No Mercy (6 page)

Lena’s hands, adorned with rings, wouldn’t stay still. Her long, red fingernails tapped out a sharp, erratic beat on the top of the desk. ‘How often does she come here?’

‘It varies, but nearly always on a Wednesday. And early in the morning, about half eight.’ Delia opened a drawer, took out a sheet of paper and passed it across. ‘Here, this is a list of all our grave tenders. There’s no address for her, but there is a phone number.’

Lena stared at the list, but all she could see was Jay Cato’s dark, brooding eyes staring back at her. She clenched her jaw, a muscle twitching angrily at the corner of her mouth. What was he playing at? Some vile, devious game, no doubt. She might have known he wouldn’t let it rest. Men like Cato never forgot… and they never forgave either.

‘What are you going to do?’ Delia asked.

Lena raised her eyes. ‘Do?’

‘You’ll have to tell Tony.’

Lena’s upper lip curled contemptuously. ‘Tony? Are you kidding me? That idiot creates more problems than he ever solves.’

‘But you can’t deal with this on your own.’

‘Deal with what? All Cato’s done is arranged for some flowers to be put on a grave.’

Delia gave a quick anxious shake of her head. ‘It’s more than that, Lena – you know it is. The man’s twisted. He’s sick. God knows what he’ll do next.’

‘Well, we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?’ Lena threw out the retort with a casualness she didn’t feel. Even in front of Delia – someone she had known for over forty years – she was unwilling to show any sign of weakness. ‘If he thinks he can freak me out with a few damn flowers, he’s got another think coming.’

Delia’s eyes widened. ‘But you know what he’s capable of. He… he…’

‘I know what he did, hon. You don’t need to remind me.’ Lena folded over the piece of paper, put it in her bag and rose to her feet.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Home,’ Lena said. ‘I’ve got plans for this evening.’

Delia jumped up too. ‘But…’

‘But what?’ said Lena. ‘I’m not going to waste my time worrying about it. That’s exactly what he wants and I’ll be buggered if I give him the satisfaction.’

Delia walked round the desk and laid her hand on Lena’s arm. ‘But you’ll take care? Promise me you will.’

‘I’m always careful, hon.’ Lena bent and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks for letting me know. I’ll call you, huh? I’ll see you soon.’

She walked out with her shoulders back and her head held high. Her face was an impassive mask. She walked over to the car as if Cato was watching, as if his eyes were drinking in every facet of her face and every step she took. She walked with a swaying insouciance as if she didn’t give a damn.

After climbing into the MG, Lena glanced across at the office. Through the window she could see that Delia was still standing by the desk. In that moment, her old friend looked as old and regretful as the grey stone angels that were scattered around the cemetery. She bent over the wheel, feeling a dull, dark pain in her chest.

Quickly she reached for her cigarettes. She lit one, sucked in the smoke, started the engine and drove off. Instead of doing a U-turn, she headed for the exit on the other side. Her gaze flicked in the direction of the Lucy Rivers grave, but it was out of sight, the path hidden by the group of weeping willows.

Once she was away from the office, Lena pulled the car into the side of the thoroughfare. She needed some time alone, time to think. She opened the window and stared out across the cemetery. Hadn’t she always known that one day Cato would try to get his revenge? She imagined him in that prison cell, the minutes slowly ticking by, the walls gradually closing in. He’d had years to dwell on what she had done and now it was payback time. He had loved Lucy Rivers and Lena had destroyed her.

While she sat and smoked, she contemplated her next move. She had to stay calm. She had to try and still the fear that was gathering inside her. Although she didn’t underestimate her enemy, the game was far from over yet. She was Lena Gissing and that meant something. She had power and she was going to use it. Reaching into her bag, she took out her mobile and dialled. It was answered after the first ring.

‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a job for you. Find out everything you can about a girl called Maddie Layne. That’s L-A-Y-N-E.’ She read out the phone number from the list that Delia had given her. ‘She’s local, lives somewhere in Kellston. And make it quick, huh? Get back to me as soon as you can.’

Lena dropped the phone back in her bag. She flicked the ash from her cigarette on to the grass that edged the path. The thick evening air stole into the car, hot and humid. She closed her eyes, feeling the heavy drag of memory. There was, she knew, no escape from the past. Like a dark assassin, it came creeping up when you least expected it.

