I heard Liv answer the door, and the sound of a female voice – a voice I knew only too well. I sat there, gripping the edge of the sofa and wondering what to say to get rid of her.
Liv came back into the room. She went to speak, but someone pushed past her. ‘Oh my god, Grace. Just look at the state of you!’
It was Kitty Hart, WAG extraordinaire and wife of the fabled Johnno. Johnno was a legend among the fans. He’d been with the club since the youth team, and captain for nearly eight years. He was also the only other one, out of the six caught up in the Hull affair, that wasn’t single.
Kitty was leggy, blonde and busty. She was the archetypal bimbo, except that she wasn’t at all. It was an act, and she excelled at it. She was a business woman, through and through, even more popular among the male fans than Johnno, mainly due to her habit of appearing naked at every opportunity. Purely for profit, mind you, and nowadays only for the most select of men’s publications.
She was also the last person I wanted to see right now.
‘I’m sorry,’ Liv said, again. She’d been apologising ever since she’d got home. ‘I tried to put her off, but…’
‘I know.’ Kitty gave a ridiculous tinkly laugh. ‘Leo didn’t know where you were, and you weren’t answering your phone, so I went to your offices.’
‘I heard,’ I said, blankly.
‘And they wouldn’t say, but I could tell they knew, so…’
‘So she refused to leave,’ Liv butted in, angrily. ‘Max was furious.’
‘In the end you told me, didn’t you, Liv?’ Kitty threw her a conspiratorial smirk, which Liv deflected with a glare. ‘Yes,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘I didn’t have much choice…’
‘Anyway,’ Kitty continued, blithely. ‘Let me look at you.’
She pulled me up from the couch and dragged me over to the window. I stood there as she made her inspection. I was still wearing my work clothes, I suddenly remembered, from the morning before.
Kitty drew in her breath sharply. ‘You have taken it badly, darling, haven’t you? Look at you…you’re emaciated.’
‘I…’ I began, then looked down at myself. I hadn’t noticed, but she was right. My skirt was hanging down, standing away from my hips. It should have been snug to my waist. ‘I kept shaking,’ I said, lamely.
‘Look, lovey.’ Kitty pushed me back over to the sofa. ‘Sit down and listen. This is a golden opportunity for you. Fuck Leo. I’ve fucked Johnno off already. Told him I want a divorce. It’s you and me, now. We’ve got to take our moment to shine.’
‘Shine?’ I looked at Liv, then back at Kitty. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, no more moping around after that bastard,’ she said. ‘While you’ve been skulking around in this…’ She looked around her, as if for the first time, and grimaced. ‘…hellhole, I’ve been courting the press…issuing statements…press releases…generally playing the poor injured wifey. I’m knackered, believe me, but you’ve got to maximise your exposure while you can.’
‘But I don’t want exposure.’
The horror must’ve shown on my face, because she laughed and stroked my cheek. ‘Yes you do,’ she said. ‘Silly. Exposure equals earnings potential. If you’re really splitting up with Leo, you’re going to need money. You can’t survive on the money you make in that ridiculous job, now, can you?’
I expected Liv to butt in again at this point, furious, but she didn’t. I didn’t know what to say, and looked to her, hoping she’d argue my case. Instead, she looked at Kitty, then back at me. ‘I don’t know, Grace,’ she said, slowly. ‘I think she may be right.’
I didn’t know what to say. It was all too much…too sudden.
Kitty took matters into her own hands, anyway. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘That’s settled, then. I’ll ring Jimmy in the morning - let him know to get in touch with you.’
‘Who’s Jimmy?’ I said, feeling as if I’d missed part of the conversation.
‘My agent,’ she said, with another tinkly laugh. ‘Silly. Now get dressed.’
I looked down at myself, bewildered. ‘I am dressed.’
‘To. Go. Out.’ She looked at me doubtfully. ‘If you can find anything that fits you, that is. You did bring clothes, didn’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Real clothes, I mean,’ she added. ‘Dresses…heels…’
I nodded again, wishing I’d stopped earlier in my packing.
