by Roberta Kray
Jo felt a lump rise to her throat as she thought about the tragedy. The awful irony, of course, was that there hadn’t been a bombing raid at all. Suddenly, recalling all those poor lost souls, she wasn’t in the mood for a walk any more. Instead she took the next turning and headed for home. There was no point in trying to escape from her problems; they would still be waiting for her when she got back.
As she entered Kellston again, Jo realised she wasn’t that far from Fairlea Avenue. She resolved to drive straight past. For months after Peter had been killed, she had returned to the street every day, hopeless and desperate, seeking … seeking what? Perhaps some answers as to what he had been doing there, why he had died there. She would sit for hours, watching the people come and go, seeing everything and nothing. It hadn’t been a healthy thing to do and having long since weaned herself off the habit, she had no desire to return to it.
Yet, despite her best intentions, she slowed as the avenue came into view. She flipped on the indicator. It was as if a magnetic force was pulling her, forcing her to take one more look. She turned left and drew into the first available parking space.
‘What are you doing?’ she murmured. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
But still she switched off the engine, knowing that she wouldn’t be leaving in a hurry. She opened the window, leaned back and gazed through the windscreen. Fairlea Avenue was a short quiet street, consisting mainly of identical two-up, two-down terraced houses but with a small block of modern flats on the far corner. That was where he had been standing when the car had shot up the road, mounted the pavement and …
Jo briefly shut her eyes. Why was she doing this? It was her suspicions about Deborah, she thought, that had stirred up these old horrors. Not to mention all the other madness that had been going on recently. It was hardly surprising that her head was in a spin.
She peered into the dazzling sun and sighed. She began to wonder again just how well she had really known Peter. How much of his life, and especially his past, had he kept hidden from her? There was the estrangement from his father, never fully explained. There was all the time he had lived abroad. And then there were the dreams, the dreadful nightmares that haunted his sleep, the cold sweats and the cries. When he woke, pale and trembling, he would cling to her, the tears running down his face. But he wouldn’t speak of what he had experienced. They were nothing, he would say, just phantoms.
For the next twenty minutes, Jo sat in the car and waited. All thoughts of visiting the park had left her. She was not sure what she was waiting for – a revelation, some sign from above? She sighed again. She had been Peter’s wife but not his confidante and wasn’t sure if it was a failure on her part. Perhaps, in time, things might have changed between them but that time was lost to them for ever.
Before she could start to slide down into the old abyss, Jo decided to head back to the flat. Suddenly even Miller’s company felt preferable to her own. With Silver to worry about, and the problem of Susan, there wouldn’t be room for these gloomy contemplations. She had to ‘pull herself together’ as her mother had so often insisted during those long-distance calls after Peter’s death, she had to ‘move on’.
Thoughts of her parents kept Jo occupied as she drove through Kellston. Andrew and Anne Grey, as she had learned to her cost, were experts in the practicalities of moving on. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had talked to them. It must have been months ago. And she was always the one who had to pick up the phone.
The traffic was jammed along the High Street. Bumper to bumper, the cars edged slowly forward, the hot metal shimmering in the sun, the exhausts belching out their filthy smoke. She should have gone round, taken the longer but ultimately quicker route, but it was too late to backtrack now.
It was when she was almost adjacent to Ruby’s that she saw them. The traffic had come to a standstill again. It was Jacob she noticed first, standing outside the door, deep in conversation with a small dark-haired woman. There was nothing particularly odd about it and Jo wouldn’t have thought twice if the woman hadn’t shifted slightly, stood aside to let someone pass and in doing so revealed her face. It was Leo’s mother and her neighbour, Constance Kearns.
Jo wasn’t sure why she was so surprised. There was no reason why they shouldn’t know each other and yet she hadn’t been aware of it. In the two years since she had taken over Ruby’s, she had never seen Constance in the shop. Still, their paths could have crossed in any number of ways. Perhaps they belonged to the same bridge club. Perhaps they shopped in the same supermarket. Perhaps Peter had introduced them.
