by Emmy Ellis
Shocked by the ordinariness in which he was taking the situation, she understood there was a lot more she didn’t know about her father. He’d never once said he knew Doctor Rushton when she’d mentioned him. Much as it grated, she’d have to accept his services.
But Sam can deal with that side of things.
She stepped into the spare room, averting her eyes from her father lying on the bed under one of her pure-white starched sheets. She wouldn’t be using that one again.
“What happened?” she asked Sam.
“He got shot in the head.”
“I can see that,” she snapped. “But how—and why?”
“Someone owed him money. He went to meet them, they were going to pay it back. They never showed. Someone shot him. That’s it.”
“That’s it? He’s been shot and is now dead, all because someone didn’t want to pay him back what they owed? And all you can say is: That’s it!”
Sam sighed. “They didn’t exactly owe him the money, though. They won it off him fair and square, and he didn’t like it. So he wanted it back.”
“He wouldn’t have done that. If they won it, he would have let them have it. I won’t have you putting him down.”
Sam looked at her sadly. “I’ve known him for years, you know that. Right from when we were nippers. He did things that made even me squirm, but I stuck by him because he was the only person who ever made me feel good. He understood me and gave me support and encouragement. I’m not trying to make him look bad now he’s dead, I’m just stating the facts. You know I wouldn’t slag him off, saying stuff that wasn’t true. He wanted that money back, and nothing was going to stop him. I knew this job was a bad one right from the start, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Chagrined, Leona said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“We’ll put it down to grief, shall we?”
She had no one now, except Jonathan. And what sort of solace was that? He’d probably be off and running once he knew her father was dead. Unless she explained she’d now be buying the beer. If I keep the pubs.
“I’ll be down in a minute. Rushton’s got work to do,” Sam said, breaking her out of her thoughts.
“I have.” Rushton bustled into the room. “So I suggest you make yourself scarce…unless you like the sight of blood.”
He chuckled and went down quickly in Leona’s estimation.
Leaving the room with Sam, she went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Sam could take the doctor a cup. She wasn’t going in there again in a hurry. At the kitchen table, her body heavy, she waited for the kettle to boil, glancing over at Sam who leant on the sink unit staring out of the window.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” he said.
Leona’s eyes pricked. “Will you retire, do you think?”
“I won’t work for anyone else. Yeah, I’m going to give this lark up.”
“So you’re not going to find whoever did this?” Leona waved her arms.
“Nah. I’m no good without Ron. I’m not playing this game anymore. I’m too old. Enough’s enough, eh?”
Leona calmed. “I agree.” She gazed wistfully at the trees beyond the glass, remembering. “My father came to see me, you know. He must have known this was a dangerous job. He talked about his will and that I’d get all the pubs. He asked that I don’t sell The Eagle to strangers.”
Sam turned and smiled at her. “Yeah, he loved that boozer.”
“Are you arranging the funeral and everything?”
“That doctor’ll do it. He’s in with the director. Leave it all to him.”
“Drink your tea, Sam.” She handed one to him. “And thank you for what you’ve done today. I would have phoned the police in a panic.”
“In our line of work, the police don’t even come into it. Your dad wouldn’t want coppers involved. So I did what I could. I wouldn’t have done anything less.” A tear spilled down his face. “Because I loved him like a brother.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Jonathan swerved the car onto the drive in Vandelies Road. Two more cars were down the side of the house. He got out of his and walked over to the others. The one he’d parked behind wasn’t familiar, but the first one was Cardigan’s. That was another thing he could do without. His loud-mouthed father-in-law getting his back up.
The day was going from bad to worse.
He entered the house. Nothing seemed off. No voices.
Where are they?
“Leona?” he called, going into the kitchen and then the dining room, finding no one. The lounge was empty, too. He climbed the stairs. Mumbled voices came from one of the rooms. On the landing, he went past each door, cocking an ear.
The voices came from the spare room.
What the fuck’s going on?
He knocked quietly.
Leona said, “That must be Jonathan home. I’ll just explain.”
The door opened enough for her to squeeze through the gap. She closed it behind her and looked at him. Then her eyes darted left to right.
“Explain what?” he said.
“My father died of a heart attack today,” she replied bluntly.
“Bloody hell…” Jonathan puffed out his breath. He’s fucking dead. What a result.
Leona gritted her teeth and grimaced. “Would you like to see him after the doctor has signed the death certificate. He’s in there now with Sam.”
He shook his head and turned away from her and, going downstairs, tried to hide his elation at the news. There he was, worrying all afternoon about what to do to get away from Leona, and all along, Cardigan was dying of a heart attack.
And I don’t feel bad. He meant nothing to me. He was just a bully and a criminal who deserves to be cold and dead.
In the kitchen, he made himself a quick bite to eat. Voices came from the hallway. Sam, Leona, and what he supposed was the doctor.
He must be leaving.
“Goodbye, Doctor Rushton, and you, too, Sam,” Leona said.
A male mumbled.
Leona: “Yes, I’ll expect them shortly. And thank you…for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” the doctor said.
