Fade to Black (31 page)

She felt the car stop. The box slid forward and hit something metallic. She hoped it wasn’t a shovel. Maybe stopped at traffic lights? She heard a door open, despite the motor still running. The door slammed with a heavy thunk and she felt the car dip slightly to one side. She heard muffled voices and a laugh. She listened hard as the car accelerated again. Two voices, both male. The words were indistinct, but her ears tuned out the road noise after a while. She deciphered the odd muffled word—particularly from the deeper voice on the passenger’s side of the car. She heard, or thought she heard, ‘tomorrow’ and ‘rain’ and maybe something about ‘leadership,’ but she couldn’t be sure.

Chapter Eighteen

Allie St. Clair rifled through her emails until she found the one from DCS Carr containing Ray Riley’s mobile number, then retrieved Everett Blight’s number from her phone. It was a question of priorities—Riley or Blight. She decided to get DC Banks to locate Blight while she would take Riley as arranged with Ellen Carr. She looked out through the glass panels of her office into the main operations area to the desk at which Jacinta Wilkinson normally sat. A cold tremor shook her. She knew Jacinta’s chances were slim. A sudden claustrophobic pressure enfolded her lungs.
Good God
, she thought,
surely I’m not having a stress attack?
She rocked back in her chair and tried to take a deep breath. She could not. She heard a drumming, droning sound in her head, then a siren—a fire truck? Her breathing eased unexpectedly and she sat forward in her chair, the sounds gone. She shook her head, took a welcome, long breath and looked again to the ops area. Where was Connors? Anger stabbed at her. Had Connors not followed her in to the office an hour ago? Banks appeared in her doorway and knocked politely.

“Sorry about my babbling a bit before, ma’am; I hadn’t realized what was at stake. And even if I had...”

Allie smiled thinly and told him to forget about it. “You’re up to speed with what’s happening now, Pete? You heard me explain to the Super about Riley and Blight, etcetera?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

She reached across the desk, handing him Everett Blight’s phone number. “I’d like you to contact him now and ask him to come in to assist us with some questions. Can you do that?”

Banks sat up straighter. “Of course.”

“Good. Tell him to come here and ask for you. I might be a while getting back, but make him wait, if you know what I mean.”

Banks smiled. “I know what you mean."

“Don’t give him a drink or a ciggy or tell him why here’s here. Direct lots of serious looks at him—you follow?”

“No problem.” Banks was enjoying this. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know; it depends how things go with Riley. Do you know where Connors is, by the way?”

Banks shrugged his shoulders. “No, I don’t actually—haven’t seen him since this morning.”

*****

Ray Riley had been intrigued to receive a call from the famous ‘DCI Dolly’, as he put it on the phone.

“You obviously read the funny papers, then, Mr. Riley,” Allie quipped.

“When you’re in them as much as I am, you do take an interest.”

“Mr. Riley,” she said pleasantly, "I wonder if we might catch up for a chat?”

“Certainly,” he said quickly. “When do you have in mind?”

Allie laughed flirtatiously, even though her skin crawled. “
Now
, actually—if you could possibly make the time?”

Riley asked the obvious question. “About anything in particular? I have a vast empire, you know,” he said with an equally friendly chuckle, but they were sparring.

“Oh, I know, Mr. Riley.”

“Call me Ray, please, Chief Inspector. Listen, if you’re at the Met, I’ll swing by shortly. Do you know the Feathers Inn? I’ll buy you a drink, how’s that?”

The Feathers, of all places
. Still, it was close and safe, in theory. She consulted her watch; it was 4:45 p.m. It struck her that she had not heard back from Strauss after she had instructed her to revisit the Bo Beep café.

“How about 5:30 p.m., then at the Feathers, as you suggest?”

“Fine, I look forward to it,” Ray Riley said and rang off. Allie wondered if this was a good idea.

Michael’s voice floated across her consciousness.
Great idea. I’ll be there.

She smiled.
Thank you, much appreciated,
she thought back. This telepathic communication could catch-on she thought. It saved time and money. She’d been wondering what he’d been up to after the Kensington motorbike dust-up. At least he was around and that was good.

