Текст книги "Dangerous Promises"

Автор книги: Roberta Kray

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

Back in the living room Sadie wrapped her arms around her chest and rocked gently back and forth. It occurred to her suddenly that there was an alternative to spilling her guts. It wasn’t a good alternative and it certainly wasn’t a moral one, but the option was still open to her: she could, if she chose, do absolutely nothing.

She frowned, aware that taking this route would be both cowardly and unprincipled. It would mean Mona getting away with murder, and Eddie’s death going unpunished. Could she live with that? She didn’t know. She lifted a hand to her mouth and chewed on a fingernail. To do nothing had its own risks. She would, in effect, be covering up a crime and should the truth come out at any point she would probably go to jail as an accessory.

She wondered how Mona would react when she simply refused to go through with the killing. Not well, she was sure of it. But then what could the girl do without implicating herself? She could hardly go to the cops to complain about Sadie not sticking to her side of the bargain.

Sadie sat down at the table, switched on the lamp, grabbed her bag and found the papers Mona had given her. She smoothed them out and gazed at them. The address was written across the top of a plan of the garden: 12 Constance Avenue, Hampstead. A black arrow pointed to a gate where she could gain access. From the gate, a route had been mapped out to a summer house, and from there another path to the back of the house where a window had a large asterisk beside it.

She shuddered at the map and pushed it aside. There was also a two-page letter, written in a childlike scrawl. Rapidly, she scanned through the words, repulsed by Mona’s coldness when it came to the despatch of her own father. She wondered what he’d done to make Mona loathe him so much.

The plan was ridiculous, a fantasy full of holes. There was no way of knowing that her father would even be in the study on the night that was chosen. Or that he wouldn’t see or hear an intruder crossing the lawn. How had Mona thought, even for a moment, that this could possibly work? But the answer to that was plain as day: because she was crazy, because her mind was sick and twisted.

Sadie took a few deep breaths, knowing one thing at least – she had no intention of going anywhere near Hampstead. She screwed up the letter and the map and shoved them back in her bag. She didn’t dare put them in the bin in case Joel found them. She thought about burning them in the sink but was worried about a lingering smell. What she didn’t need at the moment was any awkward questions.

As all this went through her head, Sadie realised that she’d finally come to a decision. She was going to call Mona’s bluff, lie low and hope it would all go away. Leaning forward, she covered her face with her hands feeling the shame roll through her. She knew who’d killed Eddie and was going to let them get away with it. But what else could she do? She didn’t trust the police when it came to rooting out the truth and she didn’t want to spend the next twenty years of her life in jail.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Sorry, Eddie.’

A short while later Sadie crept back into the bedroom and retrieved the Beretta from the wardrobe, unsure as to what she was going to do with it. Throw it in the sea? But that was risky. What if the tide brought it straight back in again? But she couldn’t bear to keep it any longer than she had to. Perhaps she could dump it in a bin in town. But that was chancy too. She had no idea of where Mona had got the gun or whether it could be traced back to her.

Sadie put the weapon in her bag, slipped on her coat and then scribbled a quick note to Joel. Couldn’t sleep. Have gone for walk before work. See you later. S x As she left the house, she glanced to the left and the right, as edgy as a fugitive. The gun, although it was only small, felt heavy as lead in her bag.

27

The morning seemed to drag on for ever. Sadie tried to concentrate as she stood at the counter, placing the books into bags and smiling blandly at the customers. From the moment she had arrived at work, she’d been aware of an atmosphere. Her colleagues had all heard about what had happened but seemed uncertain as to what to say or how to react. In her absence, she had obviously been the subject of gossip. Had Sadie Wise murdered her husband? Had she lost her rag, picked up a kitchen knife and stuck it into his chest?

Their curious eyes were constantly on her, their gaze following her every move. She was suddenly different, altered, tainted with suspicion. Unsure as to what to believe, they shot her quick glances when they thought she wasn’t looking. She had not worked there long enough – it had only been six months – for them to trust her implicitly. No smoke without fire, they were probably thinking, and to some extent they were right. It might not be of the crime they suspected, but she was still guilty.

At lunchtime, eager to avoid any awkward questions, Sadie collected her coat and bag and headed for the beach. On the way she stopped at a sandwich bar and picked up a ham roll and an apple. The mist had lifted and a thin gleam of sunshine was breaking through the clouds. Despite the cold, she chose a bench, sat down and gazed out at the sea. It was calmer today, the grey waves rolling gently against the shore. Above her a noisy flock of gulls circled and swooped and dived towards the water.

