by Martina Cole
Maura frowned. ‘The only other person I can think of is Derek Lane.’
‘But no one knows where he is.’ Terry’s voice was puzzled.
Maura couldn’t help laughing. ‘Terry, Derek Lane and people like him are easy to find if you have the right connections. Michael and I were in partnership with him out in Spain. He owns the monopoly on the timeshares out there. I have the full partnership with him now that Michael’s dead. I could fly out to Marbella and explain the situation to him.’
Terry was flabbergasted. Even though he knew that Maura and Michael were heavyweights as far as the British gangland scene were concerned, he never dreamt for a second that they were in league with people like Derek Lane. Yet he should have guessed. After all, they were birds of a feather really. Derek Lane had gone on the trot in 1977 and not been seen or heard from since. He was wanted for countless murders and other serious crimes. He had been the Birmingham equivalent of Michael Ryan, only unlike Michael had not tried to work within the law as well as outside it. In the end England had got too hot for him and he had disappeared.
‘Well, that’s two good people. They’ll do for the moment. Now then, Terry, are you willing to be negotiator? Will you go and see Marsh?’ It was the least he could do for Maura.
‘Yes. I’ll go.’
Richard smiled.
‘Good! Now all we have to do is work out what terms we want and everything will be underway.’
Maura laughed softly. ‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you, Richard?’
He nodded his head at her. ‘Yes, actually, I am. Now who wants more coffee?’
Roy heard the phone ring through a fitful sleep. He sat up in the chair, not sure for a moment exactly where he was. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Four-fifteen. The television showed an old black and white film. He dragged himself over to the phone.
‘Yeah?’
‘Roy? Roy Ryan?’
The clipped voice was familiar.
‘Yeah. Who’s this?’
‘It’s Jackson. DI Jackson.’
‘Well, what do you want?’ Roy had never liked Jackson.
‘William Templeton was brought in earlier and he’s shouting his mouth off about your sister and other things. I thought you ought to know.’
The line went dead and Roy stared at it for a few moments, letting the words sink in. Then he dialled Michael’s flat.
Maura answered.
‘Maws? I just had a call from Jackson. Willy’s been nicked and he’s telling them anything they want to know.’
‘OK, Roy. Thanks.’
‘What’s happening, Maws?’
‘At the moment you’re as safe as you possibly can be. After eight o’clock this morning, everything will be fine, I promise you.’
‘But what . . .’
‘Roy, I’m sorry, mate, but I have to go. Get some sleep. I promise that you’ll be fine. Tell the other boys for me.’ She put the phone down, leaving Roy for the second time in five minutes with a dead phone in his hand.
‘They’ve dragged in William Templeton.’ Maura’s voice was flat. She had hardly thought about him since the trouble had started and yet, not twenty-four hours ago, she had been making love to him.
‘Does he know much?’ Terry was concerned.
‘No. Nothing that they don’t already know. If I know Willy, he’ll be trying to save his own neck. They must have picked him up from my house.’
‘Well, let’s forget him then and concentrate on what the terms are going to be. We haven’t got long now.’ Maura stretched and both men watched the rise and fall of her breasts. She yawned loudly.
‘Right. Where were we?’
Chapter Thirty-six
Marsh and Ackland were already sick to death of William Templeton and the Home Secretary had been on the phone twice in the last hour. Like everyone else he wanted this ‘little business’, as he put it, cleared up once and for all. Marsh had wondered fleetingly whether the Home Secretary had been up all night as well, because by the annoyed note in his voice Marsh got the impression that the man was tired. Sick and tired, by the sounds of it. As they all were.
The phone on his desk rang and he answered it.
‘What!’ He had lost any remnants of civility at about four in the morning. Now, at eight-fifteen, he had had just about enough.
‘Detective Inspector Petherick is here to see you, sir. I told him that you were not to be disturbed but he insisted that you would see him.’
The WPC’s voice was petrified. She had already been bawled out twice by Marsh already, and she had only come on duty at seven o’clock.
