‘The very man. N–n–not a man to cross, sweetheart, b–b–believe me.’
Both her body and her mind felt frozen and she knew there was no way she could extricate herself from a situation which Harry Barnard had warned her so clearly against. She had felt safe enough all day at work and had thought that if Tess met her at the tube station they would have been safe walking the short distance home from there. She had been wrong, she thought, very wrong, and feared she would pay a high price for it.
The car sped past the police station and then turned towards Notting Dale and eventually pulled up outside King Devine’s club. A West Indian doorman was waiting outside and she thought she recognised him from what she now knew only too clearly was a misconceived visit to the club with Harry Barnard. She was obviously expected, as the two white men ushered her out of the car and the doorman quickly opened the club door for her, leaving no opportunity for her to even attempt to run.
‘The boss is at the bar,’ the doorman said, taking her arm and hurrying her inside, but as soon as he saw them Devine, just as immaculate as he had been the last time in a pale grey suit and silk tie, put down his drink and hurried towards them, his expression cold, his eyes almost invisible beneath the brim of his hat.
‘Miss O’Donnell,’ he said. ‘I was very disappointed when you didn’t keep our date. Is there some reason you don’t want to take my picture? Is that it?’
Kate shook her head. ‘I didn’t think you were serious,’ she said.
Devine put a hand out to stroke her cheek, as he had done the last time she was here.
‘Oh, I was very serious,’ he said. ‘I told you how much I liked to meet all the pretty young things who come to my club. Didn’t you think I was serious about that either?’
Kate’s mouth went dry and she pulled the camera from her bag. ‘I can take your picture now,’ she offered. ‘If that’s what you’d like.’
‘It is,’ Devine said. ‘Why don’t we go into my office and we’ll have a picture session in there.’ He smiled and took her arm, half leading, half pulling her towards a door at the back of the room, leaving the other men to move towards the bar, smirking.
Devine closed the door behind them and to her surprise turned towards a mirror behind the door and gazed at himself critically in it. He took off the hat he was wearing and picked up another from a coat stand and put that on instead, studied his reflection carefully, and then took it off again.
‘One with, one without? What do you think?’ he asked.
Kate shrugged slightly, trying to keep control of her hands, which were trembling. If the pictures were ever developed and printed, she thought, it might be better if they weren’t affected by camera shake. ‘Fine,’ she said, busying herself measuring the light and adjusting the flashbulb. ‘Whatever you want.’
Devine adjusted the first hat to his satisfaction, straightened his tie, pulled up his trousers to protect the crease and arranged himself in his chair behind the desk with a vulpine smile. ‘Carry on, my dear,’ he said. ‘If you are going to put Notting Hill in your magazine then I certainly want to be in it.’
Kate tried to close her mind to the threat she felt under, and to concentrate wholly on what Devine wanted, taking her time with the angles and poses, so as to stretch the photo session out for as long as she could for fear of what might follow. He did not seem to mind, as happy as a peacock, stretching languorously wherever and however Kate dictated while she desperately considered how to get out of the club unmolested.
In the end her salvation arrived, suddenly and unannounced, from the least expected direction. As she was beginning to panic again when she came towards the end of her film, the door was suddenly flung open and a loud cockney voice demanded to know what Devine was playing at as Ray Robertson burst into the room, camel overcoat flying and hat on the back of his head.
‘Tell these idiots out here who I am, can you?’ he said. ‘People who get in my way generally live to regret it.’ He stopped in mid-flow as he recognised Kate and took in exactly what was going on in the office. ‘What the hell is she doing here?’ he asked Devine. ‘Don’t you know her boyfriend’s a copper?’
There was a long silence as Devine stared, narrow-eyed and questioning, from Robertson to Kate and back again.
‘That would be the friend you brought here when you last paid us a visit?’ he asked Kate eventually.
She nodded. She could hardly deny it, she thought, with Robertson standing close behind her looking shell-shocked. ‘Yes, but he doesn’t work round here,’ she whispered. ‘He works in Soho.’
