by Paul Gitsham
“What do you think you should do?”
Warren sighed down the phone. This variation on the question wasn’t what he’d hoped for when he’d finally got out of bed and rung Bob Windermere.
“I was kind of hoping you could tell me, Bob.”
“I’m sorry, Warren. If you were hoping for a magic wand to get you out of this mess, I can’t help. We’ll have to go through it step by step and see what we can come up with.”
Warren closed his eyes briefly. That was all he wanted. Despite himself he felt a slight lifting of his spirits. Bob Windermere was still the best detective he’d ever worked with; if he couldn’t bring some ideas to the table nobody could.
“The first thing we’ll talk about is what you are NOT going to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Trust those instincts of yours, Warren. You’re right to keep your father’s connection to this quiet. Say nothing to Professional Standards. They have nothing on you beyond potentially interfering with a witness. They can’t arrest you and they’ve already suspended you, so that’s all they’ve got. Suspension is a pain, but look at the positive: you can do what you need now without anyone breathing over your shoulder.”
Warren hadn’t really thought about it in those terms.
“You need to keep this between us. Trust no one. Least of all that Grayson character.”
“You think he might be involved?”
“I don’t know, but I think you’re right to question his whereabouts in the eighties. He’s an opportunistic weasel. If this Gavin Sheehy was telling the truth—and I’m still not convinced—then he and that Pete Kent were at the bottom of the food chain. Somebody with rank needed to orchestrate that stitch-up.”
“I need to know who ordered that drugs bust.”
Windermere agreed. “Any ideas how you can find out?”
Warren described how the key documents had been removed from the archive.
“And you are sure that Sheehy didn’t just destroy them?”
Warren shook his head vigorously, forgetting that Windermere couldn’t see him. “Definitely not. They were his insurance policy.”
“And you don’t know where else they might be?”
“I searched his house and couldn’t find them.” A thought suddenly struck Warren. “Shit. Could that have been why they tried to kill Sheehy? What if he had the documents in the house and his attackers took them with them?”
“Then it’s already too late. They’ll be destroyed and it’s all over. You’ve said yourself that there’s no real evidence that’ll stand up in court.”
“It can’t be.” Warren shook his head again. “I can’t let it go. Not now. Not when I am so close to the truth.”
Windermere’s voice was gentler than Warren had ever heard it. “Warren, you have to face facts. Even if this conspiracy was real and not just the desperate fabrication of a desperate man, it’s been buried for twenty-odd years. People have died, others have moved on and still others may well be in positions of power. Any evidence that existed back then will have been destroyed long ago.” He paused. “Let it go. It’s hung over you for your whole adult life. Your dad wasn’t corrupt. Isn’t that enough?”
Warren’s voice, when it came was cold. “No, it isn’t and I can’t believe that the Bob Windermere I knew all those years ago would say such a thing. Forget about my father. What about the others? Anton Liebig and his innocent wife? Zachary Eddleston was twenty-three years old and guilty of nothing more than wanting a bit of easy cash. What about Reggie Williamson? He probably did what he did with the best of intentions and he’s killed for it decades later. Do they not deserve justice?
“And what about Vinny Delmarno and this Martin Bixby? They should be behind bars for what they’ve done. You cannot tell me that the public is safer with those two psychopaths out there, killing anyone who stands in their way?”
The pause at the end of the line was so long that Warren almost hung up.
“You’re right. I just wanted to protect you. Of course you have my full support. You know that. But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“If you get that piece of paper you come to me first. Don’t do anything foolish. I still have connections. Get me that document and I’ll make sure that the bastard whose name is on it gets what’s coming to him.”
Chapter 47
If sex with Vinny the previous night had been unpleasant, what Jocelyn had to do next was positively stomach-churning. A few deep breaths and one last squirt of her favourite perfume and Jocelyn climbed out of her car. Even though she was certain that nobody had seen her arrive, she injected a little more sway into her hips as she strode up the driveway.
When it came to business matters, Jocelyn was always careful to dress in a businesslike manner. Like so many women before her, she’d found that whilst the power that came from being the boss and having control of the money engendered a certain grudging respect from other, male colleagues, women were still largely judged by their appearance. Consequently, sensible blouses with trousers or conservative dresses with high necklines were her work clothes; minimal make-up and hair tied back into unfussy styles reinforced her seriousness.
Today though, she was wearing a tight dress that showed off a little too much cleverly supported cleavage and finished well above the knee. Her ash-blonde hair flowed freely around her shoulders; her lipstick was a shade of red that she reserved for special occasions with Martin—not even Vinny had seen her dressed like this in recent decades. Good genes, good diet and a tiny bit of surgical assistance meant that Jocelyn Delmarno didn’t look a day over forty.
Forcing a smile—not that the target of all this preparation would be looking at her face—Jocelyn took one last breath and rang the doorbell.
* * *
Jocelyn Delmarno ignored the nausea bubbling up inside her and ran her fingers seductively through the chest hair of the man lying next to her; a faint sheen of sweat coated both of their bodies. The choking fumes from the cigar that he was smoking curled lazily above the bed and he sighed deeply.
