The Villain’s Daughter

by Roberta Kray

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alice murmured. ‘I didn’t think.’ She gazed down at the young, blonde woman lying on the table. Catherine MacDonald was a pretty nineteen-year-old who had died tragically from an overdose. A post-mortem had been done before William had collected her from the hospital on Saturday. On Sunday, Toby had come in to see if she was ‘suitable’.

  ‘Didn’t think?’ he repeated sarcastically. ‘Well, that makes a fucking change, doesn’t it?’

  Two deep crimson patches burnished Alice’s cheeks. She was lying about William’s insistence on having the embalming done this morning. In truth, having seen her, Alice had simply felt unable to go through with Toby’s plan. Hadn’t the poor girl suffered enough? The thought of Danny Street being anywhere near the body filled her with revulsion.

  Toby glared at her. ‘She would have been perfect and now you’ve gone and ruined it all.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, reaching out to touch his arm. Alice always found herself apologising even when she wasn’t in the wrong. In the back of her mind she could hear her mother’s familiar reproaches: ‘Why do you let people walk all over you? Haven’t you got a mind of your own?’

  He shrugged off her hand. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’

  ‘But there’ll be others,’ she said defensively. ‘You know there will.’

  ‘I’ve already told him,’ Toby retorted bitterly. ‘I’ve made the arrangements. What the fuck am I supposed to say now?’

  Alice bit down on her lip. ‘Just tell him the truth - that her parents are insisting on seeing her this afternoon, that there’s nothing you can do it about it.’ She hoped Toby wouldn’t check with William or Iris, but didn’t think he would. He wouldn’t want to draw attention to his interest in Catherine MacDonald.

  Toby’s eyes flashed. ‘You know what he’ll do to me if he thinks I’m messing him around? He’ll break my bloody legs, Alice. Is that what you want?’

  She instantly shrank back. ‘Of course I don’t. I wouldn’t ever do anything to—’

  ‘But you already have. Can’t you see that? I thought you cared about me. You said you did. And now look what you’ve gone and done.’ His gaze slid back to the body of the girl. ‘You’ve landed me right in the shit.’

  Alice was aware at this point of the contradiction in her feelings for him. The anger had dissolved from Toby’s face to be replaced by a sulky, self-pitying expression. She thought it was curious how you could love someone and at the same time not actually like them very much. Toby was selfish, self-absorbed and utterly insensitive to others. In fact, it was doubtful if he had ever felt any real emotion towards anyone else. And yet, despite knowing all this, she still wanted him more than any man she had met before. It was perverse . . . and yet oddly exciting too.

  Toby threw the papers on to the counter and sighed. Eventually, grudgingly, he shook his head and said: ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had a go at you. It was just . . . just the shock.’

  ‘He’ll understand, won’t he? Danny Street, I mean.’

  Toby shrugged. ‘Are you kidding? He’s hardly the understanding type.’

  ‘But I can back you up. I can tell him what happened.’ Alice was surprised by her own audacity. The thought of talking to a psychopathic gangster like Street filled her with dread, but if it meant that Toby could be spared . . .

  ‘No,’ he said, forcing out a smile. ‘Thanks, but there’s no point in you getting your legs broken too.’

  Before Alice had a chance to respond, Toby quickly turned away and headed back up the steps.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It was a good ten minutes before Toby reappeared. Iris looked up, expecting him to stop and chat, but he walked straight past without even acknowledging her. There was a dark scowl on his face. She wondered what could have happened in the basement to have changed his mood so drastically. Mild-mannered Alice was hardly the type to cause offence. She watched as he paced restlessly around reception. His lips were moving but no sound came out; it was as if he was rehearsing a conversation he was about to have. After a while, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, stared at it and then abruptly put it away again.

  ‘You okay?’ Iris asked.

  Toby visibly jumped. ‘What?’

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Why should anything have happened?’

  Iris thought his voice sounded unusually defensive. ‘Because you look like you’ve just been handed a death sentence.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said bitterly, ‘that’s the business we’re in, isn’t it - death and despair.’

