He Made Me (Booker & Cash Book 2)

by Oliver Tidy

  I drove to Mrs Jenner’s. There wasn’t a light on. When I was as sure as I could be that I wasn’t being watched, I got out, walked quickly across to the low front wall, nipped over into the garden and hid it under a folded tarpaulin. In my haste to get out of there I barked my shin on something that brought tears to my eyes with the pain and had me limping and cursing under my breath all the way back to the car.

  It had started to rain while we’d been counting out the money, a steady light pattering on the roof. This had turned into something of a heavy downpour just as we arrived in Mrs Jenner’s street. By the time I’d stashed the money and hobbled back to the car I was quite wet. I was going to make my new upholstery damp and that made me unhappy. To Jo’s obvious and audible irritation, I wasted a few minutes arranging the picnic blanket I kept in the boot so that it covered the driver’s seat. She didn’t need to actually say anything. I was used to her body language and the little noises she used to express herself when her patience was being tried.

  A bit defensively, I said, ‘It’ll only take a minute. I’m not getting my upholstery damp if I don’t have to.’ I had to suffer another tut.

  When I was ready, I started the engine and checked the sat nav. With the hour, the weather and the lack of traffic I didn’t expect it to take us long to find our way to Mrs Swaine’s captors’ hideout. I thought I could easily make up any lost time, not that we had a definite time to be there.

  I took a last look at Jo for any signs of a change of heart and plan: her inner voice of reason and logic having spoken out and been heard, perhaps: take the money and run.

  She said, ‘What are you waiting for now? You want to check the tyre pressures, maybe run a Hoover over the footwells? It’s not like we’ve got to be anywhere, is it? It’s not like a woman is being held against her will, maybe chained up in a rat-infested cellar, desperately waiting for the ransom to be paid so that she can be released.’

  I refused to be drawn. ‘I’m waiting for you to say let’s go.’

  She shook her head and said, ‘Let’s go.’

  As I pulled away from the kerb, I said, ‘Our prints are all over the money, you know.’

  ‘Can’t be helped. Besides, we’re in deeper than that now, don’t you think?’

  I supposed she was right but didn’t say so. ‘Are you going to tell me why you’ve kept ten thousand of the fifty thousand back?’

  ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she said, rather disinterestedly, I thought. ‘And ten thousand gives us a card.’

  ‘And what if we don’t end up needing it?’

  ‘Blimey, don’t you go on sometimes?’

  ‘Always, when my personal safety is at stake. Did I tell you, I have something to live for these days?’

  ‘If we don’t need it, I’ll give it to charity. Satisfied?’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ I negotiated some traffic and said, ‘If this mystery woman was after Nigel Tate for money shouldn’t that opportunity have died with him?’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think that this could be something to do with the whole family. I just don’t know what. But I’m going to find out.’

  I drove at a steady pace: keeping to speed limits, stopping at lights and obeying the Highway Code. The last thing I wanted was to be pulled over by some bored policeman who was jealous of my ride and looking to ruin my evening.

  Twenty-five minutes later the sat nav informed us we were in the road we were looking for. I stopped the car and let the engine idle. My body was sending its signals that I was nervous. I was aware of my heart thumping, my palms were sweaty and my stomach was acting up a bit, as it always did when I thought there was a real possibility of being physically hurt.

  ‘What’s going to happen?’ I said, and I realised my mouth was as dry as a ready salted crisp.

  ‘You heard her: we’re going to go and have a nice cup of tea with Mrs Swaine and her kidnappers, give them a load of money and go home with Mrs Swaine.’

  ‘You really think so? I don’t mind telling you, I’m nervous. I’ve got things to live for.’

  ‘So you keep saying. No one’s forcing you to come in, David. Maybe it would be best if you drove around until I need the money.’

  I found the idea both appealing and appalling. I said, ‘Like I could ever look you in the eye again if I let you go in there on your own. I couldn’t live with myself if something bad happened to you.’

