Barry grew angry. ‘Are you saying he killed my sister to get his hands on the insurance money?’
Craddick shrugged. ‘Work it out for yourself. Her body was never found, was it? Just her clothes on the beach. No witnesses to what happened. We’ve only his word for what happened.’
Barry shook his head. ‘He loved her.’
‘If that’s what you want to believe. Bought himself a nice villa in Spain, too.’
‘That was something they both worked towards, for when they retired…’
‘Sure. Except she never did reach retiring age, did she? And now he’s sitting pretty. Going to shoot off to Spain to live out his life in his expensive little villa, while you – well, let’s say the roll of the dice has not been kind to you, eh, Barry?’
Barry looked at the gun in his hand. ‘He said he tried to save her. Swam out, couldn’t find her.’
‘Sure he did. He would, wouldn’t he?’ Craddick laid his hand on top of Barry’s, folding his fingers so they clamped around the gun tightly. ‘Keep the gun, Barry. Like I say, you never know when you’re likely to need it.’
Barry quietly put the gun into the belt of his jeans.
‘What’re we going to do with this lot, Mr Craddick?’ Roche called.
Craddick smiled at Barry. ‘Call the gun a gift,’ he said. ‘Leave it here for now,’ he said to Roche. ‘We’ve got to arrange sale and delivery with your contacts. And I’ve got my fiancé coming up to see me tomorrow so I’m going to be busy with her.’ He turned to Barry, whose expression was solemn. ‘I want you to pick her up from the railway station tomorrow at 1.20 p.m. You’ll like her; she’s a sweet little thing. Too good for me,’ he said. ‘Have you got a suit?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, the only one he possessed. Bought to attend his sister’s funeral.
‘That’s good. I don’t want you working for me looking like a slob.’
Barry nodded dumbly. The gun felt hard, weighty and insistent.
He knocked hard at Duncan Winslade’s door. He heard a distant voice calling out to hang on a minute. Eventually a shadow appeared behind the frosted glass of the door, followed by the sound of the Yale lock opening.
‘Barry, I didn’t expect to see you,’ said Duncan.
Barry grunted. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure,’ said Duncan, stepping aside to let him through into the hall. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not my usual self,’ he said, squeezing his eyes closed as he said it, the pain shooting through his midriff. ‘Go through, sit down. I’ll join you as soon as I can, but it may take some time!’ He noticed how Barry’s face remained glum. ‘Something wrong, mate?’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said. ‘I heard about Donnie Craddick paying you a visit.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘callers like that I can do without.’ Duncan shuffled through to the sitting room and eased himself into a chair. Barry remained standing by the fireplace. ‘You OK? You don’t look well.’
‘He beat you up real bad,’ Barry said. ‘Alfie told me you had broken ribs, a split on the head.’
‘Yeah, well…’
‘Why’d he do that?’
‘Because the guy’s like his father, a thug. Guess he thought he needed to pay me back for what I said in the pub.’
‘So are you gonna go to the police?’ His face was straight, unemotional.
Duncan studied him. The way he was fidgeting. ‘No.’
‘No? He beat you up.’
‘I have my reasons,’ he said. ‘Look, is something wrong, Barry? I’m under the impression this isn’t a social call.’
‘Tell me about the day Sophie died.’
Duncan looked surprised. ‘No, I won’t. I’m not dragging all that back up again.’
‘Tell me,’ he insisted. ‘So she went swimming and you swam out, right?’
‘You know that’s what happened. Why go over it again.’
‘Nobody saw her, though, going for a swim. It was a deserted cove.’
Duncan blinked, his jaw stiffening. ‘She went for a swim, Barry. She liked to swim. I couldn’t stop her – she was as pig-headed as you when she wanted to be. I told her it looked a bit rough, but she pooh-poohed the idea.’
‘They never found her body. Surely she would have been washed up on some beach or other, eventually.’
‘Not necessarily, Barry. I’ve known cases where a drowned person has never been seen again. Stop this, man; you’re getting yourself all upset.’
