by Roberta Kray
‘I’m sorry about your wife. I really am. And I apologise if my letter caused any upset. If I’d had any idea that Ann-Marie —’
‘Sorry doesn’t bring my wife back.’
‘No.’
‘All I want is the truth.’
‘I understand that.’
A silence fell between them again. Outside, the traffic went by, tailing off now after the evening rush. Inside, there was only the soft ticking of the radiators. Eden, scared of where this exchange was going – and where it would finally end up – struggled to think of anything to say. Her gaze nervously swept the room before returning to her unwanted visitor. It was only then, as her eyes fell upon the bandage on his right hand, that she suddenly recalled what Geoff had told her: the man who’d saved her had cut his hand on glass from the window. But it couldn’t be Tamer. Why would he? Not the way he felt about Tom. He was more likely to have set the fire than to have rescued her from it.
‘What happened to your hand?’
Tamer glanced down, studied the hand for a moment, and looked back up again. ‘An accident at work.’
‘What kind of work do you do?’ Eden wasn’t interested, she didn’t give a damn, but she wanted to make some kind of connection with him. It was harder to hurt someone when they weren’t a complete stranger. At least this was the premise she was working on, and as she didn’t have a better one it was what she’d have to run with.
‘Personal security.’
‘Like a bodyguard, that kind of thing?’
‘Yes, that kind of thing.’
Eden racked her brains and came up with something else Geoff had mentioned. ‘Were you in the army?’
Her question clearly took him by surprise. He shifted on the sofa and frowned. ‘Why do you ask that?’
Eden gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know. You look like you may have been. The army or the police.’
‘The police?’ he snorted. ‘I’d rather work down the sewers.’
There wasn’t much Eden could say to that and so she said nothing.
Tamer stared hard at her, as if he was trying to fix her face in his mind. Something flickered in his eyes, but she still couldn’t read them. She could feel the danger, though, the anger rising off his body like steam. She felt as vulnerable as a tethered goat waiting for a tiger to pounce.
‘When are you next seeing your husband?’ he asked.
‘On Monday.’
‘Ask him about Ann-Marie.’
Eden gave a nod. ‘I will.’
Tamer stood up suddenly, making her jump. She instinctively tried to shift back but the base of her spine was pressed against the table. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Adrenalin washed through her veins. Her mouth opened in preparation for a cry, a scream, but he didn’t approach. Instead, he headed for the door.
‘Is… is that it?’ she stammered.
Tamer glanced over his shoulder. His lips slid into a thin, sinister smile. ‘For now.’
Eden watched him leave. She listened to his heavy footsteps on the stairs. When the front door had closed, she ran out to the landing to make sure he’d gone. A long breath of relief rushed out of her lungs. But she wasn’t stupid enough to think it was over. This was just a temporary reprieve, a stay of execution. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Max Tamer would be back.
45
Vic Banner was in the kind of mood that could best be described as black. Ever since his contact at HMP Thornley Heath – a screw by the name of Rakes – had called, he’d been trying to find out what was going on. The information had set off alarm bells in his head. Tom Chase had, apparently, seen his lawyer this morning. A special meeting had then been arranged between Chase and his wife for Monday. That meant developments – and probably not good ones.
Vic finished his third pint and ordered another. He lit a cigarette, inhaled and puffed out the smoke. He didn’t like being out of the loop. He didn’t like surprises. Jesus, what if Chase was about to confess? That would be a disaster. If Vic was going to make a name for himself, he needed a nice long trial with a blaze of publicity that would last for longer than a day. He needed the whole sensational story to come out, piece by piece, covered by all the national newspapers. He wanted Chase convicted by a jury, not by his own lips.
Vic paid for the drink, picked up the glass and took a couple of long, deep draughts. The bastard was definitely up to something. He thought of all the hard work he’d put in with Archie Rudd and bristled at the idea of it going to waste. Chase was maybe planning on a plea of diminished responsibility or some other pile of shit. Already he and his lawyer would be cooking up some cock-and-bull story, a tissue of lies, in a cynical attempt to defend the indefensible.
The Shoreditch pub was heaving. It wasn’t the sort of place Vic would normally have chosen, full of brash City types in suits, but his need for a drink had outweighed the vexatious nature of the company. He’d been in search of Tammy for the past couple of hours, but she was nowhere to be found. At least not for now. He knew where she’d be later on – plying her trade on Albert Road. It was Friday night, pay day, and her regular punters had money in their pockets.
A customer came to the crowded bar, jostling his way to the front. In the process he knocked Vic’s elbow, spilling some of the beer from his glass.
‘Hey! Watch what you’re doing!’
The guy – a cocky-looking bloke in his early twenties – gave Vic a defiant, dirty look, but then saw something in his eyes that made him think twice. He quickly raised his hands in apology. ‘Sorry, mate.’
