No Mercy (18 page)

Adam Vasser watched from the bed while the boy stood up, tucked in his shirt and did up his flies. Already he was regretting the encounter. With his desire now sated, he was filled with that familiar self-loathing, the sense of disgust that always overwhelmed him at these times. He had met the boy in a bar in Brewer Street. What was his name? Already he’d forgotten. Lewis or Leo, something like that.

Earlier, he had found the guy attractive. Slim build, dark hair flopping over his forehead, a full mouth, a tattoo of a snake wrapped round the well-toned bicep of his right arm. He had an Italian look about him, although that illusion was shattered as soon as he opened his mouth. Pure Essex. And now Adam saw him for what he really was – just a dirty little rent boy.

He rose to his feet, rage starting to blossom in his chest. His hands curled into two tight fists. He’d only gone into the bar for a drink, a few whiskies to help him wind down. He’d had no intention of… No, it had been the guy who’d approached him, started chatting, eyeing him up in the way they always did. Predators, the whole fuckin’ lot of them.

He glanced around the room, a shabby Soho dive where the boy conducted his business. Brown furniture, brown carpet, a layer of dust over everything. Dirty. Filthy. He scratched the back of his neck. God knows what diseases were lurking in the place. And he was expected to pay for the privilege of being here. It was a joke, a bleeding joke.

‘You ready?’ the boy asked, wanting to get rid of him. His tone was cool and dismissive. He pushed back the hair from his forehead, a gesture that Adam had found sensuous an hour ago but now only filled him with revulsion.

‘No,’ Adam said. ‘We’re not finished yet.’

‘You got what you paid for, man. Now it’s time to go.’

But no one told Adam Vasser what to do or when to do it. He quickly stepped forward, taking his victim by surprise. As his fist made contact with his jaw, there was a satisfying cracking sound. The boy staggered back, knocking over a lamp before his knees crumpled and he fell to the ground.

Adam could have left it at that, but he wanted more, needed more. A punch in the face – even if it had broken his jaw – wasn’t enough. The boy had taken advantage and he was going to pay for it. Drawing back his foot, he kicked him hard in the groin, in the ribs, in the stomach.

The boy instinctively tried to curl up, attempting to protect himself. Adam launched himself on top, straightening and straddling the boy’s body, his eyes burning with uncontrollable rage. ‘Bastard!’ he spat. ‘Fuckin’ whore!’ Pinned to the carpet, his victim had no hope of escape. The universe had shrunk to the dimensions of these four shabby walls; there was nothing in the world now but the two of them. He punched over and over, only stopping when the face had been reduced to a bloody pulp.

Adam, heaving from the exertion, sat back and viewed his handiwork. Already he was feeling better, a sense of euphoria flowing over him. The boy had deserved it,
asked
for it. He was a filthy, shitty crackhead, a punk, a pervert. Slowly he rose to his feet and stood staring down at the smashed-up features. ‘Not so pretty now,’ he murmured.

The boy wasn’t moving at all. He looked like a corpse. Adam nudged his chest with the toe of his shoe. A low groan slipped from between the bloodied lips.

‘Not dead, then.’

There was no reply. The boy’s eyes fluttered but remained closed. The room was quiet, very quiet. Adam listened, but heard nothing. Even the groaning had stopped. He prodded the boy in the chest again. Then he sniffed and wrinkled his nose. There was a bad smell in the room, a repellent stench of shit and piss and blood. Glancing down at his clothes, he saw that his shirt was stained with red. He put on his jacket, buttoned it and walked out of the door. On the landing, he paused, making sure that no one was around, before he jogged down the stairs and out on to the street.

The air that had been warm earlier had turned chilly now. A spatter of rain fell against the pavement. He walked with his head down, mingling with the crowd. Soho was always busy, its streets awash with tourists, with tarts and punters, pimps and dips. The fancy restaurants and the slick bars sat side by side with the strip joints and the sex shops. It was more respectable than it once had been, but only on the surface. Underneath it was still pure filth, the rancid underbelly of London.

It was years now since Brendan Vasser had made his mark on this enclave of the West End. Once, he’d owned three clubs here, a casino and a string of porno outlets. He’d had power and influence, controlling the drugs trade and the girls. He’d been a major player, and that’s what Adam wanted to be. It was in his genes, his DNA. Soho was his rightful inheritance and one day he’d take it back.

