by June Tate
‘Johnny? Why would it?’
‘Well, darling, he is connected to that kind of world after all. This worries me, Victoria.’
She was immediately defensive. ‘Only through his father! He has a legitimate business and is as concerned as I am.’
Bruce wasn’t convinced. ‘Are the police giving you any protection?’
‘For goodness’ sake, it was only a break in, stop being so bloody dramatic! George is always at the club and . . .’
‘Johnny is with you outside, I suppose?’
‘Not all the time, he does have a business to run and anyway it’s not necessary. I’ve not personally been threatened, you know.’
He laughed. ‘Sorry. I can’t help it, I still feel responsible for you. Come on, let’s go for a walk round the harbour, then later we’ll have lunch somewhere.’ And he dropped the subject.
It was an enjoyable day; both of them so used to one another, and as the day progressed it was as if they’d never been apart. They laughed together, teased one another, enjoyed walking around together and when Bruce took her hand it was such a natural thing to do, Victoria didn’t even notice. They stopped in a small pub in Brockenhurst for a drink before driving home.
‘Come in for a coffee before you go back to Portsmouth.’ Victoria suggested.
Once inside the flat, Bruce was aware of the things that were missing and was again worried. But he kept his thoughts to himself.
They sat on the sofa together, drank their coffee and talked about their day.
‘It was like old times,’ he said softly and, putting his arm around her, kissed her gently. ‘Wherever I am, Victoria, if ever you need me all you have to do is pick up the phone. I’ll give you a number to call when I go to Malta.’
She gazed fondly at him. ‘You would do that for me, even after everything?’
‘Yes, darling, and if things get difficult, you could always come out to me, you know.’ Seeing her worried frown he added, ‘I had hoped you would come with me as my wife, but if you need a bolt hole for any reason, I want you to promise me you’ll get in touch.’
She was overcome at his generosity under the circumstances. ‘I don’t know what to say, Bruce.’
‘Just promise that you will, that’s all.’
‘I promise.’
‘I will try and see you again before I go, if that’s all right?’
‘Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye,’ she retorted.
At the front door, he took her into his arms and kissed her longingly. ‘Do make sure you’re not making a big mistake, darling.’
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. Seeing the look of alarm that flashed in her eyes, Bruce said, ‘I’ll answer that.’
He opened the door. ‘Hello, Daniels,’ he said.
Eighteen
Johnny looked flabbergasted as he saw who had opened Victoria’s flat door. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ he demanded.
‘Just leaving old man,’ said Bruce with a grin. Turning to Victoria he said, ‘Thank you for a lovely day, see you soon.’
Johnny strode into the flat. ‘What the hell is going on?’
Victoria started laughing. ‘You should see the look on your face!’
‘What’s so bloody funny?’
‘Well, Johnny, it reminded me of the time Bruce and I were having dinner in the Cowherds before we broke up and you deliberately came over and mentioned we’d been out together. Now Bruce has turned the tables by doing exactly the same to you, the only difference was – he didn’t blow a gasket!’ She walked back into the lounge, still chuckling.
‘So where have you been?’
‘To the New Forest and Lymington. We had a lovely day, thanks for asking.’
He grabbed her roughly by her wrist. ‘Don’t play games with me, Victoria. What were you doing spending the day with him?’
‘Let go of me!’
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on!’
Seeing the anger flashing in his eyes, she answered. ‘Nothing is going on as you seem to be suggesting. I went out with an old friend that’s all, now let go of me.’
He did so and she rubbed her sore wrist, which was reddened by the force with which he’d held her. Now she was the one who was angry. ‘Don’t you dare use strong-arm tactics with me, Johnny, because I certainly won’t tolerate them.’
‘Sorry, but I was shocked to see him here in your flat. I thought it was over between you two. Now I don’t know what to think.’
She tried to explain. ‘Bruce is being posted to Malta very soon, he just wanted to say goodbye. There was nothing more to it than that. You forget, Johnny, Bruce and I were together for a long time before I met you.’