It was after six thirty before Maddie left work and started to walk home. It had been a strange, discomfiting kind of day. The evening was warm and sticky, the air tainted by traffic fumes. Despite the heat, she kept up a brisk pace, not wanting to be late picking up Zac. Alisha and Winston would never complain – they loved their grandson and would do anything for him – but they weren’t spring chickens and she didn’t like to take advantage.

As she made her way along the High Street, her gaze took in her surroundings. Even at the height of summer, Kellston managed to retain a depressing greyness that seemed ingrained in the very bricks of the buildings, in the road and the litter-strewn pavement. On the horizon loomed the three tall concrete towers of the Mansfield estate, a constant reminder of the sister she had lost.

Maddie stared up at the towers. Even from a distance they could be seen to be crumbling, weather-beaten with rusting balconies and broken windows. Some of the flats were boarded up, unfit for human habitation. She quickly dropped her gaze again. Kellston was said to be up-and-coming, but from where she was standing there were no significant signs of it. Squashed between Bethnal Green and Shoreditch, the borough had none of the latter’s fashionable edginess. There was high unemployment, poverty and way too much crime.

It was no place, Maddie thought, to be bringing up a child. What chance did any kid stand in a place like this? But she was stuck here and so was he. Although she longed to be on the move – she had inherited her mother’s itchy feet – it would be unfair and probably damaging to take him away from his beloved grandparents.

That final image of Greta invaded her mind again. The past, it seemed, was intent on haunting her today. Her thoughts slipped back to the time, six years ago, when they were all trying to come to terms with the double murder. At first, everyone had rallied round to take care of Zac. How much of it had he understood? Two years old and deprived of both his mother and his father. It was cruel and tragic. But it was Bo’s parents, Winston and Alisha, who had stepped up to the mark and taken him to live with them on a permanent basis. No one had argued about it. There had been no rows, no custody battles, no tug of war over the orphaned toddler.

‘It’s for the best,’ her mother had said. ‘He knows them better than anyone else. It’ll be less of an ordeal for him.’

But Maddie had observed the relief in her eyes. Kim Layne was off the hook and she was glad of it. And, if she was being completely honest, Maddie had welcomed the decision too. To acknowledge this made her feel guilty, although she had barely known Zac back then. Since he’d been born, she had only seen him half-a-dozen times.

Winston’s heart attack had come out of the blue, two months later. By then Kim Layne had decamped to Portugal and had no intention of coming back. Maddie had returned to work, a job on a London dig. She had only intended to stay on in Kellston until the dig had finished, but events had overtaken her.

At twenty-three, with her career just beginning, the last thing she had wanted or needed was the responsibility of a child, but she hadn’t had a choice. Alisha couldn’t cope with Zac and a sick husband. She’d needed help and there was only one person who could provide it. Maddie had taken temporary leave, but it had soon become apparent that she wouldn’t be going back to her old job in a hurry. Even as Winston was on the road to recovery, it was obvious that taking care of Zac full-time would be too much for the Vales.

Maddie came to Violet Road and turned right, walking along the row of small terraced houses. She could vividly recall those early days, the panic and fear that rose up in her throat every time she looked at her nephew. She was terrified of doing things wrong, of being inadequate, of not being able to cope. The burden had felt like a great dark crow pecking away at her confidence. And, although it pained her to admit it, she had felt a simmering resentment too. It was as if the rug had been pulled from under her feet, with all her hopes and dreams tumbling into oblivion.

She wondered how she had managed to get through it. She had not realised then that all Zac really needed was love and care and stability. Now she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Her maternal instinct might have been slow to kick in, but she’d got there in the end. He was the most important, the most precious person in her life and she couldn’t envisage a time when that would ever change.

Until Greta’s death, Maddie had barely known the Vales. She hadn’t taken much of an interest in them. They were just the parents of her sister’s boyfriend, a boyfriend who was big trouble. If she thought about them at all, it was only to wonder why they hadn’t done a better job in managing to teach him right from wrong. Her attitude had changed a lot since then.

She was thinking about this as she walked straight past number 12 and had to turn round and retrace her steps. She strolled up the front path with its terracotta pots of pink and white geraniums, pressed the bell and waited.

