THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) (10 page)

‘What? You believe that rubbish? Listen, Barry, Donnie Craddick has been poisoning your mind. I never killed Sophie, for heaven’s sake; I loved her like I never loved anyone else. You know that.’

Barry rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Not only my sister, but you took my money, too. I gave you my twenty thousand pounds because I thought I’d help out my brother-in-law and my sister – the twenty thousand pounds I was gonna use to set up my own little business.’

‘Barry, I swear I’m going to get you the money back.’

‘Like you’ve said before. But it never happens, does it? What about selling the bloody villa, huh? Ever thought about that so you could pay me what you owed? No, it never crossed your mind, and so I’m stuck where I am, in the hole that I’m in, while you’re flying off to Spain to live the life of bloody Riley. Who’s the sucker, eh? Me. You always thought I was a bit dumb, good only for digging out coal. Well I’m better than that. Some day people are gonna look up to me.’

‘They won’t if you’re working for the Craddicks, you fool.’

Barry prodded the gun into Duncan’s ribs and he cried out in pain. ‘Jesus, Barry, can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s just like his damn father.’

‘Just tell me you didn’t kill her, Duncan,’ he said, his eyes glossy with tears.

Duncan released a heartfelt sigh. ‘OK, you want the truth here’s the truth; it was Mickey who was blackmailing me. It started over something Sophie did. I was protecting her, but it got complicated. And yes, Mickey had me in his back pocket too. I’m not proud of that, but what could I do? So I turned a blind eye on his activities, even got drawn in to helping him sometimes. You think I liked that? You think I like living with myself because of what I’ve done? The Craddicks, they’re like a disease, Barry, infecting people, turning everything they touch rotten.

‘And yes, I needed money. Mickey Craddick sucked out our life savings, and I borrowed the money from you to make up the shortfall. I thought it was done with, once I’d paid him. My mother died, left us her house. We sold it and Sophie and I bought a villa with the proceeds, so we could leave this damn country, leave the Craddicks behind once and for all. I swear we also had your twenty thousand pounds to give you, too. But Mickey got wind of things and turned up the pressure again. So your money went to him. We also took out one of those deals with the mortgage company where we sold the villa to them and we were allowed to live in it. But technically it didn’t belong to us. We used that cash to pay off Mickey. And when Sophie died, he took her insurance money, too. All I had left was this house, and Mickey warned me that I couldn’t sell up and move out. But before he died he said it was over, I could do what I pleased. I was going to sell the house, move to Spain and give you the money I owe you. That’s God’s honest truth, Barry.’

The gun wavered. ‘Did you kill her, Duncan?’ he insisted.

He shook his head. ‘I give you my word, Barry. Put the gun down.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, and lashed Duncan across the face with the butt of the gun.

*  *  *  *

It rather took him by surprise. Barry Stocker was expecting someone markedly different.

She almost walked straight on by him in the rush of people spewing from under the stone arch of the railway station. He didn’t really take any notice of her, because he had his eyes peeled for some kind of blonde gangster’s moll from Essex with a tan so luminously orange it would light up a darkened street, or whatever kind of woman the likes of Donnie Craddick would have hanging around him. He was glancing at his watch, thinking that the train was late, when he sensed a shadow falling on his face.

‘Are you Donnie Craddick’s chauffeur by any chance?’

She was slight in build, small chest, not a great deal of hips; her hair was brown and cut short, her face bearing only the barest hint of makeup. She didn’t need it, he thought; she was a pretty thing, but the kind you notice the second time round, not so attractive as to make you turn your head immediately, but on closer inspection possessing a genuinely alluring quality about her. The kind of woman who’d work in a bookshop, or behind the counter in a chemist’s, or as a vet saving little kittens, he thought. She wore a neat two-piece dark-green outfit, casual but smart, a suitcase in her hand.

‘Camellia Lucas?’ he said.

‘That’s right.’

‘Sure, yeah, I’m with Donnie,’ he said. ‘I’m not his chauffer, though,’ he added with a grunt. He took her case from her.

‘Oh, sorry, but Donnie said – ’

‘I drive for him,’ he cut in, realising that maybe he was a chauffer of sorts. He didn’t like that idea. ‘This way, the car’s in the car park.’

Barry put her case in the boot of the Jag, opened the rear door for her. ‘Mind if I come up front with you?’ she asked, smiling disarmingly.

‘Sure, whatever,’ he said, making as if to open the passenger door too.

‘I can manage,’ she said, taking hold of the handle. ‘After all, you aren’t my chauffer, Mr Stocker.’

He threaded the Jag through the busy car park and into the manic flow of city traffic. ‘Call me Barry,’ he said.

‘And call me Camellia,’ she returned. ‘This is a lovely car,’ she observed politely.

‘Yeah.’

‘How long have you known Donnie?’

He gave a wry smile. ‘Not long. But Donnie’s dad, Mickey, him and me go way back.’

‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to have friends.’