  Jo turned and gave me a strange look. She wore an expression I hadn’t seen on her face before: beatific. I wanted to grab a fistful of her hair and kiss her face off for it. Instead, I swallowed hard and said, ‘Besides, you owe me rent.’

  She smiled her knowing. ‘Let’s play it by ear, shall we. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. Show some good faith. My copper’s instinct tells me we’re not dealing with violent people here. I don’t think we’d have been invited round to her house for tea if they were planning on hacking us to pieces with axes.’

  ‘Have you seen American Psycho?’ I said.

  The benefit of the doubt? I thought. Show some good faith? I put the car in gear and crawled along to the address.

  Number thirty-seven wasn’t hard to find. It was the only house in the street with the lights on downstairs.

  We were able to park directly outside, which says something about the type of neighbourhood we’d pitched up in. Jo asked me to carry the case and she didn’t say why. The front door was opened before we had climbed the half a dozen steps to the covered porch. A tall overweight man blocked our entry. He was backlit only and so his face was in shadow but as he moved his head to one side a ponytail swung loosely behind him.

  ‘Lewis Edwards?’ said Jo.

  ‘That’s right.’ His accent was lazy London but there didn’t seem any malice in it but then again Sweeny Todd was noted for his affability. ‘You must be Cash and Carrier.’ He laughed at his little joke and I felt myself redden.

  ‘Where’s the organ-grinder?’ said Jo, or are you going to keep us hanging around on the front step all night.

  I could see his face better now. I could see he didn’t like the monkey joke. I could see he had a tattoo of a bluebird on his neck.

  He pointed us in, gestured to the briefcase and said, ‘You want me to take that?’

  Dropping my voice a few tones and trying to sound like I wasn’t bothered that he had a foot of height and two feet of girth over me, I said, ‘I can manage, thanks.’

  He’d found his fat man’s chuckle again. It followed us down the hall.

  We clomped down the hallway’s varnished stripped pine floors. The decoration, order and opulence did nothing to contradict the impression I’d got from outside that this was a highly desirable London postcode. After what seemed like a few hundred yards, we reached an open door. The room beyond was well lit, warm and occupied. We went in without hesitation or knocking. Our feet stopped making a racket as we crossed onto a very nice rug. And it was suddenly very quiet.

  Rebecca Swaine was sitting to one side of an uncomfortable-looking sofa, looking uncomfortable. She wore the same clothes she’d worn on our trip to London and a troubled expression that gave her a few lines where I hadn’t noticed them before. She looked tired and tense. All of these things she had a right to. She didn’t look particularly pleased to see us. Her eyes quickly strayed to the briefcase I was holding.

  ‘Welcome,’ said a voice I recognised from the phone conversations. It belonged to a middle-aged woman who, even though she was sitting down, I could see was too short for her weight. She was made up to look attractive in a chubby sort of way. She had an easy smile and she used it. ‘Miss Cash and Mr Booker,’ she said. It wasn’t a question. ‘Come in and sit down. It’s been a long day for all of us.’

  She was sitting in a wing-backed chair to one side of an ornate marble fireplace. A living flame gas fire supplied the room with its focal point and its heat. On first impressions, n
either of them struck me as the type to carry out the rather chilling threats that had been passed down the line in the initial contact. It made me think that was just some good old-fashioned bluff and bluster to get our sincere attention.

  Lewis Edwards had come into the room behind us and gently shut the door. He stood in front of it but not in a threatening way. Jo and I took the empty, second and matching sofa. I was right; I’d sat on more comfortable park benches.

  The woman had mentioned tea on the phone but there was no sign of it. I made a note not to trust her.

  ‘You have the briefcase, I see. That’s good,’ said the woman. ‘I take it there’s money in it?’

  ‘Twenty thousand,’ said Jo.

  The easy smile tightened up a little around the edges, like someone had pulled the thread.

  ‘That’s not what we agreed,’ said the woman.

