Читать книгу The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4 - Jessie Keane - Страница 52

In the early hours of the following morning, Billy stood in the shadows opposite the Limehouse parlour and watched as Gary Tooley and Steven Taylor carried something wrapped in a tarpaulin out to a car. They bundled the thing inside, shut the doors quietly, and were away.

Max’s boys.

Billy often liked to walk in the early hours. The streets were quiet, he blended into the darkness, became one with the night. You saw all sorts when you were out late. He walked, and walked, because he slept badly. He was on medication for his nerves, and that seemed to affect his sleep. So he walked. Often he ended up in the street in Limehouse, looking up at the house where his beautiful Annie lived.

He knew which room was hers. He’d worked it out. The one on the left at the front. He stood there sometimes and gazed up at that dark oblong, knowing that beyond it she slept. It was comforting to be nearby. His mum didn’t care where he got to in the night. She had a boyfriend, he had to call the man Uncle Ted, but he wasn’t his uncle really. His mum was busy with Uncle Ted during the night-times. It was better to be out, to walk, rather than lay there awake listening to them making those animal noises through the wall.

But his quiet stroll tonight had been different. Wearing his mac and deerstalker, clutching his briefcase as he always did, he knew that tonight there had been something going on. Something bad. All the lights had been blazing in the house. Then the boys had shown up and there had been nothing for a while, but he was patient. He had nothing else to do, so he waited. And an hour and a half later, the boys came out with the thing in the tarp. It looked the size and shape of a body, Billy thought. He made a note of it in his book.

It’s as if Pat Delaney was never here, thought Annie as she looked around her room next day. Gary and Steve had done a thorough job of cleaning every trace of Pat’s death away. It had all gone like clockwork. The angels had been on their side. Chris hadn’t come back; he’d phoned through to say that his mum was ill and he was needed at home. They all knew he was just keeping the fuck out of it, but at least Ellie had been spared having to jump his bones. Gary and Steve had come in like shadows and did all that had to be done.

‘We’ll take the bastard for a swim,’ said Gary jokily, wrapping Pat up in what was to be his shroud. ‘A nice long dip, eh? We’ll take him down Newhaven way, no bother.’

Annie couldn’t laugh with them. The callous bastards. It was too horrible. They’d killed a man, and even if that man was a total bastard like Pat Delaney, he had been a living, breathing human being, and they had taken his life, and the guilt was overwhelming. The lowest point had been when she had to limp into the hall and phone Max to ask for his help.

‘What sort of help?’ he asked. He sounded cold and uncompromising.

‘There’s been an … incident,’ said Annie. She eased her sore knee by taking the weight off it. It was bandaged – Darren had tended to all their cuts and bruises. Her hands were bandaged too, where the glass had sliced into them. She looked and felt a mess. And now Max was talking to her as if she was a stranger.

She reminded herself that his coldness to her was a good thing. But she couldn’t get Pat’s words out of her mind. What if Pat really had done Celia, and not one of Max’s mob? No, it was no use thinking like that. She had to think of Ruthie now, and put her first.

‘What sort of incident?’ he asked.

‘A bad one.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Max, I’m not kidding around here. Take it from me that I wouldn’t be on this fucking phone asking for your help if I could avoid it.’

‘If that’s how you feel …’ said Max. He was going to hang up on her.

‘No!’ Annie shouted. ‘Please. Don’t hang up.’ Her voice broke with the strain of it. ‘It’s serious. Pat Delaney’s dead.’

‘Tell me,’ said Max, and it all poured out.

‘What?’ Max demanded when she told him that Pat had come after her. She could hear his breathing, hard and heavy, could almost taste his anger. But she didn’t need that now, not more violence, not more bloodshed. She needed his help.

‘We killed him,’ she finished at last.

‘For fuck’s sake. Isn’t there a Delaney man on the door?’ Now Max’s voice had lost its distance. Now he spoke urgently.

‘Chris, yes. He vanished when it all started looking like trouble with Pat. It’s okay. He phoned through and said his mum was ill, but I think he’s just keeping out of it because he could see Pat was acting up and he didn’t want to get involved – and I don’t fucking blame him either.’

‘Do nothing. I’ll send someone.’

And he put the phone down on her.

‘Max?’

She couldn’t believe it, the bastard had just put the phone down. No goodbye, no nothing. And maybe that was it. Maybe he was just going to leave her to sweat, to stew in her own juice. Panic gripped her by the throat. Christ, what was she going to do if that was the case?

But, true to his word, he sent his boys. His best boys, too.

Next day she put her coat on and went out into the rain for a walk and stopped off at the phone box. She dialled his number.

‘Thanks,’ she said, dismayed because her voice shook.

