‘What is it?’
‘You have Naomi,’ he panted.
‘Not yet. But when I’ve had her, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
‘Don’t you touch her,’ Henry snapped.
‘Do not raise your voice at me and don’t instruct me, Henry. I’ll know exactly when and how to touch Naomi, which will be when she wants me to. And I won’t be asking your permission first.’
‘I’m her father. At least understand that, even if you don’t respect it. I’m checking that she’s with you and that she’s OK.’
‘So my brother filled you in?’
‘Yes, he told me and then he left. And Annabel doesn’t know why and she’s very upset.’
‘Maybe he’s gone off the idea of fatherhood. He’s always been weak and useless.’
Henry only responded by saying. ‘So is Naomi with you or not?’
‘Yes, Henry, she’s here with me by choice. We’re enjoying playing with each other very much. The game is just getting interesting. She’s learning certain subtleties that she never gleaned from home. It really was time she left and wised up. Consider this a valuable part of her education.’
‘Don’t hurt her. Please.’
‘Henry, Henry! When the time comes, I’ll be gentle. I promise.’
Solomon slashed the call and left and secured his safe room. Then he stripped out of his clothes, downed a glass of whisky and headed to his bathroom for a hot shower. Which sometimes meant better sleep, no guarantees.
***
After a few days of digging and getting nowhere, Charlie had a breakthrough on, of all places, Facebook. No profile picture, just the generic silhouette that meant that no picture had been uploaded.
Friends? None. Interests, hobbies, books, music? Nothing added. Just a little oblong box which said: Do you know Reggie Janes? Send a friend request. There was one post. It had been made ten days previously, which is when the account had been opened, presumably. A photograph. At the bottom, running across in a strip, was a grey road. Beyond this was a pavement with a border of grass and a bus shelter and bus stop. The sun, not captured, was casting shadows. To the left of the bus stop stood a black bin. Behind the bus shelter, a line of trees. The caption underneath said: view from my house.
What kind of person would have a Facebook page like that? A person fresh out of prison whose only interest on Facebook was to leave a short trail of crumbs, that’s who.
The bus stop had a board pinned up, crammed with information. Charlie needed someone who could zoom in, clarify the wording, solve the puzzle. She knew someone. She called him and paid him to do the job. Twenty-four hours later, she had a printout of the picture and she knew that the bus stop was on a road called Firs Way in Sale. Mystery almost solved. Now she had to find the house.
Firs Way was a long road, tree-lined all along one side. Lots of grass both sides. Numerous bus stops. She stopped beside the first two, measuring each stop against the picture. The third one was the one. The black bin, the threadbare grass surrounding it.
‘Got you.’
Charlie got out of the car. Across the road, two rows of houses were side on, running away from the road, facing each other, a path dividing them. Could be any one of a couple of dozen houses.
All the houses were the same design. Two opposing rows of identical terraces separated by picket fences. Nothing special at all. Not the kind of place you’d rent if you had a couple of million in the bank.
She headed for the first house on the left, intending to pick up clues. By the time she’d knocked on five doors, she knew where Reggie lived thanks to a nosey old cow who seemed to live at her window absorbing every small happening that occurred on the street. The new guy? Tall? Stocky? Out a lot? Always eating? He was the only new resident for two years. Charlie kept nodding and smiling. Had to be Reggie. On the other side, number 14.
Charlie crossed the dividing path, through the gate, knocked on a blue door. No answer. She returned to the car to keep watch. One hour passed, then two. She was due at the club to work. Vincent had a meeting with the Muscles and wanted her there. An update on Reggie, as coincidence would have it. They’d know jack. She’d give it another half hour, then she’d have to leave.
Twelve minutes later and, hello. A black Mondeo pulled up on the other side of the road and Reggie Janes climbed out. He was eating an apple. Charlie enjoyed some pleasant fluttering sensations, part satisfaction from finding him, part just him. He didn’t see her. He walked down the path, through his gate, through his door.
