by Tania Carver
And now she walked, the only person out, her heels clacking and crunching, echoing all around. Behind her were houses, flats. Both old and old-looking. In keeping with the local character. The land stopped the other side of her. She could make out shapes in the fog, lights over the water from the port. It looked like something from a science fiction film, a hulking, crash-landed mothership sitting ominous and indistinct in the mist.
She walked along the footpath towards the agreed spot. A lifeboat station was on her right, the runway positioned on the stony shingle beach. On the other side of her were landed wooden boats. Pulled in and piled up. The dark disguising the fact that most of them, holed and rotting, would never set sail again. Their final resting place. Their graveyard.
She kept walking, away from the houses and flats now, finding herself alone. The boats were now piled up on both sides. Her breath caught from something more than cold. The overhead street lights cast deep, dark shadows, providing perfect cover for muggers and rapists. She could see ahead to where the path was clear and open, where it rejoined the rest of the town and her assignation was to take place, but to get there she had to walk through this first.
She moved slowly, eyes darting, alert for any sudden movement, any attack, listening for changes in sound. She could hear only the white-noise drone of the waves breaking against the shingle beach. That and the beating of her own heart.
She tried to joke with herself, think of it as a final test to go through before starting her new life. Go into the darkness, come out in the light. Just her and the weird sister. How was that going to work? Would they get on? Have much in common? If Helen had been asked earlier, she would have said no. Definitely not. But now she wasn’t so sure. There had seemed to be a connection when they talked. Kindred spirits, and all that. And there was the money, too. That was probably what would keep them together.
She clutched her coat more tightly about her, kept a firm grip on her suitcase. Despite telling herself there was nothing to worry about, she wished she had something else to hold, something she could use as a weapon if she needed to.
And then she heard something. Or someone.
She turned. The sound came from her left. Movement, someone coming towards her. Helen froze. Then heard a voice.
‘Hello, Helen.’
She turned. It was Dee. Sliding out of the shadows.
Smiling.
78
‘Well I wish we’d stopped. That’s all I’m saying.’ Jessie looked sulkily out of the car window.
Deepak sighed and shook his head. A reply felt unnecessary. She knew what he was thinking, what he would say. They were working, they might lose Helen Hibbert if they stopped now, the fish and chip shop would still be there once they had finished … all that. She knew what he would say because she had heard it all before. Many times.
‘Look,’ said Deepak, staring through the windscreen. ‘If she goes any further down there, we’re going to lose her.’
‘Then we get out of the car and follow her.’
Deepak didn’t look happy about that.
‘What, now you don’t want to follow her?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s cold. I didn’t bring appropriate clothing.’
Jessie smiled, looked away.
After leaving the Sloane house, they had gone back to Helen Hibbert’s flat to question her and found her leaving, pulling a suitcase behind her. They had followed her, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Deepak was very good, she had to give him that. All the way down the A14 to Harwich. Sometimes he had been one car behind her, sometimes two or three. At one point he was even in front. But he never once lost sight of her. And never let her know she was being tailed.
They had pulled back as she had negotiated the old narrow lanes of Harwich, waiting until she had parked and got out before bringing their car alongside her. They had watched as she set off walking, pulling her suitcase behind her.
‘Looks like she’s got a hot date,’ said Jessie, then turned to Deepak. ‘Sorry. Cold date.’
‘Very funny,’ he said, face straight.
They watched her walk towards the stacked old boats.
‘Very brave,’ said Deepak.
‘Or stupid,’ said Jessie.
‘Maybe she’s meeting someone there,’ said Deepak.
‘Let’s hope it’s who she wants to meet.’
Deepak leaned over to the glove compartment, took out a pair of miniature binoculars.
‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ said Jessie. ‘Apart from bringing warm clothing, of course.’
Deepak ignored her, watched Helen Hibbert.
‘She’s stopped,’ he said.
‘Let me see.’ Jessie made a grab for the binoculars. Deepak held her off.
‘Just a minute.’ He kept watching. ‘There’s somebody with her.’
‘Let me see.’
Again he stopped her. He smiled. ‘Well, well, well … ’
‘What? What?’ Jessie scowled. ‘I hate it when you do this.’
He put the binoculars down, turned to his superior. ‘This gets better.’
79
Right at this very second, Tyrell had never hated himself more. Never could hate himself more.
They had arrived there with no trouble. Once Amy saw what kind of venue it was and what was happening there, she had become angry. Striding up and down in the car park, swearing, ranting to herself that she had allowed herself to be duped, played. Josephina and Tyrell had just stood there, silent. She had then hurried them inside, pulled them to the back of the hall, hidden from the rest of the punters by the huge hay bales. And that was when she had handed him the gun, told him to hold it against Josephina’s head. The little girl had just stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears, threatening to spill over.
‘Tell her,’ Amy had said, ‘that if she doesn’t stand still and do what she’s told, she won’t get to see her mother. Ever.’
Tyrell had stared at the gun in his hand, felt its cold heaviness, then looked at the girl and back to Amy. He had shaken his head. ‘No. I won’t.’