‘Oh, believe me, I haven’t forgotten. You may think you’ve broken up with him, but does he?’
Victoria remembered her conversation with Bruce and didn’t reply. Despite everything, he’d offered her a sanctuary should she need it and deep down she knew that was more than just friendship.
‘You are being ridiculous!’ she exclaimed.
Johnny reached out and this time his touch was gentle. ‘I’m sorry, but seeing you together . . . I love you, Victoria, I don’t want to lose you.’
She capitulated. ‘Now you really are being ridiculous. What are you doing here, anyway?’
‘They told me at the club you had taken the day off; I wondered if you were all right, so I came to find out. Thankfully you are.’ He released her and walked away. ‘Sorry, I’m just a bit edgy after the break in.’
‘Oh, that’s really sweet of you, but please stop worrying about me, nothing’s going to happen, whatever you think it was just a burglary and nothing more.’
But when the following morning she arrived at the club to find that someone had managed to get to the cellar by way of the loading bay for the barrels of beer and had removed the stoppers to some of the kegs, nearly flooding the place, Victoria did begin to worry.
Sandy had been doing the rounds of his old haunts, getting back into the swing of things, catching up with old friends, asking questions and finding one or two interesting answers.
Max Reynolds, it appeared, was causing a minor stir, swanning around the place, full of himself. Hinting that he had the backing of someone important, yet not giving anything more away. The members of the Southampton underworld were getting heartily sick of this newcomer among their midst and Sandy sensed a feeling of growing menace among this undesirable crowd and he didn’t like it. He said as much to George Coleman the next day when he went to report his findings. It was then he heard about the destruction of the beer barrels.
‘This is all small stuff,’ said George. ‘You know how it goes, little things meant to unsettle you, wondering what’s going to happen next. But what worries me, Sandy, is just what is going to happen next. I think I’ll go along and see this Reynolds.’
‘Do the police know what’s happened?’
‘Of course, I reported it straight away.’
‘Then, my friend, your intervention may be unwise. Just think, George, you have a business to run, don’t jeopardize that position. This isn’t the old days, you know.’
Coleman gave a sly grin. ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Sandy.’
That evening, Reynolds walked back to his home alone. He’d decided to have a quiet night and keep a low profile for a few days. He put the key into the lock and opened his front door when suddenly he was pushed into the hall and held up against the wall. He’d not had time to switch the hall light on, but from the low light from the street lamp outside he could see enough to recognize George Coleman. Coleman’s reputation was enough to chill his blood.
‘What do you want?’ he asked nervously.
‘You and me are going to have a little chat,’ said George, and he pinned the man’s arms behind and shoved him into the back room. Pulling out a chair, he pushed Reynolds into it.
‘Now what’s your game?’
‘Don’t know what you me
an,’ spluttered Max.
George held him by the throat and began to squeeze. ‘Don’t be stupid, lad. Let’s try again, shall we?’
Reynolds could feel the leather of the glove tighten and he fought for breath. ‘I can’t breathe,’ he cried.
‘Unless you start talking, you won’t ever breathe again,’ said George and slightly released his hold. ‘Who’s behind your little game and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’ And he tightened his hold.
‘All right, all right! Reynolds was scared out of his wits.
‘Talk to me!’ Coleman demanded.
‘He’ll kill me if I talk,’ he protested.
‘And I’ll kill you if you don’t. Your choice.’ Coleman squeezed a bit harder.
That was enough to loosen the thug’s tongue. ‘It was Pat Daniels. He asked me to put the frighteners on the girl from the club.’
This took George by surprise. ‘Why?’
‘He wanted to teach his son a lesson. Seems young Johnny wants to go straight instead of being the eyes for his father here and at the club among the toffs.’
Suddenly it all made sense to George and he let the man go.
Reynolds fell forward gasping for breath. ‘You bastard Coleman, you nearly did for me!’
‘That was my intention,’ he answered coldly. ‘What did he promise you in return?’