Vic clocked the gold Rolex on the younger man’s skinny wrist. It didn’t do anything to improve his mood. How come he worked his bollocks off so people could sleep safely in their beds at night but had sod all to show for it at the end of every month, while this flash git got paid a fortune for waving his arms around at the Stock Exchange spending other people’s cash? He was in the wrong bloody job, no doubt about it. ‘So just look where you’re going, yeah? You’ve got eyes. Try using them once in a while.’
‘I’ve said sorry, haven’t I?’
Although Vic was itching for a fight, he managed to restrain himself. He was already on a warning and couldn’t afford to get into any more trouble before the Tom Chase trial. ‘Yeah, right. Maybe say it like you mean it, huh?’
The guy shifted along the bar, annoyed but still sober enough to realise that Vic was trouble.
Vic went on glaring at him, transferring his frustration about Chase and Tammy and everything else that had been winding him up on to the stranger. The little shit deserved to be taught a lesson. No one had any bloody manners these days. No respect, either. He continued to dwell on the episode, even after the bloke had gone, turning it over in his mind while he studied the incriminating puddle of beer on the counter.
Half an hour later Vic walked out of the pub and got in his car. By now his festering resentment had shifted into a simmering rage. His nerves were stretched tight like thin metal wires ready to snap. What was wrong with people? Everyone was out to thwart him, to wind him up. He was sick of it.
The journey from Shoreditch to Kellston took less than ten minutes. He kept his speed down, aware that he was over the alcohol limit and not wanting a pull from the local plod. He drove up Station Road, passing the Fox on his right and the Hope and Anchor on his left, both pubs owned by Terry Street. There, that was something else to make his blood boil. Street was an out-and-out villain, a dangerous manipulator who had the East End neatly tied up to his own advantage. Drugs, girls, protection rackets; you name it, he ran it.
The rain was pissing down but Vic knew that wouldn’t keep the toms off the streets. Nothing short of the apocalypse would stop the whores from plying their trade. He indicated left and turned into Albert Road, the centre of the red light district of Kellston. Many years ago, it had been an affluent part of the district but all that remained of that wealth now were the crumbling Victorian mansions, their floors divided and sub-divided into flats, beds
its and sparsely furnished rooms which the girls could rent out for fifteen-minute intervals, paying a nominal fee for the pleasure of being fucked by a punter somewhere slightly more comfortable than a dark alley or the back of a car.
The smarter toms worked out of the brothels where they had some protection from those customers of a more psychopathic persuasion. The has-beens, the addicts and the part-timers like Tammy took their chances on the street. He cruised slowly along Albert Road, keeping his eyes peeled for that shock of blonde hair, until he finally spotted her sheltering in a doorway to his left. Wearing a short red minidress, a black leather jacket and fishnets, she seemed more like the cliché of a prostitute than the real thing, a girl dressed up for a tarts and vicars party.
Vic pulled up to the kerb and flashed his lights. He wasn’t driving his own car and it was too dark for her to see him clearly. He knew, as she tottered through the rain in her high heels, that she had no idea who it was. As she leaned down to look through the open window on the passenger side, her painted-on smile quickly disappeared.
‘Jesus,’ she hissed. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you, babe. Get in the car.’
Tammy glanced around to see if anyone was watching. A couple of toms were standing fifty yards away, their eyes fixed hungrily on Vic’s motor, their expressions cold and resentful. A pair of junkies, he reckoned. They had that sick, craving look about them, that desperation for the next fix.
‘For Christ’s sake, Tammy, just get the fuck in. I haven’t got all night.’
She hesitated, but only for a second. The longer she waited, the more suspicious it would look. ‘Do a U-turn,’ she said, as she closed the door. ‘Don’t go past those two. They can smell the filth a mile off.’
‘Jesus,’ he muttered, but did what she said. He was prepared to indulge her, to try and keep her happy until he got what we wanted. After executing a less than perfect three-point turn, he headed back on to Station Road.
‘So what’s the problem now?’ she asked peevishly, her gaze flicking towards the clock on the dashboard. In Tammy’s world, time was money and she couldn’t afford to waste any of it.
‘Hey, come on. It’s not as though you’re rushed off your feet.’
‘It’ll pick up.’
‘If you say so.’
Vic circled round to the old abandoned railway arches, made sure there was no else about, and pulled up by one of the black gaping holes in the wall. He left the engine running, the headlamps illuminating sparkling arrows of rain, before switching off the lights and plunging them into darkness.
‘What are you doing?’ Tammy asked.
‘A bit of privacy. I thought that’s what you wanted.’
‘Put the lights on.’ She started shifting in her seat, nervously wriggling, crossing her legs and uncrossing them again. ‘I don’t like this place. It’s creepy.’
Vic shrugged and turned on the lights again. ‘There’s no pleasing some people.’
‘So what is it? What are you after?’
He rolled down the window a fraction and lit a fag. ‘I want to know what’s going on with Tom Chase.’
