by Roberta Kray
‘And you’re thinking what?’ Mac said gruffly. ‘That maybe it’s out of a misguided sense of loyalty, or sympathy, or pity for the poor old git who walks with a limp?’
Now it was Harry’s turn to scowl. Instinctively, he glanced down at his leg. ‘It crossed my mind.’
Mac flapped his hand again in a short dismissive gesture. ‘Well, push off and occupy your mind with more useful things. You might not be the finest physical specimen in the world but at least you’ve got a brain. I can get muscle from anywhere.’
‘I’m not a bloody cripple,’ Harry snapped.
‘So stop acting like one.’
Harry glared at him, his blue eyes blazing. He might still be slow on his feet but he was working out, going regularly to the gym and getting himself as fit as he could. When it came to muscle, he was as strong as the next man. At over six foot there was no reason why he couldn’t …
It was only as Mac’s mouth started to twitch that Harry realized what was going on.
He looked away and groaned. ‘And if you think you can use that pathetic reverse psychology on me—’
‘Go home,’ Mac said, laughing. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
It was after seven by the time Harry had ploughed through the evening traffic and got back to Kentish Town. What he needed was a stiff drink, a good hot meal and some mindless rest and relaxation. A Chinese takeaway and a few hours in front of the TV should do the trick.
He had only just closed the door when Valerie came flying out of the bedroom. ‘Where have you been? We’re going to be late.’
‘Late?’
She was all dressed up in a low-cut, revealing, slinky black dress. ‘It’s Scott Hall’s retirement do. You didn’t forget, did you?’
‘Of course not,’ he lied.
She hurried back into the bedroom. ‘So where have you been?’
‘Sorry, I got tied up.’ He dropped his keys on the hall table and followed her through. ‘I’ve been stuck on surveillance all day and then I had to talk to Mac about a missing persons case – Ray Stagg’s brother-in-law as it happens.’
She was standing in front of the mirror twisting her long fair hair into a complicated knot at the back of her head. ‘My, you are moving in exclusive circles.’
‘I always have,’ he said, stepping forward and wrapping his arms gently around her waist. This unspoken feud, with all its distance, had gone on long enough; he missed being close to her. ‘And how was your day? You look gorgeous by the way, really beautiful.’ He bent his head to kiss the cool smooth skin at the base of her neck. He looked in the mirror and smiled.
Her crimson lips smiled tentatively back.
‘Why don’t you leave your hair down?’ His hands roamed up, sliding slowly around her breasts. ‘In fact, why don’t we just—’
‘We’re late,’ she said again. ‘We were supposed to be there at seven. Are you ready to go?’
‘Come on,’ he murmured. ‘Another half-hour won’t make much difference.’
‘I can’t,’ she said, abruptly pulling away from him.
He stood back, confused. ‘Can’t what?’
She sat down on the bed, sliding her feet into a pair of black stilettos. She gave a cursory glance towards his groin before gazing up at him with a sigh. ‘I mean I can’t just turn it on and off whenever you feel like it. I don’t know where I stand with you, Harry. It’s been months since we’ve … and now you’re suddenly all over me. I don’t understand. I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘Nothing’s going on. I just thought—’
‘I’m perfectly aware of what you thought,’ she said. ‘But it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just come home one day and act as if everything’s fine. It isn’t. And you know it isn’t.’
‘So why can’t we sit down and talk?’
Valerie slowly raised her hazel eyes to him. ‘Oh, is that what you were doing? Wanting to talk?’
‘You know what I mean.’ Harry held her gaze for a second, hesitated and then turned his face away. He loved her but no matter how much he wanted to repair their relationship he just couldn’t have that conversation this evening. ‘I’ll catch you up,’ he said. ‘I need to take a shower.’
She grabbed her bag and flounced angrily out of the room. ‘Fine. I’ll see you later.’
He’d had every intention of going – or so he thought. It was only as he dried himself and got dressed again that his resolve began to falter. It was bad enough not being a cop any more without having to mix with them, to listen to them, to be reminded of the life he was missing out on. And that was only the half of it. If he went, he’d also have to spend the whole evening pretending that everything was fine between him and Val.
Did that make him an emotional coward? Probably. He poured himself a generous glass of vodka, slouched down on the sofa and turned on the TV.
A few minutes later he turned it off again.
He couldn’t relax. He couldn’t think straight. Standing up, he went over to the window and looked out. The street was empty. In the house across the way, the lights on a Christmas tree merged from gold into blue into red. He leaned his head against the cool pane of glass. What was he doing? It was time to start facing up to things, to stop running away. But could he actually do that? Running away, he thought wryly, was ingrained in the Lind family genes, a tradition that was none too easy to let go of.
Harry wanted to drink but didn’t want to drink alone. Taking his glass through to the kitchen he slung the vodka down the sink. He’d go to The Whistle instead and get himself a pint. Then perhaps, after a spot of Dutch courage, he might just summon up the nerve to join his former colleagues.
Chapter Ten
Ray Stagg collected a Scotch from the bar before making his way through to the guest lounge. The club was quiet this evening, a typical Monday, the usual punters either too tired or too broke after the excesses of the weekend.
