by Roberta Kray
Another few yards and she would be standing right beside Joe Silk. Suddenly, as if a switch had been flicked, that fight or flight mechanism sprang into action, the adrenalin starting to surge through her blood. There was still time to turn around and run!
But she didn’t.
‘Evie!’ he said, rising to greet her. As if they were old friends he smiled and stretched out a large mottled hand. ‘How very nice to see you again.’
‘Mr Silk,’ she said.
‘Oh, please, call me Joe.’
He gestured towards a chair and she sat down beside him.
‘I hope coffee is all right?’ he asked. There was a pot already on the table. ‘I find I need at least three cups to face the mornings.’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
While he poured, she took the opportunity to study him up close. He was the very picture of respectability, a mature silver-haired man, impeccably dressed, freshly shaven. His full mouth, the lips still widened in a smile, seemed kindly. Even the maze of tiny red thread veins, either side of his nose, gave him more of the look of a rosy-cheeked benevolent uncle than a murdering gangster. It was only the cunning in his eyes that betrayed him.
He lifted them now, aware of her scrutiny, and returned her gaze. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘How very like your mother you are.’
‘Am I?’ The comment, completely unexpected, caught her off guard. It had not occurred to her that he would have known her mother.
‘She was very beautiful too.’
For a second, although she realized she was being flattered, curiosity almost got the better of her – she wondered how well they had been acquainted, what she was like, if he had any idea of why she’d left – but then quickly pushed those thoughts aside. That was not why she was here. And it was only a ploy to get under her skin, to spin her off balance. She mustn’t let him get the upper hand.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ she said briskly.
Something flickered in his face, irritation or amusement perhaps. His shoulders rose in the merest shadow of a shrug. Then he laid his palms flat on the table and gave a weary sigh. His head swung softly from side to side. ‘Evie, my dear. How has it come to this?’
‘How indeed,’ she replied. Now that she was here, in the centre of it all, the terror had diluted into a more manageable kind of fear. True, her heart was still pounding but not as violently as it had been. She took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I think there have been some … misunderstandings between us. That’s why I wanted this meeting, in the hope that we could clear the air.’
‘Really,’ he said. ‘Misunderstandings?’
‘I’m trying to be straight with you.’
He stared silently back at her. The look, she imagined, was pretty similar to the one Little Red Riding Hood’s granny must have seen when the Big Bad Wolf was sitting by her bed.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Why else would I be here?’
‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps you’ve brought some friends along.’
‘What?’ She frowned and then, belatedly, realized what he was suggesting. God, he suspected she might be working with the cops, all wired-up and waiting to record. And she thought she was paranoid. ‘What?’ she said again. ‘For Christ’s sake, I’ve got as much to lose as you have.’ She pulled down her collar to reveal the first few inches of her chest and then lifted the sweater from the hem to reveal a smooth slightly sun-reddened stomach. ‘You want to check it out? You want to pat me down?’
Her voice must have risen because a couple at the next table turned to stare. Eve threw them a surly mind your own business glare before swiftly covering up and returning her attention to Silk. ‘Since when did any member of the Weston family go running to the law?’ she hissed.
He sat back, the smile slowly creeping back on to his lips. ‘I was right,’ he said. ‘You are like your mother.’
She threw him a scowl. ‘So do you want to talk or not?’
‘As I recall, you were the one who asked for this meeting.’
‘Okay. Fair enough.’ She took a few sips of coffee, a delaying tactic while she calmed down and thought about how exactly she should proceed. A modicum of truth seemed in order. ‘What you have to understand,’ she began, ‘is that until recently, until last week in fact, I knew nothing about the photograph. I didn’t even know it existed.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I swear.’ She was able, on this point at least, to meet his eyes with a pure unwavering sincerity. ‘We hadn’t seen much of each other before he … before he died, and there weren’t any notes, any final messages. He just …’ She paused, the memory still painfully raw, and her hand moved swiftly to her mouth. ‘He didn’t tell me anything.’
‘So who did?’
‘No one.’
‘So why did you hire Ivor Patterson?’
Her jaw dropped open. She was as surprised as when he’d first mentioned her mother. ‘Patterson? I didn’t hire Patterson. He was following me.’
There must have been something about the objection, about her righteously indignant tone, that was enough to question his assumptions. His forehead crunched into a frown.
‘I only clocked him once,’ she said. ‘He tailed me out towards Blakeney but I managed to lose him.’ Now she was confused too. ‘I’ve been presuming it was down to you.’
He shook his head and gazed thoughtfully over the balcony.
From the upper level, they had a clear view of the forecourt and the platforms, of the trains coming in and out, quickly disgorging and then sucking up their next batch of human cargo. It was all faintly hypnotic. She wondered how many of Silk’s men were lurking in the background. At least two, she reckoned, and probably more if he was as worried about this meeting as she was.
‘Look,’ she said, turning to him again. ‘It doesn’t matter where I found the photo or how, or who told me what or when. The point is that I’ve only just found out what happened in Crete.’
‘Really,’ he said.
