To Die For (6 page)

‘Look, Joe – ’

‘Talk about Beckett. He knew it was Cole’s place. Why did he hit it?’

‘Set-up. All of it. Cole offered Beckett a split if he robbed the casino.’

‘Cole?’

‘Cole.’

‘Beckett had inside knowledge.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So why use Warren?’

‘That was for show. Had to look like an outside job.’

And to keep me out of the way for a few hours.

‘Beckett was in it for a cut? Hands the rest back to Cole?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But it was a big haul. Too big for him to give up, right? So he decided to keep the money and he wanted some dumb bastard like me who was supposed to have fucked Beckett over and taken the money for himself. So he came to you.’

‘He wanted – ’

‘He wanted what? Someone stupid?’

‘Joe, please.’

I slapped him.

‘Is that right? He came to you, said he needed some mug to fuck over.’

‘Yeah.’

‘But I’ve got a good reputation, always have had. Too good. Cole might have been suspicious. Beckett needed to smear it a bit so he’d fixed it with you to put the rumour about that I’d had something to do with Tony Ellis’s gang getting knocked off. That muddied the waters, made me look iffy.’

‘What could I do?’

‘Why was Simpson killed?’ I said.

He was crying now. He passed a shaking hand under his nose to wipe up the snot.

‘Beckett,’ he said.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It must’ve been Beckett. That’s all I know.’

He looked towards the doorway.

‘You won’t make it,’ I said.

He coughed back a sob.

‘Money,’ he said. ‘How much?’

I kept my gaze level, fixing Kendall with my eyes, pinning him. He held up his hands, like he was trying to fend off an attack.

‘Oh, God,’ he said.

I slapped his hands aside.

‘How much did he pay you?’

‘Ten grand down, five per cent of the take. It’s yours.’

He lifted his hands again. I don’t think he knew what he was doing, only pushed on by some urge to defend himself. I smacked his hands away again.

‘When do you collect the rest? Where?’

‘Beckett was going to give it me after...’

‘After what?’

‘He just said he’d give it me later.’

‘After I was dead?’

He held his arms out, touching my hands, holding them.

‘Look, Joe, I made a mistake. I know that. I’m sorry.’

I pulled my hands away from his wet grasp. He tried again to touch me, his hands flailing around, trying to cling to life. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

‘We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we? Eight years, more. I remember when we met. Remember? It was after that fight in Leyton. You got counted out ’cos you was blind. You’d still be doing that shit if it weren’t for me. You’d be blind by now, or dead, if it weren’t for me. So I made a mistake. You never made a fucking mistake? I’ll make it up to you. Just tell me what you want. What do you want, Joe? For Christ’s sake.’

His eyes were wide, his chest heaving.

‘Finished?’ I said.

He dropped his arms. He dropped his head.

‘Why was Simpson killed?’

‘I don’t know. Scared, maybe, lost his bottle. I didn’t have anything to do with it.’

‘Why did Cole want his own place knocked off? Insurance job?’

‘I dunno. Yeah, probably. My guess.’

He reached a hand out for the bottle of vodka, pulled it to him and took a swig, coughing. I took the bottle and tossed it away. He watched the bottle smash into the wall.

‘Why hasn’t Cole come for me already?’

‘Huh?’

‘We did the job four days ago.’

‘Maybe... maybe he hasn’t made the connection.’

Was it possible that Cole hadn’t joined the dots as Beckett had planned? Maybe Cole realized Beckett was behind the double-cross. Maybe Cole had men out looking for me at that moment.

Kendall sat up.

‘I’ll clear it with Cole,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell him you weren’t part of it. I’ll tell him it was Beckett.’

‘Where is Beckett?’

‘How the fuck should I know? He’s done a bunk, stitched me up. Walsh and Jenson too. Cunts have disappeared.’

It would’ve surprised me if Kendall had known. He’d served his purpose, why would Beckett let him in on his hiding place?

‘I been trying to find them,’ he said. ‘Give me some time. I’ll get them; you’ll get clear; we’ll sort it with Cole.’

‘How?’

‘Huh?’

‘How have you been trying to find them?’

‘I’ve got a phone number,’ he said. He pointed to a desk in the bay of the living-room window. ‘In the top drawer.’

