Goodnight Lady

by Martina Cole

  The Cavanaghs had eluded him before, he knew they batted with the big boys. Well, even the big boys got their comeuppance. Eventually, they would make a mistake and he would be waiting for them.

  A young PC walked into the room and smiled at him.

  ‘There’s a lady to see you, sir, rather old, small, says she wants to talk to you about something important.’

  ‘Who is she? Do I know her?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but she seems on the level. She reckons you’ll be interested in what she has to tell you. It’s about Briony Cavanagh. Her name is Heidi Thompkins.’

  ‘Send her in.’

  Limmington had a feeling he was on to something interesting. Briony Cavanagh, the madam, the aunt and foster mother of the twins.

  He watched in amazement as the woman walked into his office. The stench of poverty permeated the room. She was small and dressed in a collection of outlandish garments that had obviously been given to her at some kind of hostel. After smelling cider he guessed correctly that she was an Embankment maiden - the polite euphemism for the drunken women who slept under the arches. But the most surprising thing about her was her eyes. She blinked constantly. It made him feel dizzy to look at her.

  Getting up, Limmington helped her into a chair and then opened the window behind him. He sat down and gave his most encouraging smile, hoping her story was not a long one.

  Her voice when it came was phlegmy from years of smoking Capstan and drinking neat alcohol. She smiled hazily and Limmington found it was getting very difficult to keep his own smile tacked into place.

  ‘I’m after a bit of money, Mr Limmington, and a friend of mine told me you might be the man to provide it.’

  ‘With respect, Miss Thompkins, why should I provide you with any funds?’ His voice came out harsher than he’d meant it to, but he wasn’t in the mood for this.

  Eyes blinking overtime now, she said, ‘Because, mate, I can finger Briony Cavanagh on two murders committed many years ago. You see, as a girl I worked for Miss Cavanagh as a tweenie in her house in Hyde Park. Well, I was young, but I was much shrewder than they ever dreamt. Maybe you’ve heard of Willy Bolger? He was a pimp, and he cut and killed one of Briony’s girls, Ginelle. Her and Tommy Lane caused him to top himself and on the same night they took out Ronnie Olds. I knew everything that went on. Kids do. I also know that Briony Cavanagh has a child by a Mr Henry Dumas. The kid’s nurse was a friend of mine. Sally and me still keep in touch. So you see, I can tell you an awful lot, Mr Limmington.’

  He was finding it hard to contain his excitement. ‘How do you know she murdered anyone?’

  Heidi grinned. ‘Because I made it my business to find out. I saw Ginelle’s body in the crate the night it was delivered to us. She was well messed up. Briony said in front of me, “Bolger’s dead.” Later he was supposed to have shot himself, but I don’t think he did, do you?

  ‘Then there was a lot of talk about Olds. Her and Tommy took over as Barons in the East End for a while after his murder. They went to Victoria Park and topped him there. I’ll stand up in court and say the lot.’

  ‘You will?’

  Heidi’s eyes began their strange dance once more before she said: ‘For a price. In fact, I’ll say I saw the lot, Mr Limmington. I’ll say whatever you want me to say. Because let’s face it, they have an answer for everything. And sometimes, to catch a thief, you have to be one yourself.’

  Limmington sat back in his chair and relaxed. This woman had a point. He could nail Cavanagh like Christ on the cross. This woman could be told what to say, carefully coached. She could put the Cavanagh woman away for a long time. He was disgusted with himself for the thoughts he was having, but the desire, the absolute need, to put away the twins and their aunt was stronger than his innate honesty.

  ‘When did these murders take place?’

  ‘In the twenties. I was a girl then. I’m younger than Cavanagh, believe it or not, but I ain’t had the advantages she’s had, have I? I never was a girl who would flog me arse for a price.’

  The last was said with an air of righteousness that made Limmington want to say: ‘Anyone who’d pay to have sex with you would have to be mentally unstable!’

  But he didn’t. Instead he smiled kindly.

  He sat forward and grinned. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Thompkins?’

  ‘I would, and a few sandwiches and all if you can arrange it. I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby horse between two mattresses.’