‘And you? Are you a copper too, Miss O’Donnell? Have you been running rings around me all this time with your dinky little camera?’
Kate shook her head and to her relief Robertson unexpectedly came to her rescue.
‘She’s a photographer,’ he said. ‘I’ve no doubt she’s taken you some pretty pictures if that’s what you wanted. And now I think she should get out of here and not come back, don’t you? You’ve been had, my friend, but I don’t think it’s this young woman’s fault, is it? It’s your own.’
Devine rocked back in his chair and pushed his hat to the back of his head while Kate waited for his next move, hardly able to breath. In the end he grinned and raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘You best get out, girl,’ he said. ‘And if the pictures are any good, you can post them to me. But if I see you or your boyfriend round Notting Dale again, I won’t be so forgiving, believe me. Now run away before I change my mind.’
Kate walked cautiously across the club to the door, aware of being watched every step of the way by the group of men drinking at the bar.
‘Have a good time, darling, did you?’ one of them asked as she tried to open the door and found it locked.
The doorman grinned. ‘Give us a kiss and I’ll open it for you, honey child,’ he said.
‘I think if you don’t open it your boss might not be too pleased,’ she shot back. ‘He wants me off the premises.’
The doorman shrugged and unlocked the door and watched as she went out. Once safely on the pavement she drew a deep breath and glanced cautiously up and down the street. The evening’s revellers were not yet abroad, a few women carried heavy shopping bags home, and at the far end of the street she could see a group of young black men on a street corner right next to the red telephone box she needed to use.
In spite of some misgivings after her encounter with white youths the night before, she walked in that direction and only as she got closer did she realise that one of the youths was Ben Mackintosh, openly smoking a cigarette which she did not think was made of tobacco as he ostentatiously passed it to one of his friends when he saw someone approaching.
As she got closer he gave her a faint smile of recognition.
‘Hello, Ben,’ Kate said. ‘Have you been home to see your mother yet? You know your father’s been released, don’t you? I should think what you wrote about his arrest helped him a lot to get bail.’
Ben glanced at his companions, who were staring at Kate intently. ‘Mi not goin’ home again,’ Ben said. ‘Mi got enuff to do to keep mi down dis end o da neighbourhood.’
Kate followed this sudden conversion to Jamaican patois in surprise. The last time she had spoken to Ben he had used standard English as clearly as his father.
‘Him workin’ for da King now,’ one of the older boys put in. ‘Him not goin’ to white folks school no more.’
Kate opened her mouth to argue but realised quickly that would not be a wise move. The look in the boys’ eyes was not friendly and she knew she would be wasting her time and would most likely provoke a confrontation.
‘Can I use the phone box, please?’ she asked, and they moved out of her way with infinite slowness, as if even this simple request was an affront. With trembling hands she dialled Harry Barnard’s home number and was relieved when he picked up at once.
‘Can you come over?’ she asked. ‘I’ll be back home in about ten minutes. There’s some
things I need to tell you.’
‘Where are you?’ Barnard asked, and she could hear the anxiety in his voice.
She told him, and he hesitated for a moment, obviously wondering how she came to be in Notting Dale.
‘It’ll take me at least half an hour to get to your place,’ he said. ‘The best thing is to walk back there yourself, but take care, Kate. Keep out of the way of gangs of young men, for goodness sake.’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
SEVENTEEN
Kate had made her way slowly home to find a large, expensive-looking car she did not recognise parked immediately outside the house. When she opened the front door she came face to face with two men standing talking in the hallway. The well-dressed white man she did not know but the other she recognised as Abraham Righton, the Mackintoshes’ friend who had been running Nelson’s cafe while he had been in prison. They seemed to have been poring over a sheaf of what looked like plans but they both glanced up as she came into the house and Righton gave her a nod of acknowledgment.
‘This your new landlord, Mr Roman,’ he said.
‘Not until I sign the contract, I hope very soon, tomorrow maybe,’ the other man said quickly. ‘But Mr Beauchamp has given me permission to look around and make plans. You must be Miss O’Donnell, who is staying with the tenants on the top floor? And who is soon to be moving out?’
