Lawless (40 page)

96

When Ruby got back to Marlow, there was a familiar car waiting on the drive. The Jag’s headlights swept over it, showing Thomas Knox standing by the bonnet. Ruby felt her heartbeat pick up in panic, felt a wave of revulsion engulf her. He wasn’t going to let this go.

‘You want me to have a word with him, Miss Darke?’ asked Reg, pulling up, switching off the engine.

Ruby thought that Thomas wouldn’t stop this unless she gave him an explanation. She felt weary to the bone, but she had to sort this out, right now.

‘No, that’s OK, Reg.’

Ruby got out of the Merc and Reg drove it round to the garage which was some distance from the main house. She walked over to where Thomas lounged against his car.

‘I want answers,’ he said flatly, as she came and stood within two feet of him.

‘I know. Come inside, it’s cold out here.’

He followed her into the house, into the small sitting room at the front. Ruby kept her coat on. So did Thomas. She didn’t offer him a seat. She stood several paces away from him and they confronted each other like strangers.

‘I want answers too,’ said Ruby.

‘Oh? To what?’

‘Did you do it?’

‘Do what?’

Ruby hitched in a breath. ‘Kill Michael. Was it you?’

‘
What?
’

‘You wanted to get to me. But you couldn’t, could you? You knew I was with him, that nothing was going to come between us.’ Suddenly her eyes were full of tears. ‘So did you do it?’

Thomas looked at the floor. Then he glanced sharply at Ruby. ‘You think I did?’

‘I want you to tell me. Did you? Because if you did, this is
my
fault. Michael would be alive today if not for me.’

‘You seriously think I’d do that?’

Ruby stared at him. Thought of all the things he’d said to her, how completely he’d seduced her.

‘Because if you think that,’ he snapped out, ‘then you’re right – we can’t go on with this. Oh, and incidentally? I won’t be looking out for your boy any more.’

Now Ruby felt fury building up in her. He’d duped her, deceived her, bedded her; and now she was thinking that Daisy was right about all this and he’d robbed her of Michael, who had truly loved her, then made her doubt that love by feeding her lies about another woman. There had been no one but her. She was sure of that. Thomas Knox had done his best to twist the truth, make her question everything she had ever believed in.

‘I don’t want a damned thing from you,’ she told him furiously. ‘And Kit will manage just fine without your help.’

‘I dunno about that. He’s treading a dangerous road, wouldn’t you say? Getting mixed up with that crazy Danieri sister. Do you have any idea what he’s up against? That family’s Camorra, out of Naples – you don’t mess with those people. Vittore’s spitting blood over this. He’s a proud man, he won’t take any shit. If Kit wanted to, he could still name Bianca to the Bill as the one who shot him, and Vittore won’t risk that happening. And the Danieris won’t back down just because Kit’s boys have got Bianca. They’ll retaliate – maybe snatch Kit’s sister,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘Before you know it, you could be getting her back in pieces, through the post – an ear, maybe, or a tongue – how about that for a thought? Maybe they’ll snatch Daisy’s kids and—’

‘They’re in a safe place,’ said Ruby as his words struck home.

‘Yeah? How safe?’

‘Stop it! Shut up! I don’t ever want to see you or speak to you again.’

Thomas’s eyes were hard on her face. ‘Sure about that?’

‘Completely sure.’

‘OK. But think about this: you got no proof I offed Mike. None at all. And everything I’ve just told you is true, so you’d better watch yourself. Oh, and what I told you before is true an’ all: Michael
was
tied up with another woman.’

‘Liar!’ shouted Ruby.

‘Nope. Not so.’

‘Then give me a name. Give me
something.
’

‘I don’t have it. Besides, I thought you didn’t want anything from me?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Then, sweetheart – you’re on your own,’ he said, and left the room.

‘You’re a
liar
!’ yelled Ruby after him.

He opened the front door, went outside and slammed it shut behind him. Presently Ruby heard his car start up, heard the motor being driven fast into the distance. She threw her bag onto the sofa in impotent rage. He was lying. There was no woman. Michael wouldn’t do that to her. She knew it.

She had to believe that.

She
had
to.

