The Villain’s Daughter (12 page)

Guy stared hard at her. ‘And what did you tell him?’

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I told him he’d only asked me the time.’

He let out a long relieved sigh. ‘Thank God for that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I take it you haven’t heard.’

She could tell from his face that this wasn’t going to be good news. Her heart began to hammer. ‘Heard what?’

At that very moment a tall, elegant black man walked by the table and nodded at them. Guy beckoned him over. ‘Noah,’ he said, ‘have you got a moment? This is Iris, Iris O’Donnell.’

Noah leaned across, smiled and shook her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘And you.’

‘Noah, for his sins, is my partner in the business,’ Guy said. He looked up at him. ‘Could you do me a favour and get Iris a brandy.’

Iris frowned, shaking her head. ‘What? I don’t want a brandy.’

‘No,’ Guy said, ‘but I think you’re going to need one.’ He nodded at Noah. ‘You’d better make that two.’

‘Sure,’ Noah said. He glanced briefly at them both before retreating to the bar.

‘What is it? What’s going on?’ Despite the warmth of the room, she could feel a chill running through her. Recalling what he’d mentioned just before his business partner had arrived, she said, ‘What haven’t I heard?’

Guy seemed reluctant to pass on the information. ‘It was in the evening paper.’

‘I haven’t read the evening paper.’

‘It’s about Albert Jenks,’ he said carefully.

And now, seeing the expression on his face, the chill in Iris turned to ice. ‘What about him?’

She knew the answer even before he gave it. Her hands were clenching, gripping her thighs, even as he spoke.

‘I’m sorry but . . . he was found dead last night.’

‘Oh my God,’ she murmured. She bent down towards the table. A long strand of her hair came loose and fell down around her face.

Noah arrived with the brandies, put them on the table and discreetly left again.

‘W-what happened to him?’ she eventually managed to stammer out.

Guy reached out and touched her gently on her arm. ‘Someone broke into his flat yesterday afternoon. He was beaten up, but it seems he died from a heart attack.’ He picked up the glass and pressed it into her hand. ‘Take a sip,’ he said. ‘It’s good for shock.’

Iris did as she was told. Her head was spinning as she felt the warmth of the brandy slide down her throat. And she remembered drinking another glass of brandy the night before, the night she’d been supposed to meet Jenks at the Monny. She had sat there in the kitchen, cursing him for not turning up, when all the time he’d been lying dead in his flat. She shuddered. ‘Who could do that?’ she asked. ‘He was an old man. Who could do something like that?’ As she tried to make sense of it, a terrible thought came into her head. She could see Chris Street’s eyes boring down into hers. ‘You don’t think . . . you don’t think it could have been . . .?’

‘It could have been anyone,’ Guy said. ‘Don’t go jumping to any conclusions. Jenks was trouble, Iris. He may have been old, but that doesn’t mean that he was good.’

‘He still didn’t deserve to die that way.’

‘Probably not,’ he said.

Hearing the reservation in his voice, Iris looked sharply up. ‘I take it you knew him rather better than I did.’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I made a point of keeping well away. Unlike my mother.’ He lifted the brandy glass and looked at her over the rim. ‘I suppose you have the right to know this.’ Guy hesitated before he spoke again. ‘Jenks used to work for Terry Street. After Terry went down, she took over the business, along with all his snouts. Jenks was paid to gather information, anything that might be useful. He was good at it, very good, and he didn’t give a damn about who might get hurt in the process. Let’s just say he wasn’t called the Weasel for nothing. He’d have grassed up his granny if there was a few quid in it.’

Iris nodded.
The Weasel
. Of course, that’s what Chris Street had called him. ‘So he might not have been lying. He may have known something about my father.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, Iris, who exactly
is
your father?’

