by Jessie Keane
‘Go on then. You got there, then what?’
‘The housekeeper met us, Mrs McAllister. Took me up to this room in the tower, through all these old stone passageways with tapestries and suits of armour. And then in the evening . . .’
Annie stopped talking, her eyes on Max’s face.
‘Go the fuck on. What then? You met up with him and fucked his brains out? Yes?’
Annie shook her head. ‘God’s sake, Max, will you listen? Mrs McAllister took me into this dining hall. Alberto had made himself scarce. And yeah, that’s when I saw Constantine. That’s when I knew he was alive.’
Max said nothing. He just sat there, arms folded, face set in angry lines.
‘Five years ago! And you know what? He was pretty much unchanged. Or at least he seemed to be.’ Annie could see Constantine in her mind’s eye. Back then he had still been the Silver Fox, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped. There was still the mane of startling white hair, those piercing blue eyes. A few more wrinkles around the eyes. No silver-grey Savile Row suit, though: now he wore slacks, and an open-necked shirt.
‘You still fancied him,’ said Max.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Bullshit.’
Annie shook her head. ‘All the way there, I’d been wondering how I would feel when I saw him again. And in that instant, I knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘That it was all gone.’ Annie passed a tired hand over her face. The sheet slipped a bit, and she grabbed it quickly, pulled it back up to her chin. ‘Everything I’d ever felt for him, it was as if it had never been. There was simply nothing left. Nothing at all. He thought we could just pick up where we’d left off. But I lost it, shouted at him that it was all finished, done, all in the past.’
Max puffed out his cheeks like an angry bull and stared at her. ‘Oh, come on. You really think I’m going to swallow that?’
‘It’s the truth, Max. I didn’t feel anything for him . . . except pity.’
‘Pity?’
‘He’d escaped the threat of a hit back in the seventies. He’d given the Feds the slip. But really, do you think he was free, stuck up there in his Highland castle? He wasn’t. He might just as well have been banged up in Fulsom Prison in the States, because he was in prison anyway. He barely went out of the door. And when he did, he was scared to fucking death that someone was going to spot him, recognize him, dob him in.’
‘He changed his name then?’
‘He calls himself David Sangster these days.’
Max stood up, started his nervy pacing around the room again. ‘Does he, by God. And you had a nice little chat, did you, the two of you?’
Ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, Annie said: ‘Oh, we did. I told him in no uncertain terms that it was over, that it had been over for years. He’d bailed out, left me. And I had moved on, I’d survived, what else could I do? And I told him I was leaving, coming home, first thing in the morning.’
‘Yeah?’ Max paused, hands in trouser pockets, and looked at her. ‘And what did he say to that?’
‘He said I wasn’t going anywhere.’ Annie took a gulping breath. ‘He said that, if I left, he would give the order to have you killed.’
82
Max was silent for a long time, staring at her face.
‘You what?’ he said at last.
‘The man was lonely. Desperate. I think . . . I think he realized what he’d tossed away, all those years ago, and when he saw I wasn’t going to play ball, he lashed out. He threatened you.’
Max was nodding, grim-faced. ‘Oh, that’s clever,’ he said.
‘Clever?’ she echoed faintly.
‘Yeah, it is. So you did it? You spread your legs for that git because you had to, right? To save me. How long did it take you to think that one up?’
Annie stared at him in outrage. ‘You shit,’ she snapped. ‘What, you think I’m playing you? That I’ve cooked up his threat to you so I could just say, “Oh, I had to sleep with him, I couldn’t help it”?’
‘Got it in one,’ he snapped right back.
‘You’re wrong. So wrong. I spoke to Alberto next morning – after a night alone, I might add – and told him what his father said. Alberto spoke to him. And Constantine backed down. He apologized for saying it, and he said that even if I couldn’t agree to . . . well, to be more than that, at least we could be friends.’
Max stared at her in disbelief. ‘Just supposing any of that hogwash is the truth . . .’ he said.
