by Lee Weeks
Chapter 12
‘So, you were one of the family, basically?’ Willis said to Carter as they drove back towards London. The rolling grey mass of low cloud was inching over them ahead. The day had already turned dark at four o’clock. The cold air was settling in. The atmosphere in the car was even colder.
‘Yes, I suppose I was.’ He looked across at Willis. She was staring at him intently. He’d seen the look before. It meant she didn’t understand, didn’t accept some piece of the puzzle. If he had thought that giving her a bit more of the picture would help her, ease her mind, it hadn’t worked. He felt a slash of anger rise in him. It wasn’t often he’d had to justify himself to his colleagues.
‘And you haven’t been back since you and Della split up?’
‘No, I just didn’t think it was appropriate.’ He tapped the steering wheel, irritated.
‘No, maybe not. What do think will happen to Della now?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged, pretending indifference. ‘She lives too close to Tony to be safe. If she asked me I’d tell her sell up and leave, find a new life.’
‘Is her life in danger?’
‘Got to be. If Eddie’s was, then so is hers.’
‘The family were prickly when you talked about Eddie’s past. Can they really think of him as an honest businessman?’
‘I suppose it’s because Eddie kept a low profile after he came out of the nick. He was pretty young when he went inside. The Butcher brothers were two of many done for a spate of high-profile diamond and gold heists across Europe. They were part of a slick operation. They were paid well for their silence. One thing they didn’t do is grass anyone up. Eddie went into property building with his share, while Tony went into building himself a drugs empire.’
‘How did it feel today?’ Willis had pushed back in her seat. She was watching Carter’s reaction to her questions.
Carter glanced across and gave a shrug.
‘Let’s keep this to what’s relevant. I’m getting tired of being cross-examined on personal issues. What it seemed like to me was a family who didn’t want to attend the funeral of their son-in-law, someone they were fond of, because they’re scared. They think he was killed because of something Tony’s involved in.’
‘They like Manson, the manager of Paradise Villas,’ said Willis.
‘Yes, they know him and his family. That flies in the face of what he told me. They have no reason to lie so he must be.’
Chapter 13
Marco rapped on the door.
‘You ready, princess?’
Della watched the door, as if she expected Marco to burst through it, and mow her down in a hail of bullets.
‘Are you talking to me?’ she answered and waited, listening. She heard a shuffle as Marco’s weight shifted and he leaned against the door. She knew he would be grinning. ‘Call me “señora” or Mrs Butcher.’
‘Si, señora.’
‘Wait for me in the car. I’ll be down in ten minutes.’
‘Si, señora.’
They drove in silence to Tony’s villa. Marco left the car with the valet and escorted her inside. How things were changing, thought Della. Now she was watched every minute, every second. A few days ago Marco would not have escorted her anywhere. Now, he had the right to walk in with her. Soon, he would be above her in the pecking order; she must reclaim some ground and fast before it disappeared beneath her feet.
Laurence stepped forward to greet her as she walked into the trophy room in Villa Cassandra.
‘Hello, Della.’
Frank Sinatra was playing on the music system. The lighting was subdued. ‘Eddie for ever’ was lit in candles on the veranda facing the mountains. The rest of the family were already there.
Della looked across at Tony; he had dressed up for the occasion. He was wearing his whole ensemble: black floppy hat, pink ruffle-fronted silk shirt and black dinner trousers with a satin strip down the sides. But he had shrunk so much since he first bought them that all of the clothes needed taking in and the trousers were obviously held up with a belt that had to be pulled in so much it gathered the material around his waist. She felt a flip inside her stomach, which was a mix of anger and fear, but the anger had the edge.
Harold and Tony were talking on the veranda facing the sea. The evening outside was dark. The fountains were lit. The guest houses were all aired and open. The place was alive.
As Laurence went to kiss Della, she moved her head so the kiss landed on her cheek. Suddenly the question hit her: a few weeks after her husband’s death was she fair game?
Laurence drew back instinctively, wounded, embarrassed. She instantly regretted being oversensitive: she needed all the friends she could get. She’d always trusted Laurence. Eddie spoke well of him. He seemed to understand and smiled warmly as he touched her arm. She felt the touch, realised it had been over a month since anyone touched her with affection. She was grateful to Laurence.
‘How are you holding up?’ Laurence’s voice was lowered. His eyes were questioning as he caught her looking around the room nervously.
‘It’s hard to say,’ she answered with an attempt at a smile.
He nodded. She touched his hand as she walked away from him, further into the room. Della walked towards Sandra and got an acidic smile from her mother-in-law. Della also noticed a hint of triumph in Sandra’s demeanour as she sat on the far white sofa, facing the room, holding audience. Debbie was sitting beside her.
Sandra stopped talking and watched Della approach.
‘Hello, Sandra.’
She looked Della up and down. Della had ignored Tony’s request to dress sexy and had come in her usual ‘Jackie Kennedy-style’ simple navy shift dress, cardigan, kitten heels, pearls, her hair pinned up. Eddie always said there was no need to gild the lily. He loved to see her with minimal make-up, with simple clothes that were stylish but classic. Tonight she’d made sure she had put enough make-up on that she wouldn’t melt under scrutiny. She intended to hold her ground even if it was trying to swallow her whole. She was still shaking from Tony’s attack on her, but now a new feeling was growing inside her: self-preservation was sharpening her senses and making her brave.