‘He said he’d take care of me.’
‘I bet he did and you thought he meant that in a nice way.’
‘What do you mean?’ Reynolds looked terrified.
‘You surely didn’t think he’d keep you around after you’d done his dirty work? He wouldn’t want any loose ends my friend. You are disposable . . . didn’t you realize that?’
Max remembered Daniels saying that no way was anything to tie him in with the job in hand and he cursed. ‘What should I do?’
‘Get out of Southampton as far away as you can and lie low. That’s if you want to reach old age.’ He turned and left.
As he walked back to the club through the darkened docklands, George was trying to think of how to deal with this information. Nothing would be achieved by his facing the London mobster, he no longer had a strong-arm team behind him and anyway, he needed to keep his nose clean. If he got too involved the future of the Club Valletta would be in jeopardy and he needed to maintain a clean record. But he also needed to protect Victoria. There was only one person who could deal with this head on.
Johnny Daniels was surprised to receive a call from George Coleman and even more so when he asked Johnny to meet him in The Lord Roberts in Canal Walk. But it was nothing to the shock he had when, seated together, Coleman told him what he’d learned.
‘My father? He’s behind all this. Are you sure?’
‘Makes perfect sense to me, son. Let’s be honest, you set up the robbery at Henry Charterhouse’s place, I knew that deep in my bones . . . now don’t deny it!’
Johnny met the older man’s gaze. There was no point in a denial – not now. ‘Yes, I did, and I deeply regret that, but I tried to stop the other two.’
‘Yes, I heard about the new alarm system, that must have pissed off your old man.’
Johnny smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, in no uncertain terms. That’s when I told the old man I wanted out because of Victoria.’
George sat back with a look of satisfaction. ‘There you go then, that explains it all. So what are you going to do about it? No one else is better placed to sort this.’
Inwardly, Johnny was seething to think his father could have pulled such a stroke.
‘What about Max Reynolds?’
George laughed heartily. ‘He’s so scared I thought he’d mess his pants. He’s just a bag of hot air, by now he’ll be long gone. Just as well because he was getting up the noses of a few undesirables and it would have become messy. It’s just your dad you have to deal with . . . are you man enough?’
‘Oh yes. You see, George, I know too much. I know where all the bodies are buried – figuratively speaking. I could put my father behind bars if I had a mind to!’
Leaning forward George issued a warning. ‘You be very careful, lad. Your old man is a tough nut; he won’t take kindly to any threats.’
Johnny knew this was sound advice. He would have to tread very carefully. He thought for a moment, then suddenly grinned. ‘As you are always saying, George, there’s more than one way to skin a cat!’
Pat Daniels was in his warehouse with a couple of his men, collecting materials for his next job, when, to his surprise, a couple of police cars pulled up and a detective came over to him.
‘Mr Patrick Daniels?’
‘Yes, that’s right, who wants to know?’
The detective handed him a paper. ‘I have a warrant to search your premises.’
‘You what?’
The detective ignored him and beckoned the team of waiting constables into the building. ‘Be very thorough,’ he told them. I don’t want you to miss anything.’
Pat watched in horror as the men systematically started their search. One of the two men with him began to say something but Pat shut him up, lit a cigarette, and watched carefully.
The building was huge, with building materials stacked high. There were stacks of building bricks, bags of cement, iron girders, casement windows and all manner of tools a construction business of this magnitude might need.
The following hours passed slowly, the searchers getting tired, the detective getting edgy when nothing untoward was to be found. Pat Daniels just watched, silently. His office had been inspected inch by inch, but there was nothing incriminating there.
One of the constables approached the detective and quietly said, ‘The place is clean, sir, as far as we can see.’
The detective looked grim but determined. ‘We haven’t finished yet. Carry on.’
Half an hour later there was a cry from the far corner of the warehouse.
‘Sir, over here.’
Pat Daniels looked over and stiffened as the constable pulled out a small wooden crate and forced it open. They all watched in silence as he produced two books.