‘It is,’ said Annie.
‘Yeah, yeah. Just supposing it is, and there was no fucking involved, only friendship, my arse . . .’
‘You asked for the true story and I’m giving it to you.’
‘So you stayed friends. Played Monopoly in the afternoons, or poker. Or did he poke you?’
Annie didn’t dignify that last crack with a response. ‘I don’t play poker. As you well know.’
‘Oh, you play all sorts of games, I know that.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you’re not setting the alarm deliberately. Meaning you’ve been expecting me, and you knew damned well I had a key, you remembered that, don’t deny it. You want time to work on me. You’re spinning these tales and hoping I’ll fall for them.’
‘Well, at least you’re getting tales. You’re getting some information. Which is more than I ever got from you, by the way,’ said Annie, flinging one of the pillows aside in frustrated anger. It hurt, and she stifled a wince.
‘What the fuck does that mean?’ he demanded.
‘You cleared off without any explanation. You were fed evil bloody lies by Gary Tooley – who’s always hated me, you know that – and you ran off to Sicily without ever once thinking of talking to me first.’
‘You’d have denied it,’ said Max.
‘Well, of course I would, because what you’re thinking, it’s not even the bloody truth. That’s not the point. The point is, it was “all boys together”, as usual. You believed your old mates over me. And that’s a fucking insult, Max Carter. I’m your wife. And meanwhile, do you know what I thought was happening?’
He shook his head.
‘I thought you were having an affair.’
‘You what?’
‘You heard. We see them all the time on Barbados, don’t we? Men of your age with women twenty years younger. We’ve even laughed about it. The way these girls just happen to turn up when they think a soft target’s in view, a man in his forties or fifties with loads of cash on the hip. Well, you bastard, I thought the joke was finally on me.’ Her voice trembled on those last words.
Max was silent, looking at the floor. Then he said: ‘So. You went back there, to him, many times?’
Annie nodded. ‘Two, three times a year. Sometimes more.’
A muscle was working in Max’s jaw. He looked mad enough to hit someone. ‘Yeah. When you told me you were here in London or going to the States to call in at the Annie’s club in Times Square.’
‘On the way there, I’d call in on him. Sometimes on the way back.’ Annie stared at Max, so closed-off from her, so distant from her. ‘The man was lonely. There was no spark left there between us. None for me, anyway. None at all.’
‘But for him, it was different. He wanted you back.’
‘Yeah. He did. But I made it clear that wasn’t an option.’
‘Really.’
‘Yeah, really. Max – he was shut up in that place. Sometimes he played golf with other big-time crooks who also had to hide away to stay free. But in fact, seeing them, talking to them, seeing the fear in their eyes, you realize that none of them are free at all. They daren’t move, they’re so afraid of the law catching up with them and putting them in the slammer. Well, guess what? They’re already there.’
‘All that bloody time . . .’ Max was shaking his head now. ‘You were up there, with him, seeing him, and you didn’t say a fucking word.’
‘I couldn’t. You know that. And if I could have? Even then, I wou
ldn’t.’
His head whipped round and those intense navy-blue eyes held hers. ‘Why not?’
‘Why not?’ Annie gave a thin laugh. ‘Because you’d have gone up there and killed him.’
‘But you’re telling me now.’
‘Only because you’ve found out anyway. And have I told you the exact location? I don’t think so.’
‘Gary will tell me that. And even if he don’t, I’ll track the bastard down. If it takes years, I’ll do it.’
‘Maybe. But you’ve had time to think now, yeah? To think, and to calm down. And maybe to get together some faith and trust in your own wife, for God’s sake.’
‘When she’s played me for a mug.’
‘Max – I haven’t.’
‘Yeah, you have.’
‘So divorce me then. Only you don’t name him as co-respondent or whatever the fuck they call it – you never name him, OK? Think about it. Because on paper? He’s dead. And because Alberto’s still alive, and he’s with Layla – and Layla means the world to you, I know she does. So you mustn’t stir up anything that involves them. You can’t.’
