by Jessie Keane
‘Oh, only for the moment? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means what it says,’ said Max, slipping his hands inside the shirt, touching cool naked flesh.
Annie drew in a gasping breath, stirred by his touch yet not wanting to be. Hating him for his power to move her. ‘You’re such a bastard.’
Max stared into her eyes from inches away. ‘You do realize you’re still in the doghouse.’
‘Got that message loud and clear.’
‘I ought to kick you to the kerb, keeping secrets like that from me,’ said Max, fiddling with another button until he lost patience and tore it loose from its moorings. It rolled across the kitchen tiles and tinked against the base of a cupboard.
‘Steady,’ said Annie, but her heart was racing and her nipples were hard as rocks. He still wanted her, and oh Jesus, she still wanted him, so much.
‘Steady? Don’t give me “steady”, you cheeky mare,’ said Max, grabbing her hips and lifting her up on to the table. He unbuckled his belt, undid the button on his jeans. ‘Get the fucking thing off, hurry up.’
Annie pulled the nightshirt off and flung it to the floor. Max’s eyes went again to the bruising at her throat, and to the strapping on her rib and the bruises there, beginning to turn yellow. Annie lay back on the table with a shaky sigh.
‘Don’t worry about that, I’m all right,’ she said. After all she’d been through, all the horrors of Jackie’s death, and thinking that she could still have lost Max for good, she needed this. Yes, she was mad at him for doubting her. But she was still crazy about him. ‘Hurry,’ she gasped out, and Max did, shoving his jeans down to free his cock. Annie guided him in eagerly.
‘Christ, that’s good,’ he said, leaning over her, his hands on either side of her head, his hips thrusting in a hard fluid rhythm, fucking her over and over again until she felt almost delirious with desire.
‘Oh God – Max,’ she moaned, feeling her climax starting to build, her eyes locked with his.
‘Jesus,’ he said, and came, shuddering, just as she did, pumping into her ever more frantically, almost hurtfully, like he really did want to punish her, to make her suffer.
All too soon he pulled out, straightened his clothes, rebuckled his belt. He scooped the nightshirt off the floor and handed it to her as she sat up, dazed from the speed of what had just happened. He’d made love to her. Maybe everything was not completely lost, after all. She felt a tiny twinge of what could almost be hope.
‘Come on then,’ said Max brusquely, turning away from her. ‘Get dressed, we’ll eat out. After that, I’m going over to have a word with Gary, if he’s back.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Annie, thinking that Max’s tone of voice was telling her that she wasn’t completely forgiven, not yet. But it was a start. And if he was going to give Gary the right royal bollocking he so richly deserved, she wanted a front-row seat for that event.
‘Why not?’ asked Max.
After breakfast in a local greasy spoon, Max drove them over to the Blue Parrot, but Gary wasn’t there.
‘He is back, though. Probably with that bird of his at her place, the Palermo,’ said one of the cleaners sniffily.
‘He’s not very well loved by his workers, is he?’ commented Annie as they went back to the car.
‘Well, it ain’t a fucking popularity contest,’ said Max.
They carried on over to the Palermo, with Annie wishing that she hadn’t got herself invited along to this little shindig, because going back to the Palermo, to Dolly’s old place, was going to creep her out for sure and she was already shaken up by what had happened to Jackie.
She steeled herself as they neared the place, telling herself not to be stupid, it was just a place, and there were no ghosts, only memories. She was so busy giving herself a pep talk that she was surprised when Max spoke.
‘What the hell?’ he said.
Annie glanced at him, and then ahead. There were four police cars in front of the Palermo, headlights flashing. The red double-doors were wide open and uniformed police were moving about on the pavement, talking into radios.
Max parked the car and they got out and started walking, only to be stopped by a burly policeman whose female colleague was busy stringing up police tapes around the entrance.
‘No entry, I’m afraid, sir,’ said the man to Max.
‘I own the place, I’m Max Carter,’ he said.
The policeman turned, searching the nearby faces until he found the one he was looking for, a dour individual in plain clothes who was accompanied by a plain skinny girl taking notes.
