The whole search took five hours but nothing was found in the flat. They took the car away, even though they had little interest in the vehicle. On the night of the murder Mr Charalambous had told them it had not moved. Harry figured removing the car was just a delaying tactic while they looked for something else on him.
After Gemmell and the officers left empty-handed, Mr Charalambous helped Harry move the furniture back into the flat. It was four in the afternoon when they stopped working and Harry consoled himself that the flat actually looked tidier than when he’d first moved in a year ago. He fished out a bottle of whisky from the kitchen cupboard and poured three fingers into two empty tea cups as he’d no suitable glasses on account that he usually drank alone, straight from the bottle.
Exhausted, they sank into the armchair holding their drinks, with only the shudder of the Number 17 trundling down the Cally disturbing them.
‘What you do now?’ asked Mr Charalambous.
‘I need to get away from here.’
‘I have a flat in Nicosia.’
‘You didn’t tell them about my lock up, did you?’
‘Pah. You think I help them?’ He seemed quite insulted by Harry’s question. ‘Nicosia is nice now. Not bloody cold like here. You can stay there till summer.’
‘I have other plans.’
‘You no leave me without paying,’ warned Mr Charalambous, wagging a finger. ‘We friends but you still owe me one month rent.’
‘Take it out of my deposit.’
‘No, no, no. Deposit for breakages that lap dancer made.’
‘She said sorry didn’t she?’
‘I want money, not sorry,’ he replied, raising his grey bushy brows.
‘Can’t we sort it out when I go?’ suggested Harry, getting up unsteadily on his feet.
‘You are the lousiest tenant I ever had.’
‘And you’re the lousiest landlord I’ve ever had. To our health,’ toasted Harry with a raised teacup of whisky.
Seven
Harry urgently needed to speak to Bethany that evening and went over to see her as she wasn’t picking up. The porter, a dumpy little man with round shoulders, could smell the whisky on his breath and maintained a polite smile as he rang up to see if she was receiving visitors. There was a pause while she considered, then a nod from the porter that he could go up.
Harry searched his pockets for chewing gum while riding in the lift but found none. But no amount of spearmint was going to hide it from her that he was not completely sober. The apartment door was on the latch and he walked straight into the living room. It was dark and there was no sign of Bethany. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room was winking like a Belisha beacon. He fumbled around for a light switch and turned on two lamps either side of the sofa.
Harry found Bethany lying on her bed in black trousers and a sweater, her pale face moist from tears. She offered her hand and pulled him down onto the bed next to her. He sensed that she could smell the drink, but it didn’t seem to matter. Not now at least. For half an hour he sat beside her, stroking her hair, unsure whether she’d fallen asleep. Then her eyes opened and she raised her head slowly and pressed her lips against his. It felt like their first kiss along the Taff embankment. He held her in his arms, wondering whether he was imagining everything. But he wasn’t. It was her lips he was kissing, her damp cheeks he was feeling, her warm body under him. She closed her eyes as he moved his mouth down to her neck. Her back arched, and he enjoyed hearing her delight.
He stopped kissing Bethany and lifted his head to appraise her face. The long lashes of her eyes were clumped together by tears. Her mascara had run, making a smoky mess around her lids. But she still looked beautiful in the soft light of the bedroom.
She opened her eyes wide and unexpectedly pulled away from him. They stared at each other without saying a word, their hearts beating. He realised at that moment she was never going to be part of his life again, at least the way he wanted. What was going on behind her big brown eyes was a mystery to him. It looked like pity, and that broke the spell.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know why I did that.’
He gently removed his arms and sat up straight on the bed.
‘Say something,’ she said.
Nothing came out of his mouth.
She caressed the side of his face and said, ‘This wouldn’t have worked. It was an awful disaster the first time round, wasn’t it?’
He could have spoken then about all those things that had been on his mind for all those years, such as saying sorry for pushing her away and wanting now, more than anything, for them to be brought together. But it would all sound out of place as she was in a state of shock over Eddie’s death and he should never have allowed her to kiss him as she didn’t know what she was doing.
‘Tell me you haven’t started drinking again,’ she asked, trying to bring an end to the awkwardness between them.
He had no intention of being dragged into that conversation. It was a subject that had no end and there were more important things to discuss.
‘They think I had something to do with Eddie’s murder,’ he said starkly. ‘They searched my flat and took my car away.’
She sat upright. ‘I told you they were asking lots of questions about you. They even interviewed Mother.’
‘Did she feed them all that rubbish about me?’
‘You know how she gets carried away sometimes.’
‘They’re also convinced that there’s something going on between us.’
‘Ironic, them knowing that before us,’ said Bethany. ‘Should you be here?’
‘Why? There’s nothing they can prove. Is there?’
‘No, but why risk coming over?’
‘Just wanted to see how you were holding up and whether you wanted me to go along with you to identify Ed.’
‘I did that early this morning.’ She fell quiet for a moment. ‘The strange thing is that I still feel he’s here.’
‘You’re going to get through this,’ he said, holding both her shoulders and looking straight into her eyes. ‘You’re the brave type.’
‘You really think so?’ A smile.
