by Ann Granger
I could’ve kissed him. I didn’t because of the smell. But I could’ve done.
We weren’t going to make the mistake with Jonty we’d made with Albie. Now we’d got him, we weren’t going to lose him. We marched him down to the police station right away.
They weren’t too pleased to see us. They complained about the smell. But when we got them to understand what it was all about, they changed their minds.
When I finally got home again, it was one in the morning. I fell on the sofa and slept through till noon the following day.
Chapter Eighteen
I was woken by the ringing of my doorbell. It gave me quite a start and for a moment I was disorientated, then I pushed my head out of the duvet, squinted at the alarm clock and saw it was one in the afternoon.
Someone was outside the window and tapping on the pane. I hoped it wasn’t Parry. I couldn’t face the police in any form just at the moment, even if they’d come to tell me they’d caught Merv. For a nasty moment I wondered whether it could be Merv, bent on revenge. But he was unlikely to tap politely at the window. Chuck a brick through it, more likely. I trailed over there and saw Ganesh gesturing at me.
I let him in. He was carrying a plastic bag filled with something that clinked as he set it down.
‘I just dashed round to see how you are today,’ he said. ‘In my lunch-break,’ he added sounding martyred.
I said I was fine. I had a slight headache and was also hungry.
Ganesh fished a large block of milk chocolate from inside his jacket. ‘Hari sends this and is glad you’re safe.’ He pushed the plastic carrier with his foot. ‘And I’ve brought these from the chilled cupboard. Half a dozen iced teas. Good for you. I’ll put ’em in your fridge.’
I could hear him rattling around in the fridge and in my kitchen generally. He came back to announce. ‘All you’ve got is a tin of tomato soup and some stale sliced bread. I can make toast and heat the soup, if you like.’
I told him to carry on while I went to shower. A little later, sharing the soup, accompanied by iced tea, with milk chocolate squares for dessert, I listened while he told me that word of my heroism had spread locally.
‘Hari’s telling everyone,’ he said. ‘You’re famous.’
‘That’ll please Parry,’ I said. ‘You haven’t heard whether they’ve picked up Merv, I suppose?’
‘No, but they’ll find him. He’s a local villain. He won’t go far. Off his home turf he’d be lost.’ He nodded confidently and broke off another square of chocolate. ‘They’ll pick him up in no time.’
I was glad Ganesh was so certain, but had I been in Merv’s boots, I’d be putting as much distance as I could between London and myself. Lost in the grey underworld of any large city, Merv could be at liberty indefinitely, not a pleasant thought.
‘To think I handed the whole gang to them on a plate,’ I said bitterly, ‘and still the coppers managed to lose one of them.’
‘They ought to give you a reward,’ Ganesh insisted indistinctly through the chocolate. ‘They owe everything to you.’
I put down my spoon. ‘Listen, I just want to forget it for a few hours, right? It’s going to be bad enough reliving it when the case gets to court. I only ever wanted to achieve two things and I managed both. I wanted to find Lauren and I found her. I wanted to see justice done by Albie. With luck we’ll get that now Jonty’s turned up again.’
Ganesh looked as if he’d just remembered something. ‘That Scotsman’s been into the shop,’ he said. ‘The artist. He left this for you.’ He delved into his pocket again and produced a grubby envelope.
It contained twenty quid and a note promising to pay me the remaining ten pounds when Angus should have it.
‘That’s legal,’ said Ganesh, who had read the note upside-down. ‘That’s an IOU. Make him pay you. You earned it.’
‘He’ll pay me,’ I said. ‘He’s the honest type.’
‘And you’re too trusting,’ he said sententiously.
‘Me? I’ll never trust anyone again. Not after all I’ve been through. But Angus will pay me. I’ll keep nagging Reekie Jimmie if he doesn’t and Jimmie will make him pay.’
‘You know,’ Ganesh said, ‘I really don’t think you ought to do anything like that again. That modelling business, it wasn’t decent.’
I told him it had been more than decent. But I wouldn’t be offering my services to Angus again. Not because I was suddenly prudish or was having to wait for the balance of my money – I was sure Angus would pay me – but because I didn’t dare think what Angus’s next project might be.
It was all very well talking airily to Ganesh of my resolve to keep well away from the aftermath of the whole business. I knew I’d have to give evidence at some future point when Stratton and her henchmen came to trial. I also knew in my bones that I hadn’t seen the last of Vinnie Szabo. I’d come across him eventually in court, but he wouldn’t wait that long. By the time it got to court, it’d be too late. He’d be round before that. Even so, I didn’t expect him to turn up quite so soon as he did.
He came that very day. Ganesh hadn’t been gone long. It was about two thirty and I was in the kitchenette, washing up the soup bowls. The doorbell rang again. When I looked out of the window, fearing this time it would be Parry, I saw Szabo, standing in the basement well. I think I’d have preferred Parry.
I couldn’t see the chauffeur. I supposed he was waiting with the car nearby. I opened the door.
