by Nigel May
‘I think Daddy's down under. Headed south. You can fucking join him,’ snarled Jarrett.
‘Please ... I swear I don’t know where ...’
The young man could say no more. With one swift push, Jarrett forced him brutally over the edge of one of the deeply dug shaft holes. It was deep – deep enough for what a demonically smiling Jarrett wanted. He knew that from having one of his men stake the site out during daylight.
The lad's screams filled the air for a split second as he plummeted downwards before coming to a final, dramatic silent crunch as his body hit the bottom. Jarrett’s work was done. The arousal of revenge ran through his veins.
As Jarrett sat back in the car, this time up front to try and avoid the young man’s piss, he reached into his wallet and pulled out the photo of Weston. ‘I’ll find the culprit, son. I’ll unearth the truth, don’t you worry. Revenge will come, sooner or later ...’
As Jarrett was driven back to London, he knew that his next move might have to be a return trip to Manchester.
* * *
Jemima wound down the windows of the Aston Martin, the cold winter air hitting her as she did so, and stared out at the scenery around her. The trees, devoid of leaves at this time of year, seemed to have a sinister life all of their own, each branch and twig twisting and turning its way like the gnarled fingers of a storybook witch. The surface of the lake in front of her appeared dark and brooding, almost ashen in its stillness. She looked around. There was no-one else to be seen. It was pure serenity.
Winston would have liked it here. He liked the open air. They could have come here for picnics, for endless bottles of champagne, laughing together and talking about how life could have been had they met at a different time. They could have stayed, staring out onto the lake on a balmy summer’s night, waiting for the sun to fade to a dusky light before making love in one of the many hidden lanes not far from the water's edge. Winston would have adored that too. He could have told her that he loved her, protectively placed his arms around her and told her that the world could be a perfect place. Winston might not have been perfect, but he could have been perfect for her.
Jemima smiled to herself. It wasn’t too late. They could still be together. Winston was waiting for her. She’d be better off with him. She knew that now. What had Tommy called him? ‘That useless sidekick’? How fucking dare he? She’d show him exactly who ‘that useless sidekick’ was. Taking a pen from the glove compartment she turned over the photo of her and Winston and wrote on the back. ‘To Winston, the only man who truly made me happy. Forever yours, Jemima x.’ Her body shivered in the cold air as she wrote. She underlined the word 'only' and placed the photo in her winter coat pocket, zipping it in so that it would rest in place. She smiled, a feeling of total readiness passing through her. Her work was done.
Memories of her last weekend with Winston flooded through her mind. Visions of him turning to her as they picnicked, wiping a smudge of cream from her lips where they had been eating strawberries, the taste of champagne on his lips as he kissed her and held her in his arms. The sound of his voice as he told her ‘I love you, Jemima Hearn, both inside and out’. When had Tommy last said he loved her? Thoughts of Winston brought a smile to her face again. A smile of happiness, of knowing what was right, of knowing what she wanted.
Her next action was to unlock the hand brake of the Aston and let the car roll down the slight incline that ran into the lake. She was still smiling as the freezing cold water poured into the car through the open windows. A huge shock to her system. But this was what she wanted. To be with Winston again. Jemima was already dead by the time the car disappeared below the surface of the water.
47
Now, 2015
* * *
Amy decided not to tell anyone about the shooting incident at the church. Not even Grant. Somebody was trying to warn her off, she was convinced of it. If they had wanted to kill her, then surely one of the three bullets would have done so. To miss once was unlucky, but to miss three times was almost definitely deliberate.
Amy had made another decision when she was on the way back in the taxi. She needed to start fighting fire with fire. So far she had constantly felt back footed, always playing catch-up in a rather sinister voyage of discovery. If she was to find Riley then she needed to try and take what little control she could, and that meant doing whatever it required to try and garner the right information to lead her to her husband.