‘Hunter,’ called out Annie.
DS Sandra Duggan turned and gave her a look that could have curdled milk. Hunter walked over, and his sidekick came too.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Max when he drew level. ‘We’re here to see Gary Tooley.’
Hunter didn’t ask who Max was. He knew. He’d spent quite a few years trying to pin Max Carter down in some misdemeanour, any misdemeanour, but Max had always eluded him. Running various protection rackets all around the East End, taking tributes from shops, restaurants, brothels and snooker halls paid well, allowing Max to set up three nightclubs that had grown over the years from cabaret halls to discos to lap-dancing hotspots.
Hunter gave them both a nod. ‘Mrs Carter, Mr Carter, I’m pleased you’re here because I would have been getting in touch with you shortly anyway, and this saves me a trip. I’m afraid there’s been a serious incident.’
‘What sort of incident?’ they both asked at the same time.
‘It’s another murder,’ said DCI Hunter.
96
This time, Annie didn’t have to ask to be let in. This time, Hunter turned, with DS Duggan at his heels, ducked under the tapes and led the way straight into the club, across the club floor where men in white coveralls were hauling bags and bits of electronic equipment. Max and Annie followed.
‘Done?’ Hunter said to one of the SOCO team in passing.
He nodded. ‘Just about.’
Hunter led the way up the stairs and, with a horrible feeling of déjà vu, Annie followed. But he didn’t go into the lounge, he carried on until they reached the flat’s one small bedroom, which was tucked away at the back of the building. A woman was dismantling photographic lights there; a tech was tucking a camera away in a flat aluminium case.
‘Stay at the door,’ said Hunter to Max and Annie, while he stepped into the room, avoiding the markers the tech people had laid out as points of special interest.
Annie caught her breath and held it as the stench of fresh blood hit her nostrils. She felt her stomach contract, felt vomit creep up in a choking wave into her throat. Gary was stretched out on his back on the bed, the sheet pulled up to his waist. Above that, everything was red. His eyes were bulging out of his head, there was livid bruising on his cheekbones and one of his eyes had swollen half-closed. His face was puce and his tongue protruded grossly from between his thin lips.
At his neck, there was a deep cut; and blood – lots of it.
‘Jesus,’ said Annie, appalled. It felt too hot in the little room; she felt sweat pop out of her pores. She was forced to draw in a quick, shaky breath, and got a mocking look from DS Duggan.
The blonde woman in white coveralls who was crouching over Gary’s corpse looked first at Hunter and Duggan, then at the two civilians they’d brought in with them.
‘The owners,’ said Hunter. ‘Max and Annie Carter. You can speak, it’s OK. Estimated time of death?’
‘Round about midnight,’ said the woman. ‘An hour or two either side.’
‘And . . . ?’
‘A knife,’ said the woman. ‘Smooth, not serrated.’ She leaned in, prodded with a gloved finger at the gaping wound that was Gary’s neck. ‘Applied with a lot of force. Probably a man’s work, not a woman’s. Cut right through the windpipe, sliced the carotid artery too. Very nasty. And these bruises on his face? They were administered pre-death. He was beaten qu
ite badly and then slashed.’
This is like what happened to Jackie, thought Annie with a shudder.
‘Where’s the girl?’ she asked.
‘What?’ said Hunter.
‘The girl – Caroline. The one who’s taken over as manager here. I’m assuming that if Gary was here, then he was with her. Unless she was away somewhere and he was keeping an eye on the place?’
‘I’ll talk to the staff,’ said DS Duggan, and left the room.
‘Excuse me,’ said the blonde pathologist, and followed her out.
Hunter, Max and Annie stood there, looking at the dead man. True, she’d never liked Gary, but Christ, he hadn’t deserved this. Yeah, he’d been a bastard, and he’d had her done over, put her in hospital. Annie’s eyes narrowed. But no. This wasn’t the usual style of her Mafia watchers. It was far too public.
Redmond and his sidekick. It had to be one of them, or both. Didn’t it?