She wasn’t quite sure what reaction she’d expected but it certainly wasn’t that. His face remained impassive. In fact he was so calm, so coolly indifferent, that she could hardly believe they were referring to a murder. Perhaps he thought she was bluffing. She lifted her chin and tried again. ‘I know what happened to Andrea Banks.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Why else would you be here?’ Then, as if they were discussing some minor business proposition, he casually lifted his cup to his lips and sipped at his coffee. ‘So what do you want?’
His attitude, his whole demeanour, was enough to chill her to the bone but there was no backing out now. The moment had arrived. Those final words of Cavelli’s slid into her head: It depends on how persuasive you are.
‘I want to make a deal. You think I need this mess in my life? I don’t. All I want is to sort it out, to get back to normal. Naturally I’ve taken copies of the photograph but only for my own protection. I’m not trying to … to blackmail you. I don’t want anything other than to be left alone – and for you to leave Terry alone. That’s reasonable, isn’t it? If we just stay away from each other, keep our distance, then surely we both benefit.’
‘Until the next time your little brother lands himself in trouble.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I swear. If you keep to your side of the bargain, I’ll keep to mine. I’ll never contact you again.’
He appeared to give it some thought, his fingers lightly stroking his chin. ‘I made a deal with your father. He let me down.’
‘I know but this is different. I’m not claiming what he did was right but he was only looking out for his child. He couldn’t bear the thought of Terry spending all those years in jail.’ She paused and then, hoping to arouse some small element of paternal understanding, said: ‘Dad was ill and he was desperate. You’d have done the same for Marianne.’
His brows lifted at the mention of his
daughter. ‘Perhaps,’ he said softly. He leaned across the table until his mouth was almost touching her cheek. ‘But then I doubt if Marianne will ever leave a corpse in the bedroom for me to tidy up.’
Eve jumped back as if she’d been slapped, her eyes widening in disbelief. ‘What? Terry didn’t—’
His shoulders lifted in another of those light indifferent shrugs.
‘He didn’t!’ she insisted. ‘And you know it!’
‘Have you asked him?’ he said.
‘Why would I even bother to—’
His mouth slid into a thin cruel smile. ‘Ah, then perhaps you ought to have a little chat before you dig too big a hole for yourself.’
‘I don’t need to have a little chat,’ she snapped, trying to ignore the possible double meaning of what he’d just said. Her outrage was greater than her fear just now. ‘I know what my brother is and isn’t capable of. What is this – some feeble attempt to shift the blame? It’s pathetic. Why would you have covered it up if it was down to Terry? Why would you have bothered?’
He sat back, calmly folding his hands into his lap. ‘Because your father begged me to, my dear. Because we were friends – once upon a time. Because, to be quite honest, I was landed with a somewhat inconvenient situation and, all in all – although I have to admit it was a bad decision – that option seemed preferable to the others that were open to me. The Greek police are not especially sympathetic towards that kind of thing. Being the owner of the villa, I could foresee some rather awkward questions.’
‘You’re lying!’
He seemed amused by her continuing protestations. ‘And so who exactly do you think was responsible?’
‘How is Mr Chase these days?’ she retorted.
‘I’ll tell him you were asking after him.’ He smiled again. ‘But no, I’m afraid you’re off the mark. It’s not Keeler’s style. He’s never been especially fond of women – not in that way, if you get my drift.’
Eve felt her stomach plummet. His drift was as clear as a thirty-foot tidal wave. Oh God, so Andrea Banks had been raped before—
She barely had time to complete the thought before Silk leaned in close to her again. A gleam of pure evil flickered in his eyes. ‘Of course there is a simple way of establishing the truth.’ His breath whispered hotly against her cheek. ‘We could always dig her up, get the DNA checked out. You’ll find that the results are quite conclusive.’
Eve felt suddenly paralysed, too terrified to move. The man was deranged, mad, sick in the head! Perhaps he was the one who had … Her guts heaved again and she was glad of the lack of food inside them.
He slowly sat back and sighed. ‘But then if we have to go down that road, everybody loses.’
She could only think of escape, of getting away, of ending this nightmare. There was no safe deal that could be made with a lunatic like this. She should have listened to Henry. She should have gone to the cops or stayed with Jack or … Jesus, why had she been so stupid! Her eyes flicked sideways, trying to judge the time it would take her, if she could get her legs to move, to push through the crowds and sprint out on to the street.
‘Before you make any rash decisions,’ he said, ‘perhaps you should have a word with his mother.’
Startled, her gaze flew back to him. ‘Lesley?’
He saw the surprise on her face and was quick to take advantage. ‘She hasn’t mentioned anything to you?’ He gave a low chuckle. ‘Ah, but of course not. The two of you never really did hit it off, did you?’
‘What’s she got to do with it?’
‘Terry has a history, my dear. Why do you think she was so desperate to get rid of him? Trouble is his middle name.’
‘So he made some mistakes, got in with the wrong crowd. He’s young. He’s only twenty-one. It’s not as if—’
‘I don’t mean that kind of trouble,’ he said.
