Lawless

by Jessie Keane

  Bile lodged in Fabio’s throat. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  Jesus, did he sound as guilty as he felt?

  ‘She’s playing away with some bastard.’

  Fabio tried to relax his facial muscles, but couldn’t. He tried not to blink, not to break eye contact. Tried to look innocent. But Jesus – Vittore knew. Not just the drug stuff, but Maria too. He knew.

  ‘You’re joking,’ he managed to get out.

  ‘Hey! Does this face say joking?’ asked Vittore.

  ‘Well . . . do you know who . . . ?’ He felt hot suddenly, clammy with sweat.

  ‘No,’ lied Vittore. He shot a chilling smile at his younger brother. ‘But when I find him, you know what? I’m going to cut off his balls with a blunt carving knife. After I deal with her, of course.’

  Fabio didn’t go home that night. When he left Vittore, still counting out the takings, he went straight to a phone box and called Maria.

  ‘H’lo?’ She sounded half-asleep, like she was in bed already.

  ‘He knows,’ said Fabio.

  There was a pause. ‘What?’ she asked, suddenly wide awake, her voice full of panic.

  ‘I said he knows. He spoke to me tonight about you, said you’re playing away.’

  ‘Does he know it’s you?’

  ‘I think he does. No, I’m fucking sure of it.’ Fabio was still sweating despite the cool night air. This wasn’t part of the deal. He had been having fun with Maria, screwing her, loving it, but Vittore finding out was his worst nightmare.

  ‘Then we’ll have to go away. Now. Tonight,’ she said, her voice shaking.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You love me, I love you. We can go, right away. I’ll pack . . .’

  ‘Wait! Just a minute. Did I ever say I was going to run away with you? Ever? Once?’

  Maria was silent for a long while. Then she said: ‘You told me you loved me. You said that.’

  Fabio let out a gusting breath. ‘Shit, Maria, a man says a lot of things when he’s in bed with a woman, that don’t mean fuck-all.’

  ‘What . . . ?’ She sounded breathless with shock.

  ‘Look, when he gets home you play innocent if he mentions it to you. You deny everything, and you don’t mention my name to him, you hear me?’

  ‘Fabio . . .’ She was crying now, sobbing like a child.

  ‘You hear me? You say one word to him, I’ll cut your fucking throat myself!’ shouted Fabio, and slammed the phone back onto the cradle.

  61

  Daisy had been dreading this, but here it was at last: the day of Simon’s funeral. She stood in the church, Ruby at her side, and shivered. The wind gusted and moaned around the ancient Norman building set in gorgeous rolling Sussex countryside. The sun flitted teasingly from behind deep grey clouds. It was freezing the instant the sun vanished from the skies, then humid when the sun reappeared.

  Daisy felt chilled to the bone as she sat beside Ruby near the front of the church, one row behind where Sir Bradley and Lady Collins sat, the pair of them nearly bent double with grief. They both seemed to have aged ten years overnight. Simon had been their only child; his loss must be awful for them.

  It was awful for her, too. Simon’s death and its ghastly aftermath had shaken her belief in everything. Where she was going in life, what she hoped to achieve. It all seemed like nonsense when life could be taken away so easily. She glanced back: there was Rob, sitting beside Kit. Their eyes met, and he nodded, then looked away.

  Now they were carrying in the coffin, strewn with multi-coloured bouquets and the cream chrysanthemum wreath with DADDY on it that Daisy had ordered from Matthew and Luke, who were still tucked up in the safe house with Jody. There was a large congregation here to see Simon take his final journey – he’d been popular among work colleagues and friends. Lady Collins’ narrow shoulders heaved as she wept. Her husband – who suddenly looked so frail himself – put an arm around her shoulders. Daisy didn’t like her ex-in-laws – she never had – but standing here today, she pitied them, and wished there was a way she could ease their pain.

  Ruby gave her arm a squeeze as the ceremony began. It was long, longer than Daisy would have expected, given that this was a Protestant ceremony and none of Simon’s family had ever been keen churchgoers. As the choir sang ‘Abide with Me’ her eyes wandered around the packed pews, and she was surprised when they fell upon Vanessa Bray, the woman who had raised her from a baby until Ruby, her birth mother, had made herself known.

