Ruthless (32 page)

Now here the police were, crack of dawn, bending her bloody ear. All because Susan had been duped by someone who wanted to get at Benny. So instead of enjoying a cup of tea Nurse Foster was listening to DCI Hunter giving her all kinds of grief over the hospital letting in strangers to see gunshot victims.

‘But he insists he’s not a victim,’ she told Hunter, who was staring at her in an unfriendly fashion while DI Sandra Duggan stood alongside him, taking notes.

‘So he says,’ said Hunter. It annoyed him that, despite threats concerning the dire consequences of impeding police investigations, Benny wouldn’t say another word.

‘Maybe you should have left someone here to keep an eye on him, if it was going to be a problem,’ said Julia, neatly shifting the blame. She was desperate for a fag and wished Hunter and Duggan would sod off.

Hunter gave her a pained look. ‘We’re stretched to our limits. No one’s available.’

‘That’s not my problem.’

‘Can you describe the man who claimed to be his brother?’ asked DI Duggan.

‘No, I can’t. My shift has only just started. The staff nurse on duty was Susan Challis.’

‘Her contact details?’ asked Hunter.

‘I’ll get them for you,’ said Julia eagerly, grateful to offload Hunter on to the moron who’d caused the problem in the first place. Maybe then she could have her tea and a smoke, and get on with the day’s work undisturbed.

‘We’re going to miss you,’ said Precious, as Layla picked up her bag at ten a.m., ready to be collected by Tone. ‘Shit,
I’m
going to miss you. I really am.’

Layla could see that Precious meant it. She opened her arms.

‘Come here and give me a hug,’ she said. ‘Please.’

Precious hugged her, hard. ‘Right,’ she said, smiling. ‘Remember: that old Layla who wanted to be invisible, she’s gone. This is the new you. Got that?’

Layla nodded. She glanced at the dressing-table mirror. The apparition staring back at her bore no resemblance to the old Layla. She was wearing a black power suit with big shoulder pads and a neat little flick-out skirt on the jacket, to emphasize the dip of her waist. A white shirt under it, clinging to the curves of her breasts. Her hair was big, a dark cloud around her artfully made-up face. Her tights were black and sheer. Her shoes were black courts, with vertiginously high heels. You had to walk differently in heels like that, with a feline sway.

‘Stare back and smile, remember?’ said Precious, giving her friend a peck on the cheek.

‘Stare back and smile,’ repeated Layla.

China stuck her head round the door. ‘You going, yes?’

‘I’m going, yes,’ said Layla, and China hugged her too.

‘Tone’s here,’ said Chris, looking in.

‘Where’s Destiny?’ asked Layla.

‘Not in yet. Troubles at home,’ said Precious.

‘Give her my love,’ said Layla. She felt depressed and anxious all of a sudden.

‘Head up,’ said Precious, blinking hard, tilting Layla’s chin. ‘Now. Go out and slay ’em. OK?’

‘I will.’ Layla hesitated. ‘You’ll come and see me, won’t you?’

‘’Course I will. Just give me a bell.’

‘Oh, blimey,’ said Layla, shuddering.

‘Nervous?’

Layla nodded.

‘Think of it as a performance. Some nerves are good.’ Precious turned her with her hands on Layla’s shoulders. She gave her a salutary slap on the rump. ‘Now go on. Knock ’em dead.’

71

Annie walked into her bedroom late that morning and found Max standing inside the door, in jeans and shirt-sleeves, looking around.

‘What are you doing in here?’ snapped Annie, pulling him up short.

Max nodded to the doorway. ‘This is where it happened, right? Where she got shot?’

Annie drew a steadying breath. He’d startled her. Wrong-footed her, the way he always did. She didn’t like him being in here. It was too close, too intimate. She didn’t trust him.

Yeah?
she thought.
Or is it that you don’t trust yourself?

‘This is where Layla shot her,’ she said.

The wall beside the door was unmarked. Everything was spotless. No blood, no indication that the plaster had been repaired where the bullet hole had been. It was as if Orla had never been here at all.

Max studied Annie’s face. ‘It must have shaken Layla up pretty badly,’ he said.

‘It did.’

He nodded, was silent. Peering intently at the floor, the wall. ‘So it was Steve who cleared up.’

