The Soho Noir Series

by Mark Dawson

  48

  EVE MURPHY LOOKED AT HER REFLECTION in the mirror. She was in the Ladies’ Powder Room at Vincanto, the chic new restaurant that had opened in Theatreland. She turned: front to the side. She was wearing the dress that Joseph had given her. He was very sweet like that, with all the presents and the surprises. It had been a Valentine’s gift, wrapped in expensive paper, sealed with ribbons and a huge bow. She could hardly believe the dress inside: a black rayon crepe with beaded and studded bodice, a modified sweetheart neckline, sleeves with darted headers and shirred elbows and a self belt. Her friend had actually gasped when Eve held it up for her. She had gone on and on about how much a dress like that must have cost, and how could Joseph afford it, and what about all the coupons you’d need, where had he got those from, and what would people think? Eve had explained it the same way Joseph had explained it to her when he had given her the watch, the necklace, the broach: he said he had been lucky on the dogs.

  She knew that wasn’t true. Eve was the daughter of a policeman and she was not a stupid girl. She did not know exactly how Joseph came by these things, but she knew it wasn’t legitimate. She had considered giving the first gift back to him, but they were so nice and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings and she couldn’t see the harm in accepting them. One gift had led to the other and then to the next and by that time she had decided it would have been churlish to hand them back and so she had kept them. And why shouldn’t she have some of the nicer things in life?

  She thought of her Uncle Charlie. She had been worried about his proposal for the first few days but he hadn’t asked much of her––so far, at least––and she had allowed herself to relax about it a little. He had arranged to meet her three times and they had chatted about things, usually over a coffee in one of the new coffee bars that were springing up in Mayfair and Kensington. It was just little pieces of information every now and again: who Joseph was going out with, what had she heard about his aunt and uncle, his friends and the other members of his family? None of it seemed dangerous or damaging and she had started to believe that perhaps she could manage her uncle, give him just enough to keep him satisfied but no more. It wasn’t as if Joseph told her very much about his business, after all. How could she be expected to tell him things that she didn’t know? She had told him that and he had appeared to believe it.

  She checked her make-up in the glass. She looked lovely. As she collected her handbag she realised that she was a little drunk. She was a very moderate drinker and she had allowed Joseph to pour her a second glass of wine with dinner. It was all going to her head. She would have to put a stop to that.

  Vincanto was especially nice. They had been to plenty of other places, fancy establishments, but they usually ended up here. She felt special as she made her way back into the dining room. She knew she was pretty, she was beautifully dressed and waiting for her at the table was her beau, and wasn’t he a cracker?

  “You took your time,” he said, grinning at her.

  “Had to make sure my make-up looked alright.”

  “What are you on about, girl? You look a million dollars.”

  The table was lit by a candle and the warm golden light flickered across his face. She felt the familiar flutter in her stomach. The light danced in his dark eyes, his olive skin framed by his jet black hair with that errant strand that curled above his left eye. He was so handsome. Such a dish. He could have had anyone he wanted and she had no idea why he was interested in her.

  Their waiter arrived at the table with an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

  “This is our best bottle, sir,” he said. “Bollinger Extra Quality Brut, 1943.”

  Joseph took the bottle and turned it in his hand. “Looks blinding,” he said. “Thank you. I’ll do the honours myself.”

  “Yes, of course, sir.” He took the hint and backed away.

  “I’m not sure I can manage another glass,” Eve said.

  “Nonsense,” he told her. “Just the one. If you don’t want it all, you don’t have to drink it.”

  “It looks too expensive to waste.” She screwed up her nose. “Is it?”

  “It’s not cheap, but that don’t matter. We need a splash to celebrate.” He shifted awkwardly in his chair. “We’ve been serious for ages now, ain’t we? Five months, and then all the time from before. I haven’t been out with anyone for as long as I’ve been with you. I wasn’t planning it, you know. Out where I was, with no women for so long, I had it in my mind that I’d stay a single lad for a while.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I met you again, didn’t I? It’s got me thinking––I’ve never been with someone like you before. I’m serious, Eve––I can’t hardly stop thinking about you.”

