‘Now, boys,’ he began. ‘I need to know if either of you were over at the construction site yesterday.’ The twins shook their heads. Cooper continued. ‘Two boys on bicycles were seen riding away from there towards Clanford Hall.’ The boys remained silent. ‘Was it you two?’
‘What time was this?’ Paul asked.
‘After school.’
Paul and Michael exchanged glances. ‘We went for a ride on our bikes,’ Paul told the constable, ‘but we didn’t see any boys on bikes.’
Cooper smiled. ‘That’s because there weren’t another two there. Am I right?’ They shrugged. ‘You went to the construction site, didn’t you?’ The two of them looked sheepishly at each other. Then Paul lifted his head and straightened.
‘No.’
Cooper sighed loudly and looked at Kate. Then he looked at Michael, who he noticed was fidgeting and looking as guilty as sin. ‘Did you take any money from the site hut?’
Michael tried to say something but became tongue-tied. He managed to shake his head, though.
Kate came over to him and took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. ‘Michael, did you take any money from the hut?’ Her voice was gentle, but pleading. Michael couldn’t look at her. He lowered his head as tears began to prick the backs of his eyes. Kate stood up and turned to Paul. She could see defiance in his face and knew the answer. ‘Paul?’
Paul raised his chin slightly. ‘We found the money on the road outside the hut. Someone must have dropped it.’ He shrugged. ‘Finders keepers.’
‘It is not finders keepers, Paul,’ Kate said firmly. ‘That money belonged to someone.’
‘It was a workman’s wages,’ Cooper put in.
Paul shot the policeman a withering look. ‘He should have been more careful, then, shouldn’t he?’
‘Paul!’ Kate stamped her foot in frustration. ‘Don’t speak like that.’ Paul lifted his shoulders again in a show of indifference.
‘Have you still got the money?’ Kate asked.
‘Some.’
She looked over at Michael. ‘You still have some?’ Michael nodded. ‘Right, I want you to go upstairs, or wherever it is you’ve hidden the money, and bring it down here.’ Michael was off like a shot, relieved to be out of the room. Paul made to follow but Kate stopped him. ‘Not you, Paul. You wait until your brother gets back.’
Kate was afraid to let the two of them go upstairs together because she figured that Paul would come up with some scheme to persuade his brother that not all the money should be returned. They had to wait a few minutes before Michael reappeared. He dropped his share of the spoils on the table. The notes had been screwed up carelessly, and as they lay on the table, they unrolled as though there was life in them.
Kate nodded towards Paul, who needed no second telling. He went upstairs and returned with his money. Unlike Michael’s portion, the notes had been kept flat: neat and tidy. He laid them beside Michael’s pile.
Kate picked them up and counted them. ‘How much was taken, Constable?’ she asked.
‘Twenty-five pounds, ma’am.’
Kate counted the money and asked the constable to wait. Then she went through to the office and came back with her purse. She opened it and counted out enough to bring the sum back to twenty five pounds. She handed the money to the policeman. Then she turned to the boys.
‘Go upstairs, you two.’
They went quickly. Kate waited. ‘Will it be possible to keep this quiet?’ she asked eventually.
The constable shrugged. ‘Can’t say, ma’am; if the foreman wants to press charges, then there’s little we can do.’
‘But the workman will get his money back, so why would the foreman need to know who did it?’
The constable picked up his peaked cap and held it in two hands, turning it slowly as he spoke.
‘I’ll see if I can keep the boys’ names out of this, ma’am,’ he told Kate. ‘Typical of kids, really.’ He nodded and smiled. ‘I’ll tell the inspector the money was found and handed in here. I’ll say you were going to bring it to the station later today. How’s that?’
Kate almost wilted. Her body sagged. ‘Oh, thank you, Constable. I really would appreciate that. Thank you so much.’
The policeman looked a little uncomfortable as Kate thanked him. ‘I’ll take my leave, then,’ he muttered and made his way out. Kate followed him to his panda car. He climbed in and smiled at her again. ‘I should manage to get this cleared up.’ He started the car. ‘See you later, ma’am.’
