Stay Dead (16 page)

Tony was silent.

‘Come on, say something, even if it’s only bollocks!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, his eyes avoiding hers. He paid at the till, tucked the paper under his arm, left the shop. Annie trailed behind him.
She was having to half-run to keep up with his long stride. He was walking back to the Jag. Finally she grabbed his arm again. Tony halted. Looked at her. Seemed to look straight
through
her.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘
What?
’ Annie echoed, half-laughing although it wasn’t funny, not in the least. ‘Is that all you’ve got? For fuck’s sake! Dolly has been
shot
,
and you act like you don’t care.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Tone. ‘Of course I bloody care.’

‘Good! Then will you please stop walking away from me?’

‘I got nothing to say to you.’

‘Are you
kidding
me?’ Annie raised her fists to her head and was actually wrenching at her hair with her hands, she was so exasperated. ‘Dolly is
dead
, Tone. And
you were her driver, her minder, you were supposed to look out for her, and what the fuck were you doing? Were you off somewhere having a wank? Because it’s pretty clear you weren’t
doing your job!’

That did get a reaction. Tony’s brows drew together and he looked thunderous.

‘Look,’ he said sharply. ‘I drove her last Thursday afternoon, up West. She wanted to go shopping, that’s what she always did on a Thursday afternoon if she wasn’t
meeting Ellie Brown at the Ritz. I dropped her back at the Palermo at about four, and she went into the club and I went home. When I went to check in with her Friday lunchtime, she was bloody dead.
More than that I can’t tell you. I wish to God it hadn’t happened, and if I find whoever did it before Old Bill does then they’re up to their mangy arses in trouble and there
won’t be no nice civilized trial or a cosy cell to lie in, they’ll be fucking
gone
, you got me?’

Annie was silent; their eyes were locked. Tony swallowed hard, then looked away.

‘I liked Dolly,’ he said. ‘You know that. To think of some scummy bastard doing that, it makes me sick to my stomach.’

‘And that’s all you know?’ asked Annie quietly.

‘It’s all I know.’

‘I need help, Tone. I want to find out who did this and I want to deal with it in
our
way. You’re right – no cosy cells, no trial. Only justice.
Our
sort of
justice. Will you help me do that?’

Say yes
, she thought. He would say yes, he had to say yes.

‘No,’ said Tony, and turned away from her.

Annie caught his arm again. Tony paused, looked back at her face. Annie released him, her shoulders sagging. ‘Do you know what happened to Jackie?’ she asked.

‘What?’ He looked at her blankly.

‘Jackie Tulliver. He used to be sharp as a razor, now he’s drowning himself in the bottle day and night. What happened?’

Tony shrugged. ‘His mum died,’ he said. Then he turned his back on her and walked over to the Jag. He didn’t look back; not once.

Yeah, he knows,
she thought.
They all do
.

Annie stood there staring after him. Something bad was happening here, something
terrible
. She longed for Max, for a friendly face, for things to be as they used to be,
when she was treated with respect, when all the boys knew that she was
Mrs Carter
, and you had to tread softly around her, or else. Now, she was nothing but shit on their shoes, and she
didn’t like that feeling at all.

‘There you are,’ said Jackie, wandering up to her, a fat cigar clamped between his yellow teeth. Annie almost groaned.
This
was all she had to work with. This
wreck
. He
was staggering a little, and his hands were shaking. He was unshaven, unwashed. As usual.

‘Yeah,’ sighed Annie. So his mum had passed on. Was that really an excuse for
this
? ‘Here I am.’

‘I’ve talked to our people in the Bill, they don’t know nothing. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Right.’

Jackie coughed. Looked at her.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘A little dosh up front would be good,’ he said, his eyes straying to the off-licence over the road. ‘Got a couple of contacts you might want to speak to. Might be worth your
while.’

Ah, what the hell
.

Annie handed over a tenner and off he went, weaving through the traffic, people honking their horns at him but Jackie taking no notice, intent as a bloodhound on the trail. She followed him
slowly, her mind on Dolly, on Tony, on the whole flaming awful mess this was turning out to be, and as she did so a cyclist came past her, skidding to a halt, almost hitting her.

‘Christ!’ she yelped. ‘Watch what you’re doing, will you?’