He stared straight ahead. Headed out of the city. ‘How long have you known Donnie?’ he ventured at length.

‘Oh, I’ve known him at least three years now. He was a friend of Marcus - my fiancé.’

‘Fiancé?  I thought you and Donnie…’

‘Marcus died,’ she said. For a moment some deep emotion threatened to resurface and assert itself, but she smiled thinly. ‘Donnie was there for me. One thing led to another, you know how it is.’

Barry raised a brow. ‘I’ve gotta admit it, you’re not what I was expecting.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I was expecting Donnie’s fiancé to be someone – someone different. Not like you at all.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well, you seem like a nice kinda girl…’ He winced. Shouldn’t have said that, he thought. ‘I mean, there are women and there are
women
…’ he said, which on consideration didn’t help matters any. ‘Forget it.’

She laughed lightly. ‘I like you, Barry,’ she said.

He allowed himself a smile. Glanced at her. ‘I like you, too, Camellia.’

‘You do so remind me of my father.’

His face fell. Yeah, that figures, he thought.

Camellia Lucas was openly impressed with the exterior of Red House. ‘Why do they call it Red House?’ she asked, looking up at the grand Victorian building.

Because of all the blood Mickey’s spilt over the years, Barry thought. ‘No idea, Camellia.’

The door opened and Donnie Craddick came out to greet his fiancé. ‘Darling! How lovely to see you! You’re late.’

‘Traffic,’ said Barry, hoisting the suitcase out of the boot. ‘The queues were lousy. But Camellia here tells a good joke so we weren’t bored.’

‘That’s Miss Lucas to you,’ said Donnie, glowering at Barry.

‘Really, that isn’t necessary…’ said Camellia.

‘I know what’s best, darling,’ said Donnie, snaking his arm around her waist, leading her to the house. He called out to Barry without looking, ‘Take the suitcase upstairs to the master bedroom, Stocker, there’s a good man.’

Barry growled beneath his breath and followed them inside. He carried the case up the sweeping staircase. On the first floor he heard the strident sound of some kind of machine coming from one of the rooms. To his surprise, through an open bedroom door, he saw Alfie Parry using his machine to clean the carpet. A strong smell of cleaning fluid wafted over to him.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Barry said.

Alfie heard the voice, turned off the machine and was equally surprised to see Barry standing there, dressed in a black suit with a suitcase in his hand. ‘What are
you
doing here, more like?’ he returned, beckoning him inside.

Barry shrugged. ‘Doing a little work for Donnie.’

‘What? Jesus, Barry, don’t tell me he’s got you doing stuff just like Mickey did. You don’t want anything to do with him, Barry.’

‘I need the money, Alfie. Not everybody’s got their own bloody business to support them.’

‘Yeah, but working for Donnie Craddick…’

‘That’s a fine thing for you to say, Alfie. You’re here cleaning his carpets.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How different? Anyhow, I ain’t got a choice.’

‘What’s he got you doing?’

‘None of your business, Alfie.’

‘Servant by the look of things,’ he said, nodding at the suitcase.

‘Takes one to know one, smartarse,’ he fired. ‘Cleaning his bloody carpets.’

‘Told you, that’s different. You wouldn’t be doing this voluntarily, not if I know you. What hold has he got on you, Barry?’

Barry Stocker turned away. ‘I gotta drop this case off then get back.’

‘He’s got something on you though, eh?’

‘What is it with you, Alfie?  A man wants to make a few quid, make something of his life and he gets a grilling.’

‘Make something of your life? Come on, Barry, that’s bollocks and you know it. Look, I’m your friend, you can talk to me.’

Barry took a step towards him. ‘Since when did you ever open up about yourself, eh? I’m a friend, too, you know. It cuts both ways. What hold has he got on you?’

Alfie looked down. ‘Can’t say, Barry.’

‘Then that makes two of us, doesn’t it?’ He made as if to leave the bedroom, but stopped at the door and came back inside. Sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Look, I saw something yesterday.’

‘What kind of something?’

‘Donnie’s got a million pounds in counterfeit banknotes stashed in a lockup. It belonged to Mickey and he didn’t have time to shift it before he died.’

‘Bloody hell! Where?’

‘He’d kill me if I told anyone.’

‘I’m not just anyone, Barry.’

‘You think I want to put your life in danger, too? Sorry, my lips are sealed.’

‘You’ve got to get out of this mess, Barry,’ he warned. ‘That’s big-time stuff Mickey was into. If you’re connected with that and the police find out…’

‘I know that, but what the hell can I do?’ He sank his head into his hands. Groaned. ‘Remember the Warrington’s factory, that raid they had some years ago?’

‘Yes. Someone was shot. Ended up in a wheelchair.’

‘I drove Mickey’s mob out to do the job.’

Now it was Alfie’s turn to groan. He sat down beside his friend. ‘You weren’t involved in the hold-up, though?’