The lights had changed and the cars were moving forward again. She kept her eyes fixed on the road, hoping they wouldn’t look over in her direction. For a reason she couldn’t logically explain, she didn’t want them to see her. Or, to be more precise, she didn’t want Jacob and Constance to know that she had seen them.
Chapter Thirty
It was early afternoon when Susan heard the phone ring. She was down in the cellar, trying to tempt Silver with pizza and chips. The girl hadn’t eaten much since she’d arrived; if she got any skinnier she’d fade away. At least she was drinking the bottled water. That was something. You could survive on just water for weeks.
Susan didn’t rush to answer it. It would only be Marty giving her a time to expect him. She never answered the door to anyone else; the fewer people who saw her face, the better. He’d guess where she was and either call back or leave a message.
‘Just try a bit,’ she urged.
‘I’m not hungry.’
Susan guessed that last night’s episode hadn’t done much to enhance her appetite. Marty, in his balaclava, had scared the poor kid witless. Susan didn’t take any pleasure in it, but some evils were necessary ones. And the photos, she had to admit, were pretty good.
‘Please yourself,’ Susan said. ‘I’ll leave it with you.’
By the time she had climbed the steps and put down the untouched breakfast tray – still laden with cereal, a carton of milk, two slices of toast, a boiled egg, butter and marmalade – the mobile had long since stopped ringing. She pressed the button to retrieve her voicemail.
Expecting to hear Marty’s rough tones, she almost dropped the phone. It was another voice that came floating down the line.
‘Hello, Susan. It’s Gabe. You can probably guess why I’m calling. I know who you’re working with so unless you want me to tip off Delaney you’d better call me back. The time is twelve-twenty. You have exactly one hour.’
Susan could feel the blood draining from her face. Coldness swept over her. She gripped the phone tighter, her pulse beginning to race. A liquid, as acrid as bile, rose in her throat and leaked into her mouth. She swallowed hard and played the message again. The threatening words remained the same.
‘You bastard,’ she whispered.
She threw the phone down on the table and in a moment of anger and frustration, upended the tray and sent everything flying. The cereal box disgorged its cornflakes. The marmalade jar shattered. The milk carton split open, spilling its contents over the floor. She raised her hands and covered her eyes. ‘Bastard!’ she said again.
It was a while before she could even begin to think straight. She paced the kitchen, the broken glass and cornflakes crunching under her feet. What she mustn’t do is panic. She had to try to keep a cool head. Her first impulse was to call Marty Gull, to tell him what had happened, but then she had second thoughts. His solution to most problems was one of zero tolerance.
Susan sat down and took a few deep breaths. It wasn’t the end of the world. She had an hour. There could still be a way for her to sort this. Could Gabe really know about Marty Gull or was he just calling her bluff? And how had he got hold of this number? Only two people had it, Marty and … She gave a soft groan. It had to be her stupid bloody mother!
Susan grabbed the phone. She punched in a number. There were seven rings before it was finally answered. Then there was another delay, a fumbling, before the r
eceiver finally made contact with her mother’s loose mouth.
‘Erm … yes? Hello?’
From her many years of experience, Susan could tell that she was on at least her third bottle of wine. Accordingly, she skipped the formalities. ‘How many times have I told you about handing out my phone number?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ Susan said abruptly. ‘Don’t come over all innocent. I know it was you.’ It wouldn’t have taken Gabe long to worm his way in. He could turn on the charm when he had to. A few niceties, a few easy compliments and she’d have been putty in his hands. The stupid cow had probably put the kettle on and made him a cup of tea.
‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘Exes are called exes for a reason.’
‘What?’
‘For God’s sake,’ Susan said. ‘Didn’t it even occur to you that I might not want to hear from him?’