As he pulled away the smile disappeared from Kate’s face and was replaced with a look of thunder as she turned towards the house ready to do battle with the twins, and Paul in particular.
NINE
Emma and Max, 2010
Emma sat across the table from Max, trying to forget the other man in her life, who was threatening to ruin her. Max’s letter had arrived two days earlier. In it was the invitation to lunch and a reminder that she still hadn’t given him her new mobile phone number. She hadn’t called him, though, because of her admitted reluctance to get involved in a commitment with another man. She hadn’t been convinced of his seemingly harmless intentions, largely because of her sister’s whisperings and warnings about men. Max’s letter had pulled the rug from under her feet, and she felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and surprise, that he had contacted her. Because of her past, Emma had allowed herself to reach the point in her life where she was losing her self-worth. The weekend with Max at the hotel had filled her with a mixture of unbounded joy, coupled with a profound caution against inviting another man into her life. She had treasured those moments with Max, but in the aftermath and the visit to her husband in prison, the old fears had returned.
Max’s invitation was to a restaurant at Blandford Forum, which was about ten miles from Bournemouth. When Emma rang to thank him for the invite, she had made excuses about not being able to get there. But she was prevaricating. Max remained silent until Emma had talked herself into agreeing. He offered to pick her up from her home but she said she would make her own way there. When she asked him what he was doing so far south from his place of work, he simply said he had a lead that needed chasing up.
Now she was with him and her fears had evaporated. She found Max to be such good company. The table talk was benign and random, holding no promises, no commitments. The food was delicious and the restaurant well out of Emma’s financial league.
‘Tell me that again, please, Emma’ Max asked. ‘Just so that I’m sure I’m not missing anything.’
Emma took a sip of wine and put the glass down. Max noticed ripples in the amber liquid caused by her trembling fingers. He’d seen that before.
‘I went to see him in prison. He said he would be contesting the divorce.’ She coughed gently and took another sip of wine. ‘He said that he was not the guilty party, even though he was serving a sentence for violent conduct.’ She glanced down at the tablecloth, then back at Max. ‘For some reason he latched on to the fact that I had met you.’
‘Me?’ Max asked.
Emma shook her head quickly. ‘No, but somehow he decided I was seeing someone. Whether it was because of something I said, I don’t know, but he said he would find witnesses to swear I was sleeping with another man.’ She lowered her head and began fingering the scar on her neck. ‘If he carries out his threat, he could find out about you, Max.’ She sighed as a tear came to her eye. ‘You’ve done nothing, Max.’ She automatically took the handkerchief he was holding out towards her. ‘Why is he doing this? He won’t win anything and he’ll only blacken my name and yours.’ She suddenly straightened up and looked around. Then she lowered her voice. ‘He might have somebody following us. They could be here.’
Max laughed softly. ‘You’re getting paranoid, Emma.’ He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. ‘I won’t let it happen,’ he promised.
Emma looked surprised. ‘How can you do that? If you print something in your newspaper it will only make it public knowledge.’
<
br /> ‘Make what public knowledge’?
She shrugged. ‘Well, you and me.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘If it went to court it would be public knowledge,’ he told her. ‘But I can promise you it won’t come to that.’
‘How can you be so sure, Max? He’s not a very nice man. He’s vindictive. He’ll do anything to get at me and whoever makes friends with me.’
‘Emma, Emma.’ He held her hand tightly and looked steadily into her eyes. He could see the tears there and sense the stress and turmoil she was suffering. ‘I won’t let it happen, I promise.’
‘How can you promise, Max?’ she asked again. ‘How can you stop him?’
He wrinkled his nose and grinned. ‘I will speak to someone connected to the legal profession.’
Emma felt herself relax a little. Just knowing that Max had promised to do something for her brought a sense of relief. She had no idea what he meant about contacting someone in the legal profession, but wondered if it was some legal adviser connected to his newspaper.
‘Finish your wine and I’ll take you home. OK?’
Emma nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked at the handkerchief and laughed. ‘Oh, look at this, Max. It’s getting to be a habit.’
