by Roberta Kray
Fifteen minutes later Miller emerged with a towel around his waist. He was a man who, despite his smoking habit, obviously took some care over his body. There were clearly defined muscles in his arms and stomach. She tried not to look too hard. A line of dark silky hair snaked its way around his chest and down towards his groin. She tried not to let her eyes stray too far from his face.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s better.’
Frowning, Jo wondered how on earth this had happened. Not so long ago she’d been an ordinary widow, just trying to get on with her life, and now she had a half-naked fugitive standing in the middle of her flat.
Chapter Twenty-five
Nina didn’t seem quite her usual chirpy self this evening. She wasn’t saying much and what little she did say was tinged with bitterness. Marty sat back and eyed her over the rim of his glass. There was a purple swelling on her left cheek, no doubt the legacy of one of Delaney’s more violent outbursts. It wouldn’t be the only bruise she had.
Marty didn’t feel much sympathy. Nina had a big mouth and if she hadn’t learned when to keep it shut, she deserved all she got. He’d had his fair share of beatings through the years and still had the scars to prove it. However, no one would ever catch him whining about it; you either put up or shut up. Those were the rules and they couldn’t be broken.
The news of Ritchie Naylor’s murder had started to filter through in the morning. First it had just been a report of a body found in north London. Later, by lunchtime, a name had been provided and by the six o’clock bulletin Gabriel Miller had been mentioned by the cops as someone who was wanted ‘in connection with inquiries’.
Marty had no idea of when the pigs had finally arrived at the flat. It amused him to think of them walking casually through that broken door, expecting nothing more than a routine break-in, then finding Ritchie laid out on the floor. His mouth curled up at the corners but he quickly fought to suppress the smile. It was the last thing Delaney needed to see.
‘I’m tired,’ Nina said, getting to her feet. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘You’re not going anywhere unless I tell you to.’ Delaney held out his empty glass. ‘Make yourself useful and get me a drink.’
She hesitated. Her lips parted in protest before she sensibly thought better of it, walked across the room and obediently retrieved the glass.
‘And you can get Marty another one too.’
As she came towards his chair, obscuring Delaney’s view of him, Marty frowned and silently mouthed: ‘You okay?’ He didn’t really give a toss but he had to keep her sweet. She could still be useful to him; he had to know what Vic was doing when he wasn’t around. He made sure his fingers touched hers as she reached out for his glass.
She gave a nod and a small smile.
Vic’s women, as he had learned to his advantage, were usually grateful for a little TLC. Some well-timed sympathy always went down a treat.
‘How long does it take to get a bloody drink?’ Delaney snarled.
Nina jumped, grabbed Marty’s glass and went over to the cabinet.
Delaney was still holding the ransom letter in his hand. He looked down and bared his yellow teeth. ‘Where is she? Where the hell is she?’
‘What did I tell you?’ Marty said. ‘I knew it was Miller behind all this. It had to be. He and Ritchie Naylor were in it together. They must have fallen out – or maybe he planned it this way all along. Use Naylor and then get rid of him. Yeah, that would make sense. He wouldn’t want to share the cash, would he?’
Nina returned with Delaney’s drink and he snatched it off her. ‘I want him dead,’ he said. ‘Fuckin’ dead.’
Marty nodded. ‘Don’t we all. And it’s going to happen, course it is. But we need to be smart, Vic. We need to be organised. You have to get the notes together.’
‘You what?’ Delaney half-rose out of his seat, raised his fists and then, too drunk to follow through, smartly slumped down again. ‘You think I’m going to pay half a million quid to that piece of shit? You think—’
‘No,’ Marty said calmly. ‘That’s not what I’m suggesting. We just need to be prepared, right? We need to make it look as though we’re agreeing to his demands. I mean, this is Silver we’re talking about. We can’t afford to take any risks. We have to go along with it, pretend we’re co-operating and then we can sort it, we can sort him, when it comes to the exchange.’
Delaney’s small dull eyes gradually grew brighter. He was probably too pissed to think about anything very clearly but the gist of the argument was beginning to sink in. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘you could be right.’ He looked up at Nina. ‘What are you still doing here?’
‘You said—’
‘Don’t tell me what I said. You’re not my bleedin’ echo. Just piss off and leave us alone.’
Nina was more relieved than insulted. Before he could change his mind, she was out of the door and up the stairs.
If she had any sense, Marty thought, she’d find a room with a lock on it. There was no accounting for what Vic might do when he was in a mood like this.
‘Stupid bitch,’ Delaney muttered.
‘C’mon, we’ve got more important things to worry about,’ Marty said. ‘We need to concentrate, work out what we’re going to do next. How soon can you get the cash together?’
Delaney twisted the letter between his fingers. ‘If he hurts one hair on her head …’
‘He won’t. And he’ll get what’s coming to him. We’ll make sure of that.’
Chapter Twenty-six
It was getting on for eleven by the time Marty arrived in Kellston. He parked the car outside the house, took a moment to look around, then got out and strode briskly up the drive. He could tell Susan had a strop on from the moment she answered the door. She looked like a wasp had crawled into her mouth.
