by Roberta Kray
However that didn’t provide her with any clues as to who had actually committed the murder. If it wasn’t Chase (and for some reason, although it could be one mighty red herring, she had believed Silk’s denial) then it was either Joe himself or Peter Marshall. With their history of violence they could both quite easily fit the bill.
Would she ever discover the truth? It was doubtful. Eve couldn’t fail to think about Andrea’s parents or about the justice that poor girl would never get. As hard as she tried to justify the deal she had made, to claim that nothing she did now could bring Andrea back, a harsh accusing voice still whispered in her ear. A part of her hoped that it had been Marshall; at least she would know that he had paid for what he’d done.
She hit the ring road and joined a slow heavy stream of traffic. It was too early to go to the prison. She would head for the flat instead – there was no reason to avoid it now – and give herself some thinking time before the visit. What was she going to say to Terry? Would he speak about what had happened in Crete or would he refuse to? No, she wouldn’t let him give her the silent treatment. Even if she had to turn him upside down and shake it out of him, she’d make him talk. In all likelihood he had only kept quiet because he was afraid of Joe Silk. Well, he didn’t need to worry about that any more. One devilish pact had been made and then broken but another was now firmly in place.
She wondered whether she should drop off Jack’s car and pick up her Honda but then decided against it. There was no point wasting petrol. She may as well empty the tank before doing the swap.
It was less than a week since she’d left Herbert Street but as she turned the corner she felt a faint flicker of surprise that it still looked the same. Quite what she’d expected she wasn’t sure but it remained as dreary, as uniformly grey as always. Her usual parking spot was taken and so she drove fifty yards on and slid the Peugeot into a space by a boarded-up shop.
Eve locked the car, retrieved her suitcase from the boot, and walked back to the flats. In the lobby, she stopped briefly to pick up her mail – more bills, more circulars – before heading up the stairs. She had only taken a few steps when she became aware of a peculiar hissing noise. She paused and listened. It came again, more insistent this time. Leaning over the banister, she peered along the dim corridor and saw Dorothy Leonard beckoning her back down, urging silence by a finger raised to her lips. She was dressed in a pale pink trouser suit and frilly orange shirt. Oh God, this was all she needed! As if she hadn’t endured enough madness today.
For a moment she considered the supremely rude option of just ignoring her but then, reminded of her current state of karma – any more bad deeds and she would probably be struck by lightning – she forced a smile on to her face and reluctantly retraced her steps. Dorothy, still acting as if she was in the middle of a spy thriller, grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her smartly through the door.
‘This way,’ she whispered, leading her through into the living room without any further words of explanation.
Eve, trying to respond in a way that suggested such behaviour was perfectly normal, continued to smile. She had never been inside the flat before and found herself surprised by its brightness, its fresh white walls and lack of clutter. The furniture was simple but stylish and there were a couple of framed modern prints on the walls. Somehow she’d expected a quite different kind of room, not only rooted firmly in the past but perhaps more indicative of her neighbour’s bizarre personality. Another timely example perhaps of just how flawed her judgement was.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, dear? The kettle’s just boiled.’
She put down her suitcase. ‘Er, no thanks. I can’t stay. I’m sorry. I mean, I’d love to of course, maybe another time, only I have to be somewhere.’
‘That’s all right,’ she chirped. ‘I know what it’s like for you youngsters; you all lead such busy lives.’
Although neither of those descriptions came even close to being accurate, Eve nodded. Approaching thirty-five, she could hardly qualify for being a ‘youngster’, and ‘busy’ didn’t begin to describe the hectic nightmare of the past few days. What was she doing here? Why had she been dragged down from the stairs? Shuffling from foot to foot, she waited to be enlightened.
Instead Dorothy said, ‘Do you play poker?’
Eve stared at her. There was something decidedly surreal about all this. ‘Occasionally,’ she admitted. ‘Do you?’
