Kill and Tell (20 page)

Maureen Pulford doesn’t know where she is. These streets are a raggedy mix of the posh and the down-at-heel. Eventually, they stop and the driver growls, ‘Twenty-two,’ over the chunter of the black cab.

She looks up at HMP Pentonville: grim and impenetrable. Twenty-two quid seems an inordinate amount considering it only looked a mile or so on the map, but Maureen picks five folded fivers from her purse and tells the driver to keep the change. He doesn’t say ‘thank you’ and gives her an untrusting smirk.

‘He isn’t guilty. Didn’t do it,’ says Maureen.

‘Sure he didn’t,’ says the driver. He has an unkind face and Maureen wonders if that is what his job did to him.

She steps out and when she sees the young mothers and girlfriends outside the visitor centre, her last whisper of hope loses itself in the noisy London air.

Maureen looks at her boy on the other side of the glass, reinforced with wire patterned like the exercise books he would bring home from school. He stands out from the crowd he is in now. He doesn’t belong here. She realises that what she thinks is unchristian and surely nobody is born to a life like this, but looking across at the other inmates, she can just tell that some of them are equipped to survive in here. Not David.

‘It’s good of you to come, mother.’

His voice is frail and that makes her heart bump.

‘It’s wonderful news. They say they have a confession. Somebody else did it.’

‘I told you somebody else did it.’

‘But now they can prove it. You’re getting out, David.’

‘The Crown is considering the evidence.’

‘You don’t sound pleased. Am I a fool to get my hopes up?’

David tries to make the shape of a smile but there’s barely any life in his eyes. ‘Of course not. Just that it might not happen in a hurry.’

‘Why not? If you didn’t do it and someone else did and he says he did it, that means you didn’t.’

Maureen watches her son’s eyes as they settle into a gaze to the floor.

They sit like that a while, neither speaking. She wants to hold him, but she can’t and she feels now, so surely in her heart, that if she did hold him it would be for a last time. How can that be? Her voice breaks when she eventually says, ‘What is it, David? I can bear anything, but don’t lie to me.’

‘I was with him. I was with the boy who confessed, so I know he didn’t do it. I was following him, hoping he would lead me somewhere.’

‘But he confessed.’

‘So we shouldn’t get our hopes up. Not just yet.’

‘Call the inspector, for pity’s sake,’ says Carmelo.

‘I want to hear your confession first, uncle,’ says Maurice. ‘Tell me exactly what happened in ’36.’

‘You know what happened.’

‘Some of the threads are loose. In real life, there isn’t such a thing as a loose end. Everything happens for a perfect reason. Everybody acts according to their heads or their hearts; from strength or out of desperation. Life is perfect, in that respect. Everything is explicable.’

‘Riddles, riddles. You have your damned story.’

‘My grandfather—’ Maurice looks at Jacobo. ‘—is Maurizio Verdetti, is he not?’

‘Of course.’

‘And he is here, with us.’

‘Names mean nothing. What matters is what we do with the lives we are given; finding a way to survive in the circumstances we are dealt. Jacobo and I have changed. We are different people.’

‘I was denied a family because of you.’

‘Your father’s death was accidental. Your mother deserted you.’

‘You sent my father away as soon as he was born. You lied. The least you can do is tell me what happened that day on Cable Street.’ Maurice turns to face his grandfather. ‘Say it wasn’t you who killed Jacobo Sartori, grandfather.’

Carmelo says, ‘For God’s sake let me tell my truth. What does it matter if we did for Jacobo Sartori? We saved your grandfather. Two men were killed. The names don’t matter.’

‘It matters that I am not alone in the world. I have lineage. And what about the family of this Jacobo Sartori? Don’t they deserve the truth about what happened to their husband, their father, their grandfather?’

‘Not everybody is like you,’ says Carmelo.

‘And there’s the pity,’ says Jacobo. He stands, goes to his grandson and embraces him. ‘It was supposed to be me who they killed,
nipote.
I did a terrible thing. That’s why I had to leave Sicily.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I killed a man. The wrong man, and your uncle Carmelo was sent from Sicily to do for me, but he couldn’t. We played together as boys. I bullied him!’ Jacobo laughs, wipes his eyes. ‘Then he met Abie Myers and they had this great idea.’

‘I ran David Myers through on the racecourse at Brighton. That’s what I did!’ says Carmelo, short of breath. He clutches his chest and collapses into a chair.

