Strong Women

by Roberta Kray

  Jo sat in the office and pondered on whether her decision not to accompany Gabe Miller was down to good sense or plain old-fashioned cowardice. She had persuaded herself that he stood a better chance of sorting things out if he went to the flat alone. Now she couldn’t help questioning whether that really was the case.

  Gabe and Susan had, to put it mildly, a somewhat chequered history. What if the encounter had gone horribly wrong and turned into a full-blown fight or worse. Anything could have happened. What if Susan was armed? What if she had a gun or a knife? There had been no evidence of a weapon last night but then, with the booze and the shock, she had hardly posed much of a threat. In fact, if Susan had been intending to use any force she had effectively been saved the trouble by Jo’s self-inflicted bump to the head.

  But then she had another worrying idea. Perhaps it wasn’t just Susan’s reaction she should be concerned about. Gabe Miller had more than enough reason to want revenge on the ex-wife who had set him up with the police. How well did she actually know the man? Well enough, she thought, to believe him incapable of violence towards a woman – but since when had her judgement been worth a jot? She remembered the expression on his face when she had mentioned that Susan hadn’t even asked after him.

  Suddenly Jo found all sorts of unwanted scenarios sliding into her mind, most of them involving screams, twisted bodies and the wide, frightened eyes of a teenage girl. No, she should never have let him go there alone! She leapt up, reached for her jacket but stopped mid-flight. For a moment, like a participant in the children’s game of musical statues, she stood completely still, one arm outstretched, one leg slightly bent at the knee.

  What was she doing?

  Gradually the panic left her and she sank back into her chair. Over three hours had passed since he’d left Ruby’s and gone to the flat. If they were going to kill each other, they’d have done it by now and if they weren’t … well, what good could she do by barging in. She had to trust him because if she couldn’t, there was no one left to trust and if that was the case …

  Jo shook her head, unwilling to peer under that particular stone. She took a few deep breaths and tried to get her thoughts in order. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that Gabe would not endanger the life of Silver Delaney. He could’ve done a runner, taken off after she’d been kidnapped, but he hadn’t. He’d stuck around and got himself arrested for his trouble. And Susan wasn’t in any kind of a position to start kicking up a fuss; she was separated from her partner in crime, up to her neck in it and desperate for a way out.

  Jo decided that she was better off leaving them alone. Or was this just the latest excuse for her to avoid yet another confrontation? Before she could start going over old ground, she leaned down and lifted the carrier bag off the floor. If she was going to stay put, she needed a distraction and this one was guaranteed. Turning the bag upside down, she watched as its contents spilled out on to the desk.

  She put the lease to one side and stared down at the bundle of letters. She had read some but not all of them last night, picking them out at random and scanning through the contents.

  It had been an act of pure masochism. Part of what she’d felt, despite her drunkenness, was shame and embarrassment; the sometimes stumbling expressions of love, of shared passion and desire, of memories of time spent together, had never been intended for her eyes. She was like an eavesdropper listening in to someone’s private conversation and hearing exactly what she didn’t want to hear. But what she had felt most of all was anger and despair. All of Deborah’s letters had been written in response to Peter’s and the intensity of her words was like an echo of his own equally deep feelings.

  The knowledge that he had loved her so much made Jo’s heart turn over. She had known when they’d first met that he must have had serious relationships but he’d never talked about Deborah, never even mentioned her. And that wasn’t right, was it? Especially when the two of them were working together every day. Especially when …

  Jo glanced across the desk at the folded sheets of the lease. She might have been able to cope with his past, to have put aside her suspicions, if it wasn’t for those few terrible pages.

  She pulled the top letter free of the elastic band. It was the last, chronologically, in the set and had been posted to Thailand eight years ago when Deborah had written to inform Peter of her engagement to Tom Hayes. It was one of those ‘This is your last chance, if you really love me you’ll come back and make a commitment’ sort of letter. She didn’t specifically say that she would leave Tom but the meaning was pretty clear.