‘I didn’t—’
‘Yes you did,’ Susan interrupted. ‘I know you did. What’s the point in denying it? He just called me. I thought we had an agreement. I ring you every week, every single week. I make sure you’re okay, that you haven’t walked into your latest boyfriend’s careless fist, fallen over the cat or got too far behind with the bloody rent – and all I demand in return is that you never ever give out my number. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’
Her mother, always close to tears when the booze was swirling through her veins, produced a small pathetic sniffle. ‘I only gave it to that nice girl.’
Susan started. ‘What?’
‘Your friend,’ she whined, ‘the one you used to work with.’
‘I’ve no idea who you’re talking about.’
There was a pause, a small gulping sound as her mother sought solace from her glass. ‘A pretty girl, short blonde hair. Helen, er … Smith or something? I can’t remember. She came round this morning. She said you used to work together. She was very nice.’
‘Shit,’ Susan murmured. It had to be Jo.
‘I thought, you know, as you were friends, you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Right,’ Susan said. ‘And you didn’t think to ask first? No, of course you didn’t. Do you ever listen to a word I say?’
‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Now she knew who’d been poking around, Susan had heard enough. What was done was done and the quicker she ended this call the better. ‘Forget it. Just promise not to do it again, okay? They don’t like me taking private calls at work.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’ll give you a bell at the weekend.’ Susan said goodbye, put the phone down and glared at the table. So Jo had been doing Gabe’s dirty work, creeping around behind her back. It was the last thing she’d expected. Still, he could be very persuasive. She wondered how much he’d told her – and where. Gabe, as she clearly recalled, did most of his talking in bed.
Frowning, Susan looked at her watch. There were fifty minutes left. She had three choices: do nothing, call Marty Gull or do as Gabe requested. She quickly eliminated the first; doing nothing barely counted as a choice – it left her out of the loop and out of control. The second, calling Marty, wasn’t much of an improvement either. Ritchie Naylor’s murder was still preying on her mind. She was not convinced by Marty’s accusations – Gabe could have easily floored Naylor without resorting to a crowbar – or his protestations of innocence. The boy’s death had been just a little too convenient.
Susan had no real feelings for Ritchie Naylor. He’d been lowlife, a piece of scum. She didn’t even care that he was dead. What she did care about was that Marty might have done it. They were in this together and whatever he did could eventually rebound on her. Kidnap was one thing, murder quite another.
Which left only one choice: much as it pained her she would have to contact Gabe. But if she was going to do that, she would need to find a way to turn it to her advantage.
Susan made a strong black coffee, sat down and began to work through a plan. It was another twenty minutes before she had it clear in her head. It wasn’t foolproof but she was prepared to take a gamble. She glanced towards the steps to the cellar. She had come too far and was too close to her dream to let it all slip away from her now.
She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
Gabe answered straight away. ‘Susan?’
‘So what’s the deal?’ she said abruptly. ‘What do you want?’
‘You know what I want. This is crazy. You have to let Silver go.’
‘I can’t do that.’ She paused. ‘Not yet.’
‘You can and you have to.’
‘It isn’t just down to me.’
‘No, I’d kind of gathered that. But Delaney has his own way of sorting things and once he finds out who your partner is—’
‘Are you going to tell him?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ He groaned down the line. ‘Jesus, do you really think you can get away with this? It’s pure madness. It isn’t going to happen, you know it isn’t.’
‘Do you want the girl dead?’ she said. ‘Because that’s going to be the outcome if you talk to Delaney. I won’t be able to prevent it. I’ll have to warn him you see – my partner – and he’s not going to be happy. He won’t be happy at all.’
‘Like he wasn’t happy with Ritchie.’
It was a statement rather than a question, a confirmation of her worst fears. But she refused to rise to the bait. ‘Why can’t you just leave it alone? Go away, keep your head down for a while. This is none of your business.’
