The Catch (49 page)

He had her blocked in. The street was still deserted. Cate could try to break away, or cry for help, but it wouldn’t save her.

There’ll be a better chance than this
, the calm voice told her. So she made the decision, possibly the most momentous decision of her life, and climbed into the back seat; and the other voice screamed and bawled, told her she was spineless, a coward and a fool, and that she’d just made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Dan’s worst fears about his future at Denham’s seemed to be realised within the first ten minutes. He arrived to find Hayley sitting in the restroom, Tim Masters perched on the table above her as though waiting for an opportunity to tumble into her lap.

Hayley took a sip from a carton of Ribena. A lock of hair fell across her forehead and Tim caressed it back into place, only to see her flinch. Confused, he glanced round, clocked Dan and gave a triumphant smile.

‘Morning ...’ The tone cheery but clipped, as if the full greeting would have been:
Morning, loser
.

Dan nodded to them both, then set about making coffee. A few of their colleagues ambled in, and each time there were little starts and abrupt silences as they took in the intimate body language displayed by the couple at the table, then turned to examine what Dan was making of it. The more unconcerned he tried to appear, the more ridiculous he must have looked: any more nonchalant and he could have slithered under the door.

Checking his phone was a reliable displacement activity, but even that brought disappointment. Silence from Cate.

Then the old man walked in, dwarfed by his classic Crombie overcoat, complete with beloved TT Race lapel pin. He reacted in broadly the same way as everyone else: first a confused look at Hayley and Tim, then a questioning glance at Dan. But with Denham there was also an unmistakable hint of satisfaction.

Diffident as ever, he said, ‘Uh, Dan, could we have a quick word, do you think?’

‘Sure. Here?’

‘Oh no.’ Denham’s eyes gleamed. ‘This is strictly between us.’

****

Robbie was home before nine. A flying visit, so he left his car on the street. Jed sloped off to his room: back to bed, Robbie would have guessed, although the occasional thump and clatter suggested otherwise.

Robbie was due in the office by now, but he’d checked his mother’s schedule and fortunately she was out for most of the day. He called Indira, who was less than impressed to hear he was throwing a sickie.

‘I have to be in Saltdean at four, and there’s no one else to cover.’

‘Just close early,’ he said. ‘I’ll square it with the old bat.’

He put the phone down on her protest, then took a shower to wash off the smell of smoke that seemed to have adhered to him again. He put on a good suit – a dark grey Hugo Boss – and transferred Hank’s paperwork into a small suitcase. His Antler cabin bag was the perfect size and its combination lock, while insufficient to deter a serious thief, would at least keep prying eyes at bay. That was all he needed for now.

He left the flat, his only farewell a spectacularly loud burp: the sausage-and-egg McMuffin repeating on him. He trotted down the stairs in a buoyant mood, partly because he’d kept a watchful eye out for anyone following him this morning, and he hadn’t seen a thing.

For that reason he relaxed his guard, striding towards his car with barely a glance to his left or right. He didn’t notice his attackers until one of them spoke, a gruff voice that wasn’t addressing Robbie at all: ‘That’s him.’

Three heavyset men in their late forties or early fifties, dressed in designer sports gear. Tough characters gone flabby from years of fine living, but still strong, still vicious. They were on him in an instant, tearing the suitcase from his grasp. One of them held him from behind, making sure he stayed upright under the barrage of blows. Robbie dimly registered that this was a good sign: fall to the ground and you’re dead.

So he
had
been followed, he thought, barely hearing the abuse they were raining on him. He wondered if they’d have the brains to search him, or if taking the papers would be enough. The memory card was in his—

‘And keep your filthy hands off Jim’s missus,’ one of them growled, and at last the message penetrated Robbie’s skull.

This isn’t about Hank O’Brien
.

The relief was sweeter than morphine. Ignoring the blood streaming from his nose and mouth, he lurched sideways, abandoning the effort to protect his vital organs, and made sure the suitcase was still there. It had been kicked across the pavement and now sat in the gutter next to his BMW. All it would take was for some opportunistic little scrote to wander past and nick it while everyone else was focusing on the assault ...

