by Jessie Keane
‘Well, fuck your luck. I do.’
Annie turned, confronting him. She let out a sigh.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Come on.’
‘I saw a change come over him,’ she said. ‘He loved reliving his old glory days, when he was Il Papa, sending Lucco and Alberto out, his caporegimes, to pass on his orders to the capos and the foot soldiers on the streets of New York. He liked to talk about his family back in Sicily, all the things that had happened over his lifetime. As time went on, he changed a lot. The hookers didn’t come any more. He stopped trying to get me drunk. He just wanted to talk – about the past, mostly.’
‘And . . . ?’ he prompted.
‘Over five years I saw it happen. He didn’t take care of his appearance any more. He became vague. A bit confused. Max . . .’ Annie looked at him earnestly. ‘The thing you seem to have forgotten here? He’s thirty years older than me. When I married him, New York was scandalized because of the age gap, but he was still a young, vigorous man. And now he’s old, Max. You know what he wanted from me, more than anything, at the end of the day? He wanted my company.’
Max was silent, his eyes on her face.
‘It shocked me, realizing he was growing old,’ she went on. ‘But I couldn’t miss it. His shoulders started to stoop, his hair was growing thinner. He liked to talk, sometimes he liked me to read to him. That crack you made about playing board games? Sometimes, that’s what we did. Chess, or card games. Just passing the time. Things like that.’ She frowned. ‘And then it happened, and I realized what was going on with him.’
‘What?’
‘We were clearing the chessboard one day and he said to me, “You were never much of a player, Gina.”’
‘He mistook you for his sister?’
‘He did. I said to him, don’t you mean Annie? And then he said that he’d said Annie, what was I talking about. He got very angry. Almost aggressive.’
‘Go on.’
‘The next time I visited, he called me Maria – that was his first wife’s name. I queried it again, and he got angry again. He said what the fuck was I talking about? And then he asked me where Nico was, he said he kept asking that housekeeper woman where he was, but she didn’t know.’
‘Nico?’ Max frowned. ‘Who the fuck’s Nico?’
‘Nico used to be Constantine’s right-hand man. He died in the early seventies.’
Max stared at her. ‘That was the one who hid Layla when she was a kid, right? The one who got hit outside the Palermo.’
‘Yeah,’ said Annie sadly. ‘That’s him.’
‘You’re saying Constantine’s been going senile?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. And that’s what makes what you think so fucking stupid. At the beginning, yeah, maybe he tried it on. Or thought he would. But within a couple of years, that was right off the agenda. I pitied him, Max. I went there to keep him company because it was clear how lonely he was. Alberto couldn’t visit very often, it was too risky. So I went there. The castle, all that grandeur, it was just another prison. And I was just a visitor.’
Max’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her face. ‘So it was all very close, you and Constantine up there playing cards and discussing ancient history.’
‘It was OK for a while, yes. I hated the deception, Max, I really did. I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t.’
‘So you say.’
‘I do say. It was pitiful to see, Max. He was forever asking after people who died long ago, forgetting they were dead. And there were other things: a change in his character, a shortness of temper. He just wasn’t Constantine any more. And then, six months ago, it got to the point where he didn’t know me at all. He barely spoke to me, and if he did it was to ask, “Who the hell are you?” He’s not the Don any more, he’s just a confused old man.’
Max said nothing.
‘It seemed pointless to keep going there, so I stopped. And now . . .’
‘Now what?’
‘He’s asked to see me again. He wants me to go.’
‘Like fuck you are,’ said Max, and grabbed her wrist, spinning her round to face him and pulling her in close against his body.
Annie gasped in surprise. His grip hurt, it was so hard. ‘I know you don’t believe me, but—’
‘Don’t I? Maybe I wouldn’t believe that shit about him losing his marbles, if I hadn’t seen his sister.’