Alisha answered the door almost immediately. She was a tall, stout woman in her late sixties with a smile bright enough to power the National Grid. Today she was dressed in a flowing red dress with yellow flowers splashed across the hem. ‘Hello, love,’ she said, beckoning her over the threshold. ‘Come in, come in. How are you? Lord, it’s a hot one today. I’ll make a brew, shall I? You’ll be needing a drink after that walk. The boys are out back.’

Maddie, following her through the house to the yard at the rear, found it hard to believe that she had ever disliked Alisha and Winston. Or perhaps not disliked them so much as
judged
them. After the murders, she had decided that they were to blame for how Bo had turned out. It had to be their fault. Who else’s could it have been? She felt ashamed of herself now. How stupid! How naïve! She had come to understand that it didn’t matter how hard you tried, there were no guarantees when it came to raising a child.

‘Maddie, Maddie!’ Zac called out, running over to her with his wide grin and infectious laugh. ‘Hiya. Grandpa’s teaching me how to bowl. Are you going to watch? Are you going to watch me?’

‘Sure I am, sweetheart.’

A makeshift set of wickets had been set up in the back yard. Winston was standing at the far end wearing his baggy trousers and an old white vest. He gave her a wave with the cricket bat and she waved back. ‘Hey, Winston. How are you doing?’

‘Pretty good, thanks. Just giving our boy here some tips. He’s coming along real good. I reckon he’ll be a pro one day.’

‘Good to hear it.’

Solomon, their elder son, was sitting on the back step. He glanced up at her and nodded. ‘You okay, babe?’ He shifted over to make room. ‘Here, park yourself. You look tired. Tough day?’

‘Oh, the usual.’ She turned back to the kitchen and spoke to Alisha. ‘You need a hand with anything?’

‘No, no, you sit down. I’ll be out in a minute.’

Maddie sat down on the step beside Solomon. ‘When people say you look tired, what they really mean is that you look like something the cat’s dragged in.’

Solomon gave her a sidelong glance. ‘You don’t look like nothin’ my cat ever dragged in.’

‘You don’t have a cat.’

He gave a shrug. ‘Hell, you’re right. I was just trying to make you feel better.’

Maddie raised her brows and smiled. Despite getting to know him, even to like him, she still found Solomon Vale faintly intimidating. It was his size as much as anything else. At over six foot five, he dwarfed most people. And then there were the muscles. His bulging biceps strained at the white cotton of his T-shirt.

‘Are you watching?’ asked Zac, as he impatiently passed the ball from one hand to the other.

‘We’re watching,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

Zac, with his short, curly black hair, chestnut-brown eyes and coffee-coloured skin, had far more of Bo’s physical genes in him than Greta’s. He was a sweet, nice-natured boy, but that didn’t stop Maddie from stressing over his future.

The two men in this small back yard were the primary male role models in his life. She wasn’t worried about Winston – he was a decent, principled, honest man – but Solomon was a different kettle of fish. She didn’t doubt his affection for Zac, but she was concerned about what he did for a living. He worked for the Streets, and the Streets were the biggest villains in Kellston. What if Zac grew up wanting to be just like his uncle?

Maddie gave a yawn and stretched out her arms. She wasn’t going to fret about that now. It was a beautiful evening and the scent of honeysuckle hung in the air. As she breathed it in, her thoughts drifted back to the morning and her strange altercation with Delia Shields.

‘Sol?’ she asked.

‘Yeah?’

‘Does the name Cato mean anything to you?’

He pondered on it for a moment, but then shook his head. ‘Nah, can’t say it rings any bells. Should it?’

‘What about Lucy Rivers?’

Solomon splayed his palms on his wide thighs and gave her another sideways glance. ‘You want to ask me a question I
do
know the answer to?’

‘Mm, I may need a while to figure that one out.’

Solomon huffed out a breath. ‘See you ain’t lost any of your charm since I saw you last.’

‘We aim to please.’

‘So why the interest? Who are these people, anyhows?’