Sadie was halfway through lunch when a man sat down beside her. She glanced over, her heart sinking. It was Peter Royston, the reporter from the local paper.

‘Hello there,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Fancy bumping into you. Small world, eh?’

Not that small, she thought, undeceived by his friendly manner and wondering if he had followed her from the bookshop. Her gut instinct was to get up and walk away, but she forced herself to stay put. Such a response was likely to make him more interested in her rather than less. She gave a thin smile. ‘Hi.’

‘Nice to see the sun for a change.’

‘Yes,’ she replied shortly.

Royston shifted his bulk on the bench, making the old weathered wood creak a little. He lifted a hand to sweep back a long skinny strand of hair that had come adrift from his balding pate and was flapping about in the wind. ‘On your own today, then?’

Sadie, who had no desire to engage in conversation, simply gave a nod.

‘Has your friend gone back home?’

Thinking of Mona, Sadie instantly flinched and then tried to cover it up by feigning a shiver and playing with the collar of her coat. ‘Yes,’ she said again.

‘I must say, I enjoyed the Hunters’ party. They certainly know how to put on a good spread. And your friend – Anne, was it? – yes, she was a fascinating girl. Have you known each other long?’

Sadie began stuffing the remains of her sandwich and the half-eaten apple back into the brown paper bag, making it clear that she was about to leave. ‘Sorry to rush off, Mr Royston, but I really have to get back to work.’

‘Peter, please. And actually, I was wondering if I could have a quick word.’

‘I don’t want to be late.’

Royston, ignoring the comment, sat back, stretched out his legs and gazed towards the horizon. ‘You see, I’ve been giving it some thought, this whole tragic business with your husband, and I thought you might like to put your side of the story.’

‘And what side would that be?’ she retorted sharply.

‘Well, you did see Eddie shortly before he was murdered. And now that you’re no longer a suspect…’ He paused, glanced slyly at her and asked, ‘You’re not a suspect, are you?’

‘You’d have to ask the police about that.’

‘You see, our readers like a good human-interest story, something they can relate to. I mean, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time and that can happen to anyone. Why don’t you let me put your side of the story? If we could just —’

‘No,’ she said firmly. Sadie could imagine the sort of article he was likely to write, nothing libellous of course, but full of sly suggestions and innuendo.

‘Perhaps you’d like to think about it.’

‘There’s nothing to think about.’

‘Only it would give you the opportunity to clear your name, to lay all those suspicions to rest. That’s the problem with a small town like this, word gets around and before you know it —’

‘There’s nothing to tell. If people are talking, that’s their problem not mine.’

‘So that would be a “No comment”, then?’

Sadie glared at him. Despite the cold, his face was covered in a light sheen of sweat. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth.’

‘I’m only trying to establish the facts.’

‘Really? Only that’s not what it sounds like to me. To be honest, Mr Royston, I just want to be left alone. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’

Royston lifted his plump shoulders in a shrug. As he rose to his feet he took a business card from his pocket and offered it to her. ‘In case you change your mind.’

‘I won’t,’ she said, ignoring his outstretched hand.

He laid it on the bench beside her. ‘You can call me any time.’

Sadie turned her face away and gazed along the front as he walked away. It wasn’t smart to make an enemy of Royston but the man was loathsome. He dealt in other people’s misery and didn’t give a toss about the pain he caused. And what had Mona said to him at the party? Something, perhaps, to arouse his suspicion: a hint, a clue as to what had really happened to Eddie. She had no way of knowing what had passed between the two of them.

She didn’t touch the card and after a while the wind caught it, whipped it off the bench and sent it dancing along the promenade. She watched it flick and turn until it came to rest against the base of the low wall. ‘Good riddance,’ she murmured, but the words were only an act of bravado. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about, she now had to add Peter Royston to the list.

Sadie made her way back to the bookshop and for the rest of the afternoon she tried to keep her mind on her job. And yet it seemed like God was mocking her. Every book that was passed over the counter served as a reminder of her wrongdoing. Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, Postmortem, Killing Orders, Dead Man’s Ransom. She rang up the sales and, with slightly shaky fingers, slipped the novels into carrier bags.

It was a relief when she was finally able to leave at a quarter past five. As she headed for home, she kept her eyes peeled for good places to dump the gun, but didn’t spot anywhere suitable. Again and again, she looked over her shoulder, worried now that Royston might be tailing her.