His head snapped up. ‘No! Course I wasn’t! What do you take me for? Christ, I was only the driver. I didn’t know what was going down.’ He gave a tiny whine. ‘That’s why I had to do what Mickey told me. Now his damned son has found out somehow and that’s why I have to go along with what he wants. He’s got me, Alfie. He’s got me real good and I don’t know what to do.’

‘I know how he found out.’

Barry narrowed his eyes. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mickey kept a little red book for each of the people he had working for him, the hold he had on them, what they did for him.’

‘He’s got a book for me?’ said Barry, alarmed.

‘And for many others in Overthorpe. I’ve seen them. Donnie Craddick is using these to get what he wants, taking over from where his father left off.’

‘Oh bugger,’ he said. ‘I’m screwed.’

‘We can do something, Barry. It doesn’t have to be like this.’

Barry gave a brittle laugh. ‘What the hell can we do, Alfie? He’s got us all. He’s got the town in his pocket.’ Then his mind worked over things. ‘Has he got one for you, Alfie? That why you’re here?’

Alfie turned away sheepishly. ‘Maybe.’

‘But not you, Alfie – what the hell can he have on you? You’re not that kinda guy.’

‘Everyone’s got secrets, I guess. Something we’re not proud of.’

He nodded ponderously. ‘Seems so.’ He stood up and went to the door. ‘Alfie, I did something bad last night…’

Alfie Parry’s eyes widened in concern. ‘How bad?’

He sighed deeply, as if sighing up his very soul. ‘I went round to Duncan’s house last night. We had words. I got all heated up.’

‘What about?’

‘Stuff, money, Sophie…secrets…’ He wiped fingers over his neck, chaffed by the collar and tie. ‘Things turned bad.’

‘Don’t worry, Duncan’s not one to bear a grudge. We’ve all had words before. We’ll get through it. We’re friends.’

‘It was different this time,’ he said wearily. ‘I don’t think things can ever go back to how they were. Not after what I did.’

‘What did you do exactly?’

He shrugged. ‘Never mind.’

‘You want me to see him?’ Alfie had always been the go-between when it came to Duncan and Barry. It had almost become expected of him.

He shook his head quickly. ‘Nah, it’ll only make things worse. Just leave it, eh? I just wanted to say…’ He settled the case in his hand. ‘Never mind. I’ll be seeing you.’

‘Barry,’ said Alfie. ‘I mean it; we can’t let Donnie Craddick get a hold on our lives like his father did.’

Barry smiled thinly. ‘Too late for that, Alfie. He’s got a bloody tight hold on mine. There’s nothing I can do about it, mate.’

He left Alfie staring at the empty doorway.

It was late afternoon when he decided to call it a day, tiredly loading his equipment back into his van. He told Donnie Craddick he was leaving. The man was getting cosy to a young woman on a sofa, laughing at some anecdote or other. They both turned to look at him as he said he’d be back in the morning.

‘This is the man who is making all the noises and the smells, Camellia,’ said Craddick. ‘I’m having the place cleaned. Got my man Alfie to do it. Nobody cleans carpets better than Alfie.’

‘Nice to meet you, Alfie,’ said Camellia.

‘She’s going to be my wife,’ Craddick added. ‘Quite a catch, huh?’

Alfie nodded. Unusual catch, too, he thought. Not what he expected. She looked a decent sort, for one thing.

‘Alfie brings a little artistry to carpet cleaning. Has to come out someplace, doesn’t it, Alfie? See, he’s a bit of a closet artist. Produces amateur plays, don’t you, Alfie?’

Alfie raised a shoulder, just wanting to get out of there.

‘That’s great,’ said Camellia with genuine interest. ‘Maybe we should come and see one, one of these days.’

Donnie Craddick shook his head. ‘I don’t go in for that amateur stuff. Usually they’re just so unconvincing and lame.’

‘That’s not fair, Donnie,’ she countered. ‘I’ve seen some really good ones.’

‘Not in Overthorpe, I imagine,’ he said. ‘A little dickybird tells me that when you were a kid you wanted to be a writer or an artist or something, Alfie.’

‘Something like that. A long time ago.’ How the hell had he found that out? Was nothing sacred?

‘Seems the lure of the shag pile was stronger, eh?’ he grinned.

‘Seems so.’

‘OK, time for you to be off then,’ he dismissed with a peremptory flick of his hand. ‘See you tomorrow bright and early.’

Alfie uttered a noise that sounded like goodbye and went out to his van. He sat behind the wheel, fuming like mad. Eventually he gunned the engine and was glad to leave the place. But he couldn’t get over what Barry had told him about his little altercation with Duncan. So instead of heading home he went round to Duncan’s house.

He knocked loudly, rang the doorbell, but there was no reply. He thought that he must be out, but didn’t think Duncan’s injuries would allow him to go very far just yet, so he tried the door handle. The door was unlocked. He pushed it open, calling, ‘Duncan, are you in, mate? You OK?’