by Roberta Kray
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There was a sharp ring on the doorbell. Carefully, Harry got to his feet and limped towards the hall. Since the attack, the muscles in his leg had felt stiff and painful and his progress was slow. He was barely halfway across the room when another three rings, loud and impatient, cut through the air.
‘For God’s sake,’ he muttered.
As soon as he answered the door he wished that he hadn’t. Jane Anderson was standing on the other side. She had a large holdall in one hand and a mobile phone pressed up against her ear in the other. ‘I’ve got to go. See you later,’ she said into the phone before presenting Harry with the merest glimmer of a smile.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, in the tone of voice that suggested she didn’t really care whether he minded or not, ‘but I’ve just come to pick up a few things for Val.’
Harry stared at her. ‘You’ve what?’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be long.’ With the determination of a bailiff she moved forward to gain entrance to the flat.
It was his instinct to bar her way and for a moment he did exactly that. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘If Valerie wants her things, why doesn’t she call round herself to get them?’
‘Because she’s busy. She’s working today.’
‘And she couldn’t pick up the phone because …?’
‘It’s only a few clothes. What’s the big deal? You can hardly expect her to live out of a suitcase.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I told her you’d be like this. Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?’
‘Me?’ Harry spluttered, glaring back at her. ‘I’m not the one who hasn’t even got the decency to call.’
She raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘There’s no need to make a drama out of it. Look, just go ahead and ring her if you like. I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed at the interruption. And hey, don’t mind me; I’m perfectly happy to stand out here in the cold and wait.’
Harry was tempted to slam the door in her face but suspected that was exactly what she wanted. It would give her the perfect excuse to bad-mouth him later. Refusing her entrance to the flat would hardly improve his relations with Val either. Reluctantly he stood back to let her in. ‘You’ll have to be quick,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way out.’
‘Of course you are,’ she said, her cynical gaze taking in his dishevelled state. Barefoot, unshaven and dressed in a pair of tatty jeans and an old T-shirt, he looked about as far from going out as any self-respecting man could be.
As they walked through the living room he saw her eyes greedily alight on the used mugs, plates and newspapers that were scattered around. She was probably taking note of the dust count too. He made an instant resolution not to let her anywhere near the bomb site that used to be the kitchen.
Fortunately the bedroom was in a reasonable state. Apart from yesterday’s shirt thrown over a chair, the unmade bed and a stray black sock lying on the floor there wasn’t too much to criticize. He waved her in. ‘Help yourself.’
She gave him another of her thin worthless smiles before dumping the holdall on the crumpled duvet and going straight to the wardrobe. While she efficiently stripped the clothes from their hangers, Harry watched from the door. With her willowy figure, full mouth and wide blue eyes, he knew a lot of men found Jane Anderson attractive. There was no accounting for taste. Personally, he’d rather chew off his own fingers than spend a minute more than he had to in her company.
Harry put his hands in his pockets and continued to scrutinize her as she moved briskly to the chest of drawers and began emptying the bras, knickers and tights into the holdall. Although he liked confident women, he had always found Jane aggressive rather than assertive. Today, with her determined expression and her long black hair tumbling down her back, she reminded him of one of those avenging Furies that the Ancient Greeks wrote about. He could see why she terrified anyone who crossed her.
As she was making no attempt to talk – and seemed quite happy to continue that way – Harry perversely tried to start up a conversation.
‘So how’s work going?’ he asked.
She looked up and frowned. ‘Fine. How’s yours?’
‘Fine.’
It was several years now since she’d stopped defending scumbag villains – too many of whom she had managed to get off – and moved into the field of employment law. From all accounts, and he could well believe it, she was equally good at this. Dealing with cases of discrimination, be it racial, religious or gender-based, was her speciality. Jane could sniff out a hint of bigotry from twenty paces and employers up and down the country quaked at the mention of her name. It was all very admirable, very worthy, but there was something about her holier-than-thou attitude that brought out the worst in him. He always felt the urge to express views he didn’t feel, to come out with comments so politically incorrect that even his own father, a man widely renowned for his bigoted views, would flinch at their utterance.