‘Yeah, he did. I told you. With Eric and Jackie.’

Downstairs in the hall there was movement, people coming in the front door. Annie and Max went out on to the landing and looked over the rail. Tone was there, carrying a bag in. And behind him came a woman – an impossibly chic, gilded creature in high heels and a tight-fitting big-shouldered power suit. This gorgeous creature was primped, manicured, looking around her through stylish shades, which she now, very slowly, removed.

‘Holy
shit,
’ said Annie.

‘What the fuck?’ said Max.

‘
Layla?’
popped out of Annie’s mouth unbidden.

Then she was hurrying down the stairs, crossing the hall. Tony was on his way back outside, passing Bri on the door. Both men had done a noticeable double-take when they had set eyes on Layla. Now it was Annie’s turn.

‘What have you done to yourself?’ she asked out loud.

Layla took a half-step back, floundering for an answer, then she saw the broad smile on Annie’s face. She was clearly delighted.

‘You look
fabulous,
’ she said, moving forward to hug her. Then she held Layla at arm’s length and studied her properly. ‘My God, did you do this all yourself?’

‘With a little help from a friend,’ said Layla, swallowing her nerves, staring into her mother’s eyes as per Precious’s instructions, and smiling.

‘Shit, they should give that friend a medal!’ said Annie. ‘
Look
at you.’

‘Dad!’ Layla’s eyes had moved past her mother. Max was coming down the stairs, crossing the hall, staring at her as if she was a stranger, half-frowning.

‘Christ, what have you done?’ he asked, hugging her.

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Precious had forewarned her that her father might react to her transformation with dismay rather than with pleasure.

‘You’re his little girl,’ Precious had explained. ‘Of course he doesn’t want to see you as a grown-up woman. What father does? You think my dad would be happy about what I do? He’d throw a fit.’ It was the first time Precious had mentioned either one of her parents.

‘The girls gave me some tips to update my look,’ said Layla.

‘Update
it?’ Max echoed. ‘You’re unrecognizable.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Annie, putting an arm around Layla and hugging her close. ‘You look fantastic. Oh – while I think of it, your dad’s in your room. You’ll have to take one of the others.’

Max stood speechless, gazing at the two of them. His wife –
ex-wife
– and his daughter. They were more like sisters. Each cut from the same glamorous, expensive cloth.

Layla was bathed in her mother’s warmth, revelling in it. She didn’t care about the room. If Dad was taking the adjoining room to Mum’s, wasn’t that a good sign, a sign that they might even – miracle of miracles – perhaps one day get back together?

For once in her life, her mother approved of her. Max was put out. She could see that. But Precious had been confident that he’d come round when he’d had time to adjust to the fact that she was no longer the boring little Layla he had once known.

She’d made her entrance. It was all going well, much better than she had hoped for. Annie was smiling at her in something like wonder. Max was half-smiling too; he wouldn’t be a problem. And then Alberto stepped out of the study, and she felt her heart stop dead in her chest. For a long moment, she couldn’t breathe. She just stood there, and waited.

His eyes swept over her and then away. He seemed to not even
see
her.

‘Hi, Layla,’ he said, and turned straight to Max. ‘We might have another lead on this Rufus Malone,’ he said.

Annie was watching Layla’s face. She saw the way her cheeks flushed, the hurt in her eyes.

Oh, so that flame’s still burning,
she thought.

‘Where?’ asked Max.

‘Essex.’

Max’s attention sharpened. ‘Out on the marshes?’

‘You know about it?’

‘Something O’Connor said. You get an actual address?’

‘Yep.’

‘Then what the fuck are we waiting for?’

Leaving Tony and Bri on guard, Max, Alberto and Annie – despite Max’s protests – shot off out the front door, leaving Layla standing there alone in the empty, echoing hall.

All that effort, all that
work.
And he hadn’t paid the slightest attention.

‘Welcome home,’ she said glumly to herself. Alberto hadn’t even
noticed
what she looked like.

That
bastard.

She angrily kicked off her heels, snatched them up, and trudged up the stairs.

It had become a daily ritual for Rufus, phoning the farm. He’d let it ring and ring until he couldn’t stand it any longer, then he’d hang up.

But today, after two rings, someone answered. His heart leapt with hope.