Sandra looked hung-over and edging into drunk again. She looked as if she’d gone to bed in her make-up and just applied more on top in the morning. Her eyes were black with kohl and her face was over-tanned, caked. Her hair was silver blond and scraped up to a bun on top of her head with a hairpiece attached, like a blond Catherine wheel. She looked like a Barbie gone to seed. She was from the school of ‘more is more’ when it came to overtly sexual. She hadn’t changed her make-up routine since the sixties. The eyeliner was too heavy and the lashes too long and the skirts too short.
Debbie had joined in the theme tonight: she’d donned a black playsuit and silver stilettos, a thick silver chain looped around her hips. She had enormous diamonds hanging from her ears. No matter how much money she spent on things to make her look pretty, they never did. The more beautiful the jewel around Debbie’s neck, the more wizened she looked in comparison.
Sandra steadied her glass and her gaze as she focused on Della. ‘Where did you go last night? We agreed we’d all stay in Giddewell,’ she said.
‘I didn’t agree to stay anywhere. I needed some peace.’
Debbie whispered in Sandra’s ear. Sandra laughed and nodded.
‘Yeah, don’t feel like you have to stay around on our account, if you need peace. We realise you must want to move on now. The quicker the better, as far as we’re concerned.’
Harold’s voice interrupted. ‘A toast to Eddie.’ His voice came out deep and cockney. ‘He’ll be sadly missed.’
Harold was the shortest of all the brothers and the most violent-looking. He had the dark-red complexion of someone who had lived a rough life without compromise. No amount of expensive clothes or good food could alter it. He drank too much and he spent all the money he ever earned on partying with the rougher edge of society. Eddie a
lways said he was a man ruled by his vices and someone you could never trust. He meant to do the right thing but it was always open to interpretation. His liking for the rougher side of life included his women, whom he now picked up from escort agencies and pimps who’d come to know him over the years.
Della accepted a glass of wine from Sheena.
Tony seconded Harold’s toast: ‘To my little brother, may you cause havoc in hell.’ Tony started laughing in the silence of the room and Sandra glared at him.
Debbie looked embarrassed and stood. ‘Let’s eat,’ she announced and led the way through the double archway and into the dining area.
Tony began almost dancing his way across with them, herding people forward, as skittish as a spider.
As Harold passed her, Della held him back by the arm.
‘You were with Eddie when he was in London. What was Eddie doing there?’
Tony turned and double-backed, double-quick. He leaned in to her face.
‘Not now, you hear me?’
‘Harold?’ she persisted, ignoring Tony.
‘Nothing that I could have prevented,’ Harold answered, looking cornered.
Tony put his hand on Harold’s back to propel him forward.
‘Business,’ he said, ‘and business doesn’t always go as planned.’
‘What business? Eddie was a property developer, not a drug dealer.’ Della raised her voice. ‘I have the right to know.’
Tony turned back, incensed. ‘I said be quiet! I never said it was anything to do with drugs, now did I? You’re being disrespectful, you know that? You’re in my house and you show some fucking respect or get out.’
Della averted her face as she felt Tony’s spittle land on it. Laurence came over and intervened. He placed a hand on Tony’s arm. ‘She’s just upset. We’ve all been through a lot the last month. Della wants to know as much as you can tell her about how her husband died. That’s perfectly reasonable. We all want to know.’
‘All right. Okay. Hey!’ Tony held up his palms in the air but his face was still fuming. ‘I’m like the rest of you. I’m the first one who wants answers. But one thing you got to know, princess: Eddie was a lot of things that he didn’t share with you. He had his secrets. That’s all I’m saying. You were on a need-to-know basis. We all were.’ Tony turned and went to walk away.
‘I don’t believe that,’ she called after him. The room went quiet.
‘Oi! Someone get Della a drink, for fuck’s sake.’ Tony didn’t look at Della. The room waited nervously as he shouted out again, ‘Sheena, where the fuck are you?’
‘I don’t want one,’ Della said, ‘and I’m not hungry.’
Tony shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, your ladyship,’ he said, and went to take his place at the dinner table.
Laurence led Della away to the veranda as the rest of the family sat down to eat.
‘I don’t belong here, Laurence.’
‘I’m sorry for all this, Della. It isn’t fair, not after you’ve been through so much.’
‘It’s almost as if they blame me for his death.’
‘They always have to find someone to blame. They lead one another on. Do you want me to run you home?’
‘No, that’s kind, thanks, Laurence. I could do with the fresh air.’
She looked at Laurence and caught him glancing at Sandra. She was staring at them.
‘I won’t keep you; but just tell me, Laurence: what Tony says about Eddie being involved in something criminal, is it true, do you think?’
‘I don’t know, I never get involved with Tony’s business. But, Eddie was a bad boy when you met him.’ Laurence smiled sympathetically.
