The Debt

by Roberta Kray

  And she does – slowly, falteringly, like blood being drawn from a stone. She leans across the table and takes Simone’s hand. She tells her about Hatton Garden. She tells her about the robbery, the ice, about how Eddie was the driver. She explains how they agreed to help me get the diamonds back. There’s only one subject she unsurprisingly fails to cover.

  And after she’s finished there’s one of those long uncomfortable silences.

  ‘What have you done?’ Simone eventually asks. Her voice has acquired a disquieting calm. She’s glaring at me now like I’m the devil incarnate. And she’s staring down at my hand, at the knuckles, at the bruises I got from hitting Carl. I know what she’s thinking.

  She deliberately pushes the paper in front of me. It’s open at the appropriate page; the grainy image of Eddie Tate gazes out accusingly.

  ‘Hey, I didn’t kill him, right?’ I glance at Dee but she quickly looks away. She isn’t going to come clean about her part in it or Carl’s. That information’s clearly going to remain on a need-to-know basis.

  Simone says, ‘You didn’t like him.’

  ‘There’s a lot of people I don’t like, sweetheart, but I’m not a fucking butcher.’

  Dee flinches at the comment but still provides an alibi. ‘He didn’t, Simone. He couldn’t. He was here on Tuesday night.’

  But I can see it doesn’t wash. Maybe she wants me to be guilty. In her mind I’ve already been tried and convicted – once a killer always a killer.

  ‘So what happened to your hand?’

  There’s no point lying about it; one look at Carl’s face and she’ll make the connection. I shrug. ‘You were right, what you said in the car. I had a fight – but not with Eddie Tate. I’ve not been near him. It was—’

  ‘It was with Carl,’ Dee interrupts. ‘It was something and nothing, love. A scrap. I promise. It’s not to do with . . . with this.’ She bends her head and starts to cry again, a slow horrible weeping.

  Confusion sweeps into Simone’s eyes. Suddenly, as if the implications of the ransom note have just sunk in, she scrapes back her chair and stands up. Her face has gone ashen. ‘So who . . . why have they . . . ?’ She turns and stumbles towards the sink, her fingers clutching for its rim. She leans over the basin, a thin pathetic retching sound emerging from her throat, and stays there for a minute, visibly shaking, even the chatter of her teeth clearly audible above Dee’s crying.

  No one moves. We sit and watch her.

  Finally, she takes two, three deep breaths and flips on the tap. She lets the cold water pour into her hands and splashes it over her face. Some of it spills down her jumper and on to the floor. Then, with her hair dripping, she turns and asks with renewed hope: ‘The police. What do the police say?’

  Dee shakes her head and moans.

  ‘They’ve been here, haven’t they?’ She looks from Dee to Jim. ‘They must have.’ I can hear the rising panic in her voice, the bewilderment. ‘You’ve told them?’ But she already knows the answer. She can read it in their eyes. ‘But you must. It’s Marc. You’ve got to—’

  ‘No!’ Dee wails.

  And her cry brings Jim temporarily back to the world of the living. ‘We can’t, love. We can’t get them involved. If we do then—’

  ‘You’ve got to,’ Simone insists. ‘For God’s sake, what are you thinking?’ She starts rooting in her bag, spilling its contents across the table: perfume and lipstick, an address book, a handful of tissues, before finally retrieving her phone.

  Dee reaches out and grabs it from her. ‘No,’ she says again, ‘no cops. You can’t.’ She’s sobbing like a child now, gulping out the words. ‘Please. You don’t understand these . . . these people. They’ll k-kill him. They’ll kill my baby.’

  ‘We’ll get him back,’ Jim mutters unconvincingly into his glass.

  ‘How?’ Simone shouts back at him. ‘How are you going to get him back?’

  Jim glances nervously at me.

  And suddenly all eyes are turned on me.

  White knight Johnny rides to the rescue. It’s great to be so popular. And seeing as I’ve now got an image to sustain, I try to sound suitably confident. ‘I’ll do it. Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out.’

  But the words don’t provoke quite the level of swooning gratitude I expected.

  ‘You?’ she asks.

