by Roberta Kray
‘Are you going to the police?’ Mrs Dark said, not moving.
Jo, her hands still on the wheel, slowly turned her head. ‘What do you think? Carla’s just admitted to killing my husband. Tell me you’d do something different.’
‘I think it might be worth thinking it through.’
Jo gave a hollow laugh. She leaned against the wheel and stared out of the window for several seconds. ‘Okay, I’ve thought about it. Now will you get the hell out of my car and leave me alone.’
Mrs Dark looked down and carefully stroked out the creases in her skirt. ‘You’re still in shock. If you go to the police there will be consequences.’
‘Too true,’ Jo said. ‘The kind where Carla ends up where she belongs – behind bars.’
‘And the children?’ Mrs Dark said. ‘What about Mitch and Lily? It won’t be easy for them, finding out what their mother did, spending the next God-knows-how-many years without her.’
‘She should have thought about that before she ran Peter over.’ In truth, Jo had no immediate intention of going to the cops. How could she with a teenage kidnap victim still stashed away in her flat? Drawing unnecessary attention to herself would hardly be the smartest move in the world. But Mrs Dark didn’t know that – and Jo was more than happy to keep her in ignorance.
‘And then, of course, there’s the other little problem.’
Jo shook her head in frustration. How was she going to get rid of the damn woman? All she wanted was to be alone. She thought about jumping out of the car and walking away but that was ridiculous. Where would she go and what if Mrs Dark was still here when she got back? No, the easiest solution was to just sit and hear her out. ‘And what would that be?’
‘If Carla gets arrested, she won’t – if you’ll excuse the cliché – go quietly. She’ll make sure the whole world knows exactly what happened to Leonard Kearns and why. And that will be the end, socially and financially, of the Strongs.’
Jo glanced at her, surprised. ‘Do you know all the dirty secrets of that family?’
‘People tend to let things slip when communing with the spirits.’
‘Ah, the blessed spirits.’ If Mrs Dark heard the sarcasm in her voice she didn’t respond to it. ‘Why should I care?’ Jo continued. ‘Why should I care what happens to any of them?’
‘I understand that you don’t think very highly of Ruby – granted, she is not an easy woman to like – but she did lose her son and if you believe that hasn’t hurt her, then you’re sorely mistaken.’
‘She still chose to keep quiet to protect her murdering daughter-in-law.’
‘No,’ Mrs Dark corrected, ‘what she chose to do was to protect her remaining child. Had Ruby pursued the matter of Peter’s death, had she handed Carla over to the authorities, she would have also been condemning Tony to jail. She would have lost both her sons and probably her fortune too. She made a pragmatic decision. Perhaps not one you approve of but nevertheless …’
Jo watched her narrow shoulders rise and fall in the smallest of shrugs. ‘Well, thanks very much for sharing all this with me. It’s been … illuminating.’
But Mrs Dark, either not getting the hint or deliberately ignoring it, said: ‘You have to ask yourself if you want justice, revenge, whatever you wish to call it, at any price. I mean, will it change anything? Will it, and pardon me for speaking so brutally, but will it bring your unfaithful husband back to life?’
Jo wasn’t even sure the charges would stick if she did go to the police. Carla would deny it. And Deborah was hardly likely to come bounding forward as an enthusiastic witness. It would only be her word against Carla’s, and Jo’s word would amount to little more than the neurotic ravings of a grief-stricken widow. ‘So you expect me to do nothing.’
‘On the contrary. There’s plenty you can do. You must realise that the information you possess puts you in a very powerful position.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Jo said incredulously. ‘Blackmail?’
Mrs Dark shuddered. ‘Such an ugly word, dear. I prefer to call it negotiation.’
Jo shook her head. She stared at the thin red lips of the woman sitting beside her. ‘Oh you’re good, very good. I hope Ruby’s paying you well. What is the going rate these days for helping to cover up the disposal of a mutilated body, illegal trading and a fatal so-called accident?’
