Truth Dare kill

TWENTY THREE

I woke next morning in Mary’s cathouse wondering what to do first. I had to move fast. I was on a countdown with Jonny Crane. He might look like a nancy accountant – some gravy with these casseroled books, sir? – but I’d found from my Glasgow days that they could be the worst. All that inner turmoil.

I’d have liked to question Liza Caldwell some more, find out if she knew about Kate’s bad habits. Our last little chat had been interrupted. I lay thinking how I could get to her. I’d chanced my arm too often stalking her in Hampstead.

Could I lure her away somewhere?

But Kate was the real target. I couldn’t make a return visit to Onslow Square;

I’d be shot on sight. Could I tail her? Get her in her car and spirit her off somewhere? More than ever now I couldn’t rely on the rozzers to help me. It was all down to me.

It was seven am but it still seemed very dark despite my curtains being a fraction ajar. I got up and peered out at a real London pea-souper. Spring had come too early. The weather matched my thoughts. I couldn’t think clearly. Maybe I should abandon the trail and make a run for it; get across the Channel. Europe was still in such a mess that one more piece of flotsam would go unnoticed.

There was a knock on my door and it was opened before I could say yea or nay.

Mary sailed in. I suppose she was within her rights; it was her house. And she was carrying the right passport: two cups of tea. She put one down by my bedside table and sat on my bed, delicately holding the other. Mary had no social conversation; she came straight out with whatever was on her whirring little mind. I liked that. Usually.

“Time you go, Danny. Too many police after you. Too much trouble for me.”

I slurped my tea alongside her. “I know, Mary. You’ve been great, so you have.

And I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“You need money? I lend you money. Good interest.”

I bet. “Thanks Mary, but I’m OK for a while. I’ve got enough to get me out of here, out of London, maybe out of England.”

She banged her cup into her saucer, and put it on the table. “You give up? After all you do? Why you give up?” She crossed her little arms with an operatic gesture of anger.

“Because the folk I’m up against don’t play by any rules I know. Because they have money and power; I have bugger all. Because even the law is bent.

Correction: it’s broken. I don’t stand a chance.”

“Huh. You face Jonny Crane. That brave. You can do next step.”

“Mary, I need to question Kate Graveney or Liza Caldwell – both, preferably – and see where that takes me. But they’ll have protection round them that’s as tight as the King’s corset.”

“Huh.” She slurped some tea and studied me, as if the answer was on my forehead but needed interpretation. “So – Kate come here.”

“Why in god’s name would she come here, Mary?”

“Cos your pal Jonny ask her.” She smiled at me to show how clever she was.

“I think I might be pushing my luck with Jonny Crane, you know. And anyway, he doesn’t know her real name far less her address.”

Mary shook her head in pity. “Thought you smart. Not so sure.”

She wasn’t going to help me any further, so I sipped at my tea for inspiration.

I got it, finally.

“OK. So someone phones her from here, saying they’re calling on Jonny Crane’s behalf. We tell her Jonny needs to speak to her. But why? What would make Kate come over? What hold would he have?”

“You think of something.”

Nothing came. I drank some more tea and continued, “And anyway, what are we going to do when She’s here? Kidnap her? Mary, I thought I’d been enough trouble already?”

“I know other place. You fix.”

She described the empty flat she had access to; I didn’t ask how. Mary waited. I sat reading my tealeaves. In their depths a plan began to form: a daft plan, wild, high risk and bloody dangerous. Maybe I should stick to coffee.

I could think of a way of getting Kate to come over to Soho, but once here I needed some way of getting her to admit to some pretty unpleasant truths. I needed a lever. I knew a lever, a big one…

Mary left me to get washed and dressed. I came down to her room and walked her through the idea. When I was finished she looked hard at me.

“You madman, you know?”

“I know. But will you help? Just one last time?”

“You get lot of luck for helping madman. What you want? You want gun, I get you gun.”

It was tempting. An elephant gun preferably. “Not this time, Mary. Thanks. I just want you or one of the girls to make that call for me.”

We let Colette sleep till nine before waking her up. She came into Mary’s room blowsy and grumpy. It took two cigarettes and a pot of tea before she stopped grousing and began to take in what we were asking. Then her sunny nature began to show through and she entered the spirit of things. It was all part of the human drama that Colette lived for every day.

I gave her the little script I’d prepared and we crowded round the pay phone in Mary’s hall. We were praying Kate was at home. It wasn’t the sort of message you could leave with Millie. Colette put her twopence in and got the operator.

Colette gave her the Chelsea number and it began to ring. She pressed button A.

“Good morning, Graveney residence. Who is calling please?” It sounded like the butler that I’d brandished the gun at. He was back to his pompous self.

Colette’s rough accent jarred against the posh tones. “I wanna speak to Kate Graveney, please.”

I could picture him holding the phone well away from his cultured ear. “I’m sorry, Miss Graveney is not down yet. May I ask who is calling? Perhaps Miss Graveney can call you back?”

“Listen, you old fart, I want to speak to Kate, now! You hear? Tell her it’s about Sheila. She’ll know what I mean.”