By the time he reached Shaftesbury Avenue, the rain was coming down hard. He stepped out into the road, hailed a cab and jumped in the back. ‘Kellston, please, mate. The High Street.’

‘Filthy evening, huh? Still, I ain’t complaining. It’s good for trade.’

‘Yeah.’ As soon as the driver set off, Adam slid the glass screen across, making it clear that he didn’t want to talk any more. He had stuff to think about and he didn’t need an opinionated cabbie giving him earache for the next twenty minutes.

As they headed towards the East End, he raised his right hand to his mouth and sucked on his bruised knuckles. A dull throb was spreading through his fingers. Still, it had been worth it. Had he killed the stinking bastard? He didn’t know and didn’t care.

Adam leaned into the corner of the cab, gazing out at the passing streets. It was time for a change, time for him to step up to the mark. No more loitering in the shadows waiting for his life to begin. He was sick of the motors, sick of his mother being forever on his case. And when she wasn’t interfering, she was sneaking around behind his back.

He could have confronted her about this whole Maddie Layne business, but he knew there was no point. She’d only lie to him like she always did. It was a worry, though, a fly in the ointment. What if the law decided to reopen the case? Was there some new evidence that he didn’t know about? There had to be something or the bitch wouldn’t have paid Yeats to go snooping. She wouldn’t pay out good money unless she thought Maddie Layne was a serious threat.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Greta’s sister would have found his gift by now. He hoped she appreciated it. A God-given gift, as he’d found the bird lying dead in the gutter when he’d left the house this morning. It had been too good an opportunity to pass up. She had probably gone crying to the pigs, but this didn’t bother him. She’d soon learn that no one, no one in the entire wide world could protect her from Adam Vasser.

When Maddie went downstairs at seven thirty in the morning, Rick had already gone. In the living room, the blankets were neatly folded on the sofa, and in the kitchen, the wine glasses had been washed and left on the drainer. She also found a note lying on the counter:
See you Saturday. Don’t be late. Call me if you need me.

She smiled, feeling better about things today. Although the fear still niggled in the back of her mind, it had receded enough for her to be able to cope. The dead bird seemed more like a bad dream than something that had actually happened. Having Rick on her side – someone to talk to, to rely on – made everything seem less bleak.

As she organised breakfast, she went over the evening’s long conversation. It had been an age since she’d spoken to anyone in that way, opening up about her childhood, about Greta, about her worries that the murderer would never be brought to justice. Perhaps it had been a mixture of the wine and the shock of the parcel that had loosened her tongue to such an extent. Or perhaps Rick was just an easy person to chat to.

When Zac came down, Maddie searched his face, wondering if he’d been aware of Rick’s presence last night. She put the toast on the table and sat at the table with her mug of tea.

‘Sleep well?’ she asked.

‘I dreamed about Mrs Forsyth,’ he said. ‘She was chasing me down the corridor.’

Mrs Forsyth was his form mistress at Kellston Primary. ‘Why? Had you done something bad?’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘But she thought I had. She thought I’d taken her parcel. I think it was the parcel that was here yesterday.’ He looked around the kitchen, peering at all the surfaces as if it might still be lurking somewhere. ‘She said it was hers. She said I had to give it back.’

‘Well, it wasn’t hers, so you don’t need to worry about it.’ Maddie glanced towards the window, eager to change the subject. Outside, the sky was low and grey, and the rain was coming down steadily. ‘You’d better take a jumper today as well as your coat. I don’t think we’ll be seeing much sunshine.’

Zac gave her a steady look. ‘What did you do with it?’

‘With what, hon?’

‘With the parcel. You said it was a mistake, so what did you do with it?’

Maddie sipped her tea, trying not to appear as shifty as she felt. ‘It’s gone. I got rid of it. It was nothing interesting.’

Zac poured some cereal into a bowl. ‘But if it wasn’t for you, why did you get rid of it – and why did it have your name on the front?’

She racked her brains, trying to think of something feasible. ‘It was sent by somebody who thought I might be interested, but I’m not. It was just… er… some old books, boring books.’

‘Oh,’ he said. He poured some cereal into a bowl. ‘Maddie?’

‘Yes?’ She waited for another question about the mystery parcel.

‘Kyle has chocolate cornflakes. Can we get some?’

‘No, hon,’ she said with relief. ‘They’re not very good for you. Don’t you like the ordinary ones?’

‘They’re okay.’

