by Nigel May
Tommy signalled to Jemima to let go. Reluctantly she did so. She'd been enjoying inflicting a harsher pain than was required. She was thinking about Winston. In her mind, Amy deserved to suffer.
‘Any more accusations like that, young lady, and you’ll end up in deep water,’ snapped Tommy.
‘Yes, I know, with concrete boots around my ankles. Heard it all before. I’m becoming used to how you all work now. You don’t scare me Tommy ...’ Amy was determined to show some bravado and stand firm, despite the nervous rhythmic beating of her heart banging within her. She couldn’t fear Tommy, she couldn’t. She wouldn't allow it. Men like him were fuelled by brutish power and bully tactics.
She continued. ‘I know you’re hiding something. I could hear you and Adam talking about Riley. I heard a lot before this bitch of a viper took hold of me.’
‘There was nothing to hear ... so I find that very hard to believe.’ Tommy didn’t sound quite so confident. Something in Amy’s mind made her think that maybe she had hit a little bit closer to home than Tommy desired. She was determined to try and roll with it. She was beyond fear. If Tommy was involved in Riley’s disappearance ... in Laura’s death ... then she was determined to try and call his bluff. She owed it to Laura and if Riley was still alive then she owed it to herself to find out the truth.
‘I heard you and Adam plotting. You don’t like me being back and asking questions about Riley. My best friend is dead, my husband too apparently and I think you’re up to your neck in it. You two had so much to gain from Riley’s death. I wouldn't be surprised if you had blood on your hands. What are you going to do, Tommy, have me killed too ...?’
‘It was three people who died, you giddy bitch ...’ Jemima couldn’t help herself from speaking. How dare she forget about Winston?
Amy ignored her and stared at Tommy, trying to work out what was happening behind his eyes. Was that a crease of vulnerability she could see there? A reddening of his cheeks? She thought so. She continued to stare, determined not to break his gaze.
‘You know nothing, you silly cow. Riley was a criminal, a convict, a killer, a monster, a liar. He got what he deserved. Whoever killed him had their reasons. Your stupid friend and that useless sidekick just got in the way. If anyone’s to blame for their deaths it’s Riley. So take your stupid, unfounded accusations and lay them to rest because if you don’t then somebody might have to lay you to rest with them ... for good.’ Tommy flicked his fingers dismissively at Jemima, indicating that he was done with Amy.
Despite the fact that she was sure she could hear her own fear in her voice as she spoke, Amy was determined to have the last word. ‘The truth will out, Tommy. Somebody was responsible for Laura’s death, and Riley’s, if it was him who died ... if it’s you, then there's not a person in the land who can stop me from making sure that you fucking burn in hell.’
Jemima grabbed Amy’s arm and dragged her from Tommy’s office. Amy could see a totally bemused Jimmy staring at her as she was frog-marched towards the casino exit. He attempted a smile, wondering just what type of interview answers Amy had given to be ejected out of the casino with such speed. He guessed she wouldn’t be joining the workforce.
As they reached the door, Jemima swung Amy around to face her. Venom was plastered across her face. ‘Your late husband had a lot to answer for. People are dead because of him. Good, warm people put into an early cold grave. Riley deserved his own death. The others didn't ...’ Amy was sure that a pool of tears had begun to form in the corners of Jemima’s eyes. ‘Now get out ...’
Jemima swung her arm in fury, the palm of her hand contacting with a full-sounding crack across Amy’s face. As she did so, she pushed Amy out into the street through the open door of the casino. Despite her insubstantial frame there was a sheer force behind both the slap and the push, causing Amy to fall to the kerb.
Holding her hand to her cheek, Amy stared up at Jemima. Tears had started to streak down Jemima’s face.
‘What was that for?’ asked Amy, her cheek becoming sorer.
‘That was ...’ Jemima’s voice faltered, her breathing random. ‘That was ... that was ... for calling me a viper.’
As Jemima ran off, her sobs audible, Amy couldn’t help but feel that there was more to Jemima Hearn than just being Tommy’s simpering wife. She hated Riley, and obviously Amy herself by association. Her brutal outburst had definitely just put her well and truly onto Amy’s list of suspects.