She followed him, rapped on his door twenty seconds after he’d closed it. He opened it with the confidence of someone who fears no one, looked her up and down, grinned a really sexy grin which she returned. Nodded his head.
‘You took your time.’
‘Gave the Muscles a ten-mile head start, then left them for dead.’
‘Oh yeah? Wanna come in?’
‘You trying to make me late for work?’
‘I’d love to make you late for work. The later the better.’
She smiled. ‘Vincent won’t like that.’
‘Good. Your brother has gone unchallenged for too long. That’s what your old man thought anyway. He wanted me to ruffle Vincent’s feathers as well as make Henry Hamilton sweat.’
‘I thought Vincent was his favourite. He was the one who got everything. The money, the contacts, the club.’
‘And look what he’s done with it – surrounded himself with bodyguards. Your dad believed in fighting his own battles, not getting others to do it.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely. I’ll let you into a secret. Your old man wanted you to fight for the assets, not let Vincent have them. He thought the conflict would do Vincent good and he fully believed that you’d contest him and win in the end. He never saw you working in partnership with him. Certainly not working for him.’
‘Really? Interesting.’
‘Think about it.’
‘I am doing.’
‘Wanna come in?’
She checked the time. She’d never let Vincent down before. Prided herself on her dependability, her strict execution of any and every job. ‘I’ve geared my whole life to pleasing him.’
‘Who, Vincent?’ Janes laughed. He had great teeth. A real buzz of energy about him. ‘Why not gear the next hour to pleasing yourself?’
Why not? She suddenly wanted to kiss Janes a lot more than she wanted to get to work. So she stepped inside, dropped her bag, closed the door with one foot, shoved him against the nearest wall and helped herself.
***
‘What’s up, Doc?’
‘Funny!’ Dan said to Vic from his top bunk.
Vic actually stood up and switched the TV off, so Dan braced himself for scrutiny. When did Vic ever switch the box off? ‘No seriously, what’s up with you, man? You’re not exercising like you were. You’re hardly speaking. Seth getting to you?’
Seth was, but that wasn’t why Dan didn’t want to talk. He was anxious about the Hamiltons. He hadn’t heard from Annabel, who might be in danger. Vic was looking at him now. ‘I broke it off with my girlfriend. It’s the right thing, but . . .’ Dan shook his head, unable to go on. Eating had been burdensome since Solomon had visited. Unless Solomon was bluffing, Naomi would be living with him by now. Under his roof. Sleeping in one of his beds. Eating his food. Surely she wouldn’t eat with him, but still. The thought of her being there plus an assortment of other harrowing thoughts, filled Dan’s head every waking moment and gave him messed-up dreams. He felt perpetually sick. On top of that, he was supposed to be doing a job for Solomon when he felt more inclined to strangle him. Without the appetite to eat properly, he could feel his weight dropping away; his strength slipping. Sleeping was becoming problematic. Maintaining a positive attitude felt like trying to walk on water.
‘Don’t you love her anymore?’
‘Course I do.’
‘Why are you being a martyr then? If she wants to visit, let her. My e
x managed eighteen months before she’d had enough. I waited for her one afternoon when she said she was coming. Never came. Never saw her or heard from her again.’
‘Sorry,’ Dan said.
‘Happens a lot. Made the first year bearable for me at least, until I got used to being inside.’
Dan didn’t comment. He couldn’t imagine having the kind of mentality that reasoned that it was OK to drag someone to a place like this until they just couldn’t take it anymore – all to make it more bearable for self. Nor did Dan envisage getting used to being locked up. Ever. Alien concepts to Dan, so he found nothing to say in response.
His thoughts were sliding around as though his mind’s surface had iced over. He was trying to pin down what was bothering him the most. Blackmail. Was that it? The fact that Solomon had concocted a plan to get Naomi to live with him, regardless of how she felt about it? Yes, it was that particular thing that was making his blood simmer beneath the surface of his skin – the unforgivable fact that Solomon had narrowed her choices until she didn’t have any.
