Playing with Fire

by Patricia Hall

  ‘You again,’ she said without slackening her pace.

  ‘I saw you coming out of the Delilah earlier,’ he said. ‘Whatever were you doing in there? It’s a pretty dodgy place these days.’

  ‘Is it?’ she said, quickening her pace. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Surely you know about its history,’ Bob said. ‘It used to be run by two gangsters who made a big thing of throwing lavish parties and raising money for charity, or so they said. One of them’s in jail now and the other’s disappeared so it’s anybody’s guess where all the proceeds went.’

  ‘I remember all that,’ Kate said. ‘I was here then. I took some photographs at one of their parties as it goes, la.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really,’ Kate said, not hiding her irritation at his tone. ‘That’s what I do. I told you all this.’ She had quickened her pace as she turned into Oxford Street and hurried through the crowds towards the Tube.

  ‘I need to get home early tonight,’ she said as she joined the queue to buy a ticket.

  ‘Waiting for you, is he?’ Bob asked. But he hesitated and then shrugged, though she was very conscious that he was still watching her as she set off down the escalator to the Northern Line. The man was becoming more than a nuisance, she thought.

  ‘I’ll see you around,’ he said, and Kate could not tell whether that was a threat or a promise.

  DS Barnard had already put his coat on thinking he might get home at a reasonable time after a run of late nights when the summons came to report to DCI Jackson’s office. He cursed under his breath as he knocked on the door and knew as soon as he opened it that the presence of DI Fred Watson standing behind the DCI spelled nothing but trouble.

  ‘Sir?’ he said.

  Jackson turned to Watson. ‘I think this is your call,’ he said. ‘It concerns your case.’ Watson’s face was flushed and his expression unforgiving. ‘So, Sergeant Barnard, could you tell me what the hell you think you are doing covering up the fact that you’ve been screwing this tart who’s lying in the morgue?’

  Barnard felt his mouth go dry and his heart rate speed up. ‘That was a very long time ago,’ he said carefully.

  ‘So you don’t deny it?’ Jackson snapped.

  Barnard shrugged. ‘It happens,’ he said.

  ‘And you didn’t worry about the conflict of interest when you marched into the crime scene when I had no idea you’d been in the sack with her?’ Watson came back hard.

  ‘I had no idea who the victim was at that point,’ Barnard said. ‘I should have told you when I realized. It was stupid of me.’

  ‘Stupid? Or criminal?’

  ‘Stupid, sir,’ Barnard said quietly. ‘I’ve known Evie Renton ever since I started working in Soho, ten years or more. I liked her. And I slept with her now and then. Show me a copper working in Vice who hasn’t done that. But not recently, and once I recognized her I wanted to stay on the case. I wanted to know who did that to her.’

  ‘And cover your own tracks?’ Watson pressed.

  ‘Because I knew her and she didn’t deserve what happened to her,’ Barnard said.

  ‘You turn up here having obviously been in some sort of a fight. How do we know that wasn’t something which involved Evie Renton?’ Watson snapped.

  Jackson and Watson looked at each other for a moment and then Jackson nodded.

  ‘Go home, Sergeant, and stay there until Monday. Then I want you in here at nine for a formal interview. I won’t suspend you now but I will if I am not happy with what you tell me then.’

  ‘And you can consider yourself off the Evie Renton murder case and likely to be facing a disciplinary at the very least,’ Watson said.

  Barnard looked at the two senior officers and could see no glimmer of sympathy there. He felt very tired and wondered how he was going to explain all this to Kate.

  ‘Sir,’ he said and spun on his heel, anxious to leave the remnants of his career securely shut behind Jackson’s office door for now. The trouble he faced in Highgate loomed even larger than the crisis here and he did not think he would survive that either.