The Feathers Inn was humming. Corporate types spilled out onto the street and the hub from within suggested a big night ahead. Allie loved Friday nights; it seemed like a year since her last session at any pub, but in fact, it was only a matter of weeks—less if you counted her weird little lunch with Phoebe and Greg. Phoebe! Lord, she hadn’t rung her to apologize for the enforced hang up last night.

She skirted the menu board on the street and squirmed her way through a dozen or so men standing basically in the doorway—none of whom was in any hurry to get out of her way; she was, after all, just the sort of girl they all hoped to chat up. Diamond Ray Riley was in a booth halfway down the left-hand side, opposite the large wooden bar, a large, knobbly hand encircling an untouched pint of beer. He saw her and waved. Someone coughed nearby and she glanced sideways. Michael leaned against the bar, clutching a gigantic dark ale. She recalled his statement the other night that he couldn’t or wouldn’t drink alcohol. Interesting. She also noticed the man beside him. If she wasn’t mistaken, and she rarely was, it was Riley’s driver/bodyguard, who she had noticed at the Black Crow the day before. He even still had his little ‘John Lennon’ sunglasses on.

Riley stood at her arrival and made to kiss her on the cheek. She stuck out her hand at the end of a very stiff arm. Smiling, he shook it firmly. He waved John Lennon-Glasses over and asked Allie what she’d like to drink. She asked for a Pimms; he ordered a Dewars single malt on ice to follow his beer. Riley clasped his hands on the dark oak table.

“Your photos don’t do you justice, you know.”

“Seeing justice done is becoming rarer these days generally, don’t you think?”

Riley laughed. “Indeed it is. What can I do for you, Chief Inspector? Or may I call you Allison?”

“Only my parents call me Allison, mercifully,” she countered.

“You don’t like it?” Riley asked, affecting surprise.

“Whenever I heard ‘Allison' it was usually accompanied by some kind of rebuke or worse—
advice
.”

“Ah yes, I see what you mean. ‘Raymond,’ in my case, was followed by a clip ‘round the ear.”

“You weren’t baptized ‘Diamond’ then?”

Riley slapped the table. “Now that
is
funny.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Allie saw Michael shake his head and look away.

“Speaking of funny,” Allie said, leaning a little closer to Riley, “it’s funny that you happened to be dining at the Golden Bamboo two nights ago when, right outside, a young girl was brutally murdered.”

The smile left Riley’s face. “You think
that’
s funny?”

“No, of course not,” Allie replied. “The funny bit is actually that she worked at the Black Crow in Chelsea.”

Riley feigned ignorance well—probably due to a lifetime of practice.

“What’s the Black Crow got to do with the price of eggs?”

“C’mon, it’s where you meet regularly,
Ray. A
nd funnier still,” she said, making him wait while she took a slow sip on her Pimms, “she appeared in one of your magazines for discerning gentleman, why, just this week!” Allie popped her eyes in mock innocence.

Riley leaned way forward. “You’re very sexy when you do that.”

“What, slip slowly on the Pimms or ‘pop’ my eyes?”

“Take your pick.”

“I’ll pass on that, but I think you might have taken your pick, Ray. Georgie was a ‘special’ girl for you, wasn’t she?”

Riley rocked back in his seat. “You’re fuckin’ joking, aren’t you, sister?” All signs of mister urbane were replaced by the Brixton street fighter. Allie saw Michael and Lennon-Glasses both stand a little taller at the bar. “What would I want with a scrubber like…”

“So you knew her, then?”

Riley wasn’t drawn on that one. He smiled and took a sip of his scotch, the first time he had touched it. Putting it back down on the square coaster, he looked back at Allie with a lazy expression.

“Does Ellen Carr know you’re talking to me?”

“Of course—her idea, in fact,” Allie said.

“Is that right? Well, well, she must rate you.”

Allie spread her hands on the table. “Look, Ray, I don’t think for a minute that you murdered Georgie Konstanzo; in fact,
I know
you didn’t. But let me share something with you.” She leaned in towards him. “I think someone close to you did.”

This time he was genuinely surprised. “On what basis do you say that?”

Allie ran through the coincidences, including the Golden Bamboo, the Black Crow and the fact that Georgie posed for his magazines. She left out the bit where she’d been told that one of his men was familiar with Georgie. That would drop the Blascombes right in it. She hoped Riley might volunteer that information.

