“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.