Annie’s eyes widened in realization as they stared up at his face. ‘That was it then? I couldn’t work out why Gina would have done that, broken the code. So that’s why.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Could that be a family thing? Passed down, father to son, mother to daughter . . . ?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘I know you don’t want to hear this,’ said Annie. ‘But you know what? It’s heartbreaking to see him like that. Once he was so powerful. Now he’s just . . . nothing. You’ve no idea.’
‘Yeah, I have. Remember – I saw Gina.’
‘You’re hurting my wrist.’
Max stared into her eyes for a long time, then he let her go. Annie went back over to the bed, sat on the side of it, pulling her robe in tight around her.
‘I really can’t tell you anything else,’ she said tiredly.
‘What, and you think I’m leaving it there? I haven’t finished with you yet. Not by a bloody long chalk.’
89
Max came over to the bed too, sat down on the edge of it, and looked at her.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘So first he tries to force you to stay, then he starts trying to get you drunk, and then he was showing you what you were missing?’ said Max. ‘And then . . .’
‘Yeah.’
‘. . . you’re telling me he got confused. Lost it. Like his sister.’
‘That’s right.’
He was silent, watching her face. It was unnerving. Then he said: ‘So what’s with the sheets? And the robe?’
‘What?’
Max flicked a finger at the robe she was holding up to her chin. ‘This. Every time I’ve been in here, you’ve done this. Pulled the sheets – or this damned thing – up like a Victorian virgin, like I haven’t seen everything you’ve got to show about a thousand times before.’
She couldn’t answer that. The only truthful answer was that she was trying to hide the bruises and the strapping from him; she didn’t want or need his sympathy.
‘You were so angry, the first time you came in here,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I just felt . . . defensive, I suppose. Under threat.’
‘But now you don’t?’
‘Not so much, no.’
‘Because you think you’ve softened me up.’
‘I don’t think that.’
‘Yeah, you do. Sitting there with those big innocent eyes.’
‘Max – I am innocent.’
‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you. So let go of the robe.’
Annie sighed and let the robe go at her throat. Max’s eyes went there and stayed there, on the faint finger-shaped bruises. ‘Shit. Did I do that?’
Annie nodded.
‘Untie it,’ ordered Max.
Annie looked at him in consternation. But what the hell. If she refused, he’d only rip the damned thing off her, she knew it. Slowly, deliberately, she untied the sash on the robe so that it hung loose.
‘Take it off,’ he said.
With a heavy sigh, Annie slipped the robe off her shoulders. She sat there, naked, while his eyes roamed over her.
‘What the fuck’s this?’ asked Max, staring at the strapping around her ribcage and the purple bruises above it.
‘It’s . . .’ Annie started, wondering what the hell she could say. ‘I fell. An accident,’ she said. She didn’t want to go into all this, not now.
Max stared at her face. Then his gaze dipped again to the strapping. He reached out, touched the bruised skin above it.
‘Some fall,’ he said. ‘What’s the damage?’
‘Yeah, it was. It cracked
a rib.’
Max stiffened. ‘Holy shit. When I slapped you up against that wall at Mum’s old place, you had this then?’
She nodded again.
‘That must have hurt like a bastard.’
‘It did. But not as much as having you think I’d been fucking around.’
His hand drifted up, cupped her right breast.
‘Max . . .’ she said.
‘Shut up,’ said Max, and his other hand took the left breast, cupped it, rubbed against it. Annie’s nipples sprang erect and a low-level ache of desire started in the pit of her stomach. When the phone began ringing, she could have hurled it across the room. Max stopped what he was doing. After a moment to steady herself, Annie reached out gingerly and picked the damned thing up.
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘I’ve found him,’ said Jackie’s trembling voice. ‘I’m not . . . I don’t . . .’
‘Slow down, Jackie. Take a breath. Tell me where.’
‘Essex way.’
The last time she’d seen Redmond, it had been on the Essex marshes.
‘Give me the address.’ Annie pulled a writing pad and pencil off the table and on to the bed. ‘Go on.’
Jackie sounded breathless, panicky. ‘Here’s the address, it’s . . .’
