by Roberta Kray
She read on. The prosecution claimed that the assault was a premeditated act born of jealousy, of rage, and vengeance. The defence claimed Cavelli had gone to the house purely with the intention of retrieving some of Nadine’s possessions. It was only when Reece had goaded him about her death that the meeting had turned sour and a fight had ensued. Whatever the truth, there was no disputing the damage Cavelli had inflicted. Although cleared of attempted murder he’d been found guilty of GBH and sentenced to eight years.
She made a fast mental calculation. With good behaviour, he’d only serve two thirds which meant that in a year or so he’d be up for parole. So was he preparing for a second bite of the cherry? She couldn’t think of any other explanation as to why he would want to know his whereabouts. And once Reece was found and Cavelli was free, he would hardly be planning to go round and shake his hand. If she gave him the information he wanted, and he went on to finish the job, would that make her an accessory to murder? She shivered. Was he intending to kill him? It only took a glance from those cold blue eyes to realize what he was capable of. Inside Cavelli was a dark brooding anger.
‘Eve?’
She tried to ignore the interruption. She had to concentrate, to think this through. Perhaps she could spin it out for a few months, string him along, pretend that she was still looking but that she couldn’t find him. Would he believe that? She doubted it somehow. Unless Reece was actually in hiding, she should eventually be able to track him down.
‘Tell me what’s going on.’
She frowned. ‘I can’t. I mean, nothing. I don’t know. It’s just something that I’m checking for—’
‘Oh, don’t give me that crap,’ Sonia snapped. ‘I know trouble when I see it. Is this to do with your Terry?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Eve retorted too quickly.
Sonia placed her hand gently on Eve’s arm. ‘Look, love, whatever it is, I’ll understand. It’s me, Sonia.’ She gave a low laugh. ‘You think I’ll be shocked? Believe me, there’s not much I haven’t seen or heard before.’
‘No,’ Eve began, ‘really, you don’t need to worry. It’s …’ But already her resolve was starting to weaken. What the hell had she got herself involved in? Other than Henry, she had no one to talk to, and he hadn’t called for several days. Maybe he’d finally seen sense. Maybe he would never call again.
‘You think your dad would want to see you like this?’
Perhaps it was the mention of her father that finally pushed her towards making the decision. Or maybe she just couldn’t bear the thought of facing this alone. Either way, she needed someone to share her worries with. And she could trust Sonia, couldn’t she? She’d been her father’s friend, a good friend, always there for him.
‘So?’ Sonia persisted.
And it only took a few more minutes for the truth to trickle out.
Eve didn’t go into detail. She provided the edited version, about how she’d gone to visit Terry and the state he was in, about how she’d accidentally bumped into Cavelli, about the idea she’d had, the deal they’d made, and where that deal had recently led her – finding Jimmy Reece. All the rest, the attack in the alley, the phone calls and threats, she kept to herself. She still wasn’t sure if they were connected and there was no point muddying the waters.
When she was finished Sonia gave her a long hard look. For a moment Eve thought she’d made a mistake, that she should never have confided in her. Her face was tight and drawn, faintly angry, the way people tend to look when you’ve told them something that they really didn’t want to hear. Sharing your worries was one thing but inflicting major burdens was an entirely different matter. She glanced down at the carpet. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have …’
‘And you’ve been coping with this on your own?’
She looked up again and nodded. Sonia was making a vague attempt at a smile. Eve could see now that she wasn’t stressed about the information, only about the fact that she hadn’t been told.
‘Christ, I’m only across the hall. Why didn’t you talk to me?’ Then, before Eve had a chance to respond, she briskly continued: ‘Right, well, we’re going to have to make plans. When are we going to London – tomorrow, is it? Afternoon or evening? What time? I’ll have to ring Val, sort out arrangements for the kids. Are we going to get the train or drive down?’
Eve stared at her. ‘We?’ she repeated.
‘Well, you’re not going on your own. That would just be stupid.’
It might be stupid but she didn’t want to drag Sonia any further into this mess. This was her problem and no one else’s. Just because she had shared it didn’t mean she was willing to share the repercussions too. ‘To be honest,’ she lied, ‘I don’t know if I’m going at all.’
‘Of course you are. What choice do you have?’
No choice. She was right. But she wasn’t about to admit it. ‘I could just say I couldn’t find him.’
‘Risky. If he finds out you’re lying …’
‘How would he?’
‘Perhaps Jimmy Reece isn’t that hard to find.’
‘So why does Cavelli need me?’
Sonia picked up her mug and took a sip of tea. ‘Perhaps it’s a test, something to prove that you’re on side.’
Eve scowled but yes, that made a kind of sense. Something to prove that she was being straight, cooperating, doing what he wanted. ‘Do you think?’
‘He’s still inside for at least another twelve months, so you don’t have to worry about anything you tell him. By the time he gets out, it’ll all be history.’
That thought had crossed Eve’s mind too. A lot could change in a year. Reece could move, change addresses, disappear. Which begged the question of why Cavelli wanted the information now. Unless … ‘What if he’s intending to get someone else to do the job, a professional, someone who’ll do it while he’s still locked up? That would put him in the clear. They couldn’t prove that he had anything to do with it.’
