by Roberta Kray
Another smile, this one slyer than the last, made a fleeting appearance. ‘Ah, so that’s why you’re protecting him. How very gallant. You’re defending the young man’s honour.’
Cavelli stared at him, his anger stirring. He knew what he was implying. Had anyone else come close to the suggestion he’d have been tempted to teach them some manners but this wasn’t the time to take offence. He needed him on side. But for all that, he couldn’t just let it pass. The retort slid out before he could think better of it. ‘You trying to say something?’
Bryant gave a low laugh. He knew Cavelli’s reputation; strike first and talk later. And his size always gave him an advantage. Any inclination towards disagreement was vastly reduced in the presence of six foot four of solid muscle. ‘Lighten up. You think I’d say it if I believed it?’
‘You’re hardly the shy type.’
Bryant laughed again, a quiet mirthless sound. ‘I heard you had a temper.’ Sitting back, he placed his hands sedately in his lap. For a while he gazed silently at his uninvited visitor. He was still a mystery. When Cavelli had first arrived, over a year ago, Bryant had expected trouble. Any man built like that, with a short fuse and a violent history, was bound to be bad news but the challenge he’d expected had never materialized. Surprisingly, Cavelli had kept himself to himself. Until now they had never gone beyond the occasional nod in the corridor. ‘So what’s your interest?’
‘I’ve got my reasons.’
‘And what have those reasons to do with me?’
‘People listen to you. You can put them straight.’
Bryant shrugged. ‘I could but why should I? It’s no business of mine. Why should I give a fuck?’
Cavelli stared at him again. ‘Because whatever else he might be, Terry Weston isn’t a grass. You have my word on it. The Rowans have got it wrong. You think I’d defend a fucking grass? If these rumours aren’t stopped soon, they’re going to grow. They’re going to grow and eventually they’re going to fucking explode.’
And?’
And you’ve got a nice quiet life here, Mr Bryant. Nice and quiet. Nice and orderly. No mess. No questions. But if this crap with Terry continues, that’s all going to change. If he gets hurt again, there are going to be repercussions. And then no more happy days. And after it’s over, however it pans out, the screws are going to slam the lid; this wing’s going to be shut down as tight as a fucking coffin.’
He frowned. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I’m just telling you how it is.’
Bryant sat back and thought about it. There was some sense to what he was saying. A feud on the wing wouldn’t be good for business. Eventually he came to a decision. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything.’
Cavelli stood up.
Bryant waved him away. The interview was over.
Through the glass in the office door Louise saw Henry Baxter bent over a mobile phone, his brow furrowed, his fingers pressing various buttons as he valiantly battled with the complexities of modern technology. As she knocked and walked in, he quickly slid it under a sheaf of papers. He looked as guilty as a schoolboy hiding a dirty magazine.
She placed the letters on the desk. ‘If you could sign these for me.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘New phone?’ she asked casually.
As if she possessed previously undisclosed psychic powers, Henry’s mouth dropped open.
She gestured towards the manual lying in front of him. ‘It all seems a bit complicated at first, doesn’t it? But it’s okay once it’s set up. And they’re handy, you know, if you break down in the car or anything. Saves having to find a phone box.’
‘Yes,’ he mumbled. ‘That’s why I wanted it, in case of a breakdown or …’
Louise fought back a smile. Poor Henry was not a good liar, particularly in the realm of personal affairs. Perhaps the relationship with Eve Weston was still going on. Perhaps Richard had cause for concern after all. But so what if he did? They were his concerns and not hers. She reached out a hand. ‘Here, let me help.’
‘No, really, it’s …’
‘I don’t mind. It won’t take a minute.’
And with her palm still patiently outstretched, he had no choice but to burrow under the papers and reluctantly pass it over.
Louise sat down and examined the tiny silver phone. ‘We need to set up an address book,’ she said. ‘That way you don’t have to dial the number every time you make a call.’ She went into the relevant part of the menu. ‘Who would you like to start with?’