‘Really?’ Amy had smiled then. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘One of us has to do it. You want me to? Shall I? Do you trust me?’ He didn’t have to answer her. She knew what he was thinking. She smiled, seeing he had no choice. ‘Thought so.’
He had looked between Amy and Josephina and reluctantly held on to the gun. ‘I hate guns,’ he said to Amy. ‘And I really, really hate you.’
She shrugged. ‘Not the first time you’ve told me that. Just do as you’re told. And make sure she does what she’s told. And don’t get clever. Don’t even think about using it on me.’
He hadn’t. Not until she had said it. And by then it was too late.
‘Just do it. We get this done, go back to the house, get sorted and it’s all over.’
Tyrell’s hand was shaking. He really did hate guns. The sound they made, the look of them, the heft of them. They were cold, hard. Dead to the touch.
And now he was standing there, holding the automatic on a child. A child he had made promises to, who trusted him. Now she couldn’t look at him. She was shaking too. The threatened tears had never happened only because she was too frightened to cry.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m not … not going to hurt you. You know that … ’
He didn’t know if he was speaking to the child or to himself.
‘I know … you won’t believe me, but please … I want you to go back to your mother. I want you to go home.’ He sighed. ‘I want to go home too.’
All around were too many people making too much noise. Screaming and braying. Worse even than the worst nights in prison. At least then he was on his own, just listening to the noise. Here he was right among it. In the thick of it. He didn’t know what to do, couldn’t think.
So he just stood there, holding the gun. Hating himself. Josephina wouldn’t even look at him. That really hurt. Knowing he had let her down, betrayed her trust. And he had don
e it by being weak. Making the wrong decisions, the wrong choices.
And that made him angry with himself.
He looked again at the gun. At the child. At Amy next to him, talking on the phone.
At the gun. Again.
Yes. He was hurt. Yes. He was angry.
It was time to do something about it.
80
‘You bitch … ’ Marina started to move through the crowd.
‘I’ve told you already. Stay where you are.’
Marina knew this wasn’t the time to antagonise the woman, so she did as she was told and stopped moving. She kept the phone clamped to her ear.
‘That’s better,’ said the woman. ‘I just wanted you to see that she’s still alive, that she’s unhurt. That I haven’t been lying to you.’
‘I need to see her,’ said Marina.
‘You can see her from where you are. She’s fine.’
Marina knew she should react as a psychologist would, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Bitch … ’
‘Whatever. You get her back when you’ve completed your part of the deal. Not before. Do that and everything will be fine.’
Marina wanted to look round but didn’t dare. Was Franks nearby? Could he see her or Josephina? Could he see the gun? It was hidden from most of the crowd, so she doubted it. But she hoped he was watching her and could read her reactions. She had to play for time, so she reined her emotions in. Tried to keep calm, focus. ‘Right. I’m here. You want me to give a report on your patient. Shall we do this now?’
‘I had hoped we could. But this venue isn’t particularly conducive to conversation, is it?’
‘Well, we could … ’ A wall of sound sprang up around Marina as she spoke. The fight was over. Most people were cheering, some booing, shouting out threats. Marina, her back to the ring, ignored it. She also missed seeing Sandro appear and stand at the ringside. He didn’t see her either. He was focused, in the place he needed to be to fight.
Marina gave another surreptitious look round. Still no sign of Franks. ‘We could go somewhere else,’ she said.
‘We could. In fact we have to, since we can’t do anything here.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Marina. ‘Stuart Sloane, where are you keeping him?’
‘He’s right here.’
Marina looked around. ‘Right where?’
‘Right in front of you.’
Marina realised who she meant. Her heart skipped a beat. ‘That’s him? The one holding a gun on my daughter?’
‘Your new client. Don’t sound so surprised. I’d ask him to wave, but he’s busy.’
Marina felt her legs begin to tremble. ‘And you want me to declare him sane.’
‘Oh yes. He’s sane, all right.’
Marina fought the urge to scream. ‘Then why is he holding a gun on my daughter?’
‘Because I told him to. He’s protecting my investment, Dr Esposito. So don’t do anything stupid, or it’ll get very messy.’
The trembling in Marina’s legs spread to her whole body. She wanted to rush over and grab her daughter, call the woman’s bluff, take whatever came her way and run. She looked round once more, desperate for Franks’s intervention.
‘Who you looking for?’
‘What?’ Marina had been too blatant. ‘I’m not … not looking for anyone.’
‘You looked round like you were waiting for a bus.’
‘I was just … No … ’ And then she saw him. Off to her left, trying to walk through the crowd as unobtrusively as possible. He had spotted her, was coming closer.
She had to signal, tell him to keep back. She caught his eye, shook her head.
‘Who’s that? What are you doing?’
‘I’m … Nothing.’ Franks picked up the signal. Stopped moving.
‘Liar. You were … ’ There was a pause on the line, followed by a sharp intake of breath. ‘Bitch.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You’ve set me up.’