Barry placed his hand behind his back, touched the gun at his waistband. ‘I hear you needed money real bad at the time, Duncan.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Sophie was insured, right?’
Duncan’s eyes widened. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
‘I looked up to you. At least Duncan is a rock, I’d say. You know where you are with Duncan. As straight as the day is long. But you were bent, Duncan. As bent as they come.’
‘I don’t know what you mean…’
‘You know full well what I mean. You were being blackmailed, you needed the money.’
‘Who’s been telling you that crap?’ Then his nodded slowly. ‘That slimeball Donnie Craddick, right?’
‘Does it matter? It’s true, ain’t it?’
‘Tell me you’re not working for him, Barry, not like you did with Mickey.’
Barry pulled out the gun and dashed towards Duncan, aiming it at the man’s chest. ‘Did you kill her, Duncan? Tell me, don’t lie; did you kill her?’
Duncan Winslade held up his hands, staring incredulously at the gun in Barry’s shaking hand. ‘Bloody hell, Barry, where’d you get that thing? You’d get time if they caught you with that. Put it away and don’t be so damned foolish.’
‘I don’t care about myself anymore, Duncan. I’m a nobody. No job, no wife, no sister, nothing. But you, you’ve got everything. And you know why? Because you’re the kind of guy who’d not think twice about killing someone to get the insurance money, paying off whoever was blackmailing you and buying yourself a nice villa in Spain with the remainder.’
‘What? You believe that rubbish? Listen, Barry, Donnie Craddick has been poisoning your mind. I never killed Sophie, for heaven’s sake; I loved her like I never loved anyone else. You know that.’
Barry rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Not only my sister, but you took my money, too. I gave you my twenty thousand pounds because I thought I’d help out my brother-in-law and my sister – the twenty thousand pounds I was gonna use to set up my own little business.’
‘Barry, I swear I’m going to get you the money back.’
‘Like you’ve said before. But it never happens, does it? What about selling the bloody villa, huh? Ever thought about that so you could pay me what you owed? No, it never crossed your mind, and so I’m stuck where I am, in the hole that I’m in, while you’re flying off to Spain to live the life of bloody Riley. Who’s the sucker, eh? Me. You always thought I was a bit dumb, good only for digging out coal. Well I’m better than that. Some day people are gonna look up to me.’
‘They won’t if you’re working for the Craddicks, you fool.’
Barry prodded the gun into Duncan’s ribs and he cried out in pain. ‘Jesus, Barry, can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s just like his damn father.’
‘Just tell me you didn’t kill her, Duncan,’ he said, his eyes glossy with tears.
Duncan released a heartfelt sigh. ‘OK, you want the truth here’s the truth; it was Mickey who was blackmailing me. It started over something Sophie did. I was protecting her, but it got complicated. And yes, Mickey had me in his back pocket too. I’m not proud of that, but what could I do? So I turned a blind eye on his activities, even got drawn in to helping him sometimes. You think I liked that? You think I like living with myself because of what I’ve done? The Craddicks, they’re like a disease, Barry, infecting people, turning everything they touch rotten.
‘And yes, I needed money. Mickey Craddick sucked out o
ur life savings, and I borrowed the money from you to make up the shortfall. I thought it was done with, once I’d paid him. My mother died, left us her house. We sold it and Sophie and I bought a villa with the proceeds, so we could leave this damn country, leave the Craddicks behind once and for all. I swear we also had your twenty thousand pounds to give you, too. But Mickey got wind of things and turned up the pressure again. So your money went to him. We also took out one of those deals with the mortgage company where we sold the villa to them and we were allowed to live in it. But technically it didn’t belong to us. We used that cash to pay off Mickey. And when Sophie died, he took her insurance money, too. All I had left was this house, and Mickey warned me that I couldn’t sell up and move out. But before he died he said it was over, I could do what I pleased. I was going to sell the house, move to Spain and give you the money I owe you. That’s God’s honest truth, Barry.’
The gun wavered. ‘Did you kill her, Duncan?’ he insisted.