  There was some consolation, perhaps, in the fact that Peter hadn’t come back. It had been another three years before he’d stepped foot on British soil again. But he hadn’t been slow in getting in touch with her. And why would Deborah have agreed to work with him, giving up her lucrative job at Aspreys, if there hadn’t still been something simmering between them?

  Poor Tom, Jo thought, understanding how he would feel if he ever read the letter. It wasn’t easy being second-best. Folding up the sheets, she shoved them back in the envelope and slid the envelope under the elastic band and on to the top of the pile.

  There was, she knew, no real evidence of betrayal sitting in front of her. Most of it was just ancient history, a chronicle of an old love affair. Even the lease didn’t put Deborah in the frame. It was only Jo’s instincts that placed her there.

  She might have let sleeping dogs lie, put the letters back into the bag and taken them home with her again, if Deborah hadn’t chosen that moment to come into the office. Without bothering to knock, she swanned in with a couple of cardboard files under her arm. She was wearing an elegant designer suit, sheer tights and high heels. Her distinctive fine red hair was twisted up in a complicated top-knot. Seeing the state of Jo’s face, she wrinkled her nose but didn’t ask what had happened.

  Instead, after dropping the files into their rightful place in the cabinet, Deborah turned and said: ‘You’re not intending to work out front like that, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Jo replied, bristling at her supercilious tone. ‘I wouldn’t want to scare the customers.’

  ‘Quite.’

  It was that thin, clipped Quite that really got under Jo’s skin and propelled her into a decision she might not otherwise have made. ‘Oh, before you go, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’ Having covered the letters with her hands she now, very slowly, withdrew her fingers to reveal what was hidden underneath. ‘I was wondering if you wanted these back?’

  It took a moment for Deborah to realise what she was looking at. She took a step forward before her eyes widened with surprise and alarm. ‘W-where did you get those?’

  Guessing that she must have made a search of the office after Peter died, Jo replied: ‘They were here all the time. You just didn’t look hard enough.’

  For a moment Deborah was speechless. The tip of her tongue skimmed anxiously across her drying lips. But she quickly rallied. Putting one hand defiantly on her hip, she tilted up her chin and declared: ‘It’s not what you think. Peter and me – that was all over years ago.’

  ‘Really,’ Jo said.

  ‘If you’ve read them, and I’m sure you have, you’ll be aware that we split up before he even met you. I married Tom and …’ She gave a light shrug of her shoulders and moved a little closer. ‘And yes, if you don’t mind, I would like them back.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like this too,’ Jo said angrily, snatching up the contract, unfolding the pages and thrusting them in front of her. ‘The lease to Fairlea Avenue. It may help bring back some happy memories.’

  Deborah flinched and went pale.

  If Jo had retained any residue of doubt, it instantly disappeared. Some part of her, deep down, had still been hoping that it wasn’t true but that guilty response told her otherwise. With her heart hammering, she pressed home her advantage. ‘Did you think it was your precious little secret, that I didn’t have a clue about the two of you?’ If there was nothi
ng else she could salvage, there was still what remained of her pride. She gave a thin bitter laugh. ‘Peter always was a lousy liar.’

  Deborah stammered: ‘It wasn’t … we didn’t … He just needed someone to talk to.’

  ‘Oh, talking. Is that what they’re calling it these days?’

  The woman at least had the decency to blush. She opened her mouth as if about to offer up another excuse for why they might have been meeting in private but clearly had second thoughts. There was no point. The game was up. Her eyes closed briefly before fluttering open again. ‘I’m sorry. We never meant to hurt anyone.’

  ‘How could you imagine that I wouldn’t be hurt?’ Jo snapped, full of rage and indignation. ‘Or Tom for that matter. I presume he doesn’t know anything about this.’

  A visible shudder passed through Deborah’s body. Her voice went very quiet. ‘Are you going to tell him?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? He has the right to know, doesn’t he, the right to know that his wife was cheating on him for years.’