  And I could say her tone was sneering but that hardly begins to describe it. Even under pressure, Simone’s got the finest line in contempt this side of Watford.

  ‘He will,’ Dee insists. ‘He’s got what they want. He’ll give them the diamonds. He’ll help us get Marc back.’

  ‘Why should he?’ she asks, stating the obvious. ‘Why should he give up anything to save Marc?’

  Which more or less hits the nail on the head. Simone may be petrified but she isn’t stupid. She knows I don’t give two shits about any of them. But what she doesn’t know is that Carl killed Edie Tate and I can’t afford to have the cops sniffing around. Dee, however, understands exactly how precarious my position is. I’m in as tight a corner as she is. If I won’t cooperate, they’ll have no choice but to call in the Law, and then questions will be asked. First the ice will have to be explained and that, perhaps, will lead to Hatton Garden and that, in turn, may lead to the nasty little business of Eddie Tate. Dee’s desperate enough to believe that I won’t take the risk of going back to jail. I know what she’s thinking, even if she’s not saying it out loud – that my future’s as much in the balance as hers.

  ‘I’m on life licence,’ I mutter. ‘You think I want to go back inside for robbery?’

  Dee turns her black-stained eyes to gaze pleadingly at me and at the same time reaches out to grasp my arm. Her fingers dig desperately into my flesh, an unpleasant reminder of when she told me about Carl. ‘You will, won’t you, Johnny? Tell her. Tell her you’re going to help us.’

  Her fingernails are red as blood. I gaze down at them, disgusted. I want to pull away, to disengage, but force myself to keep the contact. ‘Of course I will.’ And then, in case that doesn’t sound convincing enough, I lay my own hand reassuringly over hers. I even manage a squeeze. Her skin is freezing, cold as death. ‘You know I will.’

  Of course, I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going to take my chances and get as far away as possible. But it’s a gamble. If the truth comes out, I could end up running for the rest of my life. Simone stares at me as if she doesn’t believe a word. But at the same time she’s busy weighing up the options, making frantic mental calculations while she tries to figure out the best way of keeping Marc alive. The seconds tick by. ‘I still think we should call the police,’ she says.

  Dee hurls the mobile down on the table. ‘Okay. You do it then. You call them. You do what you like.’ Her tone is slipping back into hysterical mode. ‘But don’t come crying to me when . . . when . . .’ She raises her twisted face. ‘It’ll be your fault.’

  And although Simone stares at the phone, she doesn’t make a move to pick it up. She’s afraid. There’s some sense to Dee’s reasoning and she knows it. She can’t take the risk of being wrong. But it all comes down to whether I can be trusted . . . and that’s a different matter altogether.

  Reluctantly, she transfers her attention to me. ‘So what’s the idea?’ she asks cynically. ‘What’s the great plan?’

  I shrug. ‘There’s no great plan, just a straightforward exchange. I give them the diamonds and they give us back Marc.’

  ‘That easy, huh?’ she almost snarls.

  Now that’s no way to treat your potential saviour. A little respect is called for at the very least. ‘Well, if you’re not interested . . .’

  Dee begs, ‘Please, Simone.’

  She falters, biting on her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’ She hates my guts but she knows she shouldn’t show it; I might be her only chance and she can’t afford to piss me off. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeats, slumping back into a chair. ‘I’m just scared.’

  It’s not the most hea
rtfelt apology I’ve ever heard but it’ll do for starters; there’s time enough to make her grovel. And I’ve got to say, there’s a certain amount of heart-warming satisfaction in this whole scenario. It couldn’t have gone better if I’d planned it myself.

  Especially when it comes to Jim.

  There he is, huddled over his whisky, a big man looking small. I can’t resist a smile. I’ve come a long way to have this simple but extraordinary pleasure. Perhaps he’s finally beginning to understand what grief brings, what it might actually mean to lose someone you love. I lost my wife – he might lose his son. A fair exchange? Too fucking right. I’ve got no idea who’s abducted Marc and I don’t give a damn – but if they walked into this room, right here, right now, I’d stand up and shake their hand.

  Simone’s strident voice cuts across my thoughts. ‘So where are they?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What do you think?’ She’s trying not to lose her rag. ‘The diamonds, of course.’

