Boiling Point

by Frank Lean

  ‘And you’ve been discussing me with him?’

  ‘Not really, he’s blackmailing me.’

  ‘But he knows enough to suggest that Brandon was having sex with me. You can tell him that I’d rather cut the old sod’s throat with a rusty razor than accuse him of that. He’s puritanical, is Brandon. The only woman he ever showed a spark of interest in was his wife, Seraphina.’

  ‘Seraphina?’ I repeat. ‘Sounds Italian.’

  ‘She was. Italian by way of a fruit and veg shop in Ancoats. Her family used to organise the Italian processions in Manchester. Seraphina was always talking about those days and teasing Brandon – he’s of Italian extraction too. Carlyle’s not the original family name.’

  ‘Oh,’ I muttered.

  ‘Brandon took it hard when Seraphina died. The stubborn old devil should have handed over the reins then. Not that he gave Seraphina an easy life, with all those kids – five boys and five girls, and she lost some too, but she had a really big heart. They all bicker and fight now but there was love there when we were kids. Seraphina was the only real mother I’ve ever known. My own doesn’t want to know me.’

  Suddenly Marti’s mood seemed to change. She turned to me.

  ‘You want me for myself, don’t you, Dave?’ she asked. From the quaver in her voice I sensed that tears weren’t far away. Hard as nails on the outside, Marti was still as vulnerable as that child who’d been abandoned.

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said. I took her in my arms. She was warm but the bed suddenly felt cold and slick against my skin.

  ‘Hold me for a while,’ she said. ‘I expect you think I’m just a sex maniac.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ I protested hollowly. I felt rotten.

  ‘You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with apart from Charlie.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Guilt was battering at me like the monsoon rain rattling against our window. It sounded more like the tropics than London.

  ‘You haven’t just come here so that you can use me, have you?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t want to use you, Marti. I don’t want to use anyone. I admit that I want to find out what’s going on and that I came to ask you questions, but I didn’t come here expecting to . . .’

  ‘Lay me, that’s what the lads say, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not a lad.’

  ‘You’re a good-looking guy, Dave. I expect you get lots of offers.’

  ‘No, I’m . . .’ I said, then shut up when I realised what I was going to say.

  ‘You’re attached to Ironpants and her children. You’re already spoken for, aren’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t quite put it like that. Janine values her independence.’

  ‘She’s a fool. I’d change places with her in a second, but I’m not going to get the chance, am I?’

  Again I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

  ‘At least you’re honest, Dave,’ she said with a sniff, ‘but this man Harrow, he sounds like a pig. I’d hate to think that all this evening means to you is the chance to do his dirty work for him.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I said hastily. ‘I’m sorry, Marti, I told Clyde his idea was stupid but he wants to pull Brandon down. He’s obsessed. The man eats, sleeps and dreams with thoughts of taking over Brandon’s spot at Alhambra TV.’

  ‘Don’t we all,’ she sighed, ‘but not like that. The business would lose millions. How’s he blackmailing you? Those killings you did, I suppose?’

  ‘No, will you get that idea out of your head? Was it you who told Brandon about that?’

  ‘I may have mentioned it. He was getting heavy with Charlie and me about the hit on Lou Olley. I had to say something. He’s really worried about you. Your father’s the only copper who’s ever given him a fright. He thinks you’re out to get him.’

  ‘And when did you discuss all this?’

  ‘When we met to work out the divorce settlement. Thanks to you I had a few cards in my hand. Brandon believes that Charlie was involved with the hit, but I know he wasn’t.’

  ‘Because you arranged it?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ she laughed. ‘No, seriously, it wasn’t me. I’d like people to think I’m capable but it wasn’t me.’ I felt the gloom lifting as Marti recovered her sense of humour.

  ‘Then who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know. The main thing is that Brandon thinks it was Charlie and he’s willing to pay me plenty to back up Charlie’s alibi if necessary. I’ve already had the first instalment.’

  I lifted her chin up and looked straight into those green eyes. How could I know if she was telling the truth? I was tempted to believe her. Marti didn’t give a damn. If she’d killed Olley, she’d have admitted it.