‘Good girl.’ She looked at her watch. ‘You’d better shower. We’ll go out…hit some clubs.’
‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Not tonight.’
‘Oh, but you can.’ She pulled me up off the sofa again.
I went to protest, but Liv stood in front of me. ‘No she can’t. Not tonight.’
I’m sure my shoulders sagged visibly, but my relief was short-lived.
‘She’s going out with me tonight,’ Liv continued, in her firmest tone. ‘I’ve got a gig, and Grace’s coming to watch.’
It was the first I’d heard about it. I could only look on, wondering if it was finally going to kick off between them, but Kitty seemed oblivious to Liv’s ferocity.
She opened her mouth to argue, but appeared to think better of it, and yawned. ‘Okay,’ she said finally, coming forward to plant smacking kisses on my cheeks. ‘It was only a warm-up anyway. I could use some sleep, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t take you up on the offer. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow though, Grace, no excuses. We’re on the VIP list for the F Bar.’
And with that, she flounced out.
Fifteen
After seeing Giles, I drove to the address Charlotte had given me again, just to make sure the tenant I’d spoken to was correct. She could even have been lying. I wouldn’t have put it past Charlotte to be able to wrap the girl around her finger, and persuade her to cover her ass. She might even have been at the flat when I called by. I couldn’t take anything for granted now, and I certainly couldn’t just sit about, hoping Giles would make good on his promise. I’d been checking the news non-stop and nothing had come out yet, but I knew I couldn’t count on it staying that way.
The flat was above a dingy row of shops. They were mainly fast food places and restaurants; Indian, Turkish, Greek, and the air was suffused with the stench of hot fat. It made me want to heave. I left the car out the front, on the double yellows. I was risking a ticket, but I wanted it as close as I could get it, and a ticket was easier than the alternative. In this postcode, I was likely to come back to find my car missing its wheels, if I found it at all. Seemingly, it was the same for cats. At least, there were posters flapping from every lamp post, offering a reward for the return of a black and white one.
I walked up to the front door, lodged awkwardly between a butchers and a grocery store. It was old, covered in peeling black paint, and almost hidden by the outdoor display stands. It suited my purposes exactly. I got out my credit card, and got busy. Matt had taught me various break-in techniques, but this door didn’t look like it’d need anything but the most fundamental. I was right. It didn’t take more than a minute or two of coaxing for the lock to give and the door to creak open. I chanced a quick look around me to see if anyone had noticed, before going in.
Once inside, I shut the door quietly behind me, taking care not to trip over the newspapers piled up on the tiled floor. There was a bit of post, too. I gathered it up, placed it carefully under my arm, and looked around me. I was standing in a foyer, and there was a door in front of me, to the side of a staircase. It had to be the flat of the tenant I’d met before, which meant Charlotte’s was on the first floor. Good. Only two flats meant less chance of being caught.
I peered up into the stairwell. It was dark, with a ragged carpet running up the middle of the stairs. The whole place smelt of raw meat, from the butchers presumably, and dust. I listened, but the only sound I could hear was the traffic from outside, interspersed with the odd snatch of conversation, as people came and went from the shops.
I went upstairs, treading
carefully, just in case. The landing when I reached it was small and dimly lit, from a window high up, and there was just the one door off it. I took my credit card in my fingers again and started to tease at the lock.
It didn’t budge. I sighed with impatience. Now, in the situation, all Matt’s other tricks deserted me. I couldn’t remember one. Well, I could…one. But I didn’t have a clothes hanger with me, and there was no damned letter box, anyway.
I fiddled around with the card for a few minutes more, before giving up and resorting to the tried-and-tested, fool-proof method I’d hoped to avoid. I hoped the tenant downstairs was out. I couldn’t be sure, though, so it meant my time inside the flat was going to be cut short. I couldn’t hang around.
The door was solid. The first time I drove my shoulder into it, I definitely came off worst. It hardly gave at all. It took a good dozen whacks before it finally surrendered, and even then it swung open reluctantly, snagging on another thin, bedraggled carpet.