The front door closed, and Leona came through into the kitchen.
“Death doesn’t affect your appetite then?” she said spitefully.
“Well, you’ve got to eat, haven’t you, whether someone’s dead or not.”
“You’re such an insensitive man. I should never have agreed to marry you. It’s brought me nothing but aggravation.”
“We can split now your father’s dead, get an annulment, so don’t worry about it. You can get back to the life you had before I came along and spoiled it.”
The quicker the better.
Leona smiled. “Oh, by the way, are you going to be running off with that Rebecca woman now?”
Frustrated, Jonathan sighed. “I told you, I haven’t been seeing her. I just want to be free to get on with my life. And you can get on with yours.”
She held her finger to her lips. “I’ll have to think about it. I’ll be the one buying the beer. Without me doing that, your business will fold. Shame.” She marched off.
Jonathan followed. “I’m going out,” he shouted and opened the front door.
“But I thought you wanted to see my father,” Leona called from halfway up the stairs.
“No, thanks. I’ve got better things to do.”
Her cheeks stained pink. “Well, the least you could do is show your respect.”
Jonathan sighed again and closed the front door. Wearily walking up the stairs, he followed her to the spare room. She opened the door and held it. He went in. The door closed behind him. Oddly scared of Cardigan under the sheet, he shivered.
“Pull the sheet back then,” Leona said, impatient.
Jonathan approached the bed, tentatively holding the corner of the sheet. He pulled it back as far as Cardigan’s shoulders. Stared at his former father-in-law. Something about his face wasn’t
right.
“Are you sure he died of a heart attack, Leona?”
She took a sharp intake of breath, and he turned to look at her.
She covered her mouth, a crimson flush over her cheeks. “Of course I’m sure. Just what are you insinuating?”
“You tell me. This isn’t any heart attack, and I wasn’t born yesterday. You’d better tell that doctor he hasn’t done a very good patch-up job.”
“Patch-up job? He just came and issued a death certificate. He’d only been here a short while before you turned up.”
He jerked a thumb towards Cardigan. “If he had a heart attack, it must have been as he was going down after being shot. Your father’s got a slight dent in his forehead, and I’d bet he doesn’t own a back to his head now.”
Leona shook.
“And that dent, Leona, is suspiciously like a covered-up bullet hole.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
The church had been packed to bursting. So much so that some had to stand at the back. Others huddled in the doorway, one against the other. Now the graveside was five deep with grievers, all there to say their last goodbyes to Ronald Arthur Cardigan.
Many of the criminal fraternity attended, and a heavy police presence filled the paths—maybe they suspected he’d been killed. A K9 dog sat patiently, panting next to its master. Cardigan had many friends as well as enemies. Those who weren’t on good terms with him were there to make sure he really was dead.
Jonathan hid a smile.
He stood behind Leona at the graveside, her head bent and shoulders drooping as the vicar went through the motions. He envisaged his life once this day was over. He’d file for an annulment and put the brewery up for sale tomorrow. Cardigan dying had given him a new lease of life, so he thanked his lucky stars then for Harry and Mickey having the guts to go through with the killing. Sonny had told Jonathan about it. Apparently, Cardigan would want it kept under everyone’s hats, so Sonny’s source had said, so no one was to spread the news.
I just want this over with.
He looked around at all present. Leona, Debbie, Sam, Jack, and Cardigan’s other close friends seemed to be the only ones showing genuine remorse. George and Greg Wilkes stood, heads bent, shoulders broad, their faces grim and menacing. Pub landlords, who Jonathan knew only by sight, had also come to pay their respects to a boss who’d let them have free rein on running his establishments—providing they kept their mouths shut about what went on in the back rooms. Or out the back of The Angel—everyone knew about the tarts there. Said tarts had chosen decent clothes for today instead of their scanty shit. One cried in the extreme. Debbie. He knew her from school.
Surely they’re all wondering what to do now. Their jobs are on the line, especially if Leona sells the pubs.
Mickey and Harry stood at the rear of the crowd, Harry seeming smug and Mickey on edge. He darted his head back and forth, staring over at the police dog.
He won’t be able to run very far if they chase him. Heard his leg still plays him up.
Jonathan turned back to the grave. Leona threw a white rose and some loose earth into Cardigan’s last resting place. From the corner of his eye, Jonathan caught Harry and Mickey leaving, getting into a car and driving away, the exhaust smoke billowing out. Another car moved slowly towards the mass of two hundred or more people huddled together. It belonged to someone he knew, and he hoped the person driving here wasn’t the owner.
It was Gracie’s.
Chapter Seventy
Debbie hadn’t expected to be standing beside another grave so soon after being by Shirley’s, yet here she was, looking down into the hole, a coffin inside it containing the man her soul had loved but hadn’t had the decency to let her fully in on it. Mud marred the lid, clumps of it scattered across the gold-coloured plaque, obscuring some letters of his name.
Cardigan’s daughter had stared at Debbie a lot during the service in the church but ignored her now. Debbie was glad. The woman had a mean air about her, and she was probably giving Debbie evils because she thought Cardigan had left everything to her.