‘What?’ It was an instinctive response rather than a question. She already understood what he was implying. She felt a shiver run through her. But it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. She’d have known. Surely she’d have known? And then she remembered the day she was at Blakeney, when Lesley had been about to tell her something but had then abruptly changed her mind. But that didn’t mean … And then there had been the phone call, just before she had left for Crete. I need to talk to you.
‘Poor old Vince,’ he said. ‘He’s tried his best to keep things quiet but there’s only so much silence money can buy.’
She shook her head.
‘Ask him,’ he said. ‘Ask Lesley, ask Terry. Ask them about the other girl, the one who was lucky enough to survive.’
She swallowed hard. There was a hard weird lump in her throat. ‘You’re lying,’ she said.
‘Call Lesley,’ he said.
‘Why should I?’
‘Why not?’
She didn’t know why not. Why couldn’t she just pick up the phone and prove what a gross stinking liar he was? Because for one it wasn’t the kind of a call you could make at a busy station café and for two it would be like admitting that he could be right and that vile doubt was just too terrible to face. ‘Because I don’t need to question whether my brother’s a goddamn killer or not.’
He nodded. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘I respect loyalty, especially family loyalty. But there comes a time when … well, when you have to know where to draw the line.’
She glared at him.
‘You’re a smart girl, Evie, but they haven’t been honest with you.’
‘You think?’ she said. She’d intended it to sound sarcastic, challenging, but it emerged as more of a defensive croak.
‘I know.’
Under the cover of the table she ground a clenched fist into her thigh. One half of her head was saying He’s just playing games; he’s trying to psych you out, while the other half was screaming What if? There were so many things her father hadn’t told her – and she couldn’t help wondering why. He hadn’t even rung her after Terry was arrested. Not a word. He hadn’t called her until the crisis was over, weeks later, until the armed robbery charge had been reduced to the lesser one of handling stolen goods. Why not? She wanted to believe that he’d meant to save her from the worry, from the stress – but that didn’t quite ring true. He’d been sharing most of his problems since the day that she’d been born. So what had been so different about this one?
Joe Silk stared into her eyes. ‘You know it too,’ he said.
And what scared her the most was that he was right. She might not have been lied to but she hadn’t been told the whole truth. Which didn’t mean that she believed his accusations – how could she? – but she didn’t have the evidence to refute them either.
‘I realize this must all have come as … something of a shock. But I’m sure the implications are clear. Naturally, I’d prefer for the whole business to be sorted out in a civilized fashion but if it isn’t then you – or rather Terry – have a lot more to lose than me.’
She gazed silently back at him.
A triumphant smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He glanced down at his watch. ‘Well, I believe we’ve covered all the bases – apart from, perhaps, the rather tricky problem of Mr Baxter.’
‘Henry doesn’t know anything,’ she said quickly. ‘He has no idea of what the photo means. Don’t you think if he did, you’d have had a visit from the cops by now? You can leave him alone. He isn’t a threat to you.’
Silk gave her another of his interrogative stares and then softly nodded. ‘Very well. And now the messy details are out of the way, now that we understand each other, I don’t see why we can’t reach an amicable agreement. The deal, if you still want it, is on the table: You stay away from me and I’ll stay away from you and yours. You agree?’
‘Yes,’ she said. So she had got what she wanted. She should have been happy, relieved, but all she felt was an empty despair.
He got slowly to his feet and looked down on her. ‘Take care, Evie,’ he said.
And then he turned and w
alked away. She watched him slip into the crowd, one more grey suit merging with a hundred others, there for a second and then gone. At least he hadn’t attempted to shake her hand again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Eve, after breaking all the speed limits, was already on the outskirts of Norwich. She had driven the whole way back with her mobile phone lying on the passenger seat. She was muttering as she drove. Liar, liar. Joe Silk was a liar and she was going to prove it. All she had to do was to make a single call. All she had to do was call Lesley.
So why didn’t she?
She slapped her hand angrily against the wheel. How could she have let him wind her up like that? He had got her so mad that she hadn’t even been afraid, not for a moment, when she made her way back to the hotel car park. She hadn’t given a damn whether anyone had followed her or not. They either had a deal or they didn’t and if they didn’t then …
Well, it looked like they did. She was still alive, wasn’t she – no unsightly bullet holes in the back of her head. Except it was hardly a deal to be proud of. The upside was that she’d got what she wanted – freedom from Joe Silk, safety for Terry – but at what price? The downside weighed heavily on her already overburdened conscience: there could be no retribution for Andrea Banks. Or for Henry either.
That couldn’t be right.
She thought about her father and the dangerous fateful game he had embarked upon. Why had he even taken the picture? She would never know for sure. Just a casual snap, perhaps, a memento to remind him of the trip. But that still begged the question of why he hadn’t wiped it from the memory. The presence of Andrea at the villa on the date she disappeared was a piece of evidence so damning that it was surely best destroyed. What had possessed him to keep it? Maybe, caught up in the horror of the moment, it had simply slipped his mind. And then later, well … maybe he had realized just how useful it might be.
Which was why, apart from her natural gut reaction, she was convinced Terry could have had nothing to do with it. If he was a killer – and that was a thought she could barely begin to contemplate – then her father would have wanted to ensure that the picture never saw the light of day.