He glanced at her glass. ‘You’re not drinking.’
‘No. I can’t face it.’
‘You should drink. It’ll make you feel a bit better.’
Kathy laughed. ‘It’d take more than a glass of wine to make me feel better, Harry.’
‘I could get you a bottle of something else. What do you like? Vodka? Scotch?’
He is feeling guilty, she thought. He’d feel better if I died with a smile on my face. Some hope. This was why he was talking so much-his guilt, and presumably because there was no one else to confess to, apart from North, who wouldn’t have understood his need. Kathy doubted if Connie knew much of the real story.
‘I don’t think so, Harry. Here, you have the wine.’
He shrugged and took the glass. ‘Look,’ he said, so softly she had to lean over to hear, ‘I’ll do what I can to help you, okay? Don’t worry, and for God’s sake don’t annoy him.’
‘Are you a Catholic?’ she asked.
‘Lapsed,’ he said, surprised. A sudden look of consternation appeared on his face, as if he thought she might be about to demand a priest to give her the last rites. ‘Why?’
‘Just wondered. So you walked up to North in the mall and said, I know who you are, did you?’ Kathy asked. ‘He must have been pleased.’
‘Not quite like that. I followed him out to his car and we had a conversation. I told him who I was, and said that before I decided whether to turn him in, I had a proposition to put to him. I said I was looking for a partner to help me steal a few million quid, if he was still in the business.’
‘He believed you?’
‘After a while. He told me he’d come back to the UK to see his girlfriend, Sophie, who had had his kid while he was abroad. He’d never seen the little girl, and he wanted to persuade Sophie to come away with him. His funds were running low, too, and he’d been talking to one or two old mates about doing another job. Only he was finding that people weren’t so pleased to see him, after all the publicity he’d got the last time.’
‘The bank job in the City. He killed two coppers. Didn’t that bother you, Harry? Or did your amazing discovery that everyone has to die one day make that all right?’
Kathy had resolved not to antagonize him, but there was something so self-absorbed about the way he was going on that she hadn’t been able to hold back the bitter words.
Jackson looked sharply at her. ‘I’d watch that tongue, Kathy. You won’t find North as patient as me.’
She bit back a reply.
He looked away, as if he was losing interest in talking further with her, and she came in quickly with the question she most needed answered, but dreaded most.
‘You didn’t answer my question about Kerri Vlasich. Did Verdi kill her?’
He looked down at his shoes, then rose slowly to his feet. ‘I think we’ve talked enough.’
‘Who did kill her, if he didn’t?’
He was checking his watch again. For a moment he seemed about to say something, but then shook his head and began to walk away.
‘You did, didn’t you, Harry?’ Kathy said. ‘Kerri used to baby-sit for Sophie Bryant, and one time she saw you there, with North, and recognised you from Silvermeadow. That’s why she had to die.’
Jackson stopped and looked back at her, his face expressionless.
It had been a guess, but the only way Kathy could see that Kerri could have put herself at risk was by baby-sitting for North’s girlfriend. Seeing North alone would have meant nothing to her, but seeing Jackson with North would mean something once the robbery had been carried out and North’s picture was in every newspaper. Then Jackson’s dream of a quiet retirement with Connie would be blown, and, like North, he would be on the run for ever more.
And it meant that Jackson was prepared to kill for that dream; that he hadn’t just tolerated North’s murdering, but had himself killed in order to protect himself. Which was why his words of reassurance to Kathy, that he would do what he could to help her, were meaningless.
‘Come on, Harry,’ she whispered. ‘You didn’t seriously think you were in the clear, did you? We’ve had you in our sights for over a week now. That Mediterranean villa just isn’t an option any more. We’re still short of proof to pin you for Kerri’s murder, but if you kill me too, Brock will never let you rest. There won’t be the remotest corner of the world you can hide in. Your one chance is to use the fact that you’ve got me to do a deal with Brock. Go to him, tell him you never intended anyone to get hurt in the robbery, that North did all the killing. I’ll confirm that he shot Orr in cold blood, with you not here. Tell Brock to do the best he can for you, and tell him where I am. He’ll be grateful, Harry. So will I. This is the only chance you’ve got.’
‘You two are doing a lot of talking.’ North’s voice, harsh and suspicious, emerged from the shadows.
Jackson jumped, turned round quickly. ‘Yeah.’
‘What have you got to talk about, for fuck’s sake.’ North’s voice definitely was more slurred than before. ‘You look red, Harry. What’s the problem?’
‘No problem. The bitch has been working on me the same as she was on you, Greg.’
‘Yeah, right. Let’s do the bitch, get it over.’ He drew something from his pocket. With a sharp click the blade snapped open.
‘Hang on, Greg!’ Jackson said with alarm. ‘Brock knows more than we thought. That’s what I’ve been getting out of her. Looks like we may need her as a hostage.’
‘You reckon?’ North licked his upper lip, disappointed and suspicious. ‘I want to send Brock a message, when he finds her. Something he’ll remember.’
‘Sure, Greg, sure.’ Jackson was looking rattled, and Kathy thought she should try to ease North off this line of thought.
‘Why are you still here?’ she asked him. ‘That’s what I don’t understand. Why haven’t you made your move already?’
He looked at her with a sly, dangerous smile. ‘Safest place, darling. Tomorrow, Christmas Day, I become a pilgrim.’ Sniggering at this thought, he reached down into the suitcase and pulled out a priest’s dog collar. ‘Special trip for the God squad. Dawn charter flight from Luton, Christmas lunch in Bethlehem, afternoon in the Holy Land, Christmas dinner on the evening flight back, minus one pilgrim.’
‘Optimum timing, right?’ Jackson said, his voice mechanical, talking to make time while he tried to get his brain to work. ‘Robbery on the peak Saturday before Christmas for maximum takings, and getaway on Christmas Day when the search has died down and security’s thin on the ground.’
Kathy thought about that. The accidental finding of Kerri’s body must have rattled them, bringing dozens of police to Silvermeadow at just the wrong time. Killing Speedy had been a desperate improvisation to persuade them to close the case and leave before the planned day of the robbery.
North had turned and wandered back to the other side of the room, folding the blade of the flick-knife back into its handle. A toilet bucket had been improvised over there, and they heard him peeing, loud and long.
Kathy looked carefully at Jackson, wondering if she’d made any impression at all. His complexion had washed out to a sick grey, a film of sweat on his brow.
‘Must be just like home from home for him in here, Harry,’ she said. ‘He’s spent half of his life in prison. What about you? How long will you last inside?’
‘Give it a rest,’ he muttered. ‘And for Christ’s sake don’t wind him up again this time.’ He got to his feet.
‘You’re leaving?’ she asked in alarm.
‘I’ve got to close up the mall. Don’t worry, he won’t touch you as long as we might need you for insurance. I’ll be back later.’
‘Then what?’
‘I told you, I’ll do what I can.’
‘Somehow that doesn’t reassure me, Harry.’
‘I’m not giving this up, Kathy,’ he whispered angrily. ‘I’ve come too far to do that.’