by Roberta Kray
Tammy flinched, her face turning pale. ‘You keep her out of this.’
‘Of course I will – so long as you stick to your side of the bargain. Don’t get cute with me, Tammy, because you’re the one with everything to lose. I need information on Tom and Eden Chase, so you’d better get that brain into gear. I want to know what’s going on inside their heads, what they’re thinking, what they’re doing – anything that could screw up this case when it goes to trial. I don’t want any nasty surprises.’
Tammy pushed out her lower lip and pouted. ‘What about my money?’
Vic pulled out a twenty from his wallet and slapped it on the table.
‘A score? You said thirty. You promised I’d get thirty.’
‘You’ll get the rest when you give me something useful. Look on it as a down payment. Although if you don’t think you’re up for the job…’
Tammy snatched the note, shoved it in her pocket and quickly rose to her feet. She leaned down and hissed at him, ‘You know what you are, Vic Banner? You’re a fuckin’ shit!’
Vic grinned back at her. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
He watched as she flounced out of the pub, her bright blonde hair swinging from side to side. She’d come up with the goods – he was sure of it. Eden Chase would be putty in her hands. In truth, he wasn’t holding out much hope when it came to Tom; he was too smart to spill his guts to a nobody like Pete Conway. But the wife was a different matter. Divide and rule was Vic’s preferred MO. If he could drive a wedge between the couple, it would leave Tom isolated. Yeah, all he had to do was plant a few seeds of doubt and she’d work the rest out for herself.
‘Eden, babe,’ he murmured, ‘I’m about to screw with your pretty little head.’
17
By the time Eden had dropped off Tammy and made her way back to Islington, it had been almost six o’clock. She didn’t like driving in the snow at the best of times, and this certainly hadn’t been one of them. It had been a treacherous stop-start journey with poor visibility and icy roads. She’d been relieved when she’d finally got home to Pope Street with the car still in one piece and only her nerves in shreds.
Now, two hours later, she was still mulling over her visit with Tom. It was what had happened afterwards, however, that was occupying most of her thoughts. The confrontation with the reporter had knocked her for six. She’d known – of course she had – that eventually it would all become public, but somehow she’d imagined that this wouldn’t be until the trial began. Months and months away. And that’s if there ever was a trial. She was still clinging to the hope that the police would realise their mistake, drop the charges and let Tom go.
Eden flinched as the voice of Jimmy Letts echoed in her head: Is it true that your husband has been charged with the murder of Paddy Lynch? She hadn’t been prepared, not in the slightest. The man had come out of nowhere, firing his questions at her. How do you feel? How was she supposed to answer that? If it hadn’t been for Tammy, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done. Probably said all kinds of stupid things that could have been twisted and turned and taken out of context.
Eden had lived in London for over eight years and up until now had thought of herself as relatively worldly, relatively streetwise. But the truth was she was neither. She had no idea how to handle things. Faced with the dreadful reality of the situation – if there was one journalist on her heels, there could be a lot more following behind – her instinctive reaction was to run away and hide. But there was nowhere to run to.
Eden gazed down at her plate. After coming home, she’d opened the fridge to find nothing more than milk, eggs, cheese and butter. She couldn’t face going out again to shop so, using the only ingredients available, had made herself an omelette. Knowing that she had to eat, she forced down a couple of mouthfuls, but her appetite had gone. The food was dry and tasteless. She put down the fork and pushed the plate away.
For a while she stared blankly at the black square of the window, watching the snowflakes fall against the glass. Without Tom, the flat felt empty and soulless. She didn’t think she would ever get used to his absence. There was a hole in the centre of her life that couldn’t be filled by anyone or anything else. Memories flooded into her head: hot sunny days in Florence, walking hand in hand along dusty streets, a cool hotel room with white tangled sheets. If only she could turn back time. She’d sell her soul to be back in Italy again.
Suddenly the front doorbell rang and Eden jumped. She might have ignored it if the lights hadn’t been on. Whoever was there must know she was in. But what if it was that reporter? There was no way she was talking to him again. Jumping up, she went over to the window and looked down on to the short path.
Denny and Fiona Fielding were standing near the front door, both gazing up at the window. They gave her a wave and she waved back. Now she had no choice but to answer the door. Eden painted on a smile as she traipsed down the stairs. The last thing she wanted was company but she could hardly turn them away.
Fiona was apologetic as Eden opened the door. ‘Hi there. Sorry to turn up unannounced like this, only we were just passing and… well, we wanted to see how you were. We’ve been really worried. How are you doing? Are you all right?’
As Eden stood back to let them in, she suspected that Fiona’s interest was more to do with gathering gossip than any real concern for her welfare. ‘I’m okay, thanks. Come on up.’
‘We tried to ring earlier but you didn’t answer and then we saw the light on so… We’re not disturbing you, are we?’
‘No, of course not. It’s fine. I’ve been out all day; I went to see Tom. I just got back a while ago.’