No, just The Angel.
Iris put her arm around Debbie and led her away. Lavender and Lily, plus a lot of other girls who worked the corners, drifted with them. There was a clause in the papers regarding The Angel, saying Debbie had to ‘look after’ people with Cardigan gone. He’d meant the girls, all of them, not just those at the parlour. Cardigan had been their pimp, but not the mean sort, and he wanted them to still have a rudder in her. He’d arranged a ‘trust fund’, and she’d receive money to employ men to help her out. She’d find some to stand watch on the various corners, pay them from the fund, but she wasn’t about to take a cut of the girls’ earnings like Cardigan had.
She couldn’t bring herself to do that, not when she didn’t need the money. He’d turn in his grave over it, but she had to do what her conscience allowed.
Debbie and the girls walked from the cemetery, up Shirley’s road, and around the corner. In The Angel, she instructed Lisa to pour drinks on the house for anyone who hadn’t been invited back to Cardigan’s place. His daughter had arranged the wake, and the likes of Debbie and her customers weren’t welcome.
That was all right, she didn’t want to go there anyway. She’d send her fella off in her own way, holding back the tears and smiling.
After all, that was what he’d have wanted.
Chapter Seventy-One
Standing by the car, Rebecca observed the many people now leaving the graveside. The straggle that were left waited for the deceased’s daughter, and that was just who Rebecca herself waited for.
Her mind wandered back to William’s burial here. Leona had shown up when the coffin was being lowered into the gaping hole, and Rebecca had seen her, mortified.
She peered through half-lidded eyes at her old friend. Leona had tainted William’s funeral for Rebecca, and as soon as she’d heard from Jonathan that Ronald Cardigan was dead, she’d lost no time in finding out when the funeral was.
Musing on the strength of the hate she harboured for that woman, Rebecca wondered if she was bordering on insane with regards to the hurt she wanted her rival to feel. Rival. Did she really still think of her like that?
Leona had aged terribly, dowdy and appearing ten years older.
She never was an oil painting.
Leona walked away from the grave. She stopped suddenly and glanced upwards, tilting her head as if to listen, then turned in Rebecca’s direction. They stared hard at one another, Leona’s face showing shock and horror amongst the grief. Her mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise.
Rebecca got back in the car. She’d succeeded in doing what she’d set out to do: hurt Leona. Putting on her seat belt, she continued to stare at the woman, humming.
“I feel another letter coming on.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Seeing that it was Rebecca and not Gracie who’d got out of the car to gaze over at the mourners gave Jonathan much relief. Was she up to something by coming here?
Not knowing what to think, he watched from inside the safety of the head funeral car. Leona and Sam walked towards it. Rebecca drove at her. As Leona reached the wide road that skirted the cemetery, Rebecca stopped to let her pass. Leona refused to walk across. Rebecca waved to Sam, who held Leona’s elbow. Sam tried to propel Leona onwards, but she held her ground.
Jonathan inched the window down.
“I will not cross in front of that bitch’s car. She might try to run me over.”
Sam tried to cajole Leona again. “You don’t even know her. Just walk so we can get on to the wake. Come on, love.”
“No. Tell her to drive on.”
Sam shook his head. “Go on, woman.” He gesticulated at Rebecca to get the message over.
Rebecca moved forward, slowly, an inch or two.
Leona’s eyes widened. “Tell her to go away. She’s opening the window.”
Smiling, Rebecca drove on, out of the cemetery.
Leona got i
nto the car next to Jonathan. “Your girlfriend couldn’t resist coming here just to spite me, could she, the cow.”
Annoyed she was still thinking along those lines, he clamped his mouth shut. Tense and uptight that Rebecca had dared to show up here today at all, and his mind whirling with the thoughts that he’d at last be free of this insane woman, he said, “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, Rebecca is not my girlfriend. I don’t know what she was bloody doing here. Probably to get on your nerves, and she’s succeeded.”
Sam got in the car, and he drove back to Ronald Cardigan’s house in silence.
Peace, at last.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Rebecca sat at her desk, newspapers scattered in front of her, glue and scissors at the ready. What could she say to really put the wind up Leona? She rested her hands under her chin and had a good, hard think.
Ronald Cardigan’s death was suspicious. It had to be something more than a heart attack.
She cut out the letters she needed for what she wanted to say and laid them on the page.
They looked quite chilling.
Once it was dry, she walked to the postbox.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Two days after she’d buried her father, Leona received another letter. She didn’t need this sort of thing today. She’d been going around in a stupor, dazed, the shock of what had happened finally sinking in.
Picking up the post, she went into the lounge and curled her feet underneath her. She opened the dreaded letter.
HEART ATTACK? WE KNOW BETTER, DON’T WE, LEONA?
Tears fell down her cheeks and into the crook of her neck. She tasted the saltiness of them as they ran past her lips. Was this ever going to end? Were they going to torment her for the rest of her life? It must be someone who knew her father. Maybe even whoever had killed him. They were trying to scare her.