He wasn’t sure what to say next to Bethany and remained silent for a respectful amount of time, before telling her that he needed to know some things. ‘I have to ask you some questions about Eddie’s business. I know it’s a bad moment but Gemmell’s got it in for the two of us. We need to think fast about our position.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I used to do some jobs for Eddie.’
‘He never said anything to me.’ Her eyes were now large. ‘Go on.’
‘Up until five years ago, Eddie used to invest dirty money for some spivs.
From time to time, they had to skip the country and I would arrange getting them passports. Help them disappear without trace.’
She continued to stare at him.
‘I think you know what I’m talking about,’ he went on.
‘I told you before I don’t…honestly I don’t.’
‘Come off it, Beth.’
‘He told me never to worry about a thing. All right, I guessed he was dealing with the odd tricky character. But nothing ever illegal.’
‘Eddie stopped dealing with me and I’m pretty curious to know what made him end it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just look at this place,’ he said pointing to the suede leather walls, the marble en-suite, the walk-in mahogany wardrobes, and the Italian silk sheets she was sleeping on.
‘He worked hard to get all of this,’ she said, defending her late husband.
‘Ed was operating from fifteen thousand pounds-a-month offices.’
‘He said the move to Bishopsgate would bring better clients and create more liquidity to help expand the business,’ she said.
‘Who were these rich clients?’
‘I don’t know. He never mentioned names.’
‘Think, Beth
any, think.’
‘Ed took me to functions.’
‘What type?’
‘Tennis tournaments at Hurlingham, racing at Ascot, polo at Windsor…Corporate events.’
‘You must remember the name of someone he introduced you to? I need a name to go on.’
‘They were just a sea of faces. Old men with skinny tarts on their arms.’
‘Tell me about the corporate events.’
‘What is there to say?’
‘Can you remember the names of the companies? Think hard.’
‘Bridger, stop it. I can’t help you.’
‘You can if you put your mind to it. What did these companies do?’
‘There were big posters of boats at these events.’
‘Yachts and speed boats?’
‘Eddie was joking once about getting a yacht and all I remember was them talking about moorings and marinas.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Don’t ask me anymore because I’m too confused.’
They were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a key being inserted into the front door lock and being twisted.
‘Christ, I forgot Mum was coming over.’
‘She’s got the key?’
‘I need her support right now.’
‘It’s only me,’ shouted her mother from the hall.
Harry and Bethany emerged from the bedroom, stunning her mother into total silence. Her ice blue eyes squinted as she tried to make out whether it was really Harry with her daughter; then a frown developed and her pale face reddened under her white coiffured hair.
‘Harry came over to see if I needed anything,’ explained Bethany, tucking her blouse into the top of her trousers. ‘Wasn’t that good of him?’
Her mother’s mouth was wide open but no sound was coming out.
‘He was just leaving,’ added Bethany.
They were now standing just a foot away from her mother.
‘For goodness sake, he shouldn’t be here,’ said her mother finally. ‘What have the two of you been up to?’
‘Nothing,’ said Bethany.
‘Your husband’s body barely cold.’
‘Mother, stop it.’
Harry moved towards Bethany’s mother to explain. But she pulled away from him.
‘I only came over to see how she was coping,’ he said.
‘Of course you did, Harry. I’d forgotten how considerate you had always been towards my daughter,’ she said, standing with a straight back, her head held high. ‘Bethany needs to be left to grieve – alone.’
‘Please stop it, Mother. You’re embarrassing me.’
‘Am I? And I suppose you cannot see anything wrong in having him over on the same day you see your husband’s corpse?’ She turned and glowered at Harry. ‘I have to say, you don’t waste much time, do you? The inspector seemed very interested in everything I told him about you. I made certain not to have left anything out.’
‘Oh, Mother, you haven’t?’ said Bethany. ‘I don’t think you know what you have done.’
‘Told the truth, my dear. The man’s a scoundrel and everyone should know it,’ she said moving towards Harry. ‘Best you leave now.’
‘Elizabeth I can see you’re upset, but be careful what you tell people about me,’ replied Harry, buttoning up his coat to leave.
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘He’s not doing any such thing,’ said Bethany. ‘But you are creating trouble for Harry and possibly for me.’
‘You’re not to see him, ever again,’ she replied, before marching to the front door and opening it for Harry to leave. ‘Now get out.’
He left and she slammed the door behind him.
Eight
As he stepped out of Bethany’s apartment block he spotted Tucker waiting for him. He was dressed in the same overcoat from the night at the Italian restaurant and was finishing a cigar. Next to him was a Jaguar with the engine running. This was the sort of encounter that made Harry jittery as he had no idea why Tucker wanted to see him.
When he got closer, a man sitting in the back seat of the Jaguar turned on the interior light. He was in his mid-sixties with perfectly groomed snow white hair. Harry had no doubts that the older man was Angela Linehan’s husband from her brief description of him during their first meeting.
Angela Linehan had been right about Tucker. He would do anything for her, like keeping his mouth shut. Tucker knew better than to recognise Harry in any way. His boss was watching through a half opened window and any familiar gesture would have given their little secret away. As Harry approached Tucker, the big man with the flappy ears lowered the cigar in his hand and said, ‘Mr Linehan would like a word.’
