Thirty-five minutes later, with the first tea overly brewed and ruined, and another on the go, Ryan returned, armed with milk, sugar, assorted packets of biscuits, and an almond-topped fruit cake.
“Not sure whether you eat cake, but this looked rather enticing,” he said to Darwin. “You can do a proper shop later.”
Darwin’s smile spoke for him. He seemed overwhelmed by the events of the morning and appeared happy to give her and Ryan free rein in the kitchen.
Once safely ensconced around the kitchen table, tea and coffee sipped, and cake demolished, Lara turned to Ryan.
“Bill, did you manage to find a plumber?”
“I did indeed, dear. Local firm. They’ll be here this afternoon, ready and—”
“Are you serious?” Darwin asked, pausing in the middle of refilling their cups. “You’ve convinced a plumber to come here at a moment’s notice? I’ll believe it when he arrives.”
Ryan grinned. “Darwin, old chap, you’ll be astonished how amenable tradesmen can be when you use the magic phrase, ‘Money’s no object.’” He tapped the side of his nose.
Doubt crossed the young man’s face. “Central heating costs a fortune to fix and to run. The ten thousand pounds you promised me won’t last long—”
“Darwin,” Lara interrupted, “the Trust will pay for the work and the materials. They’ll also cover all the running costs. You have no reason to worry.”
Darwin shook his head in disbelief. “Are you people for real? This is all too much. Things like this don’t happen to people like me. No matter how much money you promise, there’s no way a plumber’s gonna come here. The neighbourhood’s a no-go area to most. You saw what it’s like outside. Not far off a war zone.”
Lara wanted to break the full news about his share of the Trust’s millions. The young man needed to know just how much his life was about to change, but he’d already had more than enough to take in for one day. He had the rest of his life to absorb the good news. It didn’t all have to happen in one morning.
“You could always move,” she offered.
“What? I’d love to, but nobody’s going to buy this house. Not with that lot contaminating the place.” He shot a glance towards the front of the house, the implication clear. Both he and his grandfather had been terrorised by the Tribe.
Ryan’s jaw muscles worked beneath the beard he hated, but Lara had grown to like, both for its looks and its ability to hide his identity from a treacherous world.
“You have no need to fear anything from Barcode and his crew. I promise,” Ryan said, a cold certainty in his delivery. “They’re nothing but a bunch of cowards.”
“It’s not just Barcode,” Darwin said, reaching out for his drink, but changed his mind when his outstretched hand rattled the cup in its saucer. “He’s one part of the gang that owns the neighbourhood. He runs the streets around here. It’s not safe to go walking. Not even in broad daylight.”
“What about the police?” Lara asked.
“Police!” Darwin spat out the word like a curse. “They come around now and again to sweep up the riffraff. Operation Clean Streets, they called the last one. Made the local TV news and the papers, but did nothing in the long run. They arrested and cautioned a few of the Tribesmen, but only the lowest on the totem pole. Then they released them again to do the same thing.
“Cosmetic, it was. Made the policewoman with the shiny buttons on her uniform look important for a while. Maybe earned her a promotion, but the attention didn’t last long. Same as always. The little people are soon forgotten.”
Ryan stood and took a breath. “Not always, Darwin. Not always.”
“What’s that you say?” the young man asked, arching his neck to look up.
“The little people aren’t always forgotten,” Ryan repeated.
Darwin curled his upper lip. “Oh yes we are.”
Ryan shook his head emphatically. “One way or another, things will change, Mr Moore. You have our word.”
Lara closed her eyes. The anonymous tipster who’d entered Darwin’s details in to The 83 website and asked for their help—whom Corky later identified as local resident, Primula Johnston—had turned out to be dead right. Bad things were happening to people in Walthamstow. However, before Lara could back up Ryan’s words and offer Darwin a more detailed explanation, the handle to the letterbox rattled.
“Who’s that now?” Darwin asked.
Ryan checked his watch. “If I were a betting man, I’d say our plumber has arrived. Would you like me to let him in?”