‘Send him up, girl! Send the bugger up!’
Marsh slammed the phone into its cradle.
‘It’s Petherick . . . the little scumbag!’
William Templeton stared at the two policemen. Marsh snapped at him, ‘Go into the other office, you. And keep your mouth shut!’
William walked through the connecting door and sat down. He was tired and hungry and scared. From what he could gather, they knew all about him and his royal connections were not going to help him at all. He sat in the uncomfortable chair and put his head in his hands.
Terry walked into Marsh’s office with his head held high and a confident stride. Under his arm was a blue cardboard folder. He could feel Ackland measuring him up.
‘Well, well, well . . . if it isn’t the laughing policeman.’ Marsh’s voice dripped sarcasm.
Terry sat in the chair vacated by Templeton.
‘It seems to me that I’m the only policeman in England who actually has something to laugh at. I know for a fact that you don’t.’
Marsh screwed up his eyes. This was not the man he had seen previously. This was a man with a secret, an important secret, and one who knew how to use it.
‘What happened to you? Where did you go?’
Terry looked at Ackland.
‘I can’t tell you that. What I can tell you is, Maura Ryan is willing to do a deal.’
‘A what?’ Marsh’s voice bounced off the plasterboard walls.
‘A deal.’ Terry threw the folder on to the desk. ‘In there is information. More than was in Geoffrey Ryan’s file, I might add. There are copies of this information with numerous different people. I am here to talk business with you, gentlemen. And the Home Secretary, if he hasn’t already been informed.’
Terry relaxed into his chair. He was enjoying this which was the last thing he’d expected. He watched Ackland pick up the file and flick through the papers.
‘And what kind of a deal were you looking for?’ Ackland’s voice was resigned, as if he had expected something like this.
‘Maura Ryan wants to be left alone. She and her brothers. She wants to keep her holdings in docklands, which are perfectly legal, and to run her clubs as before.’
‘And what will she give us in return?’
Terry smiled at Ackland. ‘In return she won’t open her mouth about any of this.’ He pointed to the file that Ackland was holding. ‘And she will return the gold bullion that went missing in eighty-five. She also gives you her word that she will only deal with legitimate operations in all her future business investments.’
‘And you honestly think she’ll get away with this?’ Marsh was practically foaming at the mouth.
Terry nodded. ‘Yeah, I do.’
‘Your career is finished, my boy!’
Terry laughed. ‘Oh, shut up, Marsh, for God’s sake. You sound like something from “Dixon of Dock Green”. This whole place . . .’ he waved his arm ‘. . . is rotten, mate. Rotten to the bloody core. Of course my career is over. It was over before it began. Because if you read those files carefully, Maura’s and Geoffrey’s, the only people to get any kind of real promotion were those on the bloody take!’
Ackland sighed.
‘So you know where Maura Ryan is, I take it?’
‘Yeah, I know. And I’ll never tell you, so you’d better think again if you’re going to try and kick it o
ut of me.’
Terry stood up. ‘I’m warning you both now. Copies of those files have been faxed to two other countries. They were sent hours ago to reliable people. If so much as one hair of Maura Ryan’s head is harmed they go straight to the tabloids. The Ryans own a bit more than you think. They own journalists and newspaper editors, with more than a few television newspeople thrown in. Not just in England but in the States and in Europe. Maura Ryan is willing to retire gracefully and just carry on with her legitimate holdings. Think about it carefully, gentlemen. She is not a woman to cross, believe me.’
Ackland raised his hand to silence Marsh who looked as if he was going to have a coronary at any moment.
‘I’ll have to speak to my superiors before anything can be decided.’
‘Fair enough.’ Terry glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll be in contact in four hours. At twelve-thirty.’
‘You won’t get away with this, Petherick. I’ll get you personally.’ Marsh’s voice dripped with venom.
Terry leant on the desk, both palms flat, and looked into Marsh’s sharp-featured face.