  ‘The other twenty is safe and close,’ said Jo. ‘This twenty is to show we’ve got it. And you can get the rest when we have some answers and I’m happy that our exit is clear. Just taking precautions.’

  The smile was back. ‘Of course. I understand. Do you mind if I don’t take your word for the contents of the case?’

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were in your shoes,’ said Jo, which got an appreciative little chuckle from the organ-grinder. ‘Here,’ said Jo, taking the case and holding it up for Lewis. ‘Twenty bundles. Thousand pounds a bundle. You can count to twenty, Lewis, can’t you?’ This got a louder chuckle from our hostess and a hurt look from Lewis.

  ‘I like you, Jo,’ said our hostess. ‘You have spirit. Women like us should get along.’

  As Lewis took the case to the dining table to check the money, Jo said, ‘I’m not like you. I don’t kidnap people and threaten them.’

  ‘Have you been threatened, Rebecca?’ said the woman, turning to Mrs Swaine.

  She uttered a terse, ‘No.’

  ‘Who are you?’ said Jo.

  ‘My name is Hayley Ruben.’

  ‘Well, Hayley, you know that kidnap is a serious criminal offence?’

  ‘I do,’ said Hayley. ‘But let’s be clear – no one has been kidnapped, threatened or forced to do anything against their will. Right, Rebecca?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Rebecca is here of her own free will.’

  Jo said, ‘So she can leave anytime she wants to?’

  ‘Yes. Anytime she wants to.’

  Jo stood up and I felt I should too. Show some solidarity.

  Jo said, ‘Come on then, Mrs Swaine. Let’s go home.’

  Rebecca Swaine stared at the floor. She did not move. No one said anything and it was a very quiet few seconds.

  ‘Sit down, please,’ said Hayley. Her dominance and point was made.

  We sat and I thought I heard Lewis snort behind us.

  ‘Mrs Swaine doesn’t want to leave until we have the money. Isn’t that right, Rebecca?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mrs Swaine was being quite monosyllabic.

  ‘How about some answers, then?’ said Jo.

  ‘What are your questions, Jo?’

  ‘Let’s start with why you were demanding fifty thousand pounds from Nigel Tate.’

  ‘I wasn’t demanding it. It’s my money.’

  ‘Why did he have fifty thousand pounds of yours?’

  Hayley turned to Mrs Swaine. ‘Do you want me to answer that, Rebecca?’

  Rebecca Swaine gave Hayley an unkind look. ‘No.’

  Hayley gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Next question.’

  Jo said, ‘Would there be any point in any other questions?’

  ‘Probably not. Listen, Jo: Rebecca and I have had a frank discussion. She has learned things that she would rather not have. It is her private business. You must remember, Jo, you are working for her. She is your employer. If she doesn’t want to share information with you, you must accept that.’ She really did sound quite patronising.

  ‘I’m well aware of that, Hayley,’ said Jo, making an effort to sound equally condescending.

  ‘There’s twenty thousand here,’ said Lewis.

  Hayley looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s getting late. Why don’t we wrap this up? How soon can you get the rest of the money?’

  ‘We can be back here in an hour.’

  ‘Why doesn’t Lewis accompany you, Mr Booker? Jo can stay here with us and we can have a nice little chat, maybe a drink while we wait for you.’

  I looked at Jo and she gave me a resigned nod. I stood up. Lewis Edwards straightened himself up.

  ‘Have fun, boys,’ said Hayley. ‘And no gossiping, you hear?’

  With little choice, I left Jo behind and followed the bulk of Lewis Edwards out of the room, out of the house and into the dark, freezing night.

  As soon as he had the front door shut he fished around in his pockets for cigarettes and lit up.

  ‘You’re not smoking in my car,’ I said.

  ‘Blimey, you too? What’s wrong with everyone? She makes me go outside for a smoke.’

  He’d shed that mantle of pseudo tough guy, like someone glad to get out of a coat that didn’t fit him. It occurred to me that perhaps he could be encouraged to see us more alike than not.