‘What’s going on?’ she spluttered, before he’d even crossed the threshold. ‘Don’t you ever check your phone? I’ve left messages. I’ve been trying to call you all day.’
‘Have you?’
‘You must have seen the news.’
She was, of course, referring to the murder of Ritchie Naylor. Marty stepped inside, rearranged his smug expression, and turned to present a more sympathetic face. ‘So you’ve heard. Sorry, babe, I didn’t find out myself until a few hours ago. I’ve been with Vic. You know I can’t answer that phone in front of him; I have to keep it switched off.’
Susan shut the door, her lips still pursed and angry. ‘I don’t understand what Ritchie was doing at Gabe Miller’s place.’
‘Yeah, well it’s not me you should be asking, love – it’s that bloody boyfriend of yours.’
‘He’s not my—’ She stopped and glared at him. ‘Why would he have killed Ritchie? Why would he have done that?’
‘I don’t suppose he was best pleased to find some toe-rag had broken into his home.’
‘But that’s no reason to … I don’t understand what Ritchie was even doing there.’
‘What do you think?’ Marty said. ‘Trying to rob the place. He must have overheard me talking, knew that Miller’s flat was empty and decided to go and help himself. He’s a junkie, was a junkie. He never could resist the opportunity of some easy cash.’
‘You said he wasn’t going to be a problem.’
Marty gave a low, mean laugh. ‘Well, he certainly isn’t now. Mr Miller, it seems, has done us a favour. At least that’s one less thing to worry about.’
Susan followed him into the kitchen. ‘And you swear you didn’t have anything to do with it?’
‘What are you talking about?’ He pulled a face and sat down at the table. He’d been expecting a cross-examination and had prepared himself accordingly. ‘Jesus, I haven’t had the time, never mind the inclination, to go chasing around after that piece of shit.’
‘But Ritchie knew about Silver,’ she said, her eyes still wary.
‘All Ritchie knew was what I told him. He was paid to take her to Blackpool and paid again to persuad
e her to leave the hotel in London. That was it. He had no idea about our other plans. And he didn’t ask any questions. Ritchie didn’t give a toss about the reasons – so long as he got his money he was happy.’
Susan, standing by the sink, crossed her arms and thought about it. ‘I suppose.’
Marty nodded. Susan was smarter than most of the tarts he knew but she was still just a woman and it was a simple biological fact that women were inferior to men; not only were their bodies weaker but their brains were smaller too. Driven by emotion, needy and pathetic, they were strangers to the concept of rational behaviour. ‘So can we move on or is there anything else you’d like to accuse me of?’ He smiled as if to prove how ridiculous her suspicions were. ‘You haven’t even asked how it went with Delaney.’
‘So how did it go?’
He sat back triumphantly. ‘Without a hitch – we’ve got him right where we want him. Now all we need are the visuals to keep him on track. Three days is tight to get all that cash together. We don’t want him dragging his feet.’ Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small digital camera and stared down at the lens. ‘Two or three good shots should do the trick.’
‘You’ll need the flash,’ she said, ‘and we’ll have to open the door. You won’t get a clear view through that grille.’
Marty stood up, went to one of the kitchen drawers and took out a black balaclava. He pulled it over his face. ‘Right. Let’s go and wake the sleeping beauty.’
Susan stared at him. ‘You’re going to scare the hell out of her looking like that.’
Beneath the wool of his ominous black mask, Marty grinned. ‘Let’s hope so. We wouldn’t want Daddy to think we’re not being serious.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jo brought in the duvet and put it on the chair. Miller was helping to reorganise the study, shifting the desk and piling up the boxes so that the futon could be extended.
‘You don’t need to do this,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine on the sofa.’
But Jo didn’t want him on the sofa. The only way to the bathroom was through the living room and she’d prefer to make the journey without his lecherous eyes on her.
‘You’ll be more comfortable in here,’ she said.
The afternoon had been a busy one. She had dropped off his suit at the dry cleaners and then, with the money he had given her, bought a pair of jeans, shirts, socks and underwear. It had felt odd, wrong, buying clothes for a man she was barely acquainted with. In the supermarket she had added a pack of disposable razors, shaving foam and a toothbrush to her basket, all the time looking around in case she bumped into anyone she knew.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come back,’ he said. ‘This afternoon, when you went out, I thought that might be the last I’d see of you.’
‘I said you could stay, didn’t I?’
‘Yeah, but I figured you might have second thoughts once you didn’t have me breathing down your neck.’
As if the idea had never occurred to her, Jo raised her brows. ‘Very trusting, I’m sure.’ In fact, she’d had second, third and fourth thoughts. She had even walked along Cowan Road, right past the police station, just to see if she was tempted to go in. Stopping, she had peered inside and rehearsed what she might say: I have someone in my flat, someone who you’re looking for. But her feet had remained firmly rooted to the spot. Once she passed through that door, once she opened her mouth, it would set off a chain reaction over which she would have no control.
‘I appreciate it,’ he said.
Jo reached down and unrolled the mattress. Flapping open a sheet, she spread it across and tucked down the corners. She neither wanted nor needed his gratitude. ‘I’m not doing it for you. And I’m not doing it for Susan either. All I’m interested in is getting that girl home safely.’