97

It was getting late, the punters in Sheila’s restaurant were thinning out, those remaining were drowsing and talking softly over coffee and brandies at the candlelit tables while a gifted young man sat in the corner, playing Spanish guitar.

Rob and Daisy headed straight through to the office, pushing the door closed behind them. The boys had been in, cleaned up the worst of the mess. Rob tucked a chair under the still-shattered lock to keep it that way. While Daisy watched, he went over to the desk, moved the chair aside, got down on his knees and lifted the rug to expose the floorboards.

He prised at a loose edge, and up it came: a foot-long insert in the boards. With that one out of the way, he pulled up another, then another. Now he was looking down into a little cubbyhole, which appeared to be empty.

He kept stuff tucked back there, out of the way
, Kit had told Rob earlier.

Rob leaned down further. He stuck in his hand up to the elbow, and groped around.

‘Anything?’ asked Daisy, almost twitching with impatience.

Nothing.

A hard pang of disappointment hit Rob. He’d been so sure that whatever the intruder had been looking for, it would be found here, in Michael’s favourite hiding place.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered.

He took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got down further, pressing his whole body and his face into the floor. He inserted his arm again, right the way in, as far as it could go.

Nothing, nothing, fucking
nothing.

His hand scrabbled around in there, he was blind, he didn’t have a torch with him and anyway he could feel sod-all in there and this was a total waste of . . .

He stiffened. ‘Something here,’ he said to Daisy.

His fingers had brushed what felt like cardboard. He tried to grab it, failed. Pushed his face hard against the floor, gave himself a millimetre or two more to play with. Groped back in there, caught the edge of the thing: it was flat and again it slipped away. Grunting with effort, he grabbed the edge once more, and
aha!
He had it. This time, he kept a tight grip on the cardboard, eased it towards him, pulled it out, rolled over on the floor and took a look at what he’d found.

It was a stiff envelope, about fourteen inches by eleven, the sort pro photographers use to mail prints to clients. It was stuck down with brown tape. Rob sat up, slid his thumbnail under the tape, prised it free. Daisy got down on her knees and peered at it in excitement.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Hurry up! Open it.’

Rob tipped it up. A small stack of ten-by-eight glossy black-and-white photographs fell out, into his hands. He put the envelope aside and they looked at what he’d netted.

Presently, he let out a low whistle.

Big
surprise.

‘Oh, good Lord,’ said Daisy, mistress of understatement.

Next day Rob picked up a few toiletries and items of clothing from Kit’s place, put them in a plastic carrier bag and went to the hospital. Kit was lying there, eyes closed. His skin had lost its deathly pallor. His left arm was tucked up in a sling, taking the weight off while it healed.

‘Hey, Kit?’ said Rob, sitting down at his bedside.

Kit’s eyes opened.

‘Hi,’ he said.

Rob had been thinking it over. In ICU, the situation had been secure and he could keep a lid on things. In a private room, security became more difficult. Out on the streets that Kit ran, they had their own tame private doctors, even a fucking surgeon on the payroll, no questions asked.

‘How you feeling?’ asked Rob.

‘OK.’

Kit felt about a million times better, now that he’d seen Bianca and reassured himself that she was all right. The filth had – of course – been in, asking him more questions. Who shot him? Did he see anyone? He hadn’t, he said. Sorry, officer. They told him about a bloke who’d fallen or jumped to his death from a window just down the hall, Italian guy, no one seemed to know who he was or what he was doing in the hospital – had Kit heard anything about that? Kit said he hadn’t. And the police had gone away again.

‘You feel well enough to get the fuck out of here?’ asked Rob.

Kit looked at his mate. ‘They trying?’

‘Twice.’

‘The jumper?’

‘Cops told you?’

‘They did. Hey, Rob . . .’

‘Hm?’

‘I kept hearing a voice when I was out of it. Ruby said it was her.’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Rob looked at his mate. ‘She stayed here with you the whole time. We couldn’t drag her away – and God knows we tried.’

Kit returned Rob’s gaze. The Ice Queen of Retail, cold as fuck and putting business before her kids, had been here, talking to him, the entire time?

‘She wouldn’t leave you. All she did was stay by your bed, talking to you.’

