No Mercy (19 page)

Lena Gissing gazed at her husband as she ate her breakfast. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Every day he became a little uglier, a little more repulsive. And that was some going, she thought, for a man who hadn’t had much to recommend him in the first place. She studied the mauve shadow on his unshaven face, the heavy jowls, the huge paunch that pressed against the edge of the table. It was enough to put anyone off their food. She dropped what was left of her toast, pushed the plate away and lit up a fag.

‘What’s he up to?’ she asked.

‘Huh?’

‘Adam. I know he’s up to something.’

Tony shovelled the bacon and eggs into his mouth. He was still chewing when he answered her. ‘How would I know? He’s your fuckin’ son.’

‘And it’s your fuckin’ sons that are going to pay the price if he drags them into a war with the Streets.’

‘There’s not going to be a war.’

‘What, you think they’re just going to sit back and take it? Let him move in on their manor? It’s not going to happen. He’s going to end up with his head blown off. And your boys too. Is that what you want? Is it?’

Tony raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘It ain’t going to happen.’

‘Oh, because you say so?’ She pulled hard on the cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a long, angry stream. ‘Jesus, you’re all so bloody stupid! You think because Terry ain’t got all his marbles, he’s going to be a pushover.’

Tony glared at her. ‘For fuck’s sake, can’t a man even eat his breakfast in peace? I’ve told you I don’t know nothin’. Why do you keep going on about it?’

‘Because you’re a liar,’ she said. ‘And a shit one at that.’

‘Whatever.’

Lena leaned across the table, eyeballing him. If she hadn’t been so wound up, she might have kept quiet, but her back was up and the words were out before she could stop them. ‘We’ve got enough problems as it is.’

This time Tony finally took some notice of what she was saying. He put down his knife and fork, his forehead puckering into a frown. ‘And what problems are those, then?’

Lena hesitated, unsure as to how much to tell him. His solution to most trouble was to act like a bull in a china shop. Act first and think later. That’s if he ever got round to thinking at all. But she had to find a way to stop Adam in his tracks. If he carried on with his attempts to oust the Streets, he’d end up with his brains spattered across the pavement.

‘What problems?’ Tony asked again. ‘What are you talking about?’

Lena was still turning over how much she should divulge. If she was being honest, it wasn’t only Adam she was worried about. Her concerns were a lot more selfish. By keeping a low profile, she was able to conduct her escort business without any interference from the law, but if Adam made a bid to take over Kellston, all that would change. Word would get out and her clients would take fright. None of them would want any dealings with a business connected to gang warfare. That level of violence meant news, press coverage and a whole pile of grief. She had to put a stop to it before it all got out of hand.

‘Remember Bo Vale?’

‘Who?’

‘Bo Vale,’ she repeated. ‘The one who was… He worked for Adam, on the cars. God, it’s not that long ago. Don’t pretend you can’t remember.’

Tony pulled a face. ‘Long enough. It was years back. Shit, that’s all dead and buried. Why are you going on about it?’

‘Because it might not be as dead and buried as you think. Someone’s sniffing around. I think they might be trying to get the case reopened.’

‘What?’

‘Her name’s Maddie Layne. She’s the sister of Bo’s girlfriend. Greta – you remember her, don’t you?’ She sat back and folded her arms. ‘Course you do. You always remember the pretty girls. Anyway, this bitch, this Maddie woman, she’s stirring things.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since recently.’

‘How recent?’

Lena took a couple more puffs on her fag. ‘A while. A few weeks.’

‘So she’s stirring. So what? She can’t know anything for sure. If she did, she’d have gone to the filth.’

‘Maybe she will. Maybe she already has. I don’t know.’ Lena released an exasperated sigh. ‘But don’t you see, the last thing Adam needs at the moment is to be drawing attention to himself. If they start looking into the case again…’

‘They’ll find nothin’,’ Tony said. ‘Because there’s nothin’ to find.’

‘You sure about that?’

Tony stared across the table at her with his small, piggy eyes. ‘You telling me something different?’

‘I’m just saying we need to be careful, that’s all.’ Lena didn’t tell him about Cato. He’d have laughed out loud, thought it was hilarious that she was being spooked by a girl putting flowers on a grave.

‘Anyway, what are you bending my ear for? It’s Adam that needs a word.’