  ‘You haven’t told me why this Harrow is blackmailing you.’

  ‘Forget him. It’s just this media madness. If you must know, he’s threatening to make me a figure of fun on his TV channel. It’ll wreck any chance I have of turning my business into a success.’

  ‘I don’t know that it would,’ she replied slowly, ‘but I can stop it if you like. A call to Brandon and Alhambra will reschedule Clyde Harrow and his funnies to four in the morning. But maybe you’re right. Some of these media people never give up once they get their knife into someone. Some of them think they’re the King of Italy, the Queen of England and the Pope rolled into one big salami, as Seraphina used to say.’

  ‘There is no King of Italy now.’

  ‘I hate change,’ she said with a laugh. ‘If only we could stay here for ever,’ and then she sighed again and kissed me.

  ‘We’d get a bit cramped,’ I retorted. ‘I can’t make you out. You want to get rid of Brandon yet you’re still in touch and everything.’

  ‘Brandon’s successful,’ she said with her eyes glittering. ‘He’s got money and power and influence. They all last a lot longer than love, cara mia.’ To emphasise her remark she pinched the lobe of my ear.

  ‘Ouch!’ I spluttered.

  ‘All I’ve ever wanted is for Brandon to move over and let Charlie have some room at the top, but he won’t budge.’

  ‘How sweet of you. You’ve already said that a bullet in the head is the only way to get rid of him and that Charlie’s tried to arrange an accident for him.’

  ‘Don’t be thick, Dave. I don’t want to kill Brandon. That would wreck the business. I want him to gradually hand things over to Charlie and me . . .’

  ‘Particularly to you.’

  ‘What’s so wrong with that? The idea of him having an accident with the door was that he’d have to let Charlie run things for a while. It’s just a matter of financial realities. If Brandon pops his clogs tonight the Carlyle Corporation is finished, but if he doesn’t hand over soon it’ll collapse anyway. He’s not the man he was.’

  ‘So it’s all a power struggle between you and Brandon. Don’t you care who gets hurt? What about Sam Levy?’

  ‘Yes, what about him?’ she echoed.

  ‘You say I’m thick, and I probably am, but can’t you understand? Somebody else has decided to join in your little game, somebody even less scrupulous than you and Brandon, and I’m not the only one they’re interested in. According to your sleazy pal Paul Longstreet . . .’

  ‘Don’t be such a prude!’ she snapped. ‘You’ve never even met Paul.’

  ‘Will you shut up? According to Longstreet, a couple of heavies were at his place asking for you.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Today, I mean yesterday afternoon. They must be the same people who did over my place in Manchester. They’re looking for something. They think we’ve got it and they’re not too fussy about how they find it.’

  Marti sat up. She didn’t say a word. Then she got out of bed and began getting dressed. Her movements were quick but there was no sign of panic.

  ‘Now what?’ I asked.

  ‘You should have told me that the instant you arrived,’ she said. ‘Why do you think I didn’t trust the m
ail or the phone?’ She looked at her watch. ‘We could have been well clear by now.’

  ‘Clear of what? You know something, don’t you?’

  ‘Dave, all I know is, we’ve got to get away. Now, this minute. Don’t you understand? If they followed you they could be here any time.’

  36

  MARTI WENT OVER to the window and gently moved the curtain to peek out into the street. Relinquishing our sweat-soaked sheets, I stood behind her. It was still raining heavily. The sodium lamps gleamed over pools of water in the streets.

  ‘They’re there,’ she gasped. ‘Look, two of them.’ She grabbed my hand and pulled me until my eyes were on the same level as hers. ‘Fifth car along on the right. Can’t you see them?’

  Sure enough, a white van about a thirty yards away was occupied. Water was streaming down the windscreen but behind it two blurred white blobs were visible. The street lights behind the car silhouetted them. They were facing in our direction.

  ‘We’ve got to get out. They might come to kill us,’ she said quickly. She drew the curtain back into place. ‘Don’t just stand there admiring yourself,’ she snarled. ‘Work out some way for us to escape!’