He shook his head. ‘I give you my word, Barry. Put the gun down.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, and lashed Duncan across the face with the butt of the gun.
* * * *
10
Profound Calm
It rather took him by surprise. Barry Stocker was expecting someone markedly different.
She almost walked straight on by him in the rush of people spewing from under the stone arch of the railway station. He didn’t really take any notice of her, because he had his eyes peeled for some kind of blonde gangster’s moll from Essex with a tan so luminously orange it would light up a darkened street, or whatever kind of woman the likes of Donnie Craddick would have hanging around him. He was glancing at his watch, thinking that the train was late, when he sensed a shadow falling on his face.
‘Are you Donnie Craddick’s chauffeur by any chance?’
She was slight in build, small chest, not a great deal of hips; her hair was brown and cut short, her face bearing only the barest hint of makeup. She didn’t need it, he thought; she was a pretty thing, but the kind you notice the second time round, not so attractive as to make you turn your head immediately, but on closer inspection possessing a genuinely alluring quality about her. The kind of woman who’d work in a bookshop, or behind the counter in a chemist’s, or as a vet saving little kittens, he thought. She wore a neat two-piece dark-green outfit, casual but smart, a suitcase in her hand.
‘Camellia Lucas?’ he said.
‘That’s right.’
‘Sure, yeah, I’m with Donnie,’ he said. ‘I’m not his chauffer, though,’ he added with a grunt. He took her case from her.
‘Oh, sorry, but Donnie said – ’
‘I drive for him,’ he cut in, realising that maybe he was a chauffer of sorts. He didn’t like that idea. ‘This way, the car’s in the car park.’
Barry put her case in the boot of the Jag, opened the rear door for her. ‘Mind if I come up front with you?’ she asked, smiling disarmingly.
‘Sure, whatever,’ he said, making as if to open the passenger door too.
‘I can manage,’ she said, taking hold of the handle. ‘After all, you aren’t my chauffer, Mr Stocker.’
He threaded the Jag through the busy car park and into the manic flow of city traffic. ‘Call me Barry,’ he said.
‘And call me Camellia,’ she returned. ‘This is a lovely car,’ she observed politely.
‘Yeah.’
‘How long have you known Donnie?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Not long. But Donnie’s dad, Mickey, him and me go way back.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to have friends.’
He stared straight ahead. Headed out of the city. ‘How long have you known Donnie?’ he ventured at length.
‘Oh, I’ve known him at least three years now. He was a friend of Marcus - my fiancé.’
‘Fiancé? I thought you and Donnie…’
‘Marcus died,’ she said. For a moment some deep emotion threatened to resurface and assert itself, but she smiled thinly. ‘Donnie was there for me. One thing led to another, you know how it is.’
Barry raised a brow. ‘I’ve gotta admit it, you’re not what I was expecting.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I was expecting Donnie’s fiancé to be someone – someone different. Not like you at all.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Well, you seem like a nice kinda girl…’ He winced. Shouldn’t have said that, he thought. ‘I mean, there are women and there are women…’ he said, which on consideration didn’t help matters any. ‘Forget it.’
She laughed lightly. ‘I like you, Barry,’ she said.
He allowed himself a smile. Glanced at her. ‘I like you, too, Camellia.’
‘You do so remind me of my father.’
His face fell. Yeah, that figures, he thought.
Camellia Lucas was openly impressed with the exterior of Red House. ‘Why do they call it Red House?’ she asked, looking up at the grand Victorian building.
Because of all the blood Mickey’s spilt over the years, Barry thought. ‘No idea, Camellia.’
The door opened and Donnie Craddick came out to greet his fiancé. ‘Darling! How lovely to see you! You’re late.’
‘Traffic,’ said Barry, hoisting the suitcase out of the boot. ‘The queues were lousy. But Camellia here tells a good joke so we weren’t bored.’
‘That’s Miss Lucas to you,’ said Donnie, glowering at Barry.
‘Really, that isn’t necessary…’ said Camellia.