But why? She could get Jackie, just about. She could understand that. Jackie had been trying to trace Redmond, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want to be traced. That was on her, all Jackie’s suffering and his death, it was her fault and she was going to have to soak it up. But why Gary? What possible connection could there be between Redmond and him?
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she said to Hunter.
‘You can ask.’
‘Did Pete the bar manager actually see Dolly Farrell on the night she was killed? You said he spoke to her, but did he see her? Or did she call out through the door?’ Annie was annoyed with herself that she hadn’t thought to ask Pete this question when they’d visited him.
Hunter stared at her. ‘He said he spoke to her; that’s all. I’ll check with him. If the two of you have any ideas about who did this, now is the time to share them with me.’
He looked from Max’s face to Annie’s, then back again.
‘Obstruction of the law is an offence,’ said Hunter.
‘We’re aware of that,’ said Max. ‘Look, I’ve known this bloke for Christ knows how long. But how he wound up like this? I’ve no idea.’
‘Then if you’ll excuse me . . . ?’ Hunter nodded to the door.
They took the hint, and went out of the flat and back down the stairs. DS Duggan was talking to two of the white-clad techs there, and she gave Annie a sneering look in passing.
‘That girl don’t like you,’ said Max as they went out into the fresh air.
‘No kidding,’ said Annie.
They got into the car and Max drove them back to Holland Park, stopping off at the Shalimar because he needed a word with Chris.
‘Coming in?’ he asked Annie as he pulled up.
‘OK,’ she said, doubting she’d be made welcome.
But she was surprised. When they got upstairs, Ellie met them out in the hallway.
‘Christ,’ she said when she saw Annie. ‘I’m glad you’ve turned up.’
‘What?’ asked Annie. Max and Chris had vanished into the office.
Ellie lowered her voice. ‘I got someone here wants to talk to you. She’s fucking hysterical and she’s gripping my kitchen table like it’s a life raft, and she won’t let go. All she keeps saying is she wants to talk to you.’
‘Is it Caroline?’ asked Annie.
‘Who?’
‘Caroline. Gary’s girlfriend. The one who took over the Palermo from Dolly.’
‘No. Why would it be? It’s that funny little stick of a woman from the funeral. You know – Dolly’s sister, Sarah.’
97
‘He did things to Dolly,’ said Sarah.
When she saw Sarah in Ellie’s kitchen, Annie thought that Ellie had been right, she was clutching the table as if letting go could sweep her away, into madness. Ellie and Annie sat opposite her, and they closed the kitchen door firmly.
‘You’re safe,’ said Annie, because she thought it would calm Sarah down.
‘Nowhere’s safe. I thought I was safe at home,’ said Sarah, and her pale blue eyes looked wild. ‘So did Dolly. But she wasn’t, and neither was I.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Ellie, and stood up and went about the business of making tea.
‘Nigel said I should never speak of it. He said it was all in my imagination, and Dolly was bad and going straight to hell. He loved Dad, you see. Worshipped him. But now this . . .’ Sarah’s voice trailed away. ‘He said it was filthy, disgusting, what she turned into, and then I told him that it had happened to me with Dad, and I said maybe it had happened to her too, and that was why she left. He was so mad when I said that. Furious. He said I ought to shut my dirty mouth. He said it shamed the whole family, me making things up like that.’
‘But now Dolly’s been killed.’
‘Yeah.’ Sarah’s eyes met Annie’s; tears started to roll down her pale face. ‘It haunts me, all this. The bad stuff he did.’
‘Your dad.’
‘Yeah. Him.’
‘Dolly had to leave home because of it,’ said Annie. ‘Did you leave home?’
‘No. I stayed. Looked after Nigel and Dick and Sandy. Helped Mum around the place. Did what Dolly used to do. And then he had the accident on the railway. And it was all sort of OK, after that.’
‘Except I don’t suppose it was, not really,’ said Annie.
‘It was our secret shame, our family. Mum half off her head, and Dad doing that.’ Sarah gulped. Ellie placed a mug of hot sweet tea in front of her, and she let go of the table and fastened her hands around the warmth of that instead. ‘I’ve got the cutting from the paper. I kept it all these years. Like confirmation, I suppose. Like it was in black and white, and that was good, that proved he . . . he wasn’t coming back.’