  Limmington felt his smile sliding once more and tried valiantly to keep it in place. ‘We’re fresh out of horse. Would ham and tomato be all right?’

  The old woman laughed then.

  ‘Anything, my lovely. Long as it’s edible. Then me and you can get down to business.’

  Isabel Dumas was knitting. She seemed to spend her life knitting or embroidering. It seemed to her she would be lost without something in her hands. Her grand-daughter Natalie was due at five, and she wanted to get the back of the cashmere jumper finished by then.

  She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was just after one. Her eyes turned to the telephone and she itched to pick it up and ring Benedict, but didn’t. The atmosphere was strained between them these days. The past was always there. Always.

  She heard the tap on her door and called out: ‘Come in, Catriona.’

  A woman of uncertain years entered the room and bobbed a small curtsy.

  ‘There’s a lady to see you, mam, says to give you her card.’

  Isabel took the small white card and as she looked at it she blanched.

  ‘Show the woman in, Catriona.’ The maid walked from the room, puzzled. The lady was very well dressed but her speech was at odds with her appearance. She sounded a low sort.

  ‘Hello, Isabel.’

  She looked at Briony and was half pleased to see her. The effect of age, she mused. Faces from the past were welcome. Only she couldn’t welcome Briony, she couldn’t.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Briony shook her head as Isabel barked out the words.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Walking towards the other woman, Briony was amazed at her changed appearance. Gone was the bigness she remembered, and the nut brown hair. Gone was every reminder of youth. Briony guessed shrewdly that Isabel had been old long before she needed to be. Had worn her years like a banner demanding respect.

  ‘Ben won’t see you, Briony,’ Isabel declared.

  The voice was cold, without emotion. Briony felt a second’s sorrow for this woman who had lived a second-hand life. Who was still trying to hang on to the remnants because they were all she had left. Knowing this, Briony felt the awkwardness lift from her. Felt almost light. She had the edge, after all these years she had the edge, and it was a good feeling.

  Sitting down in the chair opposite, she said, ‘I’ve already seen him.’ ,

  She saw Isabel’s mouth drop open. She also saw fear, naked and unadulterated, in the heavily powdered face before her.

  ‘He came to me a while ago. He was very upset.’

  Isabel sagged in her chair.

  ‘How was he, when you saw him?’ she capitulated.

  Briony sighed. ‘Unhappy, very unhappy. That bastard Henry saw to that.’

  Isabel nodded.

  ‘He was a difficult man, Briony. As you yourself know. I often wonder, sitting here, what I would have done had I been a girl today? It would have been so much easier. But then, you married and that was it.’

  Briony spoke what was really on her mind. ‘Ben came to my house, and it was difficult. He seemed set on disliking me, and yet so curious to see me. Understandable, I suppose. I wondered if you had said anything?’

  Isabel shook her head.

  ‘Not a word. I didn’t even know he had visited you. He doesn’t speak to me now. He hasn’t for a long while. The children are beginning to notice. Fenella, his wife, understands. She’s a good girl. She was all for telling the children the truth, but thank God Benedict
stopped her.’

  Briony grinned mirthlessly. The last few words, spoken so offhandedly, made her see red. Is that all this woman thought of her? Of what had happened?

  ‘Oh, yes, thank God! We mustn’t let them know the stock they come from, must we? We mustn’t hurt them by letting them know they were the product of a sick man and a child, we mustn’t ever let on about that, eh? That their father’s mother is only thirteen years older than him? We must never let on about that.

  ‘It seems to me, Isabel, that your hiding of the truth over the years is what’s caused all this. Your fear of everyone knowing the truth about your husband and your life. You stole my son from me really, you stole him with kindness and love. I respected you so I let you take him, and you were quick to do that, weren’t you? If I remember rightly, he was taken from the house almost as soon as the birth was over. Then you had no more need of me, did you? You couldn’t wait to take him away from me, in case I tainted him somehow.

  ‘Well, the taint’s there, whether you like it or not. I gave birth to him and now he knows the truth. Any unhappiness is because you thought your elaborate charade would last forever. Well, it didn’t.’

