Too frequently, memories of being snatched swilled around in her mind. One night in a dungeon beside a heap of coal was insignificant compared to Dan being behind bars for a lifetime. No, what plagued her continually was this thought: what if. What if she’d reached court? What if she’d testified during the trial? What if she’d made a difference? The difference. Would his parents have accepted her then? Worse still, what if Dan thought she’d abandoned him? This thought always brought tears and slackened her bowels and had her rushing to the bathroom.
The only person she found words for was Dan. Ironic, when he was out of reach. She’d written him a letter every day, pouring out her feelings, telling him that she’d desperately wanted to testify at his trial. The letters were filed in her drawer beside the bed. Every day she planned to get up and go out and post them all, to let Dan know that not a minute ever passed where he wasn’t pressing on her thoughts. That every heartbeat spent without him felt pointless. That she’d never give up on him. Never. That he mustn’t give up either. That she’d fight until he was free. FIGHT. She wrote the word in bold capitals and underlined it three times.
Stupid really, that she could scribble the word with so much energy that the paper almost tore – leaving ghost words imprinted on the book she rested on – but that in reality, she couldn’t even get dressed. Dan must never know that she was stalling like this, planning grand things without ever moving. He mustn’t ever find out that every day, shadowing every heavy thought, was the desire just to vanish away. She didn’t want him to discover that she’d hurt his parents. And he daren’t ever suspect that she was a fake and a coward, and that while all his choices had been stripped away, she was opting for self-pity from her bed.
Tomorrow. She’d post her letters tomorrow. No later.
***
‘Any news on Janes’s whereabouts, brothers?’
It was 4:30 a.m. Solomon was still at the club. He’d called a meeting with the Muscles and they were sitting in a semicircle, blood-shot eyes on him, passing yawns around. It was time for them to account for the lack of progress when it had been more than two weeks since he’d claimed Naomi from Janes and then demanded that his men sniff him out.
‘Knackered, boss. Can’t see straight let alone think.’
Solomon found Noel Beresford’s eyes. ‘How’s that an answer to my question?’
Beresford clenched his fists, flexing his biceps, stretching the tattoos on his arms. ‘Just sayin’.’
‘And I’m just saying that I want a report before you sign out tonight. Where’s Janes?’
‘Nothing to report,’ Damien Carter said. A few heads shook or nodded, all in agreement. ‘Maybe’s he’s skipped the country.’
‘No. He’s just out of prison. That wouldn’t be a smart move. He’ll be stoned somewhere, high on my money. And he’ll be renting a fancy penthouse or something. Got a thing for redheads when he isn’t out of it, so my dad used to say. Maybe you’ll get lucky, Noel.’
‘Urgh!’ Beresford scowled and ran a hand across the top of his head. He had cropped ginger hair, fair lashes and an infestation of freckles.
‘He’ll be spending, anyway. Big time.’ Solomon found his fists had clenched too. He consciously loosened up and rotated his neck. ‘Probably bought himself a nice car. It’s been a while since he had any freedom or fun. Why am I doing your job for you? Think. Get round your mates in the car and property rental business. Check drug suppliers we know. Bring me something to work with. Give me a reason to pay you.’
A few grunts. Why were they so dense? More like a random cluster of jungle animals.
Solomon nodded once, which meant that they could leave. He was tired of the sight of them anyway. He craved the kind of company that could stimulate him, mind and body. Test his intellect occasionally. Someone who hadn’t been toyed with endlessly by a pack of prowling men. One person ticked the boxes.
They stood in silence, raising their bulky, tired bodies off the chairs. They gathered jackets, jingled keys, looked longingly at the door before lumbering towards it. There was a security keypad. Carter made it there first and tapped out a four digit number and they herded out. The door would close on its own.
‘Lock up as you leave,’ Solomon instructed, as he had a thousand times. He’d never trust them to remember.
It was a windowless room. Solomon sat at a desk facing the wall and decided he could manage another hour on his computer, handling accounts. He booted it up and signed in and waited. Fine hairs began to prickle on the back of his neck. He had the sensation he was being watched before his screen flickered black, reflecting a person standing in the doorway, watching him.