“A plumber. Yeah, right!” Darwin snorted in disbelief. “More likely to be Primula, our neighbour, poking her nose in. She’ll be desperate to know who you are and what you want with little old me. It’s either Primula, or Barcode and his buddies back to check on your passport. Those thugs can’t afford to lose face to a couple of whiteys—if you’ll pardon the expression, Mrs Griffin.”
“Don’t worry about me, Darwin. I’ve heard plenty worse.”
“All the same, Mr Griffin. Take care when opening the door, right?”
The letterbox rattled again. This time louder. The flap screeched and a voice called, “Mr Griffin? This is Brian Able from Able Heating Supplies. Are you in there?”
Not for the first time that day, Lara watched Darwin Moore’s jaw drop.
Ryan smiled and winked before turning to answer the door.
“Be right with you, Mr Able,” he called.
Kaine opened up to a what looked like teenager in a boiler suit so clean it had to be brand new. Lettering embroidered across the chest of the garment introduced the wearer as an engineer from Able Heating Supplies Ltd, the third entry on his Google search. The line beneath the name read, Willing and Able, this one in cursive script. On the doorstep at his feet, a fancy-looking black plastic clipboard balanced atop a metal toolbox.
The lad smiled, grabbed the laminated ID card hanging from a lanyard around his neck and held it up for Kaine to read. The words Brian Able, Heating Engineer, and the subsequent academic letters seemed to confirm its claim.
“Mr Griffin?” Brian Able asked.
Kaine nodded. “That’s me. Thanks for being so prompt.”
On closer inspection, calling the plumber a teenager had been a little unnecessary. The sandy-haired, blue-eyed man on the doorstep had one of those faces that could have placed him anywhere on the age range spectrum, from fifteen to thirty-five. Small and lithe, he could also have passed for a middle-distance athlete.
“You spoke to my father. He handles the commercial side of the business. I’m growing the domestic contracts. At least, I’m trying to.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Able—”
“No, no, Mr Able makes me sound too old,” the lad interrupted, smiling enthusiastically. “Please call me Brian. Mind if I come in?”
“Certainly, Brian. Please do.”
Kaine stepped aside and pointed towards the kitchen.
“The householder, Mr Moore, is down there, at the end of the corridor.”
Brian picked up the clipboard and the toolbox and stepped over the threshold. As they passed in the hall, Kaine held out his arm as a barrier.
“My wife, Elizabeth, will be project manager and Paymaster General. Mr Moore has had a bit of a shock today. Treat him gently.”
Brian winked and added a conspiratorial smile. “Always treat the customers with respect, sir. Shall I get on with it?” He jiggled his shoulders. “Blooming parky in here.”
“The boiler’s broken. Hence the need for a plumber.”
“So my dad said. Any idea where the boiler’s hidden?”
“None whatsoever. You’ll have to ask Mr Moore.”
Chapter 8
Saturday 18th February – Lara Orchard
Walthamstow, NE London
“So?” Lara asked when they were finally alone in the front room, cradling large mugs of tea, which steamed heavily in the chill air. Within an hour of ignition, the ancient electric bar heater had finally giv
en up the ghost.
She spoke softly, but loud enough to be heard over the knocking and clattering from above their heads. True to his word, Brian Able had cracked on with the work. He’d found the recalcitrant boiler in an airing cupboard in the third bedroom, identified one of the fundamental issues—a seized pump—and was hard at work trying to fire it up with a temporary patch.
The strange-looking clipboard he’d arrived with turned out to be a plastic-covered computer tablet with a built-in laser measuring device. He used it to calculate room sizes and work out thermal loading and material requirements. With the same tablet, the highly competent plumber accessed his firm’s warehouse, confirmed they had the required parts in stock for a complete refurbishment, and worked out a total price for the job. Without reference to Darwin or Ryan, Lara accepted the quotation on the spot, paid the deposit money by bank transfer, and offered a five percent bonus for Brian’s prompt arrival—to be paid on completion of the job.