If it hadn’t been for the shock she was feeling, she might not have spoken so freely. Guy Wilder, after all, was a virtual stranger. ‘His name’s Sean O’Donnell. He split up with my mum nineteen years ago, but then just disappeared. We never heard anything after that. She reckons he’s dead and . . . I don’t know, perhaps she’s right. Even if he hadn’t wanted to see us again, he’d have kept in touch with his brother. He and Michael were close.’ She took another sip of brandy. It seemed to be having the desired effect. The initial shock had worn off and although she couldn’t claim to be thinking with absolute clarity, she was at least able to string a few coherent sentences together. ‘Actually, my uncle used to know your mother. Michael O’Donnell?’

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t ring any bells.’

‘Well, it was a long time ago. They went to school together, but I think they stayed in touch for a while after that. Actually, I think he had a bit of a crush on her.’

Guy thought about it some more. ‘Hold on. A biggish guy, dark curly hair?’

‘That’s him.’

His mouth broke into a wide smile. ‘Jesus, yes, I do remember. Sometimes he was with her when she came to pick me up from my grandmother’s.’

‘Not Terry?’ she said, confused.

‘No, never Terry. I couldn’t stand the man - and vice versa. Michael was okay though. Yeah, he was one of the good guys. We used to go the park sometimes, kick a ball around. My God, is he still living here?’

‘He’s lived in Kellston all his life. I don’t think he’ll ever move away.’ Iris wasn’t overly surprised that their paths hadn’t crossed again. Michael wouldn’t be seen dead in a bar like this and she couldn’t see Guy Wilder popping into the Dog and Duck for a pie and a pint.

‘So you’re Michael’s niece. How amazing is that? I wonder if we ever met when we were kids.’ He left a short pause and then grinned. ‘No, I don’t reckon we did. I wouldn’t have forgotten
you
.’

Was he flirting with her? Perhaps just a little. But then he was in the type of business where flirting with the female customers was virtually obligatory. It probably came to him as instinctively as breathing. Had it not been for the brandy - and the champagne and the wine - Iris wouldn’t have said what she said next. ‘Michael believes that she only left you with your gran to protect you; that she didn’t want you getting involved in all the nastiness of Terry’s world.’

Something in Guy’s face instantly closed down. ‘Then Michael, no offence, is talking through his arse. What you have to understand about my wonderful mother is that she didn’t have an altruistic bone in her body. The only person she was ever concerned about was herself.’

Iris could hear the anger in his voice and regretted having spoken. She had clearly overstepped the line.

There was a short, awkward silence before Guy apologised. He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. ‘Sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’ve been all over the shop recently.’

‘It’s okay. I understand.’

Guy nodded and quickly changed the subject. ‘So what exactly did Albert Jenks say to you on Wednesday night?’

Iris didn’t have to think about it. The words had been revolving in her head for the past forty-eight hours. ‘He just leaned down and said:
Don’t you want to know where your daddy is?
That’s all, nothing else - well, apart from to meet him at the Monny at half-six.’

‘And you went?’ he said. ‘You went alone?’

There was an edge to his tone that reminded her of Vita’s similarly incredulous response.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said defensively. ‘It was a stupid thing to do. I’m aware of that. But what would you have done if it was your dad?’ Immediately, she bit down on her lip. Had she put her foot in it again? She had no idea who his father was and strongly suspected that he might not either.

But Guy simply shrugged. ‘The same as you, probably.’

She let out a sigh of relief. ‘So what should I do next?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, the police are going to be making inquiries. Should I tell them about it? Should I tell them how Chris Street was asking questions about him?’

‘No,’ he said sternly. ‘You don’t. Absolutely
not
. There’s nothing to directly connect the Streets to what happened to Jenks.’

‘You can’t be sure of that.’

‘And you can’t be sure of the opposite either. Look, the Weasel’s been working for them for years. Why should they suddenly turn on him?’

‘I don’t know. Why do villains usually turn on each other?’

Guy shook his head. ‘It’s not a good idea to start pointing the finger. The Streets are powerful people. You don’t want to get on their wrong side.’

Iris lifted her brows. ‘Says the man who was rolling around on the floor with them a couple of days ago.’

He smiled at the quick retort. ‘Yeah well, I haven’t got the brains I was born with. You, on the other hand, are an intelligent woman and should know better. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Believe me, it’s the best advice you’re going to get.’