37
Now, 2015
* * *
Tommy was worried. He had been ever since Amy had been taken from his office. In his heart he knew that Amy was bluffing, but why did his head keep telling him that maybe she had heard more than she was ever supposed to. It was a dilemma that he had been worrying over all day.
Amy had become a hindrance of major proportions. Before she’d been no more than a mosquito to him, buzzing around with no sense of direction, but now, he wasn’t so sure. She was becoming smart. More like a bird of prey with a target in mind, ready to strike. And he couldn't risk that target having anything to do with the body of Weston Smith buried beneath the casino. Not even track-proven hard men like Tommy and Adam messed with the London East End boys like Jarrett Smith. Not without brutal payback.
Today had not been a good day for Tommy. Adam’s visit and then the face-off with Amy had left him more than unsettled. He needed to do something. It was time for action. But what? Tommy wished that Cazwell was still alive. He would have known what to do. Adam was his arch enemy, but Cazwell would have pulled together with him for the sake of family, for honour, and to keep Jarrett Smith away from his turf. Fuck, who was Tommy trying to kid? If Riley’s dad had still been alive he wouldn’t have let the situation become such a fuck-up in the first place. But Cazwell was gone ... safe in his grave. Tommy would take the fall-out with Adam if Jarrett Smith ever found out the truth. They’d be the ones choking on their own blood or feeling the force of a crowbar on their skulls.
No, Tommy had to act and he had to act now. If there was any chance that Amy did know any finger-pointing facts then she needed to be stopped. Tommy picked up his car keys and marched out of the casino, a man on a mission ...
* * *
Dolly Townsend hated it when the sex she experienced with Adam Rich was interrupted. It was always good. Varied but good. She pleased him, she knew that. She was master of her trade and that, as ever, pleased her.
But interruptions were never welcome, especially when she had literally been a breath away from what had promised to be a rather nerve-fizzing orgasm. Adam gave her the kind of sex that she liked, the kind that she needed. Especially as it paid handsomely. And she gave it back to him in unadulterated layers of pleasure.
Thank Christ his wife was away from home most of the time – in London he said, staying with her sister – as Adam loved calling on Dolly whenever he had a chance. If he was angry she’d play slave to his master, submissive to his needs. Thinking of the extra cash she'd earn was always a soothing mental lotion for any momentary pain she suffered. If he was just back from a job he would often be more caring in his love-making, spending time cuddling and spooning, the warmth between their two bodies seemingly the antithesis of whatever brutal act he had doubtless been undertaking. And then there were the times when he simply wanted to fuck. Hard, deep, fast. They were all panels forming the patchwork of Dolly's professional life.
Today, Adam had been in the mood for the last of those options. She was to go to Adam’s house, ready to fuck. Whatever plans she had for the evening were put on hold. When her number one client phoned, then she came running ... all the way to the bedroom and straight onto her back. She had been thinking non-stop about Adam since their last meeting. He was good to her, maybe he could be in more ways than he realised.
Adam had just been ploughing into Dolly from behind – his favourite position for deeper penetration – when the banging at the front door had started. At first they had both ignored it. The house was quiet, apart from th
e moans of ecstasy emanating from the bedroom, as Adam wanted to listen out for either Lily, who was out working, or Caitlyn returning home. Not that either was likely to. Caitlyn had been away for days and as far as he knew was still in London, even though any attempt to ring her had gone straight to answerphone. She normally phoned before returning home. As for his daughter, Lily, she’d said she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow when she’d hurriedly left the house earlier that evening.
But as the banging on the door continued, it had put Adam off his stroke and Dolly could feel his erection wilt within her. Pulling out of her, Adam had grabbed a dressing gown and angrily marched off to answer the door, leaving a totally frustrated Dolly wondering if she should finish herself off. Assuming that Adam would be back as soon as he had dismissed the ill-timed caller, Dolly lay back on the bed and lit up a cigarette.
