The Pact

by Roberta Kray

  For God’s sake! This was insane! She’d only come to see Terry and …

  The pale blue sky flashed in and out of her field of vision. One moment she was staring up at its vast expanse, the next she had her nose pressed hard against the gravel. She was distantly aware of Amber jumping up and down and squealing – although it was hard to tell if it was out of panic or encouragement. Her more immediate concern was with Kimberley’s rage, a fury that showed no sign of abating. A frenzied rabid sound, guttural and barely human, escaped from the girl’s throat as she lunged again and again, trying to bite, trying to punch, while they struggled in their angry embrace.

  Eve fought back, managing to land a few well-aimed digs and slaps. She couldn’t claim she was stronger – they were both around the same height and weight – but she was sure she was starting to fight smarter, to not do anything too rash, to not leave any unnecessary openings, to think about what she was doing. Emotion inevitably got in the way of technique. It was a well-known fact, wasn’t it? So long as she protected herself, kept her cool, Kimberley would eventually begin to weaken and then …

  Whether this theory would have proved to be accurate – or simply one of the last thoughts she had before waking up in a hospital bed – she never got the chance to discover. Another body suddenly forced its way between theirs, abruptly levering them apart.

  ‘Christ! Fuck! What are you doing? Ladies, please!’

  As she sprawled on her back, Eve gazed up to see David Hammond staring down at them. Oh great! A screw. So now the whole jail was going to know about it. She closed her eyes for a second before she rose slowly to her feet. Yet despite her mortification, she suddenly found herself wanting to laugh. With their torn clothes and bedraggled appearance, they looked about as far from ‘ladies’ as they possibly could – more like a pair of cheap tarts fighting over a client on a slow Saturday night.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked officiously.

  He glanced from Eve, who said nothing, to Kimberley.

  She was still sitting on the ground, rubbing at her shin. ‘It’s none of your fucking business!’

  ‘It is my business when you’re doing it on prison grounds.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go fill in a complaint form?’

  There was a faint ripple of laughter from the surrounding crowd. It ran like a soft wave, rising and falling, before they swiftly dispersed. It had all been good fun, a spectacle, but now an official was on the scene, they were quick to make themselves scarce. There was no point asking for trouble.

  He turned towards Eve again. ‘You want to tell me?’

  ‘It was nothing,’ she said, dusting herself down. ‘Don’t worry about it. A misunderstanding, that’s all.’

  She looked at Kimberley who had finally managed to haul herself upright. She was a mess, her sweaty face a disaster, her eyes ringed with dark shadows of mascara. Even her mouth was leaking lipstick. Eve probably didn’t look a million dollars herself – all her muscles were aching and her hair was in rat’s tails – but it was with some satisfaction that she weighed up the balance of the damage. All things considered, her casual jeans and jumper had been a godsend, not the height of glamour perhaps but more practical when it came to a scrap. Kimberley’s lacy blouse was torn across the shoulder, her satin trousers stained and wrinkled. One of her high-heeled designer shoes was still lying a few yards away.

  Eve smiled – but she couldn’t afford to be too smug. She was sure she’d have her fair shares of bruises by the morning.

  ‘Look,’ Hammond said, ‘I don’t know what’s going on but—’

  Kimberley raised her eyes to the heavens as she brusquely shoved past him. ‘Sorry, mate, I’d love to talk but things to do.’ She threw Eve one last nasty glance as she hobbled a few feet, picked up her shoe, and got into her car. With a violent squeal of the brakes, she reversed a few yards out and then accelerated away.

  Once the grey cloud of exhaust had cleared, Hammond glanced at her again. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘And you don’t want to—’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Although thanks for stepping in. What would I have done without you?’

  His cheeks flushed pink and like some Arthurian knight his chest puffed out an inch or two. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said magnanimously, ‘you seemed to be holding your own.’