  Briony felt the anger spewing from her and was loth to stop it. She had wanted to say these words so many times over the years. How many times had she lain in bed, going through this scenario in her mind? Except in her mind’s eye she had walked in and taken her child with her. Only her child was now a grown man, with children of his own, and all this had come too late. Far too late for any of them.

  ‘I loved him, Briony, more than you know. I worshipped that boy. Anything I did, I did for him.’

  Briony shook her head slowly.

  ‘You loved him? I loved him as well you know, and what you did wasn’t for him really, Isabel. Be honest. It was all done for yourself.’

  Briony realised then that this visit had been a waste of her time and Isabel’s. She’d gathered her bag up from the floor ready to leave when Isabel put a hand on to her arm. It was a wrinkled hand, but the strength in it was surprising.

  ‘Listen, Briony, let’s try and make something good come out of all this. Through you I could get my son back... You could make him understand...’ Her voice was so low, desperate.

  Briony shook the hand off roughly.

  ‘Through you I lost him, through you I’ll never have him. What makes you think I would help you now? My God, you’ve got a nerve, woman. You’ve got some neck! I wanted to see you one last time, because I know that after today we’ll never see one another again. And do you know something? I’m glad, heartily glad, because you disgust me, Isabel Dumas. You lived a lie, here in your ivory tower. Well, now the lies come home to roost and I’m glad I’m not the only one hurting.’

  Daniel listened to all that Vince had said with a face like flint. Boysie finished the story and Daniel nodded slowly.

  ‘You know what this means, don’t you, Boysie? It means we have to take them all out of the ball game. And I can tell you now, mate, with me hand on me heart, that slag Mitchell is mine. All mine.’

  Boysie nodded.

  ‘I think we’d better start making a few enquiries around the place. We have to find out their stamping ground. Then we can plan our attack.’

  ‘We’ll take them all out together, Boysie. It’ll be a regular blood bath. I ain’t having that cunt Pargolis mugging me off. Not him nor that prat Mitchell. I could kill someone now this minute, I’m so incensed.’

  Daniel clenched his hands into large fists. The knuckles whitened with the pressure.

  ‘First things first, Danny Boy. I’ll get on the blower to Vince. That little ponce will grass us everything we need within the next few hours. Then we can plan properly.’

  Danny stood up and lit himself a Dunhill cigarette. ‘I think we should call a few of the team leaders in. If Pargolis has been putting his boat around the place, I think we should know why we ain’t had it reported back to us. Maybe he’s bought himself a few little friends, eh ... Maybe he wants to come and live in our fucking house and all! I know, how about we just make out a will leaving everything to him? The ponce, the bloody Greek ponce! He wants what we’ve got, does he? He wants my life’s work? Well, let’s see how far he gets with no fucking legs!’

  ‘Calm down, Danny Boy, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘Calm down, you say? Has that fucking Suzy eaten up the little bit of brain you had to start with, has she? Remember the old joke, Boysie. I do the thinking, and you don’t! Remember that, mate. I am the main man here, me, Daniel Cavanagh. I call the long shots and I am calling them all in this night. We’re gonna get tooled up and we’re gonna take that bastard and his cronies out, once and for all.’

  ‘Thanks a lot, Danny, thanks for telling me what a prick I am. I really needed that tonight.’

  Daniel looked into the face so like his own, except softer, smoother, and felt ashamed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Boysie. Honest, mate. It was temper. I’m in a temper.’

  Boysie laughed.

  ‘And I’m not, I suppose? I ain’t annoyed in the least, me, am I? I’m too thick to be annoyed, me ... You and Suzy should set up house together. It’s a shame to waste two houses between ya! Both of you seem to think that mugging me off is a great pastime.’

  Daniel grabbed his brother’s shoulders and shook him gently. He looked into his eyes.

  ‘I was out of order, Boysie. I couldn’t function without you, bruv. Me and you, well, we’re one really. We function as one. Without you I’d be nothing, mate. Nothing. There’s only two things important to me in this life, you and The Aunt.’

  Boysie bit his lip, then of one mind the brothers embraced.