Telling the taxi driver that she’d had a change of plan, she asked him to drop her at Dirty Cash. Once there she ventured cautiously back inside – the last thing she wanted was another run-in with Tommy and/or Jemima – she only had one cheek left unbruised. No, she wasn’t there to see them, she wanted to speak to Jimmy, the handsome and eager-to-please employee who had last seen her being marched off the premises the day before. Luckily for Amy he was working.
‘Back for a second interview? I wasn’t sure the first one had gone particularly well given the rate of knots at which you left here yesterday,’ he winked, more than a hint of suggestion in his eyes.
He was flirting. Perfect. Amy wouldn’t need to work this too hard. ‘Hi Jimmy, yeah it didn’t go too well, and I didn’t get a chance to see you afterwards either which was another downer.’ His face lit up. ‘Look I can’t really talk here. I think the bosses didn’t take to me. Can you take a lunch break? I’d love to speak to you about something. There are a few things that you could help me with.’ Amy angled her head coquettishly to one side and chewed slightly at her bottom lip. It was a pure prick-tease manoeuvre.
There was no way Jimmy was going to say no. ‘Er ... sure. I’m off for an hour in about twenty minutes. There’s a great sandwich place on the corner of the next street. We could meet there. My treat.’
Amy could feel herself blushing slightly. The poor boy was definitely thinking he was onto a winner. ‘No, I need to ask a favour so lunch is on me. Just don’t have anything too exotic and expensive in your sandwich, okay?’
‘Cheese and pickle it is! Can I ask you one thing though? The bruise on your cheek. You didn’t have it yesterday. What happened? Were you hit?’
Amy had to think quickly. ‘Oh that ... no, I whacked it on a taxi door. I wasn’t looking what I was doing,’ she fibbed. What was another lie to add to the mix? It wasn’t like she’d been honest with him about anything so far.
* * *
Amy breathed a sigh of relief as she walked back into the cold afternoon air outside Dirty Cash. She’d been dreading bumping into Jemima or Tommy again. Luckily neither had been there.
Amy stared across the road searching for the sandwich shop. A warm drink would do her good. If they’d been meeting in a bar she would have definitely ordered something a little stronger. After the episode at the church her nerves were in tatters.
Amy located the shop and started to walk across the road. Some inner sense of paranoia made her feel like she was being watched. Was it Riley again? She scanned around, letting her eyes dart in all directions. She was right. A lone figure, deep in thought, his gaze penetrative, stood on the other side of the road from her. She could feel his eyes burning into her. She didn’t know him, did she? She stared directly back at him, searching for recognition. Suddenly aware that he was being watched too, the man ducked his head and walked off down the street. Maybe she was paranoid? Manchester was full of all sorts of weirdoes and loonies. Or maybe he was staring at her bruise. Or maybe he fancied her? Or recognised her from the club? There could be a hundred different reasons. He was gone now, but even his absence made her feel a tad uneasy.
A shiver seared through her veins. Deciding she was just being paranoid, Amy hurried to the sandwich shop to wait for Jimmy.
* * *
Amy and Jimmy were finishing off the food they had ordered. Jimmy seemed fidgety and awkward as he pushed the last few crumbs of bread around his plate. They had volleyed flirtatious pleasantries back and forth between them whilst eating but he knew that he’d been asked
there for a reason. Jimmy may have been a fairly naive young man from Llandudno but he knew that he’d been treated to lunch for more than just his company. He guessed he would have to take the bull by the horns.
‘You’re a nice woman. I’m not normally chatted up by ladies like you, and certainly not treated to the dizzy heights of cappuccino and wholemeal butties by them, either.’ He laughed, a mixture of nerves and irony as he spoke. ‘I’m more of a bag of chips down by the pier kind of guy. Why did you ask me here?’
‘You’re a really nice guy, Jimmy ...’ Amy could hear how lame she sounded already.
‘But ...?’ he asked.