  When he parked his car outside the flats, with very little recall of how he had got there, Barnard saw that the lights were on in his windows and there was no way of avoiding Kate or the necessity of explaining what had happened. Over the few years they had been together, they had had differences of opinion and Kate had on one occasion moved out and gone back to the flat she technically shared with Tess in Shepherd’s Bush, but he knew that his present problems were in a different league from anything which had gone before. The decision he had taken when he recognized Evie’s body had been professionally inexcusable, but the fact that he had maintained even a casual relationship with Evie while persuading Kate to sleep with him he knew she would find unforgivable. He might hang on to the vestiges of a career but he and Kate would be finished. She would not forgive him and he would not forgive himself.

  She met him at the front door with a smile which faded quickly when she saw the expression on his face and how pale he was, the bruises he had acquired earlier in the day standing out in Technicolor across his cheek.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked. He turned away and hung up his hat and coat and she could see that his hands were shaking. ‘Tell me,’ she said, leading him into the living room and pouring him a drink. ‘Whatever it is, tell me,’ Kate said again.

  Barnard sat down and took a slug of the neat spirit followed by a deep breath. ‘The roof fell in,’ he said. ‘And it’s all my own fault.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I told you about the prostitute I knew being found dead?’

  Kate nodded. ‘You found her, you said.’

  ‘DI Watson let me see if I could identify her when she was just a body lying in a dark alley.’

  ‘And you did? Identify her?’

  ‘Yes, and I knew her well enough to want to work on the case. Which I shouldn’t have done because I knew her too well.’

  Kate froze, her face as pale as his now and her breathing shallow. Barnard wanted to stop but knew he couldn’t.

  ‘Not often, not recently even, but I slept with her sometimes. It’s not that unusual. But now she’s a murder victim and the DCI and DI Watson are all over me like a rash. I’ve to be back at the nick on Monday morning for a formal interview and I guess I might be lucky to have a job at the end of the day. Or I might be a murder suspect …’ He shrugged, looking as dispirited as Kate had ever seen him.

  ‘Have you any idea who told your boss?’

  ‘Have you any idea how long the list of people who hate my guts is?’

  ‘Not least Ray Robertson,’ Kate said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was back in London? It gave me a shock to see him in the street like that, and I saw the man he was with at the Delilah today.’

  Barnard looked at her as if she had slapped his face, which he reckoned she was entitled to do, but not for the reason she seemed to have in mind.

  ‘What’s Ray got to do with this? Why were you at the Delilah anyway?’

  ‘You’re not the only one who’s had a bad day,’ Kate said bitterly. ‘I persuaded Ken Fellows to let me research a picture feature on the Soho clubs – the new ones like the Late Supper Club and the ones that have been around for years like Ronnie Scott’s and the jazz club in Wardour Street which I didn’t even know existed.’

  ‘Not a good time to launch that idea,’ Barnard said.

  ‘And the Delilah. I even took some pictures there when I first came to London. You remember?’

  ‘Did you go there?’ Barnard asked urgently. ‘Was Ray there? Today?’

  ‘No, no, he wasn’t, but the manager said he’s going to let him know what I’d like to do.’

  ‘And that you’re looking for him?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Though by the end of the day Ken had decided not to go ahead with the idea. None of the clubs were very willing to draw attention to themselves just now.’

  Barnard took hold of her by the shoulders.
‘Thank God for that,’ he said. ‘Listen, Kate. I did know Ray was back in London. I bumped into him at his mother’s house and we had a blazing row. Where do you think I got these bruises? He’s still good enough with his fists to put me on the floor. But I didn’t want to frighten you by dredging that man up again after what happened the last time you saw him. If it was just the picture you took of him he might never find out about it but by now he’ll know from the club manager you’re looking for him through the agency so he’ll assume I am too. Worse, he knows you’re living here. You can’t stay here any longer. You need to get out straight away. Ring Tess and tell her you need your bed back. It’s an emergency and if that deadbeat Dave Donovan is still there he’ll have to get on a train to Liverpool or sleep on the sofa tonight.’

  He put a finger on her lips as she made to argue as he knew she would.