The detective studied it and smiled to himself. He carried it over to Daniels. ‘If my information is correct, these belong to Henry Charterhouse. They were stolen along with a small Goya painting.’
Daniels feigned surprise. ‘I’ve never seen these before in my life,’ he insisted.
‘No, of course you haven’t. I need you to accompany me to the station for further questioning.’
‘Am I under arrest?’ Daniels asked.
‘Not yet,’ said the detective. ‘Are you going to give me any trouble?’
‘Why should I? I’ve nothing to hide.’ Daniels smirked, but his eyes remained cold.
It wasn’t long before news filtered through to Johnny that his father had been taken to a London police station. One of Pat’s men rang Johnny’s office to tell him.
‘Questioning about what?’ he asked.
The man didn’t want to discuss it over the telephone, so Johnny just asked him to let him know what happened. He placed the receiver on its cradle and smiled. And when, later that evening, he told George Coleman what had happened – he, too, smiled.
‘Nice work, son,’ he said and walked away.
Nineteen
Pat Daniels was being interrogated thoroughly by the detective and his colleague, but he continued to deny any knowledge of the two stolen first editions.
‘How long are you going to keep up this ridiculous pretence?’ asked the detective. ‘There is no way the books could have been stashed in your warehouse without your knowledge. You’re just wasting my time.’
But Daniels would not be moved and challenged the detective. ‘Prove it!’
The detective looked at him with some disdain. ‘Not necessary. I’m charging you with possession of stolen goods. Read him his rights,’ he told the man beside him, ‘then take him to a cell. I’ve had enough of him.’
‘I want my solicitor
,’ Daniels declared.
The detective got to his feet. ‘You certainly will need him. When you’ve finished here,’ he told his man, ‘let him make the call.’
After Daniels had made his call and was led away to a cell, he inwardly fumed. Someone must have given the police information or why would they have suddenly arrived, mob handed, at the warehouse? But who? It had to be an insider. No one else knew. None of his men would have squealed to the coppers, he’d stake his life on that, which only left one person. His son. His eyes narrowed. Would Johnny have dropped him in it? Only if he’d discovered that he was behind the burglary of the Teglia girl’s flat and the flooding of the beer cellar. If this was the case, was he so smitten with his girl that he’d put his own father behind bars?
Johnny received a call from his father’s solicitor later that day. He sat in his office and listened.
‘Your father is being charged with being in possession of stolen property,’ he was told.
‘Oh, and what was the property?’ Johnny asked, knowing the answer.
The solicitor told him.
‘What are his chances?’ he asked.
‘He has no chance, if you want my opinion. The police have been after him for some time, they won’t let this charge go away.’
‘Well, I suppose he’ll just have to suck his teeth and do the time.’
He heard the surprise in the other man’s voice. ‘Well I must say your lack of concern is surprising; he is your father after all.’
Years of pent up frustration surfaced. ‘He’s never been a real father to me,’ Johnny declared. ‘He has never shown an atom of love for either me or my mother. He’s a hard man and you know it. He’s been bloody lucky for a very long time and now it’s run out!’
‘He wants to see you.’
Johnny sat back and considered this request, then he spoke. ‘I can’t get away at the moment, I’m too busy. I’ll try and make it to the courthouse when his case comes up, if you let me know when.’ He replaced the receiver.
His father would never forgive him, he knew that, but he had no love for Pat. He’d never been able to please him even as a child when he’d striven for his father’s approval and now it was payback. Pat chose his way of life, had dragged his son into the business and now he would have to pay the price for a life of crime. Johnny thought his father had got off lightly. If the police knew all about his father’s past crimes, he would go down for years. Well, he’d be a good son and never tell . . . unless he was really pushed. Only one thing worried him: he’d have to come clean with Victoria and tell him about his father’s incarceration. He would have to confess to being involved with the burglary at Henry Charterhouse’s residence. How would she take it? There was only one way to find out.