  Iris stared at him. ‘And since when did that ever bother you?’ Toby Grand had all the sensitivity of a brick wall. He didn’t do sympathy or compassion. Death, for him, usually meant only the happy ching ching of the cash register.

  ‘I’ve got a call to make, okay? You know, one of those difficult kind of calls - discussing arrangements with a relative.’

  Iris didn’t believe him. There was no reason for him to be making a call like that from his mobile. Why wasn’t he using the office phone? And anyway, Toby rarely dealt directly with the public. He left all that to his father and William. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I was only asking.’

  Toby gave her a look as he pulled on his overcoat. He crossed reception, yanked open the door and glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Do us a favour, will you? Tell Grimm Junior that I’ve had to go out.’

  ‘Where shall I say—’

  But the door had already closed behind him. ‘Don’t mention it,’ she murmured. Iris wondered what he was up to - something dodgy knowing Toby. She hoped it wasn’t connected to the Streets; those two sharks would eat him up and spit him out without a second’s thought. She was reminded of the threats that had been made at Columbia Road Market. Her stomach shifted at the memory. The Streets were dangerous, unpredictable men who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. It wasn’t a happy thought. Just how far would they go in their attempts to flush out her father?

  It was a question she didn’t dare dwell on.

  Iris returned her attention to the letter she was typing and tried her very best to concentrate.

  It was shortly after one when Iris went to the kitchen. She found Alice sipping on a mug of soup, one of those packet things that you added water to. Her dark hair, freshly cut, was sleek and glossy, and she was wearing more make-up than usual. In fact, everything about Alice Avery seemed slightly different: her clothes were smarter and she’d even gone to the trouble of painting her nails.

  ‘Hi,’ Iris said, before delving into the fridge for her pasta. She put the kettle on and sat down on the opposite side of the table. ‘How’s it going? Don’t usually see you at lunchtime.’

  ‘My mother’s out with friends. It didn’t seem worth going back to the flat so . . .’

  Iris nodded towards the soup. ‘Is that all you’re having?’

  ‘I’m on a diet.’ She patted her stomach and smiled. ‘Trying to lose a few pounds.’

  Ah, Iris thought, so maybe there was a man on the scene after all. She was about to come out with one of those confidence-boosting phrases, something along the lines of her being absolutely fine as she was, but then changed her mind. It might sound rather patronising. Instead she ripped the plastic fork off the back of the carton and began to eat. ‘So what’s bugging the beautiful Toby today?’

  There was a short pause. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, one moment he’s absolutely fine, joking around like he usually does and then he goes downstairs to see you and comes back looking like he’s just had his face slapped.’ She laughed. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

  Alice, looking flustered, picked up her mug and promptly put it down again. Her eyes remained firmly focused on the table. ‘Of course not. He only dropped off some papers. I-I barely talked to him. It wasn’t anything to do with me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s weird. I wonder why—’

  ‘It wasn’t anything to do with me,’ Alice repeated, he
r voice rising to a thin anxious squeak. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Iris stared at her and nodded. Clearly Toby wasn’t the only one feeling defensive. ‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t. I didn’t . . .’ She shook her head. Whatever had happened in the basement - and she was certain something had - Alice wasn’t prepared to share it. ‘All I meant was that you shouldn’t take him too seriously. He’s a pain in the ass, but he doesn’t mean any harm.’ Iris, even as she was speaking the words, wasn’t entirely convinced that the latter part of the statement was true. Toby, for all his charms, had a mean streak; there was a thin line between teasing and bullying and he had crossed it on more than one occasion.

  ‘I don’t,’ Alice said. She forced a smile, but her lower lip was trembling.

  Iris was beginning to wish she’d never raised the subject. The last thing she’d wanted to do was upset her. ‘Look, if there’s ever anything you want to talk about . . .’

  ‘I’m fine, really I am.’ Alice hurriedly scraped back her chair and stood up. ‘I have to get on.’

