Exposed

by Roberta Kray

  ‘You can do this,’ he said, as he got out of the car. He slapped his fist against his leg. ‘Don’t mess it up, Jimmy. Don’t mess it up.’

  He walked briskly up the drive and pressed the bell. A ding-dong sound came from inside and seconds later the light went on in the hall. Jimmy saw the silhouette of a man through the opaque glass in the door. He took a couple of deep breaths and prepared for what could be the most important exchange of his life.

  The man opened the door and raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr Clive Chase?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Good evening. My name’s Jimmy Letts. I’m a reporter from the Herald in London. I’m sorry to disturb you. I realise this is a very difficult time, but I was hoping I could have a word about your son.’

  Clive Chase was a short, thickset man in his late sixties. He looked bemused. ‘Aidan?’

  Jimmy shook his head. He hadn’t thought about the fact there could be a brother. ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘I meant Tom, Tom Chase. He is your son, isn’t he?’

  The man flinched as if he’d just received a blow. Then his eyes grew dark and menacing. He took a step forward and pushed his face into Jimmy’s. ‘What’s your fucking game? What are you playing at?’

  Jimmy moved back and raised his hands, palms out. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I think there may have been a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’

  From inside the house there was another voice, a female’s. ‘Who is it, Clive? Who’s there?’

  ‘No one,’ Clive called back. ‘Fuck off,’ he hissed to Jimmy. ‘Get the fuck out of my sight.’

  The woman appeared at the door and looked at them both. ‘What’s going on?’

  Jimmy knew he was seconds away from losing everything. His brain was rapidly trying to process what was happening. So the bloke didn’t want to discuss his boy – that was understandable, bearing in mind what he’d done – but why had he jumped to the conclusion it was Aidan they were talking about? There was something weird about it, something off. Unless he didn’t know Tom was in jail… Jimmy stared at the wife – she was about the same age as Clive, thin, with cropped grey hair and glasses – and addressed his question only to her. ‘I’m here about Tom. He is your son, isn’t he? Tom Chase?’

  There was shock on the woman’s face. Her mouth dropped open. ‘W-what?’

  Clive made a move as if to lunge at the unwelcome visitor, but she grabbed his arm and held him back. ‘No!’ Then she peered at Jimmy, swallowed hard and said, ‘Why are you asking about Tom?’

  ‘You do know he’s in prison, don’t you? He’s been charged with murder and armed robbery.’

  Mrs Chase visibly paled. Even in the artificial light from the hall, Jimmy could see the blood draining from her face. Her gaze jumped from him to her husband. ‘Clive? What does he mean?’

  ‘He doesn’t mean anything, love. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

  ‘But he’s saying that —’

  ‘I know what he’s saying. I’m standing here, aren’t I? I can hear him.’

  The rain was seeping under Jimmy’s collar. It was cold, bloody freezing, but that wasn’t the only reason he was shivering. He was balanced on the edge of something big and had to find the right words to tip the situation in his favour. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any upset. It must be hard for you. I understand that. That’s why I’m here. I don’t think Tom’s guilty, not at all. I want to help if you’ll let me.’

  There was a long, strange silence. Jimmy was aware of two pairs of eyes boring into him. ‘Ten minutes of your time,’ he added. ‘That’s all I’m asking.’

  ‘There’s been a mistake,’ Mrs Chase said, shaking her head. ‘I think you’d better come in. Don’t you think so, Clive?’

  Clive didn’t look keen. ‘He’s a reporter, love.’

  ‘We need to sort this out.’

  Eventually Clive gave a shrug. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  And so the decision was made. Jimmy smiled as he followed them into the bungalow, taking care to wipe his feet on the mat.

  Jimmy was still smiling when he emerged half an hour later. In fact, there was an almost euphoric expression on his face. He had come to Norwich in the hope of getting background information on Tom Chase, but was leaving with something else entirely. What he had in his possession was dynamite. As he climbed into the Cortina, his pulse was racing. A new story was already taking shape in his head, an explosive tale of lies and deceit, love and betrayal. Did Eden Chase know about her husband? If she didn’t, she was about to be confronted with a truth that would blow her life apart.

  41

  Tom Chase lay on the bunk with his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. There were fine cracks, like spiders’ webs, running across the plaster. He traced them with his eyes while he tried not to think about the fire, but the harder he tried the less successful he was. Horrifying visions came to him: flames roaring through the flat, thick black suffocating smoke, the burning heat of Hell. What if Eden hadn’t woken up? It was pointless to torment himself in such a way, but he couldn’t stop. He was haunted by what might have been.