Then he lost his footing and went down, his elbow striking the ground with such a loud crack that even one his assailants sucked in a breath. The other two laughed. Robbie felt like he was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or both.

He heard a scream, thought for a second that it was coming from him. As it rose in pitch it transformed into a kind of war cry. The thugs were turning away when Robbie, through his tear-distorted vision, saw Jed hurtling towards them, brandishing a carving knife in one hand and a can of something in the other. Mace?

‘Who’s this fucking nut?’ one of the men said.

‘Dunno, but we’re finished here. Let’s go.’

They backed off, crossing the road to a Jeep Cherokee. Jed slowed as soon as he saw the attack was over; at close range it was apparent that he had no real appetite for a fight. But he stood guard until the Cherokee roared away, then pocketed the Mace and went to help Robbie up. He froze when he saw the grin on Robbie’s face.

‘What’s up with you?’

Robbie laughed, choked, spat a gob of blood on to the pavement, then laughed again.

‘Celebrating.’ He ran his tongue over his teeth, testing to see if any had come loose. ‘I’m the luckiest man alive.’

Jed shook his head slowly. ‘You’re a fucking lunatic, Rob.’

‘Yeah, I won’t argue.’ Robbie pointed at the suitcase. ‘Gimme a hand with that, will you?’

****

Denham waved Dan to a seat, then hung his coat on the back of the office door and eased behind his desk.

‘Am I to assume that things have moved on?’

‘If you mean Hayley and me, yes. We’ve split up.’

‘I see. Well, I hope it wasn’t precipitated by our conversation on Saturday.’ Denham frowned. ‘Or should I hope that it
was
?’

‘It had been on the cards for a while. If it affects how we work together, I’ll look for another job.’

‘I hope you’ll do nothing of the sort.’ Denham sounded unusually stern, but there was still a twinkle in his eyes. ‘In any case, I don’t believe such drastic action will be necessary.’

‘Oh?’

Denham idly inspected a pile of mail on his desk; lifting the first envelope, he read the return address and threw it aside in disgust.

‘They say that nothing is certain but death and taxes. To that, I’d currently add the obliteration of the High Street retailer. Now, I’ve denied it in staff presentations, and I’ll go on denying it for the sake of morale, but I can see the truth as well as anyone.’ He leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head, a relaxed posture that seemed at odds with his message. ‘The one saving grace is that we own this site. It’s the land we’re sitting on that’s the only true asset – and I say “we”, but actually it’s just me. At present.’

Another pause. Dan had the impression that he should have cottoned on to something by now, but he remained mystified.

‘Here’s what I’m proposing,’ Denham said. ‘A management restructure, appointing you as general manager with responsibility for both sales and service.’

A promotion, when Dan’s dream was to strike out on his own. He opened his mouth to explain but Denham raised a hand. ‘Hear me out. I won’t be able to employ a new sales manager, unfortunately, so there’ll be some increase in your workload, but I’ll be around as much as ever. Between us, I’m sure we’ll cope.’

‘This is going to put Tim’s nose out of joint.’

‘Oh? Why do you say that?’

‘Well, he’s always been ambitious. And if it came down to the two of us, I bet he’d fancy himself as the winning candidate.’

Denham nodded happily. ‘Let’s hope so, because then he’s liable to bugger off in a fit of pique.’

‘You don’t want to keep him?’

‘Give it a year, eighteen months at most, and we won’t need a service manager.’

‘Is that how long we’ve got?’

‘The end may come sooner still, if I’m made the right sort of offer.’

‘You’re selling—’ Dan began; and at last he understood. ‘But not as a going concern?’

‘Residential development, with some sheltered housing, that’s the likeliest option. I hope you won’t think too badly of me,’ Denham added gravely. ‘The staff will be looked after, I promise you that. Well, you’ll have a say, of course.’

‘Will I?’

‘Along with the post of general manager, I’m proposing to give you a share in the business. How does ten per cent sound?’

Dan was stunned. Perhaps misreading the look, Denham gave a dismissive wave. ‘Oh, it means nothing now. We’ve made fresh air for profits, the past few years. But come the sale, after fees and expenses, I expect we’ll realise about two million for the site.’

