‘Could be. Maybe he ran out of money. Came back for more.’
‘And you think, what, that the Sloanes had him killed?’
‘Worth bearing in mind.’
They kept looking at each other. Anni saw a gleam in Mickey’s eye, a slight upward pull at the sides of his mouth. He moved in closer to her.
‘Stop it … ’
‘Haven’t done anything.’
‘And you’re not going to. We’ve got work to do.’
They went back to the screen.
‘The Sloanes,’ said Mickey. ‘Brother and sister. Bloodbath house of death, and all that.’
‘That’s them.’
He tapped some keys, brought up a different screen. ‘Yeah. Thought so. They were left for dead when their adopted brother went mental with a shotgun. He killed the rest of the family, including his own mother. Stuart Sloane, that was his name.’
Anni frowned. ‘Stuart Sloane … ’
Mickey peered closer. ‘And here’s something else. Guess who the first person was to find Stuart Sloane with the shotgun?’
‘No idea.’
‘Graham Watts.’
Anni looked at him. ‘Interesting. When was this?’
‘Sixteen, seventeen years ago.’
She turned back to her screen. ‘Stuart Sloane was released on Friday. He never made it to the hostel. Disappeared.’
‘And now Graham Watts is dead.’
Anni shrugged. ‘Coincidence?’
‘Dunno.’ Mickey sat back, thinking. ‘There’s something else. Wait … Didn’t … ’ He frowned in concentration. ‘Wasn’t there some connection with them in that murder case Jessie James was looking into?’
Anni smiled. ‘Just can’t take her seriously with that name.’
‘That guy she went to question. Turned up dead. He had some connection with the Sloanes, I think.’
Mickey’s phone rang. He checked the display. ‘Franks,’ he said. He picked up.
Anni watched him as his eyes widened.
‘Is she OK?’
She knew immediately who he was talking about, and gestured for him to put the phone on loudspeaker, but he was concentrating too intently on what Franks was saying. She moved closer and tried to follow the conversation, but it was too one-sided, so she settled for waiting until it had finished.
Eventually Mickey hung up. Anni looked at him expectantly. ‘Well?’
‘Marina called. She’s alive and well. He’s going to meet her tonight.’
Questions tumbled through Anni’s mind, one fast on the heels of another.
‘That’s all I know,’ Mickey said, pre-empting what she was about to say next. ‘All he could tell me.’
‘So are we on for tonight too, whatever it is?’
‘No, we’re not.’ Mickey sounded disappointed. ‘I told him we were turning up connections in the murder of Graham Watts and the Suffolk murder. He wants us to keep working that. Apparently our presence might cause a distraction.’ Mickey’s intonation made it clear what he thought about that.
‘Is that so?’
‘We’re too closely associated with Marina.’
‘So we’re good enough to look for her but not good enough to bring her in.’
‘Apparently.’
‘So we just stay here. Keep on keeping on.’
‘Yeah.’ He thought for a few seconds. ‘I’m glad she’s OK, though.’
‘Hope she’s looked after my car.’ Anni looked again at the screen. ‘And we’ve got plenty to be going on with. We’ll be here for a while, I think.’
‘We will.’
She looked round. The office was empty apart from them. She turned back to him, a glint in her eye this time. ‘You ever wanted to have me here, on my desk?’
Mickey’s mouth dropped open. Words seem to form but failed to escape.
Anni giggled, pushed her leg nearer to his. ‘Have I shocked you?’
Mickey swallowed, blinked. Twice. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘Not shocked.’
‘What then?’
The glint reappeared in his eye.
‘Just amazed that you can read my mind … ’
75
Marina had never experienced anything like it.
The barn was huge, modern and functional. Metal sheets clad to a concrete skeleton. Concrete floor. It had been cleared of its day-to-day use with bales of hay pushed to the walls alongside farming machinery, but it couldn’t shake off the farm smelclass="underline" animal waste, nitrates. Marina was sure it never would. That smell had permeated into the foundations. But it was about to be joined by other, more pungent smells. Sweat. Blood. Money.
She had returned to Sandro’s house and told him the news about Phil. Sandro hugged her, somewhat awkwardly. She knew that wasn’t the kind of thing he was comfortable with but was pleased he had done it. Because that gesture of affection made her, for the first time in her life, feel an abiding love for him. And she was sure he knew it.
And that in turn made her feel guilty about the phone call she had made to Franks. But she would deal with that later, as Sandro had to prepare for the fight and she had to ready herself too. She was going to get her daughter back. No matter what it took.
Sandro emerged from the bathroom, his gym bag over his shoulder, all tracked and hoodied up. She tried to talk to him but he barely responded. She checked his eyes. Her brother wasn’t there any more. In his place was another person. Harder, colder, angrier. A fighter. Marina had flinched. She had looked in her brother’s eyes and glimpsed their father.
They had taken Sandro’s near-dead and rusted-out Mondeo, as she didn’t want to be spotted in Anni’s car. They had driven in near silence. Next to each other but inhabiting different worlds. Both focused on what they had to do in the next few hours.
Turning off the main road and driving up to the farm, Marina had been amazed. They had had to join a long queue of cars to get in. She had expected them all to be like Sandro’s — junkers and clunkers, all tattered and falling apart. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Although there were a fair few cars like that, there were also plenty top-of-the-range numbers, BMWs, Mercs, some Lexus models, dotted about.
There was also security on the gate. Stringent, serious. Big guys who looked like they could double for the night’s entertainment took money and gave directions. Sandro didn’t pay. He was just given a nod of recognition, directed to a field that had been turned into a car park. There, as in the queue to get in, status symbols rubbed bumpers with working Land Rovers, pristine 4x4s, Transits and rust buckets. It was, Marina was amazed to discover, one of the most truly democratic gatherings she had ever been to. All united in their wish to watch two people beat each other up.
Marina followed Sandro to the barn. When they reached the entrance, he stopped, turned to her.
‘Time to part company for a bit, kid.’
Marina looked round. She didn’t welcome the idea of being left alone in this environment. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Got to get ready.’ He held up his fists. ‘Got to prepare.’
‘Right. Of course. Good luck.’ She kissed him on the cheek.
He smiled. ‘Jesus Christ, woman, you’ll be gettin’ me a reputation for being soft.’
She smiled in return, then quickly scanned the entering crowd.
‘They’ll be here. Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘And you know where I’ll be when you need me.’ He walked away. Turned. ‘I’m third on the card, remember.’
Marina watched as Sandro walked towards a group of men just inside the door. An older man stood in the centre of the gathering, the men around him bodyguards or acolytes. He was middle-aged, well dressed. His corpulent figure and red and pink features made him look like a huge boiled pig. Marina recognised him. Milton Picking, one of the biggest gangsters in the region.