‘And since when has he ever listened to me? You need to tell your boys to back off, to not get involved. Adam can’t take on the Streets without them behind him.’

‘They’re old enough to make up their own minds.’

‘And stupid enough to do exactly what they shouldn’t.’

Tony’s lip curled. ‘If we’re talking stupid, your Adam ain’t got much to recommend him. If it hadn’t been for —’

‘Yeah, yeah, you think I don’t know that?’ She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘There’s nothing we can do about that now. But let’s not make it even worse, huh?’

Tony gave a shrug and went back to eating his breakfast. ‘You want me to have a word with this Maddie Layne?’

‘No, I’m dealing with it. You just sort your boys out.’ She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I mean it, Tony. This is serious. Get your finger out or we’re all going to end up in the shit.’

Eli Glass stared down at the decapitated angel. The stonemason was supposed to have come and picked her up, but he’d caught a dose of summer flu. It would be a while yet before she was removed. Lying next to her body was her head, her face gazing up at the grey sky with a look of stolid forbearance.

Although it wasn’t cold, the rain was coming down steadily. Eli turned up the collar on his jacket as the rain slid down the back of his neck. Last week, he and Rick had managed to move the angel up against the wall where she was less visible to people passing by on the thoroughfare. She’d been a dead weight, mind, and his shoulders had ached for a few days after.

The cemetery had lots of angels like these. Mainly old. Most of them going way back. People weren’t so keen on them these days, or maybe they just didn’t have the cash. One of her wings was damaged, the tip snapped off. A small pool of water was gathering in the curve. The rain pocked the surface, creating tiny circles. He gazed at the broken statue for a while longer before pushing his hands deep into his pockets, turning round and heading for the office. It was getting on for eleven. Time for a brew.

On his way there, he saw Terry Street standing by the grave of his wife. The man was often here now, staring hard at the headstone as if he was trying to figure out something. Even though he was ten yards away, Eli could still hear her strident complaints. Lizzie Street didn’t know the meaning of resting in peace. The fading yellow chrysanthemums, left by Lena Gissing, had been pulled out of the urn and chucked on the grass. But they hadn’t been replaced by any fresh flowers.

Eli didn’t speak. Sometimes, occasionally, they’d exchange a nod, but usually Terry looked straight through him as if he wasn’t even there. And anyway, what was there to say? Every man had his own demons and Terry Street had more than most. It was ironic that the old gangster couldn’t remember what he’d done yesterday, but that the sins of the past were always with him.

Thinking of Lena Gissing reminded Eli of what he’d witnessed yesterday. He’d seen the red sports car pull up on the thoroughfare and watched as she got out and walked not to the office as he’d expected, but across the cemetery towards Lucy’s grave. Curiosity had made him follow her. He’d kept his distance, though, not wanting to be spotted.

The girl with the long brown hair had been tending the grave. He’d seen her stand up, watched as the two of them exchanged words. He was too far away to hear the row, but that hadn’t mattered. He’d known why Lena was there, why she had to be, why she couldn’t stay away. Like Terry, her past was coming back to haunt her.

What Eli didn’t know was what she’d thrown. He’d seen her bend down, pick something up and shout at the girl. He’d seen her arm swing back, seen her throw that something – with force, with speed – in the general direction of the Belvederes. What had it been? He would have gone to look, but after Lena had left, her son had arrived. Had he been following her? He must have been.

Eli had waited long enough to be sure the girl was safe before making himself scarce. Adam Vasser wasn’t just bad; he was shot full of evil. To be close to him, to be anywhere near him was to risk contagion. The man danced with the Devil.

Eli quickened his pace, trying to push all thoughts of Vasser from his mind. He veered off the main thoroughfare and on to one of the smaller paths. By the time he got to Lucy’s grave, the ankles of his trousers were soaked through from the long, wet grass. He reached out and touched the marble headstone. He gazed down at the roses; the peach-coloured blooms were just opening, the petals glistening with raindrops.

‘It’s me,’ he murmured. ‘It’s only me.’

He waited, hoping she might speak to him, but there was nothing, only the steady patter of the rain against the earth. With a heavy heart he walked on, brushing past the sodden buddleia, scouring the ground as he went. He searched to the left and the right, and was almost at the mausoleum before he eventually found it.