“I need to know your name, please.” There was a bit of panic and anger creeping into his voice; no wonder, with Colette blasting his ear. He wasn’t used to having guns pointed at him or whores being rude to him first thing in the morning.

Colette upped the volume; I had to step back a pace.

“Look, mate, Kate is going to be really pissed off with you if you don’t fucking get her on the phone pronto. All right? Tell her it’s about Sheila. You think you can handle that?”

I don’t know if it was the scorn or the oath that did it, but butler boy beat a retreat to find his mistress. It took a couple of the longest minutes in the world, but then we heard the phone being picked up and that familiar cool voice came through. I stopped breathing.

“Kate Graveney here. Who is this?”

“Never mind, Katy dear, or should I call you Sheila?”

I signalled frantically at Colette who was clearly getting carried away with it all. She had to tone it down, or we’d lose her. Whatever Kate was she had mettle and getting her angry would just lose her.

“Unless you tell me who you are, I’m hanging up and calling the police.”

“I don’t think you want to do that, do you, Sheila?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Don’t you like your old street name?” I winced. Colette was way off the script.

Kate had the cool tone back. “Is this blackmail? I won’t stand for it, you know.”

“Blackmail? No. Not yet. Jonny wants a word with you.”

“Jonny who?”

“Why, Sheila, you know Jonny. Jonny Crane. Soho Jonny. Your old boss.”

The line went quiet. I pressed closer. I thought Kate had gone. Then there was a sigh. “What about?” So it was true then. Right up to that point I realised I hadn’t quite believed it. I was surprised at how disappointed I felt. Like finding out about Santa.

“Money, what else. He says you owe him. He wants to see you.”

“I owe him nothing! Why should I talk to him?”

“Sheila, I’m only the messenger, deary. He just wants a little word. Today. I know Jonny. If he says he wants something, he usually gets it. It would be easier for you. Otherwise he might come knocking.”

That made her think. “How did you get this number?”

“Jonny has contacts.”

The line went quiet again, but I thought I could hear her breathing. It certainly wasn’t mine. I hadn’t taken a breath in ten minutes. “Where?”

Colette recited the address. “Two o’clock.” “Tell him he gets five minutes. And tell him I owe him nothing.” “Two o’clock. Don’t be late, Sheila.” Ouch. Colette couldn’t resist the last kick, could she? I suppose she thought of herself as the honest whore of the two. But at least the first part of the plan was underway. Now there was another call to make: one that should be easier, now I had the bait.

Mary took me round to the flat, her tiny figure nipping ahead of me like a sprite in the swirling fog. It was real Jack the Ripper weather. I only hoped the pair I’d summoned would be able to find their way through. Mary darted down the narrow street, her little clogs sounding on the cobbles. Brick house fronts sagged and curved, and the windows were tiny and multi-paned, like an Elstree film-set for Great Expectations. She stopped at a door, opened it and led me up the stairs.

The house had been broken into four bedsitters. Number three had its own door.

We went in and I found the usual dreary one room with a single bed and basic cooking facilities. The floor was bare boards. A scrap of mangy carpet lay in front of the bed. A one-bar electric fire sat dormant in the hearth. Like my own flat, there was a second door in one of the walls. Mary unlocked it and I walked into number two. We tested it. Mary stayed in three and closed the connecting door. Then she spoke. She didn’t have to shout: “You hear OK, Danny?”

“Loud and clear, Mary.” The walls were as thick as the skin on a rice pudding.

You’d have to hope your neighbour didn’t snore. Or given its likely purpose, that they weren’t screamers. But it was perfect for my purposes. It was a quarter to two. Mary left me in number two and gave me the key to the connecting door. I locked it. I also had the key to number three, which Mary left on the latch.

I pulled up the room’s only chair and lit a fag to calm my frayed nerves.

Whatever happened next door was going to be interesting. I waited.

I was on my third smoke. She was the first to arrive. The sound of those footsteps echoed in my heart. I wanted to rush through the door and shake her. I heard her pause, then push on the door of number three. She waited to see if she was alone, then walked carefully in. She stopped in the middle of the floor. I could see her eyeing the place up. There was a click: she’d switched on the fire. Then a scrape as she pulled up the chair. I heard her lighter flick and a deep suck and blow as she pulled on her cigarette. I followed suit, but quietly.

We both waited, hunched on our chairs, with a wall between us.

We heard his steps, heavy and slow. He was wary or tired. Her heart would be racing. I wanted to shield her, and suddenly regretted not taking a gun from Mary. He paused at the top then came forward to stand outside her door. I could hear his laboured breathing, like a man with emphysema.

There was a huge crash. He’d kicked the door open. I was on my feet. She must have been too. This was a mistake. His violence was uncontrollable. Stillness fell.

“Well, well, well. What a pleasant surprise. Have you been waiting for me?”

Wilson’s coarse voice carried loud and clear through the wall. She must have been terrified. And yet she managed, “What are you doing here?” with a steely hauteur that told me she did know him, and that she placed him somewhere near the earthworm on the evolutionary scale.

“I think I’m the one that usually asks questions. Are you really saying you weren’t expecting me? That you didn’t want to see me again?”

I imagined him licking his already wet lips.