Ellie put down two more mugs of steaming tea and a plate of biscuits. Sarah let go of her mug long enough to scramble in one of her raincoat pockets and pull out a yellowed scrap of paper. She shoved it across the table to Annie.
Annie unfolded it; it was nearly torn down the middle, from being folded up for so long. She read:
Railway tragedy
Samuel Farrell, who worked as a shunter on British Rail, was killed in a freak accident late yesterday. He leaves behind a wife and five children.
Annie read it, refolded it, shoved it back across the table. It was similar to the piece that Jackie had discovered and given to her. Sarah put the paper back in her pocket and clung on to the warm mug once more.
‘Nigel said I shouldn’t speak of it, not to anyone, that it was all filthy lies, but I have to now. He’s long dead, our dad, and now poor Dolly is dead too. I suppose what he did to her sent her the way she went, into the way of life she led. I don’t think it was her fault, although Nigel says it was, that we’re all responsible for our own actions.’
Nigel’s got a bloody lot to say for himself, thought Annie.
‘She was always good to me, Dolly,’ said Sarah.
‘She was a diamond,’ said Ellie.
‘To think of her ending that way, I don’t like it. And I just wanted to tell you, if there’s anything I can do, anything, you’ve only to say.’
Nigel’s not going to like this, thought Annie.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘I got married, you know,’ said Sarah. ‘But we divorced. Because I couldn’t be a wife. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do anything.’
98
When Sarah had gone, Annie went along to the office. Chris wasn’t there any more but Max was, thumbing idly through a set of accounts. He looked up as she came and stood in the doorway, arms folded.
‘Profit margins good?’ she asked.
‘Always,’ he said, with that glinting, piratical smile that still made her stomach flip, annoyingly. It would be best, she thought, not to be infatuated with her husband if he was going to kick her arse out the door. Which he probably was, she thought in a sudden rush of gloom. So they’d had sex. So what? That proved nothing. She knew he was mad at her. Mad enough to spit, mad enough to take their wedding licence and tear it int
o tiny shreds, set light to the bits and chuck the ashes in the Thames.
‘So where’s Caroline gone?’ Annie asked him.
‘That’s what I was wondering.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s see if we can find out.’
‘Suppose Gary was a Mafia hit,’ said Annie, as Max drove away from the Shalimar.
Max threw her a look. ‘Unlikely. And too much like what happened to Jackie.’
‘But not completely out of the question.’
‘I dunno. What makes you think that?’
‘God, I don’t know. I feel like my head’s coming off.’ Annie closed her eyes tight, opened them, then said: ‘Gina was losing her mind and phoning Gary, and Gary was passing the glad news on to you about Constantine being alive and me visiting him. Maybe they’re thinking Gary is a loose thread that needs tying up.’
‘Yeah, but if that’s right then we’re all for it, ain’t we? You and me. You, because you know where he is. Me, because I might get it out of you – if I haven’t already got it out of Gina.’
Annie stared at him. If Max had got it out of Gina, then wouldn’t he have acted on that information already? Gone up to Scotland and done something drastic? He didn’t have that info, she was sure of it. She was pretty certain that Gary had died before he got around to passing it on to Max.
‘You haven’t. Have you?’ she asked, to be sure.
‘Nope.’ Max accelerated toward a delivery van that was blocking their path, then swerved out and overtook with a honk of the horn.
‘Christ. You still drive like a fucking lunatic,’ said Annie, her right foot automatically stamping on a non-existent brake, her hands clutching her seat.
‘You can get out and walk if you like.’
Annie loosened her grip as he veered around an obstacle. She dragged her hands through her hair. ‘All right, this doesn’t look like Mafia style, but who really knows? As for any threat to us, forget that. That’s rubbish. Alberto wouldn’t have it. We’re Layla’s parents.’
‘Fucking Redmond. That sick bastard just won’t die like the rest of that family.’