  ‘It’s not me,’ I said. ‘It’s her. She’ll moan all the way back home. Let’s have one of those, can I?’

  After the briefest pause, he offered the pack. I hadn’t had a cigarette for months and in that time I’d battled some keen cravings. I’d resisted and I was proud of myself. But I had to find some common ground with him and this was a first step. Besides, I didn’t know that I had to be mad at him just because he was doing what he was told, like me. Maybe we weren’t so unalike in our evening roles. Seconds to tough women. I knew from experience how powerful a tool that was to men who spent their lives belittled by overbearing wives, girlfriends or female bosses.

  I lit my cigarette from his lighter, cupped in his hands against the breeze, and we moved out of sight of the house for a few puffs. The bond was made. The smoke hit me hard in my throat and the nicotine was a rush for my system. I managed to avoid coughing and embarrassing myself. I exhaled heavily and the air turned white with the clash of temperatures as much as the exhaled smoke.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Couple of minutes extra won’t hurt.’

  ‘You think they’ll notice?’ he said. ‘Hayley’s on such a power trip she can’t get enough of it.’

  I forced out a sympathetic noise. ‘I know what you mean. This isn’t anything to do with me. I’d rather be home in bed. Only reason I’m here is ‘cos her car’s not up to the journey and I don’t trust her to drive mine.’

  We puffed away quietly for a few seconds.

  ‘Where is it then?’ he said.

  ‘In a plastic bag in a front garden in Camden.’ I laughed hoping he’d join in. He did.

  ‘You’re kidding me? Twenty grand?’

  ‘Her idea. I couldn’t believe it, myself, but, like I said, it’s nothing to do with me. I just do what I’m told. And we were in a hurry. Ready?’

  We stamped out the cigarettes. I deactivated the central locking and the alarm and we got in.

  ‘Nice,’ said Lewis, getting himself comfortable. ‘Wouldn’t mind one of these, one day. What line of work you say you’re in?’

  ‘I run a cafe. This is a present to me from some inheritance money. You only live once, eh?’

  ‘Too true,’ said Lewis. ‘The only time I’ll ever come into money is if I have a wank in my change pot.’ And with that the ice was well and truly broken. I checked in with the sat nav and off we went. I was still laughing when we got to the end of the road and it wasn’t completely forced.

  Lewis turned out to be quite a chatterbox.

  ***

  46

  We made good time back to Mrs Jenner’s but that’s because normal people were tucked up in bed, leaving the roads clear for the darker side of London life to play out. I’m not sure that Lewis completely believed me about the plastic bag full of money in the garden.
But he had little choice when I came jogging back across the road with it.

  I got in and handed it over to him. He looked inside and laughed.

  ‘It’s all there was in the case when we found it. Still, that’s not my problem. You know what, if Hayley doesn’t believe it and wants to ‘persuade’ the Swaine woman to stay a bit longer, I might just push off home. I’ve got burgers to flip in a few hours.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’ he said. ‘We had a good snoop round.’

  ‘You know how Sigmund died?’

  ‘Offed himself in a church, Hayley said.’

  ‘That’s where he hid it.’

  ‘Trying to buy his way into heaven?’

  After a few turns, I said, ‘You knew him, right? And Nigel Tate?’

  ‘Yeah. Long time ago. How did you find out all that?’

  ‘Jo found a scrapbook in Sigmund’s room. Photos of his past. She found out that a woman, and a man fitting your description, had been sniffing round the gallery. She’s a detective. That tat makes you stand out.’

  Absently, Lewis Edwards fingered his painted neck, like maybe he properly regretted it. Lots of people do when they grow older and wiser.

  There were so many questions tumbling over themselves in my mind that I wanted to ask my new best friend but I didn’t want to break the spell by being crass about it. I wanted Lewis to think I wasn’t as interested as I was; I wanted him to believe that I wasn’t anything other than Jo’s chauffeur. Firing questions at him might have undermined that idea. And he’d already told me a lot on the way across London.