Father and Son (5 page)

Out on the terrace
John lights a cigarette, offers Den one.

“You made sergeant, then?”

“Thought it was about time,” she says, refusing the packet. “And I’m
guessing that you’re not supposed to do that here.”

“What did you think about Dad?” he asks, and sucks hard on the
cigarette, knowing that at any moment someone will be scuttling towards him wagging
a finger.

“I think he’s got one rude care assistant,” she says.

“Him? Andrew Holt. He was at school with me, three years below. His
dad was a Methodist preacher, or a Baptist or something. He was a prick when he
was a kid. Nothing’s changed.”

“Only now he’s giving your dad baths, whilst the prodigal son has a
luxury apartment in the old school and can stump up five grand a month for this
place.”

“Me, the prodigal son? Jesus…”

John sighs, a big lungful of smoke billowing out around him.

“Your dad took the news pretty bad just now,” she says.

“Roberto was… I dunno, he was the kind of person you never doubted,
you never doubted the goodness in him. Funny thing to say about someone like
that, but you could trust him.”

“He worked for your dad up until ’85, right?”

“Yeah, then just before the trial he disappeared. It helped the
defence, that did.”

“So your dad owed him?”

“Big time. Thing is, after his acquittal Dad started getting more
careful. Not so many big jobs, not the kind of work that needed muscle. All the
hands-on stuff he left to Joe and Lanny. They loved it, couldn’t get enough
action, those two. But for Dad, the Old Bailey was a warning. He pulled back, started
thinking more about how to keep out of jail. Especially after Mum died.”

“And when Roberto came back, he worked for Lanny Bride?”

“Late eighties, yeah. Lanny was still young, but he was making a
name for himself, gradually taking over from Dad. I guess Roberto just went where
the work was.”

Andrew Holt appears at the French windows.

“I can smell that thing in here!” he says, scowling at the burning
cigarette in John’s hand, before disappearing again.

“Son of a bloody preacher man,” says John, dropping the cigarette
and grinding it into the flagstones.

They stand in silence a while. He’s trying to think, but nothing comes
to mind. How is he going to find out anything about Roberto now?

“He seemed to be expecting it,” she says, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“Your dad. When you mentioned Roberto’s name. He was already fearing
the worst. Something in his eyes.”

“You reckon?”

“Felt like it to me. Come on,” she says. “I’ve got to go. If your
dad has anything to say, I reckon he’ll need time to remember. Try him later
today.”

“But you said he was expecting it? He must know something, then?”

She laughs. “Doesn’t mean he’s gonna tell us. Give him time. Come
on, I should be going.”

Next to the Saab the dry cleaning man has just finished loading his
white van. He hops into the driver’s seat and winds down the window.

“Did he perk up, then?” he asks.

“Not much. Having an off day, I think,” John says.

“Lovely bloke. Not like some of ’em in here. Lovely guy. Real gent.”

He fires up the van, waves, and off he goes.

“Do you know him?” Den asks.

“Him? No. Never stops smiling, whoever he is.”

“So,” she says, “what are you gonna do now?”

“No idea.”

“There were
definitely no stray bullets?” she asks as they drive back to his flat.

“Not that I saw.”

“And the shots were in the middle of his arms and his leg?”

“Yes. Smallish holes.”

“The Lebanese place is next door. On the other side what is there?”

“Sandwiches, burgers. Opens late.”

“Later than the Park Lane?”

“Possibly.”

“So, you’re looking for somebody with a handgun who shoots well and
might have used a silencer. Did you ever see him fight?”

“Rob? Only on screen. They had an old cine film of his semi-final. Kept
it down at the showroom. English Amateurs. Middleweight. He won it, bloody good
he was. But he was arrested for armed robbery before the final. Missed his own
big fight. Couldn’t turn pro either. He was screwed.”

“Yeah, an’ all for a bit of armed robbery. Poor guy.”

“No comment.”

They’re nearly back at the old High School. John’s fingers are
drumming on the wheel again, but he’s taking it a lot steadier this time.

“He was like a rhino in that fight. Charged in fast and hard. Referee
didn’t stand a chance, never mind the other bloke. Rob had all the shots, he…”

“So,” she says, cutting John off before he can launch into one of
his paeans to the noble art of men punching each other in the face, “he’s ready
to lock up the bar. Someone arrives, and the last thing they want is to provoke
him…”

“Because you don’t want a bloody rhino coming at you.”

“Right. Whoever it was either knew him, or talked his way into the
place once it was closed.”

“And then?”

“Pop, right into the leg. He looks down. Pop, pop, into the arms. Being
shot, doesn’t matter how hard you are, the body goes into shock. Adrenalin kicks
in, hyperventilation, your vision can be affected. All your instincts are about
self-preservation.”

“And that’s when he gets pushed down into the chair and taped
there.”

“Nice and secure. The rhino tamed. As for the rest…”

They pull up outside the old school.

“That,” he says, “doesn’t bear thinking about. Not just now. You
fancy a drink?”

“At this time? Even you were never that bad. Anyway, we better get
something straight.” She searches for car keys in her bag as she talks. “I’m
not getting involved in this. If Lanny Bride’s more important to you than informing
the police, you’re on your own.”

“Lanny has me over a bit of a barrel.”

She frowns. “You found the guy who killed his daughter last year,
didn’t you?”