  ‘You haven’t finished your soup.’

  But Alice, like Toby before her, was already making a hasty exit.

  At five o’clock precisely, Iris put on her coat, said goodnight to William and headed for home. Outside, what remained of the snow had gathered in the gutters and turned to slush. She crossed over and walked quickly along the High Street, pausing only once to gaze into the window of the jeweller’s. The reason for this, she told herself, was that she was thinking of buying Luke a new watch for Christmas. But this wasn’t the only reason she stopped. Worried that she might be being followed again, and unwilling to glance over her shoulder continuously, she had come to an abrupt halt outside Ruby’s in the hope of catching out any shadow.

  But no one behind her faltered. No one stopped dead in their tracks or did anything even faintly suspicious. Iris couldn’t deny she was afraid - who wouldn’t be with the Streets on their case? - but knew she had to stop the fear from overwhelming her. If she wasn’t careful she would become completely paralysed by fright.

  She didn’t hang about for long. Apart from the fact she was in a hurry - she was due to meet Guy Wilder at six - she wasn’t really in the mood for considering what gift to buy Luke. She’d received only one curt text since he’d left that morning: Arrived safely. Not even a kiss. Not even a ‘Call later’. Despite his good mood of the previous evening, she was still, she suspected, in his bad books after abandoning him for Michael. Her doubts about his fidelity started niggling again. Frowning, she pushed them to the back of her mind. She already had enough to deal with.

  Iris passed by the café, its windows steamy and opaque, and continued along the High Street. Across the other side of the road, the small Green had a scattering of pure white Christmas lights twinkling in its trees. At any other time she might have found the sight entrancing, but in her present mood she couldn’t conjure up much festive spirit.

  As she passed through the main gate of Silverstone Heights, Iris looked up at the three ‘For Sale’ signs and was glad she and Luke hadn’t committed to buying a place. In the current economic climate, property was hard to shift. She found herself wondering how many couples were forced to stay together through financial commitments when the relationship had long since run aground. Not that she and Luke had reached that point yet but . . .

  Iris jogged up the stairs to the second floor and unlocked the door to the flat. She figured she should just about have time to grab a shower and get changed before going to meet Guy Wilder. She could have gone straight to the bar from work and saved all this crazy dashing around. Why hadn’t she? Because she felt it was only polite to freshen up, to put on some clean clothes. Except she knew that wasn’t the only reason. She wanted to make a good impression. She wanted him to like her. But that was only, she inwardly insisted, because she needed his help. It had absolutely nothing at all to do with that lean sculpted face or the way his gaze seemed to reach into the very heart of her.

  Twenty minutes later, showered and with her make-up done, she was still trying to decide what to wear. Something casual, she thought, but not too casual. There was a thin balance between looking good and looking like you’d tried too hard. Black? That was always a safe bet, but she’d been wearing black last time she saw him. She tried on a few more items before finally settling on a pair of slimline dark grey trousers and an emerald green shirt. The green, she knew, accentuated her red hair.

  Iris checked her watch. It was ten to six. She had to make a move. The sensible thing to do would be to take the car - that way she couldn’t drink anything but coffee. It was important to keep a clear head, to be able to tell her story as succinctly as she could. After picking up the keys, she juggled them in her hands for a few seconds, but then put them back down on the table. Maybe a glass of wine, or two, was just what she needed.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Vita Howard pushed back her long dark hair and smiled across her desk at the young man who had turned up just as she was leaving. Neal ‘Duggie’ Duggan was knocking on nineteen, but with his slight skinny frame, smooth face and big blue eyes could easily pass for several years younger. He was a throwback to an earlier era, an Artful Dodger who made his living from picking pockets.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘you in bother again, Duggie?’

  He threw up his hands in mock horror. ‘Aw, Mrs H. Have a bit of faith. You think I’m gonna make the same mistake twice?’