The entire quotation and ordering process had taken less than an hour. As a demonstration of plumbing in the Internet Age, Lara couldn’t fault it.
While the whole central heating system needed replacing with a modern, energy efficient upgrade, Brian had offered to try to make emergency repairs on the existing hardware since he and his team wouldn’t be available to start the project until halfway through the following week.
After their impromptu breakfast, Darwin had taken his leave, and scooted upstairs to attack some coursework. Or so he claimed. Although, how anyone could study with such a commotion running in the background, Ryan said he could not understand. Lara’s response, about today’s youth being able to multitask and study while listening to their iPods, “unlike us old fogies,” drew engaging laughter from the student on his way upstairs. Ryan suspected Darwin was more likely taking time to call all his college mates and share his good fortune.
The minute they were alone, she rounded on Ryan.
“So?” she repeated.
“So … what?” Ryan asked, giving her a look that attempted wide-eyed innocence, but failed.
She sighed, having none of it. “That shop we passed is only around the corner. It shouldn’t have taken you the best part of forty minutes to pick up a few groceries. Spill.”
“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“Why would you want to? Come on, stop prevaricating.”
“Five syllables? You know I get confused if a word contains more than three.”
“William Griffin!” she said, delighted she’d managed to keep in character even when scolding him. “I’m warning you.”
“Okay, Beth. My bad. You saw Rhino following me?”
She nodded. “Of course I did. The man couldn’t have made it more blatant.”
“Yep. Amateur hour. The fool wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on patrol as a real scout.”
“And?”
“And … young Rhino and I had a rather interesting chat. Very helpful, he was. Far more sociable than you might imagine—after an initial awkwardness.”
She peered closely at his face. “Don’t see any bruises or abrasions. I take it young Rhino isn’t as tough as he thinks he is?”
“No, I’m afraid Mr Damian Baines is a bit of a wimp. All bluff and bluster. A real cry baby, in fact.”
She frowned. “You didn’t need to hurt him too badly, did you?”
“Of course not. At least, nothing permanent. Damaged his pride, mainly. But I’m sure he’ll recover. I’ll ask him how he’s feeling when he calls.”
“Come again? You’re expecting him to call?”
Ryan nodded, still playing the innocent. “As I said, Damian and I came to an arrangement. We swapped numbers. Well, at least I gave him my mobile number. I already had his.”
“Corky got back to you? That was quick.”
“Actually,” Ryan said, “I contacted Corky, but he’s done his usual excellent data mining job.”
“Care to tell me all about it?”
“Happy to, my sweet. After introducing myself to the delightful father-to-be, he was only too glad to answer a few questions. In fact, he turned out to be most illuminating.”
Ryan gave her a reasonably full account of what he called his “minor altercation” with the man carrying the disfiguring scar. She held off interrupting him until the part where he and Rhino reached the playground before breaking into his flow.
“If Rhino and Barcode are the worst they have to offer, the Tribe shouldn’t cause us too many problems.”
“Us? What do you mean, ‘Us’?”
“We’re a team, Mister. And don’t you forget it.”
“You’re starting to sound a little trigger happy, Ms Orchard.” Ryan whispered Lara’s real surname and made his best efforts to scowl. Again, it didn’t work too well. Captain Ryan Kaine might have been able to scare his men and terrify his enemies, but he could never intimidate Lara. She knew him too well.
“We’re staying well out of this mess,” he continued. “All we’re doing here is making sure Darwin Moore is worthy of his share of the money. We’ll fix his house, set him up for life, and maybe encourage him to move to a safer area. That’s all. We can’t cure the whole world’s ills, my darling wife.”
Lara shook her head, and set her jaw firmly.
“Ryan Liam Kaine, don’t you dare try to give me any of that bull. Glenmore Davits’ death is suspicious, and you know it.”
“Perhaps.”
“And you plan to investigate, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” he repeated, breaking eye contact.
“Good. You can count me in.”
“Whoa there, girl. Climb down off that high horse. You’re not getting involved in any of this.”