  ‘But he’s my husband,’ she said almost pleadingly.

  ‘And Peter was my bloody husband.’

  ‘Only for eight months,’ Deborah retorted, almost sneeringly. Perhaps thinking she had nothing left to lose, that Tom was bound to be informed, she was suddenly on the offensive again. ‘And the only reason he married you was …’

  ‘Why? Because he couldn’t have you?’

  Deborah glared at her for a second but then glanced away. Her eyes roamed around the room and the tightness in her face gradually dissolved. She looked back at Jo, shook her head and sighed. ‘No, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘So what did you mean?’

  ‘Just that Peter was always trying to run away from his problems.’

  ‘Problems,’ Jo repeated under her breath. A lump had come into her throat. Was that what she had been to him, some kind of temporary escape from his problems? And then, perhaps, she had become the biggest one herself. ‘Lucky that you were there then – to pick up the pieces when it all went wrong.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘No,’ Jo said. ‘I don’t. How could I if the only talking he was doing was to you?’

  ‘That was only because he didn’t want to spoil things between the two of you.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Jo snorted. ‘So he decided to sleep with his old girlfriend instead.’

  There wasn’t much Deborah could say to that and so she didn’t even try.

  Jo was aware that there were certain protocols to be observed on occasions such as these. She had read enough books, seen enough films, to be sure of what she ought to be doing. At the very least she should be rising to her feet, taking those few necessary steps forward and delivering a well-aimed stinging slap to her adversary’s cheek but somehow she couldn’t summon up the required energy. Her anger was ebbing, leaving only a dreadful emptiness in its wake.

  ‘What I’m trying to explain,’ Deborah eventually continued, ‘is that he wanted to put the past behind him. There were things that had happened, awful things he couldn’t deal with. He wanted to wipe the slate clean, to make a fresh start – to make a fresh start with you. He felt he couldn’t do that if you knew—’

  ‘Knew what?’ Jo interrupted. The only dark secret she was aware of was what Carla had told her. ‘Is this to do with Leonard Kearns?’

  Deborah gave a tiny jump. She stared at her, frowning. ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘A little more than you and Jacob originally chose to tell me,’ Jo said, hoping to sound confident enough to prise more information from her. That Mitchell Strong had been trading illegally, that Kearns had been his unwilling mule and had died abroad, were reasons enough for Peter to be unhappy but they hardly accounted for the kind of trauma that Deborah was hinting at.

  She was about to pursue it when there was a knock on the door and Jacob poked his head in. Sensing the chilly atmosphere, he glanced from one to the other with a growing look of concern.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Five minutes,’ Deborah said sharply, splaying out her palm.

  Jacob looked at Jo.

  She nodded. ‘We’re almost done.’

  He hesitated but then, with the wisdom of a man who knew better than to get caught in the crossfire, smartly withdrew. ‘Five minutes,’ he repeated as he closed the door behind him.‘We’re getting busy out here.’

  ‘So,’ Jo said, her gaze immediately fixing on Deborah again, ‘seeing as we’re all pushed for time, perhaps you’d like to enlighten me as to what was really troubling Peter.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  Deborah shook her head. ‘I promised.’

  ‘Peter’s dead. There’s nothing you can say or do that can hurt him now.’ But Jo could see from Deborah’s fixed expression that she wasn’t going to budge. Quickly, she made a decision. There was nothing else for it; she would have to resort to more underhand tactics. She gently pushed the letters and the lease across the desk. ‘Tell me everything and you can have these back. I won’t even mention the affair to Tom.’

  Deborah’s eyes filled with hope and then suspicion. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

  ‘You don’t,’ Jo said. ‘You’ll just have to take my word for it.’ What she was doing was part bribery, part blackmail – neither of which cast her own character in the greatest of lights – but she was past caring about what was right or wrong. She would play as dirty as she needed to in order to find out the truth.

