Angel Confidential (30 page)

I took another step back, tugging Lisabeth with me. She was fumbling in her shoulder bag. Going for the phone to call the cops, I thought. By the time she'd worked out how to use it, she might as well make it an ambulance. And, if I was lucky enough to live, an orthodontist. Again.

‘Now, hold on, Julian,' I said. I didn't put my hands up. Most professionally-trained boxers don't go for undefended targets. It tends to throw them. Obviously Julian had been to the wrong sort of boxing gym. He just took another step and tensed himself.

It was all happening very fast, but then fights do.

Suddenly, Lisabeth seemed to be leaning into me, and as I still had a good grip on her with my left hand, I pulled so she was in between me and Julian. Surely, he wouldn't hit a woman?

He didn't get the option.

Lisabeth finally stopped fumbling in her bag and produced something that she swung at Julian's head. I saw it glint in the morning light, which was more than he did.

Whatever it was thwacked into the side of his head and his eyes glazed and his knees buckled and he just sort of deflated in front of us. Lisabeth's arm was still extended as he fell, and I could see it was some sort of bottle she was holding.

Julian didn't stop on his knees. He kept going, face-first on to the pavement.

I reacted just as Connie did. I was pushing Lisabeth out of the way and stepping on and then over Julian to get to him as he tried to swing the door shut. I put my shoulder down and jumped the last three feet, cannoning into the door and smashing it and him back into the house. I stayed on my feet and pushed hard to keep the door fully open. Connie was howling again. I had trapped his right hand between the door and the hallway wall.

I eased off and he fell away, still yelling, his right hand tucked in his left armpit, his left hand to his still-bloody nose. I reckoned he'd had a bad enough start to his day to remove any further resistance.

‘What about this one?' Lisabeth said from the doorstep. She was still holding her weapon, and though I looked hard, she still hadn't broken sweat.

‘Is he out cold?'

‘Yes, I think so.'

‘Then I'll take care of him. You keep an eye on the live one. You're much better at this than me.'

She came into the house and I eased by her, then grabbed Julian by his ankles and dragged him, face-down, back into the house.

As I did so, I wondered who was going to tell him that he'd been laid out by a half-litre bottle of Virgin Olive Oil. Extra Fine quality, of course.

 

The Contemplation Room where the girls had been imprisoned was a windowless pantry smaller than a Victorian jail cell, off the kitchen. There was no cellar in this house.

To make it lightproof, somebody had fitted black foam rubber around the inside of the door, masking even the door frame just to increase the sense of isolation. Bastards.

Connie stood against the wall in the kitchen where we'd pushed him and just motioned with his head. Lisabeth drew the bolts and opened the door which, like the cellar door in Lennard Street, had a cross crudely painted on it.

‘Binky?' she said, and for the first time, there was a tremor in her voice.

Three female voices responded, all frightened.

‘You can come out of there,' she said. ‘It's safe now. You've been rescued.'

And who were they to argue?

Veronica came out first, blinking, then taking her glasses off and rubbing her eyes. Stella followed, her hair matted, one shoe missing, and dirtier than Veronica. Finally, Fenella, rumpled and falling into Lisabeth's arms.

Veronica came over to me where I was standing guarding Connie, though Connie was going nowhere.

‘I think I'm glad to see you for once,' she said, pulling at her clothes as if to straighten her dignity. ‘If you did this to him.' She pointed a grimy finger towards Connie's face.

‘Not me, I'm afraid,' I said, not wanting to take the credit in case charges were laid at a later date. ‘It was Lisabeth.'

‘Right on, sister,' said Stella, turning on the taps in the kitchen sink and splashing water on her face.

Lisabeth pulled her head from Fenella's shoulder and smiled sheepishly.

‘Are you all right, Ronnie?'

‘I'm fine,' said Veronica, glaring at Connie. ‘It was Fenella who
put up the fight.'

Lisabeth's brow creased. Then she put her hands to the sides of Fenella's face and tilted it gently. Fenella was sporting a three-tone black eye. Lisabeth began to move her carefully to one side.

‘No, Lisabeth,' Veronica said forcefully. ‘You've done enough.'

Veronica was still looking straight at Connie, but he wasn't meeting her eyes, he was trying to nurse his nose and his hand at the same time.

Veronica shook her head slightly, then took off her glasses again and held them out so I could hold them. Then she stomped as hard as she could on Connie's left foot. He screamed and doubled up, and as he did so. Veronica ducked in under him and brought the top of her head up into his face.

His head jerked back and hit the wall, and there was
a spray of blood from his nose this time. Then he yelled again and, in mid-yell, fainted, slumping to the floor.

‘Way to go,' breathed Stella softly.

‘Thank you. Ronnie,' said Lisabeth and Fenella together.

‘How about I make a nice pot of tea?' I volunteered.

 

We dragged Julian into the Contemplation Room and bolted the door.

‘Is he all right?' Fenella asked, ever the worrier.

‘He's breathing,' said Lisabeth in a voice designed to close the subject.

Connie we manhandled into the downstairs room Stella described as ‘The Chapel'. It had no furniture, just scatter cushions covering the floor. Connie, who had been out for only about a minute, seemed grateful for the lie down.

‘Time to talk,' I said, and he groaned. ‘Or shall I leave you to the ladies?'

‘It was Buck, man, it was Buck.' He spoke through a broken nose, and a split lip from where Veronica had butted him. His face was a mess, but he seemed keen to chat.

‘Buck set you up in properties, didn't he? So you could – what? – bring down the value, frighten tenants off? Which was it?'