Paul Rubens had lusted after Jocelyn for decades. He’d barely made a secret of it before Vinny was incarcerated and it had taken a firm word from Bixby to curb his unwanted advances after she became a “single woman”. This was one of the reasons that Jocelyn had dropped the man’s services as soon as she could—a decision that from a financial point of view had probably been a mistake. Say what you liked about the man, but he knew the ins and outs of Vinny Delmarno’s crooked little empire better than anyone.
Cutting herself away her ex-husband’s malign influence had given her the opportunity to drop the corrupt accountant’s services and she had done it as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Vinny hadn’t seen it that way and had retained the man’s services even as he faced life in prison. As his empire quietly crumbled, its assets were squirreled safely away in a complex network of virtual companies and hidden bank accounts to wait for him, should he ever leave prison.
And Rubens held the keys.
Vinny was so naïve, Jocelyn thought. The loss of access to Vinny’s money had been an essential price to pay for her dissociation from the life that she escaped and until recently, she had rarely mourned its passing. What Vinny didn’t seem to realise was that whilst she had no direct control over the money, neither did he. The only person who did was Rubens.
She’d never been sure if it was childhood loyalty or the fear of Vinny’s reaction that had stopped Rubens from simply disappearing with the money. That he wanted it was unquestionable—you didn’t become a bent accountant out of a sense of charity. She suspected that just like she and Bixby, Rubens was merely waiting for the right opportunity. Friendship aside, he had probably been as disappointed as them when Vinny had been given a new kidney and made it out of prison alive.
Seducing Rubens had been as easy as she’d expected it to be. He’d probably fantasised about this for years, and just as she’d expected, his raw, animal lust had
clouded his judgement. She’d worked quickly, not giving him time to think, practically throwing herself at him the moment the door had opened. The dress that she had so painstakingly chosen that morning was lying on the floor inside of ten minutes.
Rubens currently lived alone; wife number four had left some months previously and he had yet to replace her. Jocelyn grimaced at the thought; rumour had it that his wives and girlfriends were typically sourced from the grubbier corners of the internet in an arrangement more akin to a football-player signing than a Hollywood romance. Still, it was an agreement that both sides seemed to benefit from—Rubens enjoyed a few years’ company with a young woman well out of his league; his companion enjoyed the sort of lifestyle impossible in her own country and, if the marriage lasted long enough, British citizenship to boot. Jocelyn had always viewed these young women with a degree of contempt; but given her own actions over the past few months—particularly the last few hours—could she really claim to be any different? She pushed the thoughts away. This wasn’t the time to deal with them.
Rubens’ initial lust and surprise was now wearing off. Jocelyn could see it in the slowly forming creases on his forehead. Rubens may be a predictable fool, who thought with his balls not his brains, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. Now came the hard part.
“So what do you want?”
His voice was flat, emotionless. His eyes were closed, but Jocelyn felt as though he was somehow scrutinising her from behind his eyelids.
“Vinny’s money. Or at least the half a million I need to save the business.”
Rubens sucked contemplatively on the cigar.
“And what makes you think I can help you with that?”
“I’m not a fool, Rubens.” Jocelyn’s voice was hard. The seductive tone she’d been using for the past hour was gone. Jocelyn the businesswoman was back in charge now.
“I’ve seen the contracts. Vinny might not know anything about business law, but I do and I know that nothing moves in or out of those accounts without your say-so. If you wanted to, you could take the whole lot and disappear tomorrow.”
“If that’s true, then why haven’t I done it already?”
Rubens opened his eyes and turned towards Jocelyn. The look was slightly quizzical, almost amused. He’s not taking me seriously, she thought, the hot flash of anger immediately tempered by the realisation that his underestimation of her could only make things easier.
“You’re scared of Vinny. You know that he’ll track you down and kill you.”
Male ego is so easy to manipulate, she thought with satisfaction as Rubens immediately denied the charge.
A few seconds later, Rubens started again, his voice triumphant as he seized upon the flaw in her logic.
“Assuming you’re right and I’m worried about Vinny’s reaction, then why would I give you the half mill? Stealing his money and giving it to his ex-wife so that she can use it to cut him off from his own businesses? I think it’s fair to assume that he’d be even more pissed off with me than if I just nicked it all and took off. He’d at least understand that.”
“You’re right. He would understand it. And you’re right, he would be angry. But imagine how angry he’ll be when I actually explain what those contracts mean to him—how you drafted those contracts deliberately to give you sole control of his businesses.”
“You’ll never prove it.” The tone belied the words.
Jocelyn laughed. “I don’t have to prove it. I just need to say it. Vinny and I are getting married in a few days; I’ve got him wrapped around my little finger. He’ll believe anything I tell him.”
Rubens shook his head vehemently. “No way. Vinny won’t believe you. The two of us grew up together, went to school together. Me, Martin and Vinny.” His voice turned nasty. “We’ve had each other’s backs since we were ten years old.”
“It’s funny you’d mention Martin.” Jocelyn smiled wolfishly. “You see Vinny is a very jealous man. Very jealous. And Martin’s a very good photographer. A real master with a zoom lens…”
Rubens paled. “You wouldn’t dare.” He rolled away from her, backing away as if she were a poisonous insect. “Vinny would be furious.”
