To Kill For (24 page)

‘Yeah.'

He kept his hand on his head for a while, as if he'd forgotten about it, which he often seemed to do. Then he took it down and looked at me and there was some kind of fury in him.

‘I understand, Joe,' he said. ‘I understand you want to kill these men for her, for both of them, all of them. Part of me wants to do the same. But…'

He gave up on that thought and we went back to our vigil over the small flower.

Browne nodded.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Fertilizer.'

Then we went inside.

‘It's you,' she said. ‘I thought you were a nightmare.'

She'd buffed herself up. She had more colour to her face and her hair was clean and a shining silver blonde. She looked ten years younger. There were dark rings under her eyes, though, and she was dressed in a loose T-shirt and jogging pants, which took away her shape, but when I'd last seen her she'd looked newly dead and now she looked newly awake with pale life in her pale blue eyes.

‘What do you want?'

‘I want to talk to you.'

‘So talk.'

‘Inside.'

She turned and walked away from me, letting the door drift open. I followed her into her lounge. She slumped onto the couch and drew her legs up.

‘I suppose I should thank you.'

‘Why?'

‘For calling that doctor.'

‘You already thanked me for that.'

‘Did I? I can't remember. It didn't matter, anyway. I didn't need a doctor. I'd only taken a few pills.'

‘I know.'

I looked down at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes, but stared instead at the carpet like a child pouting. It was gone four in the morning, but she didn't look like she'd been asleep.

I was knackered, but after Browne had woken me up with his gardening I couldn't get back to sleep. Things kept whirring in my head. It was a fine fucking time for my brain to be working for once.

‘Do you want some coffee?' she said.

‘Alright.'

She slumped off the couch with as much energy as she'd fallen onto it. I followed her into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and spooned coffee into a mug.

‘Sugar?'

‘No.'

We waited for the kettle to boil as if it we were waiting for someone else to leave the room. She chewed her lip and opened the cupboard and opened a pack of digestive biscuits and tipped them into the biscuit barrel. She did everything except look at me. When the kettle had boiled she poured the water into the mug and handed it to me.

‘Milk's off.'

I followed her back into her lounge. She fell back onto the sofa. I stood and sipped the coffee, just for something to do. Neither of us wanted to talk. We both wanted to stop there, at the edge of things. If we stayed like that long enough, her staring at the floor, me sipping the coffee, maybe then we'd forget about Paget and Marriot and Glazer, and we could live happily ever after. Sometimes it was all I wanted to do; just stop.

I put the coffee down. I took the DVD out of my jacket pocket and tossed it onto her lap. She barely glanced at it.

‘What's that?'

‘A film. One of Marriot's.'

‘I'm in it, I suppose.'

‘Yes.'

She picked the DVD up and threw it back at me. It fell at my feet.

‘I know what you did for Marriot and Paget,' I said.

‘Congratulations. Have a prize. You gonna call the police?'

‘No.'

‘You should do. I would.'

‘It wasn't your fault.'

‘That's what I keep telling myself. But it was my fault I didn't go to the police.'

‘Paget would've killed you.'

She laughed.

‘So what.'

‘Paget was your pimp, wasn't he? Not your boyfriend.'

‘He was my boyfriend to begin with. I didn't know anything about him till later. By then, it was too late.'

I looked at the photos – the new ones of young children, the old, faded ones of other children, the picture of her as a bride.

‘That's why your husband left you? Because he found out?'

‘That's why.'

‘And you have grandkids, but you don't get to see them.'

‘Who told you?'

‘Nobody. The toys out on your front lawn haven't moved in years, but the photos of the young children are new. Your kids send you photos, but they won't bring the kids round.'

‘You're very clever, aren't you?'

‘No.'

‘What do you want?'

‘I want you to watch the DVD.'

‘Tough shit, then. I haven't got a DVD player.'

‘It doesn't matter. You know what's on it.'

‘Do I? There were lots of them.'