‘We told Abie Myers exactly what this new Maurizio Verdetti looked like.’ Maurice’s grandfather taps the photograph of the tall beast of a man.

‘And Abie did a job on him,’ says Maurice. ‘Who was he, this Jacobo Sartori?’

‘A fellow your uncle sailed into Tilbury with.’

‘Poor bastard,’ says Carmelo, wheezing.

‘And you became my uncle’s servant?’

‘Maurizio Verdetti had to disappear, one way or the other.’

‘But you shipped my father back to Sicily. Why do that?’ says Maurice.

Jacobo says, ‘Your grandmother wasn’t fit to raise a child. Not then. You wouldn’t believe the upset.’

‘I thought you met afterwards? She was a seamstress for Uncle Carmelo.’

‘We rewrote our history. You can’t imagine how afraid we were, of being caught out.’

‘We should never have sent your father away, but your grandmother was convinced we would be found out. It was for his own safety. Believe me, there’s not a day has passed . . . So when Carmelo heard you were orphaned . . . We were so proud of you. We still are.’ Carmelo’s manservant, Maurizio Verdetti, looks across, kindly, upon his old friend and saviour. He says to Maurice, ‘Grant your Uncle Carmelo his peace. It is in your gift. Do that, after everything he did for you.’

‘I have to think of you,
nonno
. You are my flesh and blood. You plotted and played a part in the murder of Jacobo Sartori. I can’t allow that to come out.’

‘It was so long ago.’

‘There is no statute of limitations on murder here,
nonno
. If I don’t protect you, who will?’

When Leilah Frankland has signed her statement and is released, it is Brandon Latymer who is waiting outside. It’s true what he told her all those weeks ago – that he’d always be there for her, if she did the right thing. She feels herself smile, for the first time in a long one.

She gets into his big rig on the Farringdon Road and they take a high-wheeled ride through the shiny City and on the way he starts fixing her up, gently. He gives her a little GHB and smiles with her as it takes her down. He puts his hand on the top of her leg and gives her a soft and long squeeze.

‘You got some benzos, Bran?’ she says, her eyes all dreamy and a little girl’s smile smudging in her face.

Brandon doesn’t know how people can live like this, but thank the Lord they do. This is his client base. He’s not deceiving himself. He’s a businessman and this is the consequence of his sales and distribution. The overriding truth is this: if Brandon didn’t sell, he’d use. Economics isn’t fair, but he looks at Leilah and can see that he and she had an equality of opportunity, as Curtis calls it. He loves talking to Curtis. Together, they are above where they came from and that is going to continue. It’s what Curtis calls social mobility. Oh, man.

He says, ‘You got to be up for this little thing we need you to do, Lay. Then we can bring you all the way down. Hear what I’m saying, doll?’ He leans across, kisses her on the side of the mouth. ‘How’s I give you half a Val?’

He sparks up a Dunhill International and holds the tar in the back of his throat. He’ll have some Armagnac when the sun goes down. It’s superior to brandy, he thinks. Maybe a line of coke if it’s just him and Jasmine and everything is quiet. But it’s not quiet, yet.

Leilah lies back, presses her head against the black tint and she shifts in her seat, so she is facing Brandon. Her little skirt rides up along her skinny white legs and from his perspective, her thong doesn’t quite do its job. Something in Brandon shifts. His libido is a constant threat.

‘Gonna fix you up proper. Take you shopping and then there’s that something you can do for us all.’

Leilah lifts her right leg and drapes it over his left. Brandon drives an automatic. It comes in handy every now and again. ‘Can I do a little something for you now, Bran?’

‘This something is for Curtis, really. I have a bad feeling about Curtis, if you don’t do this thing.’

‘Curtis? He’s all right, right?’

‘For the moment. But they’ve got Louis in Pentonville.’

‘You got something more for me first, Bran?’

‘Sure. We need to get you up and runnin’. You want me to do that?’ He runs his hand, flexes his fingers.

Leilah gives him the biggest smile and lifts her top.

‘Then you’re going to jail, to see Louis.’

‘Louis? What’s he to me?’

‘That’s the point. He needs to do a right thing. I need you to give him a thing and tell him what’s what.’

‘He can fuck himself. I got pulled in ’cos a him.’

‘He’s going to fuck himself, Lay.’ Brandon reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pill and puts it in her mouth. He holds onto it. ‘Half, says Doctor Bran,’ he laughs and she bites his fingers so he has to let go of the pill. She swallows it and sucks on Brandon’s fingers.