“Yeah, and this morning he made sure I was down at the scene of the
crime a few hours after the murder. I’ll be a suspect if the coppers get involved.
He dragged me down there so I
couldn’t
go to the police.”

“Motive? What’s your motive supposed to be?”

“You think Lanny won’t think of something? Lanny always gets what he
wants. And what he wants now is to have this sorted out quickly and quietly.”

“Well, whatever you decide,” she says as she opens the door, “I’ll
be around. But I’m not getting involved unless you take it to the police.
Understood?”

“Fair enough. Dinner?” he throws out, more in desperation than hope.

She stops, hand on the door handle, one foot on the pavement.

“Okay. But don’t tell gingernuts in there. I get one call from her,
you
’ll
never hear from me again. Got that?”

“I’ll ring you later.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. Get your thinking cap on. I’m paying.”

“Yes you bloody are. Eight, my sister’s house.”

She slams the door behind her and goes in search of her old white
Astra, which is showing all the signs of having spent a year in the abundant
rainfall of England’s second-best county.

He takes a taxi
down to the Park Lane. Doesn’t know why, really. If there’s no police, who’s
going to be looking at CCTV? And if anyone does start looking, the Saab’s
already at the scene of the crime, 7 a.m., right outside the front door. Still,
instinct says taxi.

When he arrives two men are loading old floorboards into a van. The
young pasty guy in the joggers is one of them. He sees John, straightens up,
waits for him to pay off the taxi.

“New floor?” John says.

“Aye. New carpet an’all.”

“I wish I could get tradesmen that quick. Anybody in there I should
be speaking to?”

He shakes his head. “Just us three. There’ll be some blokes doing
the floor this after’, but they’re just contractors.”

John had already drawn a blank with the three of them earlier this
morning. Hardly worth speaking to them again. They didn’t seem to know
anything, didn’t look like they were hiding anything either. Badly shaken up, and
not trying to disguise the fact, chain-smoking and giving the dead body a wide
birth. Roberto was one of theirs, and all morning they would have been asking
themselves the same question: why?

“Okay, if you see Lanny tell him I’ll be in touch.”

The guy turns, disappears back inside.

What now? Roberto lived alone. No family. No friends that anyone
could think of, apart from those who drank in the bar. He looks up and down the
street. No one’s about. Is it worth sniffing round Roberto’s flat? It’s not far
away, nice city-centre bachelor pad, and he’s got the keys. No, something tells
him not to.

This is ridiculous. He’s got nothing to go on. Next door the
take-away is already open for business. It’s worth a try.

The place smells of frying oil and garlic. New oil as well, a nice
combination. But he’s not hungry.

“Hey!” says a bald man from behind the counter. “How you doing? John
Ray, yes?”

That scuppers his plan to play an insurance adjuster. He’ll have to
be himself now.

“Sorry,” he says, “I…”

“It is Mr Ray, isn’t it?”

John nods.

“Thought so. I bought a BMW off you last year.”

“Ah, right. Is it going well?”

“Like a dream.”

“Can’t go wrong with a beemer.”

A large, knuckle-heavy hand is held across the counter.

“Nazif,” he says. “I met you down at the showroom when I picked up
the motor.” Nazif smiles as he pumps his hand enthusiastically. “I used to know
your brother.”

“OK, right… yes.”

That was two murders ago. Shit.

“Freddy sold you the car, did he? Freddy Metcalfe. He sells most of
’em, to be honest.”

“Yeah, great lad, Freddy. In here all the time. Loves his kebabs.”

“That’s Freddy!”

That’s Freddy
. His heart sinks. Freddy,
his best friend and employee, the bloke who helped him build the new showroom.
What’s Freddy doing hanging about down here, at Lanny Bride’s place?

“Seen him recently, have you?”

“What? Freddy? Yeah, was in here last night.”

“On his own, was he?” he asks, letting the information about Freddy
sink in, but keen not to dwell on it.

“I think so, yes. That boy can eat!”

“That’s the truth. By the way, you haven’t seen Roberto today, have
you?”

“From next door? See him all the time. Now there’s another greedy…”

“What’s his normal routine? Grabs something when he closes up, late
on?”

Nazif shifts, doesn’t like this.

There’s no choice, John tells himself, he’ll have to say something.

“He’s disappeared. No one knows where he’s gone. Left town, just
like that! He’s an old friend of the family. I’m trying to work out where he is.”

That’ll be the story. Rob just disappeared. It’s not as if he’s
coming back.
Just disappeared
. The end of Roberto.

Nazif still looks suspicious.

“He used to work for my dad,” John adds.

“Roberto?”

“Yeah, years ago. We’re worried about him.”

Those large hands are held palm-upwards.

“I wish I could help.”

“You haven’t seen him for a day or two?”

Nazif thinks, his forehead crumpled up. “Saw him yesterday… No, day
before.”

“Anything unusual? Did he seem different?”

He shakes his head. Then he stops, a grin spreading across his face,
turning his cheeks tight and shiny.

“Perhaps he
eloped
!”

“What?”

“He’s in here with a lady. Very attractive. He buys her a burger.
Acting the gentleman, you know. An’ she was tasty.
Very
.”

“Describe her,” John says, and now there’s nothing friendly about
his tone.

Nazif tries to hold his smile. He doesn’t want to describe her.

“Lanny wants to know,” John says.

That does the trick.

“Big hair, wavy, loads of it.”

“Colour?”

“Red.”

Out of the door and storming down the street.

Freddy’ll have to wait.