‘This one was with a kid, a girl, eight, maybe ten. Long blonde hair.'

She laughed a small, bitter laugh.

‘There were lots of those too.'

‘There was a man, rich by the looks of it.'

She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs.

‘There's always a fucking man and they're always rich.'

‘Would you know who he was?'

‘I wouldn't know him if he came in here singing the national anthem. For all I know, you were one of them.'

‘There was another woman.'

She looked at me then.

‘Another woman? There were never other women.'

‘There was on this one. Her name was Brenda.'

‘Brenda.' Her eyes went filmy. ‘Brenda. Yes. I remember her.'

‘You remember the film?'

‘I knew her. We both worked for Frank. What happened to her?'

‘She died.'

‘Died. Yeah.'

I watched for her reaction. I wanted to know if she'd had something to do with Brenda's death. She turned away from me, but not before I'd seen her eyes fill with tears. I pulled a chair opposite her and sat down. She swung round.

‘What the fuck do you want from me? You want me to come clean, own up? You want me to pay for my crimes? Well, I've been paying. For years. So why don't you fuck off.'

The tears were coming now, but she wasn't crying. They were tears of anger.

‘Tell me about her.'

She smeared the tears away with the back of her right hand.

‘Is there something wrong with you? You don't get angry. You don't get sad. You don't get anything, do you? You just sit there and stare and ask questions like a fucking robot. You want to know about Brenda? Fine, I'll tell you. She was a fool. She thought she could outthink them, outsmart them. She was wrong. Then she died.'

‘Why was she there?'

‘Fuck off and leave me alone.'

‘Why?'

‘Fuck off,' she screamed.

She jammed her ears up with her hands and turned away from me and curled into a ball. Then she cried. I waited a while, then I got up and went looking for some booze. I found some vodka and poured it neat. When I took it back, she was still curled into a ball, but now she'd calmed down. I handed her the drink. She took it. I sat down. I said, ‘I killed Frank Marriot. I'm going to kill Kenny Paget. I'm going to kill them all. Understand?'

Like a child, she nodded, sipping her drink, looking up at me with wide eyes, torn red from sobbing. It was like I was telling her she had to be careful of strangers.

‘Why was Brenda there?'

‘Bloke wanted it, I suppose. Frank gave them what they wanted. They paid and Frank gave it to them.'

‘And the filming?'

‘Frank. Liked to have secret films.'

‘Blackmail?'

She shrugged.

‘Suppose so.'

‘And Brenda thought if she got a copy of the film she'd give it as evidence to finish Marriot and Paget?'

‘Yeah. She thought. She was a brave woman, Brenda. Braver than me.'

‘It was in your house. You must have known what Brenda wanted to do. You must have helped her.'

‘I warned her. That was my help. I told her not to do it. She wouldn't listen. She thought she was safe.'

‘Because she'd have the film?'

‘No. Because of some bloke she was going out with, some hard man she thought would protect her.'

She tilted her head sideways and narrowed her eyes, like she was examining something odd.

I think I'd known it for a while. It was something Bowker had said to me. He'd said everyone had known about me and Brenda. He'd said it like it was an in-joke; like beauty and the beast, I suppose. He was right. It was a joke.

I sat down and reached over for the coffee and lifted it to my mouth. The coffee was bitter. It tasted like ashes. I drank it down. I felt that hollowness open up.

Maybe I'd known it all along, right from that moment in the casino, six years ago, when I'd been working security and she'd come up to me at the bar and started talking to me. I remembered that Paget had been in the casino that night.

I tried to think back over those days and weeks we were together, all those years ago. I'd thought then that she was what she'd said she was, a lonely person who needed someone, someone else who was lonely, someone like me.

But she'd known who I was, what I did. I suppose she'd known everything about me. I suppose I was the part she needed before she could carry out her plan. And, yes, she'd made sure we were seen together. I thought of the night in the pub when she'd smashed Paget on the head with the glass. Had we been there by accident? Or had she known Paget was going to be there too? How much had she used me?

