by Roberta Kray
Tony gave a shrug and went back to eating his breakfast. ‘You want me to have a word with this Maddie Layne?’
‘No, I’m dealing with it. You just sort your boys out.’ She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I mean it, Tony. This is serious. Get your finger out or we’re all going to end up in the shit.’
29
Eli Glass stared down at the decapitated angel. The stonemason was supposed to have come and picked her up, but he’d caught a dose of summer flu. It would be a while yet before she was removed. Lying next to her body was her head, her face gazing up at the grey sky with a look of stolid forbearance.
Although it wasn’t cold, the rain was coming down steadily. Eli turned up the collar on his jacket as the rain slid down the back of his neck. Last week, he and Rick had managed to move the angel up against the wall where she was less visible to people passing by on the thoroughfare. She’d been a dead weight, mind, and his shoulders had ached for a few days after.
The cemetery had lots of angels like these. Mainly old. Most of them going way back. People weren’t so keen on them these days, or maybe they just didn’t have the cash. One of her wings was damaged, the tip snapped off. A small pool of water was gathering in the curve. The rain pocked the surface, creating tiny circles. He gazed at the broken statue for a while longer before pushing his hands deep into his pockets, turning round and heading for the office. It was getting on for eleven. Time for a brew.
On his way there, he saw Terry Street standing by the grave of his wife. The man was often here now, staring hard at the headstone as if he was trying to figure out something. Even though he was ten yards away, Eli could still hear her strident complaints. Lizzie Street didn’t know the meaning of resting in peace. The fading yellow chrysanthemums, left by Lena Gissing, had been pulled out of the urn and chucked on the grass. But they hadn’t been replaced by any fresh flowers.
Eli didn’t speak. Sometimes, occasionally, they’d exchange a nod, but usually Terry looked straight through him as if he wasn’t even there. And anyway, what was there to say? Every man had his own demons and Terry Street had more than most. It was ironic that the old gangster couldn’t remember what he’d done yesterday, but that the sins of the past were always with him.
Thinking of Lena Gissing reminded Eli of what he’d witnessed yesterday. He’d seen the red sports car pull up on the thoroughfare and watched as she got out and walked not to the office as he’d expected, but across the cemetery towards Lucy’s grave. Curiosity had made him follow her. He’d kept his distance, though, not wanting to be spotted.
The girl with the long brown hair had been tending the grave. He’d seen her stand up, watched as the two of them exchanged words. He was too far away to hear the row, but that hadn’t mattered. He’d known why Lena was there, why she had to be, why she couldn’t stay away. Like Terry, her past was coming back to haunt her.
What Eli didn’t know was what she’d thrown. He’d seen her bend down, pick something up and shout at the girl. He’d seen her arm swing back, seen her throw that something – with force, with speed – in the general direction of the Belvederes. What had it been? He would have gone to look, but after Lena had left, her son had arrived. Had he been following her? He must have been.
Eli had waited long enough to be sure the girl was safe before making himself scarce. Adam Vasser wasn’t just bad; he was shot full of evil. To be close to him, to be anywhere near him was to risk contagion. The man danced with the Devil.
Eli quickened his pace, trying to push all thoughts of Vasser from his mind. He veered off the main thoroughfare and on to one of the smaller paths. By the time he got to Lucy’s grave, the ankles of his trousers were soaked through from the long, wet grass. He reached out and touched the marble headstone. He gazed down at the roses; the peach-coloured blooms were just opening, the petals glistening with raindrops.
‘It’s me,’ he murmured. ‘It’s only me.’
He waited, hoping she might speak to him, but there was nothing, only the steady patter of the rain against the earth. With a heavy heart he walked on, brushing past the sodden buddleia, scouring the ground as he went. He searched to the left and the right, and was almost at the mausoleum before he eventually found it.
Crouching down, he moved aside the dock leaves to reveal the gold wedding band. Carefully, he picked it up and weighed it in his palm. What did he feel? A faint tingling against his skin. An odd, confusing emotion, but no words. Nothing he could really grasp. He concentrated hard, briefly closing his eyes. The ring was as silent as Lucy Rivers. He held it for a while longer and then slipped it into his pocket.
Eli trudged back across the cemetery, his shoulders hunched against the rain. Five minutes later, he was standing outside the office. There was a small room at the back of the building where the workers could eat their lunch or have a brew. It had a separate door, so they didn’t need to tramp through the main reception area.
He paused for a moment, trying to decide which door to head for. He was desperate for a brew, but the ring was burning a hole in his pocket. If pushed, he wouldn’t have been able to explain why he felt the need to get rid of it. It was a gut instinct, a feeling that he couldn’t ignore.
Delia Shields was alone in the office. She looked up, frowning, as he opened the door.
He knew better than to take his muddy boots inside. Instead, he waited for her to come to him. She didn’t rush. She walked slowly across the room as if he was the very last person she wanted to talk to.
‘Yes, Eli?’
‘I found something,’ he said, holding out the ring.
She stared at it, keeping her hands by her sides as if reluctant to touch it. ‘Where?’