‘Led on by his older brother. He did everything Tony told him to back then.’
‘How do you know he still didn’t?’
Behind her Della saw the family lift their glasses a second time.
Fuck him, fuck them all, Della said to herself, but deep inside she knew that her world was for ever changed. She was Eddie’s wife; now he was dead.
‘Laurence, get in here,’ Sandra called. ‘I want you to leave,’ she shouted at Della.
‘What do you mean?’ Della resisted Laurence’s hand on her arm as he tried to stop her reacting. She shrugged him off and he walked away towards the dining table.
‘You know what I mean.’ Sandra sat back in her chair. ‘You’re not welcome here any more. We tolerated you because of Eddie but, now he’s gone, you can go.’
‘I don’t take orders from you. I can stay or go, as I please.’
‘No, that’s where you’re wrong,’ Sandra said and Tony was grinning. ‘You’ll be on your way, soon enough.’ Sandra looked away and began a conversation with Debbie.
Della walked across to the table.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard.’ Sandra smiled. ‘We’ve always known what you are. You don’t belong here now. I’ll make you an offer from my own purse. I’ll give you two million quid. You sign over Eddie’s villa to me and you disappear and don’t come back.
‘Fuck you, Sandra.’
Chapter 14
Carter took a call in the car just as they hit the outskirts of London.
‘That was my informant; he’s got some information for me. I’ll get out in Whitechapel on the way back,’ Carter said, finishing the call.
‘What about the meeting? Do you want us to wait?’
‘Yes, wait. I’ll be back for that later. Eb, I’d rather you didn’t mention any more about Della and her family, please. I don’t want people to ask unnecessary questions that might confuse the issue. I need to talk to the chief inspector first. Plus, I don’t want to put them in danger. If the rest of the Butcher family don’t know about the Vincettis, so much the better.’
‘Of course.’
Willis took over the driving seat as she dropped Carter outside Whitechapel Tube Station.
He watched Willis drive away and then he took a left past the sari shops and the market stalls on the wide road. It was five p.m. and the streets were getting busy with people on the way home. He stepped into one of the sari shop doorways to answer his phone.
‘All right, babe?’ Cabrina’s voice came over the phone.
‘Hello, sexy, how’s my son?’
‘Missing his dad.’
‘Well you know I would be there if I could.’
‘Yeah, the weather’s fantastic. The resort is incredible. They even have a babysitting service so me and Dawn have been out a couple of times.’
‘Sounds great.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s actually not that great. Dawn hooked up with a bloke on the first day. I haven’t seen her since. It’s me and my little man, Archie, enjoying the happy hour and the two-for-one deals on cocktails.’ Cabrina laughed drily. ‘I seriously wish we hadn’t booked for two weeks. Is there any chance of you coming out?’
‘I don’t see how, babe.’
‘Thought not.’
‘I won’t do it to you again, I promise. You stay and relax, spend some money, I’ll cover it.’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’
‘What? I’ll put money on your credit card for you.’
‘Not that.’
‘No, you’re right, I can’t promise it will never happen again but I’ll do my damnedest to make sure. I’m going to make it up to you.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ll hold you to it. I can’t wait to come home. I miss you.’
‘Me too, got to go, babe. Be good.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘What?’
‘Be good. You haven’t said that to me for years.’
‘It’s just a figure of speech. I suppose it’s because I worry about you on your own. You could fall for some local stud.’
‘Yeah, right. He’d have to get past the stroppy five-year-old first. Do you still love me, Dan?’
‘Of course, Cabrina. What is this? Don’t be daft.’
‘This wasn’t just an excuse because you didn’t want
to spend time with us?’
‘You know that’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with the two people I love most in all the world?’
He heard Cabrina sigh. There was a pause, in which he knew she would be biting her lip. She was tearful, he knew the silence.
‘Try and enjoy yourself, babe. I’m just here working hard. Bring me a present back, some fake Ray-Bans or something. I’ll ring you tomorrow, promise. Kiss Archie for me.’
Carter put his phone back in his pocket and pushed open one of the double doors of the Blind Beggar pub, which was once a brewery, built on the site of an old coaching house. It was reminiscent of walking into a Western saloon with its long bar to the right and an open sitting area with tables and chairs straight ahead. It was rough and ready. The tables and chairs were mis-matched, straight-backed and wooden. The ceiling was painted deep red. The floor was wooden. There was a screen to show sports hanging down from the corner of the ceiling.
There were just a few customers sitting in a lounge area to the back left of the pub where a fire was lit. It added a welcome warmth to what was otherwise quite an austere, working man’s pub. A woman was using the Wi-Fi facilities near the fire and the entrance to the pool room. She was tapping away on her laptop. The pub was her office. But its main claim to fame was its history with two local lads, the Kray brothers.
Carter ordered a glass of Chilean Merlot. The pub wasn’t busy. He was a few minutes early.
‘Been busy?’ Carter asked the barman, who looked as if he’d come straight off the set of Deliverance: big beard, missing teeth, chequered shirt and braces.
‘So-so.’ He hadn’t learned the necessary skills to be a good barman. He didn’t like talking. Someone had told him not to smile.