Max laughed too. ‘And long may it continue,’ he said. ‘I’ve got plenty more of those.’ He drained his glass. ‘Someone bought me a whole packet recently.’
Emma laughed as she put the glass to her lips and thought about the handkerchiefs she had given to Max at the hotel. Suddenly the effects of the wine and Max’s promise to take care of the situation combined to make her relax, and the weight of her own personal world seemed to fall from her shoulders.
That evening, as she lay in bed, there was only one thought on Emma’s mind, and that was how much she wished Max was lying beside her.
Two days later, Max walked into the foyer of the Strand Palace Hotel in London and spotted Jack Rivers in the usual place. Rivers stood up as Max reached him and they shook hands.
‘Get you a drink, Max?’ Rivers offered.
‘Pot of tea, Jack.’
Rivers laughed. ‘Max, you’ve got to learn to grow up.’ He caught the eye of one of the Palace staff and called him over. Once the tea had been ordered, Rivers turned to Max.
‘I’ve got nothing for you yet, Max,’ he told him. ‘It’s difficult getting anything on Isaacs.’
Max nodded. ‘No problem, Jack, but it isn’t Billy Isaacs I’m interested in now: it’s someone else.’
Rivers made a soft whistling noise through pursed lips. ‘What are you doing, having a purge or something?’
Max laughed, and then got a little serious. ‘I need to warn somebody off: someone who’s making life very uncomfortable for a friend of mine.’
Rivers nodded slowly. ‘Go on, Max.’
‘Problem is: he’s in prison.’
Rivers breathed in deeply and lifted his head in thought. ‘Which prison?’ he asked.
‘Winchester.’
Rivers arched his eyebrows. ‘You after small fry now, eh?’
‘No, Jack. This guy’s a first-class tosser, and I want him sorted.’
‘So tell me about it.’
Which is what Max did, down to the last detail.
‘This will cost you a big one, Max,’ Rivers told him when Max had finished.
‘Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it.’
‘You’re serious about this woman, then?’ Rivers waited for an answer but none was forthcoming. ‘You are,’ he said. ‘I can see it. Are you sure you’ve got over Elise?’
‘You don’t get many chances in life, Jack,’ Max answered. ‘And when they come along, you have to grab them. I don’t want to lose this one, that’s why I’m prepared to pay.’
Max’s tea arrived. Rivers waited until the tea had been poured before asking his next question.
‘I need to know how you want this played out,’ he told Max. ‘It will take a while to set something up. How long have I got?’
Max sipped his tea and did a mental calculation. ‘No more than a couple of weeks,’ he said eventually.
Rivers stood up and offered his hand. Max shook it. ‘I’ll get back to you; couple of days maybe, no more.’
Max thanked him. ‘I’ll see you back here, Jack. Just let me know.’
Max nodded and waved his friend goodbye. Then he thought about Emma and her tosser of a husband, and how soon it would be before his agent began filling his diary with book-signing sessions. And a book tour was the last thing he wanted right now.
Prison Officer Ted Ransom had been at Winchester Prison for a little over six months. The prison was ancient, overcrowded and badly in need of more prison staff. Ransom’s job was fairly basic: he was a prison officer on a landing, overseeing a mixture of hardnuts, social misfits and drug addicts. Where most of them should have been housed in individual cells, the overcrowding was so serious that most of the cells were doubled up, which meant that prisoners had to share with others.
Except for Wylie. Wylie was a nutter, no question. He was also a psycho where violence to him was simply a tool to be used whenever necessary. And Wylie knew how to dish it out. Fortunately for men like Ransom, most of Wylie’s intimidation was directed to other prisoners, and usually in carefully orchestrated circumstances where witnesses were never available.
Ransom was leaning against the landing wall, minding his own business as the prisoners trooped along to the showers, when Wylie stopped beside him.
‘Hello, Mister Ransom.’ The polite address was protocol in the prison, which all offenders adhered to for fear of losing their privileges if they didn’t.
Ransom nodded. ‘Wylie.’
‘You’re married, Mister Ransom, is that right?’
Ransom straightened up and pushed himself away from the wall.