‘You’ll get me, will you? Funny how you don’t want to get the others, the ones on the take. The big developers and the MPs and the Chief Super that you work for. Does he know that he’s been tumbled yet? That his holidays in Kenya and the Maldives are over? That his little scams have all been found out? Does he know that the Ryans even have the name of the prostitute he visits every Wednesday night? The one who ties him up and spanks him?
‘Don’t say you’re getting me, Marsh! Go and get some real villains for once in your life.’
Terry straightened his back and stared defiantly at the silent and grim-faced man before him. ‘One last thing. Would you tell the Chief Super that I have a bit of news that might interest him?’
‘What’s that?’ Marsh spat the words out.
‘Tell him that the girl he sees every Wednesday, Samantha Golding, was diagnosed as having Aids. Tell him the Ryans even knew that before him. Before any of you. And don’t you dare act the outraged policeman with me! You were willing to take part in the murder of an entire family. If you had done you would have kidded yourself it was for your country. Well, you know and I know it would not have been. It would just have saved a load of fat bastards’ arses. If you loved your country so much you should have pissed off to the Falklands, Marsh. And from what’s in that file,’ he pointed to the folder Ackland was holding, ‘that was another complete cover up and shambles!
‘Now, I’m leaving. I’ll be back in touch at half-past twelve.’
He stormed out of the office, leaving a white-faced Marsh and a quiet and subdued Ackland.
‘You asked for that, Marsh. I have to take my hat off to the man. What he said was true.’
Marsh was in such a monumental temper he forgot his fear of Ackland. He picked up his cigar and said, ‘Oh, fuck off, you Scottish turd!’
In the office next door William Templeton began to laugh.
Terry did not go back to Michael’s flat. It had been arranged that he would go back to his own place, in case he was followed.
He drove there on a high. At least he had told Marsh exactly what he thought of him. Inside his flat he made himself some coffee and sat reading the paper. He had lost the urge to sleep, was in the state of overtiredness that seems to make a person more alert and mentally agile.
He sat at the table and thought about Maura. Nothing he did would get her out of his mind for even five minutes. Once again the words on the page in front of him were replaced by a vision of her face. She was flying to Marbella today. Although he had told Marsh that the file had been faxed through to two different countries, it was not true. Maura was going to take copies to the people concerned herself. She was flying to Marbella at five-thirty from Gatwick.
He sipped his coffee. He had lost everything now. His job, his way of life. And he had sacrificed it all for Maura Ryan. He looked around his kitchen, and then, as if he had been jolted from his chair, went to the phone. He knew what he had to do.
Sarah was enjoying having the three boys home. The feeling of foreboding that had plagued her the whole day before lifted off her as she cooked breakfast for them. She prepared what had long been known in the family as a ‘Benny Special’: two eggs, five slices of bacon, black pudding, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms, and even fried liver sausage, along with huge amounts of toast and a good strong pot of tea to wash it down with. She had felt sorry for Benjamin, eating his poached egg while they wolfed down his favourite meal, but consoled herself with the fact that he would thank her for it one day.
Just after breakfast the phone rang and Garry ran to answer it. Sarah was not sure what was said but the boys all looked a lot happier. She left them all in the kitchen while she gave Benjamin a blanket bath. He still couldn’t get out of bed.
As she washed her husband’s face, he grabbed her arm gently. ‘All right, Sar?’
‘Yeah, why?’ She looked at him, puzzled.
‘You’re enjoying having the boys home again, ain’t you?’
She smiled. ‘Yeah. I miss them all.’
‘I never gave you much, did I, girl? Except the back of my hand. It makes you think, you know, being stuck in bed.’
Sarah looked down at her husband’s rapidly wasting body. Just for a split second she saw the eighteen-year-old boy who had whistled at her one bright summer evening in 1934. He had been tall, dark and handsome, wearing a bowler hat that night which had somehow set him apart from his contemporaries. Sarah felt an enormous lump in her throat for the man he had been.
‘I know I never tell you very often, Sar, but you was always my girl. You know that, don’t you? I always loved you.’