‘Val told me you’d been in a fight,’ she said, pausing to stare at his face. As if he’d been involved in a drunken scrap, a result of some vile and unnecessary male machismo, her nose wrinkled with disgust. ‘That’s quite a black eye.’
‘You should see the other guy,’ Harry retorted, annoyed by her presumptions. ‘He’s lying in the morgue.’
Jane’s eyes darkened and her mouth fell open. ‘Charming.’
Every inch of her body, much to Harry’s satisfaction, screamed utter disgust. He grinned. His enjoyment, however, was short-lived. Picking up the bag, she pushed past him and headed for the bathroom. He watched as she almost emptied out the cabinet, removing all the bottles and tubes that Val considered essential to the everyday maintenance of her face and body. Just how long was she planning on staying away for? It was a question he wanted to ask but couldn’t.
Finally, Jane zipped up the holdall, turned and nodded. ‘All done.’ As if she wasn’t just talking about the packing, there was a hint of gloating triumph in her voice.
Harry gladly escorted her towards the exit. On the short journey back across the living room, however, he had time to think that he had maybe played this all wrong. A little more remorse and a lot less pride might have been more useful in healing the ever-growing rift between him and Val. He thought about trying to say something meaningful or even, God forbid, vaguely apologetic but couldn’t find the necessary words. Grovelling to the likes of Jane Anderson just wasn’t in his repertoire.
Opening the door, Harry stood aside to let her leave. She shifted the heavy holdall on to her shoulder and turned to look at him. Their eyes locked in a moment of pure animosity.
‘See you around,’ she said.
‘I’m sure.’
Her mouth curled up into a smile. There was something about that smile, about its self-satisfied smugness, that set his teeth on edge. Did she know something that he didn’t? What had Val told her? Harry was temped to spit out a few words he’d regret, and a few words he probably wouldn’t, but was distracted by Mac’s unexpected arrival.
Striding up the drive with a brown paper bag in his hand, Mac suffered a temporary setback as he came face to face with the other visitor. He stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Oh,’ he said, his brows lifting. ‘Ms Anderson.’
‘Mr Mackenzie,’ she replied. ‘How nice to see you again.’
‘Likewise.’
The two men watched as she strolled off down the street and climbed into a black BMW convertible. They were still standing on the doorstep when the car swept smoothly past a few seconds later.
‘We’re in the wrong job,’ Mac said enviously. ‘How much do those damn things cost?’
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Harry turned and stepped back inside the flat. ‘Come on in.’
Mac followed, closing the door behind him. They went on through to the living room. ‘So, I take it the delightful Ms Anderson wasn’t here for tea and buns. Should I be worried?’
‘Not unless you’re planning on sexually harassing me in the work
place.’
‘Tempting as that offer is, it’s not on my list of priorities.’
Harry grinned. ‘Well, that’s one bit of good news.’ His face quickly fell again. ‘Actually, she was here to pick up some of Val’s things. We appear to be having a break.’
Frowning, Mac sat down on the sofa. ‘Sorry, mate. I didn’t realize.’
‘You know me. If I can screw up a relationship, I will. It’s a natural talent.’
‘You’ve not done too badly for the last five years.’
Harry shrugged. ‘Anyway, enough of my troubles. What brings you round here on a Saturday?’
Mac lifted up the brown paper bag. ‘Fresh bagels, cream cheese and salmon. I reckoned that after last night you might be in need of some comfort food. Never let it be said that I don’t take care of my staff.’
‘Thanks. I’ve got coffee on. Just give me a minute.’ In the kitchen he quickly swept two cardboard pizza cartons and a heap of empty foil trays into the bin and then stared dolefully at the pile of washing-up sitting in the sink. Shaking his head, he filled two mugs from the percolator, added a splash of milk and returned to the living room.