  ‘The other stuff we’ll have to sort out later,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ Kate said with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Pack what you need to take and I’ll run you into town and get you a cab to take you to Shepherd’s Bush. I won’t take you all the way in case anyone is watching. My car’s too bloody noticeable at times. I’ll have to buy a Mini.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s quite you,’ Kate said with a faint smile.

  ‘Will Tess be home now?’ Barnard insisted.

  She looked at her watch and nodded. ‘She does her marking when she gets in and then sees the boyfriend later,’ she said. ‘I’ll pack my stuff.’ And she turned away with her eyes brimming with tears.

  Kate woke up early, aware of every lump in the single bed in what had been her room when she and Tess had moved into the Shepherd’s Bush flat. Dave Donovan had somewhat sulkily moved to the sofa in the living room, promising reluctantly that he would find out the times of trains to Liverpool in the morning. It was obvious that he was unwilling to leave and effectively give up on his search for Marie or his invitation to Jason Destry’s house party that night. Kate lay on her back staring at watermarks on the ceiling, which had the appearance of a map but one full of meandering avenues that seemed to lead nowhere. Like her life, she thought, as the events of the previous night flooded back. Harry had parked his car in Soho Square and walked her back up to Oxford Street, which was still crowded with late shoppers and cinemagoers. He had hailed a taxi, put her suitcase beside the driver and hesitated with the passenger door open and an arm round her waist.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he had said. ‘Really, really sorry. One way or another, Ray Robertson will get his comeuppance. I promise.’ And he had steered her into a seat, closed the door and given the driver Tess’s address. ‘I’ll call you,’ he had said to Kate through her open window, tempted to say more but knowing he had run out of credible promises. Kate very soon lost sight of him in the crowds.

  She could see through the gap in the curtains that it was still early but she was dehydrated after crying herself to sleep and she soon got out of bed and searched through her hastily packed suitcase to find her dressing gown before venturing into the living room. Dave Donovan did not stir as she opened the kitchen door and filled the kettle. She rooted through Tess’s cupboards but could only find instant coffee, so opted for a tea bag and a substantial mug with plenty of sugar, which she carried carefully back to her bedroom. It was half past seven and she guessed that neither Dave nor Tess would be very energetic on a Saturday morning.

  By the time there was a tap on her door she felt more in control and had decided what to do with the weekend which Harry had made very clear was not to include any contact with him or Soho or – most importantly – Ray Robertson or any of his enterprises.

  ‘Is that you, Tess? Come in,’ she called, and her friend put her head round the door.

  ‘You got tea, I see?’

  ‘Harry’s weaned me on to coffee, but it has to be real coffee, Italian style.’

  ‘And how am I going to wean you off Harry?’ Tess came back quickly and seriously. ‘You know I always thought it would end in tears.’

  ‘Don’t let’s do “I told you so”,’ Kate begged. ‘It won’t work because I honestly don’t know what’s going on. But if he thinks I’m at risk, he’s in a position to know what he’s talking about and I’d be a fool not to listen to him.’

  ‘But why should you be at risk?’ Tess came back angrily.

  ‘You know why,’ Kate snapped back. ‘You were at risk yourself when we lived in Notting Hill, or have you forgotten the flat which got set on fire? There are some seriously bad people in London just like there are in Liverpool. It’s just that Harry Barnard has to deal with them every day. He has to get close to them just like I’m close to him – or was.’ Kate looked on the verge of tears again. Tess sat beside her on the bed and put an arm round her.

  ‘And how long do you think you can stay close to Harry? It sounds as if he’s in a load of trouble himself now.’

  Kate sighed and did not reply directly. ‘I’ll stay out of the way over the weekend. We’ll go to Jason Destry’s party tonight if you like,’ she said. ‘He won’t mind you coming too. He invited me and Dave. And we’ll be well out of Harry’s way. But on Monday I have to go to work in Soho so Harry will have to get used to that idea. There’s no alternative, is there?’