  It was over nine months since Vita had last seen him. He’d been up on charges of theft after being caught on CCTV skilfully relieving a local magistrate of his wallet, a pack of cigarettes and a mobile phone. Fortunately the film had been grainy enough to cast some doubt on the identity of the thief. When push came to shove, one grey hoody looked much the same as another. She had managed, after weeks of hard work, to get the charges dropped.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So if it’s not my professional services you’re after . . .?’

  Duggie leaned forward and grinned at her. ‘I’ve always reckoned that one good turn deserves another.’

  Vita raised her brows, still smiling. For all her disapproval of the way he made his living, she had a sneaky regard for him. He was, despite his faults, curiously endearing. He was also one of the few clients she had who wasn’t dependent on drugs; Duggie got his rush, his kicks, from ‘spreading the wealth’ of the richer inhabitants of the area. The truth, of course, was that he only spread it as far as the local bookies and his favourite pubs.

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ she said.

  Reaching into his pocket, he took out a brown leather wallet and slid it across the desk. ‘I didn’t realise.’ He pulled a face, his mouth turning down at the corners. ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known who he was . . .’

  It took Vita a few seconds to recognise it. The wallet belonged to her husband, Rick. She picked it up, flipped it open and peered inside.

  ‘I saw the photo of you and when I checked the name and . . . well, I reckoned it had to be your old man.’

  Vita nodded. The photo was a few years old, a close-up snap that accentuated her large dark eyes. She stared at her own reflection for a moment before checking that both of his credit cards and his bank card were in their usual place. It was only as she looked in the section at the back that she got an unexpected surprise. There was a hefty wad of notes sitting there. Frowning, she wondered what Rick was doing with so much cash. He’d been pleading poverty for the past couple of weeks. Even yesterday, when his daughter had come round, she’d been the one who’d had to fork out for the rented DVD and a pizza.

  ‘It’s all there,’ Duggie said, as if her expression was down to some form of suspicion. ‘I ain’t touched a penny, honest. I swear on me life. Six hundred quid.’ He grinned again. ‘I counted it.’

  Vita glanced up at him. ‘When did you take this?’

  ‘Ah, you’re not gonna get mad, are you? It was a genuine mistake. Like I said, if I’d had any idea—’

  ‘Duggie, love, I’
m not getting mad. Not at all.’ She forced another smile, trying to hide her confusion. ‘But will you please just answer the question. When did you take it?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I dunno. It was today though. About lunchtime? One?’

  Vita was tempted to ask why it had taken him five hours to return it, but she’d already guessed the answer. No one like Duggie was going to hand over this amount of cash without a few second thoughts. ‘Well, thanks,’ she said. ‘I guess.’ She screwed up her eyes and stared at him. ‘Although, as you took the damn thing in the first place, I’m not entirely sure how much gratitude I should be showing.’

  ‘True enough. Still, at least I did the right thing in the end.’

  Vita couldn’t argue with that. ‘So where was he when you nicked it?’

  ‘Oh, he was outside Belles.’

  ‘What?’ she said, unable to disguise the sharpness in her voice. Belles was a sleazy lap-dancing joint in Shoreditch and its clientele was mainly City boys, wheelers and dealers, bankers and brokers looking for somewhere to squander their bonuses. Most of Belles’ business was done in the evenings, but there was a healthy lunchtime trade too. And if everything she’d heard was fact, there was no shortage of sex and drugs for sale. What the hell had Rick been doing there?

  Duggie, aware that he’d put his foot in it, shifted uneasily in his chair. Quickly, he tried to retrieve the situation. ‘I’m not sayin’ he’d been inside, Mrs H. I didn’t see him coming out or nothin’. I just mean he was near the club. There was a crowd, you see, standing around and . . .’ His response petered out into a shrug.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she lied. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  But Duggie, unwilling to be the inadvertent cause of a marital rift, couldn’t leave it alone. ‘Or maybe it wasn’t outside Belles at all. Shit, I could be well wrong. Now I come to think, it might have been the High Street. Yeah, yeah I think it was.’