Riley was thoughtful. “I read the initial police report on that murder,” he said, putting his hand palm up towards her. “Never mind how I got it, but I can tell you, none of my boys did this. You have my word on it.”

Allie stared at him. “I think you actually believe that to be true. But I think you’re wrong and I really don’t want to drag them all in and talk to them one by one. That would be boring and time consuming for everyone.” She let him stew on that one for a moment. “Another small thing—you wouldn’t happen to know where one of my detectives got to this afternoon?”

“What? One of your detectives… what
are
you talking about?”

“The detective in question went missing following up another incident this afternoon at about 12:30 and hasn’t been seen since. You don’t know anything about that, either?”

Riley smiled. “Well, we’re certainly covering some territory aren’t we? If one of your ‘operatives’ has got himself on to a bit of skirt and disappeared into a cheap hotel for the day, that’s your problem. That is, unless he’s in one of my establishments; then he’s the one with the problem!”

Allie noted Riley’s use of the word ‘he’—it was likely Riley knew nothing about Jacinta’s disappearance. But, it had been worth asking. Allie sipped her Pimms and abruptly changed the subject. “Tell me about Jase Britt.”

Riley was impressed. “Well done you. That is very early breaking news. How did you know I was managing him? The ink is barely dry on the contract.”

“Word comes out of your organization pretty quickly.” She didn’t feel the need to tell him that she’d personally seen him with Britt at the Black Crow. Her comment was a bluff, but it had its affect.

Riley was no poker player; his brow wrinkled with concern at the suggestion that there might be a leak in his organization. But he recovered quickly. “Yeah, right. It’s probably already in the music press.”

“Do I take it, then, that you’ve suddenly got religion? Britt is big in the God-Botherers market, as I understand it.”

Riley winked at her. “I do some things religiously, Chief Inspector, but nothing you want to hear about… or do you?”

Allie made a big deal of getting the shivers.

“Well,” Riley said, draining his scotch and standing, “it’s been
interesting
, Chief Inspector St. Clair. You won’t be talking to me again about these matters, will you?”

“Only if you ring me with information, and I hope you are a big enough man to do that if your faith in one of your men proved to be misplaced.”

“An interesting approach, I like that. Fair enough, if I believe one of my men is involved in some messy ‘after school’ activity, I’ll deliver him to you.”

“In one piece, I trust?”

“Oh, I can’t promise you
that
.” He smiled and shook her hand. “It’s a nasty world out there, Allison, be careful now.”

Allie smiled her brightest. “You too, Ray.”

She watched Riley walk away and gesture to his minder, Lennon-Glasses, to follow. As he pushed away from the bar to follow, he shoved Michael roughly. Michael pushed him back. Riley’s minder stopped and turned back to Michael and said something Allie couldn’t quite catch. Michael spoke quietly to him in return. Riley had stopped on his way to the door and also watched the exchange. He looked over at Allie, shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

The inevitable happened, but not the inevitable Riley anticipated. Lennon-Glasses threw a round-arm punch at Michael, then landed on his back at Riley’s feet—ten feet from where he’d thrown the punch. It was as fast as that. Riley looked down at his man, then back at Michael, who stood nonchalantly at the bar. They remained staring at each other for perhaps ten seconds. Riley finally glanced at Allie, pointed a finger at Michael and said, “He one of yours?”

She nodded. “Everybody’s, actually.”

Michael walked the hundred yards from the Feathers to New Scotland Yard with Allie. Commuters gushed in and out of St. James’ Park Tube station across the street and traffic was at its peak.

“Did you enjoy that little punch-up?” she asked with an impish grin.

“I did, as a matter of fact,” he said, smiling back.

Allie snorted. She looked at her watch and told him she had to interview Everett Blight and then was supposed to scoot around to her parents’ home for a quick dinner. She intended coming back to the office afterwards; she would not leave Jacinta hanging out there. Michael nodded and said he recalled her conversation with her mother from the previous night.

Allie stopped near the NSY revolving sign. “This thing with Jacinta Wilkinson—it is
him
isn’t it?”

Michael looked into the middle distance again. “Yes, it is. I can feel his energy on this and something else… I think there is another person involved.”