  She could have died and it would have been his fault. His heart missed a beat. It was too awful to think about. It was all he could think about. Without her, he was done for, finished. She was his rock, his other half, his one point of sanity in a world that had gone mad. But how long before she stopped believing in his innocence? Already the foundations of her trust were starting to crumble – he could see it in her eyes – after the revelations of the Kellston flat, the Munich loan and, most damning of all, the bracelet found in the safe.

  Tom couldn’t blame her for wondering. When you stacked up the ‘evidence’, things didn’t look good. The trouble was he had got in the habit over the years of never saying more than he had to. It was a defence mechanism, a shield. The past was too painful to talk about and so he’d put it in a strongbox, locked it up and thrown away the key. Would he have told her the truth if she’d pressed him for it? Perhaps. Except one of the reasons he loved her so much was her capacity to let things lie. She wasn’t the type of woman who had to open the doors to every room in your head and poke around inside.

  Tom had known within a few days of meeting her – or was it within a few hours? – that she was the one. The perfect fit. His other half. People talked a lot of crap about love, when all they really meant was lust. True love was something entirely different. What he felt for Eden went beyond physical desire; it was a deep connection, pure and instinctive. To lose her would be to lose everything.

  Tom’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Pete Conway. He gave a light knock, came into the cell, and sauntered over to the bunk. ‘Fancy a game of pool?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Thinking.’

  Pete pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘That ain’t good for you, man. Screws with your head. The less thinking you do in here, the better.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’

  ‘I mean it. You just end up crazy, going over it all again and again. You got to keep busy, at least as busy as you can in this godforsaken shithole.’

  ‘Maybe later, huh?’

  Pete, who was not the most sensitive of blokes and couldn’t quite grasp when he wasn’t wanted, continued to linger. ‘So what’s on your mind?’

  ‘Eden wants me to get off the wing, go down the block for a while.’

  ‘Maybe she’s right.’

  Tom turned his head to look at him. ‘Why? Have you heard something?’

  ‘Nah, I ain’t heard nothin’. I’m just saying, that’s all. That Pat Lynch, the one you told me about, sounds like he’s got a screw loose, man. You might be better off on the seg, least for a while.’

  Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of thinking.
There’s not much else to do in that place.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you got to take care of yourself in here. No one else is gonna do it for you. Your missus could have a point. All you have to do is turn your back for a second and…’ Pete pulled a face. ‘I ain’t saying it will happen, but sometimes you’ve got to take… er… what’s the word?’

  ‘Precautions?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. Precautions, man. You’ve got to do the smart thing even if it ain’t exactly what you want.’

  Tom had already made up his mind – he’d promised Eden, made a deal, and wasn’t going to let her down again – but was putting it off for as long as possible. In solitary, the past would come crowding in on him. With no distractions, he’d be forced to face some uncomfortable truths. Long-buried secrets would rise to the surface like cold bones drawn up from the bottom of the ocean.

  ‘Sure you don’t fancy that game of pool?’

  ‘Some other time, yeah?’

  Pete looked at him for a moment, opened his mouth as if to say something, shrugged and walked out of the cell.

  Tom went back to studying the ceiling. It was odd how quickly you grew used to prison, to the sounds, the smells, the tedious routine. After the shock and disbelief had subsided, there was nothing left but the need for acceptance. It didn’t pay to fight against the system, even if you were innocent. You had to roll with it, tell yourself it wasn’t for ever, live in the present and not in the future.

  What he missed most, apart from Eden, was his camera. The only time he felt truly at ease with the world was when he was viewing it through a lens. He still hadn’t figured out why that was. Something to hide behind? Or something that enabled him to focus, to close off everything else? Maybe it was both. The camera was so much a part of him that even now he would sometimes reach for it, forgetting where he was.

  He thought of the Leica perched on the tripod in his studio. He’d been using that camera when he first saw Eden walking across Covent Garden piazza. The autumn sun had caught her hair, making it gleam like burnished coppery gold. Yeah, okay, it was a cliché, but it was still true. The decision to capture the moment was a split-second one, an impulse that had changed his life for ever.

  ‘Did you just take a picture of me?’

  Tom could remember the expression on her face, still hear the chagrin in her voice. He smiled. He’d liked the way she stood up to him, how her eyes flashed with irritation. A girl who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. A girl who wasn’t easily impressed. It had not, perhaps, been the most auspicious of starts, and yet there had been a connection between them. It had been a fateful meeting like that earlier one in Budapest, the one that had led him, ultimately, to be languishing in this prison cell right now.

  Tom knew he should regret ever having clapped eyes on Jack Minter. Wasn’t he the cause of all his troubles? And yet if their paths hadn’t crossed, he might never have met Eden. It was Jack who had provided the means for his escape, a way out of the old life, an opportunity to cut the ties for good.