Szabo bustled in, rubbing his hands together, his fringe of hair standing up like a halo round his bald crown.
‘My dear,’ he said with patently false solicitude, ‘are you all right?’
I told him I was fine.
He shifted about from foot to foot and looked uneasily around the room. ‘You’re alone? I was hoping to have a confidential word . . .’
I said I was alone and asked him if he wanted to sit down. He was making me nervous fidgeting about like that.
He sat on the edge of my blue rep sofa and it was a bad choice because being a little fellow, the big old sofa dwarfed him. His feet, I noticed for the first time, were as tiny as a woman’s and neatly shod in highly polished black shoes with pointed toes and built-up heels. Handmade at a guess and very expensive. He looked so ill at ease that I had to start the conversation off.
‘How’s Lauren?’ I asked, trying to sound neutral.
‘Oh, recovering. It was a terrible ordeal. . .’ He blinked. ‘About the circumstances in which she was held – in which you found her. I am, of course, more than grateful that you did! I can’t express my thanks enough. But there, er, there does seem to have been some misunderstanding, about the exact circumstances, I mean . . .’
‘Oh?’ I asked coolly, and waited for what I knew was coming.
‘It’s quite understandable,’ he said quickly, ‘that you were unable to think clearly by the time the police arrived last night at that dreadful warehouse. You may be misremembering some things as a result.’
‘Me not thinking clearly?’ I interrupted indignantly. ‘I got your precious Lauren out of there!’
He held up both hands palms outward to stem my protest. ‘My dear, my dear! I’m not accusing you of anything! I’m not blaming you, please believe me! In no way at all am I criticising, not in the slightest! Without you, I wouldn’t have my girl back again. Forgive me if I’ve phrased this badly. I’ll start again. Let me put it another way. Perhaps you didn’t lack presence of mind. But Lauren had been imprisoned in that place at the mercy of those thugs and as a result, she was confused and frightened. She may have said things to you which – well, which were not quite correct.’
‘About her time at the refuge with her mother, you mean?’ I asked.
The muscles round his mouth twitched and the skin turned white. ‘She was rambling, almost delirious. She’d been held prisoner, mistreated, starved. You should pay no attention either to that story or anything else she may have said regarding her relationship with the two scoundrels
who held her captive.’
‘Look,’ I told him, ‘you’ve got to sort this out with her, not with me.’
‘But you are the only reason the police have heard these – these ramblings. They’ve been asking questions. It’s highly embarrassing for a man in my position. You really shouldn’t have repeated what my poor girl said. Not without checking it with me first. Most importantly, you obviously made a mistake in one significant detail, a very significant detail. There is one clear mistake in the story you told the police and it must be put right without delay.’
‘What’s that, then?’ I asked.
‘The key. You said the key to the room in which my daughter was held prisoner was in the lock on the inside. But obviously it was on the outside and you turned it to open the door – and found her.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘She opened the door, from the inside, and found me, if you like.’
Szabo stopped fidgeting and in a cold little voice said, ‘That is impossible.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, because after all, it was hard for him to accept the humiliation he must be suffering, now that the whole story had come out. Not that I had any real reason to be sorry for him, but we all do things we’re ashamed of from time to time. Supposing Vinnie to be ashamed, which I’d no reason to believe he was. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
‘You were mistaken,’ he repeated in the same cold little voice. ‘You had hit your head. Lauren said you were covered in blood when she first set eyes on you.’
‘I hit my nose and chin,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t concussed, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I know what I saw, what I did, and what Lauren told me.’
He sat back in his chair and fixing his grey pebble eyes on me, said flatly, ‘I want you to change your story.’
I pointed out I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’d already made a statement to the police.
‘The police were remiss,’ he said. ‘They should have asked a doctor to examine you. Despite what you say, I believe you were concussed and confused. Indeed, you still are. So much is obvious. No blame will attach to you if you go back to the police and say you’ve thought it all through, and you want to amend your statement. If necessary, I can get a doctor to certify that you are suffering from a head injury received last night and no statement made by you can be taken as it stands. It was wrong of the police even to question you at that time, before – ’
‘Before you’d had this chat with me?’ I suggested.
‘Before,’ he said coldly, ‘before you’d had a good night’s rest and time to think things over.’
His voice grew louder. ‘It is unthinkable,’ he said, ‘that a foolish rumour should be allowed to take root and grow. It is, at the very least, highly speculative, fanciful. At the worst, it is slanderous. I cannot allow it. I’m a well-known businessman. I have friends, not only in Manchester but throughout the soft-furnishing trade. They respect me. I’ve got influence, connections in local government who are important men. This story you’ve told, if it became public knowledge, would be damaging, very damaging. It could ruin my standing, lose me their respect, I’d be finished!’ He was breathing heavily, his voice shaking. Tears filled his eyes and he blinked them away and he leaned towards me, ‘It must be stopped. I’ve come here to stop it and I shall stop it.’ Behind the tears his eyes gleamed with frightening intensity.