‘It’s shocking all this,’ Denny said. ‘I still can’t get my head around it.’
Back inside the flat, Eden pulled the curtains across and offered her visitors a drink. While she was making coffee, Fiona came into the kitchen, leaned against the counter and started to fire questions at her. How was Tom? How was he coping? What was the prison like? How often could she see him? What was the latest on the case? Was he likely to get out soon?
‘Give her a break,’ Denny said, appearing at the door. ‘The poor girl doesn’t need you giving her the third degree.’
Fiona threw him a look as if to tell him to shut up. ‘All I’m doing is —’
‘I know exactly what you’re doing.’
‘It’s okay,’ Eden said, before they got into a row. The two of them were renowned for public bickering. ‘I don’t mind, honestly.’ This wasn’t true, but she knew she wouldn’t get Fiona off her back until her curiosity had been satisfied.
Once the coffee was made, they all sat down in the living room. Eden provided a quick summary of what had happened to date, told them Tom was doing as well as could be expected and that his brief was working on getting him out. ‘I just want to get the name of this man and find out why he’s accusing Tom.’
Denny leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. ‘This is what I don’t get. How can he be put in jail when there’s no evidence? I mean, yeah, you can put someone in the frame, I get that, but the police can’t just bang someone up on someone else’s say so. If that was the case anyone could accuse anyone and we’d all be behind bars.’
Eden took a deep breath, knowing that she couldn’t keep the truth from them any longer. ‘But that’s the problem, they think they have got evidence. When they did a search of the studio, they found a bracelet in the safe. They claim it came from the robbery back in ’sixty-six. It was actually given to Tom when he was in Budapest – a guy called Jack Minter gave it to him in lieu of some money he owed – but the police don’t believe that.’
‘Minter? Isn’t that the name you asked me about?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one. The police say Tom was using that name when he organised the robbery. For all we know the real Jack Minter could be the one making all these accusations. We haven’t been told who it is yet. Tom doesn’t think so, but I’m not so sure.’ Eden rubbed at her face, a w
ave of fatigue washing over her. ‘God, it’s like being in the middle of some weird surreal nightmare. It doesn’t make any sense. The police have built up this whole case against him, they’re convinced he’s guilty and… We’ve just got to find a way of proving that he isn’t.’
‘It’s like The Prisoner,’ Denny said. ‘Do you remember that? It’s the one where —’
‘Denny!’ Fiona said, glaring at him. ‘This isn’t some bloody TV show. What’s the matter with you?’
‘All I meant was that it feels like that. You know, when you don’t understand what’s really going on, when everything’s all tangled up and confused, and someone else is pulling all the strings but you don’t know exactly who that person is.’
‘Well, that’s clear as daylight,’ Fiona said sarcastically.
Denny looked at Eden again. ‘So has Tom figured out where he was in ’sixty-six yet?’
‘Yes, and it’s not good. He’s pretty sure he was in London in November, which puts him in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.’
‘Along with millions of other people,’ Denny said.
‘Yes, but millions of other people don’t have a stolen bracelet in their possession.’ Eden glanced at Fiona. ‘And it’s that bracelet. Do you remember it? The one you wanted to buy?’
Fiona stared blankly back at her. ‘What?’
‘You know, the gold one, shaped like a snake with gemstones in it.’
Fiona shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen any bracelet.’
‘Yes, you tried it on in the studio. Tom told me. It was when he was selling the camera to Denny.’
‘No,’ Fiona said. ‘It wasn’t me. It definitely wasn’t. I’d have remembered something like that.’
Eden saw the two of them exchange a glance. Something passed between them, but she wasn’t sure what. ‘Not recently,’ she said. ‘A few years ago.’
But Fiona continued to shake her head. Her face took on a tight, pinched expression and her voice rose by an octave. ‘He must be getting mixed up. I wasn’t there, Denny, was I? I don’t have a clue about any bracelet.’
‘No, I can’t say I remember that. Tom has sold me a couple of cameras in the past but… No, I don’t think Fiona was ever there and I can’t recall seeing a bracelet. He must be thinking of someone else.’
Eden nodded. ‘Okay. It doesn’t really matter.’ Although she wondered if it did. Fiona’s reaction seemed odd and jumpy, as if she was trying to hide something. ‘He must have got it wrong.’
Denny quickly changed the subject. ‘This Minter guy sounds like the key to it all. You got any idea why he’d want to frame Tom like this?’
‘To save his own skin?’ Eden suggested. ‘I don’t know. All I do know is that the two of them met in Budapest in ’sixty-seven, a year after the robbery. Tom must have told him stuff about himself, information this guy is now using against him.’
Fiona cocked her head and gave her husband a thin smile. ‘You were in Budapest in the sixties, weren’t you, love?’
Denny gave a start and glared at her. ‘What?’
‘You’ve been to Budapest.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never been to Hungary in my life. Bonn, not Budapest. Jesus, woman, don’t you ever listen to a word I say?’
