The Edge

by Jessie Keane

  ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ said his brief, a bald, angular man wearing heavy black-rimmed glasses.

  ‘What fucking difference is it going to make now?’ Patrick huffed. He turned his attention back to Romilly. ‘John was meant to get Miller too. Clear him right out and make way for me to take over that side of town. He said there was a puff of wind and he missed. He’d have taken another shot at it, but Miller was on the move, coming toward him, so there wasn’t time.’

  ‘Where is your nephew now, Patrick?’ asked Paddick.

  ‘Fuck knows.’ Patrick took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his brow. His face was brick-red with tension. His eyes looked defeated.

  ‘The Barnes gun club gave your address as his, too,’ said Romilly.

  ‘That peculiar fucker don’t live anywhere. He drifts around the country. I don’t have an address for him. If I want to get in touch with him, I contact my brother Bill and if John rings him – which don’t happen often – then Bill can pass on that I want to get in touch, and John contacts me.’

  ‘Him and your brother, they’re not close?’ asked Paddick.

  ‘You’re fucking joking! Broken home, that. John’s mother scarpered when he was nine. Bill’s a drinker. Think he was knocking that poor cow Abigail about, but I can’t prove it. Maybe the kid too, who knows? Maybe that’s what sent the lad over the edge.’

  Fuck, thought Romilly. They were in for a nationwide search for the shooter.

  ‘He’s still going to do it,’ said Patrick.

  Romilly and Paddick stared at his face.

  ‘I hired him to do the three. The weird little bastard has this compulsive nature, d’you see? I gave him twenty grand at the start, but refused to pay him the other twenty because he’d only half done the job. He got two of the three, but he missed Miller. So he’ll be looking to finish Miller off. He don’t give up until he’s done, you see. Never.’

  Romilly and the DC exchanged looks.

  ‘You’re sure there’s no one he’d get in contact with? No girlfriends? Male friends? Anything?’ asked Paddick.

  Patrick was silent, bushy brows drawn down over his bloodshot eyes. He shook his big high-coloured head.

  ‘This is important,’ said Romilly. ‘Think. If Miller gets hit, that’ll increase your sentence – you’ll go down as the instigator of three murders.’

  Patrick chewed his lip and then said: ‘He turns up for our mum’s birthday. Or he used to. His gran raised him after Abigail left, he didn’t want to stop with his dad.’

  ‘When’s her birthday, Patrick?’ asked Romilly.

  ‘March fifteenth.’

  Next Saturday.

  ‘Give me her address,’ said Romilly, and he did.

  Then she formally charged him.

  117

  The killer was sitting in his hired VW Beetle as he watched Romilly Kane come out of the police station, get in her car, and drive away. It was almost sad, that he was going to have to wipe out Miller when she seemed to be so keen on him. But there you go, that was life. Get involved with people and it’s certain you’re going to get hurt.

  He had his place all sorted out. Time to finish the job. Complete his contract.

  Romilly tracked Kit down next day to his office behind Sheila’s restaurant.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ she asked.

  Kit nodded to Fats, who went outside and closed the door behind him. Kit, sitting behind his desk, looked up at her expectantly.

  ‘Quite the little empire you got here,’ she said.

  ‘Pays the bills,’ said Kit. ‘Take a seat. What can I do for you, detective?’

  Romilly sat down, took out a notebook and pen from her bag. ‘You can tell me where you go, what you do.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you have a set routine? Would someone be able to watch you, and know that at a certain time you were going to be at a certain place?’

  Kit sat back and stared at her.

  ‘I’m not looking to trap you, Mr Miller,’ she said when the silence dragged on. ‘I’m trying to keep you alive.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked, standing up and coming round the desk.

  ‘Why?’ Stay on the other side of the desk, for God’s sake. ‘ Because you’re a citizen and I’m a copper. It’s my duty to protect you.’

  ‘What about Patrick Dowling?’ asked Kit.

  ‘We’ve charged him and he won’t get bail. As for the rest of the gang who were involved in the warehouse robbery, there’s an alert out on the lot of them. We’ve rounded up a couple already.’