‘Piss off,’ said Max furiously, and stood up and left the room.
Annie watched him go, her face creased with anguish.
This time, he wouldn’t come back. She knew it.
83
Jackie Tulliver turned up at the house on Sunday, clutching several sheets of paper, looking pleased with himself and slightly less drunk than usual.
‘You would not believe the stuff I’ve found,’ he said as Annie showed him into the study at the front of the house. Then he paused and glanced nervously around. ‘Mr Carter not here then?’
‘No, he’s not.’
‘Right! Look at this lot.’ Jackie spread the sheets out on the desk. Annie saw copies of birth and death certificates, copies of newspaper cuttings. ‘Checked out the parish records, got the copies. And the woman at the local newspaper was very helpful. Nice lady. Showed me how to work the microfiche thingy and everything. Helped me work the fucking photostat machine too, those things are a bastard. Look.’
Annie looked. Jackie had been busy; there was a lot here to look through. She picked up a death certificate.
‘That’s Dolly’s dad. Samuel Farrell. Look here.’ Jackie shoved a copy of a newspaper clipping toward her and there it was:
Tragedy of Local Worker
Samuel Farrell of Limehouse died yesterday in a tragic accident on the railway. Mr Farrell worked as a shunter for many years but suffered fatal injuries when he fell and was trapped between an engine and a carriage. The driver is being treated for shock.
‘He shouldn’t have been there,’ commented the driver, who has asked not to be named. ‘I thought it was all clear.’
Mr Farrell leaves behind a wife and five children, who are devastated at his loss.
‘What do you know about shunters?’ asked Annie as she stared at the obit, her mind buzzing.
‘Nothin’. You?’
‘Not a damned thing.’ Annie looked at him. He smelled OK today. He’d made a bit of an effort, she could see. Taken a bath. Even had a shave, although his hands were so unsteady that he’d nicked himself with the razor. Bits of tissue dotted his face like white measles. But he’d tried.
‘You went to see Sarah?’ asked Annie.
‘That cold-blooded cunt. I said I knew Dolly, I was upset at her death, and you know what? The twat didn’t even offer me a cup of tea. Said she’d rather not discuss it, went to shut the door in my face.’
‘But you didn’t let her.’
‘Course not. Stuck my size nines in, didn’t I, got the old waterworks goin’, said I was so upset, I’d come miles, could I just have a drink of water? And she bought it.’
‘And . . . ?’ she prompted.
‘And nothin’. She don’t give out much, that one. Halfway through what was a pretty one-sided conversation, she went upstairs to go to the loo, then by the time she came back downstairs the brother had pitched up. I’m guessin’ she phoned him. She seemed relieved to see him, anyway. Like I was a danger to the old tart or somethin’. I mean, do I look like a fuckin’ rapist?’
‘Nope,’ said Annie. ‘She did the same thing to me. Looks like she don’t even take a shit without his say-so.’
‘Exactly. And he ordered me out, thin little stick of a cunt he was, so I went. So not much gained there, really.’
‘Hey, Jackie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You done well, boy. Never mind about the brother and sister, they’re bloody hard work, I know that. But all this? This is good stuff, this will help.’
‘Good,’ he said, chewing his lip. ‘That’s what I wanna do, I wanna help.’
‘So how’s it going with Redmond Delaney?’
‘I told you. I’m workin’ on it.’
‘Jackie?’
‘Hm?’
‘You’re not pissing me about, are you? You are trying to find him?’
Jackie squirmed. ‘He’s an animal, that man, you do know that, don’t you? Had a real cold look in his eye back in the day, like he’d chew your heart straight out of your chest and swallow it, still beating.’
Yeah, but he’s a priest now. Or at least he was, the last time I saw him. Wouldn’t a priest have turned his back on wicked ways?
She hoped so. But this was Redmond Delaney. And you could never be sure about him. Still – he was the only link left to Dolly and her nonce of a father. So she had to speak to him.