  ‘If he seriously thinks you’re in danger it’s up to him to get his mates to keep you safe,’ Tess said in an uncompromising tone. ‘If he can’t manage it himself it’s up to him to call in the troops, isn’t it? It’s what they’re there for.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kate said, knowing that it was more complicated than that. But she didn’t want to fill Tess in on Harry’s other problems and she was pleased to hear a bellowing noise from the living room where Dave Donovan had apparently been sleeping soundly in spite of the conversation in the next room.

  ‘He’s awake,’ she said.

  ‘Evidently,’ Tess said. ‘I expect he thinks we’ll get him some breakfast. But he’ll be unlucky. I’m all out of bacon and eggs and black pudding. That may be what his mammy lays on for him but I don’t have much more than cornflakes myself. What about you?’

  ‘Cornflakes would be fine,’ Kate said with a grin.

  ‘I’d really like to get him on a train back to Lime Street today if I could,’ Tess said. ‘I said three nights and he’s had those now. He’s only half civilized.’

  ‘Not up to Wirral standards, then?’ Kate mocked, knowing the insult had less bite here than closer to the Mersey.

  ‘My mother wouldn’t give him house room,’ Tess admitted.

  ‘Well, I don’t think you’ll stop him staying for Destry’s party. He’ll need something to tell the other members of the band when he gets home. Especially if he goes back without Marie.’

  ‘The mysterious Marie,’ Tess said. ‘Do you think she’s real or did he just make her up so he could come down here and find out what we were getting up to? He always carried a torch for you, Katie. Maybe he just wanted to see you again.’

  ‘I don’t think my personality is as magnetic as that,’ Kate said. ‘No, I’m sure Marie is real, but where she’s hiding herself, and why, I haven’t a clue.’

  FIFTEEN

  Harry Barnard woke late and for a fleeting moment wondered why Kate had got up so early on a Saturday. Then he remembered that the empty place beside him harboured a bleak fact: he had sent Kate away, fearing a threat from Ray Robertson who was clearly in a mood to draw the worst conclusion from her incautious visit to the Delilah. Unaware of the risks, she had handed Ray a new way to get at Barnard – a way he would not hesitate to use if it suited him. How long, he wondered, would the Robertson brothers blight his life and threaten his career? The DCI obviously did not believe him when he told him he would not hesitate to arrest Ray if the opportunity arose, and Jackson probably never had believed him and probably never would. The major problem anyway with that scenario was that he guessed the opportunity was very unlikely to arise again. He had missed what might be hi
s last chance to extricate himself from the assumption that he was in Robertson’s pocket and had been ever since he was a kid.

  Reluctantly he got up, had a shower and examined his bruises carefully in the mirror to work out how quickly they were fading and whether they would allow him to look reasonably civilized on Monday morning, to which the only answer could be not nearly fast enough. He brewed strong coffee to kick himself into life again, and by the middle of the morning he had driven into the West End, parked in Soho Square, well away from the nick, and was strolling down Frith Street as if he had not a care in the world, though with his trilby still pulled down low over his eyes to conceal the damage Ray Robertson had inflicted.

  He soon felt the need for more coffee and he slipped into the Blue Lagoon where he and Kate often had lunch, and he wondered whether hanging around in territory they had shared so often was a good idea, but he signalled to the waitress at the counter to refill his cup. The place was almost empty, but even on a quiet Saturday morning the coffee was good and strong. He sat close to the window for a long time with his second empty cup in front of him, until eventually it dawned on him that he had limited time to play with if he was to present a credible case to DCI Jackson and DI Watson on Monday, so he abruptly got up to go, still not quite sure where to turn next.

  Kate O’Donnell had pulled some clothes on quickly before joining Tess for cornflakes, wondering if she could persuade Dave on to a train heading north before the day was over. It was obvious from the tense silence round the breakfast table that Tess was becoming increasingly impatient at his obsessive anxieties about Marie and, although Kate was more sympathetic, she had little hope that they would succeed in tracking her down.

  ‘I think we should go out, Dave,’ she said. ‘We could have one last try at Marie’s agent to see whether she’s been in touch and if not you could get a train from Euston and be home this afternoon.’