  Deborah’s loyalty to Peter clearly had its limits. Offered the possibility of saving her own marriage, it didn’t take her long to come to a decision. ‘You’re not leaving me much choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice,’ Jo replied coldly.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Deborah sat down, placed her hands neatly in her lap and took a moment to collect her thoughts. She stared at the floor before slowly lifting her eyes. She looked in need of a very stiff drink. ‘What do you know?’

  Jo took a moment of her own before replying. She had to be careful about what she said next. Either too much or too little could be a mistake. She didn’t want Deborah spinning her some yarn. Keeping it simple but factual seemed the best way forward. ‘That Leonard Kearns smuggled gemstones for Mitchell, that he died out in Burma.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That Peter and Tony were there when it happened.’

  Deborah nodded. She waited but when Jo said nothing more, she took a deep breath and began to speak again. ‘Leonard got ill shortly after they arrived. Mitchell should have called a doctor but he didn’t. He wasn’t what you’d call the most sympathetic of men. He viewed illness as a weakness, something to be ignored and overcome. They were only there for three days and Leonard spent most of them in bed in his hotel room.’

  ‘Why didn’t Peter call a doctor?’

  ‘Because he didn’t realise how sick he was. They were out all day and in the evenings Mitchell insisted that they shouldn’t disturb him. He said Leonard had a mild dose of flu, that he’d be fine if he got some rest.’ She stopped suddenly, her right hand leaving her lap and hanging briefly in the air before slowly dropping down again. ‘Peter never forgave himself for that. He always thought that if he’d just gone to see Leonard it might never have happened.’

  Jo turned her face away. She didn’t want to see the pain or emotion in Deborah’s eyes. This, she suspected, was only the beginning of Peter’s regrets. There was worse to come. ‘And?’

  Deborah lifted her head, exposing the long, slender curve of her very pale throat. She swallowed hard. ‘On the day they were due to leave, Leonard was up and about in the morning. He didn’t look too good but claimed he was feeling okay. He even drank some coffee with them in the hotel dining room. They were due to fly home early that afternoon but in the meantime Mitchell had a couple of last-minute deals to do. They left Leonard at the hotel and when they got back …’

&nb
sp; ‘He was dead,’ Jo said softly.

  ‘And that’s when Mitchell lost it. He went completely crazy.’

  Jo, recalling what Jacob had told her, had been pretty well keeping up with events to this point. ‘I guess he wasn’t too happy about losing his mule.’

  ‘Oh, that didn’t bother him much; men like Mitchell can always find some other sucker to do their dirty work. It was only his precious rubies he was bothered about.’

  ‘How to get them back into Britain,’ Jo said.

  ‘How to get them out,’ Deborah said.

  ‘That’s what I just said.’

  Deborah’s face twisted with frustration. ‘You still don’t get it, do you? How do you think Leonard usually smuggled the rubies out of the country – put them in his suitcase, crossed his fingers and hoped for the best?’

  Jo shrugged. She hadn’t really thought about it. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He had to swallow them,’ Deborah almost shouted. She clamped her hand across her mouth and her voice slipped into a whisper. ‘The poor guy thought he was going home. He had them in his stomach already.’

  Jo stared at her. ‘What?’

  But Deborah wasn’t listening. She was lost to another place, another time. ‘Once he was dead there was only one way for Mitchell to retrieve them. Peter would have stopped him, I know he would, but by the time he got to the room it was too late. Mitchell had already lost the plot. He’d cut him open, sliced through his guts and …’

  ‘No,’ Jo murmured. She felt her own stomach shift.

  ‘And you can imagine the result,’ Deborah said. ‘It wasn’t as if he even knew what he was doing. He’d cut through the skin with a Stanley knife, dug through his flesh, his intestines and …’ Her eyes blazed into anger. ‘It was vile, disgusting. What Peter saw that day he couldn’t ever forget: Leonard’s butchered body, his father’s hands covered in blood, the stench, the bloody awful horror.’ She leaned forward over her knees and made a small retching sound. When she looked up again her face was grey.