What did it matter? What did anything matter?

Tina moved. I'd forgotten she was there. I looked up and saw her staring at me.

‘It was you,' she said. ‘You were the one she hooked up with, the one she thought would protect her.'

‘Yes.'

‘You and me. Her saviours.'

I drove in a daze. I might have passed a hundred other cars. I can't remember. I remember staring ahead, the night closing in around the car's headlights.

When my phone rang, I had to pull over.

Green said, ‘Bingo. Ever heard of a bloke called Laing?'

‘No.'

‘Gary Laing; not big time, but big enough. Bought a load of smack a few days ago.'

‘From Paget?'

‘No idea, mate. If I were a betting man, I'd say so, yes.'

‘Where can I find Laing?'

‘He's got a house in Hackney, but I wouldn't go there if I were you.'

‘Tight?'

‘As a fucking duck's arse.'

‘Will he talk to me?'

‘I wouldn't chance it. He'd probably shop you to Paget, or cut your head off and give it to him. He's a bastard, Joe.'

‘They all are.'

‘Yeah.'

‘How do I get to him?'

‘Can't help you there, old son.'

‘Has he got anyone? A bird? Anything like that?'

‘He's got a hundred birds. And I doubt he gives a shit about any of them.'

‘Family?'

Green was quiet for a while.

‘You sure you want to go there, Joe?'

‘Yes.'

‘If you use his family, he won't rest till you're dead.'

‘He can join the queue.'

‘If any of this gets back to me—'

‘It won't.'

‘Christ.'

There was another long pause.

I said, ‘It won't get back to you.'

‘Use his old man. He's got a dodgy ticker, though, so for fuck's sake don't overdo it.'

Green told me that Laing's dad lived in Wanstead, in a place called Ross Grove. It was a retirement court of a hundred or so brick flats set off from George Lane, a wide, long suburban cul-de-sac. Before I did anything, I'd driven over and scoped the place out. It was going to be too hard to do anything in the small space around the flats. There were too many overlooking windows, too little space, not enough cover. I'd seen a sign, though, for a Manager's Office, and that helped me. If I was lucky, I wouldn't need to use Laing's old man at all.

I drove back to the road. Access to the retirement flats was through a wide brick gateway. The wrought iron gates were open and probably never shut. At this point, the trees that lined the road made for good cover from witnesses, but the road itself was wide and straight and almost empty of parked cars, most of which were in the garages and long driveways of the detached houses spaced along the road. I didn't think I was going to be able to ram Laing's car as he drove up, like I wanted to do – there was too much chance he'd see it and even if he didn't, he could still manage to get away. I'd hoped I could smash the car side-on or maybe box it in. That was out. I had to think of something else.

Green had told me Laing drove a blue Lexus and he'd given me the number plate. I had his home phone number. I positioned myself and made the call. The voice that answered was foggy with sleep. I said, ‘Can I speak to Mr Laing?'

‘Fuck is this? You know what time it is?'

‘I'm the manager from Ross Court.'

Immediately he was awake.

‘What's wrong?'

‘It's your father, Mr Laing. He's been taken ill.'

‘What does that mean? Taken ill? Is he alright?'

‘He felt faint, dizzy. He wants to see you.'

‘Where is he?'

‘Here, in his flat.'

‘He should be in a fucking hospital.'

‘The doctor doesn't think it necessary, but he is concerned that he's going to make himself worse by worry about seeing you.'

Laing sighed.

‘I'll be there in half an hour.'

He hung up.

This was where my luck would show. If Laing decided to call the manager back or if he wanted to talk to his old man, I was fucked. If he got straight into his motor and drove over, I was alright.

Street lights glowed orange along the road, but there were pools of darkness between them, and the areas around the gate, where tall oaks stood, were dark with shadow. I fixed the gate then parked my car a few yards up. I got out of the car, walked back to the shadows and slipped into them, among the trees. There was only one way he could approach. I had to wait now and see if he was sending an army to meet me.