Crouching down, he moved aside the dock leaves to reveal the gold wedding band. Carefully, he picked it up and weighed it in his palm. What did he feel? A faint tingling against his skin. An odd, confusing emotion, but no words. Nothing he could really grasp. He concentrated hard, briefly closing his eyes. The ring was as silent as Lucy Rivers. He held it for a while longer and then slipped it into his pocket.

Eli trudged back across the cemetery, his shoulders hunched against the rain. Five minutes later, he was standing outside the office. There was a small room at the back of the building where the workers could eat their lunch or have a brew. It had a separate door, so they didn’t need to tramp through the main reception area.

He paused for a moment, trying to decide which door to head for. He was desperate for a brew, but the ring was burning a hole in his pocket. If pushed, he wouldn’t have been able to explain why he felt the need to get rid of it. It was a gut instinct, a feeling that he couldn’t ignore.

Delia Shields was alone in the office. She looked up, frowning, as he opened the door.

He knew better than to take his muddy boots inside. Instead, he waited for her to come to him. She didn’t rush. She walked slowly across the room as if he was the very last person she wanted to talk to.

‘Yes, Eli?’

‘I found something,’ he said, holding out the ring.

She stared at it, keeping her hands by her sides as if reluctant to touch it. ‘Where?’

‘Over on the west side. It was in the grass.’ He didn’t mention Lena Gissing or what he had witnessed with the girl. Delia might think he’d been spying. It would give her another excuse to try and get rid of him. ‘Must have been dropped by someone.’

‘No one’s reported it as lost.’

‘You want it or not?’ he asked, thrusting it closer to her.

Delia flinched as if the ring was some kind of weapon. Her face had grown flushed, a red stain that spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Finally, reluctantly, she took the gold band from him. ‘I’ll keep it for a few days, see if anyone claims it. If not, I’ll hand it in at the police station.’

Eli gave a nod. She knew who’d thrown the ring. Of course she did. He could tell that from her reaction. And she knew who it had once belonged to.

‘Was there anything else?’

‘No.’

Without another word, she turned, went back to her desk, opened the drawer and dropped the ring into it. Then she looked over at him again. It was a searing glance, accusing, as if what he’d just done was a deliberate act of malice. ‘Thank you, Eli,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m sure you want to get on.’

Eli closed the door and left.

On Saturday morning, Maddie woke to find her stomach full of butterflies. The prison visit loomed ahead, along with all the hours she would have to wait before she finally came face to face with Cato. Now that she had made the decision, she wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

Over breakfast, Zac was unusually grumpy. Was he picking up on her anxiety, or had he just got out of the wrong side of the bed? She made an effort to be cheerful, trying to cajole him into a smile.

‘So, are you looking forward to your bowling lesson with Grandpa?’

‘It’s raining,’ he said sulkily. ‘We can’t go outside in the rain.’

‘It might have stopped by then.’ However, as she gazed out of the window, that prospect seemed unlikely. The sky was dark and thunderous, the grey clouds lying low over the rooftops. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find something fun to do.’

‘Will Uncle Sol be there?’

‘I don’t know, hon. Maybe he’ll pop in.’ She felt guilty about withholding information from Solomon. Her visit to see Cato wasn’t just about Greta’s death but about Bo’s too. Didn’t he have a right to know? But know what? She had no firm facts, nothing solid, nothing that could really be described as evidence. It was better, surely, to hang on until the picture became clearer.

‘Can I go and watch TV?’ Zac asked.

‘You haven’t finished your breakfast.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

Maddie wasn’t a fan of leaving kids in front of the television for hours, but with no chance of him playing outside and with her mind so distracted by the forthcoming visit, she gave in to the easy option. ‘All right. Just for a while. But take your toast with you – and don’t get crumbs all over the sofa.’

He grabbed his plate, jumped up and fled to the living room. Seconds later, she heard the jingly sound of the cartoons he loved so much. Maddie guiltily sipped her tea, feeling that she should have made more of an effort to find a way of entertaining him: drawing or painting, something more creative than just staring at a screen. But this morning she was too preoccupied. Did that make her the worst mother in the world? Probably.

After clearing up the breakfast things, Maddie went upstairs and studied her wardrobe. She had no idea what you wore to meet a murderer. Black seemed a little dramatic. White too… Too what? She wasn’t sure. Too innocent perhaps. Jeans? Too casual. A suit? Too smart. A dress? Too much leg on show. Trousers, then. Trousers and a top.