‘Ruby did not ask me to follow you or to talk to you. At present you may desire nothing more than to see the family torn to pieces but there could be a more positive outcome from this … this tragic situation.’ Mrs Dark paused, gathering her thoughts together. ‘You may wish, for example, to consider Leonard’s widow and his son. I’m sure that Ruby, with the right incentive, could be persuaded to make a more suitable settlement – something perhaps of a size that would secure both their futures. A more useful result, wouldn’t you say, than the rather messy alternative of digging up the past and all its horrors?’
‘Perhaps they would prefer to know the truth,’ Jo said, although she didn’t really believe it. The truth, as she had learned to her cost, didn’t always bring closure or peace of mind.
Mrs Dark ploughed on regardless. ‘And then there will be the tricky problem of what happens to poor Mitch and Lily. If both parents go to jail, who will take care of them? The responsibility, I suppose, will fall to Ruby but she is … well, a lady of a certain age and possibly lacking the patience or the necessary sensibility to deal with young children. The likely financial crisis wouldn’t ease the situation either.’
Jo thought of the kids forced to live with a bitter, broken grandmother. It was not a fate she would wish on them. She turned her face away. She wanted to put her hands over her ears, to shout ‘lah lah lah’ at the top of her voice, to refuse to listen. She wanted to hold on to blind anger, to that Old Testament-type of retribution: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. People should be made to pay for their sins. Everything simple, black and white. None of these awful conscience-shaking shades of grey. She turned back and snapped: ‘For someone who claims an aversion to blackmail, you’re remarkably free and easy in its use. Of the emotional variety at least.’
‘I am simply pointing out the inevitable consequences of the … the perhaps somewhat impulsive, if understandable, action you may be intending to take.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Jo said. ‘So what’s in it for you?’
Mrs Dark made no attempt to deny her self-interest. ‘Naturally, I have concerns for my own future. I’m getting older – and more than a little tired. I currently have a good position, a roof over my head, and my responsibilities are not too onerous but if things were to change …’
‘You could be out on your ear.’
‘Indeed.’
‘So why should I take any notice of what you tell me?’
Mrs Dark’s only response was another slight shift of those thin narrow shoulders.
Jo closed her eyes. She already knew that she’d been outmanoeuvred, forced into a corner she couldn’t escape from. How would she ever sleep at night if the kids were separated from their mother, if their lives were ruined by some notion of revenge that she had chosen to pursue? None of this was their fault but they were the ones who would ultimately suffer. A few seconds of silence lapsed into a minute. She wondered what Peter would want, then wondered why she should even give a damn. What exactly did she owe to the memory of a man who had betrayed her so badly? A small moan whispered from her mouth as her eyes blinked open again. ‘Do you think it was an accident?’
Mrs Dark gave due consideration to the question. The answer, when given, landed firmly on the fence. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t even know that herself.’
Jo tried to imagine Carla outside the flats on Fairlea Avenue waiting for Peter to come out. What had been going on inside her head? A slow, festering resentment, perhaps at how the Strong men treated their women with such blatant disrespect. Years of humiliation had built up inside her. How long had she waited? An hour, maybe two, plenty of time for her
to painfully relive all those unexplained absences of her own husband, all those late nights, all those lies, all those cheap excuses. Was it even Peter she had seen as he stepped out on to the pavement? There was a part of Jo that could almost understand that awful rage, that single moment of absolute madness.
‘But if I keep quiet, accident or not, she gets off scot-free.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. It’s unlikely that Tony will ever agree to a divorce; she knows too much about his past. And Carla won’t push it – he knows too much about her too. They’re bound together by secrets, by fear and suspicion. He will never forgive her for killing Peter; she will never forgive him for the years of misery he’s inflicted on her. They will spend the rest of their lives thinking of ways to hurt each other. And in the middle of it all will be Ruby, still holding the purse strings, still making them both dance to whatever tune she chooses to play.’