The situation had only strengthened Dan’s resolve to end the relationship. Without the relationship to fight for, Naomi would cease to have a reason to be at Solomon’s house. If she would only let go, she could get the hell out of there and to a place of safety. It was a necessary part of Dan’s plan that Naomi was left in no doubt that there was no chance for them, so Dan had had to resort to the cruellest thing of all: speaking to her through her twin and ending the relationship dishonourably. What choice was there anyway? Hadn’t Solomon instructed him not to contact her? So it had to be through Annabel and Dan was under no illusions; he knew exactly how Naomi would feel about that.
It’d almost killed Dan to do what he’d done, say what he’d said. But without being brutal, Naomi might still cling to hope, and to him. She’d continue to fight for him and Solomon would use it to his advantage. Which couldn’t happen. The priority was for her to be safe, which meant leaving Solomon’s and preferably leaving Manchester. So instead of simply ending the relationship, he’d had to sever it with a blunt blade, which effectively felt like sawing off his own arm.
Vic was still looking at him. Dan returned to the cell, the off-white ceiling, the smell of Vic’s recently-flushed crap. He couldn’t talk about Naomi. He wouldn’t. Even her name was too good for this place.
Dan latched on to the first sentence that skidded through his head. ‘Did you know Jimmy Solomon?’
The subject-change threw Vic, as Dan intended. His eyes bulged, eyebrows lifted until he relaxed and said, ‘Everyone knew Jimmy.’
His voice had dropped half an octave. Dan sat up, spoke quietly too. ‘Why?’
‘Big personality. Lots of influence. Even had some of the screws in his pocket. Knew how to play people. Very divisive, Jimmy. You loved or hated him.’
‘What about you?’
They were almost whispering. ‘He died a few months after I got here.’ A long pause. He seemed to be looking through and beyond Dan now. His eyes refocussed. ‘Me? I stayed out of his way, man. He was trouble.’ Vic paused to scratch his head. ‘How did you know him?’
Dan said, ‘I didn’t. I got tangled with his son without wanting or meaning to. What do you think I’m doing in here?’
Vic didn’t answer. His thoughts were drifting, Dan could see. He shook his head as if he was trying to rattle the thoughts away. ‘Bad news.’
‘He was murdered, wasn’t he, Jimmy?’
‘Whoa! Listen, Doc, gonna give you some advice. Don’t bring up this whole business, right? No one speaks about Jimmy. Lips are sealed, man. Talking’s dangerous.’
‘Why? It’s in the past now. What does it matter?’
Vic put a finger to his lips. ‘You’re naïve, Doc. Postcode gangs in here. People who worked together before they landed up inside. Then they get put on the same wings and the screws don’t know who they are, but they assemble themselves quietly and you get rival gangs in here just like on the outside. Dangerous. Can kick off big time sometimes. You do not want to get involved.’
‘No I don’t. I just want to know who murdered Jimmy.’
Vic turned the TV back on, but not to watch it – to create background noise. He moved closer to Dan. ‘Official word was accidental death. But it wasn’t, you know. Something bad went down in the showers. Next thing, they were carrying Jimmy out on a stretcher, covered over, like. Loads of blood. I actually saw him as they carried him out. Just rumours after that really. Whispers.’
‘What rumours?’
‘Who was there at the time, what they saw, stuff like that. Testimonies all matched up, three witnesses, so it went down as an accident. Story was he’d slipped and cracked his head on the floor, gone into a seizure then choked on his own vomit. Truth was probably different, but there were only three guys in the showers that day apart from Jimmy – a quiet guy called Donald Booth who’s been transferred to another prison, and Seth Holloway and Marcus Payne. Everyone knows that Seth and Marcus hate each other, but Seth was a mate of Jimmy’s. Seth and Jimmy dished out drugs, arranged drone drops, that kind of thing. But all three witnesses said the same thing about Jimmy’s death, so . . .’
‘So, why do people think he was murdered?’
‘Don’t know, Doc. Rumours started, like I said. Seth and Marcus stamped on them. Even though Seth and Marcus are sworn enemies, they do have one thing in common, they refused to talk about Jimmy’s death. So the rumours dried up. No mention of Jimmy after this. No one likes nosy cons, or snitches. Seth is due for release pretty soon. He’s trying to keep things smooth. Drop it, yeah?’