There was so much more she wanted to say to him and it seemed she was able to say nothing. She wanted to broach the subject of Celia, and what she had thought he’d done, and what Pat Delaney had said, but she couldn’t get into all that. She felt too tired, too dispirited, too confused. She wanted to talk about Ruthie, and how she had found her, and how frightened she had been when she had thought Ruthie was trying to commit suicide. But it had been just a stupid mix-up with sleeping pills. Had Ruthie died, Annie would have forever blamed herself. But she could say nothing because Ruthie would hate her even more than she did already if she started getting grief off Max. Annie felt drained of all emotion. She supposed dully that it was the shock of what had happened last night.

‘Are you all right?’ Max demanded. ‘Gary said there’d been damage done.’

‘A few cuts. Dolly lost a tooth.’

‘Nothing serious?’

‘Nothing serious.’

‘You saw Ruthie.’

‘Oh. Yeah. She’s … okay.’ She couldn’t talk about it. Ruthie would despise her if she did.

‘Right. You owe me for this,’ said Max.

Annie stared at the phone.

‘What?’ she asked numbly.

‘You still owe me.’

‘Oh.’

‘And I will call in the debt.’

‘Max, it’s over.’

‘I told you. Only when I say so.’

And he hung up on her again.

Annie planned to move out of the Limehouse parlour early. She didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary in the same room where Pat Delaney had died. She couldn’t sleep down in the front room on the sofa in case Chris got wind of it and thought it odd. And Max had said she had to behave normally.

Normally. Like she would ever feel normal again, after she’d been party to murder.

The others weren’t finding it easy either. All of them looked like death warmed up, their faces white and strained, and why wouldn’t they? It wasn’t every day you saw a Delaney die right in front of your eyes.

Of course Chris soon noticed that Annie had injured her knee and her hands. He noticed Dolly’s swollen mouth and missing tooth. But they had already thought of this. They had covered all the bases.

‘Tell him that Annie and Dolly had a ruck on Friday night over Annie setting up in business,’ suggested Darren to Ellie.

This was inspired. All of them knew that the two women had been finding it hard to come to terms with their changed circumstances; an imaginary catfight would be perfect cover for what had really happened.

Ellie obediently told Chris; and Chris seemed to believe her. Dolly gave him a bit of a bollocking for vanishing when things hotted up with Pat, and told him that if he thought she swallowed that load of fanny about his sick mother he had better think again. But thank God, she told him, Pat had buggered off just after he himself had left the premises, so everything was fine – and this time she was not going to tell Redmond Delaney about the fact he’d legged it.

‘Thanks, Dolly,’ said Chris humbly.

Annie and Dolly beefed up the dirty looks and sullen silences between them, egging the pudding like mad. Annie knew it was time for her to go. She dialled around Dolly’s auxiliary brasses and got some names and addresses together. She packed up her belongings within four days of Pat’s death and was all ready to go when Kieron showed up with a huge bunch of flowers.

Chris let him in, of course. No way could he refuse a Delaney entry. Annie accepted that. But she didn’t need this right now. She had too much on her mind, not least of which, the fact that she had killed this man’s brother.

She came downstairs when Chris called her. Better to see him, she supposed, better to keep everything smooth and orderly. She went into the front room and there he was, lanky, blond, appealing, holding a bunch of flowers bigger than he was, the clown. She almost smiled to see it.

‘Kieron,’ she greeted him formally.

Kieron thrust the huge bouquet at her. ‘For you,’ he said. ‘As an apology. I realize I upset you last time I called, and I’m sorry. I know I’ve taken my time, but I wasn’t sure you’d see me. I’ve only just managed to pluck up the courage and now here I am.’

‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’

‘Yes I have. I’m not good at all the romantic stuff …’

‘You’re giving it a fair old try,’ said Annie, indicating the bouquet.

‘It doesn’t come naturally to me,’ rushed on Kieron. ‘I get too involved in my work, and I don’t see things until they hit me right between the eyes. You want to be just friends? Fine. We’ll be friends. So, in the spirit of friendship, Annie Bailey, come along to my new exhibition with me or I’ll have to go alone and I’ll look a great tomfool into the bargain.’

‘Kieron,’ sighed Annie. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on. I need cheering up. Red and Orla can’t come, they’re tied up with business. And we haven’t seen Pat for days, I’ve no idea where he is, but I’m hoping the bastard won’t come back.’

Try the sea, thought Annie. Bile rose in her throat at the thought. She felt strung out, having to remember to keep her story straight, scared shitless that she or one of the girls was going to say something that would cause suspicion, worried about what would happen with Ruthie and Max, and now Kieron hadn’t taken the hint. Or if he had, he was covering it up very well.

Here she was again, sitting on a perilously high fence between the Delaneys and the Carters. She seemed unable to get down from it. If anything, it seemed to be getting higher. She couldn’t see the ground any more. She barely knew which way was up.

‘As a friend only,’ warned Annie.

‘You’ll come?’ His big goofy face lit up.

‘Yes. All right. Just this once, mind.’

‘Just this once,’ agreed Kieron.