“You pig! I never wanted to see you as long as I lived!” Her chair scraped and the angle of her voice altered, higher up. I knew she was now on her feet.

“That’s funny. My message from Jonny said there was a new girl here. That I should try her out. You’re not new. And I’ve tried you. But I don’t mind another go.” The door slammed. She was trapped in the room. “See, you’ve even put the fire on for us. We can get comfortable.” I heard the sound of a coat being tugged off and thrown to the ground.

“I’d rather die, you swine! I’m out of all that business!”

“Oh, I don’t think so. It’s the sort of business you don’t ever really get out of. It leaves a mark. For life. You’re as bent as your boyfriend.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Who do you think told me about you the last time? Who put me on to your dirty ways?”

“I don’t believe you, you bastard!” she screamed. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen every filthy, twisted thing in the book. More than even you could think of. Or any of your fast set. I’m no longer amazed at what people get up to. How they get their fun. And here you are, back for more.”

Kate’s voice was tearful now. “Don’t. Please don’t. Can’t you see this is a setup? Why are we both here? Think, damn you!” she cried desperately.

It seemed to stop him. I could almost hear his brain cogs meshing. “All right, let’s you and me sit and have a little think, shall we. Then we can get back to business. I’ll sit here.” I heard the bed creaking and straining. “You sit there. Now then, why are you here if it’s not to turn some tricks?”

She was desperate. “I got a message. From Jonny Crane.”

“Jonny himself?”

“No. Some little tramp. But she must have been from Jonny. She called me… she called me Sheila. The name I used.”

“I know the name. I remember the name. But so would a lot of men… Sheila. It needn’t have been Jonny.”

“Oh Christ! This is too, too horrible. I can’t stand it!” I heard her feet making for the door, but Wilson’s size was deceptive, as I knew only too well.

He slammed into the door before she’d half opened it.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” It was an order. I heard the first sob, and hated myself for doing this to her. No good saying she asked for it.

“Shut up. How did you get this message?”

She sniffed. “Phone. This morning.”

“Did Jonny have your address? Your real address?”

“No, of course not.” She blew her nose. She had guts.

“So who else would know you were coming here? Think, woman. Tony? Once more for luck, eh?”

“No!” Her voice dropped. “Nobody knew. Besides he’s been out all day.”

“Doing what?”

“He’s out stalking that crazy man, McRae.”

“Tony’s a busy boy. When you see him, tell him ta.”

“For what?”

“The tip-off.”

“About what?”

“He said McRae phoned him to boast about the latest killing. After your little drinks party with him. And that’s where we found the gun with his prints.

Lovely. Didn’t Tony mention?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“There’s a thought. Could McRae have set this up?”

“How could he know… about this… and Jonny and… things? It’s impossible.”

“He’s a tenacious little bastard. Devious…” His voice trailed away. Then I heard him move. I had just a fraction of a second to jump back and sent my chair clattering to the floor.

Then Wilson smashed through the connecting door.

He sailed on past me, bellowing and tripping over the chair and crashing down in a flurry of flailing limbs and splintering wood. Olй! His head hit the boards and the noise seemed to go on echoing forever. Then I realised Kate was screaming.

“Belt up!” I shouted.

She stopped and stood facing me through the wreckage, her beautiful hands clasping her face. We gazed down on the heap between us. Wilson wasn’t moving. I hoped he was dead. No such luck. The great bulk began stirring and a groan escaped. Kate and I were transfixed, waiting to see what he’d do. I took a step forward ready with my skilful boot.

He began to pull himself on to his knees, but his trunk and head stayed on the floor. I was about to kick him, but a great moan shook him and he fell slowly on to his side. He was clutching his stomach. Then I saw why. A spar of wood – part of a broken chair leg – stood out from between his hands. Blood was already flowing round his fingers and staining his shirt. His face was scratched and ashen. He looked like death. It suited him.

I stepped past him. I’m not sure he saw me. If he did, he didn’t recognise me. I walked up to Kate. She was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, breathing quickly.

“Oh, god. Oh god. What have we done?” Her voice carried notes of hysteria.

I took her shoulders with both hands and shook her roughly. “We haven’t done anything. He did it to himself.”

“What are we going to do? We have to get out of here.”

I thought fast. It was tempting – very tempting – to leave him here to die like a stuck pig. The world would be a better place for his departure. But I wouldn’t let a dog die like that. And more important, it would be trouble for Mary. The biggest trouble there was.

“Kate, Kate! Listen to me!” Her eyes were in shock. I wasn’t sure I was getting through. I slapped her. She blinked.

“Kate, we’re walking out of here, now. I’m taking you somewhere safe. I’m going to call an ambulance for him. OK?”

She nodded. I took her under one arm and hauled her out of the flat and down the stairs. We emerged into the murk and plunged off in the direction I thought was Mary’s. In the fog I missed the turning twice, but on the way blundered into a telephone box. I pushed Kate in with me while I called 999. She was unresisting and stood looking dumbly at me as I gave the address to the operator. I could do nothing more for Herbert Wilson. Even though I now knew he wasn’t the killer, he certainly wouldn’t get my prayers.