‘Oh yes! We should organize a game sometime. Your father taught me how to play.’
‘In that case, I’ll pass. I won’t be able to afford it.’
She threw back her head, her long silver earrings jangling, and laughed. ‘Yes, he does have rather a tendency to cheat, doesn’t he?’
Eve noted the present tense and inwardly sighed. She wondered how long it would be until she was asked how he was. She also wondered when it would be polite to raise the question of what exactly she was doing here. Suspecting that if she didn’t approach the subject soon she could be here until the sun went down, she said: ‘Was there something that you wanted to tell me?’
Dorothy looked confused, her forehead scrunching into a frown.
‘Just before,’ Eve reminded her. ‘When I was going up the stairs and you came out and …’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Your friend.’
‘My friend?’
‘Well, that’s what he called himself.’
Eve shook her head. ‘Are we talking today or—’
‘He’s waiting for you,’ she said. ‘Upstairs. He’s been there for over an hour. He must be chatting to your father.’
Now it was Eve’s turn to look confused. It was impossible to know whether this was just another of Dorothy’s fantasies or whether she really had got an uninvited visitor. ‘So what did he say?’
‘I asked him who he wanted. I mean, you can’t just have anyone wandering in off the street, can you? It’s not right. I don’t care if he is working for the government; this is supposed to be a democracy. There are those who have business here and those who don’t and—’
‘Yes, of course,’ Eve agreed impatiently. ‘But what did he say? What did he say exactly?’
‘Why, that he was here to see you, dear. He stood there bold as brass and said, “I’m here to see Evie Weston.”’
‘What?’ She could feel her lungs expanding, her stomach tightening. ‘Are you sure? I mean that he said Evie and not Eve?’
‘Oh yes. I have an excellent memory.’
‘What does he look like?’ She was starting to sweat now, tiny prickles on the back of her neck, on her forehead. There was no one she knew, no one welcome at least, who would be expecting her to come here.
Dorothy narrowed her eyes in concentration. She took a while to think about it. ‘Middleaged,’ she said eventually. ‘Ordinary. Average height, short brown hair. He’s wearing a suit, grey I think. Looks rather like a salesman, one of the travelling sort, except …’
‘Except?’ Eve prompted.
‘He isn’t,’ Dorothy said, with a sudden brisk shake of her head. ‘No, he’s definitely not. He’s one of them. That’s why I thought I’d better mention it. Spies, dear, they’re everywhere, you know, you can’t get away from them. Just the other day I was—’
And you’re sure he’s upstairs now?’
‘Quite sure, dear.’ She paused. ‘Ah, and something else. I believe he had an accent, not a strong one but … American, I think.’
Eve covered her face with her hands and groaned. Oh God! Christ! Her heart had begun that relentless hammering again. She remembered the café in Elounda and Christos coming out to ask, ‘Yankee?’ She remembered Jack sitting in the apartment and telling her about the psychopathic Keeler Chase – Silk’s sidekick, the crazy man who had come over from the States. Now her fear was growing into horror. Joe Silk was a liar and not only about Terry. There wasn’t any deal. There never would be. He had only wanted to flush her out, to make her feel secure before …
She had to get
away. And fast.
Had he heard her come in? Did he know that she was here? There was no view from the second-floor landing either down to the hallway or on to the street. The only way he could have seen her was if he’d come partly down the stairs and then he would have run the risk of being seen himself. No, the bastard would still be patiently waiting.
Dorothy stared at her quizzically. ‘Are you all right, dear? Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down?’
Eve was in danger of falling down but she had to make a move before whatever remained of her courage failed her. She had to get out, get back to the car, and drive over to the jail. Would they realize she had a visit this afternoon? Well, she’d just have to risk it. She had to see Terry before she decided what to do next. And that decision had to be made today.