Marina felt her stomach churn. ‘No I haven’t, I—’
‘Don’t lie to me. You’ve set me up, haven’t you? That’s why you wanted to meet here. Who is it? Who were you signalling to? Bitch … ’
Marina was going to argue but couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t incriminate her further. The woman would be able to tell that she was lying.
The woman gave a sigh that was almost a growl. She spoke quickly. ‘Why couldn’t you just have done what you were told, eh? Why? Why did you have to … ’ Another sigh, another growl. ‘You’ve done it now, bitch. ‘I’m not responsible for what happens next.’
The phone died in Marina’s hand.
81
Mickey was relieved that he and Anni hadn’t had sex in the office.
They had both been seriously tempted, but common sense had eventually prevailed. They had kept working on the task before them, just giving occasional suggestive hints, quick, surreptitious strokes of arms and thighs, tantalising little promises of what they could expect from each other later.
They had focused, gone to work. Pulled out everything they could find about Michael and Dee Sloane, their company and their lives.
‘Right,’ said Mickey, leaning back from the screen and rubbing his eyes, putting together what they had found out so far. ‘Graham Watts … ’
‘The dead guy from the house in Jaywick,’ said Anni, sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs back and forth and eating a packet of vending machine crisps. ‘First on the scene to find the bodies that Stuart Sloane was supposed to have killed.’
‘Yep. Now. Jeffrey Hibbert.’
‘The victim in the murder case Calamity Jane’s working on.’
‘Very funny. Hibbert and Watts used to work together. For the Sloanes.’
Anni kept listening. Mickey checked the screen, his notes on the desk. ‘They were both high up,’ he said. ‘Started as workers, went on to be gangmasters on the farms, did their own recruitment, hiring and firing, all that.’
‘Farms,’ said Anni through a mouthful of crisps.
‘What?’
‘You said farms. Plural.’
Mickey leaned forward, helped himself to a crisp.
‘Oi!’
‘Thanks.’ He continued. ‘Salt and vinegar. Not my favourite.’
‘I’ll remember that in future. Always get them. Stop you from nicking them.’
‘Anyway, yes. Farms plural. After the death of their parents, the Sloane siblings diversified the portfolio, you might say. It was like they were just waiting for their father’s death to take over the family business and get it going. They started speculating. Bought up shares in the industrial farms that were emerging in Europe at the time. Worked those shares up to controlling interests in most cases.’
‘Industrial farming? Lovely.’
Mickey nodded. ‘Saw a documentary on it once. Horrible. Almost put me off eating meat.’
‘Almost. Carry on.’
‘Right. The Sloanes diversified. Import — export, taking control of the supply chain. The works. Eventually they sold their farm, set up an umbrella company, Sloane Holdings.’
‘So where do Hibbert and Watts come into this?’ asked Anni.
‘Glad you asked. Apparently, according to the official version put out by the Sloanes, Graham Watts didn’t like the direction the company was taking and voiced his displeasure. As a result, he was kicked out. And since Hibbert was a close friend, he got the chop too.’ Mickey stole another crisp.
‘Stop it!’
‘Not bad, actually. Could get used to them. Anyway, they were both kicked out. But they made a fuss. Started mouthing off: they knew where the bodies were buried, were going to ruin the Sloanes, yada yada, blah blah.’
‘The usual stuff.’
‘Yep. But the thing was, their version contradicted the Sloanes’. Watts and Hibbert said it wasn’t about the expansion of the business. They were more than happy with that, it made them more money.’
‘What the
n?’
‘The Sloanes themselves.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well … ’ Mickey looked at the screen once more. ‘Michael Sloane made a full recovery after the shooting. His wounds weren’t that serious. But Dee Sloane, the sister, wasn’t so lucky. She had to keep going abroad for treatment. Expensive treatment. Word was she wasn’t quite right in the head. Needed mental as well as physical treatment.’
‘Not surprised after what she’d been through.’
‘No. And apparently she was never the same afterwards. Had to live as a recluse. But I’ve found something else, too. Some kind of weird sex parties.’
Anni smiled. ‘How weird?’
‘Get your mind out of the gutter, Hepburn. I don’t know. But Watts and Hibbert alluded to them. In fact they were supposed to have been part of them. Rumour was that Watts and Dee Sloane had something going and the brother didn’t like it. Then something else happened. Remember that case a few years ago? Dead cockle pickers at Wrabness?’
‘Yeah. Migrant workers. Left out when the tide came in. Big court case.’
‘Yeah, huge. And it was the Sloanes. It could have broken them. But they got away with it.’
‘How?’
‘Witnesses retracted their stories, a couple even disappeared. No evidence of negligence. Death by misadventure. The Sloanes got off as lightly as possible. They started to diversify their business interests shortly after that.’
Anni screwed up her crisp packet, threw it in the bin. ‘Not people to mess with.’
‘Nope. And apparently a few of their business rivals have disappeared after dealing with them too.’
‘You mean gone out of business?’
‘No. I mean disappeared. Without a trace. Investigations took place … ’ He shrugged. ‘Nothing. Like they’d vanished off the face of the earth. Sloanes completely untouchable.’
‘Jesus. So where does Stuart Sloane fit in? Is he after revenge too?’