Amy opened the floodgates and told Jimmy as much as she needed him to hear. About Riley’s letter and Laura’s death, her hatred of Tommy Hearn and Adam Rich, about the Kitty Kat and how it was now Dirty Cash, Riley’s lies to her, moving away from Manchester and her current visit there with Grant. Although it felt somewhat cathartic to share her story, Amy felt exhausted by the time she had finished, as well as more than a little wary. She didn’t know Jimmy at all and nice though he seemed, she had no idea where his loyalties lay, especially now that she’d more or less confessed that he wasn’t going to achieve anything romantically should he decide to help her.
Jimmy sat agog listening to her story, his mouth open, his eyebrows raised.
‘So, asking you out on a date right now would be completely the wrong thing to do?’ asked Jimmy when she’d finished.
‘I come with more baggage than Manchester Airport, so yeah. But I need your help, Jimmy ...’
‘I guessed you were telling me all of this for a reason. What can I do?’ Jimmy chewed lightly on his fingernail as he wondered what was coming next.
‘I need somebody on the inside of Dirty Cash. To be my eyes and ears. You can guess from yesterday’s performance that I’m not exactly greeted at the door like a returning Olympic gold medal winner. But I’m sure that Tommy knows something about Riley and Laura’s deaths. Or Adam does, or Jemima. There has to be some little nugget that they may let slip when I’m not there which could help me. I need to sort this once and for all. To lay my husband’s memory to rest or track him down. You may hear all sorts about him in there but I need you to listen in and let me know what’s being said. My husband spent a lot of our life together lying to me, I know that now, but I need to find out the truth.’
A moment's pause. ‘Losing your husband and your best friend ... that sucks, man. Do you really think he’s dead? That’s pretty freaky to think he might have been able to fake his own death.’
‘So much chaos went on in the club that night, I’m not sure of anything anymore. Is Riley alive? That’s the million dollar question, Jimmy.’ The mention of money jogged Amy’s mind.
‘Of course I’ll pay you for your trouble, Jimmy. I’ll make it worth your while.’ Amy wasn’t really sure how. Her funds were dwindling, but if need be she still had possessions like her wedding ring back at her house in London. She hadn’t worn it for months, the sight of it too much of a gigantic, agonizing reminder of what she once had. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever want to wear it again. She’d sell something to pay Jimmy if she had to.
‘I’ll listen out for you, of course I will. If anyone says anything about that night I’ll contact you straight away. Shit, you’ve been to hell and back ...’ Jimmy reached across the table to take Amy’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze of understanding. ‘You don’t have to pay me, but there is one condition ...’
Amy could feel her heart sinking. There was no such thing as a free lunch. What did he want? She needn’t have worried.
‘When this is all over,’ he smiled, ‘can you introduce me to Grant Wilson? My mother loves him in that doctor show of his and if anyone can get me connected to some seriously fit women then he can. Although for the record, they’d have to go some to be as beautiful as you.’
Amy caught herself laughing at his cheek. ‘It’s a promise, you’ll have your introduction.’
Jimmy stood from the table and wrapped his coat back around his body. ‘Listen I had better go, my break is nearly over and if I’m to start acting like a cop from Broadchurch for you then I need to make sure I stay on the right side of the bosses. I can’t afford to be late. How do I contact you?’
Amy scribbled her hotel details down on a piece of paper and her telephone number. ‘I’ll be staying here in Manchester for a while. There’s so much I don’t know. This is one screwed-up jigsaw and there are still a lot of pieces missing.’
‘Well, you can count on me to do what I can.’ He took the paper and pushed it into his coat pocket. He was almost at the door when he turned round to face her. ‘And for what it’s worth, I think Riley Hart was a fool to ever cheat on you. If I was your fella then you’d be treated like a princess.’
Amy admired his charm. ‘If you were my fella, then I’m sure I wouldn’t be in this bloody mess in the first place. Now go spy ...’ She waved her hands towards the door.