‘Over on the west side. It was in the grass.’ He didn’t mention Lena Gissing or what he had witnessed with the girl. Delia might think he’d been spying. It would give her another excuse to try and get rid of him. ‘Must have been dropped by someone.’
‘No one’s reported it as lost.’
‘You want it or not?’ he asked, thrusting it closer to her.
Delia flinched as if the ring was some kind of weapon. Her face had grown flushed, a red stain that spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Finally, reluctantly, she took the gold band from him. ‘I’ll keep it for a few days, see if anyone claims it. If not, I’ll hand it in at the police station.’
Eli gave a nod. She knew who’d thrown the ring. Of course she did. He could tell that from her reaction. And she knew who it had once belonged to.
‘Was there anything else?’
‘No.’
Without another word, she turned, went back to her desk, opened the drawer and dropped the ring into it. Then she looked over at him again. It was a searing glance, accusing, as if what he’d just done was a deliberate act of malice. ‘Thank you, Eli,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m sure you want to get on.’
Eli closed the door and left.
30
On Saturday morning, Maddie woke to find her stomach full of butterflies. The prison visit loomed ahead, along with all the hours she would have to wait before she finally came face to face with Cato. Now that she had made the decision, she wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.
Over breakfast, Zac was unusually grumpy. Was he picking up on her anxiety, or had he just got out of the wrong side of the bed? She made an effort to be cheerful, trying to cajole him into a smile.
‘So, are you looking forward to your bowling lesson with Grandpa?’
‘It’s raining,’ he said sulkily. ‘We can’t go outside in the rain.’
‘It might have stopped by then.’ However, as she gazed out of the window, that prospect seemed unlikely. The sky was dark and thunderous, the grey clouds lying low over the rooftops. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find something fun to do.’
‘Will Uncle Sol be there?’
‘I don’t know, hon. Maybe he’ll pop in.’ She felt guilty about withholding information from Solomon. Her visit to see Cato w
asn’t just about Greta’s death but about Bo’s too. Didn’t he have a right to know? But know what? She had no firm facts, nothing solid, nothing that could really be described as evidence. It was better, surely, to hang on until the picture became clearer.
‘Can I go and watch TV?’ Zac asked.
‘You haven’t finished your breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Maddie wasn’t a fan of leaving kids in front of the television for hours, but with no chance of him playing outside and with her mind so distracted by the forthcoming visit, she gave in to the easy option. ‘All right. Just for a while. But take your toast with you – and don’t get crumbs all over the sofa.’
He grabbed his plate, jumped up and fled to the living room. Seconds later, she heard the jingly sound of the cartoons he loved so much. Maddie guiltily sipped her tea, feeling that she should have made more of an effort to find a way of entertaining him: drawing or painting, something more creative than just staring at a screen. But this morning she was too preoccupied. Did that make her the worst mother in the world? Probably.
After clearing up the breakfast things, Maddie went upstairs and studied her wardrobe. She had no idea what you wore to meet a murderer. Black seemed a little dramatic. White too… Too what? She wasn’t sure. Too innocent perhaps. Jeans? Too casual. A suit? Too smart. A dress? Too much leg on show. Trousers, then. Trousers and a top.
She dug out a pair of cream trousers and a pale green cotton top with buttons down the front. Sitting down on the bed, she glanced at her watch for the twentieth time. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. What was she going to say to Cato? She ought to figure it out before she got there. A slow, sneaky fear was creeping up on her – a fear that this might all be a waste of time. Greta and Bo had been killed six years ago. Jay Cato had been inside for the last ten years. How could he know anything?
Quickly Maddie rose to her feet again. If she thought about it too much, she’d end up changing her mind and bottling out. No, the visit was booked and she was going to go through with it. She’d figure out her questions on the way there. And then she wondered if she should ask Winston if she could borrow his old Ford. It would make the journey easier – unless the car broke down again. Solomon’s skills as a mechanic left a lot to be desired.
In the end, she decided to stick with public transport. Thornley Heath wasn’t that far away, although she’d need to take two trains and a bus. If she left at midday, she’d have a couple of hours, which should be more than enough.
At half eleven, Maddie dragged a complaining Zac off the sofa, got him into his jacket and passed him the little rucksack containing all he needed for an overnight stay.
‘Now, you’ll be good for your gran, won’t you?’
Zac lifted his shoulders slightly.
‘Was that a yes?’
‘Yes,’ he repeated, although in a somewhat dispirited tone.
Maddie looked at him. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you liked being with Gran and Grandpa.’
He gave another shrug, glanced away and shifted from one foot to the other. It was a few seconds before he met her gaze again. ‘Are you going to come back?’
‘What do you mean? Of course I’m coming back.’
‘When?’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning, won’t I?’ Concerned, she leaned down and took hold of his arms. ‘Why wouldn’t I come back?’
Zac squirmed a little. ‘Kyle says that when Shauna leaves him with his gran, she doesn’t always… Sometimes she stays away all weekend. Sometimes even longer.’
‘And when have I ever done that?’ she asked, silently cursing Shauna. ‘That’s never going to happen. I promise, okay?’
‘Swear to God and hope to die?’
‘Swear to God and hope to die.’
Zac finally managed a semblance of a smile. ‘You can call me at Gran’s this evening.’