Jackie spoke quickly and Annie wrote it down. He sounded sober, and the stark terror in his voice alarmed her.
‘Where are you, Jackie? Right now?’
‘I’m in a phone box outside. It’s dark, there’s a wood on one side, it’s out in the sticks. I think . . . I thought I saw something move just now. Over the other side of the road. I’m sure it was him, and he sort of stared over here, and he grinned.’
Annie felt a shudder of unease go straight through her as she pictured Jackie standing there like a sacrificial goat with Redmond Delaney stalking around outside. She clamped down on her own rising anxiety and said clearly: ‘Jackie. Get back in the car. Lock the doors. Get the fuck out of there.’
‘I dunno, maybe I’ll sit it out a bit longer, but I don’t know—’
‘Jackie. Listen to me. Get out of there.’
‘Oh shit. Oh holy fuck.’
‘What?’ Annie’s fingers clenched so hard on the phone that it hurt. Max was watching her, frowning. ‘Jackie, what? What’s happening?’
‘It is him. He’s coming over.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Annie, and Max snatched the phone.
‘Jackie? You heard what she said. Get out of there,’ he said.
Annie was craning her head close to Max’s to hear what was going on. They both heard a sound like a kiosk door being opened – and then a scuffling and a hideous, nerve-prickling noise. Tough-nut Jackie Tulliver was screaming like a wounded baby.
‘Jackie!’ shouted Annie, but there was no answer. The scream died away to a thin cry, and then there was silence except for the steady muted background noise of a car engine running nearby.
‘Jackie?’ said Max into the mouthpiece.
Nothing.
90
Max put the phone back on to the cradle, looked at the address she’d scribbled down, then picked up the phone again. Waited.
‘Steve?’ he said. ‘We just had a call from Jackie Tulliver, he’s in the shit. Go to . . .’ Max reeled off the address. ‘He was in his motor, watching Redmond Delaney’s place, but it sounds like Delaney dragged him out of a phone box near there.’
Annie eased herself off the bed and started putting on the clothes she’d worn yesterday.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Max.
‘Coming with you.’
‘No, you’re not.’
Annie stopped moving. ‘Yes, I am. I asked him to find Redmond.’
‘Why, for fuck’s sake?’
‘Because it was the Delaney mob who Dolly asked to do a hit on her dad. Turns out he died in a railway accident, but I’m thinking, was it an accident? I don’t know, but Redmond can give answers to that. Max, this is my mess, not yours.’
Max let out a sigh. ‘Well, hurry the fuck up then,’ he said.
When they got to the address Jackie had given them, Steve was already there, standing beside Jackie’s old car. The empty phone kiosk was ten yards away. There were large detached houses on this side of the road, and a dense stretch of oak woodland on the other. Jackie’s car engine was still running, headlights blaring; the driver’s door was open, the light inside the car was on. Steve took out a heavy-duty torch from his own car.
‘There’s no blood in here,’ said Annie, peering into the car’s messy interior. Jackie’s car reflected its owner’s character; outside it was OK, but inside it was littered with sweet wrappings, empty beer cans, carrier bags and inches of dust, leaves and other crap.
‘I’ll have a look around,’ said Steve, and went off first to the phone booth and then into the wooded darkness on the other side of the road.
Annie looked at Max. ‘What if Redmond took him inside the house?’
‘Why would he do that? Just as likely Steve’s going to trip over Jackie, stiff as a board and stone-dead any minute, back there.’
‘Christ.’ Annie shuddered. If Jackie was dead, then it was her fault. ‘You heard Jackie screaming, same as I did.’
‘That might not have been Delaney.’
‘Bullshit.’ Annie leaned against the warm bonnet of the car, her legs shaking. Her hands were shaking too. That soul-chilling scream had sent a bolt of fear right through her – fear for Jackie. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, Max wrapped it around his fingers and leaned in and switched the engine off, then took the keys out of the ignition. The lights went out as Max closed the car door and locked it, wiped the keyhole, pocketed the keys. Annie pushed herself away from the car and started walking.
