by Roberta Kray
‘Don’t know why I bother,’ she mumbled faintly. ‘All the appreciation I get …’
A gentle complaining seemed to be par for the course too.
‘I know what you mean,’ Eve replied sympathetically.
‘Your old man the same, huh?’
She laughed. ‘Aren’t they all?’ This was an easier character to inhabit, the part of the faintly disgruntled wife or girlfriend. Better anyway than … but she didn’t want her thoughts to scramble off in that direction. ‘Have you come far?’
Now the lip gloss was out. The blonde skimmed it expertly across her lips, pouting into the mirror. ‘Essex. Romford. You know it? A real shitter of a journey too, takes me hours, but then what do they care about that. I reckon the bastards sit down with a map and deliberately send them as far away as possible.’ She frowned hard into the mirror as if the authorities might have a secret camera hidden there. ‘Bastards,’ she murmured again.
Eve got out a comb and ran it through her hair. She felt a sudden urge to prolong this chance encounter, to hold on to this thread of semi-normality, this lifeline. Gradually her nerves were beginning to steady. What was she worrying about? What was the worst that could happen?
He could only say no.
‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s a liberty.’
The girl nodded, encouraged by the response. ‘I’m Amber, by the way.’
‘Eve,’ she reciprocated.
And if they’d been men they might have shaken hands but women have a different code of conduct. Instead they simply exchanged another smile and returned their attention to the mirror.
‘There are worse places, mind,’ Eve offered, to keep the conversation going. ‘I mean some jails …’ She raised her brows as she let the sentence peter out.
Amber glanced sideways at her, making a sound in the back of her throat. ‘You know what my Dan says? He says it’s a shithole. He says it’s full of nonces.’
The word settled like ice at the base of Eve’s neck. Nonces. Men who preyed on the vulnerable, on children, on young teenagers, and if there weren’t any of those available then … She thought of Terry and his bruises. By messing with her hair, by quickly twisting it up behind her head, she tried to hide the shivers that trembled through her body. ‘Does he?’
Her voice sounded thin and strained but Amber didn’t notice. She was too preoccupied with the more essential business of self-decoration. As she carefully applied yet another layer of lip gloss, she laughed and said, ‘Still, he says that about bleedin’ everywhere.’
Eve tried to laugh too but it took an effort to even force her mouth to move. But is it true? she wanted to ask. Is Hillgrove full of… But she couldn’t quite find the courage.
Amber tilted her head and stared intently at her own reflection.
Eve scrutinized it too. Perhaps she was even younger than she’d thought. She gazed at the wide blue eyes and bleached blonde hair. She wasn’t beautiful but she had that fresh-faced glow of youth, that inner vibrant light. And above all else – Eve felt a vague sense of loss as she recognized it – she still had hope.
Amber packed her cosmetics back into her bag. ‘Fancy a coffee?’ she asked.
Eve took one last glance at the mirror. ‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘Why not?’
It was just after two o’clock when the numbers were called and they gathered at the desk, collecting their forms, before trudging through the rain to the main building. Here they waited again, compliant as sheep, before being herded into a small lift-shaped box and crammed in tight until the doors behind them could close.
It was at this point Eve always experienced a momentary panic. Trapped in the overly warm and claustrophobic space, the delay between one set of doors closing and the next set opening felt like an eternity. She took deep steady breaths, in and out, in and out, too aware of the crush of bodies around her. The seconds ticked by. Gradually, an uneasy hush descended. Even Amber ceased in her relentless monologue and eventually fell silent.
Then suddenly, thankfully, they were all spilling out into the fresh damp space of an inner courtyard. A babble of freed voices drifted up towards the sky. Eve gulped in the air as she walked, filling her lungs with oxygen. Usually that would be it, the worst part over, but now she had another ordeal to face.
Cavelli was only minutes away.
Amber’s chatter rolled over and around her as they entered yet another red brick building. She nodded automatically in response, murmuring, making tiny sounds of deaf acknowledgement as they climbed the flight of stairs.
Confidence was a state of mind. Eve thought of everything her father had taught her. She imagined him outside, waiting in the car, his fingers tapping restively against the wheel. She couldn’t let him down. She couldn’t let Terry down. Adjusting her posture, pushing back her shoulders and straightening her back, she tried to prepare herself.
As they entered the search area she could see the entrance to the visiting room.
She was less than ten steps away.
Usually, she couldn’t wait to get the search over and done with but today she was in no hurry; if they’d asked her to take off all her clothes she’d have readily agreed. Anything to delay what lay ahead. Typically, even the drugs dog was absent, the snuffling inquisitive brown Labrador that usually held up proceedings for a few extra minutes. Perhaps he was on holiday. She laid her purse on the table for the screw to root through. He went through it too quickly, too carelessly, before handing it back. Slow down, she wanted to insist, take your time.
Propelled by the queue, she was pushed relentlessly forward again.