She dug out a pair of cream trousers and a pale green cotton top with buttons down the front. Sitting down on the bed, she glanced at her watch for the twentieth time. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. What was she going to say to Cato? She ought to figure it out before she got there. A slow, sneaky fear was creeping up on her – a fear that this might all be a waste of time. Greta and Bo had been killed six years ago. Jay Cato had been inside for the last ten years. How could he know anything?

Quickly Maddie rose to her feet again. If she thought about it too much, she’d end up changing her mind and bottling out. No, the visit was booked and she was going to go through with it. She’d figure out her questions on the way there. And then she wondered if she should ask Winston if she could borrow his old Ford. It would make the journey easier – unless the car broke down again. Solomon’s skills as a mechanic left a lot to be desired.

In the end, she decided to stick with public transport. Thornley Heath wasn’t that far away, although she’d need to take two trains and a bus. If she left at midday, she’d have a couple of hours, which should be more than enough.

At half eleven, Maddie dragged a complaining Zac off the sofa, got him into his jacket and passed him the little rucksack containing all he needed for an overnight stay.

‘Now, you’ll be good for your gran, won’t you?’

Zac lifted his shoulders slightly.

‘Was that a yes?’

‘Yes,’ he repeated, although in a somewhat dispirited tone.

Maddie looked at him. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you liked being with Gran and Grandpa.’

He gave another shrug, glanced away and shifted from one foot to the other. It was a few seconds before he met her gaze again. ‘Are you going to come back?’

‘What do you mean? Of course I’m coming back.’

‘When?’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning, won’t I?’ Concerned, she leaned down and took hold of his arms. ‘Why wouldn’t I come back?’

Zac squirmed a little. ‘Kyle says that when Shauna leaves him with his gran, she doesn’t always… Sometimes she stays away all weekend. Sometimes even longer.’

‘And when have I ever done that?’ she asked, silently cursing Shauna. ‘That’s never going to happen. I promise, okay?’

‘Swear to God and hope to die?’

‘Swear to God and hope to die.’

Zac finally managed a semblance of a smile. ‘You can call me at Gran’s this evening.’

‘I’ll do that. I’ll call you at seven. So, are we okay now? Are we ready to go?’

‘Ready,’ he said. ‘Ready, steady, go.’

Walking along the street towards Rose Avenue, Maddie wondered if Zac’s fears were purely down to Kyle’s tales of abandonment or if they were more deep-rooted. He’d lost both his mum and his dad at an early age. It had to leave scars. Did he worry that she’d leave him too, or was she overcomplicating things? Maybe he had simply picked up on her anxiety about the visit. It was impossible to know what went on in a child’s head.

As they approached Alisha and Winston’s house, she considered changing her plans and cancelling the date with Rick. Perhaps Zac needed her more this evening. Or was that the entirely wrong thing to do? Would that be giving in to his fears, confirming that there was something to worry about after all? No, she was better leaving things as they were. She’d call him at seven and see how he sounded.

With time to spare, Maddie accepted Alisha’s invitation to stay for a cup of tea. While Zac went to raid the biscuit tin in the kitchen, she sat down with Winston in the living room. She asked how he was. He said he was fine. He asked how she was. She said she was good.

He gave her a long, steady look. ‘You got something on your mind, hon? Something bothering you?’

‘No,’ she said too quickly. And then, because he could read her like a book, she added, ‘Well, nothing more than the usual.’

‘If it’s money worries, you only have to ask. We don’t have much, but —’

‘No, it isn’t that. Honestly.’ She hesitated, glancing towards the kitchen. ‘But I don’t think Zac’s too happy about my date this evening.’

‘He’s worried about losing you to another man.’

‘Oh, it isn’t anything serious,’ she insisted. ‘Just a meal. I mean, it’s not…’

Winston leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. ‘You go out and enjoy yourself, girl. He’ll be fine. We’ll take good care of him.’

‘I know you will. You always do.’ It crossed her mind, suddenly, to tell him about Jay Cato, to admit where she was really going this afternoon. But she resisted the temptation. What was the point of raising his hopes when they could so easily be dashed again? Although they rarely talked about Bo and Greta these days, she knew that Winston and Alisha craved the truth just as she did – and that closure couldn’t come until the killer had been caught. Would Cato provide the information they needed? It wouldn’t be long before she found out.