‘I’m sorry but I have to go.’ She moved forward and touched Dorothy lightly on the arm. ‘But look, thanks for letting me know. You were right about that man; he isn’t any friend of mine.’ She didn’t want to alarm her but couldn’t leave without providing some kind of a warning either. Although Keeler Chase was a professional – Dorothy should be perfectly safe if she kept out of his way – she didn’t want to take any more chances. ‘I think it might be best if you stay inside until he’s gone.’
Dorothy, far from being worried, seemed to take it in her stride. Perhaps she had lived so long with her own conspiracy theories that this was all quite ordinary and natural to her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll bolt the door when you’ve gone.’
‘Would you mind if I left my case here? Only I’m going to try and sneak out quietly.’ Eve raised her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘I don’t want him to hear me.’
Dorothy nodded. ‘Very wise, dear.’
Eve stepped softly into the lobby and listened for any sounds from above. Nothing. Even if he was much faster than her, he still had to negotiate two flights of stairs and so she should have enough of a head start to make it to the car. She squeezed the keys tightly in her hand and smiled at Dorothy. Then she took a deep breath, offered up a prayer and sprinted for the door.
It was only as she hit the street that it occurred to her that he might not be working alone. One upstairs and one keeping watch outside to warn him of her arrival. Jesus! But it was too late to worry about that. She ran as if she had the devil at her heels, her trainers pounding against the pavement and kicking up the dust. There were only two ways anyone could stop her now, either with a well-judged rugby tackle or … the thought of the perfect target her back was providing was enough to make her suddenly swerve and veer over to the other side. She passed the chippy, inwardly cursing the sod who had selfishly parked his car there. Another fifty yards to go. Was anyone behind her? She had no idea and she wasn’t about to look back.
The Peugeot was only feet away. Her pulse was racing, her lungs squeezing out the last of her breath. She raised her hand and after pressing frantically down on the automatic button she saw the lights flash and heard the reassuring click. Leaping inside, she pulled the door shut and locked it. Shakily, she turned the keys in the ignition. It was only as the engine roared into life that she dared to glance over her shoulder.
The street was deserted.
But she wasn’t taking any chances. Pulling out, she glanced manically around, constantly checking her rearview mirror. Quickly, she put her foot down and accelerated down the road. At the next corner she took a sharp left without indicating and then a right and then another left. She was over a mile from Herbert Street before she remembered to fasten her seatbelt.
By the time she joined the bypass she was sure she didn’t have a tail. In fact the more she considered it the more convinced she became that Keeler Chase would be working alone. He was the type, if what Jack had said was true, who would prefer to play the solo game. No loose ends to worry about. She flinched as she thought about what would have happened if she’d carried on up the stairs. ‘God bless you, Dorothy,’ she murmured.
‘And to hell with you, Joe Silk,’ she added, glaring through the windscreen. She thought of a thousand and one ways she’d like to destroy him, all long and slow and suitably painful, but although it made her feel marginally better it didn’t come close to solving the problem of what she was going to do next. She was, as the saying went, well and truly fucked. Silk wasn’t playing ball and so there were only two options – to call the cops or to go on the run. And it wasn’t as if she had a lifetime to decide.
She had to talk to Terry.
It was twelve thirty-five when she saw the sign for Hillgrove and turned off on to that familiar winding country lane. But she didn’t want to get there too early. If there was going to be a reception committee – and it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that a few more of Silk’s friends might be waiting for her – she’d prefer to have some witnesses to her untimely demise. Most visitors didn’t roll up until well after one and that car park could be a lonely place.
Eve pulled in beside the muddy gateway to a farm. She turned off the engine, wound down the window and lit a cigarette. She leaned back. Her fear had been replaced by a more grievous sense of outrage. Shit! How had she been so stupid? Joe Silk had set the bait and smoothly reeled her in. Bastard! She should have seen it coming. All those years of experience and she’d still been suckered into believing exactly what he wanted her to believe. Her father would be turning in his grave.
She sat and smoked and simmered with rage.