‘Ta,’ Mac said. His gaze settled on Harry’s face. ‘That must have been quite some argument.’
Harry sat down and automatically lifted a hand to his eye. ‘It looks worse than it is. And that, unfortunately, is more than can be said for Troy Jeffries.’
‘Yeah, I’m surprised Holt hasn’t got you on remand already.’
‘It wasn’t for the lack of trying.’
‘I can imagine.’ Mac bit down into a bagel and chewed, his large jaws working steadily. ‘They pulled Stagg in as well but couldn’t hold him. He wasn’t even at the club yesterday.’
‘Convenient,’ Harry said.
‘Perhaps. Although if you are going to murder members of staff, it’s probably wiser not to do it in your own car park.’
There was some sense to that although Harry was loath to admit it.
‘Anyway,’ Mac continued, ‘he’s been pissed as a newt since Tommo died. Apparently the cops had to scrape him off the floor of his multi-million pound mansion.’
‘That wouldn’t have stopped him from picking up a phone and getting someone else to do his dirty work.’
‘You think?’
‘I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘No, probably not. You’re right; even Ray Stagg wouldn’t be stupid enough to shit on his own doorstep.’ He scowled. ‘I still can’t work out if this has anything to do with Webster’s disappearance. It could be totally unrelated. Maybe I should go back to Vista and start asking a few more questions.’
‘Or maybe you should take a few days off. In fact, take a week. I insist. It’ll give you time to get yourself sorted.’
Harry stared at him, bemused. ‘I’m in the middle of a case, Mac. I can’t just—’
‘Not any more. I got a call from Stagg this morning. Our services, it appears, are no longer required.’
‘What?’
‘And before you ask, he didn’t give a reason.’
Harry swore softly under his breath. This was bad news; if Stagg was pulling out then he’d either found Al or knew for certain that he was already dead. ‘But what about Agnes? She’s still missing. I can’t just—’
‘She’s not your responsibility.’
Harry put down what remained of his bagel. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. ‘But it was me she called. She must have seen something. She may even have witnessed what happened.’
‘All the more reason to leave it to the cops.’ Mac glanced at his watch and lumbered slowly to his feet. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to get going. Try and look on the bright side; at least you’re not working for Stagg any more. That has to be a bonus.’
‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘But just promise me that as well as billing him for every goddamn minute I spent on this case, you add on substantial extras for injuries sustained.’
Mac hesitated, the briefest of pauses before his mouth broke into a smile. ‘You bet.’ As he strode into the hall, he decided to impart some fatherly wisdom. And you should really try and sort things out with Val. You two are good together. Leave it too long and it only gets harder.’
‘Can I really be hearing this?’ Harry laughed as he opened the front door. ‘Mr David Mackenzie giving me relationship advice? As I recall, you’ve been divorced three times.’
‘Exactly!’ Mac said. He slapped Harry on the arm. And that’s why I know what I’m talking about. You’d be wise not to make the same mistakes as I did.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘You do that,’ Mac said, heading down the drive. Without looking back, he raised a hand and waved. And while you’re off work, go to the doctor and get that leg checked out. You’re no use to me if you can’t bloody walk.’
Harry grinned and closed the door. His smile only faded as he limped back through to the living room and slumped down on the sofa. For a while he didn’t move, not quite sure what to do next. His head was spinning with questions: What was Stagg playing at? Did he know where Al was? Where had Agnes gone? How was he going to resolve the situation with Valerie? How could he kill Jane Anderson without anyone finding out? And last, but not least, now that he was temporarily unemployed, what the hell was he going to do for the next week?
After a long study of the carpet, he raised his eyes and glowered at the mess around him. He needed to tidy up. His chances of winning back Val’s affections would hardly be improved by having turned the flat into a carbon copy of the local tip.
It was almost an hour later when he heard the distinctive rattle of the letterbox. Going out into the hall, duster in hand, he saw his car keys lying on the floor. He bent down to pick them up and then pulled open the door. Nobody was there. His Audi, however, was parked outside. Stumbling barefoot to the gate, he stared left and right along the street but it was empty in both directions. If it had been Val, she’d made a speedy getaway.