‘Yes,’ he answered slowly. ‘Why?’
‘Couple of kids?’
Ransom flicked his head to one side. ‘On your way, Wylie.’
‘Nice little house. Sumter Road, I hear.’
Ransom began to feel ripples in his stomach. ‘Move on, Wylie, before I call for back up.’
Wylie ignored him. ‘You don’t want anything to happen to those kids, do you, Mister Ransom?’ His face hardened. ‘Nor your pretty little wife.’
Ransom knew there was a threat coming: a promise, more like. This was something most prison officers feared: intimidation by suggestion. ‘What do you want?’
Wylie glanced along the landing where several of the inmates were walking to the shower room. ‘Might be a bit of a commotion in there in a couple of minutes,’ he said. Then he raised his hand. ‘Find something to do, will you?’
He walked away with his men, leaving Ransom cursing his misfortune to be landed with a psycho like Wylie.
Ian Johnson breezed into the shower room, his mind tripping along in a kind of semi-neutral. He was a fine figure of a man and well endowed. It was something most of his female conquests remarked on, and it was like a trophy to him. Emma had fallen for him in a big way and he knew he could manipulate her in much the same way as he manipulated most women. His one big regret about being inside was the fact that he couldn’t have a woman, and the only pleasure he could get was to masturbate; something he was able to do in relative privacy during the night. He was fortunate to have a cell mate who was a sound sleeper. But tossing himself off at night was no substitute for the real thing. And being offered a man’s arse for a price didn’t even come close. The last man who approached him on that subject got a whacked face for his trouble, and Johnson earned loss of privileges as a result.
He was thinking about the possibilities of earning early release and getting out and doing what he did best when he suddenly realized it had gone quiet in the shower room. He stopped soaping himself and looked round. Suddenly Wylie appeared with two men. Wylie was not a big man, but his stature belied his strength, which was awesome at times. Johnson had witnessed it.
These thoughts flash
ed through his mind as the two men with Wylie grabbed his arms and pinned them to his side. Then one of them stuffed a flannel into Johnson’s mouth. He started struggling, trying to spit the flannel out, but the man’s hand over his mouth was too much, and all he got for his trouble was a punch in the midriff. Suddenly Wylie pulled a knife out from beneath a towel and showed it to him. Johnson’s scream was audible, but came out in grunts.
Then Wylie grabbed hold of his penis and pulled it. He laid the keen edge of the knife across the soft skin. Johnson’s eyes bulged in abject terror and he struggled even harder. Suddenly Wylie lifted the knife up and held it in front of his face.
‘We’re going to take the gag out of your mouth, Johnson, and you’re going to keep quiet. You got it?’ Johnson nodded furiously. Wylie looked at his men and one of them pulled the flannel out of Johnson’s mouth. He was still holding on to the man’s penis.
‘What are you going to do, Wylie?’ Johnson stammered, the moment he could talk.
Wylie’s eyes half closed. ‘Do? I’m going to cut your fucking dick off, that’s what I’m going to do.’
Johnson screamed out and launched himself forward, but the strength of the two men overpowering him was too much, and the three of them toppled against Wylie, almost knocking the knife from his hand.
Wylie still had his hand round Johnson’s cock and he slammed the dull edge of the knife against it. ‘Listen!’ he shouted. ‘If you struggle, I’ll chop the fucker off now. Are you listening?’
He nodded, his eyes still wide with fear.
Wylie lifted the knife to Johnson’s face. ‘You got a pretty wife who wants a divorce, right?’ Johnson nodded. He wanted to speak but his throat was constricted with absolute terror. ‘You were going to contest the divorce, right?’ Johnson nodded again. ‘Now you’re not; you’re going to call your pretty wife in and apologize, say it was all a big mistake and you won’t stand in her way. You got that?’ Johnson didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Wylie slapped the flat of the knife against his dick. ‘You got that?’ Johnson nodded.
‘What you going to do?’ Wylie asked.
Johnson tried to clear his throat and struggled to repeat what Wylie had told him. Wylie seemed satisfied.
Past Imperfect Page 11