  “Joseph––”

  “Hold on. I’ve been building myself up to say this all day and I want to get it out straight. It’s like I said, see, I’m serious about us. You and me. I want to prove it.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything.”

  Joseph ignored her. He stood and then lowered himself to one knee.

  “What are you doing?” she almost squealed.

  He took a box from his pocket and opened it. “What do you think about us getting married?”

  She looked: inside the box was a diamond ring. It had a large oval stone in the centre, set in platinum, and accented with smaller pear-shaped stones all the way around.

  She gaped at him. “Oh, my goodness. I––I––” She took the ring and turned it in her fingers. Her mouth opened and closed as she searched for words.

  “So what do you say?

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well say something, girl! You’re not going to leave me here like this, are you?––I feel like a right bloody lemon.”

  She slipped the ring onto her finger. “Yes,” she said with sudden impetuousness. “Oh, yes, of course!”

  “Terrific.”

  Eve hadn’t noticed, but the other diners had stopped their conversations to observe them. With her happy acceptance, several of them started to applaud. It quickly spread around the room until, finally, Joseph stood and declared that everyone should have a glass of champagne on him and, then, once the drink had been poured and he had popped the cork on their bottle, he orchestrated a toast. Eve knew that he was enjoying the spectacle, barely able to keep the grin off his face. He waited until the hubbub died down and the other customers returned their attention to their plates.

  “I’ve been thinking about how we ought to go about things. I’m not one for a long engagement. The way I see it, you get engaged to someone, that’s that, there’s no sense in waiting ages to make it official. Best get cracking, right?”

  “If that’s what you think is best.”

  “I do. There are some things we’ll have to sort out. We’ll need to book the church and a place for the knees up after. And then there’s where to go afterwards. A nice little honeymoon. We’ll have a think about that.”

  “Where would we live?”

  “My place, I reckon. Doc’s moving out, anyway––he wouldn’t want to share the gaff with a couple of lovebirds, would he? Eventually we’ll get ourselves a place in the country.”

  Eve removed the ring from her finger. She twisted and turned it, the light refracting against the diamond. How much must it have cost? She had no idea. Her life had moved so quickly over the last few weeks. She had no idea how she had managed to snare someone like Joseph Costello, but, as she watched him laughing and joking with the waiter, she replaced the ring on her finger and shivered with a warm, excited tingling.

  She was still aglow with happiness when the four men came inside. At first, she thought that they must be a party of diners but then Joseph saw them too, and she noticed tension stiffening his body, and then she wondered whether they might be here for something else. Two went to the bar. The manager followed after them, his voice fraught, and then she noticed that they were both holding short metal bars. The man open
ed the bar and stepped behind it, held his jemmy up behind his shoulder and then swung it, like a cricket bat, straight through the rack of bottles.

  The colourful glass smashed. Some of the other diners screamed.

  “What’s going on?” she said, her throat closing with panic.

  His dark eyes glittered coldly. “Don’t look at them. They’re not here for us.”

  “What are they here for?”

  “They work for a man I know.”

  The men made their way through the restaurant. They each carried a large paper bag and, as they passed from table to table, they ordered the frightened diners to remove their valuables and deposit them into the bags. Wallets, watches, jewellery––it all went inside until the paper bulged.

  “Well, look here,” said one of the men as he reached their table. “I know you, don’t I?”

  “I don’t know––do you?”

  The man was large and dressed neatly in an Edwardian suit with many buttons and velvet facings. “You’re Joseph Costello.”

  “That’s right. Don’t recognise you, though.”

  “No. But you know who we work for.”

  “I can guess.”

  “Sure you can, Joseph. Mind if I call you Joseph?”

  “Where is he?”

  “He ain’t here. But he sends his best regards.”

  “Good of him.”

  The man’s eye fell to the table and settled on the empty box. “Been buying some tomfoolery, Joseph?” He picked up the box and turned it over. He saw the logo and whistled appreciatively. “Tiffany? My word. Expensive tomfoolery. Let’s have a butcher’s at it then.”