He stood for a while feeling the icy cold seep into the soles of his feet. Slowly, he made his way back to the flat. No one, it seemed, was too keen to hang around today.
Chapter Thirty
Maddie Green flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder, giggled and passed the joint back to Zane. It was warm and smoggy in his bedroom and the purple walls were gently throbbing to the sound of trance. The steady beat had an almost hypnotic effect on her; she felt it deep inside her body as strong and relentless as her very own heartbeat.
‘What are you thinking, babe?’ he asked. They were sitting on the floor, at right angles to each other, and he nudged her foot with his. ‘Tell me.’
Maddie was thinking about two weeks ago, about how sick she’d been the first time she’d smoked this stuff, but had no intention of admitting to that. Instead she giggled again and grinned at him. ‘How bloody bad you are,’ she said.
He laughed, taking a deep toke on the joint before flicking the ash in the saucer. He always liked it when she said things like that. ‘You have no idea.’
But of course she did. Zane Keppell was bad through and through and that was why she loved him. He was tall and blond with dark blue eyes and muscles in his arms. He stole cars and set fire to them. He shoplifted. He thieved credit cards, phones, wallets and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. He drank and smoked; he even dealt dope to his mates. Zane was the perfect embodiment of everything her mother despised.
Maddie smiled widely at him again. He put out his hand and for a second their fingers touched, skin against skin, and she drew in her breath. Lifting the damp end of the joint against her carefully glossed lips she was careful not to inhale too much. She was one of those girls, she liked to think, who learned from their mistakes.
Zane reached to his side and pulled out a shoebox from under the bed. He carefully placed his clingfilmed lump of dope, along with a packet of Rizlas, beneath an untidy heap of flyers, cards and photographs.
‘Who’s that?’ Maddie asked, leaning forward. There was
a picture of a young fair man lying on the top of the pile.
‘That’s my uncle,’ he said.
‘Show me.’
He passed her the photograph and then shuffled round so that his shoulder was leaning against hers. ‘He was called Tony. You think I look like him?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, sensing that was what he wanted to hear. ‘A bit.’ In fact, he had softer features than Zane; Tony was more pretty than handsome with wide dark-lashed eyes and a soft pink mouth. There was something almost girlish about him.
‘He died when I was three,’ Zane said. ‘He was only fifteen.’
‘What happened?’
‘This rich guy – he was well known, an MP – invited Tony to his flat and then he shot him.’
Maddie’s eyes widened. ‘What?’ She wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not. Zane wasn’t a liar, exactly, but he did have a habit of embellishing the truth. Not that she cared too much – she was prone to a little drama herself. ‘You’re kidding?’
‘No, I swear,’ Zane said. ‘He did. It was in all the papers and everything. You can check it out. The guy was called Deacon; he’s still in jail.’
‘But why did he—’
‘Queer bastard, wasn’t he?’ Zane said. ‘A fucking bender. He got obsessed and wouldn’t leave him alone. When Tony wasn’t having any of it, the shithead finished him off.’ Zane quickly lifted a hand, formed a two-finger imaginary gun and made a shooting gesture with appropriate sound effects. ‘Killed him, didn’t he, right there in his fancy penthouse flat. Shot him straight through the chest.’
‘God,’ Maddie said.
‘Bloody queers. They’re all perverts. I’d cut their fucking bollocks off and feed them to the pigs.’
Maddie murmured a faint ambiguous sound that she hoped would pass for agreement. It always made her uncomfortable when Zane expressed his less-than-liberal views on anyone who wasn’t straight, white or Church of England. Living in London, this gave him plenty of scope to vent his bile on a regular basis. She knew in her heart that she ought to protest but was too eager for his approval to risk falling out with him. On this occasion she was able to justify her silence by telling herself that he was simply upset about his uncle.