I stood and turned to the desk. It was a mistake. Kendall leaped to his feet. He was quick, moved by desperation. I thrust my arm out and grabbed a handful of his hair, ripping it from its roots, wrenching him back, spinning him around. He screamed, his face contorted by fear and shock and pain. I slammed my fist into his face. I heard the crunch of cartilage as his nose shattered. His head snapped back with a crack. He fell to the floor, spasming, gurgling blood from his ruined face. His body jolted; his hands grasped at his face, clawed at the carpet. He rolled and tried to get to his knees but collapsed. His breathing became strained; his movements stopped.

When I knew he was dead, I walked over to the desk. I opened the drawer, riffled through the papers and photographs. There was nothing. I wiped the desk clean. I searched the rest of the house. I found stashes of cash, about a thousand total. I found Kendall’s mobile phone in one of the suitcases. I waited for Kendall’s wife to come round so that I could question her. After a while, when she still hadn’t moved, I checked on her and found that she’d stopped breathing and was going cold. She’d probably been dead a half-hour or so.

Somewhere, maybe, Kendall would have documents, a diary, an address book, that would help me find Beckett. I ripped the place apart. There were bills, photographs, letters, but no part of his business life was here, no sign that he had men on his payroll who robbed banks and extorted money with menaces and collected debts with sledgehammers. Maybe his wife had made him separate his lives, or maybe here Kendall could pretend to himself that he was just an ordinary upstanding citizen. I searched the garage, and through the cars. Nothing. I remembered that Kendall had once mentioned an office, but I didn’t know where it was.

I flicked Kendall’s mobile phone on and fiddled about with it until I found the address book. I scrolled through until I found ‘Beckett, J.’ There were two numbers, one of them for a mobile. I tried the number, there was no service. I made a note of the other number, then scrolled through the rest of Kendall’s address book, looking for a Walsh, a Simpson, a Jenson. I couldn’t find anything. I hadn’t expected to; Beckett was in charge. I found a telephone directory, flipped through to the Becketts and ran my finger down the list looking for a match with the phone number I had. There was none. I called directory enquiries and asked for the address of a J. Beckett. There were lots of J. Becketts, the operator said. I gave her the phone number I had. She couldn’t help me. I used Kendall’s landline, hitting 141 first to hide my number, and dialled Beckett’s home phone.

‘Yeah?’ said a man’s voice. The voice was not Beckett’s.

‘Is John there?’ I said.

‘Who’s this?’

‘A friend of his.’

There was a pause.

‘He’s not here right now. I’m trying to find him myself, you wouldn’t – ’

I dropped the receiver. One of Cole’s men, probably. I looked around the room trying to find something solid. I was used to action, quick sometimes, slow at others. Now I didn’t know what to do. Uncertainty was like an itch I couldn’t reach.

Kendall and his wife were on the floor in front of me, crumpled like rubbish. I looked at them for a moment before I realized the obvious: I hadn’t searched their bodies. I tried the woman first, turning her over with my foot. Her arm flapped out across the floor as her body rolled. The fat on her neck wobbled. She wore a cotton dress, too thin to hide anything except the wrinkles of her skin, too thin even to hide the outline of her underwear, which pushed through the fabric and made her seem stupid, even in death. I’d met her once when Kendall had stopped off at the gym to hand me some money. That had been a long time ago, but I remembered she was snooty, deliberately turning away from me when Kendall had introduced her.

I hadn’t meant to kill her. She’d panicked and tried to run from the house and I’d had no choice but to slap her. She’d hit the ground heavily, but I didn’t think my blow had killed her. Maybe she’d had a weak heart or something. Now, in death, all that thick make-up, all those gold bangles made her life look like a waste of fucking time.

It was in Kendall’s rear trouser pocket that I found the scrap of paper. On it, scrawled in Kendall’s hand, was a list of names. None I recognized. All the names had been crossed out except the last: ‘R. Martin’. It didn’t mean anything to me. Martin was a common name. I found nothing else on him.