And then he stuffed a piece of paper into her hand, and sped away.

Annie stood there, looking at the piece of paper.

Ah shit. No, no, no. Not now. Please, not now.

She stepped back on to the pavement and unfurled it. Numbers. Not many. She stood there and slowly she deciphered the code. It said:
Come at once
.

Annie screwed the note up, the
pizzino
, and flung it to the ground where it was quickly trampled underfoot.

I can’t
, she thought
. Not right now. I’m sorry, but I can’t.

And once again she stepped into the road and followed Jackie Tulliver, the useless drunk – and also the only hope she had.

Night was closing in on them as they went to the address of one of Jackie’s ‘contacts’. The rain was swooshing down and the wipers were working overtime in
the taxi. On the way, they passed the Palermo and Annie stared out at it. Earlier in the day, she’d passed it and the police tapes had been up, an officer had been there standing guard on the
door. Now . . .

‘Stop! Stop the damned car, will you?’ she said.

‘What the . . . ?’ asked Jackie, who’d been half-dozing, almost ready to sleep off his latest boozing session. Now he snapped awake and stared at her as the cab driver pulled
in to the kerb.

Annie slapped payment into the driver’s hand and was out of the car like a long dog. She ran over to the Palermo and stood there, staring.

The police tapes were gone. There was no officer on the door. Instead, there was a white van parked outside and men were bringing out boxes of stuff. Annie saw clothes she recognized, a pink
fluffy cushion perched on top of one of the bulging boxes. It fell to the pavement, soaking up wet dirt and grime. Someone bent, snatched it back up, stuffed it back in the box.

‘Holy
shit
,’ said Annie under her breath, and hurried inside.

‘What’s going on?’ bleated Jackie. ‘I thought you wanted—’

Annie wasn’t even listening. She shot off inside the club, blundering past the removals men, almost running past Pete the barman, and then she hared across the club floor and up the
stairs, nearly knocking over another bloke coming down with another full box of Dolly’s belongings. She barged into the flat and stared around in disbelief.

They’d stripped it. The rug with Dolly’s blood on it was gone, and all her little ornaments. Everything. From the bedroom next door she could hear men laughing, a radio playing
Whitney Houston, who was blasting out ‘One Moment in Time’ as they disassembled Dolly’s bed, cleaned out her bedroom, trampled on her memory.

In the middle of the sitting room stood Caroline, Gary’s latest squeeze. She saw Annie there and her mouth formed a cat’s-bum pout of dislike.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ demanded Annie.

‘What does it look like?’

Annie felt like she’d had a gutful. She barrelled forward and grabbed the front of Caroline’s dress. Caroline let out a squawk of surprise. Annie’s eyes bored into hers from
inches away.

‘It looks like you’re taking the piss,’ said Annie. ‘
That’s
what it looks like. This is Dolly’s home, you silly tart.’

‘
What
did you call me?’

‘You heard. Would you jump into her grave this fast, you cow?’

‘You’d better let go of me,’ said Caroline, writhing against Annie’s grip as Jackie walked into the room.

‘Hey! Ladies, no need to get rough now . . .’ he started, waving his hands around. It was the most animated Annie had seen him since she got back, and that angered her all the more,
that he was defending this stupid
bint
who thought she could swan in here and turn Dolly’s memory to ashes in the blink of an eye.

‘Shut your trap, Jackie,’ Annie shot back at him over her shoulder. She gave Caroline a shake. ‘And you! Explain yourself.’

‘Explain
what
?’ spat out Caroline. ‘Gary said I was going to take over here, and that’s what I’m damned well doing, OK? I’m just cleaning out all this
old crap.’

‘Old crap?’ Annie’s eyes glinted with rage. ‘You cheeky little pisser! This is
Dolly’s
place.’

‘This
was
her place,’ corrected Caroline. ‘The Bill have said they’ve got all they need in here, and we can clear it out. I’ve got the decorators coming in
tomorrow, got to get shot of all this fucking pink tat first.’

Suddenly the rage drained out of Annie like someone had released a valve. Dolly was dead, and actually? This bitch was right. Things were moving on. But to think of this prancing little clown in
here running the show, riding roughshod over all that Dolly had so painstakingly built up, it stuck in her gullet to even think of that. But what could she do? Precisely
nothing
.