The town was busy but Sadie felt utterly alone as she tramped back to Buckingham Road. Whenever she saw a woman with dark hair, she jumped, thinking it was Mona. She prayed that the girl had gone back to London. But what if she hadn’t? And what if Royston tracked her down, trying to get the inside story?

As she opened the door to the flat, she could hear Joel on the phone. She hung up her coat on a peg in the hall and went through to the living room. ‘Oh, hold on, that might be her now. Let me check.’ He put his hand over the receiver and said softly, ‘It’s Eddie’s dad. Do you want to talk to him?’

Sadie pulled a face. He was the last person she wanted to talk to, but she would have to do it. She gave a nod and reached out her hand.

‘Okay, she’s here. I’ll pass you over.’

Sadie took a deep breath and put the receiver to her ear. ‘Hello, Stan.’

‘Sadie,’ he said gruffly, clearing his throat before proceeding. ‘I thought you might like to know that Eddie’s funeral is on Friday.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘In case you wanted to come.’

Sadie was surprised by the invitation. Her relationship with Eddie’s parents hadn’t exactly been cordial since the split. ‘Er…’

‘It’s up to you. We just thought you might like to pay your last respects.’

‘Yes, of course. I mean, I wasn’t sure if you’d want me there. You know with… I’m so sorry about Eddie and everything. It’s all been such a shock.’

‘It’s up to you,’ he said again. ‘St Luke’s in Kellston at ten o’clock.’

‘Thank you.’

He hung up without saying goodbye.

Sadie put the phone down and looked at Joel. ‘Eddie’s funeral,’ she said. ‘It’s on Friday.’

‘Are you going to go?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I should, shouldn’t I?’

‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘I don’t know what I want,’ she said wearily.

Joel put an arm around her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to make up your mind straight away. Sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning. I don’t mind coming with you.’

‘You didn’t even know Eddie.’

‘You shouldn’t be on your own. Not for something like this.’

Sadie leaned her head against his chest, trying to figure out what to do. If she didn’t go, it would look like she was guilty, like she had something to hide. Perhaps that was why Stan had asked her. Perhaps it was some kind of test. But if she did go, how would she look him and Marcie in the eye? How would she stand there, lie through her teeth and claim she knew nothing about their son’s death?

‘How was work?’ Joel asked.

‘A bit weird. You know, everyone wanting to ask stuff but no one daring to.’

‘I guess they’re not sure what to say. It’ll get better. Just give it time; in a week or two they’ll have forgotten all about it.’ He held her close, kissing the top of her head. ‘Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.’

But Sadie wasn’t so sure. She was a liar and a fraud. She was tied up in knots she couldn’t escape from. She had a gun in her bag along with three screwed-up pieces of paper, plans for yet another murder. How could it get better? If anything it was only going to get worse.

28

Wayne Gissing flicked on the light, a low-voltage bare bulb that hung by a tattered wire from the ceiling. As he went down the flight of steps into the cellar he was aware of a heavy sour odour, an unpleasant mixture of damp and mould and whatever darkness smelled of. When he reached the bottom he turned on another light, this one a little brighter, and looked around at the bare brick walls. There were two interconnecting rooms, both full of junk and covered with cobwebs.

The larger room, the one he was standing in, had once been used to store coal and the floor was still covered in the black gritty remains. It crunched underfoot as he walked around. Old, rusted tools lay in a heap on a table, along with bits of wood, nails, screws, tins of linseed, paintbrushes and bottles of turps. Crates were stacked against the wall, their contents long forgotten.

He went through to the second smaller, windowless space which contained some unused furniture – a couple of broken chairs, a lamp with no shade and a coffee table with a broken glass top – as well as a mildewed single mattress. There was no bulb in here and the heavy shadows gave the room a spooky feel.

Wayne peered into the dark corners, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Yes, it would do, he thought. There were some changes that would need to be made but otherwise it was pretty much perfect. He retreated into the main room and stared hard at the doorway between the two. He would have to find a way of disguising that, a set of shelves perhaps or some sort of false wall. The trouble was he didn’t have much time. The funeral was on Friday and it needed to be ready by then.