A faint look of panic crossed his face. ‘Er …’
She didn’t approve of extramarital affairs – if that’s what was going on – but she still felt a pang of sympathy. Deceit clearly didn’t come naturally to him. And anyway, it wasn’t her place to make judgements; she had been on the receiving end of too many arbitrary opinions herself. ‘Well, how about the office?’ she suggested. ‘That could be useful if you’re going to be late in or you’re delayed in a meeting.’
Henry nodded. He was beginning to wish he’d never bought the darned thing. He watched, uncomfortable but resigned, as she tapped in the digits.
‘And home?’ she said next.
Again he went along with the suggestion, carefully reciting the information. They added in numbers for Richard, the AA (which he found on a card in his wallet), a few important clients and a couple of old friends.
‘Anyone else?’
He hesitated. Maybe he could put Eve’s details in himself … but then again, maybe not. And it would be useful to have them there. He had memorized her land line but not her mobile; he was still carrying that around on a scrap of paper. For a moment he couldn’t decide but then, remembering her face, recalling the fear in her eyes, he put his doubts aside. ‘There is one more.’
Louise heard the uneasiness in his voice, the faint rustle as he went through his pockets, but she didn’t embarrass him by looking up. ‘Fire away.’ When she’d successfully inserted the number, she asked, ‘And a name?’
Again, that hesitation. ‘Er …’
She waited.
He shifted in his chair. ‘Alex,’ he said eventually. It was the first male name that came into his head and yet strangely, using her father’s name made it feel a little less like a lie.
‘Alex,’ she repeated. She pressed a couple of buttons. ‘There. All done!’
‘Thank you.’ He reached out to retrieve the offending object, glad that the ordeal was finally over. ‘That was very kind of you.’
But she didn’t immediately relinquish it. ‘All you need now,’ she insisted, ‘is one quick lesson in how to use it.’
Henry’s heart sank. What had he been thinking? He should never have let her help. He should never have let her even touch the phone. One ordeal might be over but the worst was yet to come. He knew what the secretaries were like: gossips, every one of them. By this time tomorrow it would be all around the building, how Mr Baxter senior had suddenly leapt from the Dark Ages into the twenty-first century, buying a piece of equipment he had no idea how to use, needing a slip of a girl to give him instructions. It would only be a matter of time before Richard heard about it and then … God, he didn’t even want to think about what would happen then. The conclusions Richard would jump to were obvious. He’d realize he was seeing Eve again and … Well, there was no alternative. He’d have to get in there first. He’d have to tell Celia about the new phone, tell her tonight before …
‘It’s all right,’ Louise said softly, ‘your secret’s safe with me.’
Henry flinched. As if all his private fears had been publicly exposed, he stared at her in dismay. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I mean, don’t worry. There’s loads of stuff I’m not so good at.’ She gave him a shy smile. ‘I won’t say a word if you promise to keep quiet about my spelling.’
Unsure of how to respond, he dropped his gaze to the phone.
She smiled again. ‘Come on. I’ll run through th
e menu with you.’
Eve had dropped a grateful Amber off at the garage; by now she should be safely on her way back to Essex. Once she’d got rid of Jack Raynor, the evening had gone all right. No threatening phone calls at least. That had been a relief. She’d made pasta and they’d shared a bottle of wine. Of course she’d had to endure the interrogation first.
‘Is he your fella?’
‘No. Just a friend.’
‘A friend who brings you roses,’ she said slyly. ‘I wish I had friends like that.’
‘He’s a florist,’ she lied, saying the first thing that came into her head. ‘It’s no big deal. He gets them for free.’
‘He’s pretty fit, though. Don’t you think?’
Well, that couldn’t be denied. He was way too good-looking to be a cop – she was sure Amber hadn’t sussed him – or a boyfriend either come to that, the kind of guy that other girls would always be giving the eye. She’d had enough of that with Patrick.