  I was already pulling my clothes on. Marti dashed over to her closet and hauled down two even larger cases than she’d had at the Renaissance in Manchester and began frantically cramming her designer clothes into them. I opened the flat door to reconnoitre the hallway. Further along the corridor was the door to another ground-floor flat, and a stairway led up to the first-floor flat.

  ‘Do you know the people in the other flats?’ I asked when I came back.

  ‘I’ve only been here a few days,’ she grunted as she struggled with the suitcases. ‘Dave, it’s your last chance now. Leave Ironpants and come and live with me.’

  I shook my head.

  Then I took another very cautious look outside. There was no way for us to get into the street from the front door without being seen. All kinds of thoughts went through my mind. I could make a diversion, try and tackle the two in the car and give Marti a chance to get away. That idea went out of my head when I turned round to see that she’d started packing another couple of cases.

  ‘Do you think you need a Pickford’s van?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not leaving any of this stuff,’ she said fiercely. ‘You’ve got to get us out of here.’

  ‘Get us out? We’re not even going to be able to carry this.’

  ‘I’d rather die now than give up my clothes,’ she insisted, still relentlessly cramming clothes into cases.

  ‘Maybe that can be arranged,’ I told her. I tried the two largest cases. They weren’t exceptionally heavy but the idea of fleeing into the stormy night burdened by four suitcases was so crazy that I didn’t know why I was even considering it. I looked at Marti’s determined face for a clue. She meant it all right. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘Only one case,’ I insisted.

  ‘Come on, Dave,’ she coaxed. ‘You must be used to dealing with situations like this.’

  ‘Just the one!’

  She pouted at me.

  ‘Who’s in the top flat?’ I asked.

  ‘A young couple, and they have a West Highland terrier.’

  ‘That rules them out, then.’

  ‘I think it’s an old man in the other ground-floor flat. He has the garden to himself.’

  ‘He’s favourite. Lend me your credit card. We’ll have to get out through his back garden.’

  ‘Wait,’ she ordered. She bent down and began fishing under the bed.

  ‘Don’t say you’ve forgotten your slippers.’

  ‘No just this,’ she giggled, pulling out a large packet. It was full of money. ‘Help yourself to a credit card,’ she offered. ‘I’ve found cash is best if you don’t want to be found.’ She then took a mobile phone out of the bag and transferred it and the money to the pockets of her coat.

  I snatched her Gold Mastercard off her and set to work on the Yale lock of her neighbour’s door. Marti started hauling her cases out into the hall. By the time I had the door open she’d got two cases out.

  I pushed one back inside the flat.

  ‘Bastard!’ she whispered.

  I put my head round the door I’d just opened. A thunderous snoring noise came from a bedroom to one side of the entrance. I opened the door wider and discovered a passage leading through to a French window that opened onto the garden. Fortunately the area was carpeted. The snoring never faltered.

  ‘You’d think the noise we were making would have woken him up,’ I whispered. Marti grabbed the door lock, but I pulled her away while I checked for alarms.

  At that moment a ghostly shape appeared to sweep across us. I felt the hair on the back of my head rise. Marti gripped me in panic. I shook her free. The phantom shape was the dim light from the hall reflected by the door as it swung gently.

  There didn’t seem to be an alarm. Tiptoeing back, I closed the door by which we’d entered and then cautiously opened the outside door. Immediately a gust of wind swept through the flat. Papers blew about. The kitchen door started to swing shut but Marti grabbed it just in time. The sleeper snored on. Even as I hefted Marti’s case through the door I got soaked. It was still chucking it down. We made a dash towards the end of the garden.

  ‘What’s over here?’ I asked, gesturing at the seven-foot-high brick wall. The garden area was much darker than the front of the house. Visibility was about four feet. Rain was swilling down on us and my hair was plastered over my eyes. Marti had a Kangol beret jammed over her head and she was wearing a Burberry, which gave her more protection than my suit gave me.

  ‘I don’t know, more houses I suppose,’ she said irritably.