Fiona raised her eyebrows and gave a shrug. ‘If you ever said anything interesting, I might be more inclined to listen.’
‘I don’t know where you get these ideas.’
‘I could have sworn you said Budapest.’
Eden listened to the two of them with dull resignation. Even if the world was falling in – and hers was – they would somehow find a way to have a row about it. They were both in their forties and she wondered how they’d managed to stay together for so long when they never seemed to agree on anything. And Fiona wasn’t the type to even try to hide her disappointment – in her life, her marriage, even in her children, who had not turned out to be quite as talented or clever as she’d once hoped they might be.
‘What would I have been doing there?’ Denny snapped.
‘How would I know? Your reasons for doing most things are beyond me.’
Eden stepped in to try and diffuse the situation. ‘I’m worried about the studio. I’m going to have to lay Annabelle off. I don’t like to put anyone out of a job but there’s nothing for her to do at the moment.’
‘I wouldn’t lose any sleep over that one,’ Fiona said. ‘She wouldn’t think twice if the boot was on the other foot.’
‘What’s wrong with Annabelle?’ Denny said.
Fiona raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Well, you would defend her, wouldn’t you? Anything in a skirt.’
‘Oh, don’t start all that again. What’s wrong with being civil to people?’
‘There’s a difference between being civil and being a boring old lech.’
Eden sipped her coffee and hoped she could get rid of them soon. ‘There was a reporter waiting when I got out of the prison today, a bloke from the Herald.’
Fiona and Denny stopped their mutual sniping and looked over at her.
‘What did he want?’ Denny asked.
‘The inside story on how I feel about my husband being locked up for murder.’
‘Shit,’ Denny said. ‘Those hacks are bloody pariahs. I hope you told him where to go.’
‘Yes, but he’s not going to stay away, is he? He’s going to keep coming back until he gets what he wants.’
‘How dreadful,’ Fiona said, although her tone was more inquisitive than sympathetic. ‘That’s the last thing you need. Fancy being splashed all over the front cover of the News of the World. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘It’s not the bleeding News of the World,’ Denny said. ‘It’s just some local rag. And you saying that kind of stuff isn’t helping any.’
‘It’s all right,’ Eden said quickly before the two of them could start up again. ‘I’m just hoping they don’t run with a story any time soon. With luck, we can get Tom out of jail before they go to print. I mean, it’s all so ridiculous. I’m sure we’ll come up with something soon, something that’s going to prove he didn’t do it.’
Although Denny and Fiona both smiled and nodded their encouragement, they didn’t look entirely convinced. She could tell from their eyes that they thought the chances were slim and her optimism misplaced.
‘You should call the police if he keeps hassling you,’ Denny said. ‘It’s harassment, isn’t it?’
Eden thought of DI Banner, her nose instantly wrinkling. ‘I’ve had enough of the police, thank you very much.’
‘Do you think this reporter knows where you live?’ Fiona asked.
‘I don’t imagine it’ll take him long to find out.’
‘Maybe you should move out for a while,’ Denny said. ‘If they can’t find you, they can’t cause you grief.’
Fiona nodded her agreement. ‘Yes, why don’t you stay with friends for a week or two?’ She paused, tugged at the hem of her skirt and then made an awkward fluttering gesture with her hand. ‘I mean, we’d invite you to come to us, but there isn’t really room, not with the boys and all. And not much peace and quiet either; they’re in and out at all times of the day and night.’
Eden was neither surprised nor offended by the lack of an invitation – the Fieldings had always been more Tom’s friends than hers – and on balance she’d rather face a horde of reporters than live in the middle of a war zone. ‘That’s okay. To be honest, I don’t want to go anywhere else. This is my home and I’m going to stay in it.’
‘Good for you,’ Fiona said.
‘Although you’re always welcome,’ Denny added, ‘if you need a bolthole.’
Fiona smiled thinly. ‘Of course you are.’
Ten minutes later, with the coffee drunk, Eden finally showed them out. There was a polite if slightly stiff exchange – ‘Do let us know if there’s anything we can do to help,’ ‘Thank you, I will’ �
� before they said their goodbyes, promising to keep in touch. She heaved a sigh of relief as she closed the door and headed back upstairs.
In the flat, she walked over to the window, pushed the edge of the curtain aside and peered down at the road. The snow was still falling, although not with its earlier vigour, the pale flakes drifting through the orangey glow of the street lamps. The Fieldings were walking towards their car and she could tell from their body language that they were arguing again. Fiona’s hands jerked up and down like a marionette’s. Denny’s shoulders were hunched, his chin set deep in the collar of his coat.
As Eden watched them, she replayed the last twenty minutes in her head. She had one of those niggling feelings that nothing had been quite as it seemed. Not so much a friendly visit as a recce, she thought. But was that down to Fiona’s insatiable desire for gossip or something more sinister? Maybe she was getting paranoid, but all her instincts told her that something was wrong.