Now she was only feet from the door. A female screw smiled faintly. Without waiting to be asked Eve assumed the familiar pose, extending her arms while the woman ran her expert hands swiftly and efficiently over her body, skimming her hips, the length of her legs, examining her belt and skirt pockets. It wasn’t pleasant but she’d known worse. Once she had been to a jail where they peered inside your mouth, a procedure that had felt more intrusive, more disturbingly intimate, than any fleeting pat of her breasts or buttocks.
It was over in a minute. And she was cleared, declared clean and summarily dismissed.
Free to have her visit.
And there was no retreat now unless she screamed or fainted or a flash of lightning split through the window and cut them all dead.
The open door loomed ominously ahead.
She took a deep breath and before she could change her mind, before her courage might fail her, raised her chin and stepped boldly forward. Quickly, she glanced around. The men were already in there, already seated, impatiently waiting for their visitors.
She saw Cavelli instantly. He smiled, if that vague quiver of his lips could be called a smile, but didn’t bother rising from his seat. Instead, he lounged back and watched as she strolled across the room.
And there was something in that gaze, such overt arrogance, that even as she approached him her fear was beginning to dissolve. It was gradually being replaced by a different impulse, a need, a desire, a determination not to be beaten.
She swung her hips provocatively.
It was only when she arrived, hovering for a moment above him, that he finally moved … and then it was only to intimidate. Rising to his feet, all six feet plus of mulish masculinity, he used his height to look down on her.
‘Nice to see you again,’ he said, without even a hint of sincerity.
‘You too. You haven’t changed a bit.’
There was a thin brittle silence before he waved his hand towards a chair and sat down again.
Eve lowered herself graciously on to the padded turquoise seat, sliding her legs to one side and neatly crossing her ankles.
He gazed at her with a faintly chilling scrutiny.
She let him. She let his eyes roam over her body, from her forehead to her toes. And while he blatantly studied her, she took the opportunity to stare back. Was he exactly as she remembered? Not quite. His eyes were colder, darker
and more brutal. Oh God, had she made a mistake, had she got it all wrong? No, she couldn’t think that way. She mustn’t go traipsing down that road again.
‘So?’ he asked impatiently.
‘So,’ she repeated. ‘What do you want?’
His wide brow burrowed into a frown. ‘What do I want? You were the one who—’
‘Tea or coffee,’ she interjected, getting briskly to her feet again. She glanced over her shoulder. ‘They’re all coming in. If I don’t go now, I’ll be there all day’
Cavelli hesitated. As if he’d been out-manoeuvred but wasn’t quite sure how, he glared at her suspiciously. ‘Tea then,’ he eventually said, ‘two sugars. And none of that dishwater shit.’
No dishwater shit,’ she echoed, just to prove that she was paying attention. ‘Would you like anything else?’
‘No.’
No, thank you, she was ludicrously tempted to correct, just as her father had always done when she was a child. Common courtesy costs nothing, Evie. But sensibly, although the idea made her grin, she simply nodded and set off for the kiosk.
The queue was short and she was there and back in a matter of minutes. Placing the plastic cup of hot strong tea in front of him, she settled back down in the chair. She could see from his expression that there wasn’t much point in wasting time on small talk. Best to cut straight to the chase before her courage sprang another leak.
‘I’m here, Mr Cavelli, because I need you to do something for me.’
His eyes flew up warily but he kept his silence.
Eve cleared her throat and, after a brief hesitation, continued. ‘I want you to look after my brother Terry. I want you to stop him from getting hurt again.’
Whatever he might have expected her to say, it clearly wasn’t that. He gave what could only be described as a snort before he shook his head and growled, ‘And why the hell should I do you any favours?’
‘I’m not asking for any favours,’ she quickly snapped back. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
Now that hit the target. A glimmer of interest swept across his face. He leaned forward, splaying his powerful hands across his thighs. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning exactly that.’ She shifted forward too and lowered her voice so that no one around them could hear. ‘You tell me how much you want – within reason – and I’ll pay you. A straightforward private business deal.’
She watched as he thought about it, could almost see him mentally processing the proposition. Why had she chosen him? It was mainly down to chance but then she had a healthy respect for the vagaries of fate. It was down to that original collision, to the way he had looked at her, to her instant recognition of his vile male arrogance. A bully maybe but she didn’t care – just so long as he protected Terry.
It was a while before he replied and it wasn’t the response she’d been anticipating. ‘If this is some kind of fucking set-up …’
His tone was softly vicious. Eve heard the implicit threat and inwardly shuddered. She could feel her heart starting to pump. By an effort of will she forced herself to meet his gaze.
‘Jesus,’ she replied defiantly, ‘what do you think I am? You’ve seen him. He’s not going to survive five minutes in here. And I’m not going to sit back and let that happen. Either you help me to protect him or I’ll find someone else who will.’
He lifted his chin, gave her another long hard look but finally seemed to relax. His mouth curled into the semblance of a smile. ‘Well, you’ve got a fucking nerve, I’ll give you that.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘Take it how you like,’ he shrugged, ‘but before you get too excited, there’s something you should know – I never do business with women.’
Eve sighed despairingly. She’d only just got over one obstacle and now she was being bludgeoned with another. Great! So along with all his other endearing qualities, Cavelli had to be a small-minded prehistoric chauvinist as well. Still, she’d come this far. She wasn’t giving up without a fight.