  ‘And the missing money?’

  ‘Some of it. Not much.’ This annoyed Romilly no end. She liked things tidy. She wanted all of the gang and all of the money. She suspected she wasn’t going to get either. ‘The problem we have at the moment is tracing the shooter Patrick hired to take out Clive Lewis, Robert Hinton and you. It’s Patrick’s nephew: John Dowling. It seems he won’t give up until you’re dead. And here I am, trying to prevent that and catch his arse at the same time. So tell me, where do you go on a regular basis? Where would anyone know where to find you at any given time? Here, for instance. Do you keep regular times here?’

  Kit shook his head. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Mr Miller, what I believe is this: John Dowling is going to stake you out somewhere you go regularly. So come on. Help me out.’

  Kit stared at her. ‘Your hair’s different.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘You’re wearing it down. Not tied back.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It looks nice.’

  ‘Mr Miller . . .’

  ‘How’s the arm? I see the sling’s off.’

  ‘It’s fine. Mending.’

  ‘Mum’s place,’ said Kit.

  ‘What?’ Romilly was thrown.

  ‘Mum’s club in Soho. I go there every week on a Tuesday. Twelve o’clock.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘To see my mother and take her out to lunch,’ said Kit. And to wash a little money, he thought.

  ‘All right.’ Romilly made a note. ‘Anywhere else?’

  ‘No. Clubs, restaurants, snooker halls – it’s all hours.’

  ‘I’m guessing John Dowling already knows that. There are shops opposite the burlesque club, that right?’ Romilly trawled her memory for details. ‘With flats above them?’

  Kit shook his head. ‘Some of them are never used. Thought of buying a couple and coining the rent, once. Some are used as stock rooms. Don’t think anybody lives up there.’

  ‘That’s a gift for him. He’ll probably be up in one of those and pretty soon he’ll take his shot at you.’

  ‘There’s a word I don’t like in there: “probably”. What if he doesn’t? What if he thinks he’ll pick me off somewhere else?’

  ‘He might. This bloke’s a perfectionist. He settles in, rehearses the shot, then takes it. And he doesn’t do head shots. He goes for the chest, every time. That’s the pattern. His MO. Our people say he’ll stick to that, he won’t vary.’

  ‘And the only reason you’re here, telling me all this, is because you’re a copper and I’m a citizen. Right?’

  ‘We have a safe house,’ said Romilly, ignoring the question. ‘Would you go there?’

  ‘What – hide away?’

  ‘Yes. Hide away.’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Look . . .’

  Romilly’s voice trailed away as without warning he jerked her out of her seat and into his arms. ‘Mr Miller,’ she started lamely, feeling his hard muscularity weakening her resolve, melting it like ice on a boiling hot day.

  ‘Call me Kit.’ He was lifting her hair now, kissing her throat.

  ‘Kit.’ She had to suppress a moan as his teeth nipped at her ear, his hot breath scorching her skin.

  ‘Yes, honey?’ He raised his head and grinned into her eyes.

  ‘This is serious,’ she said. ‘And I think we should both concentrate.’

  ‘I am
concentrating. On seducing you.’

  ‘Mr Miller.’ Her voice was sharper now.

  ‘I told you: Kit.’

  ‘Stop it. That’s enough.’ Romilly broke free of his embrace and stepped back. She was trying to breathe steadily and failing. Dismally, she was aware that her face was flushed and her nipples were rigid. If she sat back down, she might just burn a hole in the seat. ‘Let’s return to the subject in hand, shall we?’

  ‘OK. Right.’ Kit sighed. ‘But can we do this and walk at the same time? I got places I got to be.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ It would be a relief, not to be in an enclosed space with him.

  Kit led the way out of the office and into the main body of the restaurant, where waiting staff were starting to set up the tables ready for lunch. Fats fell into step behind Romilly as Kit went over to the big glassed front door. On either side of the door, there were massive plate-glass windows so that prospective diners could look in and see what a buzzing place it was.