  I laugh. She’s got a fucking nerve. ‘You think I’m going to tell you that?’

  ‘You think I’m going to trust you with my husband’s life?’ She reaches again for her phone and dials the first couple of digits.

  ‘Go ahead,’ I taunt. ‘Call the cops. Call them.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  Jim sighs, lurching for his glass. Dee moans softly into her hands.

  ‘Because I’m your last chance,’ I answer calmly. ‘But if you want to throw it away – just go ahead.’

  Her face crumples into indecision. She wants to call my bluff but doesn’t dare; her husband’s life is in the balance. The seconds tick by. Slowly, frowning, she lays the phone back down on the table.

  I try to hide my relief. The last thing I need is a knock at the door, a posse of cops. One glance at that ransom note and even the most cretinous of pigs would eventually find the Eddie Tate connection. There’d be some explaining to do then. And don’t get me wrong, I’m more than glad that the Buckley sins might finally be coming home to roost – but I’ve no intention of being here to welcome them. I’m packing my bags and getting out.

  ‘Johnny’s going to London,’ Dee says. ‘Tomorrow. He’s going to get the diamonds.’

  Simone turns her gaze on me. ‘Oh yes?’

  I don’t need to be Einstein to recognize the incredulity in her voice. ‘Yes,’ I repeat. Our eyes meet in a pool of mutual suspicion.

  ‘And are you coming back?’ she asks.

  ‘You think I want to see Marc dead?’

  And there’s not much she can say to that without insulting me, without deliberately destroying whatever fragile hopes may remain. Her eyes blink closed while her body folds into a shudder. If I had any feelings left I might almost feel sorry for her – but I don’t. My compassion ran out years ago. Any remaining fragments I need for myself.

  ‘No,’ she says, defeated.

  Smugly, I rise to my feet. ‘Well, that’s settled then.’ I depart for a much-needed slash and as I return the room falls into an uneasy silence. It’s clear they’ve been talking among themselves. So what now? A few furtive glances are exchanged before Simone finally speaks.

  Her voice is low but determined. ‘I’m coming with you -tomorrow.’

  So that’s what they’ve been cooking up between them. Perhaps Dee doesn’t trust me quite so much as she makes out – or perhaps Simone’s just managed to exert her influence. I snort. ‘I don’t need a bodyguard, love.’

  ‘No,’ she replies quickly, ‘but you do need a driver. You haven’t got a licence. What are you going to do – bring the diamonds back on the train?’ She gives me a small unfriendly smile. ‘That doesn’t seem very safe.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Dee adds supportively. ‘Anything could happen.’

  ‘What, to me or the ice?’ Although the answer to that is pretty self-evident: if it came to a choice they wouldn’t hesitate for a second. If I was dying in the gutter they’d happily step over me.

  Simone gazes straight into my eyes and asks provocatively, ‘So what’s the problem, Johnny?’

  I can’t afford to raise their suspicions. And what the hell, a lift into London isn’t going to do me any harm. In fact it could be positively useful. I shake my head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. If that’s what you want, it’s fine by me.’

  It won’t take me long to lose her once we’re there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Simone

  I wanted to leave last night but Johnny wouldn’t agree. He had calls to make, he said, meetings to organize. And when I persisted he argued, ‘Come on, Simone. We’re all exhausted. No one’s thinking straight. We need a good night’s sleep.’

  Sleep? As if sleep was an option with Marc out there somewhere, terrified, probably wondering if he’d ever see daylight again. And all this stuff going round in my head, about how he’d wanted to get away, almost begged – as if he realized he was in danger – and I’d just brushed it all aside. If only I’d forced him, made him speak to me, none of this might have happened. He must have known about Eddie Tate’s killing and its implications. He must have realized someone else was after the diamonds, someone so ruthless that . . . Why else was Eddie tortured, unless it was to find out what he knew? Why else would Marc have been so eager to go to Spain? He was scared he’d be the next in line. And what had I done to help? Nothing, bloody nothing. I’d just put it down to one of his moods.

  I was pacing the floor when Dee knocked on the door around midnight. ‘Can we talk?’ She looked worse than I did, pale, ghost-like, hovering on the edge of that precipice of fear. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to talk, not to her or to anyone, but I still waved her inside.