  ‘That’s very sweet,’ she said, ‘but actually, I just meant thank you for stopping me from killing her.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As Eve drove towards home she stared at the three long scratches on her hand and sighed. She was starting to wonder if she had one of those signs pinned to her back that read: Kick me! It seemed she barely got through a day now without someone having a go. Gingerly, she touched her scalp, feeling the sore point where her hair had been yanked by its roots.

  She was beginning to understand what Paula had meant about Cavelli’s taste in women. You’re not his usual type. Wasn’t that what she’d said? Well, thank God for small mercies. That was one category she was well out of. She might have the odd flaw in her character but Kimberley was positively deranged.

  The sun was sinking, lying low on the horizon and shining straight into her eyes. Bugger, she’d have this for the next five miles or so. She flipped down the visor and squinted into the mirror. It had become a habit recently, this constant checking to see if anyone was on her tail, slowing down and speeding up, testing the drivers behind her. Except now of course, if the man who’d been following her was dead … But she didn’t want to believe that. She didn’t want to believe that her shadow had been Ivor Patterson, the man who’d been brutally attacked, the same man who was now nothing more than a cold corpse laid out in the morgue.

  She shuddered, turning her thoughts back to the mad blonde who’d gone for her throat. Pondering on Kimberley was hardly comfortable but it was preferable to some of the other options whirling round her head. What on earth had possessed her to kick off like that? The woman was either psychopathically jealous – in which case she needed counselling – or someone had encouraged her to think that Eve Weston was a serious threat to her relationship. And that someone, now she came to think of it, could only be Cavelli.

  But what would he have to gain from it? Well, a good laugh probably – and a chance to get back at her for what she’d written in the letter. He was the sort who always liked to be in charge, to have the last word. By winding Kimberley up, by telling her God knows what – that she was pursuing him? that she was an old girlfriend? – he could get her to do his dirty work while he stayed out of the picture. And Eve would never be able to prove that it had anything to do with him. Yeah, she wouldn’t be surprised. It was just his style.

  Unless there was something more sinister behind his actions.

  She frowned as she considered another more worrying possibility. Perhaps Cavelli was the psychopath – a man who needed to manipulate, to control, to utterly possess the women in his life. Take Nadine for example: even after she’d left him, even after he’d married Paula, he hadn’t been able to let go. There was something obsessive about it all. Even after her death, he was still acting as if she belonged to him. He’d gone round to see Jimmy Reece, confronted him and … She instantly tried to shake the image from her head. No, it didn’t bear thinking about.

  But there was no denying that Cavelli was dangerous. She had to face up to the fact that there had been no attacks, no threats, no shadows, until she’d met him. Could that really be a coincidence? Maybe he got his kicks from frightening women. Maybe this was all some sick grotesque game, something to occupy his mind while he was banged up – a little friendly torment to make the time pass quicker.

  It was possible but it didn’t quite add up. For starters, it didn’t even begin to account for Ivor Patterson’s death. Or the whole Joe business. Or plenty of other things. She lit a cigarette and wound down the window. She sighed again, a long tired exhalation.

  Eve
was half a mile further down the road before a hollow laugh escaped from her lips. How had it come to this? Things must be bad if she was actually disappointed to work out that she wasn’t being hounded by a six-foot-plus vicious thug with psychopathic tendencies and the eyes of a devil!

  It was almost five by the time she drew up beside the fish and chip shop. The sky had darkened, turning from blue to filthy grey, and a few spots of rain were already coming down. She got out and locked the door. She’d made a decision as she drove slowly through the city traffic. So okay, there were lots of questions she didn’t have the answers to but there was one she could sort out straight away: no more unnecessary mysteries – as soon as she got into the flat she was going to open those boxes.

  She was walking fast, almost trotting, when she spotted the silver Peugeot parked up beside the flats. Jack Raynor got out and raised his hand. Damn! What was he doing here? Forcing a smile, she tried to keep the irritation from her voice.

  ‘Hey, if I didn’t know better I might think you were stalking me.’