I pushed my way into the room, keeping my back to the wall. I almost smiled to myself. It was like being in a film. I was the cop, searching for the murderer. Except, of course, Charlotte wasn’t a killer. Just a colossal pain in the ass.
Normally, I would have got Matt or Rick to do this kind of thing for me, but this was too serious…too personal…and anyway, I couldn’t trust anyone, least of all Rick, right now.
The room was empty. There was nothing in it, except a dead cat, splayed out on the floor, its guts hacked open, and spilling out onto the carpet. It was no surprise to find, as I pushed at it with my shoe, that it was black and white. Looked like I’d found the missing one, anyway, but I wasn’t going to be getting a reward. It was rancid. I felt like gagging. Who’d leave a room like that? Who’d do that to a cat? What the fuck did this address have to do with anything, anyway?
I went through into the kitchenette. It reeked just as bad as the living room, being separated by only a thin party wall, but at least I no longer had to look at the cat. I put the post on the worktop, and began to sort through it. There wasn’t much that looked interesting. Most of it was for the flat downstairs, and it was all in different names. There were only three envelopes for this flat, which seemed weird. Surely, a flat that had been empty for months should have a backlog of junk mail a metre deep.
I’d stood there for a few moments, pondering the significance of it, when I heard a noise from outside the flat. Footsteps, light and cautious. Someone was coming up the stairs. I quickly stuffed the three envelopes inside my jacket, bundled the rest in my hand and strode out onto the landing.
Whoever it was had turned the light on. I looked down to see the tenant from the downstairs flat staring up at me. She looked frankly disgusted. ‘You again,’ she said. It was less a statement and more an accusation.
She’d stopped halfway, and I was able to take her in more clearly than I had the day before. She was fairly pretty, with long bleached hair that was growing out. The roots were black, like the thick make up daubed around her eyes. She was also barely half-dressed, in a flimsy red house-coat that barely covered her thighs. It was all frills and didn’t seem to do up. Right now, it was gaping open, exposing more crimson and more frills, in the way of a long-line basque. It would probably have looked cheaply erotic, had it been on a better figure. As it was, she bulged out of it all over and the whole package just looked cheap.
In a heartbeat, the whole situation dropped into focus. There were no prizes for guessing what this girl did for a living, or why she’d seemed so pleased to see me the last time. Working girls weren’t normally picky about where their clients came from, or when they turned up. She’d probably been waiting on one when I’d arrived.
‘Is that my post?’ she demanded. Her whole attitude was hostile, but guarded. ‘Give it here.’
She came up the stairs and stood at the top, blocking my way out. I held out the post, feeling tired and impatient. She snatched it and immediately started rifling through it. ‘There’s nothing for that flat,’ she said. ‘Have you taken it?’
I shrugged. ‘There wasn’t any,’ I said, casually. ‘I think that’s pretty strange, to be honest.’
‘Well, no one lives there,’ she said.
She was trying to sound disinterested, but I could tell she was on edge. Her hands were shaking. Not much – the tremor was almost imperceptible – but it was enough for me. I’d got her rattled. She might, after all, prove helpful. If I could just keep the pressure on…
‘I’d have thought there’d be some,’ I said. I leaned back against the wall, and folded my arms, making sure to keep the envelopes inside my jacket secure. ‘Makes me think you might be collecting it for someone.’
I stared at her, watching her face for any further signs of discomfort. There…the eyes darting to the side, not meeting my gaze…the tremble of the lower lip.
‘If you’re after Charlotte,’ she said, looking up at me finally. ‘You’re too late. She’s gone.’
‘She was never here, Jane,’ I said. Looking through the post had given me her name at least. ‘As you know very well.’
She didn’t like me using her name at all. Her eyes widened and she looked almost fearful. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what she’s done, but I’m not getting involved. I collect her post for her, that’s all. She’s been good to me. I wouldn’t have this flat without her. Don’t ask me to grass.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I said, putting out a hand towards the stairs. She looked down at herself, as if suddenly realising she was exposed, and pulled the house coat around her, defensively. I gestured again at the stairs, and she stood back, allowing me to pass.