‘Who?’ asked Harry, playing along with the charade.
Tucker nodded to the man in the back of the Jaguar.
The car window rolled down fully with a short hum. ‘It’s Mr Bridger, isn’t it?’ shouted Nick Linehan, with a Belfast bark.
Harry went across to talk to Linehan who was not alone in the car. In the front seat was another heavily built man that could have been Tucker’s twin brother.
‘Do I know you?’ asked Harry, crouching down to the car window and staring at Linehan, a big man with bulging eyes. The polo neck under his jacket accentuated his strong jaw.
‘Jump in, we need to talk.’
‘My mother always taught me never to get into cars with strangers.’
Linehan didn’t smile.
Tucker ground the remains of his cigar under his foot while his twin stretched out of the car. With his path blocked by both men, Harry got into the back seat next to Linehan. Tucker sat behind the wheel and waited for his double to return to the car before driving off.
‘So what’s this about?’ asked Harry.
‘All in good time,’ replied Linehan, his voice becoming sharper and louder as if Harry was hard of hearing. ‘How’s Bethany?’
Harry swallowed air. ‘You’re a friend of Beth?’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ he replied, his eyes remaining steady and unreadable. ‘Came to offer her my condolences, but the porter said she’d company. Decided to hang around to see who her gentleman caller was.’
‘How do you know Bethany?’ asked Harry.
‘Through her husband.’
Harry was joining dots in his head and nothing was making much sense.
‘I’ve heard things about you,’ said Linehan.
‘From Eddie, you mean?’
He nodded. ‘Son, you shouldn’t be hanging around here. There’s nothing for you.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘I saw you at his office, and days later he was found dead,’ said Linehan, raising his big hands. The same hands that slapped and punched his wife. Destructive hands that had their own cruel logic that could break anything or possibly kill anyone, given half a chance.
‘I’m not too sure I like the way that sounds.’
‘Ed told me you’d turned up out of the blue, looking for work. Said you used to do odd jobs for him in the past and wanted a hand out for old times’ sake. But he didn’t want you hanging around him. Told me you were difficult to get rid of, like gum off a shoe.’
‘I was waiting for his call,’ said Harry, deciding to go with the cover story invented by Eddie to protect Angela Linehan. ‘Then I read in the paper what had happened to him.’ Harry looked out of the window and they were driving down Gloucester Avenue, a road where he’d had many a good meal and a pint. ‘You can pull over, anywhere along here.’
Tucker didn’t stop the car.
‘I don’t want you disturbing Bethany with any of your financial problems. I’m certain that is what Eddie would have wanted me to do.’
‘The thought never crossed my mind.’
‘Really? I know your type. A common scrounger. Aren’t you?’
Harry didn’t mind him thinking that and said nothing.
‘If I were you,’ continued Linehan, ‘I’d get away now while you still can
because the boys in blue have developed bad vibes about you, Mr Bridger.’
‘Where did you hear that?’
Linehan dismissed the question with a wave of a hand. ‘Come on. You know it yourself.’
Harry remained silent because it was true.
‘They’ll find a way of dragging you into their investigations,’ went on Linehan, ‘and given half a chance, they’ll pin it on you. Because that’s what they do best. Right?’
‘Are you giving me advice?’
‘Not exactly, more of a warning. This is as plain as I can make it. Just leave her alone. She’s a lady in mourning. I just think you need to be protected from yourself because it’s too tempting for you. Shame to burden her with all your woes.’
‘This isn’t really about Bethany, is it?’
Linehan didn’t answer and said, ‘She’s a lovely lady, but you already know that. I wouldn’t want anything upsetting her and calling the police. It’s not to anyone’s advantage, including yours.’
‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to find out things about me.’
‘When people upset my inner equilibrium, I make it my business to know who they are.’ He stopped talking. Something was going on behind Linehan’s dark eyes, something bad. He glanced at Harry and then looked out of the window. ‘You might think yourself a smart fellow, but you’re never going to win this game of yours.’ A fire was stoking inside of the old man. ‘Nothing good will come of this. Just leave her be.’
‘The trouble is Mr Linehan, I’ve developed a terribly bad habit of never doing what I’m told.’
‘I thought that might be the case for someone like you,’ he said. ‘I see this as a lapse in communication.’ Then he leaned forward in his seat and tapped Tucker on the shoulder to stop the car on a brick walled bridge spanning Regent’s Canal.
‘Boys can you help find a common language that Mr Bridger can easily grasp?’ said Linehan.
Harry tried to open the door, but it was locked. Tucker and the other man got out and dragged him from the car, hurling him against the wall of the bridge. Harry turned around to face them, his nose bleeding. Behind him was the brick balustrade and a fifteen foot drop into an icy canal. Tucker’s partner was the first to rush him. Harry grabbed the lapels of his coat and drew him towards him. Using the weight of the man’s body, he pulled him hard against the wall, his head thudding against the brickwork. The man didn’t get up.
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