  As Kit opened the door, the plate-glass window on his left exploded.

  118

  It was pandemonium for minutes after the window blew in. Glass sprayed out over the whole of the restaurant, waitresses screamed, tables were knocked over, glassware was dropped, crockery smashed, cutlery was hitting the floor. Then a series of small pops, and suddenly Kit knew what this was.

  It was him. That twisted bastard John Dowling hadn’t set himself up opposite Ruby’s club; he was somewhere over the road right here.

  Kit dived for the floor, dragging Romilly with him. His skin was crawling as he waited for one of the shots to find him. He could feel Romilly’s body crushed beneath his chest, but he didn’t dare move, take his weight off her.

  He got a flashback of Rob, lying half-dead and blood-spattered outside the church.

  Ah Christ, no. Nobody else. Please.

  The pops stopped suddenly. There was a shocked silence, then one of the waitresses started to cry.

  ‘Everyone all right?’ Kit called out. ‘Stay down. Don’t move.’

  ‘You OK boss?’ said Fats.

  ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’ Kit moved his position a fraction, glass crunching underneath him, a shard of it stinging his palm as he shifted his weight to let Romilly draw breath. ‘Romilly?’

  She wasn’t talking. Her eyes were closed.

  ‘Romilly?’ he said urgently. There were shards of glass in her hair. ‘Jesus! Romilly.’

  She was very still. Kit felt panic starting to rise in his airways, compressing his chest.

  Then her eyes flicked open. ‘Has it stopped?’ she asked.

  ‘I think so. You hurt?’

  ‘No, I think I’m OK.’

  Thank Christ.

  ‘Everyone all right?’ Kit called.

  One by one, the girls answered. They were OK.

  Romilly was trying to sit up.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Kit. ‘Everyone – crawl to the back wall and then into the office. Don’t stand up.’

  They all started to move over the broken glass, toward the back, out of sight of the shooter. Once they were all in the office, Romilly phoned in to the nick to raise the alarm.

  119

  It was shocking for Daniel, seeing the damage that Leon had done to Eunice’s face. There was a ragged-looking purple cut over her left eyebrow, and the area all around it was blackened by bruising. She looked subdued, as well she might, as she poured him a cup of tea in the kitchen. She didn’t have her usual make-up on, and it made her look her age. Finally she sat down with him at the table and Daniel braced himself, because for the first time in his life, he knew he was going to have to lie to his mother.

  ‘Have you seen Leon?’ she said, straight away.

  ‘Recently? No. And I’m not likely to. He’s run off. If he hadn’t, he’d have gone down with Patrick.’

  ‘Yeah, but he must come back sometime, mustn’t he?’ she asked, and it hurt Daniel to see the pitiful hope in her eyes.

  No, he won’t, because I killed him.

  ‘Mum.’ Daniel shook his head. ‘He can’t come back. He won’t. He wouldn’t dare. If the cops don’t get him, Kit will. He wants Leon’s arse roasted over a slow fire.’

  ‘But he—’

  Anger started to take hold of Daniel. He hated this. Telling her lies. Concealing the truth. But he had to. He had no choice.

  ‘Listen, will you?’ he said sharply. ‘Leon was working with Patrick. They were running the drugs, building up their money, getting everything in place for a takeover. They were going to kill Kit to get him out of the way. And the photographer, because he was a weak link. And Rob, because he’d got wise to what they were doing and he was going to blow the whistle on them. Together they were planning to grab Kit’s manor. So no. Leon won’t be back. Not now. Not ever.’

  Eunice started to cry.

  Daniel handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes, wincing as she touched the left one.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said more gently.

  ‘It isn’t your fault,’ she sniffed.

  Yeah, it is.

  Eunice was blinking, her eyes red-rimmed and sorrowful as she gazed at Daniel. She heaved a heartfelt sigh.

  ‘You’re a good boy,’ she said shakily.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, you are. I think that really, you were always the best of the three. The steady one. The good one.’

  Daniel shrugged and took a mouthful of tea, feeling uncomfortable. Oh yeah, he was good all right. Lusting after one brother’s wife, and killing the other one. Yeah, he was a prince among men.