  In her sixties now, Vanessa was stick-thin, her fine long bones showing off the plain black coat she wore to its best advantage. Daisy nudged Ruby, nodded over to where Vanessa stood on the other side of the aisle. She saw Ruby’s eyes widen in surprise, but then of course Vanessa would come today. Daisy had still been living at Brayfield in Hampshire, under Vanessa and Cornelius Bray’s roof, when she had agreed to marry Simon; he’d been Vanessa’s son-in-law.

  The ceremony dragged along, eulogy after eulogy being read by workmates, friends, and finally, heartbreakingly, by Sir Bradley himself, who broke down mid-sentence and couldn’t go on.

  ‘My son . . .’ he said, in the midst of saying how good a worker Simon had been, and on those words he faltered and stopped, and wept, unable to continue. The vicar helped him back to his seat.

  Then – at last – it was over.

  ‘Thank God,’ muttered Daisy when they were all able to file outside into the biting wind. The pall-bearers were sliding the coffin back into the hearse to take its last journey, to the crematorium – Lady Collins had insisted they should have a proper church service first.

  People were milling about, and in amongst the throng Ruby saw a group of men who looked familiar.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said, dry-mouthed.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Daisy.

  Ruby indicated the men. The moment she saw them, the colour drained out of Daisy’s face and she started to shake, reliving the terror she’d felt that day they approached her on the road outside Simon’s house. There was no mistaking Vittore and Fabio Danieri, and as before they were flanked by two goons. She recognized the taller one with the big scar on his face.

  Kit appeared by her side, his face thunderous. ‘You see them?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ve seen them,’ said Ruby, laying a hand on Kit’s arm. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘Well what the fuck are they doing here? Are they taking the piss?’

  ‘That’s exactly what they’re doing,’ snapped Ruby. ‘Because you took the piss out of them at Tito’s funeral. They’re returning the compliment. Don’t rise to it, for God’s sake.’

  Kit glared at the men, who stared back with clear hostility. The fucking cheek of them, but Ruby was right, this was tit-for-tat. Vittore touched a hand briefly to his brow in sardonic greeting. His other hand was bandaged, Kit saw with satisfaction.

  Much as he wanted to march over there and smash Vittore’s teeth down his throat, Kit knew he couldn’t. The whole game had changed since he’d discovered Bianca’s connection to these people. Now he was painfully aware that every strike against them would also be a strike against her. She loved her brothers. Of course she did. So his hands were tied.

  Vittore and Fabio turned away as the hearse left, their two heavies following close at their heels.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Ruby with a shiver as the wind buffeted them. She was amazed Kit hadn’t lost it and challenged them, but she was very glad he’d managed not to.

  ‘Reg driving you two home?’ asked Rob, his eyes avoiding Daisy’s.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruby.

  Kit nodded, satisfied, and set off for his own car with Rob in tow. Ruby saw the hurt on Daisy’s face but said nothing. She knew how Daisy felt about Rob, but if he didn’t want that involvement, what could you do?

  At that moment Vanessa emerged from the church, looking frail and very alone, and Daisy turned to Ruby.

  ‘Would you mind . . . ?’ she asked, indicating Vanessa.

  ‘Of co
urse not. Why would I? Go and have a word with her,’ said Ruby. ‘I’ll wait in the car.’

  The crowds of mourners were thinning out. Ruby went through the lychgate deep in thought. She felt sorry for Vanessa, who had raised Daisy and then lost her when she, Ruby, had come back into her daughter’s life. If Daisy wanted to spend time with Vanessa, that was fine by her.

  ‘Ruby?’

  ‘Oh!’ Startled from thought, she clutched a hand to her chest.

  Thomas Knox was leaning against the old stone wall that surrounded the churchyard. When he saw her coming, he straightened up and approached her. Ruby looked anxiously ahead. Reg was waiting by the car, watching her, making sure she was safe. That reassured her. She never felt safe around Thomas Knox.