She didn’t have to explain what the ‘job’ was. Sonia knew exactly what she was talking about. But she didn’t seem too bothered. ‘He could,’ she agreed. ‘But from what you’ve said he strikes me as the kind of man who’d rather do his dirty work himself.’
And she was right, absolutely right. If Cavelli was still intent on revenge – and Eve was sure that he was – then he’d never get anyone else to commit the final act. He’d want to be there, to exact his own personal retribution. And she suddenly saw another way out. If that was the case, then she could warn Reece after she’d found him, send him an anonymous letter or make a phone call, let him know that he was in danger. Terry should be out in five months and all she had to do in the meantime was to keep Cavelli happy.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but you don’t need to come with me.’
Sonia snorted. ‘You think I’m going to let you traipse round Soho on your own?’
An hour later Eve was pacing her living room. She had her phone in her hand and was still searching for somewhere they could stay. Cheap hotels in London were hard to come by. Perhaps she’d be better off asking a friend – but she couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t ask too many awkward questions. On her own, she might have managed, but how was she going to explain Sonia’s presence?
And how was she going to find the man she was searching for?
Although there was one person who might be able to help. She stopped, flipped open her address book and stared down at his phone number. No, she couldn’t.
She went to the kitchen and gazed longingly at a bottle of red wine. She could do with a glass to steady her nerves but she was meeting Jack Raynor in a few hours. She had to keep her wits about her. Instead she filled a glass with water.
She took a gulp. What next? Should she? If there was one person who might know where Jimmy Reece was, it was Patrick. He knew the seedier parts of London like the back of his hand. She dialled the first three digits. Quickly, she put the phone down.
She took another sip of water and lit a cig
arette. Why was she even worrying? The chances of him still being in the flat were slight. It had been years. It was probably only a stranger who would reply, someone who would sound bemused, and say, ‘Who?’
She dialled the whole number but hung up as it began to ring. What if she was wrong? What if he was still living there?
Eve took a deep breath before she picked up the phone again. It rang at least five times before it was finally answered.
‘Hello?’
She recognized his voice. What was she doing? Hang up! Her teeth clamped together. Of all the idiotic ideas she’d ever had …
‘Hello,’ he said again.
‘Patrick?’
‘Yes.’ There was a short pause. Then a laugh. ‘Hey, gorgeous, how are you doing?’
There was no going back now. ‘Okay,’ she replied, trying to lift her game and to sound upbeat. ‘Pretty good. How are you?’
There was a short silence. ‘It’s been a while,’ he said.
‘I was ringing because …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Er, I’m trying to trace someone and was hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.’
‘And here was me thinking that you just had to hear my voice again.’
‘Sure,’ she quipped back, ‘I’ve only managed to hold out for nine years. I guess my willpower must be weakening.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’ve heard I’m irresistible.’
Her mouth widened into a smile. He always had been the modest type. ‘Really? Are you sure that wasn’t irresponsible? They sound kind of similar.’
He laughed. ‘So, who are you looking for, someone we know?’
‘Not exactly. A guy called Jimmy Reece, used to be an actor. Does it ring any bells?’
‘The guy who got his face smashed in, right?’
As if she needed a reminder. ‘Yeah?’ she said, pausing, pretending she wasn’t too sure. ‘That could be him. I’m only asking for a friend, someone who’s lost touch and wants to look him up.’
‘Right,’ he repeated softly.
And with that single word, she knew he didn’t believe her. But then she never had been able to lie to Patrick. Come to that, she hadn’t been too convincing with Sonia either. Perhaps she was losing the knack. She sighed down the line. ‘I need to find him.’
This time it was Patrick who paused. ‘He isn’t worth it, Evie.’
She frowned at the wall, taking a moment to translate what he was saying. ‘Oh God,’ she replied, ‘I’m not … we’re not … Honestly, I’ve never met him before in my life.’
There was silence from the other end.
‘Oh, come on,’ she insisted. ‘You know me better than that. It’s not my style. Since when have I gone chasing after any man?’
‘So what’s the deal?’
‘There’s no deal. I’ve told you. But it is kind of delicate. I can’t go into it. Just trust me, okay? All I need to know is where I can find him. I’ve heard that he’s a bit of a low-life, that he hangs out in Soho, likes a drink, likes—’
‘So you instantly thought of me,’ he interrupted.
She winced. ‘No, I didn’t mean …’
‘It’s okay,’ he laughed. ‘Chill out! I wasn’t being serious. As it happens, I might be able to help. I’ve seen him around. There are a few bars and clubs he tends to turn up in.’
‘Great.’ She opened her notebook and waited. A few seconds ticked by. ‘I’ve got a pen,’ she prompted.
Are you still in London?’
She tapped the biro impatiently against the side of the table. She wanted to get on with it but knew what he was like; the more she pushed the less likely he was to give her the information she needed. ‘Off and on. But I’m coming back down tomorrow. I’ve been in Norwich for a while.’
Are you staying with your dad? How is he?’