Maddie watched Zac bowl a few wide balls in the general direction of Winston. She leaned in towards Solomon, lowering her voice. ‘Oh, just something a bit weird that happened down the cemetery this morning. This grave I’m tending – a girl called Lucy Rivers – well, I was asked to take care of it by a guy called Cato. It was over the phone. We’ve never actually met. But it seems this man, whoever he is, isn’t too popular with a certain member of the office staff. I’m just curious, I guess. I wondered if you knew anything about him.’

‘You want me to ask around?’

Maddie pulled a face. ‘Best not,’ she said. ‘It’s probably nothing. I don’t want to stir up trouble.’

‘I can do discreet. In the exalted circles I move in, I’m renowned for my tact and diplomacy.’

‘Exalted, huh?’

‘Don’t be fooled by my ghetto reputation.’

‘Ah, is that what you call it?’

‘You want me to check out this Cato guy or not?’

Maddie hesitated, in two minds as to what to say next. She
was
curious – there was no denying it – but she was cautious too. ‘I don’t know. I suppose. I mean, can you do it without him finding out? I don’t want to get his back up. He might decide to get rid of me if he gets wind of the fact that I’m checking up on him.’

‘Don’t worry, babe. I won’t be shouting it from the rooftops.’

‘That’s reassuring.’

‘So that’s a yes?’

Maddie hesitated again. ‘Well…’

‘Always useful to know exactly who you’re working for.’

And she couldn’t argue with that. Hadn’t Delia Shields been less than complimentary about Cato? ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Go for it. And thanks. I appreciate it.’

‘No problem.’

Zac bounced over to them again. ‘Why are you whispering? It’s rude to whisper.’ He frowned at Maddie. ‘You told me that.’

Maddie smiled back at him. ‘We’re not whispering, love. We’re just talking quietly so we don’t put you off.’

‘You’re supposed to be watching.’

‘We are watching.’

Zac narrowed his eyes. He seemed dubious, as if watching and talking were two quite separate acts and fundamentally incompatible.

‘Go on, then,’ she urged. ‘Don’t keep Grandpa waiting.’

As Zac returned to his bowling, Solomon said, ‘Thought I’d take him to see the dinosaurs on Friday if that’s okay with you.’

‘At the museum?’

‘Unless you know someplace else we can find ’em.’

Maddie grinned. ‘Now who’s asking the difficult questions?’

‘And then get something to eat, and maybe watch a movie in the evening. He might as well stay over.’

‘Are you sure? You want him for the evening too?’

‘Sure. I like spending time with him. It’s hard, you know, with the job and all, but I’ve got a few days off, so… But if you’d rather I brought him home…’

Maddie shook her head. ‘No, no, that’s fine. If you’re up for it, I’m not complaining.’ Solomon, who’d previously been living in Chigwell, had moved back to Kellston about six months ago and got himself a flat in Barley Road overlooking the green. It was only five minutes’ walk from her house, close enough if any kind of emergency arose.

‘You could go out,’ he said.

‘Or stay in, slouch on the sofa and watch exactly what I like on the TV.’

Solomon stared at her. ‘Jesus, hon, you twenty-nine or fifty-nine? You don’t want to be watching TV on a Friday night. Get out on the town, chill, have a few drinks.’

Maddie was surprised that Solomon knew how old she was. She wasn’t sure of his exact age, only that he was about ten years older than Bo, which meant that he had to be knocking on forty. Not that he looked it, though. He had an ageless kind of face, and he kept himself in shape.

‘Go out and see some mates,’ he insisted. ‘Make the most of it. I don’t suppose you get much time to yourself.’

‘Maybe I will,’ she said, thinking of Rick Mallory’s invitation. A night out at the Fox could be just what she needed.

‘Good. I’ll come over and pick him up at – what, about half nine?’

‘Half nine,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll see you then.’

Alisha came out with a tray of mugs, and Maddie and Solomon shuffled up to make room for her on the step. As she sat drinking her tea, Maddie’s thoughts began to drift again. She hoped she’d done the right thing about Cato. Extra money was hard to come by and she couldn’t afford to lose those monthly cheques. But then again, she didn’t have a clue as to who he actually was. She reckoned that anyone who wanted such care taking over a grave couldn’t, at heart, be a bad person – but what if she was wrong? The words of Delia Shields jumped back into her head.
That bastard! That bastard Cato!