Eve stood by the window and gazed down on the street. Automatically, she scanned the faces passing by. She should go out and do some shopping, her supplies were getting low. Except she wouldn’t need anything for this evening. She’d agreed to have dinner with Jack. Just once more. She wasn’t going to make a habit of it. Once she’d found out about Sergeant Shepherd, about why he’d gone to see Henry, that would be the end of it. She couldn’t take the risk of being spotted by a screw; there were plenty who liked to stir things up and consorting with the local constabulary wouldn’t go down well with Cavelli.
She sat down and lit a cigarette. There were plans to make, the foremost being a trip to London this weekend. She’d need to find somewhere to stay, a cheap hotel perhaps or a friend’s sofa. But first she had to do some digging on Jimmy Reece. She had to find out who she was looking for. The internet would be the logical place to start and that would mean a trip down to the library.
With a sigh, she stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette and went in search of a notepad and pen. As she rooted through her father’s desk, she felt the dark familiar sadness expanding in her chest. For a moment she paused, her fingers poised above his papers. She had the peculiar sensation that if she turned she would find him still sitting in his favourite chair, his grey eyes watching her, his mouth curling gently into a smile.
She swallowed hard. She should have spent more time with him. She should have been here when …
No, she couldn’t start thinking about that. Now wasn’t the time. She had to hold herself together, to keep her mind on the present. There were things to do. Suddenly eager to be out of the flat, she grabbed the items she needed and threw them in her bag.
Still distracted, she slid back the heavy bolts, swung open the door and instantly stopped dead – there was someone right in front of her, a figure with its arm raised, a fist about to— Her mind went blank. Gasping in alarm, her heart pumping, she blindly staggered back a step.
Then the person laughed. ‘Sorry, love.’
Eve took a long frightened second to recognize her. God, it was only Sonia!
‘What’s the matter? You’re as white as a sheet.’
She shook her head, willing her frantic pulse to slow. ‘Nothing,’ she eventually mumbled. ‘You just gave me a fright.’
‘Look at you. You’re shaking like a leaf.’ Sonia reached out to touch her lightly on the arm. ‘What’s the matter? You’ve been a bag of nerves ever since the breakin. Is that what it is, love? Are you still worried about that?’
‘No.’ Eve’s breath was uneven, rising from her lungs in short sharp bursts. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Come on,’ Sonia said, edging forward. ‘You sit down and relax and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’
No,’ Eve protested. ‘I can’t. Sorry. Thanks, but I’ve got to go.’ If she sat down now she might never get up again. She had to get on. The last thing she needed was the third degree from Sonia – or her sympathy. She was feeling so exposed, so stupidly vulnerable, that one more word of kindness and she might be tempted to break down and tell her everything. ‘I’m okay, really I am.’
But Sonia wasn’t taking no for an answer. ‘You can’t go out in this state. Shopping, is it? Well, it can wait. They’ll still be open in half an hour.’
‘The library, actually.’
Sonia peered at the rows of books on the shelves and snorted. ‘Huh? You not got enough to read?’
Eve unexpectedly found a smile on her lips. She could imagine her saying exactly the same thing to her father, could almost hear him laughing. ‘No, I need a computer. I need to check out something on the internet.’
‘Oh,’ Sonia said. ‘Well, you don’t need the library for that. You can use our Darren’s. He keeps his spare round here. He likes to play his games on it when he stays over. It’s nothing fancy but it works.’
Darren was her oldest grandchild, a skinny twelve-year-old with attitude. Eve wasn’t sure if she wanted to leave a trail of evidence of what she’d been looking at on his computer – or have Sonia leaning over her shoulder while she was doing it – but couldn’t think of any good reason to refuse. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure …’
But, as if the matter had been decided, Sonia had already turned away and was opening her door.
Eve locked her own and reluctantly followed her inside.
‘It’s in the spare room,’ she called out. ‘You go ahead while I get a brew on.’