‘Talking of which,’ he said, ‘how about we take another look at the map?’
She glanced at her watch. It was only ten-thirty, too early for bed, and she didn’t need to get up in the morning. When she had called, telling Jacob she was going to take a few days off, he had sounded relieved: ‘Good. You’re doing the right thing. You need some rest. Put your feet up and take it easy. And don’t worry about anything here; I’ll get one of the students in to cover.’
Had it been relief she’d heard in his voice? Or was it simply concern? Maybe it was a combination of the two. Things hadn’t been exactly normal recently, not with her worries about the missing girl and her suspicions over Deborah. She had been on edge, unable to think straight. And just because Jacob was encouraging her to stay away, to take some time out, didn’t mean that he had anything to hide. She could easily be imagining things, creating crises where—
‘Jo?’
She looked up. ‘Huh?’
‘If you’re too tired, we can leave it until the morning.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s get on with it.’
They went through to the living room and sat down on the sofa. The map of Kellston was still laid out on the coffee table, its four corners anchored by a quartet of paperbacks. Two small black crosses had been marked, one indicating where they were in Barley Road and the other, half a mile away, showing the position of the Mansfield Estate. It was only a few hours since Jo had learned that Susan’s mother was living in one of the high-rise blocks.
‘Are you sure she couldn’t have taken Silver there?’ she said.
‘No, there’s no chance.’
‘So why the cross?’
‘Because the location matters; it’s important to her. It’s where Susan grew up.’
He leaned forward and traced a finger along the surrounding streets. ‘She never got on with her mother but she always kept in touch. I’ll go and see her tomorrow. Pat Clark and sobriety rarely touch base but if I get there early enough I might learn something useful.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Jo said, staring at him. ‘You’re not going anywhere. You can’t step foot outside this flat. What if someone recognises you?’
Miller grinned. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’
‘I don’t,’ she said smartly, averting her eyes and shifting away from him. She was aware, even as she spoke, that the denial had risen a little too quickly to her lips.
‘But you’re a wanted man and if the police find out that you’ve been staying here …’
‘I won’t tell them if you don’t.’
‘Your name has been all over the news. How do you think Pat Clark is going to react when you go knocking on her door?’
‘I doubt she even watches the news.’
‘And you’re happy to take that chance?’
‘Not happy, exactly, but what choice do I have? I can’t hide out here for ever. She’s the only person I can think of who might have a clue as to where Susan is.’
Jo hesitated. There was another option but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to suggest it. She took a quick breath. ‘I could go.’
Miller shook his head. ‘No way.’
‘Why not? It’s safer for me than for you. I could say I was an old friend passing through, that I’d lost touch with Susan and—’
‘It’s not a good idea.’
‘It’s better than yours.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘End of conversation.’
But his refusal to even discuss it made her more determined. ‘I’m involved in this too,’ she said, ‘as you weren’t slow in pointing out on Friday night. You can’t just make a unilateral decision. This is to do with what’s best for Silver and I don’t see how that includes you taking unnecessary risks. Your being locked up in a police cell isn’t going to help her.’
Miller jumped to his feet and started his familiar pacing across the room.
‘Let me give it a try,’ Jo urged. There was sense to her argument but he was just too obstinate to admit it. ‘What have we got to lose?’
‘Pat’s not an easy woman to deal with.’
She gave a small laugh. ‘You’ve never met my mother-inlaw.’
Miller
stopped and looked at the photograph of Peter. ‘And where is your husband, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Jo glanced down at the floor. There was no reason to lie about it but it was always the sympathy that got to her, the awkward expressions of sorrow and regret. She could just say that he had left her – in a sense that was true – but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. It would feel like a betrayal and she’d been doing too much of that in the last twenty-four hours. She raised her face and looked him squarely in the eye.
‘Peter’s dead,’ she said. ‘He was killed in a hit-and-run two years ago.’
Miller was silent.
She waited for the inevitable response, the reply that was bound to come, the Oh, I’m so sorry or That must have been terrible for you.
Instead he merely shrugged and said, ‘So, you’re a merry widow?’
‘That’s it!’ she retorted, staggered by his insensitivity. Although why she should be even faintly amazed was a mystery to her. What else should she have expected? ‘Yeah, you’ve got it in one. I haven’t stopped dancing since it happened.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t very tactful, was it? Still, I imagine you’ve had enough tea and sympathy to last you a lifetime.’
Jo couldn’t disagree with that. But she still resented his indifference. The man had a heart of stone.
‘He was older than you,’ Miller said, his gaze drifting back to the photo. ‘What did he do? I mean, what line was he in?’
She didn’t answer. She was still annoyed by the merry widow quip and couldn’t see how Peter’s age or his occupation was any of his business.
‘Ah, something dodgy was it?’
Provoked into making a response, she said: ‘No, it wasn’t. He was a jeweller, a perfectly legitimate jeweller.’
Miller grinned. ‘Good choice. A girl can never have too many diamonds.’
She knew what he was insinuating and glared at him.