  She hadn’t thought she’d be seeing him again anytime soon after their meeting at the Savoy. But here he was. And he still disturbed her, with his expensive suits and his bold blue eyes. He really was very attractive, startlingly attractive, and just thinking that, just feeling it, made her uncomfortable, as if she was betraying Michael.

  ‘Sorry, did I make you jump?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  He looked around at the departing mourners. ‘Sad day, yeah? Your daughter’s ex, I believe?’

  ‘Yes. That’s right.’ He seemed to know every detail of her life. She hated that.

  I’ve been watching you for a long, long time . . .

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Silence fell.

  Ruby shifted anxiously. ‘Um, was there something you wanted . . . ?’

  He gazed into her eyes. Gave that tiny suggestion of a smile.

  ‘I think we both know there’s something I want, Ruby. But first things first. I’ve got you an address for Gabe Ward.’

  ‘What?’ Ruby was gobsmacked. Rob and Kit had been trying to locate Michael’s son for days, with no success, yet Thomas Knox had managed it overnight.

  ‘Yeah, here you go.’ He slipped a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. Ruby took it.

  ‘Now we need to talk about gratitude,’ he said. ‘Like you said we would, after I’d come up with that address.’

  She hadn’t expected him to find it. She hadn’t anticipated this scenario at all. And now she was feeling panicky. ‘Of course I’m grateful you’ve found it.’

  ‘Remember the deal, Ruby. You and me. That was the deal.’ She fumbled her bag open, put the paper inside, looking anywhere but at his face.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘But . . . what? You didn’t think I’d find the address, right? And if I did, you thought I’d be all gentlemanly about it, just let it go.’

  That was exactly what she’d thought, or hoped, anyway. She ought to have known better. She was swimming among predators here, and she was just part of the food chain, about to be snapped up, swallowed whole.

  ‘I never let go on a deal,’ he said when she was silent. ‘So – dinner tonight, I think. Don’t you? My place. Then we’ll discuss how grateful you are.’

  ‘I don’t . . .’

  ‘I’ll collect you at seven thirty.’

  ‘Have you found my address too?’ she asked, heart thumping. The flowers and the letters had gone to the store, not to her home.

  ‘I’ve known your address for years.’ And there it was again. That clear message: I’ve been watching you for a long, long time.

  Had he been watching her, when she was with Michael, when she and Michael were lovers?

  Yes. Of course he had.

  ‘You’re a very scary man, Mr Knox,’ she said.

  Again, that brief hint of a smile. ‘As I said – I don’t bite.’

  I bet you do, she thought as he turned and walked away.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Daisy, coming up to her mother. ‘That man you were talking to?’

  ‘Thomas Knox,’ said Ruby, still feeling as if her heart was going to seize up. Her hands were trembling. She would hand Gabe Ward’s address to Kit, tell him Knox had found it for her, and that he had the man’s support too. She had achieved a lot.

  But . . .

  ‘He’s rather gorgeous,’ said Daisy consideringly, gazing after him. ‘In a heavy sort of way. Don’t you think?’

  Ruby didn’t comment. She thought Daisy had summed it up very well. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said, and took Daisy’s arm and steered her to the car, and the safety of Reg.

  62

  1953

  It happened the following morning, and Gabe knew he would never forget it as long as he lived. It was a sunny day, breezy and bright. All wrong for what happened, Gabe always thought afterwards. The couple set out walking, wearing suitable clothes, with a pushchair in which sat the little girl in her pink jacket and white-frilled skirt. They chattered to her constantly, the strong young man and his pretty wife.

  They walked, enjoying the morning sunshine, and Tito and Gabe followed quite a distance behind them.

  ‘I don’t understand this,’ complained Gabe.

  Tito was starting to frighten him. He couldn’t figure out where this was going, but his guts were churning and he’d slept badly, scrunched up in the back of the Jeep alongside Tito. Tito slept deeply, snoring like a hog, and Gabe had spent long hours awake, staring into the blackness of the country night, wondering what would happen next. Dreading it, really. He wanted to run home, to get out of this situation any way he could.

  ‘You’ll grab the woman and the girl,’ said Tito as they walked. ‘I’ll see to him.’