I searched the house again, trying to guess where Kendall would hide his important information. If I hadn’t been in the front bedroom, I would’ve missed the headlights as they pulled into the driveway. I dumped the drawer I was holding and went to the window. Below me, a black Mercedes had pulled to a stop behind Kendall’s car, blocking it. Three men slipped out of the car. One of the men looked up and I saw a long, thin, white face stare at me. The small dark eyes and small mouth and sharp cheekbones gave it a mask-like appearance. It was a delicate-looking face, pretty in a way. It belonged to a man I knew, and there was nothing pretty about him. I knew him from years back. His name was Kenny Paget. Back then he’d worked for a man called Frank Marriot, a pimp and pornographer, one of the biggest in London. Paget had been his hatchet man. Our paths had crossed a couple of times. What the fuck was he doing here? I didn’t move. He kept looking and then turned his face away. He hadn’t seen me in the darkened room. He said something to the other men. The three of them fanned out, two going to the front door, one around the left side. The doorbell rang.

By the time I’d got into the kitchen, the third man was at the door, trying the handle. I’d left my car up the road, and I’d left my guns in the car. That was stupid of me. I’d been reckless, impatient to smash Kendall.

Keeping in the shadows at the rear of the house, I moved through to the dining room. Here, French windows led to the patio. When I heard the smash of glass in the kitchen, I slipped the catch on the French windows and eased them open enough to slide through. I closed them, moved around to the side of the house and vaulted over the fence into Kendall’s neighbour’s garden. Crouching, I moved along the fence, over the soft earth, until I came to the street. Behind me, I heard Kendall’s front door open.

‘He’s dead,’ a man said. ‘The place has been searched.’

When I heard the door close, I stood up slowly. Paget and his men had gone inside the house. I walked to my car.

I drove aimlessly, sliding around the streets, not aware of where I was going. Things were closing in on me. If I wasn’t wanted by Cole and the law yet, I soon would be. My name was shit. I’d just killed the man who was my link with the only kind of work I could do these days. Most of all, my reputation was being shot to hell. That mattered.

I’d never trusted Kendall, but I should’ve been more careful. I’d let my guard down. Kendall was stupid enough to fuck with me. And I was stupid enough to let him.

I pulled the car over, fished Kendall’s mobile phone from my pocket and punched in King’s number.

‘The fuck is this?’ he said, his voice still croaky from sleep.

‘Joe.’

‘Shit. Hold on.’

I heard the sound of King’s wife asking who it was, and King telling her to go back to sleep. I heard the sound of King getting out of bed, a door closing. I kept my eyes on the road, and a hand on my gun. The street was deserted. The sound of any vehicle approaching would give me clear warning. I was jittery. I didn’t like being jittery – it made me jittery.

‘What is it?’ King said.

‘I need to find someone.’

‘What am I, the police?’

‘Beckett’s gone. I need to find him.’

He let out a laugh.

‘Yeah? Well, good luck.’

‘You won’t help me?’

‘What’s this about, Joe?’

‘He’s taken Cole’s money.’

‘Leaving you to take the blame?’

‘Will you help me or not?’

‘If Beckett’s gone to ground, I won’t find him. If anyone knows, they won’t tell me.’

‘They’ll tell me.’

‘Okay, sure, you can make them. But then you’d have to kill them, otherwise they’ll just call Beckett and he’ll move.’

‘I don’t mind killing them.’

‘No, I’m sure you don’t. But you’ll have a shit load of heat on you.’

I had enough heat on me. What was a little more?

‘Who might know?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know Beckett, never liked the cunt.’

‘You know some people. They know people. Call them up, ask them.’

There was a pause. When King spoke again his voice was quieter. ‘I could do that, but I’m not going to. If I start asking questions, it’s going to get back to Cole. He’s going to want to know what my involvement is. Sorry, Joe, that shit’s too heavy for me. Don’t you think Cole is going to know who to ask? If he hasn’t found Beckett, I won’t be able to.’

He was right, of course.

‘Give me a name,’ I said. ‘They won’t know it was from you. If I don’t find Beckett, I’m finished.’

There was silence down the line. He was thinking it through. His loyalty was split. He knew me, and I was known as a good man to work with, reliable. And he hated Beckett. I was pushing him. I had no choice. After a few seconds, he said, ‘Go to ground, Joe. Quit while you’re still alive.’

It was no good. King wasn’t sentimental about these things. I wouldn’t have been. I was about to hang up when I thought of something.

‘Do you know someone called Martin?’ I said. ‘Initial R.’

‘Martin,’ King said. ‘Name rings a bell. Ray Martin. An old face, I think.’

‘Why would Kendall want to find him?’