He went over to the table and picked up the mallet, weighing its heft in his hand. He thought of the damage he could do with it, of the soft crunch of wood against bone. He would like to cave in Terry Street’s skull; the bastard thought he could do whatever he liked. Maybe he had taken Eddie out in revenge for Vinnie Keane or maybe he hadn’t, but either way it was clear that he’d been involved in the killing.

Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it. Not this time. A soft hissing sound escaped from between Wayne’s teeth. For years Terry Street had been lording it over them all, running the East End as if it was his bloody right. This was where it stopped. He wasn’t going to be walked over any more. Already the whispers were going round, rumours that Terry had decided to teach the Gissings a lesson. Street was making him look like a mug and he’d had enough of it.

His mother’s voice came from the top of the steps. ‘Wayne? Wayne, are you down there?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking for something.’

‘Looking for what?’

Wayne raised his eyes to the ceiling. His mum, he knew, would not come down the steps. She hated the cellar. She said it made the hairs on the back of her arms stand on end. ‘A screwdriver,’ he said. ‘The one at the yard’s gone missing.’

‘Well, wipe your feet when you come back up. Don’t go tramping that coal dust all over the kitchen floor.’

‘I won’t.’

‘I’ll see you later then. I’m going down the Bell for a drink with Colleen.’

‘Yeah, see you later.’

Wayne took one last look round before climbing the steps again. Kelly was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a fag and drinking from a bottle of lager. He glanced towards the living room and lowered his voice. ‘She gone?’

‘Yeah, it’s all clear.’

He went to the fridge, got himself a beer and flipped off the cap. ‘I reckon it’ll do,’ he said, sitting down opposite to her. ‘Needs a bit of work but nothing I can’t manage.’

‘I dunno. What about the filth? They’re going to be searching for her.’

‘They can search all they like.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to take her to the yard?’

‘That’ll be the first place Stone will look.’

‘And this’ll be the second,’ Kelly said.

‘He might look, but he ain’t gonna find her.’ He saw the doubt on her face and said, ‘You want to find out what happened to Eddie, don’t you? Or do you just want the bitch to get away with it?’

Kelly scowled at him. ‘’Course I don’t. But Mum’s going to go ape. She won’t have it, Wayne.’

‘Well, it’s not her bleedin’ house, is it? And anyway what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. We just need to make sure she’s out when we bring the tart here.’

‘And then what?’

‘And then we get the murderous cow to admit what she did.’ Wayne had big plans when it came to Sadie Wise. If she was being shagged by Nathan Stone – and all the evidence pointed in that direction – then the guy should pay through the nose to get her back safely. He was thinking that twenty grand would be a fair price. Yeah, twenty grand to get the whore back and for Wayne to keep shtum about who murdered Eddie Wise.

‘And then what?’

‘Whatever you want. It’s down to you. Eddie was your man; you can decide what to do with her.’

She took a long drag on her cigarette and gazed at him through narrowed eyes. ‘You mean it? Anything?’

‘It’s your call, Kel.’

Kelly Gissing settled back in her chair and gave a nod. ‘That sounds fair enough.’

29

Petra paid for the two gin and tonics, picked up the glasses and carried them over to a table in the corner. The Bell was quiet tonight; it was a Monday evening and everyone had spent their cash over the weekend. Still, it felt nice to be in her old local again, to see the familiar walls and hear the East End voices.

‘Ta, love.’ Colleen raised her glass. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

‘It’s good to be back.’

‘Shame about your Kelly, though. Poor kid. How’s she bearing up?’

‘Oh, so-so. It’ll take her a while, I suppose. You don’t get over something like that in a hurry.’

Colleen shifted her bulk on the chair, making herself more comfortable. She’d put on a fair bit of weight since Petra had last seen her and now with her large bosom, bright red cheeks and flowery dress she resembled one of those ladies in the saucy postcards they sold down at the front in Bournemouth. ‘And what about your Roy? What does he think of you coming back?’

Petra gave a snort. ‘He ain’t my Roy no more and I don’t give a damn what he thinks. Not much he can do about it, is there? Not when my Kelly says she wants me here.’

‘You should never have left, love. Not in my opinion. That house was as much yours as it was his. I couldn’t stand it seeing some other woman living under my roof. It’s not right, not right at all.’

Petra nodded furiously. It was a relief to have someone she could share her anger and frustration with. Wayne wasn’t interested, and she couldn’t burden Kelly with it all. ‘Especially that little trollop. You should see the state of her. She don’t get up ’til lunchtime and then she swans around in her dressing gown, tits hanging out for all the world to see.’