I can’t, she thought. Not right now. I’m sorry, but I can’t.
And once again she stepped into the road and followed Jackie Tulliver, the useless drunk – and also the only hope she had.
Night was closing in on them as they went to the address of one of Jackie’s ‘contacts’. The rain was swooshing down and the wipers were working overtime in the taxi. On the way, they passed the Palermo and Annie stared out at it. Earlier in the day, she’d passed it and the police tapes had been up, an officer had been there standing guard on the door. Now…
‘Stop! Stop the damned car, will you?’ she said.
‘What the…?’ asked Jackie, who’d been half-dozing, almost ready to sleep off his latest boozing session. Now he snapped awake and stared at her as the cab driver pulled in to the kerb.
Annie slapped payment into the driver’s hand and was out of the car like a long dog. She ran over to the Palermo and stood there, staring.
The police tapes were gone. There was no officer on the door. Instead, there was a white van parked outside and men were bringing out boxes of stuff. Annie saw clothes she recognized, a pink fluffy cushion perched on top of one of the bulging boxes. It fell to the pavement, soaking up wet dirt and grime. Someone bent, snatched it back up, stuffed it back in the box.
‘Holy shit,’ said Annie under her breath, and hurried inside.
40
‘What’s going on?’ bleated Jackie. ‘I thought you wanted-’
Annie wasn’t even listening. She shot off inside the club, blundering past the removals men, almost running past Pete the barman, and then she hared across the club floor and up the stairs, nearly knocking over another bloke coming down with another full box of Dolly’s belongings. She barged into the flat and stared around in disbelief.
They’d stripped it. The rug with Dolly’s blood on it was gone, and all her little ornaments. Everything. From the bedroom next door she could hear men laughing, a radio playing Whitney Houston, who was blasting out ‘One Moment in Time’ as they disassembled Dolly’s bed, cleaned out her bedroom, trampled on her memory.
In the middle of the sitting room stood Caroline, Gary’s latest squeeze. She saw Annie there and her mouth formed a cat’s-bum pout of dislike.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ demanded Annie.
‘What does it look like?’
Annie felt like she’d had a gutful. She barrelled forward and grabbed the front of Caroline’s dress. Caroline let out a squawk of surprise. Annie’s eyes bored into hers from inches away.
‘It looks like you’re taking the piss,’ said Annie. ‘That’s what it looks like. This is Dolly’s home, you silly tart.’
‘What did you call me?’
‘You heard. Would you jump into her grave this fast, you cow?’
‘You’d better let go of me,’ said Caroline, writhing against Annie’s grip as Jackie walked into the room.
‘Hey! Ladies, no need to get rough now…’ he started, waving his hands around. It was the most animated Annie had seen him since she got back, and that angered her all the more, that he was defending this stupid bint who thought she could swan in here and turn Dolly’s memory to ashes in the blink of an eye.
‘Shut your trap, Jackie,’ Annie shot back at him over her shoulder. She gave Caroline a shake. ‘And you! Explain yourself.’
‘Explain what?’ spat out Caroline. ‘Gary said I was going to take over here, and that’s what I’m damned well doing, OK? I’m just cleaning out all this old crap.’
‘Old crap?’ Annie’s eyes glinted with rage. ‘You cheeky little pisser! This is Dolly’s place.’
‘This was her place,’ corrected Caroline. ‘The Bill have said they’ve got all they need in here, and we can clear it out. I’ve got the decorators coming in tomorrow, got to get shot of all this fucking pink tat first.’
Suddenly the rage drained out of Annie like someone had released a valve. Dolly was dead, and actually? This bitch was right. Things were moving on. But to think of this prancing little clown in here running the show, riding roughshod over all that Dolly had so painstakingly built up, it stuck in her gullet to even think of that. But what could she do? Precisely nothing.
‘You say Gary gave you the word on this?’ asked Annie coldly.
‘Damned right. And he got his orders straight from your old man.’
‘What?’ Annie stared at her. ‘Max has been in touch with Gary? Since Dolly got shot? When?’
‘Couple of damned days ago. Gary filled him in on what happened, and asked if I could step in. Mr Carter said yes. You going to let go of this dress? You’re creasing the fabric.’
‘I’ll crease your fucking fabric in a minute,’ snapped Annie. ‘You never heard of the word “respect”? Dolly’s only just cold, and you’re in here already. It’s not right.’
‘It is right, your damned husband says it’s OK and he owns the place. So what the hell you’re beefing about, I really don’t know. Take it up with him.’
I wish I damned well could, thought Annie. Her head was reeling. Max had phoned Gary, and if that was the case maybe he’d also called the Prospect villa. She’d check that when she got back to the hotel. With a disdainful flick of the wrist she released Caroline, who staggered back a pace.
‘You’re fucking berserk, you are,’ said Caroline, brushing down the front of her dress. ‘Gary always said you were, and he’s right. Having marriage troubles, he said. You and Mr Carter. And meeting you? I’m not surprised.’
Marriage troubles? Since when had Max and her been having marriage troubles? This was the first she’d heard of it.
Jesus, Max, what’s going on with you? Where the hell are you?
‘Life goes on, you know,’ said Caroline, brushing past her and past Jackie, and going to the door of the flat.
‘Yeah.’ Annie turned and gave Jackie a bleak look. ‘Just not for Dolly.’
Caroline kept on walking. Annie could see she didn’t give a shit. Life had just bounced her a big result; she’d caught herself a nightclub manager and now she was going to step into Dolly’s shoes and have the running of the Palermo. Probably she’d get Tony and the Jag to queen it around town in too. No wonder she was so made up with it all.
Sickened, Annie stood there as Caroline vanished back downstairs. Jackie looked at the floor.
‘It’s fucking sad,’ he said. ‘About Dolly.’
‘Yeah,’ said Annie, thinking that she’d like to kick Gary Tooley’s balls up around his ears somewhere. ‘Ain’t it just. Come on, let’s go see this fucking contact of yours.’
41
‘It’s years since I’ve been in a nightclub,’ said Redmond, looking around at the lush gold and brown decor of the Blue Parrot as Gary greeted him in the foyer. ‘We owned some, you know. My family. Back in the dim distant past,’ he said in that almost hypnotically soft southern Irish lilt.
And they were all burned to the ground, he thought.
‘Really,’ said Gary Tooley, uninterested.
Redmond took his time looking over this strange stork-like individual. He was too tall, too thin, his hair swept back and coloured a bright blond. His eyes were the eyes of a killer; pale, uncaring. Redmond recognized a kindred spirit, someone who could be every bit as vicious as himself.
‘So,’ said Redmond after they’d shaken hands. ‘This information you’ve got for me…’
‘Yeah. You’ll be amazed,’ said Gary. ‘Come on up.’
He led the way up the stairs at the side of the big room, escorted Redmond into an office, closed the door behind them. He sat down behind the desk, while Redmond sat in front of it. Then Redmond sat there and stared at Gary Tooley expectantly. Gary swallowed; he seemed all of a sudden nervous.