‘Either/or, man. Sometimes both. He's done it before using what he called gyppos, even hobos; you known, man, winos, drunks off the street. That man is into property in a big way and that's not clever, man, not these days.'

He was right. The property market had slumped. People had paid big prices two years earlier and now
found themselves owing the bank more than the bricks and mortar were worth.

‘And Carrick Lee? What was he?'

‘Nothing, man, nothing to me.' Connie waved a hand weakly. ‘You gotta believe me on this one. He worked for Buck, just delivered orders, money … Shit, I only met the guy twice. Whatever there was between those two was between those two, not me, man.'

‘What do you mean, between those two?'

‘Buck and this guy Lee. There was something there, but I don't know what. Hey, look, it had something to do with her old man, that's all I know.'

‘My father?' shouted Stella. ‘I knew it.'

‘What did it have to do with Stella's father?' I had seen the way he had flinched at Stella's voice.

‘It was something ... I don't know …' He shook his head. It still hurt. ‘… But it wasn't the property thing, man. Believe me. He knew all about that.'

‘What?' from Stella, louder.

‘Shit, your old man owns this place and the fucking house next door, and that's got sitting tenants. He knows, I tell you. But this thing with Lee was something else. Buck wanted him out of the way.'

‘So, what happened at the house in Islington, Connie?' I asked quietly. ‘And remember, I've been there.'

‘What ...?' Veronica started, but I signalled quiet.

Connie tried to lick a swollen lip and failed.

‘Buck told us we were moving again, quick, like that night. To this place here. He told us he was having trouble with Lee and we had to get him into the Contemplation Room, and leave him there. Hey, look, I don't know what happened. We packed up and moved here.'

‘But you can guess, can't you?' I said softly.

‘There's nothing to connect me, man. No physical evidence, whatever happened.' He lowered his voice so the women would have trouble hearing. ‘I travel light, man. You won't find anything.'

I was almost willing to agree with him.

‘You're right, Connie. You do travel light. Just your mobile phone. I've seen you with that twice now. What's the number?'

He said nothing. He didn't have to. His eyes gave him away.

‘You don't know, do you? But you don't have to, because you never receive calls on it, just make them. Right?' He nodded. I turned to Lisabeth. ‘Give me his phone. They reckon you can get away with making calls on a stolen phone for about three months, don't they, Connie?'

I took the phone from Lisabeth and flipped it open and punched it on. From the card in my wallet, I dialled Bobby Lee's number. He answered after two rings.

‘Bobby? It's Angel. Do me a favour. Ring Carrick's mobile and let it ring four times, then hang up. Don't ask. Just do it, and don't try and ring again. I'll be in touch.'

I closed the phone and held it out so everyone could see it.

‘Did you steal it from Carrick?' I asked him,

‘No, swear to God. It was in Buck's car, on the back seat of his Beamer. I thought it was his. Honest to Christ.'

The phone began to ring. Connie began to cry.

I switched the phone off without answering it.

‘You got a passport?' I asked him, and he nodded.

‘Use it.' I said.

 

 

‘So, how long was it before they rumbled you?' I asked no-one in particular as they twittered and chattered and congratulated each other in the back of Armstrong on the way back to Hackney.

Piecing it together from what they said, the answer ranged from ten seconds to ten minutes, with my vote going to the ten seconds. Veronica and Fenella had failed to find a disciple to recruit them, so they had indeed marched up to the Shining Doorway itself and demanded to be let in. Once in, and probably before she'd got her coat off, Veronica started dropping the name Carrick Lee, but got no response at all. What did get them noticed – and thrown into the Contemplation Room where they found Stella – was when Fenella used Veronica's name.

‘Connie knew about Veronica,' Stella said, ‘and he knew her name and that she was a detective. He'd been warned to look out for the two of you. That's why I got the Contemplation Room. He wanted to know why Veronica was looking for me.'

‘Who told him my name? The only people who could have tipped him off were Buck or your father, and I didn't tell them my real name.' I was sure I hadn't.

‘That was me, I'm afraid,' said Fenella. ‘Still, no harm done in the end.'

In the mirror, I saw Lisabeth giving her a hug.

‘Thanks, Binky,' I said wearily. ‘What was Connie up to?'

‘I think he was just holding us until someone decided what to do with us,' said Veronica.

‘Trying to figure out an angle,' said Stella. She leaned forward so that her head was almost on my shoulder. ‘You know what happened to Carrick, don't you? When you were talking to him, you both knew.'

‘He suspected. I guessed.'

The others had gone quiet now.

‘He's dead, isn't he?' Stella asked, her voice as flat as ink.

I really didn't want to tell her; not here, not like this, preferably not ever.

‘I don't think he ever left the house in Islington,' I said carefully. ‘But I don't think Connie knew any more than he told us.'

‘Is that why you let him go?'

‘No. If Connie was ever pulled, he wouldn't think twice about implicating everyone he can think of, starting with Simon Buck and your father. Do you want to know if your father was involved? It's up to you. You're the only one who could get it out of him.'

‘I doubt that. You'd have to tie him down and torture him before he'd admit to anything.'

‘That can be arranged,' I said.

 

Arriving back at Stuart Street, Fenella offered to cook us all a victory lunch, but only after she'd got over her initial disappointment that they hadn't exactly put flags out or organised a street party for us.

Veronica egged her on with bluff cheerfulness, saying she could eat a horse, before realising she was talking to two card-carrying members of the Vegetarian Action Front. She backtracked rapidly and succeeded in breaking the atmosphere and getting the subject off Carrick Lee's concreted corpse. Though at one point she almost said she was ‘dying' for a bath, changing it just in time to ‘desperate'.