‘I’ll do that. I’ll call you at seven. So, are we okay now? Are we ready to go?’
‘Ready,’ he said. ‘Ready, steady, go.’
Walking along the street towards Rose Avenue, Maddie wondered if Zac’s fears were purely down to Kyle’s tales of abandonment or if they were more deep-rooted. He’d lost both his mum and his dad at an early age. It had to leave scars. Did he worry that she’d leave him too, or was she overcomplicating things? Maybe he had simply picked up on her anxiety about the visit. It was impossible to know what went on in a child’s head.
As they approached Alisha and Winston’s house, she considered changing her plans and cancelling the date with Rick. Perhaps Zac needed her more this evening. Or was that the entirely wrong thing to do? Would that be giving in to his fears, confirming that there was something to worry about after all? No, she was better leaving things as they were. She’d call him at seven and see how he sounded.
With time to spare, Maddie accepted Alisha’s invitation to stay for a cup of tea. While Zac went to raid the biscuit tin in the kitchen, she sat down with Winston in the living room. She asked how he was. He said he was fine. He asked how she was. She said she was good.
He gave her a long, steady look. ‘You got something on your mind, hon? Something bothering you?’
‘No,’ she said too quickly. And then, because he could read her like a book, she added, ‘Well, nothing more than the usual.’
‘If it’s money worries, you only have to ask. We don’t have much, but —’
‘No, it isn’t that. Honestly.’ She hesitated, glancing towards the kitchen. ‘But I don’t think Zac’s too happy about my date this evening.’
‘He’s worried about losing you to another man.’
‘Oh, it isn’t anything serious,’ she insisted. ‘Just a meal. I mean, it’s not…’
Winston leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. ‘You go out and enjoy yourself, girl. He’ll be fine. We’ll take good care of him.’
‘I know you will. You always do.’ It crossed her mind, suddenly, to tell him about Jay Cato, to admit where she was really going this afternoon. But she resisted the temptation. What was the point of raising his hopes when they could so easily be dashed again? Although they rarely talked about Bo and Greta these days, she knew that Winston and Alisha craved the truth just as she did – and that closure couldn’t come until the killer had been caught. Would Cato provide the information they needed? It wouldn’t be long before she found out.
31
From the moment she left Rose Avenue, Maddie kept her eyes peeled for anyone who might be following her. The trouble was that after a while everyone began to look suspicious: the man standing on the corner, the middle-aged woman with the shopping bags, even the group of lads loitering by the entrance to the station. She went to the office, bought a return ticket to Chingford and walked down the steps on to the platform.
While she waited for the train, she continued to scrutinise the people around her. Was anyone watching, paying too much attention? She exercised her peripheral vision, her gaze sliding sideways. The last thing she wanted was to antagonise Lena Gissing, and that was exactly what would happen if the woman found out she was visiting Jay Cato. It would be like a red rag to a bull.
Maddie took the train to Liverpool Street, where she had to change. There was a fifteen-minute wait for the connection to Chingford and she went for a browse in the shops. By now, however, the paranoia was really starting to kick in and she spent more time staring at the other customers than at the goods on display.
By the time she got to Chingford and caught a bus to Thornley Heath, her stress levels were going through the roof. She gazed out of the rain-spattered window, questioning yet again the wisdom of what she was doing. Cato wasn’t a man who could be trusted. She had to be careful. She had to watch her step. Standing in the crossfire between him and Lena Gissing was not a safe place to be.
Maddie had checked the bus route on her laptop and knew that the prison wasn’t far off. Quickly she looked through her bag, making
sure she had all the ID she needed. To be sure, she had brought her passport and her driving licence, even though the visiting order only specified one or the other. She had come this far and had no intention of being turned away at the gates on a technicality.
A couple of girls got off at the same stop as her. They were young, in their early twenties, with long straight blonde hair. The two of them wore tight blue jeans, stilettos, skinny vests and, despite the weather, matching Prada sunglasses. As this area was hardly the social hub of London, Maddie could guess where they were heading.
She fell in behind them and after a while found herself walking adjacent to a high grey stone wall. A minute later, she was standing in the queue waiting to book in. The reception area was crowded and noisy, the general babble of conversation interspersed by shrieks from crying babies. The room, which was too small to fit everyone comfortably, smelled of wet coats and perfume.
Eventually, Maddie got to the counter and passed over the VO and her driving licence. The prison officer typed something into his computer. ‘First time?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
He looked at her, looked down at the passport and glanced back up again. ‘You can’t take your bag into the visiting hall,’ he said. ‘Only a purse. Do you want a locker?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘It’s a pound deposit. You’ll get it back when you hand the key in at the end of the visit.’
Maddie dug out a coin and slipped it under the grille.
The officer handed her back the passport along with a piece of card with the number 31 printed on it and a key tagged with the number 26. ‘They’ll start calling at two,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’
Maddie forced a path through the crowd to the back of the room, where there was a bank of old metal lockers. She scanned the row until she found the right one, unlocked it and put her coat, umbrella and bag inside. It was only as she closed the door that she remembered about the purse. Quickly she opened it again, removing the purse from her bag.