  He smiled back, his blue eyes searching hers. ‘And if I didn’t know better, I might think you were avoiding me.’

  ‘Sorry. I was going to call,’ she lied. ‘I’ve been kind of busy. I had a load of stuff to do this morning and then I had to go and see Terry’

  It was a lousy excuse of course and he knew it. He’d also been around long enough to recognize a brush-off when he heard one. ‘Anyway,’ he said, taking a step back, ‘as long as you’re okay. I only dropped by. I didn’t mean to …’

  And Eve was presented with the perfect opportunity to just let him walk away. He was making it easy for her. No awkward conversations, no recriminations. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? All she had to do was say goodbye, to stroll inside and it would be over. So why was she hesitating? What was it about Jack Raynor that made her doubt every inch of good sense she’d been born with?

  And the very next second her mouth opened to say the exact opposite of what she’d intended. ‘Well, seeing as you’re here you may as well come in. I don’t know about you but I’m desperate for a coffee.’

  Joe was pacing the floor, back and forth, back and forth. His arms hung rigidly, his hands coiled into two tight fists. It was all getting on his nerves, the waiting around, the not knowing. Perhaps Keeler was right – they should just bring her in and beat the fucking truth out of her. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. It was a bad idea. Evie was smart. She’d have found a safe place to hide her father’s little legacy. And she’d have made the necessary contingency plans for if she suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth – the kind of plans that would send him to jail for the next twenty years.

  No, patience was what was needed here. No matter how much it galled him, he had to play the waiting game. With Patterson gone, she’d be starting to sweat, starting to realize just who she was up against. Eventually she’d have to show her hand, she’d have no choice, and then …

  When the knock came at the door, he sat back down in his chair, took a moment to rearrange his features into cold indifference and shouted out, ‘Come!’

  Micky and Gruber entered the office, one either side of Jimmy Reece. They weren’t exactly holding him up but providing a kind of buttress service. He was lightly swaying from left to right and Joe got the impression that if they suddenly moved he might accidentally tip over and end up on the shag pile.

  ‘Hello, Jimmy,’ he said.

  Reece’s eyes struggled briefly to focus. And then, as if surprised to find himself where he was, he glanced around the room and nodded. ‘Oh, good evening, Mr Silk. How are you?’

  It was barely five o’clock but he was already well on the way to oblivion. ‘Sit him down,’ Joe said to Micky, ‘before he fucking falls down.’

  He did as he was told, pulling out a chair with one hand whilst using the other to lean on his shoulder and to gently but efficiently depress him. Reece acceded without even a murmur. In fact, perhaps in the mistaken belief that this was a social occasion and Micky nothing more than an over-conscientious waiter, he even raised his face and smiled.

  Joe gave a short dismissive nod in the direction of his two men. He waited until they’d left, until the door had clicked shut, before returning his attention to his guest. Then he sat back for a while and said nothing. Silence, as he had learned over the years, was always a useful tool, an unnerving precursor to what might be coming next.

  And gradually, predictably, as the silence grew, Jimmy Reece began to squirm. He crossed his legs and uncrossed them. He stared at Joe, opened his mouth and then closed it again. He turned his head and glanced out of the window. As the minutes passed, the chill of impending sobriety began to creep into his bones.

  ‘Mr Silk?’ he asked. For the first time, a quiver of fear, of understanding had come into his voice. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘A problem?’ Joe repeated. He rapped his knuckles softly against the desk. As he raised his eyes he narrowed them into a well-worn but convincing glare of intimidation. ‘Now, just how much is it you owe me, son?’

  Reece made an involuntary jump and shifted forward in his seat. ‘But I thought … I mean, we’ve got an arrangement, haven’t we? I pay you every—’

  ‘And how often have you missed those payments? How many times have you let me down?’ Joe shook his head and sighed. ‘It doesn’t look good, Jimmy. It doesn’t look good at all. I’ve got a reputation to consider. You think I want to be the laughing stock of London – the fucking mug, the moron, the loser who lends money out but never gets it back? You’re a man of the world. You can see the position I’m in. It’s nothing personal, you understand, just a matter of principle.’