  ‘We’ll get the fuckers, Danny Boy, me and you. We’ll find them, we’ll hunt them down, and we’ll blow them off the face of the earth.’

  Peter Pargolis stood in The Two Puddings in Stratford with a large brandy in one hand and a large woman named Cynthia Malling in the other. Cynthia was a speciality brass. She could do things with her huge breasts that defied not only most people’s physical capabilities but also the imagination of even the most dedicated porn lover. Davey Mitchell had provided her for his good friend’s evening entertainment.

  Davey watched Pargolis as he sipped his drink fastidiously. Say what you liked about the bubbles, they were a good crew if you was in with them. He knew that Pargolis was intent on taking over some of the East End businesses of the Cavanaghs and reckoned he had a good chance of fulfilling his dream. Davey was to get a nice little slice of the action himself, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered with the Greek.

  Full of beer and good-humoured camaraderie, he looked around the small pub and saw one of the Cavanaghs’ henchmen, Dicky D‘Arcy, standing watching them with another man, a black man he’d never seen before. Seeing his chance to bring himself up more in the estimation of Pargolis, he began to bait D’Arcy. Mitchell’s big mouth always was his downfall.

  ‘Oi, D’Arcy! Where’s the twins tonight then? At home with Mummy, are they? Fucking pair of slags ... How’s Boysie then? His new wife looks right fucked off. Found out the twins are stuck up each other’s arses, has she?’

  Pargolis and his men laughed. Cynthia didn’t, she had too good a knowledge of the Cavanaghs to be seen laughing at their expense.

  Dicky D’Arcy lifted two fingers at Mitchell.

  ‘Why don’t you shut your mouth and give your arse a chance, Mitchell? What’s wrong? Had a large shandy, have we and can’t take it?’

  Mitchell was serious now. He pointed at D’Arcy with a thick tobacco-stained finger.

  ‘You tell them two pricks that their days are numbered. They don’t scare me, mate. The pavement stinks of them, it stinks. Well, soon those pavements will be ours. Tell them that from me.’

  D‘Arcy made a big deal out of shaking. He said in a high falsetto voice: ‘What’s that noise?’ Then looking round the pub he said. ‘I do believe I can hear my knees knocking! Get real, Mitchell, you’re dead meat when Dan
ny Cavanagh hears about tonight. Dead fucking meat!’

  Turning his back on Mitchell he carried on drinking and talking as if the other man did not even exist.

  Mitchell walked towards him but Pargolis held him back. ‘In time, Davey, in time. Soon they’ll all be singing a different tune.’

  Cynthia Mailing picked up her bag and hitched up her heavy breasts in one movement.

  ‘Where you going?’ Pargolis’ voice was high.

  Cynthia smiled at him nastily. ‘As far away from you lot as possible, mate. That’s where. If I wanted a ruck with the Cavanaghs, I wouldn’t have one over the likes of you.’

  With that she walked from the pub, hailed a cab and went home without a penny piece earned that night, but with the sweet knowledge her departure had been witnessed. No way was she getting involved with all that. No way.

  Vince followed her from the pub, whistling through his teeth. He wanted to get back in touch with the twins before they heard the lot from D’Arcy and half the clientele of The Two Puddings.

  They had promised him a pony and he wanted it.

  Chapter Forty-six

  ‘What you going through all them old records for?’

  Limmington grinned and waved the DC away with his hand. ‘Just idle curiosity, son, that’s all.’

  He watched the young man leave the room then carried on with his reading. The Cavanaghs had eluded him once. Well, this time he would sew them all up good and proper. When he went for Miss Briony Cavanagh and Mr Tommy Lane he would go armed and dangerous. With the case sewn up. And through her he would get the twins.

  He felt a tingling of excitement at the thought. As they closed the doors on those two he would do a dance of happiness all over the East End.

  He had heard a whisper that they were to hit Pargolis. Well, let them. Pargolis was just another carbuncle on the face of the earth. The twins could hit him and good luck to them, then Limmington would have them right where he wanted them. It seemed Davey Mitchell was back in town and shouting his mouth off in the pubs and clubs. Well, he mused, the Cavanaghs would soon put a stop to his gallop and all.