  ‘You’re all I’ve got now,’ said Eunice, managing a watery smile. ‘Oh, I’ve still got the girls, but you’re my only boy. And I don’t think you ever got the attention you deserved.’

  There was the noise of a motor outside, then someone started hammering at the front door.

  ‘Now who’s that?’ said Eunice tiredly.

  Daniel got up from the table and went through the hall and opened the door.

  Ashok was standing there.

  ‘What the fuck?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘We got to get over to Sheila’s. Someone’s taken a shot at Kit.’

  120

  Next day, Daniel was sitting in the hall chair reading a paper when Daisy came down the stairs. She hesitated at the foot of them and looked at him. He kept his eyes on the paper, but Daisy knew he was aware of her standing there.

  ‘Daniel?’ she said.

  He kept reading. ‘What?’ he asked.

  Daisy walked over to where he sat. She took hold of the paper and pushed it down. Daniel looked up at her. His face was cut and bruised and Daisy felt such a wave of compassion for him that it nearly swamped her. He’d fought for her. Rescued her. But now he wouldn’t even talk to her, and that hurt her beyond belief.

  ‘Something the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, there’s something the matter,’ said Daisy. ‘It’s this. It’s the way you are with me. I don’t like it. How long are you going to keep this up? I’d really like to know.’

  ‘I’m doing my job,’ said Daniel. ‘You’re my boss’s sister and I’m looking out for you. Nothing’s changed.’

  He stood up, tossed the paper onto the chair, brushing past her.

  ‘Wait! Where are you going?’

  He was walking away from her, heading for the kitchen. Ignoring her, like he always did now.

  ‘Daniel, please!’ Daisy ran after him and caught his arm. She stepped around him, looked up at his face.

  ‘What?’ he asked. But he was like a block of wood. She couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t reach him.

  She gulped and tried again, her eyes pleading as humiliating tears started to flow.

  ‘Daniel . . .’ she said faintly.

  ‘What? Daisy, I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I know I’m a pain. I know I’m one of those stupid bloody addictive personalities, that I need a crutch sometimes just to get through the d
ays. Something bad happens – something terrible, like Rob being snatched away the way he was, like this maniac trying to get to Kit – and I crumble. I know that.’

  ‘He didn’t succeed,’ Daniel pointed out, but yesterday had been a nasty shock for them all. When they’d got to Shelia’s and seen the extent of the damage, and learned that John Dowling had targeted Kit again and got away, everyone had felt just that little bit less safe.

  ‘But he could have succeeded. Daniel – I know everyone thinks of me as crazy Daisy – if it’s not drugs it’s the drink . . .’ Hot colour flooded into her cheeks. ‘But please, please – don’t turn your back on me like this,’ she whispered in desperation.

  She’d got through to him at last. She could see it, straight away.

  Daniel blinked, swallowed. Looked away, then back at her face.

  ‘I won’t do that. I never would.’

  Daisy nodded and bit her lip. ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good. I’m so glad,’ she said, and he went off into the kitchen, where Ruby was making coffee.

  121

  ‘Has something happened with you and Daniel?’ Ruby asked Daisy five minutes later. ‘He just shot through here and out the back door without a word to me.’

  They were sitting in the kitchen, drinking their coffee. Daisy started nervously and looked at her mother in surprise.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘There’s been an atmosphere between the two of you that you could cut with a knife. What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. You’re imagining things,’ said Daisy, standing up and pacing restlessly.

  She’d hated being at odds with Daniel. She had come to depend on him. She felt safe with him around. Daniel the overlooked one, the forgotten middle son. How had she not seen him before, solid and dependable as an oak? How had she not known how valuable, how precious a person he truly was?

  ‘I want the twins back soon,’ she said.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Ruby.

  ‘When then?’

  ‘Look, Daisy – Patrick Dowling may be safely banged up, but his nephew’s still on the loose. He tried to get Kit again yesterday. And have you forgotten? Leon’s still out there somewhere.’