‘I know what’s best, darling,’ said Donnie, snaking his arm around her waist, leading her to the house. He called out to Barry without looking, ‘Take the suitcase upstairs to the master bedroom, Stocker, there’s a good man.’
Barry growled beneath his breath and followed them inside. He carried the case up the sweeping staircase. On the first floor he heard the strident sound of some kind of machine coming from one of the rooms. To his surprise, through an open bedroom door, he saw Alfie Parry using his machine to clean the carpet. A strong smell of cleaning fluid wafted over to him.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Barry said.
Alfie heard the voice, turned off the machine and was equally surprised to see Barry standing there, dressed in a black suit with a suitcase in his hand. ‘What are you doing here, more like?’ he returned, beckoning him inside.
Barry shrugged. ‘Doing a little work for Donnie.’
‘What? Jesus, Barry, don’t tell me he’s got you doing stuff just like Mickey did. You don’t want anything to do with him, Barry.’
‘I need the money, Alfie. Not everybody’s got their own bloody business to support them.’
‘Yeah, but working for Donnie Craddick…’
‘That’s a fine thing for you to say, Alfie. You’re here cleaning his carpets.’
‘That’s different.’
‘How different? Anyhow, I ain’t got a choice.’
‘What’s he got you doing?’
‘None of your business, Alfie.’
‘Servant by the look of things,’ he said, nodding at the suitcase.
‘Takes one to know one, smartarse,’ he fired. ‘Cleaning his bloody carpets.’
‘Told you, that’s different. You wouldn’t be doing this voluntarily, not if I know you. What hold has he got on you, Barry?’
Barry Stocker turned away. ‘I gotta drop this case off then get back.’
‘He’s got something on you though, eh?’
‘What is it with you, Alfie? A man wants to make a few quid, make something of his life and he gets a grilling.’
‘Make something of your life? Come on, Barry, that’s bollocks and you know it. Look, I’m your friend, you can talk to me.’
Barry took a step towards him. ‘Since when did you ever open up about yourself, eh? I’m a friend, too, you know. It cuts both ways. What hold has he got on you?’
Alfie looked down. ‘Can’t say, Barry.
’
‘Then that makes two of us, doesn’t it?’ He made as if to leave the bedroom, but stopped at the door and came back inside. Sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Look, I saw something yesterday.’
‘What kind of something?’
‘Donnie’s got a million pounds in counterfeit banknotes stashed in a lockup. It belonged to Mickey and he didn’t have time to shift it before he died.’
‘Bloody hell! Where?’
‘He’d kill me if I told anyone.’
‘I’m not just anyone, Barry.’
‘You think I want to put your life in danger, too? Sorry, my lips are sealed.’
‘You’ve got to get out of this mess, Barry,’ he warned. ‘That’s big-time stuff Mickey was into. If you’re connected with that and the police find out…’
‘I know that, but what the hell can I do?’ He sank his head into his hands. Groaned. ‘Remember the Warrington’s factory, that raid they had some years ago?’
‘Yes. Someone was shot. Ended up in a wheelchair.’
‘I drove Mickey’s mob out to do the job.’
Now it was Alfie’s turn to groan. He sat down beside his friend. ‘You weren’t involved in the hold-up, though?’
His head snapped up. ‘No! Course I wasn’t! What do you take me for? Christ, I was only the driver. I didn’t know what was going down.’ He gave a tiny whine. ‘That’s why I had to do what Mickey told me. Now his damned son has found out somehow and that’s why I have to go along with what he wants. He’s got me, Alfie. He’s got me real good and I don’t know what to do.’
‘I know how he found out.’
Barry narrowed his eyes. ‘Yeah?’
‘Mickey kept a little red book for each of the people he had working for him, the hold he had on them, what they did for him.’
‘He’s got a book for me?’ said Barry, alarmed.
‘And for many others in Overthorpe. I’ve seen them. Donnie Craddick is using these to get what he wants, taking over from where his father left off.’
THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) Page 8