  The colour leeched out of Joseph’s face. “I don’t think so.”

  Eve self-consciously covered her left hand with her right. Slowly, she moved them both towards the lip of the table and was about to drop them beneath the tablecloth before the man noticed her doing it and tutted, shaking his head. “Not so fast, darling,” he grinned at her. He pulled back his jacket to reveal the butt of a revolver stuffed into the front of his trousers. “Let’s stay best friends when this is all said and done, alright? Best to avoid unpleasantness, I always say. You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you, Joseph? We don’t want a nasty argument.”

  “Just show him,” he said to her through gritted teeth.

  She reluctantly raised her right hand, uncovering the left. The diamonds glittered on her finger, refracting the candlelight.

  “Stone the bleeding crows. Will you look at that? The size of it! How much that set you back, then?

  “Enough.”

  “You two lovebirds getting engaged?”

  Joseph glared up at him. “If you’re going to do it, do it. Get on with it.”

  “Easy there, pal. Mind your place. You ain’t the one with the shooter, remember. Let’s have it, then, darling. Take it off. Chop chop. And your watch and wallet, Joseph. Quick as you like.”

  Eve fought back the tears. Joseph did as he was told, his eyes half-closed, the line of his jaw set straight and firm as he clenched his teeth. She knew about his temper but she had never seen him as dead in the eyes as this before and it frightened her. He was a prideful man and this––to be emasculated before his fiancée on the night of their engagement––it must have been the purest, most dreadful humiliation for him. The man didn’t seem concerned with that, nor with the murderous look on Joseph’s face; he took the watch and wallet and dropped them into the bag, draping his fingers over the stippled butt as a reminder that he should be civil as he turned his attention to her. She choked a sob as she worked the ring off her finger and gave it to him. “There you go,” he said, the diamonds glittering in his palm. He dropped the ring into the paper bag with everything else. “That wasn’t so hard. I’ll leave you the box.”

  “Just go,” Joseph muttered.

  “Patience, sport. We will––just as soon as we’ve done everything we came here to do. This place is one of your family’s, isn’t it? Under Costello protection. The fellow over there needs to pay attention to that. Your lot are finished in Soho, china. If he wants to avoid unnecessary accidents in the future he really needs to speak to Jack. Know what I mean? The alternatives just ain’t so reliable no more.”

  The man looked up at his colleagues and gave a curt nod. They took their jemmies and swung them into the windows, slammed them down on the stacked piles of crockery, stabbed them into the paintings that had been hung on the wall. It was a concentrated orgy of violence that lasted no more than thirty seconds but when they had finished the place had been completely wrecked. No-one spoke. It was silent save for the gasped sobs of the diners and the crunch of shattered crockery and glass as it was trodden underfoot.

  “Alright then. That’ll do. As I say, Jack sends his warmest regards. Goodnight.”

  Joseph did not look at them. He stared at Eve instead. His eyes were black orbs, without warmth or life, more frightening than the men and their threats and their violence and anything else that she had ever seen. She reached out across the table and took his hand in hers. He did not flinch. His flesh was cold to the touch.

  49

  EDWARD DISTRACTED himself with an hour or two of shopping. He visited a haberdashery where he bought a pair of yellow silk pyjamas, as close as possible to the pair that he had borrowed from Joseph when he had visited Halewell Close. He bought a pair of narrow satin-like trousers and, for Chiara, flared hipsters of black wool, waist twenty-six. He added a gold tie-pin and settled the twenty pound bill from his money roll, making a show of taking it out of his pocket and counting off the notes. It made him feel much better, as did emerging from the shop with his purchases in crisp paper bags. After that he descended into Bond Street station for the short trip to Soho. He could have taken a taxi but he preferred the anonymity of the Underground, a chance to lose himself amidst all the other Londoners going about their business. He went to a pavement telephone box and asked the operator to place a call to Jimmy Stern’s number. They spoke briefly and Edward said that he would be around to discuss business in a half an hour. There was a homeless man begging on the pavement next to the telephone box. Edward stopped and gave him a pound note.