‘Yes?’ It was Orla’s mother, her voice quavering. She gave a thick-sounding cough.

‘Mrs Delaney? It’s Rufus – put Orla on, will you?’

‘She isn’t here. She hasn’t been back since the pair of you left . . . oh, when was it now? I can’t think straight at the moment – I’ve been in bed with the flu all week. I still don’t feel right. I tell you, I’ve been laid low, Rufus. Really bad.’

‘She hasn’t come back then?’ he asked, his stomach twisting in sickening dread.

‘Back from where . . .?’ Another hard cough; this one rattled on. When she finally recovered her voice, Orla’s mum said: ‘Where’d the pair of you go to in such a hurry, anyway?’

‘No matter,’ he said, and put the phone down.

So she wasn’t at the farm, waiting for him.

He didn’t think the Carters would hold her, locked up in a basement somewhere. Hold her for what? To what end?

Which left only one other option. The worst one, the one he couldn’t bear to face.

Orla, dead? Truly gone from him forever?

Rage surged through him at the thought, rage against the Carter bitch and all her kin. He knocked over the table, scattering cups and plates, smashing them on the floor. Then he stood, panting, remembering that last night in Islington, Orla’s excitement as she’d set off on her mission to kill Annie Carter. How much it had meant to her, making that bitch pay for the hurt she’d caused.

Part of his mind still flinched from accepting that she was dead. How could she be? He’d thought her dead once before, only to discover that she’d survived, against all the odds.

Drawing comfort from the thought, he began putting the final stages of his plan into action. He’d already set things in motion, ensuring that a nugget of information was dropped into the right ear. All he needed to do now was prepare a little gift to welcome his guests on their arrival.

72

The place was way out in the marshes. There was nothing for miles except endless mudflats, the salty stink of washed-up seaweed, and the eerie cry of curlews. It was a dilapidated old shack, long abandoned by the look of it, and there was a rusted hulk of a barn at the side. Once a farmer might have lived here, tilled a meagre field or two, grazed his sheep on sea grass and samphire. Now, there was nothing. Not even a car.

‘Looks empty,’ said Max, getting out of the driver’s side. Alberto got out of the front passenger seat and stood there, surveying the area. Two of his men including Sandor clambered out of the back. Two of Max’s boys were up ahead, in another car. They piled out, and Annie got out with them. They closed around her. They were mob-handed. They were all armed. She looked at Max, at Alberto. Looked at the house.

‘Let’s see,’ said Alberto.

They approached the house. There was no cover, which was worrying. Any moment, Annie expected to hear the crack of a pistol-shot as they were fired on from the building, but nothing happened.

A marksman in there could finish off the lot of us,
she thought.

It wasn’t a comforting notion.

She watched Max go round the back of the place with his boys, watched Alberto and Sandor go to the front. Max went to the door, standing to one side of it to offer no target for anyone inside. She felt her skin crawl as her brain offered up possible outcomes to this. Someone could be crouching in there, hiding, waiting for them to try to come in.

Annoyingly, Max’s boys were crowding around her, keeping her at a distance, keeping her protected. She was trying to see past a ton of muscle, and not managing very well. But she was on the corner of the building so she could just see Max at the back door, and Alberto, about to launch himself and Sandor into the front.

Max paused at the back door. It was hanging loose on rusted hinges. As the breeze sighed, it made a noise like something freshly dead coming back to life and crawling out of a grave. There was a window beside it, filmed with dirt and caked from the salty breeze. He could just about see through it into the room beyond. There was an old table, a few chairs. It was habitable, almost. Then he glanced down, his eye drawn by something on the ground at his feet. Something green.

A paper shamrock.

His eyes flicked up. The shack appeared to be empty. He strained, trying to see more clearly – and then he saw it. On the interior handle of the front door, there was something hanging, with wires embedded in what looked like putty.

Max turned, shouting to the group of men around Annie. ‘Bomb! It’s booby-trapped, don’t touch the front door.’

Annie turned and shrieked: ‘Alberto! Don’t!’

Alberto’s hand was outstretched, about to open the front door. He froze.

73

They drove back to the Holland Park house, passing the watchers in the car outside. There were other cars parked up in the square, vans, too. Annie moved anxiously into the hall, calling Layla’s name.