“And how do you propose to stop me? Unless you intend to send me back to the villa—alone and unprotected. Is that your plan?”
She watched the internal debate playing across his face. He tried hard to be enigmatic but, again, it didn’t work with her.
“I was thinking about maybe taking you home”—her stomach still fluttered whenever he referred to his French safe house as “home”—“and wait until Rollo gets back, but …”
“But?”
“There’s always Northamptonshire. I thought you might enjoy spending time at the farm, and I know Mike would be delighted to see you again. It’s been a few months—”
“And I’m guessing you’re about to mention the horses, right?” Lara interrupted. Sometimes, Ryan could be so transparent.
He scratched at his beard. Funny how it only seemed to irritate him when she challenged his plans.
“Well, you do keep telling me how much you miss that big dark stallion.”
Lara nodded, said, “Mike’s okay, but I miss the horse even more,” and added a salty grin.
“Oh dear,” he said, sighing deeply. “That’s so beneath you.”
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Anyway, you know I love Mike and his farm’s a delight, but I’m staying here.” She paused before adding the clincher. “Besides, you know I’m safer with you looking after me.”
His slow nod and the accompanying drop of his shoulder indicated defeat. The wonderful man rarely lost in battle, but would happily give ground to her in their minor skirmishes.
“Okay, you win, but you must keep your head down. Agreed?”
“Yes, I promise to do as you tell me. But everything’s going to be fine, right? After all, how dangerous can a low-rent street gang be? You can handle a few teenage kids, can’t you? Your real challenge will be not to hurt them too badly. After all, you’ve already put the fear of the Almighty into Rhino Baines.”
Ryan leaned forwards and cupped her hand in both of his. He held it firmly.
“It’s not as simple as that, love. Until last year, the Tribe was small fry. A minor local irritation. They kept pretty much below the police radar and were little more than a bunch of thugs pushing a few baggies of cannabis on street corners.”
“So, what happened la
st year?”
“They got organised. Became more professional.”
“How so? Rhino told you something interesting? More than was in Corky’s dossier?”
Kaine frowned through a nod. “A little.”
“Care to elaborate?”
He gave her a pained expression, and she pulled her hand away.
“Okay, okay. You win,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Most of this is in Corky’s notes, but Damian added some background. Early last year, the Tribe’s previous leader, a twenty-something called Hooper, did a runner. Left his flat in the middle of the night and disappeared. Ran out on his girlfriend and their son, too. At the time, the boy was only eleven months old.”
“Sounds suspicious. Did anyone call the police?”
“No. These people don’t want anything to do with the authorities. Anyway, shortly after Hooper’s disappearance, the Tribe’s next in line, Second Man, was arrested after a random police stop and search found a couple of baggies of heroin in his backpack. According to the crime lab, the baggies had the guy’s fingerprints all over them. The drugs had a street value of nearly fifteen grand. More than enough to charge him with trafficking.”
“Okay, that’s serious.”
“Of course, Second Man claimed the drugs had been planted. Swore he’d been set up by the police.”
“Such a surprise.”
“Yes, indeed. Well, he screamed his innocence all the way through the trial. It didn’t help though. He ended up being sentenced to fourteen years for conspiracy to supply Class A drugs.”
Lara offered a little shrug. “If you live by the sword. He gets no sympathy from me. I hate drug pushers.”
“Me too,” Ryan said, nodding, “but there may be some truth behind the man’s claims of innocence. According to Damian, the Tribe never used to touch serious drugs. They pushed a little weed and offered ‘protection’ to some of the neighbourhood’s corner shops. Small scale, nothing serious. At least that’s what young Damian says.”
Lara raised an eyebrow. “Is he seriously suggesting police corruption?”
“The Tribe thought that at first, but not these days. During the trial, the whole Tribe and their WAGs, all seventeen of them, picketed the courthouse every day claiming they were being stitched up. The police kept moving them on until the protests fizzled out.”
On the Money Page 8