Solomon switched into defence mode instantly, but resisted the impulse to swing round. No sudden moves. No time to get the gun from his safe either, deeply buried under the floorboards. He worked as if he hadn’t seen the person behind him and carefully drew a knife from the top pocket of his suit like it might have been a pen. He flicked it up and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. Knives created mess.
‘Word has it you’re looking for me,’ said a voice.
Solomon stiffened, then stood and turned. A big guy stood looking at him, a stranger, framed by the doorway, early-to-mid forties, dark hair, the beginnings of a beard. ‘Whose word?’
The guy shrugged. ‘Put the knife down, Vincent.’
‘Or else?’
‘You don’t need it. Neither of us want you to use it.’
Solomon clung to it anyway. ‘How did you get in here?’
He laughed now. ‘I’ve been in here since midnight, right under the noses of your tough guys. They’re useless, all of them. Thought I’d snoop around a bit, see who’s looking for me. Your guys have been in and out of this room tonight. 2604 the security number? Saw them use it. Your dad’s birthday, Vincent, isn’t it. He’d be touched. He really would.’
‘You have some balls coming here.’
‘Two, last time I counted. They serve me well enough.’ Solomon glared at him. The guy said, ‘So, what are you after?’
Solomon hesitated. He really didn’t like surprises or how they left him without words.
‘You can’t believe I’m here in your den, can you, Vincent. Well, I ain’t gonna run from you. Someone’s on the prowl after me, I want to know who it is and what they want. I’ve done fifteen years behind bars. I ain’t gonna be scared of my cellmate’s lad, I’m going to be wondering just why he’s so keen to save the skin of the daughter of the guy who banged his old man in the slammer.’
Vincent retracted the blade and put the knife on the desk. ‘I want her,’ he said. ‘Simple.’
‘You want her? How?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Your old man was my mate. I had Hamilton just where Jimmy wanted him,’ Janes said.
‘Not your battle,’ Solomon said. This guy was trespassing on his patch in multiple ways. ‘I already had Hamilton exactly where my dad wanted him long before you stepped in, right on my toes.’
Janes cocked an eyebrow. ‘Two birds with one stone. I get even for Jimmy and cash in on the girl. All ex-cons need money.’
‘So don’t pretend you were on a hero’s mission for my dad. I had Henry by the balls and I’m going to have his daughter. I really should plunge this knife in your gut. You moved in unnecessarily and made me part with two million. Self-serving, all the way.’
Janes smirked. ‘Fair trade, I’d say. You’re not having a penny of it back. Hamilton would have paid if you hadn’t. In fact, if I’d thought the pair of you were going to haggle over the girl, I’d have made it four million.’
‘How do you know I put up my own money?’
He smirked. ‘I worked it out. Unlike those dumb guys you just sent home to bed, I have a brain.’ He pointed to his head. ‘I have two degrees and I’ve had fifteen years to do nothing but educate myself, bulk up. And think. No one risks their life like that and collects a girl for a ransom unless they’re dicing with their own money for their own a
genda.’ He paused to scratch his head. ‘I’m thinking you must want her pretty badly. Mmm? You’d better hope I don’t take her again. It’ll be double the fee next time.’ He grinned.
Solomon’s fingers were twitching for the knife. He could feel a migraine approaching. There was a soft shimmering motion in his peripheral vision. ‘I’ll kill you if you attempt anything else.’
Janes laughed. ‘Unless I kill you first.’
Solomon studied him and found no fear at all. Interesting.
Janes said, ‘Why wait, Vincent? If that’s the way it is, let’s clear things up right here and now. Don’t send your wolves packing. Be a man, like your pa. Bring your fancy knife over here and take your best shot at me. That’s what he’d have done.’
Solomon collected his knife from the desk without taking his eyes off Janes. He strode towards him. Janes didn’t move, not a twitch. His body language said, come and get me. One arm was limp by his side, the other was at a right angle, sprawled out against the frame. There was nothing in his hands and not a spark of worry or discomfort crossed his face.