‘But come on,’ she said insistently, ‘the old man arranges to meet me and then gets murdered. Is that just a coincidence?’

‘Yes, more than likely it is. I’m sure he had his grubby little fingers in lots of pies. You wouldn’t have been the only person he was trying to screw over.’

Iris didn’t even try to keep the disappointment from her voice. ‘Do you think that’s all it was? Some kind of con?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘but if you want to find out, then you’re going to have to be smart about it. If Jenks knew something, then other people must too. Tread carefully and you might find out. Making an enemy of Chris Street, however, is not going to open any doors for you. Honestly, I know what I’m talking about.’

‘So what
do
I do?’

‘You play it cool. I may be able to help, point you in the right direction at least.’

Iris looked hopefully at him, her spirits rising. ‘Could you? Are you serious?’ And then, as soon as she had asked, she felt guilty about the excitement she was feeling. A man had died and all she was thinking about was herself.

‘Don’t expect too much. I can’t promise anything.’ From his pocket Guy took out two of his business cards along with a pen, and passed them over to her. ‘Here, keep one of these and write your number on the other.’

Iris scribbled down her mobile number and was about to add the number at the flat when she thought again. What if he called and Luke answered the phone? If she told Luke the truth - that she was searching for answers about her father - he would only get into one of his black moods again. He was convinced, like her mother, that Sean O’Donnell was dead and thought Iris’s preoccupation with his disappearance both maudlin and unhealthy. For a second she sat with the pen poised over the tiny oblong of card. Then, in case her mobile was switched off, she quickly added her work number.

Guy took the card, looked down at it and nodded. ‘And will you swear that you won’t do anything without talking to me first?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Promise me,’ he said.

‘Okay, I promise.’ She glanced at her watch; it was getting on for twelve-thirty. She’d better make a move before Luke got home. She got to her feet. ‘Thanks for the drink, but I have to go. It’s getting late.’

‘I’ll order you a cab.’

She waved the offer aside. ‘No, don’t bother. I can walk. It’s only down the road.’

‘Not at this time of night,’ he said firmly. ‘Do you really think I’m going to let you wander around on your own? This is the East End, Iris. Tough as you are, I don’t fancy your chances against some of the lowlifes out there. There’s a cab firm just round the corner. I’ve got an account with them. They’ll send a car in five minutes.’

Iris, on reflection, decided not to argue. She’d made enough rash decisions for one night. It was time to start acting sensibly.

Iris had not slept well, tossing and turning throughout the night, her brief interludes of sleep invaded by nightmares where a bloody and beaten Albert Jenks was leering maliciously down at her. At three in the morning she had woken abruptly, recalling Vita’s offer to make some inquiries about him. Panicking, she had leapt out of bed and gone to find her phone. Vita often worked on Saturdays and if she innocently started asking questions about a man who had been murdered . . .

It had been too late to ring, and so she had sent an urgent text instead.
Plse don’t mention Jenks to anyone. V important. Will call later. Iris x

Then, feeling too anxious to go back to bed, she had curled up on the sofa, switched on the TV and watched an old film until she finally dozed off again. She had woken, cramped and aching, at around eight o’clock. Since then she had taken a hot shower and made some breakfast.

Luke, who had not come home until after two, had just got up. Unaware of the restless night she had spent, he was now nursing a hangover in the kitchen. She passed him a bottle of aspirin and put the kettle on. Outside the snow was falling again, drifting down in a squall of fast, steady flakes and making even the shabby rooftops of Kellston look like something from a fairytale. She stood by the window and watched as the world turned white around her.

Luke made a soft groaning sound as he rubbed at his forehead. ‘Oh God, why did you leave me there, babes? You should have made me come home with you.’

Iris turned and smiled. ‘I’d have liked to have seen your face if I’d tried. I got the feeling you were in the middle of trying to clinch a deal.’

‘Was I?’ he said, frowning. ‘I don’t remember much about it. Did you get home okay? Well, obviously you did, but I shouldn’t have let you come back alone. What was I thinking of?’