It was one of those silly cartoon moments, as though pound signs had appeared on Dan’s eyeballs. Ten per cent of two million was
two hundred thousand pounds
.

‘That should be enough to finance this business proposition of yours.’ He smiled at Dan’s incredulous expression. ‘As it happens, I thoroughly approve of a coffee shop. Low overheads, high margins, and best of all the online vultures and supermarkets can’t muscle in, because location is the key. Even in hard times folk like to treat themselves to a drink and a cake made for them by someone else.’ He winked at Dan. ‘In my retirement, I look forward to becoming a regular customer.’

****

Robbie stood up, shrugging off Jed’s help. A few people loitered nearby, one of his neighbours among them. Robbie had no idea how long they’d been there. The neighbour asked if he should call the police, but Robbie shook his head.

‘No real harm done,’ he said.

He trudged back to the flat, clutching the suitcase to his chest as if slow-dancing a lover. His suit was a write-off, covered in blood and torn at the elbow and knee. He stripped off, got back in the shower and carefully washed the blood from his face.

His elbow hurt like crazy, but there were no bones broken, and once he’d cleaned up none of his injuries was visible. That curious sense of elation persisted, perhaps because the beating hadn’t disrupted his plans in the slightest.

He put on another good suit, then came out into the hall and stopped dead. A battered old army-surplus kitbag stood by the front door. Jed emerged from his bedroom, wearing his green parka and carrying a rucksack. He saw Robbie’s expression and nodded.

‘I’m out of here.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Robbie was temporarily lost for words.

‘Seems like you’re getting yourself into all kinds of shit. I don’t wanna be around when it hits the fan.’

Robbie didn’t comment. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Pal in Swansea, for starters. So I’d appreciate some cash to tide us over. Let’s make it a grand.’

‘What?’

‘Golden handshake, sort of thing.’ Jed sniffed, aggressively. ‘I mean, to thank us for saving you from a kicking just now.’

Robbie wanted to say,
They’d practically gone by the time you got there
. But Jed had a mean look in his eyes.

‘I would, but I don’t have that kind of money.’

‘You’re a shit liar, Robbie. It’s sitting in your safe, that and a lot more besides.’

‘What? No, it’s n—’

‘6-8-4-3-1,’ Jed recited in a sing-song voice. ‘I could’ve cleaned you out whenever I wanted. Could’ve strolled away with the whole lot and left you in a bleeding heap on the pavement.’

Robbie was taken aback, but tried to recover. ‘All right. I appreciate that. The thing is, it’s not my money.’

Jed roared with laughter. ‘Since when did that ever stop you, ye cheeky bastard?’

‘He’s binding us in.’ This was Patricia’s reaction to the call from Stemper.

On Sunday they had agreed with him that drastic action might be necessary. But it was one thing to discuss in theory; quite another to know the woman was coming here, right now. Their prisoner.

While Gordon could hardly move for the excitement, his wife was rather more measured. Shaking her head as Gordon tried to argue that there was nowhere else as suitable.

‘It’s about ensuring that we sink with him, if anything goes wrong.’ Then a harrumph. ‘
If
anything goes wrong. What am I saying? So far virtually
everything
has gone wrong.’

‘That’s not true. We’ve dealt with Jerry. We’ve identified our rivals. And now we have one of them in our possession ...’ Gordon decided it was safe to stand up. ‘I’d better get the room prepared.’

‘She’s not a house guest.’

‘Make it secure, I mean. Just in case ...’

She mistook his breathlessness for reticence. ‘I hope you’re not having second thoughts?’

‘I’m not. I promise.’

‘It’s what we agreed. A couple of lives, in exchange for all that good work ...’

‘More than a couple, potentially.’

‘But none of them exactly innocent. It’s still morally justified, isn’t it?’

‘Absolutely.’ Earlier Gordon had been dreaming about his yacht, how occasionally he might enjoy a week away on his own – or, rather, minus Patricia. He wouldn’t be
alone
. One or two of his lady friends would accompany him. Or half a dozen, if the mood took him.

Moral justification didn’t come into it.