As Jimmy left the sandwich bar, Amy headed to the counter to pay. She wasn’t sure if having Jimmy on her side would prove beneficial, but it certainly couldn’t do her any harm. At least it felt like she was doing something, talking control again. Even just sharing her story with him seemed to take a pressure off her shoulders.
What Amy didn’t realise as she walked back out into the fresh, wintery Manchester air, was that she’d also been sharing the story with the man sitting on the far side of the sandwich bar. Just far enough away to be able to hide himself behind carefully placed menus and lose himself in a dimly lit corner, he was still close enough to be able to hear the young woman talking about Riley Hart, to hear the words Dirty Cash, Tommy Hearn and Adam Rich form on her lips and to know that maybe one of them, or both, might know something about the disappearance of his only son.
Yes, Jarrett Smith was highly pleased that he’d headed back to Manchester, that he’d gone to Dirty Cash, recognised the woman he’d seen coming out of the casino as the ex-wife of Riley Hart and secretly followed her with the stealth of a lion hunting a gazelle into the sandwich shop. Any potential leads that could help him find out what had happened to Weston definitely had to be investigated.
And they would be.
48
Now, 2015
* * *
Dolly Townsend had already spent the money in her head a million times over. There would be a new house, somewhere posh like Prestbury or Alderley Edge. Somewhere where her sisters could visit, with their stuck-up rods planted firmly up their backsides, and finally realise that Dolly was the one in the family with taste, class and wealth.
She’d see them once every so often, just enough to make them green with envy and always just before jetting off to some sun-drenched holiday hot-spot frequented by film stars and top models. She’d take photos of herself lying on some white sandy beach with a cocktail in one hand and a millionaire tycoon in the other. After flying home on a private jet she’d have an eager to please chauffeur pick her up at the airport, ready to ferry her wherever she required and service her every need. Her life would be like a continual episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.
Oh, life would be one long diamond-encrusted experience for Dolly ... but only once she had the money. And to gain that she needed to work wisely with the information she’d heard from Adam and Tommy. The news that Weston Smith was buried in the foundations of Dirty Cash was the golden egg she’d been waiting for all of her life. The story had been on constant rotation in her mind ever since she’d overheard it.
She’d written things down at the first opportunity, making sure that all of the details were correct. She couldn’t afford to let anything be wrong. Adam had shot Weston. Riley had blackmailed him into buying the building for The Kitty Kat. Weston’s body was buried underneath the dance floor, which was now Dirty Cash. Weston was the son of a London mobster called Jarrett Smith. It was like some kind of fucked up Jason Statham movie. And Dolly was sure that she could end up playing the h
eroine.
Her first instinct had been to try and blackmail Adam. The man was beyond wealthy and he would be the one with most to lose should the information land in the wrong person’s lap. But what was there to just stop Adam pumping a bullet into her brain and disposing of her in just the same way as Weston Smith? How many people would actually miss a middle-aged prostitute? The same with Tommy, he had obviously been part of the gangland world for decades and would probably think nothing of having Dolly’s sorry white ass bumped off. No, Dolly had to play it shrewd and that meant going to Amy.
From what she’d heard, Dolly knew that Amy was the fly in Adam and Tommy’s ointment right now. Her reappearance in Manchester had set all of them seriously on edge. She had them flipping like a pair of jumping beans. The ex-Mrs Hart was loaded, surely. You didn’t spend years married to Manchester’s number one psycho without stashing away a pound or two. Yes, Amy would be a much safer bet and that was why Dolly needed to speak to her. Her money was as good as anybody’s and if Dolly had her way then a good chunk of Amy’s dosh would soon be hers.
Dolly had heard the men mention where Amy was staying. A fancy hotel ... she knew it well. Dolly had stared at many of the bedroom ceilings there on countless occasions. It had been a favoured haunt of some of her clients over the years. She’d made good money between the crisp cotton sheets there.
But as Dolly closed the door on her own apartment behind her and headed off to the hotel, she was hoping that today’s jaunt to try and track down Amy would be her most lucrative visit to date.