Kate nodded. She could not guess what nationality the man was but he spoke perfect English with hardly any accent, less noticeable, she thought wryly, than her own scouse brogue which brought her so much mockery down here. ‘Very soon, we hope,’ she said.
‘Good,’ Roman said. ‘My plan is to renovate the house to create more flats. Mr Righton here is advising me on what is needed for the new tenants.’
‘We are working round all the rooms,’ Righton said. ‘We’ll be upstairs shortly to measure up your place.’
‘I hope that will not cause you and your friends any inconvenience,’ Roman said.
‘No more than we’ve been caused by the men with dogs who seem to specialise in forcing tenants out,’ Kate said sharply. ‘When they’re not kidnapping people off the street for King Devine.’
Roman frowned. ‘That is not my custom, Miss O’Donnell. And I have no connection with this man Devine. I think you are confusing me with the vendor. I understand he has given you notice for the end of the month. You have nothing to fear from me if you leave by then. And you can rest assured that if I need to evict anyone I do it according to the law.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Kate said tiredly, not sure whether to believe him or not. She turned towards Righton. ‘I was down in Notting Dale earlier,’ she said quietly. ‘I saw Ben Mackintosh with a group of youths. I think he was using drugs and he certainly didn’t seem to be in any mood to go home. Could you tell his parents?’
Righton scowled. ‘I’ll do that,’ he said. ‘Was he around the King’s club?’
Kate nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She moved towards the stairs. ‘I need to get home. It’s been a long day.’
Marie and Tess were both there when she reached the top of the house and opened the front door of the flat, and they looked relieved when she walked in.
‘What on earth happened?’ Tess asked. ‘I was a bit late getting to the tube but I waited for almost half an hour and you didn’t turn up.’
‘I got waylaid,’ Kate said. ‘Harry Barnard’s on his way over, so let it keep till he arrives. I don’t want to go through it all twice. Did you get any food, Tess? I’m flipping starving.’
‘Sausages,’ Tess said. ‘My mind went a bit blank when you didn’t turn up. I didn’t know what to think.’
‘It’s all right,’ Kate said. ‘I’m here now, safe and sound.’ Though she still felt incredulous that she could only say that courtesy of a gangster who had intervened on her behalf with another gangster whose intentions, she knew without a doubt, were far from honourable. They ate supper in an uneasy silence and almost before they had finished they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
When Kate opened it she found Roman and Righton on the landing, with Harry Barnard close on their heels.
‘You have a visitor, Miss O’Donnell,’ Roman said. He glanced back at Barnard, unable to hide a look of bemusement at a connection he could not possibly have expected. ‘Mr Righton here didn’t want me to let him in. As you probably know, the police are not very popular with some people round here. But I persuaded him that if he was a friend of yours we should not keep him out. Now, if you give us a few minutes we will take some measurements in this flat and then leave you in peace.’
The tiny flat suddenly became very crowded as the three women and Harry Barnard sat and watched the other two men carefully measure every room. They worked quickly and in silence before bidding everyone goodnight and hurrying out. Kate could hear them talking as they made their way down the stairs, Righton’s voice angry and Roman’s evidently soothing, and then the echoing sound of the front door slamming behind them. Barnard grinned.
‘I think it gave Lazlo Roman a bit of a shock to find a copper on his doorstep when I knocked,’ he said. ‘And Righton was furious. I thought he was going to hurl me down the front steps till Roman calmed him down.’
‘He’s not had a good time with the local police,’ Kate said. ‘None of them have. But do you know Mr Roman?’ Kate asked.
‘Oh yes, I’ve met him before. But to be fair, though everyone seems to assume he’s the new Rachman, I think he may not be quite as bad as that.’
‘He said he wouldn’t harass us, if we were out on the date we’ve been given,’ Kate said.
‘Well, I wouldn’t trust him an inch, if I were you,’ Barnard said. ‘It may just suit his book to be playing all hearts and flowers as the new landlord on the block. I’d get out of here as soon as you can.’ He looked at Kate consideringly. ‘Especially you,’ he said. ‘You’d better tell me exactly what went on tonight.’
