“Too bloody right,” she said crisply.
He sighed. “Look Kelly I don’t know what’s going on with you but I thought we were in this together. You came to me, remember? Were you really just stringing me a line like you told Yana?”
“No,” Kelly said. She opened her mouth to throw more of Yana’s allegations back at him then shut it again quickly. What would it achieve beyond a quick pointless release of temper? He was hardly likely to confirm what Yana had said and it could make an already bad situation even worse for the poor woman.
“You’re the one who’s been stringing me along,” she said coolly. “Setting me up for your pal Grogan to take care of.”
“Grogan?” he repeated with what for all the world sounded like a genuinely blank note in his voice. “What the—?” He broke off. “Kelly what the hell are you talking about? You mean Harry Grogan? He’s no pal of mine I can promise you that.”
“Nice try,” she said. “So how come I found a picture of the two of you looking very pally over some champion racehorse?”
“Hell, you’re condemning me on the strength of a photo taken God knows how long ago?” he fired back. “Yes I owned a part-share in that bloody horse—along with half a dozen other people. Grogan elbowed his way into the syndicate just so he could stand in the winner’s enclosure at Epsom. I sold my share soon afterwards and I haven’t dealt with him since. I would have expected you of all people to keep an open mind about circumstantial evidence Kelly.”
That stung, as it was intended to.
“And is it circumstantial that the same man who was at the warehouse when Ty–Tyrone was killed just happened to turn up at the racecourse yesterday?” She managed to keep her voice firm even though she stumbled over Tyrone’s name just a little. “Who else knew I was going to be there, Matthew?”
“I told nobody,” he said, brusque. “If I’d wanted to do anything to you I’d have done it the night before while you slept in my arms.”
She shivered at the intent behind his words. Here again was the ruthless streak she’d sensed in him, the drive and ambition. How far did he let it command his actions?
This is a huge mistake!
“Kelly,” he said quickly as if he knew she was about to cut the call. “Look, I get that we’ve only known each other a few days but when are you going to realise you can’t do this alone? Sooner or later you’re going to have to trust someone. Why not make that someone possibly the one person who wants to find out what the hell is going on just as much as you do?”
Kelly wavered and hated herself for it. But she still had too many questions. About his Russian dealings mainly. What had his wife discovered which so upset her shortly before her death? And had Matthew Lytton indeed murdered her?
“Clapham Common,” she heard herself say. “Near the Long Pond. Know it? You’ve got an hour.”
“I’ll be there,” he promised. “Just make sure you are.”
63
DI O’Neill drove across London with the chief super’s orders to “shake some trees” foremost in his mind. He hoped it would prove a viable defence if his visit provoked some flak.
The connection to Kelly Jacks was tenuous but it was a connection nevertheless and he would be neglecting his duties if he didn’t chase it down.
Yeah, and I can just hear you spouting that pious rubbish at your disciplinary hearing, Vincent old son.
He’d left Dempsey in the office still working his way down the list of known associates, so far without success. It seemed that anyone Jacks mixed with socially before her conviction—even her own family—had not picked up the threads again after her release. It was hard to tell if it was her choice or theirs.
Of the people she had spent time with recently, her boss was still in hospital after a vicious beating by person or persons unknown and her closest colleague was dead.
Proper little Typhoid Mary aren’t you Kelly?
O’Neill swung the pool Mondeo into the private car park and saw the figure of a man striding towards a low-slung sports car, arm outstretched to disarm the security system. O’Neill accelerated briefly and pulled up directly behind the man’s space, blocking him in.
Matthew Lytton already had the door to the Aston Martin open but he jerked round at the sound of the Mondeo’s handbrake being roughly applied. O’Neill noticed, not without satisfaction, that there was a distinct edge of guilty shock in his face.
And just what are you up to, sunshine?
“Mr Lytton,” O’Neill said cheerfully as he stepped out the car. “Going somewhere?”
The other man stiffened. “I have an appointment, detective inspector,” he said pointedly eyeing the obstruction. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
“This won’t take long sir,” O’Neill said keeping his own expression blank and official. “Here or down the station—it’s up to you.”
Lytton gave a heavy sigh and closed the Aston’s door. It shut with a solid expensive thunk. “Let’s get on with it then shall we? Believe it or not I have a business to run.”
“Of course you do sir,” O’Neill said soothingly and watched the slight relaxation of the other man’s shoulders before he hit him with the next question. “Kelly Jacks—you wouldn’t have heard from her by any chance?”
Lytton was good. If O’Neill hadn’t been watching intently he wouldn’t have caught the betraying little tells of tension in the other man’s face and body, the way he shifted his feet as if for a sudden getaway.
“Why would I?” He should have left it there but was unable to prevent himself adding, “She cleaned part of my house—once. On that basis we’re hardly likely to exchange Christmas cards are we?”
O’Neill leaned his hip against the Aston’s rear quarter, folding his arms. “I think there’s a little more to your relationship than that isn’t there, sir?” And he noted with interest the uncomfortable reaction but Lytton didn’t make the mistake of bluster. He took a moment to resettle himself and then merely cocked an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
O’Neill glanced around at the upmarket cars surrounding him, at the heavily revamped building they were parked outside and his eyes narrowed, assessing. “This one of your developments is it?”
“Yes it is. And?”
“Made quite a tidy sum out of the property game over the years haven’t you Mr Lytton? I understand it’s all a question of luck—happening across the right place at the right time for the right money. That so?”
“Yes,” Lytton said curtly and this time he didn’t try to expand or explain. O’Neill took that as his cue to cut to the chase. No point in playing with someone if they weren’t prepared to play.