  That made sense. We’d get over the wall and then through the next garden and into the street beyond. That was my plan, anyway.

  I lifted and pushed Marti onto the top of the wall and passed the case up to her. Then I hoisted myself up alongside her.

  ‘Jump,’ I advised, ‘and I’ll drop the case down.’

  ‘You first!’ she shrieked.

  I released myself into the inky darkness.

  The drop was at least twelve feet and felt more like twenty. Even worse, the wall bulged outwards at the bottom and I lost skin from my hands, arms and legs as I collided with it. My knees were driven upwards into my chest and every trace of breath was expelled from my lungs. The only consolation was that the ground was soft. I lay on the muddy earth struggling to breathe. Blue lights sparkled before my eyes. It was a moment before I discovered that although damaged I was in one piece.

  ‘Dave, are you all right?’ Marti howled from above. She was a vague dark shape against the background of the clouded night sky.

  ‘Lower yourself and I’ll catch you,’ I said, struggling to my feet.

  ‘No, how will I bring my case?’ she argued.

  ‘What’s more important?’ I bawled. ‘Your life or your case?’

  She released a volley of curses and then the case.

  ‘You’ll have to jump,’ I urged when she gave no sign of following her baggage.

  ‘I can’t,’ she howled. ‘I might break my neck.’

  ‘You didn’t worry about me,’ I shouted.

  ‘I didn’t know how high the wall was then,’ she wailed.

  ‘Lower yourself,’ I suggested after stacking the case against the wall and standing on it. It was like one of those initiative tests. I managed to extend one arm far enough upwards to touch Marti’s foot.

  ‘Let yourself down,’ I pleaded.

  Instead, another volley of colourful curses descended on my head. The foot was raised above my grasp.

  ‘Go back then,’ I shouted. I felt my fingernails breaking against the wall as I scrabbled about for a grip. ‘I’ll meet you in the street but just remember I’ve got your suitcase here and it can stop here.’

  That was the clinching argument.

  ‘Damn you to hell, Dave Cunane,’ she squawked.

/>   This time she lowered herself fully until she was hanging from the top by her fingertips. I managed to grab her ankles and guide her down until I was supporting the whole weight of her body with one arm. Then we went over backwards as the case swayed away from the wall. It wasn’t far for me to fall but Marti landed in the middle of a rhododendron bush.

  I was guided towards her by her familiar braying laugh.

  ‘Shut up!’ I bellowed, which only made her laugh louder.

  ‘Where the hell are we?’ I yelled.

  ‘I seem to remember a little park,’ she said.

  I shook my head. There didn’t seem much point in saying anything. It could have been a railway cutting. For all Marti knew or cared, as the first to go down, I might have dropped onto a live rail.

  We searched for her shoes but they’d disappeared, as had the beret. Then, with me lugging the big case, and Marti behind, we set off on a course perpendicular to the wall. After thirty steps we reached a path and broke through trees and overgrown bushes to street lights beyond and another road.

  More by luck than design we made it to my car without meeting anyone. My painful scrapes and contusions were numbed by the cold. I struggled to stop my teeth chattering as Marti calmly fished a brush out of a pocket and fixed up her hair.

  ‘I can hide you in Manchester,’ I said.

  ‘No, just drop me at the first taxi rank that we come across,’ she said. There was something in her voice that discouraged argument.

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I’m thinking about that,’ she said vaguely. ‘I’ll send a message to the wine bar if we need to get in touch again.’

  37

  I HAD THE heater at full blast but it didn’t warm me as I drove back up the M1. I wasn’t entitled to feel any resentment against Marti, but being me, I did. She had let me help her into a taxi without a word of farewell or a sign of affection.

  I don’t know what I expected. A fond word wouldn’t have been out place, but there’d been nothing. It was an example of ‘Love me, love my suitcases!’ and I’d shown that I didn’t love them. But then would someone fleeing for their life make such a fuss about luggage? I tried to come up with excuses for her but I couldn’t convince myself. The tiger of suspicion prowled in my mind.