The valium takes her down some more – not enough to sleep any time soon, but she feels soft and she drops her arm from across her breasts. Her smile spreads and becomes soft, lazy.

Driving along Spitalfields, with all the shops open and the people cramming the pavements and the Jeep’s tints keeping out the afternoon sun, Brandon checks his watch, goes with the flow.

Leilah feels a million dollars, turning the heads of the other WAGs as she passes through Pentonville’s visitor centre. The guard on reception pokes his tongue into his cheek when he sees her, looking her up and down.

Back in his rig, and when they were done, Brandon had given Leilah a hundred quid of Topshop vouchers and dropped her with Simone to cut her hair and do her nails, at Cutz. Had he given Leilah cash, she would have blown it on booze and crack, of course.

Every now and again, Leilah catches a whiff of herself and it gladdens her all the way through – until she realises what she is here to do. That makes her sad, but she reminds herself what Brandon said, and what she knew for herself, too: Louis has brought this on himself, he really has. He’s a casualty of war and everyone in the game knows that score. In fact, when she thinks too much about it, like she’s doing now, she’s really annoyed with Louis. Like Brandon says, Curtis will be a prince of the City some day soon and they will all benefit, but Louis could’ve ruined it for everyone – if it wasn’t for Leilah being a true soldier. This way, only Louis suffers. That’s how it works.

She feels pure, uncut, and she stops at the airlock doors, waits for the woman in front to go through. In the glass, Leilah sees a faint image of herself. It is how she could have been under a different sign and how she will be from now on. Sometimes, she doesn’t quite follow what Brandon says, and Curtis, too. But she knows she likes the way she looks now. This is her new life.

Leilah puts her hand in her top, like she’s doing her tits, but lifting the fat capsule and popping it under her tongue. Everyone knows Louis couldn’t do his bird. He’s too soft. It’s best this way.

The door slides open and the woman officer pats Leilah down. Leilah thinks the officer might be copping a feel, that’s how good she looks today, but she knows there can’t be any kick-offs so she doesn’t even tell the woman to go fuck herself, just touches the fat capsule with the tip of her tongue and keeps schtum.

The coating of the capsule is getting tacky. Brandon said it’d be good for ten minutes, but it doesn’t seem that way and she looks for Louis, wanting it done. He’s over against the wall and there’s an officer right by him so she sucks in her tummy and works on her roll, which is easy in these new heels.

Louis looks right past her, though. He seems out of it already. His eyes are slow, like he’s on something already. Taz, maybe – poor fucker. ‘Lou!’ she says, just a metre away and talking funny because of the capsule. Shit! What if she swallows it?

‘What?’ He looks at her tits. They’re gathered up nice and plumped with fillets. He looks up at her face. ‘Lay?’ he says. His mouth drops open and he stares a while. ‘You changed.’

Out the corner of her eye, she can see the perv officer eyeing her up. ‘You like?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘You should.’ She sits down and leans across. ‘I miss the taste a you, Lou.’

‘You’re talking funny, Lay. Why you talking that way?’

She leans across further, getting the capsule in the curl of her tongue. His face is big now and his pores are all clogged with muck. His eyes are all pupil. She puts her hand on the back of his neck.

‘We can’t touch.’

‘I want you, Lou.’ Leilah glances at the officer and she smiles at her, watching. She raises her eyebrows, almost encouraging it, and Leilah reaches under the table, puts her hand on Louis’s crotch. He’s wearing thin cotton jogging bottoms and he’s half-way hard already. She whispers, kissing him, putting her tongue into his mouth. ‘Swallow.’ She says it like she has a speech impediment, but the pill is gone from her mouth now and she pulls away, watches him moving his tongue around his mouth. She knows him, can tell he’s thinking twice. ‘You’re all hard, Lou. I wanna kiss you again. Wanna kiss you hard, man. It’ll make you better.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’ll stop the hurt.’

‘You don’t sound like you, Lay.’

‘I’m being the best I can. For you. I came for you, Lou. Swallow, so I can kiss you proper.’

He puts his lips tight together so the blood goes from them and he closes his eyes. The lump in his throat goes up and then down. ‘Done?’ she says.

He nods.

‘You trusted me?’

‘’Course,’ he says, coming forward, for his kiss.

‘Oh, Lou.’ And she feels a lump in her own throat. Silly cow, she thinks, kissing him hard, but like he’s someone else now.