  He had given Jimmy the money to rent a small flat on Bateman Street, just around the corner from the Shangri-La. He knocked on the door. The sound of barking came at once, close at hand, then Jimmy’s voice, ordering the dog to be quiet. The barking did not stop. The door opened.

  Jimmy was exasperated. “This bloody dog––”

  “You’re doing a fine job, uncle.”

  “How much longer?”

  Edward stepped inside and shut the door before Roger could get out. “I don’t know. Not yet. A few more weeks.”

  “You must be joking. I’ll have strangled him by then.”

  The flat was small: one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a sitting room. It had come with its own furniture, none of which was in particularly good condition. The carpets were threadbare, the underlay visible in patches, and the paint was peeling from the damp that crawled up the walls. The dog’s bowl was pushed into a corner of the kitchen, scraps of food from the restaurant spilling out of it and all over the floor.

  Roger reached up, his paws on his chest. Edward sat down on the flea-bitten sofa and scrubbed the dog’s ears. “Just don’t get too attached, alright?” He stretched out his legs. “Well?”

  “They were there. Intimate, the lads said. He’d just given her this.”

  Jimmy dropped a diamond ring onto Edward’s open palm.

  Edward nodded. “Nice.”

  “Expensive.”

  “He doesn’t do things by halves.”

  Edward had had Joseph followed for the better part of two days. Jimmy found the lads through a friend of a friend––Mancunian hard-men who wouldn’t be recognised in the smoke, who could be in and out of town in the space of a week.

  “How did he take it?”

  “How’d you think he took it? Johnny said he thought he was going to blow his top.”


  “And they made it obvious they were with Spot?”

  “Told him than once. He got the message.”

  Edward held the ring up so that the light from the bare electric bulb sparkled through all the different facets. It was a shame to have to spoil Joseph’s big night but hadn’t he brought it upon himself? What choice had he left Edward? He had none. The Costellos given him no other options at all. They were blundering into a dreadful mistake and they just needed to be able to see it: he was the only one who could help them. There was no way he could just sit by and watch them destroy themselves.

  He slipped the ring into his pocket. “How much did it cost us?”

  “Fifty notes.”

  He took a wedge of notes from his pocket and handed them to Jimmy. “Cheap at half the price. This should cover it. They’ve all left town?”

  “Yes.” Jimmy went through to the kitchen and filled the kettle. “Straight back up north. They won’t come back down. You want a cup of tea?”

  “Please. Definitely best for them they stay away. I know what Joseph is like. I’m telling you, he’ll top them if he sees them again.”

  “You had any improvement with him?”

  “Haven’t seen him since Paris.”

  “And you’re sure this is going to help?”

  The dog nudged his knee with his head and he scratched him behind the ears again. “They need me. They just need to see how much.”

  50

  EDWARD MOVED OUT the next day. He had waited outside the apartment until he was sure that Joseph was not there and then he had quickly packed a suitcase with his best clothes and hurried away. He took a room at a smart hotel in Covent Garden and took long walks so that he might have the thinking time to decide upon what to do. He spent hours composing a letter in his head, apologising for losing his temper and trying to make a joke out of it, but the right words would not come and he could not satisfy himself that he had found the right tone. Eventually, he sent a note on the hotel’s headed paper suggesting that they go for a drink to mend the damage that had been done. Joseph had not replied. Edward spent a sleepless night, and then a day, of pacing the hotel room while he tried to work out the best way to fix the situation. The stark contrast between his happy confidence of just a few weeks previously and his present fearfulness was awful to him. The rift with Joseph was at the forefront of his mind but he recognised clearly that he was obsessing with it so that he could pretend to ignore the other awful development: the man whom Billy had met who said he was Edward Fabian’s brother. That, he knew, was a more dangerous situation. He expected the man, or a private detective, or, worst still, the police, to come knocking at his door at any hour of the night or day. They would have questions for him and he would not have the time to prepare the right answers. The thought of it terrified him. He could neither sleep nor eat nor sit still. He seemed barely able to function at all. The whole awful situation was pure agony.