When she was stubbing it out some five minutes later and there was still no sign of Adam, she decided to try and see what was happening. If play-time was over then she needed to know about it. She'd still want her full fee though.
Slipping on a silk kimono, Dolly looked around the room. She longed to live in such luxury. Dolly dreamt of being surrounded by beautiful handmade rugs, ornaments that probably cost more than Dolly’s entire flat and with chandeliers hanging from every ceiling. One day, she said to herself, one day ... in fact, maybe one day soon.
Dolly could hear voices coming from downstairs. They were raised and angry. At first she thought it may have been Adam’s lucky bitch of a wife coming home from yet another shopping trip, doubtless with another over the top mirrored statue – the house was becoming overrun with them – but as she strained to hear, she could tell that both voices were male. Moving to the door, she opened it as quietly as she could and sneaked out onto the landing. The voices were coming from a room off the main hallway at the bottom of the house’s sweeping staircase.
She could hear Adam and the man he was talking to – Adam called him Tommy – quite clearly. It was apparent that both of them were worried about something, and that it was pretty major whatever it was. Seating herself at the top of the staircase, she lit another cigarette, listening to every word and soaking up the information like a sponge.
Eavesdropping had never been so interesting, or as potentially rewarding. As Dolly tip-toed back into the bedroom when the men brought their heated interaction to a close, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. She realised that this was the moment she had been waiting for. The moment when maybe the luxuries she’d dreamt of so many times in the past could finally be within her expertly manicured reach.
Slipping off the kimono, she stubbed out the cigarette and lay back on the bed, awaiting Adam’s return and looking forward to what she knew would be a rather jaw-droppingly wondrous orgasm.
38
Then, 2008
* * *
‘That is some fucking rock, Amy! Russian cosmonauts could land on that and be exploring for days. I am seriously jealous.’
Laura hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Amy’s diamond wedding ring ever since Riley had slipped it onto his new wife’s finger earlier that day. The ring was obscenely large and even Amy had been taken aback by its sheer size when her husband had first showed it to her. Riley had picked it himself and was determined that Amy shouldn’t see it until the big day. Big being the operative word. It swamped her finger and rested on her hand alongside her equally blinged-up engagement ring like a massive sparkling Frisbee, causing light to bounce off its every facet like a Las Vegas night skyline. Amy adored it, partly because it was larger than she had ever imagined but also because of the oversize smile that spread itself across her husband’s face every time he looked at it. Lord only knows what it had cost but if the illustrious world of plastics was doing so well then who was Amy to question the cost? It made her dreamy with the euphoria of romance.
‘You are now officially my wife. That slab of beauty proves it. Together forever, till death do us part and all that,’ said Riley, taking his wife’s hand in his and whisking her off for yet another dance at their evening wedding reception. ‘If you will excuse us, Laura, my gorgeous new wife and I would like to strut our funky stuff.’
Laura pointed at a smirking Riley as he waltzed Amy off to the dance floor. ‘He is such a keeper. If you ever grow tired of him then send him my way and get him to bring the ring too.’
Riley winked at Laura as Amy raised her eyebrows jokingly and stated, ‘Not a chance, sister!’
Amy was the happiest woman alive. The day had been everything she had been planning for months. The beautiful rural church in a tiny village just outside Manchester had been picture postcard perfect. The summer roses growing around the lych gate were in full bloom, the weather was hot enough to warm the skin but still a cooling breeze stopped the humidity from straying into the uncomfortable, and her best friend, Laura, had looked every inch the perfect bridesmaid. The only cause of misery to the new Mr and Mrs Hart was the absence of their parents, all of them taken before their time.
The ceremony had definitely been a meeting of two different worlds. Amy’s friends and what family she had left were low-key, from a world where wedding costs would normally be kept to a minimum and the evening reception would amount to a local pub band and a basic spread of sandwiches and finger food.
So the marriage of Amy Barrowman, one of their own, to the successful, ruggedly handsome and undoubtedly loaded businessman, Riley Hart, was a real show-stopper.