Smiling sweetly back, she asked, ‘And why is that precisely?’
‘Why do you think?’ He barked out a laugh.
‘I’ve no idea,’ she replied, all wide-eyed innocence. In a stereotypical female gesture she lifted a hand and swept back her long red hair. What she was going to say next was a risk but it was make or break time. ‘Because you’re worried they might be smarter than you?’
And it certainly had an effect – although she wasn’t sure if it was the one she’d been hoping for. As if he’d been hit by a brick his smug expression disappeared. The temperature dropped a further few degrees.
He glared at her. ‘You’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself.’
‘Unlike you,’ she retaliated, gently raising her eyebrows.
He scowled back.
In an agony of doubt, she held her breath. Had she gone too far? There was suddenly every possibility that she’d not only messed up Terry’s future but might also be leaving this jail with a price on her own head.
But then, thank God, he actually laughed. The suspicion fled from his eyes and just for a moment, a brief fleeting second, he seemed almost human. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Your brother’s a stupid little fucker.’
‘Well, no one’s arguing with that – but it’s hardly the point.’
‘Of course it’s the fucking point,’ he insisted. ‘I don’t need the grief. I don’t need some pathetic kid constantly dragging me into his rows.’
By which he meant, she was sure, that this was all going to cost her a damn sight more than she expected. But she could deal with that. She’d find the money somehow.
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ he continued, staring intently at her breasts, ‘I’d love to help, sweetheart, of course I would. But as I was saying, I don’t do business with women. They can’t be trusted. They act on their emotions and not with their brains. They’re unstable.’
‘Really,’ Eve replied, resisting the urge to stand up and slap him hard enough to prove his point. But there was more than one way to skin a cat. Slowly she started to gather her things together, her jacket and her purse.
He frowned. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Going,’ she replied, throwing him a dismissive glance. ‘You’ve made your position clear and I appreciate your honesty. I don’t want to waste your time – or mine.’
But Cavelli, as she suspected, was enjoying himself too much. He was the type of man who liked to be in charge – especially of women – and this visit was rapidly slipping out of his control.
He twisted in his chair, unfolding his arms and shifting towards her again. ‘Out of interest,’ he said, ‘just how much are we talking about?’
Eve laid down her purse. ‘How much do you want?’ She had spent the last few days wondering about it. What was the going rate for protection in prison? She didn’t have a clue. A hundred quid a week? Five hundred? A thousand? Whatever it cost, she’d find a way to pay it.
Cavelli’s lips widened into a grin. ‘You can’t afford me.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Eve deliberately glanced down at her clothes: the cashmere jumper, the designer skirt, and a pair of heels that had cost over a week’s salary. She looked the part even if it was an illusion. ‘Just name your price.’
His grin grew even wider. ‘The thing is, love, I’m not some piss-poor con in search of a few quid. I don’t need the aggro and I don’t need the money’
‘So what do you need?’ she snapped back.
As if genuinely considering the question, he raised his eyes and looked at her. But then he slyly shook his head. ‘No, you can’t help.’
Anything,’ she insisted.
Sheer frustration had sprung the word from her mouth but now, as she met his loathsome gaze again, she had the feeling she had walked straight into a carefully laid trap.
Anything?’ he repeated softly.
Her voice faltered as her heart made a violent leap. ‘Yes.
’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose, under those terms, we might come to an agreement.’
Like the devil he was sitting there with one almighty smirk on his face. She could almost feel her soul being valued for auction.
Chapter Three
Henry Baxter took off his glasses and placed them carefully on his desk. He screwed up his eyes as he peered at the stranger in front of him.
‘DS Shepherd.’ The man flashed his identity card. ‘If I could have a few minutes of your time?’
‘And this is concerning …?’
‘Eve Weston. I believe she used to work here.’
At the mention of her name, Henry’s usually placid demeanour became more animated; his brows lifted and a twitch invaded the corners of his mouth. He half-rose from his chair. ‘Has something happened? Has she—’
Shepherd raised his hands in a flat-palmed gesture of reassurance. ‘No, it’s not that.’
‘So what’s the bitch done now?’ Richard interrupted from where he was still loitering by the door. ‘Tried to con some other poor sucker?’
‘Thank you,’ Henry said tightly, ‘but I think I can deal with this.’
‘But—’
‘Really,’ he insisted. ‘I don’t want to keep you.’
Richard, for a moment, looked determined to argue the point but then had second thoughts. Instead he merely grunted, threw a meaningful glance at Shepherd, and turned on his heel. He shut the door with rather more force than was necessary.
The sergeant, helping himself to a seat, looked smugly pleased by the exchange. ‘I take it your son has some issues with Ms Weston.’
‘It would appear so,’ Henry concurred. He gave a small polite smile but conceded nothing more. While he waited, he examined the enemy. That he was the enemy there was no doubt in his mind at all. It had taken him over thirty years to realize that he didn’t like his son but only thirty seconds to realize the same of DS Shepherd.