  ‘Tito . . .’ Gabe panted. He couldn’t catch his breath. Suddenly, he was terrified. He wanted to shout out to the couple walking ahead, tell them to run. But he couldn’t. He was paralysed with fear.

  The road was very quiet, there was no noise, nothing except the wind whispering through the long grass on the verges. A hawk soared overhead, calling its weird desolate cry, and Gabe thought how terrifying that sound must be to the small, hunted creatures it stalked. There was no traffic. There was nothing. And now they were drawing closer to the couple and the child in the pushchair. Tito broke into a run, swinging some small thing out of his coat pocket. Gasping, his heart pounding crazily, Gabe followed.

  63

  After the funeral Kit and Rob went to the office behind Sheila’s restaurant. Kit sat down behind the desk, the same desk where Michael had sat, opening the post and doling out work for the boys with Rob standing patiently at his side. Business as usual.

  ‘Fats, you get over to Chiswick, chase up that dickhead Robbo, it’s getting close to two thousand with the interest, I want that paid, OK? Either it’s cash now or you take it out of his cheating arse,’ said Kit.

  Fats nodded. He was tall and skeleton-thin but strong as a whip. Everyone called him Fats; it was a standing joke. He ate like a horse, never gained a single pound.

  ‘Who’s on the milk round this week, Rob?’ asked Kit. The milk round was collecting all the protection money that was paid into Kit’s pocket from the shops, arcades, massage parlours, clubs and restaurants on his manor.

  ‘Paulie,’ said Rob, busy cleaning his fingernails with a flick knife.

  ‘He’s doing well with that. No problems?’

  Rob shook his head. Paulie was built like a brick shit-house, no one ever gave him problems. Or if they did, they soon wished they hadn’t bothered.

  ‘Kit, the Bartons have asked me if you would show your face down there,’ said Ashok. He was a handsome black-bearded Indian youngster, full of attitude and sharp as a tack. He reminded Kit of himself, at that age. Ashok’s father and grandfather had served in the Indian army, and his own bearing was very upright, almost military.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ asked Kit. The Barton family had run their restaurant for years, it was a decent establishment, and he was paid to keep trouble from their door.

  ‘Some rough elements been showing up. Two big lads and their girls, taking the piss, making a nuisance of themselves, say
ing the food’s shit and trying to get it for free. Fridays, Saturdays, they turn up. The Bartons will stand you a good meal, of course: whatever you want.’

  ‘Sort out a date, OK?’ Kit looked around at the assembled men. ‘Anything else?’

  They all shook their heads.

  ‘All right,’ said Kit. ‘Off you go then.’

  The boys departed. Rob shut the door after them, then took a seat across the desk from Kit, continuing with his manicure while Kit perused the post. There was the usual wad of bills, plus a large packet from the accountant’s office, all the year’s paperwork bundled up and returned. He tipped the stuff out on the desk and then had a sudden thought.

  ‘Hey,’ he said to Rob.

  ‘Hm?’ Rob paused, looked up from his nails.

  ‘Phone bills, right? People Michael phoned on or near the date of his death. Might help us.’

  Rob narrowed his eyes. ‘You got ’em there?’

  ‘I got everything here.’ Everything legit, anyway. He sifted through the papers and there they were, quarterly bills for the office phone, all crossed through with Michael’s looping hand, Paid and the cheque number and the date. The flat phone bills were here, too: but no calls had been made from that phone, except to Ruby’s number.

  Kit stuffed the rest of the papers back into the bag and pored over the phone bills. Each call was itemized. He studied the dates. Michael had been killed in November last year. There was a list of numbers here, and the length of each call, and the charge made for it. He found the fortnight before the date of Michael’s death, started looking through the numbers he’d dialled from this office.

  ‘Take a look at these. You know any of them?’

  Rob came round the desk and looked at the numbers. ‘That’s Joe Darke’s, right there. He called Michael, that’s what he said, and Michael phoned him back. There it is.’

  Kit nodded. ‘That’s Ruby’s work line. And her home line too.’

  ‘That’s Fats’s place.’