‘You say Gary gave you the word on this?’ asked Annie coldly.

‘Damned right. And he got his orders straight from your old man.’

‘
What?
’ Annie stared at her. ‘Max has been in touch with Gary? Since Dolly got shot? When?’

‘Couple of damned days ago. Gary filled him in on what happened, and asked if I could step in. Mr Carter said yes. You going to let go of this dress? You’re creasing the
fabric.’

‘I’ll crease
your
fucking fabric in a minute,’ snapped Annie. ‘You never heard of the word “respect”? Dolly’s only just cold, and you’re in
here already. It’s not right.’

‘It
is
right, your damned husband says it’s OK and he owns the place. So what the hell you’re beefing about, I really don’t know. Take it up with him.’

I wish I damned well could
, thought Annie. Her head was reeling. Max had phoned Gary, and if that was the case maybe he’d also called the Prospect villa. She’d check that when
she got back to the hotel. With a disdainful flick of the wrist she released Caroline, who staggered back a pace.

‘You’re fucking berserk, you are,’ said Caroline, brushing down the front of her dress. ‘Gary always said you were, and he’s right. Having marriage troubles, he
said. You and Mr Carter. And meeting you? I’m not surprised.’

Marriage troubles?
Since when had Max and her been having marriage troubles? This was the first she’d heard of it.

Jesus, Max, what’s going on with you? Where the hell are you?

‘Life goes on, you know,’ said Caroline, brushing past her and past Jackie, and going to the door of the flat.

‘Yeah.’ Annie turned and gave Jackie a bleak look. ‘Just not for Dolly.’

Caroline kept on walking. Annie could see she didn’t give a shit. Life had just bounced her a big result; she’d caught herself a nightclub manager and now she was going to step into
Dolly’s shoes and have the running of the Palermo. Probably she’d get Tony and the Jag to queen it around town in too. No wonder she was so made up with it all.

Sickened, Annie stood there as Caroline vanished back downstairs. Jackie looked at the floor.

‘It’s fucking sad,’ he said. ‘About Dolly.’

‘Yeah,’ said Annie, thinking that she’d like to kick Gary Tooley’s balls up around his ears somewhere. ‘Ain’t it just. Come on, let’s go see this
fucking contact of yours.’

‘It’s years since I’ve been in a nightclub,’ said Redmond, looking around at the lush gold and brown decor of the Blue Parrot as Gary greeted him in the
foyer. ‘We owned some, you know. My family. Back in the dim distant past,’ he said in that almost hypnotically soft southern Irish lilt.

And they were all burned to the ground
, he thought.

‘Really,’ said Gary Tooley, uninterested.

Redmond took his time looking over this strange stork-like individual. He was too tall, too thin, his hair swept back and coloured a bright blond. His eyes were the eyes of a killer; pale,
uncaring. Redmond recognized a kindred spirit, someone who could be every bit as vicious as himself.

‘So,’ said Redmond after they’d shaken hands. ‘This information you’ve got for me . . .’

‘Yeah. You’ll be amazed,’ said Gary. ‘Come on up.’

He led the way up the stairs at the side of the big room, escorted Redmond into an office, closed the door behind them. He sat down behind the desk, while Redmond sat in front of it. Then
Redmond sat there and stared at Gary Tooley expectantly. Gary swallowed; he seemed all of a sudden nervous.

Well, he should be
, thought Redmond. Gary Tooley ought to remember that the Delaney gang had shoved hard at the Carter territories, had been almost more trouble than could be handled. The
Carter boys had been tough; but the Delaneys had given them a run for their money.

‘So?’ said Redmond, when Gary didn’t speak.

‘I’ve been getting calls,’ said Gary.

‘From who?’

‘Whoa.’ Gary sat back in his chair, sprawled, tried to reestablish just whose office this was, who was in control here. There was something about Redmond that chilled and intimidated
him. But they were here to do business. That was all. Redmond had been out of the hard game for years. Even so, he still looked like a cold son of a bitch who’d pull your throat out through
your ears if you upset him.

‘Whoa?’ echoed Redmond. His thin lips tilted in a lopsided smile. ‘Would you like to explain just what you mean by that?’

‘I
mean
let’s not rush this. There’s the question of payment first.’