I started down the stairs, the facts beginning to gel in my mind. Jane was a pro. Charlotte had got her this flat. Charlotte…was never a journalist. They might do most things, but even the most hardened hack didn’t screw around just for a story. When she’d said she was selling her story, she’d meant just that. Selling it, not writing it. She was a prostitute looking for a quick buck. And I was an idiot.
The girl must have gone into the flat, because she suddenly screamed, and shouted down the stairs at me. ‘Oh my god, that’s my cat, you sick fuck! And look at the front door!’ She came back out onto the landing. ‘It’s knackered. You’re paying for that. I’ve got your number plate.’
I stopped briefly and shook my head in disbelief. The bitch had seen me coming in. She’d probably been waiting for a client again. Of course she had. The outfit said it all. And now she had my registration number. She’d warn Charlotte and she’d be another step ahead. I had nothing to lose. I might as well put some pressure on.
I turned and looked back up the stairs at her. She sounded defiant, but her eyes told a different story. They were huge and staring. She looked scared to death. ‘You said you wouldn’t get involved,’ I said, making sure to use my most threatening tone. ‘You’d be wise to stick to that and, if you do see Charlotte, be sure to give her this.’
Following the Fliss episode, I’d had some new business cards made. I hoped Charlotte would see the humour and relent a little. Maybe even get in touch.
They were plain, black on white, and had nothing on them but my title and my mobile number. I took one out and scribbled two words on it, before letting it fall onto the bottom stair.
It landed face up, and I threw it a backwards smile as I left the flats.
Call me, it said.
The Filth Monger
Sixteen
I rang Giles again en route to the Castle. I knew now why the Herald hadn’t run the story yet. It would take time to get it written, and she might even be touting it around different papers. From the minute I’d seen that business card, I’d been jumping to conclusions. I was willing to bet, now, that if I’d managed to get the rest of the cards out of that case, they’d all have been different. Business cards for different journalists at different papers. Worst case scenario, this could all end in a bidding war between the tabloids, and then the shit would real
ly hit the fan. It could be huge.
I didn’t care too much what they’d say about me. Everyone who knew me, knew what my life entailed, and why. Anyone else, I didn’t give a shit what they thought. But if they dug deep enough, all sorts of stuff could come out. Sordid stuff, the stuff of tabloid dreams, enough to derail the lives of people I’d sworn to protect. I couldn’t have that happen. It was essential I found her, and the only way I’d have time to do that would be if Giles could keep a lid on things for as long as possible.
There was no answer. His mobile went to answerphone every time. It was infuriating. At one point, I went to leave a message, before stalling and hanging up. I couldn’t leave one, couldn’t leave anything that could incriminate me. The Home Office were into everything, I knew that from the Fliss episode. Giles would do his best to fulfil his promise, but not at the expense of his career and, if he were questioned about his dealings with me, it could all come out.
I threw my mobile down on the passenger seat in disgust, and put my foot down. My brief stop at Charlotte’s fake address meant I’d be late to the Castle now, and I didn’t want to run the risk of missing Rick. I needed to speak to him urgently. There was something about all this that smacked of his handiwork. I had a mole – that much was clear - and, if I wasn’t mistaken, Rick was the small mammal with the shovel hands and the velvety black coat. If so, he was my best – and worst – chance of putting this whole thing to bed.
The rush hour traffic thinned out as I headed into Berkshire, and I was actually early as I swung into the long gravel driveway of the Castle. I always drove fast, and my growing sense of urgency had driven the milometer through the roof. The security guards had opened the gate for me ahead of time, and I drove down through the avenue of trees unhindered, which was more than anyone else would be able to do.
The old family pile looked magnificent in the sunset, and I wished I was happier to come here. No matter how often I did – and depending on what was going on and who I was trying to help, it was sometimes frequently - it always stirred up old memories, and never happy ones. I considered stopping in at the east wing and paying my respects to the aged relatives, but I couldn’t face it. Anyway, respect for that quarter was hard to come by.
Falling from Grace: A Billionaire Romantic Suspense series (The Filth Monger Series Book 1) Page 7