‘Look – find him. But I want you to be careful around him. You hear me, Jackie? Take it easy.’
‘And what are you goin’ to be doin’?’ asked Jackie.
‘This and that.’ Annie fished in her bag and handed him a small wad of fivers. ‘Here you go.’
The fivers were quickly snapped up. Jackie tucked them into the pocket of his battered denim jacket. Then the bell rang at the front door.
‘Leave all this with me,’ said Annie, and showed him out. Standing on the front doorstep was DCI Hunter. Jackie gave him one startled look and then shot past him like a whippet. Hunter’s eyes followed Jackie down the steps, then he turned.
‘Spare a minute?’ he asked Annie.
‘Sure. You working weekends now?’
‘On murder cases, I always do.’
He stepped into the hallway like a nun entering a crack den, looking around at the chandelier, the marble tiles, the showy ostentation of great wealth.
Mafia money, thought Annie.
She knew that’s what it was, and so did he. Crime had paid for this place. Crime had paid for a whole lot more, too. More than he would ever know. She led the way into the study, and Hunter followed.
‘Am I interrupting anything?’ he asked, glancing at the papers.
‘No, nothing,’ said Annie, scooping them up and neatly shoving them into a drawer.
‘Mrs Carter?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve had another complaint about you.’
Annie looked at him in genuine surprise. ‘From who? I haven’t done a bloody thing.’
‘A Mr Nigel Farrell says that you’ve been calling at the home of his sister, Sarah Foster, harassing her.’
‘Harassing? That’s a bit strong. I went to see her, sure, to give her my condolences.’
‘She says you were asking about personal details, and she found it all very intrusive and distressing.’
‘Oh. Well then, I’m sorry. I was just chatting, that’s all. About Dolly. You know.’
‘Yes, I do know, Mrs Carter. Or rather, I know you.’
‘Meaning what?’ Annie was glad now that she’d overcome a momentary urge to show him the papers Jackie had brought her. She was glad now that she’d swept the papers out of his sight. If he’d seen the death certificates and newspaper clippings, he’d have freaked for sure.
‘Meaning, leave it.’ Hunter’s dark eyes grew hard. ‘Just butt out, Mrs Carter.’
‘Noted,’ said Annie with a shrug.
‘Also noted,’ said Annie. Well, she’d been in a police cell before. No big deal there.
‘This is an official warning, Mrs Carter.’
Annie gave him a radiant smile. ‘Noted,’ she said again.
84
Annie went out, got a few supplies in, phoned ahead to Sunnybrook, then took a very interesting call from Jackie Tulliver.
‘About Redmond Delaney . . .’ he said.
‘What about him?’
‘You thought he was a priest, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Dream on.’
‘What?’
‘He was defrocked about a year ago.’
‘For what?’ All sorts of nasties went crawling through Annie’s brain at that point. She knew both Redmond and his twin Orla had been a target for abuse from his brothers Tory and Pat. She knew too that the abused sometimes become abusers in their turn. ‘Not kids?’ she said.
‘Kids? You’re joking. No, it was a shitload of his female parishioners. Sounds like Redmond was like the Pied Piper to ‘em, only using his dick instead of a flute. Liked to beat the crap out of them, too. Enjoyed it, they say.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Not yet, but I’m on it – I’ll keep you posted.’
‘Go easy.’
‘Easy’s my middle name.’
Annie was sitting in the big gold-leather-padded porter’s chair in a corner of the hall at one, waiting for Tony. When the bell rang, she got to her feet and answered the door with a smile.
‘Hiya, Tone,’ she said.
Tony just turned and led the way to the Jag. Opened the back door. Annie got in. He waited a moment while she settled herself, then he closed it. Got behind the wheel.
‘Where to?’ he asked.
Annie pulled the slip of paper with the address out of her pocket and handed it to him. He glanced at it, said: ‘OK,’ put the car in first, and they were off.
‘Nice day,’ said Annie.