  Their friendship, based partly on a shared nationality – in Budapest there were hardly any other British residents – was cemented by their interest in photography. Jack, who claimed to be an enthusiastic amateur, was in fact highly talented. He had an extraordinary eye, a way of looking at things that was quite unique. Tom had learned from him as they meandered through the city, and not just about photography. Jack was a drinker, a womaniser and a gambler, a charismatic man who was thoroughly intriguing. He was also as secretive about his past as Tom was himself.

  Who could have guessed at the truth? Jack’s claim that he’d left Britain as a teenager was enough to throw anyone off the scent. And anyway, you’d hardly expect to meet an armed robber from London when you were hanging out in Garay Square. He’d realised quickly enough, however, that not everything Jack did was legal. His friend was involved in the black market, in the buying and selling of illicit goods, although that wasn’t so unusual in Budapest at the time. Struggling under the yoke of the Soviet Union, there were often shortages of food and booze, of fashionable clothes and household appliances. If you wanted something – and had the money to pay for it – Jack could usually procure it for you.

  Tom had been thinking a lot about his old friend recently. It wasn’t so much the armed robbery that shocked him – although that was disturbing enough – but what had happened after. Why had he left Paddy Lynch to die like that? Panic, perhaps. Or maybe he thought the bloke was already dead. What Tom didn’t want to believe, couldn’t believe, was that Jack Minter had been involved in an act of cold-hearted brutality.

  But that was what Archie Rudd was claiming. The old lag had been arrested on some other heist, decided to turn Queen’s evidence and thrown Tom’s name into the mix for the Epping job, alleging that Tom and Jack Minter were one and the same. It might not have gone any further than a police interview if it hadn’t been for the bracelet. Having that piece of damning evidence sitting in his safe had given credibility to the accusation.

  Tom moved his arms from under his head and rubbed his face in frustration. He was hoping Castor could find a way of discrediting Archie Rudd before the case ever went to court, but what were the odds? The man was a squealer, a grass, and he wasn’t going to let a small matter like the truth get in the way of a tasty deal.

  ‘Christ,’ he muttered.

  He was like a rat in a trap, going round in circles. He had got himself involved in one big lie, so twisted and complex he couldn’t find a way out of it. To tell the truth would probably mean losing Eden. Jesus, of course it would. But if he didn’t, he could be spending the next twenty years rotting in jail. And that would mean losing her anyway.

  The cold, hard truth was that he was in a no-win situation. When the trial started it would be Archie Rudd’s word against his. Who would the jury believe? In order to sway the verdict in his favour he would need to produce the real Jack Minter. And that was never going to happen.

  Tom knew what he had to do. The longer he waited, the more dangerous it was for Eden. It might be difficult but it wouldn’t be impossible for Pat Lynch to track her down to Edinburgh. She wasn’t safe. She would never be safe while this was hanging over them. He had to come clean before it was too late.

  42

  ‘And how exactly are you going to pull that one off?’ Caitlin asked, as she helped Eden to unpack her meagre possessions. ‘I mean, I presume you’ve no intention of going to your dad’s, seeing as you’re moving in here. So what happens when you write to Tom? He’s going to notice that the letters aren’t coming from Edinburgh.’

  Eden opened the fridge, put in a pint of milk and a carton of eggs, and closed the door again. ‘I’ve no idea. I’ll figure something out. I just wanted to make sure he got off the wing and the only way I could do that was to promise I’d go to Scotland.’

  ‘And now you’re going to break your promise.’

  ‘Of course I am. I’m not going to be able to do anything from up there, am I? And you know what Dad’s like; he’ll realise something’s wrong and give me the third degree until I give in and tell him. I can’t cope with his attitude on top of everything else. Not right now.’

  Caitlin laid a box of tea bags on the counter. She filled the kettle and put it on to boil. ‘Have you told him about the fire?’

  ‘No. I said there was a damp problem in the flat and we’ve had to move out for a while. Of course he then started asking all sorts of questions about what sort of damp it was, rising or penetrating or condensation, and naturally I didn’t have a clue so…’ Eden put her hands on her hips and sighed. ‘It probably confirms all his worst suspicions about his daughter’s intelligence – or lack of it.’

  ‘It might be easier to tell him the truth.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, it wouldn’t. I know I’ll have to tell him eventually, but after the fire and everything… I just want a bit of time to try and get my head straight.’

  ‘I get that. But don’t leave it too long. It’ll be wors
e if he hears from someone else.’

  They took their tea through to the living room and sat down on the sofa. Eden sipped from the mug and gazed around the living room. ‘It’s not so bad, is it? I could get some new curtains and cushions, jazz it up a bit. There’s a market down the road – they’ll have some cheap stuff there. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’ll only be for a while.’

  Caitlin looked at her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to move in right now. You can stay with me for as long as you like. Why not leave it for another week or two?’

  ‘Thanks, but I need to be settled somewhere. I’ve got to sort myself out and start getting on with things.’