‘Of course it’s my fucking business,’ he said. ‘Silver was in my care and Delaney thinks I’m responsible for snatching her. Oh, and as if that isn’t enough, I’m also well and truly in the frame for killing Naylor.’
‘All the more reason to make yourself scarce. As soon as Daddy pays up, we’ll release her. She’ll tell him you had nothing to do with it. You’ll be in the clear.’
‘And the other little matter?’
‘I’m sure, given time, you can find yourself a decent alibi.’
‘Forget it,’ Gabe said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Well then, I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other.’
‘No, wait!’ he insisted before she could hang up. ‘Meet me. Just for ten, fifteen minutes. I’ve got an idea. There may be another way round this.’
She gave a cynical laugh. ‘What, so you can turn up with Delaney or the cops? I don’t think so.’
‘I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t. I’m trying to help you, Susan, not stitch you up.’
‘You’re trying to help yourself.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That too. But I’m not asking for much. I swear, I won’t tell anyone else about it. It’ll just be you and me.’
‘Why should I trust you?’
‘What have you got to lose?’
‘What have I got to gain?’
‘Peace of mind,’ he said. ‘This has all got out of control, you know it has. And you don’t want Silver’s death on your conscience any more than I do.’
‘I …’ Susan hesitated as though she was thinking about it. She left a long enough pause to make it sound convincing. ‘All right,’ she eventually agreed. ‘But let’s get one thing clear: if you double-cross me, you’ll be sorry.’
‘I won’t. I’ll come alone – I swear.’
‘And I can choose where we meet?’
‘Anywhere,’ he said.
‘There’s a pub on the corner of Clover Street in Kellston. It’s called The George. I’ll see you there at seven.’
‘Why not now?’
‘Because I can’t get away right now. That’s the deal, take it or leave it. If you can’t make it then—’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘The George at seven. I’ll be there.’
Susan fired a parting shot. ‘And keep this in mind: if you screw me over it’s not just Silver you’ll have to worry about – there’s the lovely Jo to
o.’
‘This has nothing to with—’
She quickly put down the phone and smiled. What a sucker! Standing up, she opened the cupboard over the sink, took out a bottle of brandy and poured herself a shot. She never drank much – she had no intention of ending up like her mother – but she needed something to keep her nerves steady. The next call would be even harder to make.
Fortunately, Gabe had already told her everything she needed to know. He had made an educated guess that she was working with someone close to Delaney but didn’t have a clue as to their actual identity. If he’d had a name, he would have mentioned it. She didn’t need to worry. He was just whistling in the wind.
With the glass in her hand, she dialled the 0800 number for Crimestoppers. Guaranteed anonymity. She cleared her throat as the phone was answered. ‘I have some information,’ she said in her best Dublin accent. ‘The London police are looking for a man, Gabriel Miller. He’s wanted for murder. Let them know that they can find him in Kellston at seven o’clock tonight. He’ll be in a pub called The George.’
Chapter Thirty-one
Leo had already been waiting for over twenty minutes, leaning on his bike and watching as the other lads made their surreptitious purchases and scuttled off across the Green. He had witnessed these transactions a hundred times and was careful not to stare too hard, to not draw attention to himself.
Stevie Hills was the kind of boy Leo’s mother would have described as ‘trouble’. He dealt in dope and stolen goods, nicked cars, and already had a couple of ASBOs under his belt. At sixteen he was two years older than Leo but a few inches shorter. What he lacked in height, however, he made up for in sheer intimidation. His arms and knuckles were decorated with crude tattoos and his eyes were a cold icy blue. His hair, invisible now beneath the hood, was shaved close to his skull.
Leo took a few deep breaths. There was still time for him to change his mind, to walk on past, to just go on home. But he couldn’t. He had heard the footsteps again last night, the heavy creak across the floorboards. He knew the man was back – the man who had taken advantage of Jo. This morning Leo had even picked up his discarded cigarette butts on the tiny square of lawn in front of the house.