Solomon stopped two paces from him and held the handle of the knife up. ‘See this? Harkins Triton. One of the world’s best automatic knives.’
‘Ah, the Harkins,’ Janes said. ‘Three and a half inch blade, fine steel. Could slice through a tree trunk. Retail price best part of three hundred quid? Great knife, that. Blade shines like a mirror. Can carve through flesh as easily as running through butter.’
Solomon was impressed and intrigued simultaneously, but grudgingly so. His expression remained impassive. ‘Indeed.’ Solomon could see the small and perfect circles of Janes’ pupils now, surrounded by pale hazel eye colouring. A flick of his thumb on a switch and the blade stabbed the air. Janes didn’t blink.
‘What’s going on here, then?’ Charlie’s voice behind Janes. Solomon had forgotten she was still here. ‘What’s with the knife, Vincent?’
‘We were just admiring it,’ Janes said. ‘It’s razor sharp and entirely deadly. Boys will have their toys you know.’ He turned with complete confidence away from Solomon and eyed Charlie for a while. She was wearing a tiny black skirt with a transparent pale cream blouse. Dark underwear. Her standard uniform. Solomon was looking at Janes’s broad back that narrowed to his waist. He pictured the guy’s eyes all over his sister and imagined how long it had been since he’d . . . Solomon’s grip tightened on the handle. It had been a long time for him too. He fantasised about slamming the knife into his back. ‘You have to be Charlie.’
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Mate of your dad’s. Reggie Janes.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Charlie slid a glance at Solomon, over Janes’s shoulder. The look said, He’s come here? To us! She was instantly impressed. Solomon was just as immediately incensed.
Janes continued to watch Charlie. ‘Your dad never told me . . . well let’s say the only photo I’ve ever seen of you didn’t do you justice. Not even nearly.’
Charlie eyed Janes carefully now. ‘Sweet-talker as well, are we?’
Solomon’s irritation nudged up a notch. It was her outrageously flirty tone. She was touching her hair now and doing that infuriating thing she did with her lips when she wanted something – jutting them out a bit, lips parted.
Janes, ‘As well as what?’
She looked up, above his eyes, acknowledging his height without words. Then her gaze ran over his arms. She looked about ready to eat them. ‘Let’s say you’re not so bad yourself.’
He nodded, the arrogant arse.
‘Janes was just leaving,’ Solomon interrupted.
Janes didn’t turn. ‘Is he always this polite?’ he asked Charlie. Who laughed. Laughed! Solomon thought how easy it would be to throw the knife into his back and send him toppling into Charlie, knocking her over like a domino. He pictured it and wet his lips.
‘Tell you what, Vincent, let’s test them and have some fun,’ Janes said, finally dragging his eyes away from Charlie and doing an about-turn.
Solomon lifted an aggravated eyebrow.
‘I’m going to leave a trail of clues as to my whereabouts. Let’s see if your boys can find me. We’ll give them a couple of weeks, shall we? Until then,’ he raised a forefinger to his lips, ‘shhh. Not a word. I’ll be back here after the test. If your boys try and hurt me I will leave them with permanent injuries, OK? Fair warning.’ He pointed at Vincent. ‘Nice shirt, by the way. Your pa said you had taste. You’ll have to share your wardrobe secrets next time I’m here. I’m ready for classy gear after parading prison fashion for years. And I’ve just come into money.’
Charlie laughed again and Janes turned and brushed slowly past her in the narrow corridor as he left.
‘I’ll use the fire door just here,’ he called.
Solomon found he was still gripping the knife and holding it out. He felt supremely stupid and lowered his arm before Charlie saw him. It was just as well that she was too absorbed in Janes’s enthralling exit to concentrate on him. The door crept shut, blocking Charlie from his view.
He heard Charlie punching the key pad, then the door bounced open again.
‘Oh I like him,’ she said, as soon as Solomon came into view. ‘I want him.’
‘Really?’ Solomon retracted the blade of the knife and put it in his pocket. ‘I’d never have guessed.’