Tammy frowned. ‘I talked to Eden, didn’t I? Like you said. I told her to make sure he went down the block. I laid it on thick, said he weren’t safe on the wing, that Pat Lynch was out to get him. After the visit, she reckoned he’d agreed and… but I already told you all this. I told you Thursday night when I rang, remember?’
‘I need to know what’s happened since then.’
‘What do you mean?’
Vic glared at her. He couldn’t figure out whether the tart was being deliberately obtuse or if she was just plain stupid. ‘What’s not to understand?’ he said sharply. ‘Chase saw his solicitor this morning. Something’s going down and I want to know what. Have you heard from her since you last called me?’
Tammy hesitated just long enough for him to know that a lie was about to come out of her mouth. ‘No.’
‘Don’t fuck me about, love. I’ve had enough bullshit for one day.’
Tammy’s face took on a sulky expression. ‘I don’t want to do this no more,’ she whined. ‘What if someone finds out I’ve been talking to you? You ain’t paying me enough to take the risk. It ain’t fair.’
Vic felt the anger bubbling up inside him, a culmination of the night’s frustrations. He answered her through gritted teeth. ‘You know what’s not fair, Tammy? Holding out on me. We’ve got a deal and you can’t back out whenever you feel like it. So just tell me what you know, yeah, and make it snappy.’
‘I don’t know nothin’.’
‘Jesus, do I have to —’
‘What I mean is she didn’t say nothin’ when she rang this morning, nothin’ important, only that she was going away for a while and wouldn’t be able to give me a lift to the jail no more. She didn’t mention no solicitor. She said she was going up to see her dad and wasn’t sure when she’d be back.’ Tammy stared at him. ‘That’s it. I swear.’
‘And you didn’t think to let me know?’
‘I was going to. I’ve had things to do, ain’t I?’
Vic curled his lip, hearing the attitude in her voice and not liking it one little bit. ‘Where’s she living at the moment?’
‘With that Caitlin, over in Finchley. I’ve got the number but I ain’t got no address.’
‘Well, she’s not going anywhere before Monday – she’s got a visit booked with her scumbag of a husband – so in the meantime you can find out what’s going on. She must have some idea.’
‘And how am I supposed to do that?’
‘How do you think? Talk to her, for God’s sake. Get on the blower, have a chat. Go for a drink. I thought you two were supposed to be mates.’
‘And what if she won’t tell me? I can’t force her, can I?’
Vic felt those wires in his head stretch even tighter. He pulled on the cigarette and deliberately blew smoke in her face. ‘Bad things, love. That’s what going to happen. So don’t disappoint me, right?’
Tammy coughed and flapped her hand. ‘Leave it out. What d’ya do that for?’
Vic gave a thin smile. ‘A bit of smoke is the last thing you need to worry about. Now get out of the car.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. I’m sick of the sight of your slutty little face.’
Tammy’s eyes widened. ‘You can’t leave me here.’
‘Watch me.’
‘What for?’
‘To teach you a lesson, love. Next time don’t keep me in the dark. If Eden Chase so much as farts, I want to know about it.’ Vic glared at her. He’d had enough of being wound up, of people taking the piss. ‘I’m waiting. Get the fuck out before I throw you out.’
Tammy stared at the gaping, black mouths of the arches and shrank back into her seat. He knew she was thinking about the girl who’d been killed here a few years back, another tom who’d made a bad decision. Her voice instantly slipped into a pleading tone. ‘Ah, come on, Vic, don’t be like that. Just drop me off at the station. It ain’t safe here, you know it ain’t. There’s all sorts hanging about.’
‘You should have thought about that before you decided you had more important things to do than keep me up to date.’
‘I told you. I was going to call. I was.’
‘Too little, too late.’
Tammy opened her mouth as if about to protest, but then clearly decided not to bother. The battle, so far as she was concerned, had already been lost. She opened the door and stepped out into the rain. It was then she made her big mistake. ‘Bastard!’ she spat, as she slammed the car door shut.
Vic wasn’t exactly sure what happened next, but something snapped and a red mist descended. It was one thing being disrespected by a jumped-up tosser in the pub, but when some slut of a whore decided to join in too, he knew the line had been well and truly crossed. The bitch needed teaching a lesson.
He was out of the car and on to her before she fully realised what was
happening. Grabbing her round the neck, he dragged her over to the arches and slammed her up against the wall. There was a satisfying thud as her spine made contact with the old grey brick. ‘What did you say, you fucking whore?’
‘N-nothin’,’ she stammered, trying to get her breath back.
‘It didn’t sound like fucking nothing.’
‘Don’t hurt me,’ she begged, clawing at his left arm, which pressed against her throat. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
Vic slapped her hard across the face, enjoying the power he had over her. He pushed his face into hers, smelling the fear on her breath. ‘Shut it!’ he snarled. ‘You think I want to listen to your bloody whining?’