Jo had heard enough. One more word on the subject and she thought she might scream. ‘If I promise to think about it, will you promise to do something for me?’
A flicker of a smile touched Mrs Dark’s lips. ‘Anything.’
‘Then will you please get out of my car right now.’
Chapter Sixty-nine
Marty had wandered casually back outside, checked that the coast was clear and made his call to Susan. Now, ten minutes later, he was still standing beside the striped umbrella, gazing down at the water. The rain had stopped and the surface of the pool, apart from an occasional ripple, was calm and glassy.
Marty squeezed the phone between his fingers. He couldn’t say for certain what had alerted him. A peculiar tightness in her voice perhaps? But then she had every reason to be anxious – in fact, half a million quid’s worth of reasons. Or maybe it was because she hadn’t asked any of the expected questions: Are you sure he’ll come? Are you sure he’ll come alone? Are you sure he doesn’t suspect anything? No, there’d been none of that. All she had said was that everything was fine, everything was ready.
He gave a sniff. Something was wrong. It was just a gut instinct but his guts were usually reliable. A low growl came from the back of his throat. He replayed the conversation in his head but this time wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was only nerves that had made her sound so suspicious. He could be reading too much into it.
Turning, he retraced his steps along the terrace, pushed open the wide French windows and went back into the house.
Delaney was sitting on the sofa. Although he had risen from his bed several hours ago, he hadn’t yet bothered to shower or shave. A thick stench emanated from his body, and his clothes – the same as he’d been wearing yesterday – were stained and crumpled.
Marty tried not to breathe too deeply. A moment ago he hadn’t been sure what he was going to do but now, faced with the prospect of spending what remained of the afternoon in this stinking stifling room, the decision was an easy one. ‘Bit of a problem,’ he said, lifting his phone. ‘I need to go out for a while.’
Vic raised his head and glared at him. ‘Problem?’
Once that glare would have made his bowels turn to water but Marty wasn’t scared of him any more. All that was left of the man he had once admired was an excess of blubber and bluster. Delaney was a spent force, a has-been, an old fat man. ‘Over at the Wapping site. Those fuckin’ Polaks are kicking off again.’
‘So send Parry.’
‘Are you kidding? He’s more likely to cause a bleedin’ strike than prevent one. Nah, I need to sort it myself.’ Marty glanced at his watch. ‘I won’t be long. I’ll be back well before—’ He stopped, careful not to refer directly to the kidnapping or ransom. Yesterday he had mentioned the K word and Vic had flipped, completely done his nut. Walls have ears, you stupid fuckin’ bastard! And this despite the fact they’d been alone. Yeah, Vic had really lost the plot. And that was fine, but what Marty really didn’t need was for him to fly into a temper again. If he did, he might never get out of here. ‘Look,’ he said calmly, ‘nothing’s going to happen before tonight, is it? They’re gonna wait until it gets dark.’
Vic lumbered to his feet.
For one awful moment Marty thought he was going to suggest coming with him. How the hell was he going to wriggle out of this one? But then Vic shuffled slowly over to the cabinet and started rooting through the bottles. Which was almost as bad. If he was too pissed to drive tonight, then …’
‘What are you doing?’
For a while, as if he hadn’t heard, Vic kept moving the bottles around. But then he looked over his shoulder and said, ‘You got any shit? I’m sure there was some here.’
Marty suppressed a grin. He took a couple of wraps from his pocket and passed them over. The white stuff was preferable to the booze – and it might pep him up a bit. ‘That’s all I’ve got,’ he lied.
As Delaney shuffled back towards the sofa, Marty edged out of the door. ‘See you later, then.’ If the traffic was light he could be there and back in an hour. It was probably an unnecessary journey but it would help put his mind at rest.