I forced back the instinct to flinch and managed to hold that almost maniacal gaze. I wondered why, a few minutes before, I’d been feeling sorry for him. Here he was asking me to swear to lies. Not to protect Lauren from any charge of conspiracy to impede police enquiries or to extort money, or whatever she might be guilty of. No, he feared for himself, for his reputation socially, his business contacts, the cosy little deals with his influential friends and his personal self-esteem.
‘Forget it,’ I told him. ‘Ganesh was right. You don’t care about Lauren, you only care about yourself. You want to keep her under your thumb, at home where you can keep an eye on her or married to Copperfield which would be the next best thing, because you don’t trust her not to blab out the truth. You’re just a control freak, that’s what you are, and a nasty little sadistic one!’
His mouth twitched. The tears had dried. For a moment I almost thought he might hit me. Instead, he turned to another method of settling opposition, one which he’d probably found effective in the past.
He put a hand to his inside coat pocket and said silkily, ‘If it’s a question of money . . .’
‘It’s not a question of money!’ I snapped.
He hastened to rephrase the offer he’d been about to make. ‘I mean, I had been intending to offer a reward to anyone leading us to Lauren. I would have done so if the police hadn’t insisted on a media ban. It’s quite allowable in the circumstances and you are more than entitled to that reward. It’s a considerable amount.’
He might be able to buy a doctor’s certificate, but he wasn’t going to buy me.
‘There are other things beside money,’ I told him.
His hand dropped from his lapel. ‘Such as?’ He stared at me with his mouth twisted scornfully. ‘I’d have thought that in your situation money was of prime importance. What else could there be?’
‘Honour,’ I said. ‘Honour, Mr Szabo. My father understood honour. He was an honourable man. Which is why, although you may have known him as a boy, I don’t believe you and he were ever friends.’
His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. For a moment there was such fury in his eyes that this time I really thought he was going to attack me and I cast my eye round for some sort of weapon with which I could fend him off. But instead he got to his feet.
‘I see you are indeed your father’s daughter,’ he said nastily. ‘Bondi could also be very stupid.’
I watched him leave. I’d made an enemy, but it couldn’t be helped. You can’t go through life without treading on a few toes. I hoped I’d trodden hard on Vinnie Szabo’s polished handmades.
The next few days passed off uneventfully, for which I was grateful. They were busy, however. Some kind of family crisis blew up in High Wycombe which meant Ganesh had to go there and stay over to help settle it. So I went to help out Hari in the shop. I was still basking in glory in Hari’s eyes so he was over the moon to have me there and kept pointing me out to customers, which was embarrassing. It was also good business, of course. They hung around to gawp at me and generally bought some extra item to excuse their curiosity.
Hari appeared quite sorry when the last day of my temporary employment came. When he shut up shop at eight, he invited me into his back parlour for a cup of tea and told me his medical history in amazing detail. Hari cheers up when he talks about illness. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s a sort of hobby with him. He probably got little encouragement from Ganesh, but in me he had a fresh audience, so I got the complete works including the time he fell off a ladder while stacking the top shelf and chipped two vertebrae. Poor Hari does seem accident-prone.
It was nearly nine when I left. It was that moment before dusk settles properly when your eyes play tricks because it seems as if it ought to be light enough to distinguish objects, but it isn’t. As I turned into the street where I lived, I thought I glimpsed something whisk into a doorway a little down from my place. People came and went all the time and it was an hour at which quite a lot of people are about so I didn’t pay too much attention. Nevertheless, some little warning signal must have rung in my brain because I paused at the top of the basement steps to look up and down the street.
Had I done what I usually did, which was just swing round the railing post and clatter down into the basement well, I’d have had a bad accident. Perhaps, too, I had Hari’s story of his fall from the ladder still ringing in my head. So as it turned out, when I moved forward again, I did so more cautiously than usual.
Even so I almost fell. My ankle snagged some resistance and I stumbled and for a dreadful moment I thought I would plunge headfirst down the stone steps to the co
ncreted floor below. I just managed to clasp the railings and hang on desperately until I found my footing. It was very gloomy now, even though the street lighting had come on. I reached down and felt around and my fingers found the wire. It was stretched across the second step down. That was clever. It was also the trick I’d played on Baz on the tow-path so I didn’t need to guess who’d played it on me now. Merv was still around all right. Ganesh was again proved right. Even hunted, Merv still felt safer on his own territory. I glanced down the street. Was he still in the doorway, waiting to see if I fell? Or had he slipped out while I was disengaging the wire?
I went back up again and rang Daphne’s doorbell.
I told her not to worry but I needed to ring the police. They came quickly this time. Parry wasn’t with them, off-shift it seemed, but the two who came knew about me and about Merv. They searched up and down the street but he’d made off. One of them went back to their car and radioed in while the other checked my flat before I was allowed to return to it.