Riley’s side of the church was rammed with suited and booted, dressed to impress with diamonds and pearls. The right/left rich/poor divide in the church was wider than the age gap between Madonna and some of her beaus, but neither bride nor groom cared. They only had eyes for each other and as long as everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, which they did, then how could the day be anything other than the most wonderfully romantic success?
The evening reception was held at one of the most expensive hotels in Lancashire, last seen within the pages of Hello magazine as the wedding venue of a Formula 1 racing car driving and his pit-stop girl turned Big Brother star girlfriend. Amy and Riley made sure that caterers had been called in to see that nobody was ever hungry, a never-ending supply of starters, mains, desserts and various amuse-bouches arriving at the tables with appetising regularity.
Then there was the music. One of Manchester’s trendiest club names spun the tunes, his set a heady mix of mainstream pop, Motown magic and US soul. Riley and Amy’s first dance was to a retro delight of a tune they both adored, ‘Together We Are Beautiful’ by Fern Kinney. It had been playing on a radio station in the car on one of their first dates together and both of them had instantly made it ‘their tune’.
Laura had been a torrent of tears as she watched Riley move her best friend around the dance floor. She’d originally planned to film the first dance and upload it onto You Tube but not being able to focus through her waterfall of tears blitzed the idea. Not that the tears had stayed for long. In true Laura fashion, she had made a beeline for one of the guitarists in the Indie group Riley had hired for the night. She’d seen them a few times on MTV and guessed that they would be well connected. A smiling Laura had last been seen heading off with the baggy-haired musician to make a few connections of her own in the privacy of her hotel room.
The band hadn’t gone down so well with everyone. Jemima had looked on as they swayed their way around the specially built reception stage and looked down her nose in disgust at what she saw as their ‘grubby outfits’ and ‘hair that looked like it needed a damned good wash’. Staring at them as if they were as welcome as an oil slick at a bird sanctuary Jemima turned to her husband and asked, ‘Why are they wearing trousers that don’t bloody fit?’
Tommy huffed. ‘They look like a bunch of fucking students ...’ Unsurprisingly, the Hearns had not stayed the entire evening.
Amy wouldn’t have cared if all of her guests had disappeared. As she moved around the dance floor she only had eyes for one per
son and that was the hunk of a man wrapping her in his arms, stroking his fingers through her hair, allowing his lips to gently nuzzle against her forehead and whispering words of love in her ears. It meant the world to Amy to feel the safety of his arms encircling her. It was a feeling that she hoped would never leave her.
39
Now, 2015
* * *
‘I thought we’d always be together,’ said Amy, staring into the bottom of her empty red wine glass. ‘I just find it so hard to contemplate the fact that Riley’s not around anymore.’
‘So, have you convinced yourself that Riley’s really dead, then?’ said Grant, refilling her glass from the other side of their Manchester hotel restaurant table.
‘I think I didn’t really know my husband when he was alive, so how the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on now he’s supposedly dead? Dead men don’t write letters and somebody did, and it was his handwriting. I can’t deny that. So he must be alive, but as he’s not contacted me in person, how can I tell?’
‘And what about Tommy Hearn and Adam Rich? Are you sure they’re involved?’ Amy had filled Grant in on her run-in with the two men at Dirty Cash, and on her encounter with Jemima. After Grant had questioned her about the ever-darkening stain of a bruise on her cheek Amy could see no reason not to share what had happened with him. His company was proving invaluable as a way of sharing the burden of her ever-mystifying life.
‘I’m not sure about anything, but I would put money on them knowing something about what happened that night. Neither of them liked Riley, that’s for certain, but whether Tommy is a cold-hearted killer ... I don’t know. Adam kills for a living according to Lily, so anything’s possible with him, but what does he have to gain? Other than his gangland rival being out of action for good. Christ, and to think I used to lie awake at night worrying that I wouldn’t know the finer details of the plastics trade and would be an embarrassment to Riley. I didn’t think for one second it was all a cover up for something so ...’ She searched for the right word, her mind lost in thought, before deciding on ‘… diseased’.