  She sat down on the sofa and stared uncertainly at her feet.

  Far from feeling sorry for her, I had this sudden urge to shout, to scream: What did you think you were doing? This was all her fault. Hers and Jim’s. Johnny may have stolen the diamonds but they’d agreed to help him get them back. Marc was barely out of prison before they’d hatched their stupid little plan. And now look where it had led.

  Sensing my mood, she raised her tear-stained eyes. ‘I know what you think.’ Her mouth quivered and she swallowed hard. ‘And you’re right, love, you’re right to blame me. It was . . . I should never have . . .’ She shook her head and dropped her face back into her hands.

  But my anger was gradually dissolving. I only had to hark back a few weeks to recall how hard she’d battled to keep Johnny away. No one could have put up a more spirited fight. At some point since, yes, she’d made a foolish decision but she could never have anticipated the outcome. All I was doing was transferring my own guilt. This felt like some cruel and terrible punishment for not loving Marc enough.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ I said, resignedly. How she’d been persuaded to embark on this madness was anyone’s guess but, if I was being painfully honest, I doubted if Marc had been last in the queue of those trying to influence her. A hidden stash of diamonds was just his sort of crazy dream.

  ‘We shouldn’t have kept it from you,’ she murmured into her fingers. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  I sat down heavily beside her. ‘So why, Dee? What made you even agree to it?’

  She sighed. ‘It just seemed like such an easy way out. The Palace has been . . . well, you know, and we’ve tried, we’ve really tried but . . . and we thought . . . Well, it all happened such a long time ago and . . .’ She faltered again, her mouth, then her eyes and then her whole face collapsing. ‘What have I done, Simone? They’ll kill him. They’ll kill him, won’t they?’

  She leaned in against me, a sobbing weight of despair.

  ‘No,’ I insisted, ‘they won’t. I promise. I’m sure.’ Perhaps it was just the fact of having to be strong for someone else, for having to put on a brave face, but for a moment I really believed it. ‘It’s not your fault,’ I said again.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she muttered.

  Which brought my high hopes clattering b
ack to earth. ‘What do you mean?’ I touched her cheek and forced her to look at me again. ‘Dee? I can’t do this unless you tell me everything. Please, you’ve got to help me if we’re going to help Marc.’

  She hesitated, her eyes roaming restlessly around the room until they finally came back to settle on mine. ‘These people – whoever’s got him – well, what if Johnny . . . I know what he said but what if he doesn’t—’

  ‘You don’t trust him,’ I interrupted, blurting out my suspicions if not hers.

  It was probably the worst thing I could say, but then the truth often is. Her brow furrowed into a terrified frown. ‘No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t desert Marc . . . he couldn’t. No, he’s got his faults but he’d never do that.’

  So why didn’t I believe her? It sounded to me like she was trying far too hard to convince herself. ‘Are you sure?’

  She shook her head again. ‘Unless . . .’

  ‘Unless?’

  I watched her bite down hard on her lower lip. ‘He might get worried, about the police, about Eddie. He might . . .’

  ‘Do a bunk?’ I suggested brutally.

  ‘No!’ Dee cried again. But despite the remonstration her eyes said something different.

  It was hardly news. I didn’t trust Johnny one single inch. Even as we spoke, he was probably planning a surreptitious escape. But if he thought he could shake me off, take the diamonds and run, he had another think coming. ‘Don’t worry,’ I told her, ‘I won’t let him disappear. I won’t let him out of my sight.’

  She grabbed hold of my hand and held it firmly between hers. She forced a thin tight smile. And then she said something I didn’t expect. ‘Of course you won’t. And as long as you’re there, love, he won’t let us down. You know how he feels about you.’

  I stared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘If we want to get Marc back . . .’ She squeezed my hand tighter. ‘You’ll be nice to him, won’t you? It’s our only chance. He’ll do it for you. I know he will.’

  And now the nightmare was slipping into something more surreal. What was she suggesting – that Johnny . . . no, I couldn’t even think about going there. And it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. ‘Look, Dee, you’re wrong. He doesn’t . . .’