Dan nodded. ‘Yeah, course.’
Vic reached up and clapped Dan on the shoulder. ‘Good man,’ after which he settled down to Under the Hammer.
So the only two with the answers were the two guys who’d shown an unhealthy interest in him already – the very guys he wanted to avoid.
But couldn’t.
Not if he was going to dig up skeletons.
***
‘Anyone seen Charlie?’ Solomon was in his office at the club. The meeting was due to start in one minute thirty seconds and he wouldn’t start late, not even for her.
Heads were shaking. The low drone of muttering spread across the room.
‘Well, she’ll be here somewhere,’ he said.
‘What happened to Carter?’ Chambers shouted, and everything fell silent.
‘He had an accident so he’s unfit for work,’ Solomon said, eyeing Chambers with the kind of look that ended the discussion.
Fifty seconds to the start of the meeting. Solomon withdrew his phone and called Charlie. He knew she’d been on Janes’ trail and he wanted her input, shake the Muscles into some action, maybe.
Vincent got Charlie’s answering service, which didn’t impress him, so he started the meeting immediately, which was thirty seconds early. If she flung the door open on the very last second, the meeting would be in session. He was making a pointless gesture because she never came. They worked through some club business. He covered his agitation. Then, twenty-seven minutes in, the door opened and Charlie sauntered in and sat down.
He paid her no attention. She sat behind the others, close to the door. Vincent turned the discussion to Janes and a few people said a few things that attempted to prove how productive they’d been, how invaluable they were. They’d spoken to this person, that guy. Fathomed he’d been seen in this place, that pub. Reckoned they knew what his next move would be.
‘I know exactly where Janes lives,’ Charlie called from the back. ‘You’re not even close, any of you.’ Everyone looked round. Charlie soaked it up. She was wearing a smug look and a short dress. She crossed her legs. ‘Sorry I was late for the meeting, Vincent, but I was out doing what this lot only talk about.’
‘Is your phone out of order, Charlie?’
‘No.’
‘How difficult would it have been for you to keep me informed?’
‘I was tied up with Janes.’
She stood up. ‘We’ll talk later, in private.’
‘The meeting isn’t over.’
‘I have work to catch up with,’ she said.
‘I haven’t given you permission to leave.’
The air crisped. ‘I’m not asking for your permission, Vincent.’
Charlie turned and left the room. The Muscles eyed each other in their black suits. No one said a word but their eyes spoke plenty.
‘Foolish girl,’ Vincent said, gathering a pile of papers and shuffling them into a perfect stack while chewing over Charlie’s unpardonable sin: challenging him in front of an audience. And in his own club. Something close to fury seized him. He wanted the big guys out of his private space now. He was done with words.
‘Get to work. Meeting’s over.’
They immediately stood and queued for the door, no one wanting to be last out.
38
Naomi hadn’t slept well. Her mind was over-crowded. The conversation with Solomon had rattled her. Then there was Dan, Annabel, her dad, the trip to Venice. So much to be anxious about.
She woke up before six a.m. and lost herself in Dan’s face. The picture was ragged from over-handling, but she stared at him, trying to connect with him. Couldn’t really. Truth was she’d felt closer to him from the chilled cellar beside the coal heap than from here. Back then, they were just two prisoners, battling to survive. From here, Dan seemed a world away. She pictured his cell, small and cold. A lumpy little bed. Little to break the monotony of the walls – while she lay here in the palatial courts of King Solomon.
The betrayal was there again, a sickening silt shifting in her gut. It’d kill Dan to know that she was here in one of Solomon’s beds. That she’d agreed to go to Venice with him, and then to London. Why had she agreed to go? She couldn’t even remember. Oh, the promise of going outside and finding a post box for Dan’s letter. That’s right. Though she had no idea how she’d escape Solomon long enough to post it.
Shadows to Ashes Page 32