The second bedroom was the same size as the one Eve slept in, but due to the presence of a pair of bunks and a cot it felt considerably smaller. The walls, painted a startling shade of red, were covered with posters and pictures and the floor was a clutter of discarded toys. Yet despite the chronic untidiness, it had an upbeat cheerful air to it. Eve could almost feel her spirits lifting as she fought her way through to the small table, sat down and turned on the machine. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Even if she had gone to the library, there was no guarantee of any privacy and at least here she could take her time.
The computer flickered into life and went through the usual motions. She made the connection to the web. She typed in his name, Jimmy Reece, and the results came up. Thousands of them. Bingo! How easy was that? It was only as she began to scroll through the list that she began to spot the problem. The Jimmy Reece she was reading about was an American racing driver who had died back in 1959. This couldn’t be the man she was searching for.
She peered at the screen.
Sonia came in and put a mug down on the table. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Yes, not bad. Thanks for the tea.’
‘Need a hand?’ Without waiting for a reply, she pulled up a chair and sat down.
Eve knew there was no polite way to get rid of her without rousing her curiosity so instead she said casually, ‘No, I’m fine. I just promised to look up something for a friend. It’s not important.’ She stared at the screen some more. A minute passed. Then, as Sonia clearly wasn’t going to leave, she thought, What the hell! She needed all the help she could get and it was hardly indiscreet to mention the name – especially as the chances of Cavelli finding out were virtually nil. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard of someone called Jimmy Reece, have you? Not this one,’ she said, glancing at the results on show, ‘another one, more recent, some kind of actor maybe.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you mean that rich gangster guy?’
‘Gangster?’ Eve repeated tentatively. Her stomach shifted a fraction. That didn’t sound promising.
But then Sonia added, ‘You know, that guy who was in all those gangster films a few years back. Was that his name?’ She nodded. ‘Yeah, I think so. You know the one I mean, dark hair, one of those accents, posh bloke, some kind of lord or something.’
‘Could be,’ Eve replied with a barely disguised sigh of relief. Tracking down a real-life gangster had never figured high on her list of priorities. She’d known plenty of bad boys in her time but they were in a different league, hustlers like Patrick,
cardsharps and grifters, small-time players with an eye to the main chance. She knew her way around that world. She’d been raised in it.
‘Something happened,’ Sonia continued. ‘It was in the papers. Don’t you remember? Some weird stuff, a fight. He got beaten up. There was a court case, I think.’
Eve shook her head. She didn’t read the papers much these days and had been reading them even less several years ago. What had she been doing then? Best not to think about it. After the split with Patrick she’d gone off the rails for a while. Well, more than a while. It was nudging on nine years since they’d split and it wasn’t until she’d gone to work for Henry that she’d felt her life was finally getting back on track.
She returned to the search engine and typed in the name again, carefully adding actor and court case.
This time she got a completely different set of results.
The one at the top of the list read Vicious attack on actor. She clicked on the heading and waited.
‘That’s him,’ Sonia said, as a thumbnail photograph appeared. She poked a finger towards the screen.
They both leaned forward to scan the text. It didn’t make for easy reading. Jimmy Reece had been attacked in his home in Notting Hill, brutally punched and kicked and left for dead. As Eve read the words, she could feel her spirits slowly sinking. She knew what was coming next. She was waiting to see another name, a name she would recognize, and it didn’t take too long for it to appear: yes, there it was in black and white – Martin Cavelli had been charged with the assault.
‘Shit,’ she murmured.
Sonia gave her a look. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. Her heart had started to thump but she couldn’t keep her eyes off the screen. According to the report, Cavelli had gone to the house, a row had broken out and … the details weren’t pretty: six cracked ribs, a ruptured spleen, a broken arm, and serious facial injuries. Jimmy Reece had spent weeks in hospital.
She clicked on a couple of later entries, articles covering the court case. The altercation had been over Cavelli’s ex-wife. Nadine had left him for Reece and when he dumped her … Well, Eve knew the rest, knew what she had done. So what Paula had told her was true.