He paused by the door to study the ageing thickset man who was waiting for him. From a distance he looked benign enough, his cheeks slightly ruddy, his bushy beard and long white hair more suggestive of Santa Claus than of the brutal murdering gangster he actually was. Ray was no angel but this guy was in a different league.
He took a swig of the Scotch and swallowed hard. It had been a mistake to get involved with Jimmy Keppell; he should have politely declined the invitation. But the truth was he’d been flattered, impressed, seduced even by the prospect of working with someone of his reputation, a villain who had once mixed with so many notorious figures from the past. Who could refuse? Well, he should have, he should have known better, but it was too late now for idle regrets.
Ray strolled forward, forcing a smile as he approached the table. ‘Good to see you again.’
Keppell raised his cold blank eyes and nodded.
‘Do you want to go somewhere more private?’
‘Sit down,’ Keppell ordered.
Ray, although never deferential, was always careful. On this occasion, he did as he was told. ‘Would you like another drink?’
His visitor glared at him. ‘What I’d like,’ he said softly, ‘is for you to tell me what the fuck is going on.’
‘No worries. I’m sorting it.’
‘Have you found him yet?’
Ray tried to sound confident. ‘I will have – soon.’
Keppell didn’t seem impressed. ‘How soon is soon? Hours, days, weeks? I’ve made an investment, a big investment, and if there’s one thing you need to understand, son, it’s that I never get screwed over.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Do you?’ he said.
Ray nodded. ‘A few days, a week at the most. I’ll find him. I’ve got people out there. I’ve got people looking. He won’t stay hidden for long.’ He knocked back the rest of his Scotch. ‘I’ve even got Mackenzie on board.’
Keppell’s scarred burly fingers curled into a fist. ‘What? You’ve got a fucking ex-copper on the job?’
‘Believe me,’ Ra
y said, with more conviction than he felt, ‘I know what I’m doing. He owes me, owes me big-time and he won’t let me down.’ He decided, on balance, that it was better not to mention Harry Lind. That particular bet was a very private gamble. Knowing that Lind bore a personal grudge, that he’d do anything to put the knife in, he was counting on him to find Al Webster double-fast.
‘You’d better be sure,’ Keppell said.
Ray recognized the threat but kept his own response casual. ‘I am.’ He snapped his fingers at a passing waitress, some foreign blonde called Agnes.
‘Same again?’ she asked, swinging her hips as she drew up beside him.
‘Just bring the bottle over.’
Ray waited until she’d strutted off before turning towards Keppell again. ‘I need someone to help flush Al out and Mackenzie can do that. I know he can.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m absolutely sure.’
Keppell leaned forward and placed his large hand over Ray’s. ‘You’d better be, son.’ His fingers squeezed down hard, the pressure so intense that the bones came close to being crushed. ‘Because if you’re not …’
Chapter Eleven
Jess looked at her watch. It was ten past eight already; she’d been waiting for over forty minutes for Len to arrive. Where was he? It was hardly a question that needed answering – in some other pub, knocking back the booze, drowning his sorrows with no regard for the arrangements he had made several hours ago.
She tried his mobile again but it was turned off. It was pointless leaving any further messages. She wasn’t about to embark on a tour of all his other haunts either; it was too cold outside and there was no guarantee that she would ever find him. Why did she bother? Toby was right: Len was a waste of space. But then Toby with his smart suits, crass opinions and creeping hands was hardly the ideal role model either.
Jess finished her beer and was preparing to leave, gathering her coat and bag, when the door swung open and Harry Lind walked in. It was over a week since they’d first met, that Friday night when they’d all had too much to drink. What had they talked about? She couldn’t remember; it was all a bit blurred around the edges. She suspected, however, that they’d indulged in a fair amount of flirting. Still, that was nothing to be ashamed of.
She looked across the bar at him. He was a good-looking man, tall, his sleek black hair greying slightly at the temples. He had one of those angular, almost gaunt faces, the cheekbones sharp, the nose aquiline, the lips wide and thin. As if he were in a perpetual state of worry, there were two deep vertical lines engraved between his eyebrows. There was something about that intense, anxious look that appealed to her.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t. He would only be embarrassed to bump into her again. Men who were attached – and she was certain that he was – had a tendency to regret their drunken flirtations. She would just put her head down, slip out behind him and …
But she had barely taken a few steps when she heard his voice. ‘Jess!’
She looked up and smiled, pretending to be surprised. ‘Oh, hello.’
‘You’re not going, are you?’
‘Er … yes, actually I am. I was due to meet Len here at half-seven but …’ She lifted her hands in a gesture of resignation.
‘It’s not that late. He might still turn up.’ Harry reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. ‘Let me get you a drink.’
‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ve wasted enough time this evening.’
Harry raised his eyebrows.
She winced and then laughed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out like it did.’
He grinned back at her. ‘Don’t worry about it. I suppose I might be able to salvage what little remains of my male pride if you agree to stay for a drink.’