Eve felt the shock of his questions like two rapid thumps to her abdomen. She leaned over the table as if she’d been winded. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. Why should he? She closed her eyes, trying to find the right words. How many times had she said them? More than she cared to remember. But it was so much harder with Patrick. While they’d been together, he’d been close to her father, as close as a son. There was no easy way to tell him.
‘Evie?’
She forced herself to speak. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘He’s dead, Patrick. He died over a month ago.’
She heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Shit no. Christ, I’m sorry.’
‘He was ill,’ she said quickly. ‘He had cancer.’ She couldn’t bear to tell him the rest, the terrible details of his lonely walk into the river. She still hadn’t come to terms with that herself.
‘You should have called me,’ he said.
A rush of guilt ran through her. Perhaps she should. It wasn’t as if he’d been hard to find. All it would have taken was a phone call. But a divorce is a divorce. Their lives had drifted apart. But perhaps he’d still had the right to know. His friendship with her father had only been severed by circumstance. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I didn’t mean … I just wish …’
‘I know,’ she said. She was drawing close to tears, trying to hold herself together. She felt like she was walking a trembling tightrope, poised somewhere between two impossible points of despair; whichever way she looked, forward or back, there was only grief.
‘Are you okay?’
She wasn’t. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Like fuck,’ he said.
And there wasn’t much she could reply to that.
‘Evie?’
‘Yeah, I’m okay.’ She tried to keep her voice steady. She took another deep breath. If she didn’t move on quickly, she would never move on at all. The past was a place that she couldn’t afford to visit. ‘So, what about these clubs Jimmy Reece goes to?’
‘Frith Street,’ he said. ‘There’s a pub on the corner called—’
‘I know it,’ she said. As if she could ever forget. It was where they used to meet. She could still recall the dim interior, the horseshoe bar, the wooden benches and the dark scarred tables. ‘Does he go there?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘So why—’
‘I’ll meet you there tomorrow evening. What shall we say, about seven? Or is that too early?’
She scowled. ‘What?’
‘We need to talk.’
‘No we don’t,’ she insisted. ‘All you need to tell me is where I can find Jimmy Reece.’
And I will,’ he said. ‘I promise. Do we have a deal?’
She groaned. Not another deal. She was getting sick to death of them. ‘Do I have a choice?’
No.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Keep an eye on her,’ Joe Silk said. ‘I want to know where she goes, everyone she meets.’
The man nodded. He picked up the photograph from the desk, stared at it a while, and then flipped it over to read the details on the back. He spent a long time studying the address.
‘Norwich,’ Joe snapped impatiently. ‘Head north and turn right. Try not to get lost. And take Micky with you. She shouldn’t be able to give you both the slip.’
‘Right now?’ he asked.
Joe glanced at his watch. ‘No, five fucking minutes ago.’ He hissed as the man quickly left the room. What was the matter with people these days? They had to be told everything twice and even then they couldn’t find their way to the bottom of the street. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. Maybe retirement wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Once he’d got this business sorted out, he’d give it some serious consideration.
Chase made a grunting sound, uncrossed his long legs and stood up. ‘Drink?’ He didn’t wait for a reply before walking over to the cabinet and pouring him a large one.
Joe looked at his back, at his tight hunched shoulders. ‘What’s on your mind?’
Chase shrugge
d. Then he turned and walked slowly back. He put the glass on the desk. ‘I don’t get it. Why don’t we just pick her up, have a quiet word. If she has it, she’ll tell me soon enough.’
Impulsive. That was the only fault with Chase. Always act now and think about it later. It had never been any different. And yes, his powers of persuasion were certainly legendary but a dead Evie Weston could be even more dangerous than a living one. At least at the moment.
‘There’s plenty of time for that. First, we need to find out who she’s working with. Anyone could have it by now. She must have passed it on.’ He took a delicate sip of his drink. An expensive Irish whiskey should be savoured not gulped. ‘Fucking Marshall,’ he murmured. ‘He couldn’t find a five-pound note in a fucking bank. If it was ever in the flat, it’ll be long gone by now.’
‘What about the kid?’
‘No, the little bastard doesn’t know what day of the week it is. Weston might have been a lot of things but he wasn’t a fool. The only person he’d have trusted with it was her.’ Evie was the smart one, the one with the brains. And that was the major worry. What the hell was she playing at? If she was intending to stick to her father’s side of the bargain, then she’d have contacted him by now; she’d have returned the property. A deal was a deal. The fact that she hadn’t, that she was refusing to cooperate, that she was messing about instead with some dodgy private eye, made the situation crystal clear. His hand tightened around the glass. It didn’t take a genius to work out her intentions. A couple of grand to test the waters and then …
‘The kid’s still a problem,’ Chase insisted. ‘It needs sorting.’
Joe took a deep drag on his cigarette, inhaled, and blew the smoke out in a sweet straight line. ‘Rumour has it that the Rowans aren’t too happy about Terry’s lenient sentence. Someone must have been whispering in their ear. Rumour has it that he might have got a touch too friendly with the cops.’ He lifted his face and gazed up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how long it would take, a couple of weeks, maybe a month, but no matter what the time scale, the rot was starting to set in. Terry Weston’s days, God bless his soul, were numbered.