She smiled as if it was midday in midsummer, no hint that it was 4:45 in the morning on a frosty April night. Solomon felt tired, suddenly. Horribly weary right through to his bones. His headache would only get worse. He collected his jacket from a coat hook on the door. He’d go home, allow himself one whisky, then take some pills and sleep for as long as he could.
‘Can I have him?’
Solomon flipped the light switch off and secured the door. ‘No. He’s going to suffer. He took Naomi and he conned me out of money.’
‘He outdid you, you mean.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Let me have him.’
‘I want him found. I want to know where he held Naomi, what he did. I want to know where he lives and what he eats for breakfast.’
‘Me too,’ she said, a dreamy look in her eyes.
‘He’ll disappear,’ Solomon said. ‘We’ll have to hunt him down now.’
‘I could follow him . . .’
‘No,’ Vincent snapped. He didn’t want Charlie anywhere near Janes.
‘Anyway, he’ll come back,’ she said, turning, beaming at him over her shoulder. ‘I guarantee that he’ll be back.’
‘His preference is for redheads, so I’m told.’
‘Redheads?’ A minor pause. ‘I can do red.’
‘Not shallow at all.’
‘Hey! I’m due a change. You know me and bright colours. Collar and cuffs won’t match, but –’
‘Information – too much of. Does it concern you that he’s an ex-con and could be dangerous?’
‘Dangerous?’ She laughed again and shook her fingers through her hair, bouncing ahead of him in her micro skirt, her calves a pair of skin-covered sculptured rocks on the back of her legs. ‘Oh Vincent!’ She glanced round at him again, pushing her hair off her face. ‘You’re hilarious sometimes.’
23
Naomi’s tomorrow came six days later, after Annabel had found her lost in another letter to Dan. Annabel came to her room every day, several times. She’d sit on the edge of the bed and speak gently. Anything I can get you to eat? How are you now? Shall we do something today? Have you heard about Lorie? Bled to death. Sure you’re OK? Sure you don’t want to talk? Worried about you. What’s that you’re writing?
Naomi’s responses had been so slow that day and her thoughts so distant, she hadn’t hidden the paper and pen when Annabel had come in.
She looked down and saw a half-written note containing desperate words. ‘It’s for Dan. I write to him every day.’ Why deny it?
‘Oh.’ Annabel rubbed the base of her spine and arched her back, which reminded Naomi she was heavily pregnant. It was possible in this frame
of mind, to forget. ‘All the mail is read before the prisoners get it, you know.’
This won Naomi’s attention. She stiffened. ‘No, I didn’t know. That’s outrageous.’
‘For security. Joel’s been telling me all about it. He seems to know quite a bit. He knew someone who was in prison once.’ A short silence. ‘Anyway, don't write anything you don’t want anyone else to read.’
Naomi shrugged, thinking back to thousands of written words, all of them a blur now. ‘I love Dan and he’s innocent. I don’t ever want him to lose sight of that. That’s what I tell him. I don’t really care who else knows.’
‘Has he written back?’
‘I haven’t posted any of them. They’re piling up in my drawer. I haven’t found the energy to –’
‘Why don’t you give them to me? I’ll post them for you.’
Naomi’s eyes swam. A gentle tone was all it took lately. A show of kindness. She felt relieved at first. Dan would get his letters and she could stay in bed. But the relief ebbed away. She couldn’t hold onto it. Something fiery began to work through her, making the bed feel too warm and the room airless. Making her want to stand.
She shook her head. ‘No! Thanks, but I’ve got to do this myself. Dan’s in prison, Annie.’ Said as if it was a revelation.
‘Yeah.’
‘Prison!’ she said to the room. No matter how many times she ran over the word, it never quite seemed real.
Annabel’s eyes filled now too. ‘I know.’
‘Can you imagine what it’s like for him in there? And he’s innocent. I do nothing but imagine it.’
Annabel didn’t move or speak.
Naomi added, ‘Solomon’s behind this. Obviously. The police are doing nothing. And I’m lying here doing nothing too. I hate myself!’
‘Don’t.’ Annabel’s tone was loaded with sympathy. ‘What can you do?’
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