Jocelyn shrugged. “You’re right. But he needs me as a co-signatory on his business. He doesn’t need you; he’ll just take the money that he wants. You know what he’s like—” a pause “—you know what Martin’s like. They can be very persuasive.”
Rubens’ jaw was working. Jocelyn could see his mind whirring furiously. There was doubt in his eyes—but also fear. Jocelyn fought hard to keep her own expression neutral. The plan that had seemed like a good idea at five a.m. now seemed like absolute folly. The whole thing was an elaborate house of cards built upon layers of lies, but it was all that she had left. If he called her bluff, it would all come crashing down around her. There was no way that she could go through with her threat. Vinny had already asked Martin to kill her after spotting them together. Claiming that her lover was Rubens wasn’t going to change that fact.
And what about Martin? There were no photos of her entering Rubens’ house; Martin didn’t even know that she was here. He’d never have let her come.
“What do you want?” Rubens’ voice was low, defeated. But his eyes still held anger. An anger that she would have to assuage; she couldn’t afford it to fester. She needed to sweeten the deal, dampen down any resentment that might lead to him attempting revenge.
“Just the original proposed investment. That’s all. Sign the money over to me, no need to even change the terms of the contract, just omit Vinny’s name.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
“You get to keep the rest.”
Rubens paused, his jaw working slightly. “Say again.”
“Keep the rest. I don’t want it.” She stumbled over the words; she’d almost said “we”; she couldn’t let Rubens know about her and Martin or her whole scheme would collapse. Rubens would go straight to Vinny and they’d both be dead within forty-eight hours.
Rubens’ eyes widened. Jocelyn had no idea how much money was actually in Vinny’s myriad overseas accounts, but Rubens—the man who’d set them up and carefully husbanded them for the past two decades—knew the figures to the nearest penny, cent and centime.
Almost immediately, his face hardened again. “And so you think Vinny will just let you cut him off from his businesses and let me take his money from under his nose?”
Jocelyn smiled wolfishly. “Give me twenty-four hours and Vinny will no longer be a concern.”
She could see that he was unsure—his natural greed conflicting with his sense of self-preservation. Steeling herself and forcing a seductive smile to her lips, Jocelyn decided to tip the balance. Burying her revulsion deep inside, she reached beneath the bed sheets again.
Chapter 48
The second part of Jocelyn’s plan was even more repugnant than the first. And it needed to be done quickly. The longer she left Rubens to think about the situation that she had manoeuvred him into, the longer he had to see the flaws, to come up with a way to extricate himself from his dilemma.
Her hands shook as she drove back to the beautiful house that she had called home for the past twenty-five years. A blare of horns and an angry flash of lights interrupted her reverie. Steady on, she cautioned herself, as she waved apologetically at the lorry she’d blithely cut in front of—the plan would be for nothing if she killed herself in a silly road accident.
Of course what she was about to do was at least as dangerous as driving without paying attention to other road users. Again she thought about calling Martin; his reassuring presence would stop things from going too far. But she couldn’t. Even if he let her go through with her foolhardy plan, things could quickly escalate out of control, and if Martin killed Vinny, he’d end up going to prison, or worse.
Pulling into the wide, sweeping drive, she saw that Vinny’s car was parked in its usual place. Stopping next to it, she rested her hand on the ignition key. Last cha
nce to call it all off, to turn around and run away. But where would she go—and could she really leave everything behind? Everything that she had worked for, for so long?
She turned the engine off and clambered out.
* * *
Vinny Delmarno was on life licence. He’d served twenty-two years in prison, but as a convicted murderer, his sentence would never be deemed spent. Once a week he attended a meeting with a caseworker from the local Offender Management Team and had to show that he was no longer a threat to society and was abiding by the law. Any breach and he would be recalled to prison, potentially to serve out the rest of his sentence. So far, he had given his probation officer no cause for concern.
Delmarno was reclining in the living room watching football on the large screen. A couple of empty cans of beer sat on the table in front of him. Good, thought Jocelyn, it would make the next part easier.
“Vinny, I’m leaving you. Pack your bags. I want you out.”
The bluntness of the words surprised even Jocelyn. Until she’d walked through the door, she hadn’t known what she was going to say. But, now that she’d started, there was no going back and the words poured forth.
“I’ve tried to love you but I can’t. Twenty-two years I waited for you. I’ve changed. The world has changed. But you haven’t. I can’t go back in time. I can’t return to the way things were.”
The look of confused hurt on Vinny’s face almost made her change her mind, to desperately try and swallow her words, claim it was all a big joke.
Then his expression changed, his face twisting in a manner she’d never seen directed at her before. A look of cold fury. The same expression she’d seen cross his face years ago when he thought she wasn’t watching, that he’d hidden from her by carrying the telephone into the office and kicking the door closed. A few days later she’d seen him again, this time with a copy of the Coventry Evening Telegraph under his arm and a look of triumph on his face. The headlines recounted the suicide of a local police officer suspected of corruption. She’d known in her heart of hearts that the two events were somehow linked.