Still, if Silk was currently beyond her reach there was someone else she could take her frustration out on. She grabbed the phone, scrolled down the menu and stabbed at Lesley’s number. It rang five times before she eventually picked up.
‘Hello?’
‘Yeah, it’s Eve.’
‘Oh.’ Lesley’s tone contained the level of enthusiasm that was probably more usually reserved for cold callers trying to flog her double-glazing.
‘You wanted to talk to me?’
‘Did I?’
Eve glared down the phone. ‘You rang me last week.’
‘Oh yes, right. I suppose I did. To be honest, it’s not really that convenient at the moment. I’ve got to—’
‘I don’t care, okay? I don’t care what you’ve got to do. One minute, that’s all I’m asking.’ She dragged on her cigarette and gazed out at the wheat-coloured field beside her. She closed her eyes. There was no point trying to dance around the subject. Silk, for all his treachery, had told her something that couldn’t be ignored, something about another girl, a different girl that Vince had paid off. She didn’t, couldn’t believe it … but she had to go there, just once, to make absolutely sure. ‘I know about Terry and that girl.’
There was an audible gasp.
And then a dreadful silence.
Eve’s eyes blinked open and her heart sank. She clutched the phone closer to her ear. She knew what she was wishing for – any of the normal responses, any normal reaction: What? Who? What on earth are you talking about? But none of them were forthcoming. She waited in vain. ‘Lesley?’
The sound of her breath floated softly down the line.
‘Lesley?’
Her voice, when she finally answered, was strained and tight, no louder than a whisper. ‘Who told you about that?’
Eve felt her whole body stiffen. She drew her hand to her mouth and stared up at the sky. ‘It doesn’t matter who.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I know all about it. And I know what Vince did too.’
Lesley didn’t even try to deny it. ‘He did what he thought was right.’
Oh God, yet another piece of information that she didn’t want to hear. But Eve wasn’t prepared to give up yet. Still clinging to a fine thread of hope and working on the premise that attack is the best form of defence she said, ‘Yeah? And would that be right for you, right for Terry or right for her?’
There was another silence.
And then a ghastly gulping sound.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Lesley cried. ‘You think I want a fucking rapist for a son?’
Eve hung up.
As her stomach turned over, her heart went into free fall. She wanted to scream but it was too late for histrionics. She flung open the door, staggered round the car and threw up in the ditch.
Chapter Forty
Cavelli stood by his door and gazed along the landing. It was all quiet. Too quiet. At this time, only fifteen minutes before bang-up, there was usually a flurry of activity from men making phone calls, collecting their lunches, and negotiating those furtive last-gasp deals that would see them through the next two hours in a blessed haze of oblivion.
The landing wasn’t empty but those who were forced to walk along it did so in an odd scuttling manner and with their eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Hear no evil. See no evil. Something was brewing. He just hoped it wasn’t going to blow today.
No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than Morgan, one of the fat bastards he had floored outside George Bryant’s cell, came swaggering round the corner to his left. He had a posse in tow, half a dozen oversized bruisers. Shit! They stopped when they were about twenty feet away, spread their legs, folded their arms across their chests and gave him their tough guy glares.
In Cavelli’s book there was a time for standing your ground and a time to use the sense you were born with. Seven against one, even at the highest limits of his optimism, wasn’t the kind of odds he relished. He turned, intending to beat a hasty retreat to his right, but it was already too late. In a flanking movement the stairwell had been covered by the second battalion of Thugs Incorporated and his escape route effectively cut off. He recognized one of them as Dan Carter, the boyfriend of that girl Evie hung around with. She should choose her friends more carefully.
Unwilling to move back into his cell where he would quickly be trapped, he decided he would take his chances to the right. At least he would be out in the open and if he managed a few well-judged punches might just make it down the stairs. Unlikely, but it was a better option than standing still and waiting to be crushed in the stampede.