  Reece’s face, already white, was taking on a greenish tinge. A faint sheen of perspiration leaked from his forehead. ‘I can sort it,’ he pleaded urgently. ‘I know I’m behind but just give me a few days. Please. Look, I’ll talk to the old man. I’ll get him to give me an advance. There isn’t any need for—’

  With a genuine appearance of regret, Joe slowly shook his head again. ‘It isn’t what I want, of course it isn’t, but sometimes examples have to be made and—’

  ‘Please,’ Reece begged again. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this. I’ll make sure you get your money. Whatever you want, whatever you say.’

  And Joe knew he had him right where he wanted – terrified and desperate. But he couldn’t be seen to give in too easily. The offer of salvation had to come gradually, to be presented as a slim chance, a tiny window of opportunity. ‘I’m sorry. It’s too late, Jimmy. It’s gone beyond the cash.’

  He groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘Jesus.’

  Joe gave him a few more seconds to think about it, about the consequences, the pain, before throwing him a precious lifeline. ‘However, I’m not an unreasonable man. You’ve let me down but …’

  ‘Anything,’ Reece said, lifting his head. His eyes widened into hopeful expectation. ‘I swear. Anything you want.’

  ‘Like the truth perhaps?’ Joe leaned across the desk and stared menacingly at him. ‘Like telling me what the fuck you were doing with Evie Weston?’

  Reece looked genuinely bewildered. ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t piss me about, Jimmy. The redhead you met in Pearl’s, the cutie you were playing footsie with under the table. Last Friday night. What’s going on? What’s the deal?’

  But he still seemed to be struggling, his forehead crumpling into a frown as he tried to dredge up the night from his sodden brain. Joe wondered if he was bluffing, play-acting, but his abilities hadn’t been that great even at the peak of his career. Shit! He’d been relying on Reece, certain he could shed some light on what that fucking bitch was up to.

  He reached into a drawer, pulled out a photograph and slid it across the desk. ‘Here. Let me jog your memory’

  Reece stared down at the picture and gradually his face began to clear. ‘Yeah,’ he said, shifting forward. ‘Yeah, I remember her now.’
He touched the edges of the photograph. As if delighted by his powers of recollection, his mouth broke into a smile.

  ‘So why did you meet up with her, Jimmy?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘I mean, I did but not deliberately. He was the one who bought me a drink.’ He prodded a face with his forefinger. ‘It was him. Patrick something. Said we worked together once, years ago. I couldn’t place him but …’ He continued to peer down, to try and concentrate, to provide the information that was so clearly wanted. He licked his drying lips and gazed up pleadingly. ‘Don’t suppose you have a drink, Mr Silk?’

  Joe got up and poured them both a large one. At this point gratitude would do more to loosen his tongue than any amount of threats.

  Reece attacked it greedily, knocking back half the contents in one gulp. It seemed to clear his head. ‘O’Connell,’ he said triumphantly. ‘That was it! Patrick O’Connell.’

  And what did he want, this Patrick O’Connell?’

  ‘He wanted to buy me a drink … a few drinks.’

  Joe could see how that would have been appealing. ‘And?’

  That frown appeared on his forehead again.

  ‘What did you talk about?’ he prompted.

  Reece shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The usual. Nothing special. Films and stuff.’

  ‘He didn’t ask you for anything?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I don’t know. You tell me. Did he offer you any kind of deal?’

  ‘What kind of deal?’

  Joe felt the beginnings of one of his dull pervasive headaches but he persevered. ‘And the woman, the redhead – what did she talk about?’

  ‘Oh, she wasn’t doing much talking,’ Reece said, with a small but lascivious grin. ‘I don’t think she was too happy with that husband of hers. She was looking for something … well, a little more thrilling, if you get my gist.’