Kit looked at him dubiously.

‘It’s true,’ Rob assured him. Then his face darkened as he moved on to the subject that had been bothering him: ‘Look, we’ve got Bianca stashed away. But these Danieri boys . . . I dunno. They’re crazy. They might try again, whether we’ve got her for insurance or not. I don’t want to take the chance . . .’

‘So I guess we go,’ said Kit.

Rob held up the carrier bag. ‘Got your clothes in here.’

‘OK, let’s do it.’

98

Daisy slept late next morning. Ruby had departed for the store now that Kit was in the clear, and would then go on to the hospital to see him, but here
she
was, still in bed. Disconsolately she slipped on her robe and wandered up to the nursery. There was only silence; a few abandoned toys, the empty cots. She went downstairs and firmly resisted the impulse to phone Jody. Kit was right. The line might be tapped, and she could betray their whereabouts without meaning to.

She showered, dressed and then phoned Rob’s flat number.

There was no answer.

Well, he was probably doing something for Kit. She knew better than to speculate as to what exactly that might entail. One thing she couldn’t put to the back of her mind was the envelope Rob had discovered last night, and the shocking images they contained.

Neither could she shove away from her brain the fact that her brother seemed besotted by a madwoman who had damned near killed him. She had no idea where they were going to go from here with Bianca. She had no idea what mad scheme Kit was going to cook up next, and she dreaded going back to the hospital to hear about it.

She phoned the restaurant; was Rob there?

‘Haven’t seen him since yesterday,’ said the bar manager.

She phoned Ruby’s office.

‘Rob? No, I haven’t seen him since last night. Check with Reg.’

Daisy then phoned Reg’s flat, all the while the tension and anxiety building in her until she felt just about ready to blow.

Reg picked up on the first ring. ‘Yes?’

‘Reg? It’s Daisy. Do you know where Rob is today?’

‘No idea,’ said Reg. ‘Have you tried . . .’

And so it went on. Daisy phoned pool halls, bars, restaurants, and no one had seen Rob.

Finally she gave up, put the phone down and wondered what the hell to do now.

What she was afraid of . . . no, she couldn’t bear to even think it, it was too awful.

But try as she might she couldn’t shake off the fear that Rob had decided to act alone on the contents of the brown cardboard envelope he’d unearthed last night.

If the man who had been searching for those photos was the same person who killed Michael Ward in that alley, then Rob could be walking into a very dangerous situation. The searcher would know Rob had seen the prints, would know the game was up, and he might decide that Rob needed getting out of the way, too.

Gripped with anxiety, Daisy gave up on the phone. Instead she tore down the stairs, ran out and got into her Mini, and drove like a bat out of hell.

She had made this journey a hundred thousand times, or so it felt. The whole route was so familiar to her that the car almost drove itself. Before long she was crossing over the bridge above the cress beds and turning into the driveway, barrelling the Mini full-pelt up the drive among the dripping rhododendrons until she reached the fountain of Neptune in front of the house.

Her fears escalated to fever pitch when she saw that Rob’s car was there, on the drive.

‘Oh no . . .’ she gasped as she slammed on the hand-brake and turned off the engine.

She almost fell out of the car, and ran up the steps to Brayfield’s front door and bashed her fist upon it. Nobody answered. Swearing, limp with fear, she hared off around the building to the back, heading for the French doors that led into Vanessa’s blue-and-gold drawing room. They were standing open and she could hear raised voices coming from inside.

‘I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about,’ came Vanessa’s voice, high with strain.

Daisy all but fell through the doors.

‘Daisy!’ Vanessa said in astonishment.

Rob was standing over Vanessa. And there was the cardboard envelope. It was on a low table, and the prints were spread out on top of it. They were grainy, clearly taken with a long lens, but the content was unmistakable.

One showed Ivan and Vanessa, his hand on her shoulder in the garden; they were laughing together. Another showed them up against a tree, kissing. And another – most damning – showed Ivan, full-frontal naked, drawing back the curtains in what was clearly Vanessa’s bedroom.

Jesus, it’s like something out of a D.H. Lawrence novel,
thought Daisy.
It’s
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
.