She nodded at him. It was one of those rare moments that occur in everyone’s life. One of those times when there really isn’t anything to say.
Ackland had spoken to the Home Secretary at length, and was now waiting for Terry Petherick to ring through to his office. Marsh had already left, as had William Templeton. Whereas Marsh had been disgusted by the turn of events, Templeton had been relieved - though Ackland was quick to guess that Templeton knew he had lost Maura Ryan’s friendship.
He sighed heavily as he waited for Terry to call. The file that Petherick had left was, even at this moment, winging its way across London to be studied and talked over with the Secretary of State for the Environment amongst others. Ackland, unlike Marsh, knew when he was beaten and deep in his heart was glad that Maura Ryan had eventually outwitted them. His own conscience said to him: Why should she be a scapegoat for the real criminals?
He was glad when the phone finally rang. Lack of sleep was catching up with him.
Maura picked up the phone at twelve-forty. It was Terry and she knew even before he spoke what had happened. She could feel his euphoria coming over the telephone line.
‘They’ve agreed! Agreed to everything!’
‘Oh, thank God!’
Maura took her first really deep breath for what seemed like days.
‘They didn’t argue about any of it?’
‘No, Maws, not a thing. It’s perfectly acceptable. Tell Richard he did a good job. We all did a good job.’
‘What about my brothers?’
‘Fine. Everything’s hunky-dory.’
‘Thanks for all your help, Terry. I promise you won’t lose by it.’
Maura’s voice was humble and sounded strange to Terry’s ears.
‘So you’re off to warmer climes then?’
‘Yeah. I suppose we won’t see each other again.’
‘Well . . . you never know what’s going to happen, do you? I’d better let you go. You have a lot to do before you fly out.’
‘Goodbye then, Terry. And thanks again.’
‘You’re welcome.’ His voice was soft. ‘Goodbye, Maura.’
He put down the phone and Maura stood in Michael’s flat feeling more desolate and alone than she had ever done before. She had beaten the police and the establishment and
yet she felt nothing. Nothing except an overwhelming loneliness.
Richard came into the room.
‘We won then?’ He sounded happy.
‘Yeah. We won.’
He was sad to hear Maura’s flat and broken voice. ‘You’d better get a move on, you know. You have to be at Gatwick by three-thirty.’
‘I know.’
Richard put his arm around her. She was much taller than him and he had to look up into her face.
‘Michael used to say to me when I was down: “Ricky, remember that today is the first day of the rest of your life.” I know it’s an old cliché, but it’s also a very true one.’
‘Oh, Richard. What would I have done without you?’
She kissed him full on the mouth then said, ‘I’d better phone Roy, tell him the good news.’
Maura sat on the Monarch Flight to Gibraltar. It was five-twenty-nine and the plane was due to take off at any time. She was sitting in a window seat. The seat next to her was unoccupied and she was glad - she was not up to making conversation with strangers. Plus she was shattered. She had been awake for nearly twenty-eight hours.
She closed her eyes, willing the plane to take off. Terry Petherick came straight to mind . . . She admitted to herself that she still had all the old feelings for him. The feelings that had assailed her on and off for over twenty years. When she had spoken to him on the telephone and he had said goodbye, she had felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. What was it about the man? Why did he make her feel like this? Even when she had learned that William, who was supposed to love her, had been willing to trade her to the police, she had not felt the intensity of feeling as when she had heard that single word from Terry: ‘Goodbye’.
When she had told him the night before about the baby and what had happened, she had hoped, deep down, that it would bring them closer together. And it had, for a little while. But only for a little while. She supposed he thought that by doing the negotiating for her with the police he had repaid any debt that he owed her. She bit her lip.
In the seat in front of her were two little boys, both excited to be going on holiday. The bigger of the two, a boy of about ten with light brown hair and mischievous brown eyes, kept looking through the gap in the seats at her. As they jumped around in excitement Maura knew that she would not have a lot of peace on the flight.