The three of them listened in silence as Kate told them what had happened to her on the way home. When she had finished, there was a long silence before Marie moved to sit beside her and put an arm round her.
‘You’re all right,’ she said. ‘You’re safe now.’
Barnard’s face was set like stone and his eyes angry. ‘I’ll deal with that bastard,’ he said quietly. ‘I promise you that. In the meantime, now I’m here, what about this old dear who died in the basement. Have you seen her son again?’
‘Not since I saw him carting some of her treasures away. But he could well have emptied the place by now. We’re all out at work all day.’
‘Do you know where he lives? Is there an address on your rent book?’
Tess and Marie shook their heads. ‘We signed up through an agency but I noticed not long ago that they had closed down. I’ve no idea how to find him,’ Marie explained.
‘If his mother died in a diabetic coma it’s very odd that no one found any syringes or insulin in the place. I don’t think the local police bothered to search the flat properly but I guess we’re too late now to find anything to incriminate the son. He’ll have taken care to cover his traces, he’s had long enough.’
Kate hesitated. She had not told Barnard that she had taken an illicit snoop round Mrs Beauchamp’s flat and taken her diary. She fumbled under the sofa cushion where she usually put her pillow and bedding during the day and handed it to him.
‘I had another root around in the flat,’ she said. ‘Strictly illegal I’m sure. I didn’t find any insulin, but she did keep this diary and it shows that she saw her doctor regularly every two months. Look.’ She showed him the entries.
Barnard flicked to the last one, which indicated she had seen the doctor only three weeks ago. ‘If he was giving her insulin at every visit she shouldn’t have run out by the time she died,’ he said. ‘She should have had plenty left.’
Kate turned the pages back to Cecily’s appointment with her solicitor. ‘It would be interesting to kno
w what that was all about too,’ she said.
Barnard nodded. ‘Can I take this? I’ll see if I can track the doctor and the lawyer down,’ he asked.
Kate nodded. ‘That would be good, la,’ she said.
‘Come and have a drink,’ Barnard said, putting an arm round her shoulder briefly. ‘You can’t stay here brooding all evening.’
Kate smiled faintly. ‘All right,’ she said. He was right, she thought. The tiny flat was getting more and more oppressive, but although she was sure he would take her back to Highgate if she asked him, she did not want to take that drastic step, now or perhaps ever. It was a move too far and too fast.
They walked down the long staircase in silence and when they had closed the front door Barnard looked at her closely. ‘How did you get in?’ he asked, nodding at the basement door.
‘It was unlocked,’ she said. ‘I was surprised about that.’
‘Let’s take a quick gander,’ he said and headed down the steps, leaving Kate to follow. But this time the door was locked. She was not able to see quite how he resolved that problem but within seconds it had swung open and he urged her inside and closed it behind them and switched on the lights.
‘Come on,’ he said, glancing around the now half-stripped flat. ‘This will be the last chance we get. The son’s obviously moving stuff out bit by bit. He’s probably not going to bother with the furniture. It’s pretty tatty. He’s just taking anything of value. Where did you find the diary?’
Kate led the way into the bedroom and showed him the bedside drawer.
Barnard pulled it open and let out a whistle. ‘What’s all this then?’ he asked.
Kate looked past him to where several syringes and phials of liquid lay more or less exactly where the diary had been. ‘That wasn’t there,’ she said. ‘I looked in there, obviously, but I looked everywhere else as well. Even if the police didn’t search very thoroughly I certainly did. Miles Beauchamp must have put it in there on one of his visits. But why?’
‘To give the impression that his mother simply forgot to take it, I’d guess,’ Barnard said. ‘She was a careless old woman and ending up in a coma was no one’s fault but her own.’ He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and picked the paraphernalia carefully out of the drawer. ‘We should be able to find out who handled these last,’ he said. ‘If the fingerprints are the old woman’s then her son is probably off the hook. But if they’re his, he’s in deep trouble.’
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