‘Where you going?’ said Max.
‘Where do you think?’
Max came and placed himself in front of her. ‘No, you’re not.’
‘Look – if he did this—’ she started, stepping around him.
Max grabbed her arm. ‘You don’t know he’s done anything.’
‘I know he’s fucking evil. I know that.’
Steve came back, the torch throwing a wavering cone of white in front of him. He reached them and flicked off the torch. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘The phone was off the hook, that’s all. No sign of a struggle.’
‘He could be inside the house. We can’t just go,’ said Annie, shaking her head as if to clear it. ‘Jackie’s done what I asked, he’s found Redmond. We’re here. So you can do what you fucking well like, but I’m going over there and I’m going to speak to him.’
Redmond himself opened the door. Not a housekeeper, not a servant, not a henchman – although there was a man coming in through the back door into the kitchen at the end of the hall when they arrived at Redmond’s house. He was tall, stooping, dark-haired, scruffy and mean-eyed.
Annie was instantly struck by how little Redmond had changed since she’d seen him last. He still had those killer-cold green eyes, that long, pale, perfectly symmetrical face, the neatly trimmed red hair. Last time she’d seen him he was wearing a priest’s cassock; this time he was in dark slacks and an expensive-looking cream shirt. He was devastatingly attractive as always.
Annie thought of all that he had been in the past, and all that Jackie had told her about Redmond and the female parishioners. And she was suddenly very glad that she had Max and Steve standing right behind her. The sight of Redmond gave her the dry heaves.
‘Mrs Carter! And Mr Carter, I see. And a friend too. What a pleasant surprise,’ said Redmond smoothly.
‘Cut the fucking bullshit, Redmond,’ said Max, before Annie could open her mouth. ‘Where’s Jackie Tulliver?’
‘I sent Jackie to find you,’ said Annie.
‘Did you?’ Redmond looked perfectly composed, the picture of innocence. ‘Please, come in.’
Feeling like a fly stepping on to a spider’s web, Annie crossed the threshold of Redmond Delaney’s home.
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Is Jackie in here somewhere? she wondered. The same thought was obviously crossing Steve and Max’s minds, because Steve said, ‘Mind if I take a look around the place?’
Redmond shrugged, seeming perfectly relaxed. Whether he said yes or no, it was obvious Steve was going to do it anyway. ‘Of course. Although you won’t find your missing friend here, I’m afraid.’
Steve didn’t reply, he just left the room. They could hear his footfalls as he climbed up to the first floor, could hear the old boards creaking as he moved about up there.
‘Please – sit down,’ said Redmond.
‘I’ll stand, thanks,’ said Max. He planted himself against the wall beside the door and pulled out a gun and pointed it in Redmond’s direction.
Redmond’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but he made no comment.
‘This is Mitchell,’ said Redmond, as the stooping man came into the room, sent a long look at Max and the gun, and took up a position on the other side of the door. ‘He keeps house for me. Sees to things. You know. Mrs Carter . . . ?’ Redmond indicated a seat on the other side of the fire.
Annie sat down, and so did he. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly thick with a palpable air of menace.
‘What did you want to find me for, Mrs Carter?’ asked Redmond.
‘My friend’s been killed. Dolly Farrell,’ said Annie bluntly.
‘Killed? What, you mean an accident?’
‘No accident. She was shot in her flat over the Palermo club. She was managing it for us, for the Carters.’
‘I see. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Carter, but I don’t understand how you expect me to help with this.’
‘You knew Dolly – didn’t you?’ asked Annie.
‘Oh, from years back. She was an acquaintance, occasionally an employee, back then.’
‘In the Limehouse knocking shop,’ she said, remembering that Redmond’s language was always formal and polite. He might be an arsehole, but you’d never guess it when you spoke to him.
‘That’s correct,’ he said.
‘Her father abused her.’
Redmond was silent for a long while. Then he said: ‘Yes. I knew about that.’
‘And Dolly asked the Delaney family to do away with her father.’