over the damp cobbles and Frank Conway – alias Eddie Harker – climbed out of the cab. He wore a jerkin, American style, and a cloth cap; a small man whose massive shoulders and heavy moustache lent him a ludicrous air of menace. He loitered by the vehicle, patted his hip, his breast then leaving the van door wide open, headed towards the farmhouse.

  ‘Eddie,’ Kenny heard Dominic say, ‘how nice to see you.’

  From the window Kenny watched Harker and Dominic shake hands and enter the house: the door closed.

  At that moment Kenny knew that Dominic was up to something. He had been deliberately excluded from whatever plotting or negotiation was going on inside. He didn’t even know how many of Dominic’s ‘gang’ were present. He hadn’t seen the blonde girl, the printer, or Tony Lombard. He wondered if Manone had shoo-ed them away or if, as seemed likely, they were all gathered inside.

  He had told Manone, ‘no deals’, yet here he was doing exactly what Dominic wanted him to do. He was tempted to charge down the wooden stairs, race across the yard, break into the meeting and arrest the damned lot of them. Instead he clambered back up to the gallery where the machinery was situated. He had no idea how much time he would have before Harker emerged from the farmhouse again.

  He just hoped it would be enough.

  * * *

  ‘Hiya, kid,’ Eddie said. ‘Miss me, did ya?’

  He swaggered across the kitchen, insinuated an arm about Penny’s waist and thrust his face up to hers. She kissed him perfunctorily on the mouth.

  Tony, hands in pockets, watched sullenly.

  ‘No time for jig-jig, sweetheart,’ Harker said. ‘Got work to do.’

  He detached his arm from about her, glanced at his wristlet watch.

  He said, ‘Where’s the stuff?’

  ‘What’s the rush?’ Dominic said. ‘Have a drink, a cup of coffee. I assume you’re not delivering the goods directly to your German friends.’

  ‘What I’m doin’ with it, Dom, ain’t none o’ your business.’

  ‘I see,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m just the factory foreman, am I?’

  ‘You got it, son,’ said Eddie Harker. ‘Now, where’s the goddamned stuff?’

  ‘In the stables, packed and ready to go.’

  ‘Packed?’ said Harker.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want to take it away in a shopping basket.’

  ‘I wanna see it,’ Harker said. ‘I wanna see the money.’

  Dougie was seated in the armchair by the hearth and looked, Penny thought, rather incomplete without the tabby on his lap. The cigarette in his mouth no longer twitched, though, and his eyes were bright and attentive.

  ‘Do you intend to count it?’ Dominic said. ‘It’ll take all night.’

  ‘I didn’t say “count it”.’ Harker said. ‘I just wanna make sure it’s there.’

  ‘Dear God, Eddie!’ Dominic said. ‘You really don’t trust me.’

  ‘I really don’t trust anybody,’ Harker said. ‘How many boxes?’

  ‘Two,’ said the girl.

  ‘I want them opened.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Tony said, softly.

  ‘What do you think, Eddie,’ Dominic said, ‘that the boxes are stuffed with newspaper? Why would I want to cheat you at this stage in the proceedings?’

  ‘I want them opened,’ Harker said.

  Dominic signalled. ‘Tony, go and bring…’

  ‘Tony,’ Harker said, ‘stay right where you are.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Penny.

  ‘Not you either, sweetheart,’ Harker said. ‘You might be my lovin’ wife but when it comes to hard cash…’

  ‘So she really is your wife,’ Tony said.

  Harker swung round. He glanced first at Tony, then Penny, and, feigning amazement, said, ‘You didn’t tell him? You didn’t show him your ring? I thought you’d’ve shown him your ring. Nice, shiny, new wedding band. Ain’t you proud to be my little wifie? Oh, dear! Oh, my! Looks like somebody round here ain’t been entirely honest. Sure, she’s my wife. We got married in New York and honeymooned at sea. Didn’t see much o’ the ocean, though, did we, honey?’

  ‘The marriage isn’t legal. It will never stand up in a court,’ Dominic said. ‘Did you forget you already had a wife in Scotland, Eddie?’

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ Harker said, ‘an’ Scotland’s another country.’

  ‘It’s this country,’ Dominic said. ‘And you’re back in this country now.’

  ‘Yeah, but not for long. Soon we’ll be snug in our little love-nest in New York. Won’t we, sweetheart?’ Eddie glanced again at his wristlet watch. ‘Love to stay an’ chat, folks, but I gotta be on my way. Why don’t we all go out to the stable an’ lemme take a look inside those boxes. Okay with you, Mr Manone?’

  ‘Fine with me, Mr Harker,’ Dominic said and touching Tony’s arm as he passed, moved to open the door.

  * * *

  Kenny had come too far and made too many conc
essions to let impatience spoil it now: he must wait for Harker to take possession of the money. Once he had Harker bang to rights he would decide what to do with the rest of them. He would keep Harker here as long as possible of course – days if necessary – until Fiona made contact with Home Office authorities and a squad was sent up to take Harker away. He had no knowledge of how the law operated in such cases but had no doubt that Home Office had ‘departments’ trained to deal with enemies of the state and powers much more flexible and draconian than those of any Scottish court.

  Crouched by the window, he watched Dominic and Harker cross the yard. He glimpsed Lombard in the doorway, the girl too, the long-legged blonde whose photograph was still in his wallet. Twilight had dwindled, cloud covered the hills, sealing in the night. From the top of the stairs he could only just discern the men below. Fortunately he had an unimpeded view of the cartons.

  ‘There,’ Dominic said. ‘Twenty thousand pounds. It’s all yours, Eddie.’

  ‘Open one,’ Harker said.

  They stood just inside the doorway, looking down at the boxes.

  ‘You open it,’ Dominic said. ‘I don’t have a knife.’

  For an instant Kenny thought Harker was about to strike Dominic, then, cursing, he hunkered down, cut the twine and ripped off the gummed tape. He peeled away the paper and flipped open the flaps of the carton.

  ‘It’s bloody dark in here, man,’ he complained. ‘Ain’t you gotta light?’

  Dominic took a torch from his overcoat pocket, clicked it on and directed the beam to the box. The tableau suddenly became dramatic, almost theatrical.

  Harker thrust a fist into the box and extracted a bundle of banknotes.

  ‘Closer,’ he said.

  Obligingly Dominic focused light on the object in Harker’s hand.

  ‘Now do you believe me?’ Dominic said. ‘Open the other one too if you like.’

  ‘Nah!’ Harker said. ‘I trust you. Never didn’t trust you. Just wanted to make sure.’ He stuffed the wad back into the carton, closed the flaps and smoothed the paper wrappings. Stooping, he lifted the box and tucked it under his arm. ‘Bring the other one to the van, will ya?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Dominic allowed Harker go past him into the yard. He looked down at the remaining box then up the staircase to the pitch dark gallery and with a flick of the wrist flashed a signal to Kenny.