There was a clatter from the letterbox and the thud of mail landing on the carpet. Maddie got up and went through to the hall. She bent down to pick up the small pile: two bills, some advertising bumf and a handwritten letter. She didn’t recognise the writing. She flipped over the envelope, but there was nothing on the reverse. Returning to the kitchen, she sat down again, dumped the bills on the corner of the table – no point in depressing herself before she had to – and tore open the letter.

Maddie gave a gasp, surprised by the contents. It was a visiting order from Cato for HMP Thornley Heath. There was no covering note, just the single slip of paper. At best she’d been expecting a call, but now she was suddenly faced with the prospect of meeting him in person. How did she feel about that? On the one hand, she wanted to find out what he knew about Greta; on the other, she had serious reservations about coming face to face with a murderer.

She quickly read through the instructions. Unless she took a day off work, the only time she’d be able to visit was Saturday or Sunday. Saturday would be better, as Alisha had already agreed to have Zac overnight. Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind taking him for the afternoon too. The visit ran from two to four, which should give her enough time to get back for her date with Rick in the evening.

So she was really going to go to the prison? She frowned down at the piece of paper. If Lena Gissing got to hear of it, all her suspicions would be confirmed. But Maddie couldn’t pass over the opportunity. She might never get another chance to find out the truth.

‘What’s that?’ Zac asked.

‘Just a work thing,’ she said, quickly stuffing the order back into the envelope.

‘Remember you’re staying over at Gran and Grandpa’s on Saturday, so don’t go making any arrangements with Kyle.’

‘That’s not till the night.’

‘Change of plan, sweetheart. I’ve… I’ve got to work for a few hours in the afternoon, so we’ll be going round after lunch. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Course not. Do you think Grandpa will give me more bowling lessons?’

‘I’m sure he will if you ask him nicely.’ She was glad that Zac was still of an age where he enjoyed his grandparents’ company. The difficult teenage years were yet to come. She gazed at him, hoping that he wouldn’t change too much.

Zac buttered his toast, took a bite, chewed and swallowed. ‘Maddie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you going to a party on Saturday night?’

‘No, it’s not a party, just a meal with a friend.’

‘Is it Shauna?’

Maddie shook her head. ‘No, not Shauna.’ She hesitated, but then decided to tell him the truth. ‘A different friend. He’s called Rick. We’re going to Adriano’s, the Italian place on the High Street.’

‘Is he your boyfriend?’

‘Just a friend. He works at the cemetery.’

Zac thought about this while he ate some more toast. ‘Is he going to move in with us?’

‘God, no!’ Maddie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Why would he do that?’

He gave a shrug. ‘Shauna’s boyfriends are always moving in. Kyle says they smell.’

‘Does he?’ She hid a smile behind her hand. ‘Well, Rick isn’t moving in here. This is our house, yours and mine. There isn’t room for anyone else.’

Zac seemed satisfied with the answer. He was quiet for a while and then he said, ‘I’m sure Uncle Sol would take you for a meal.’

Maddie looked across the table. Was he trying to fix her up with her brother-in-law, or was it a completely innocent comment? ‘I’m sure he’d take us both, love, but he’s a busy man and he’s got work to do. Now come on and finish your breakfast or we’ll be late.’

Fifteen minutes later, they were at Shauna’s door picking up Kyle. Maddie thought there was a certain coolness about her friend today – she hardly said more than a couple of words – but it might just have been her imagination. Shauna was never at her best first thing in the morning.

As Maddie walked along the High Street with the boys, her mind was preoccupied by the forthcoming visit. She wondered if she should call Rick and tell him about it. But what if he tried to persuade her not to go? There were good reasons why she shouldn’t, top of the list being the fact that Jay Cato was a convicted killer. Closely followed by what Lena Gissing would do if she found out. Neither of these was an attractive prospect, but they were both better than the regrets she would feel if she passed over the opportunity.

On balance, she decided that the best thing to do was keep quiet. That way, she couldn’t be swayed. And anyway, she didn’t want to go running to him every five minutes. What if she came across as one of those clingy, needy women who always looked to a man for protection? The very thought made her wince. No, she would tell Rick when she saw him on Saturday night. By then she might have a clearer picture of what had happened to Greta.

They reached the gates of the school and she watched as Zac and Kyle dashed down the path sloshing through the puddles. At the door, Zac turned round and waved. She waved back. Once they were safely inside, she set off towards Marigolds. She’d be early for her shift, but that didn’t matter. Before she started work, she had a call to make to HMP Thornley Heath.