Chapter Seventy
As Jo unlocked the door and stepped tentatively inside, she heard the murmur of voices coming from upstairs. Her body tensed in disappointment. She had been hoping that the flat would be empty, that by some miracle Gabe Miller might have ghosted his ex-wife and all her associated problems out of the building. But no such luck.
She glanced down at her wrist. Her watch, surprisingly, said half past four. Where had all the time gone? She couldn’t remember much of what she’d been doing for the afternoon. Just driving around and thinking. Or maybe not even thinking that much.
‘It’s me,’ Jo shouted up in case her arrival was mistaken for someone less welcome. She had no desire for another black eye.
Walking into the living room, she expected to see two people drained by the effort of a long and emotional discussion. Instead she was presented with a picture bordering on domestic harmony. Gabe and Susan, their shoulders touching, were sitting side by side on the sofa. They looked calm and comfortable, too comfortable. Their faces were without anxiety and their hands, at least now, were innocently clasped around their matching coffee cups. She looked from one to the other, feeling a spurt of resentment: So she’d been worrying all morning for nothing! But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered her. She felt, although she hated to admit it, a hint of jealousy too. Gabe’s attention seemed completely focused on his ex. From behind the closed door of the bedroom came the sounds of a pop music channel playing on the TV.
‘So?’ Jo said, a little more aggressively than she’d intended. She addressed the question directly to him.
‘It’s sorted,’ he replied coolly. ‘You don’t have to worry. Susan’s leaving tonight. There’s a ten-thirty flight to Palma; I’ve booked a ticket.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
Jo scowled at him. ‘Well I presume she’s not taking Silver in her hand luggage. What happens after she’s gone?’
‘I’ll call Delaney and arrange to take the kid home.’
Her hands flew out in a gesture of frustration. ‘And tell him what?’
‘I’ll figure out something.’
‘And would that be the kind of something where you end up face down in a ditch with a bullet in your brain?’
Susan flicked back her long auburn hair and sighed. Her knee nudged against Gabe’s. ‘What did I tell you? Jo doesn’t do simple. She has to make a crisis out of every drama.’
‘I am not making a—’
Gabe quickly raised his hands. ‘Pull in the claws, girls. We have more important things to worry about.’ He got to his feet and looked at Jo. ‘You got any cleaning stuff here?’
‘What?’ The question threw her off balance. For one mad moment Jo thought he was planning on cleaning the flat. Huh? She looked around, wondering just how much dirt had gathered over the past seven days.
‘I need to clear out the house where Silver has been kept,’ he explained. He gave her a long hard look
. ‘That’s the deal.’
It didn’t sound like much of a deal to Jo. She threw an angry glance towards Susan. ‘Why should you clear up after her? Let her do her own dirty work.’
‘Sure,’ Gabe said. He shrugged. ‘I won’t bother if that’s what you want. Only as it’s your name on the lease, I thought you might …’
‘Under the sink,’ Jo said.
A few minutes later they were on Barley Road. Jo, faced with the choice of staying with Susan or clearing up the mess her erstwhile friend had left behind, had gone for the lesser of two evils. After the kind of day she’d had, she didn’t trust herself to be alone with yet another person who had used and betrayed her. She didn’t have much faith in the ability of any man to do a decent cleaning job either. If her future was dependent on some random fingerprints she’d rather scrub away the evidence herself.
Gabe strolled past the white Mondeo and walked another ten yards up the street. He got into a battered blue van.
Jo, with a carrier bag full of bin-bags, bleach and J-cloths, climbed in beside him.
She guessed that this was one of Snakey’s vehicles. She slammed the door shut. ‘What’s to stop her from just taking off with Silver?’
‘She won’t.’
‘And you know that because …?’
‘Because she wants out. She’s had enough. Why do you think she turned up at your place last night? Before long she’ll be on her way to Spain.’
‘And?’
‘What makes you think there’s always an “and”?’
Jo tugged at the seatbelt and pulled it across her chest. ‘Experience,’ she said. ‘So who’s this guy she’s been working with?’