Jess gazed into his intense blue eyes and had a change of heart. Where was the harm? It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. She’d already missed her class and would only be going home to an empty flat. ‘Go on, then. I’ll have a quick half.’
They took the drinks over to an empty table. Jess sat down and watched as he took off his overcoat and laid it over the back of the chair. Underneath, he was impeccably dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt and tie.
‘My,’ she said, ‘do you always make such an effort when you slip round to your local?’
He glanced down at his clothes and smiled. ‘I think it’s important to maintain standards.’
‘And the real reason?’
Harry settled into his chair and took a sip of his pint. ‘I’m on my way to a retirement dinner for a former colleague.’
‘And you need a few bevvies before you can face the experience?’
‘Something like that.’
Jess looked at her watch. ‘Unless it’s a late start, I reckon you’ve already missed the first course.’
‘You could be right.’
‘Any particular reason – I mean as to why you find the prospect of a free dinner so thoroughly resistible?’
He hesitated, the truth on the tip of his tongue before he changed his mind. ‘It’s been a long day.’
Sensing that on this particular subject she wasn’t going to get much more out of him, Jess asked instead: ‘So how is the world of private investigation?’
‘Not bad. We’ve just taken on a missing persons case; it could be interesting.’
‘Oh, anyone I might know?’ She sensed his hesitation and smiled. ‘It’s okay, I’m not digging. I’m off duty. And anyway, I work for the local rag not the News of the World.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. You’ve every reason to be cautious. Never trust a reporter, right?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘No, but you were thinking it.’
He smiled at her over the rim of his pint. ‘I reserve the right to silence. But talking of reporters, what is it with you and Len Curzon? You should think about getting yourself a more reliable drinking partner.’
‘A more reliable boss would be nearer the mark. Not that he is my boss, not exactly, but he’s the person I’ve worked most closely with at the Herald. And the thing is, he’s good, better than good, only recently he’s …’
‘Been spending more time in the pub than on the job?’
Jess sighed. ‘Yeah, I guess so. I mean, he’s always been a drinker but never this bad. I’m worried about him. He’s been disappearing for days on end, says he’s working on something big but …’ She slowly shook her head. ‘I suppose it’s an occupational hazard when you spend so much of your life sitting in back-street boozers, trying to draw the local villains into your confidence.’
‘Which is not the kind of bad habit you’ll ever be in danger of falling into.’
She glanced around at the dingy surroundings of The Whistle, looked back at Harry and laughed. ‘God forbid.’
Harry was the first to look away. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. He’ll surface when he’s good and ready.’
‘I know.’
‘Although it probably doesn’t pay to rely on him too much.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘You don’t like him much, do you?’
Harry didn’t but was loath to admit it. The beer and the company were gradually making him relax. So rarely at his ease, he didn’t want to say anything to encourage her to leave. ‘To be honest, I can’t really claim to know him that well. Last week was the first time I’d seen him in a while. I’m sure he has his good points.’
‘You just haven’t stumbled across any of them yet.’
‘I wasn’t—’ he began, but was interrupted by his mobile ringing. ‘Sorry.’
Reaching into his pocket, he drew the phone out and stared at the screen. It was Valerie. In his head he heard the monologue that was about to follow. Where are you? What are you doing? Why aren’t you here? Frowning, he turned it off.
‘Nothing important?’
‘It’ll wait.’
Jess gave him a probing ki
nd of look. ‘I hope you weren’t supposed to be giving the after-dinner speech.’
‘It’s still early,’ he said. ‘How about one for the road?’
Chapter Twelve
Harry woke to the recognizable sounds of an angry female. From the spare room, he lay in bed, his head throbbing, while he listened to Valerie clattering noisily around the kitchen. Bang! A mug went down on the table. Slam! The fridge door was shut. Then the radio went on nice and loud. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance. She was going to have her say and she was going to have it before she left the flat this morning.
Stretching his hand out towards the bedside table he fumbled for his watch and peered through half-closed eyes at the face. It was ten to seven. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d got home. It had been late though; after two he suspected. After leaving The Whistle, they had gone on to a club off the Tottenham Court Road, a crowded, dimly lit place where they had eaten spicy tacos and drunk too much wine.
They? At the thought of Jess Vaughan, his forehead crumpled into a frown. He had a vague but disturbing memory of being in the back of a taxi, of having his arm round her, of leaning forward to … A small moan escaped from his lips. God, what had he been thinking? As if his life wasn’t complicated enough.
Harry dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the shower. For the next ten minutes he stood, barely moving, while the hot water thrashed down around him. Then as his limbs, if not his brain, gradually rose from their stupor, he washed his hair and scrubbed his body clean.
After pulling on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, he took a moment to examine his reflection in the mirror. Not good. What he needed was another eight hours’ sleep but he was going to have to wait until tonight before he got it.
There was another loud bang from the kitchen. He started. Quickly, he ran a comb through his hair. He couldn’t put off the confrontation forever. Better to get it over and done with. Taking a deep breath, Harry warily advanced into the kitchen.
Valerie turned, her eyes blazing.
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry,’ he said sheepishly. ‘And if it’s any consolation, I feel like hell.’
