Blood Falls (37 page)

‘Course I know what it is. Why?’

‘Are you the filth?’

‘What? No, I’m not the fucking filth.’ The caution he’d given himself just a second before was instantly forgotten. He wanted to tear Morton’s heart out.

‘You’re working for them, though? An undercover agent or something?’

Fenton tried to speak: ‘Mr Morton, I can’t for the life of me conceive what—’

Morton silenced him with a shake of his head. ‘You were sent here by the cops, weren’t you?’

Leon was speechless. This was just about the worst insult he could imagine. He felt his pulse racing; the answering thump of his migraine as the bugle call of stress rang out:
Yes, I’ll come and play
…

He got hold of himself, took another deep, steadying breath and gave Danny Morton his best man-to-man, straight-talking look. ‘What the
fuck
do you mean by that?’

Morton raised one arm in the air, as if hailing a cab. The woman marched over and slapped a rolled-up newspaper into his hand like a relay racer passing the baton. Morton opened it out, slapped it down on the table and jabbed a finger at the photograph of Leon, glad-handing the mayor and the chief constable.

‘This,’ he said. ‘This is what I
fucking
mean.’

Sixty-Six

JOE ORDERED COFFEE
and a ham sandwich. Alise accepted a glass of juice. She wasn’t eating much, she said, partly because the pain medication left her slightly nauseous, and partly because several teeth were loose. It was touch and go whether they’d heal.

‘What made you come here?’ Joe asked. ‘Why not back to London?’

‘Because I have nothing there. In hospital I was able to check email. My company have made me redundant.’

Joe tutted. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Plus I am still seeing doctors in Plymouth. Someone had told me Looe was nice, so I thought … why not? I like it here. The lady at hotel is very kind.’

‘And what about the other reason?’

To her credit, Alise didn’t pretend to be confused by his question. What he got was a short, harsh sigh.

‘Now more than ever before, I have to know what happened to Kamila.’

‘Is that why you called me?’

‘I suppose. You believed in me. I went away so happy, so excited, sure that you would help me. Now Leon has done this, it is certain he hurt Kamila.’ Her voice became cold. ‘Killed her, probably. This is what we have to think now, yes?’

‘What happened to Kamila isn’t necessarily the same thing that
happened to you.’ Alise started to protest, but Joe raised his hand to placate her. ‘I want to know more about Derek Cadwell. No one else seems to have heard this rumour you mentioned.’

She withdrew into herself. He could see pain in her eyes. And guilt.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘If you really know something, tell me how you found out.’

‘You remember the man we see in the cafe? Ben?’

‘He told you the secret?’ Joe recalled how the man had glared at Alise.

‘Yes. He was at the funeral home one night. Cadwell thought he had gone. There was the body of … a young girl.’ Alise shuddered. ‘Cadwell … was undressing.’

‘And Leon filmed it?’

‘Later Ben hears about a camera hidden in the room. Leon knew this is valuable information, but not if rumours get out, because then Cadwell’s business is finished. It is kept very secret.’

‘So how come Ben told you?’

Her eyes closed and opened in a slow, deliberate blink:
You work it out
.

And then he did. ‘Oh, Alise. I’m sorry.’

She gave a defiant flick of her head. ‘Why sorry? It is my decision, my shame. For Kamila, I become a whore.’ A quiet sob escaped from her throat.

‘That’s not what you are.’

Alise shrugged. ‘I don’t care. To stop Leon, I would do anything.’

This was the first time she’d stated an objective beyond learning what had become of her sister. It was perfectly understandable under the circumstances.

‘I can appreciate how you feel, but it’s not quite as simple as that.’

‘You tell me this? You think I do not know?’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘The police will not listen, so we must do something else.’

‘What?’

‘Kill him.’

Joe automatically glanced round, but the cafe’s other customers appeared to be taking no interest in them. When he looked back Alise was studying him carefully, a sympathetic smile on her face. Behind the smile, rock-solid determination.

‘If you say no, fine. I understand. I do it myself. I wait till I am stronger, and then kill him.’

‘What d’you come here for?’ Morton asked. He was slouched in his seat, legs splayed, as if to demonstrate how angry he could be when he was relaxed.

‘It’s a business proposition,’ Fenton offered.

‘Not the monkey. The organ grinder.’ Morton spat the words, staring hard at Leon.

‘We want to do a deal with you.’

‘What kind of deal?’

Once again, Leon was struck dumb. Start off cagey and it would look weak, suspicious. But if he came right out with it, he’d have no other cards to play.

‘I’m not going into detail till I know if we can trust you.’

Morton laughed. ‘Why’d you think I’d be interested in a deal with you?’ He put one foot on the table, stamping his heel on the newspaper. ‘This says you’re squeaky clean. Got your tongue up the arse of any number of cops and politicians and fucking journalists.’

Leon shook his head. ‘Ignore what that says. It has nothing to do with this meeting. I didn’t even realise it was coming out.’

‘You didn’t realise – or maybe you thought I wouldn’t see it,’ Morton echoed. ‘Either way, you fucked up big time.’

The comment drew sniggers from the men either side of him. Even the woman, who’d retreated to the back of the room, turned and smiled. Leon looked away in disgust and caught Glenn eyeing her up.

‘The article’s bullshit,’ he told Morton. ‘But it gets the police off my back.’

‘A deliberate strategy on our part,’ Fenton confirmed. ‘Whatever your concerns, please believe that we are quite genuine. We have a very valuable proposal for you.’

Morton didn’t seem any more convinced. ‘Babe,’ he said, clicking his fingers.

The woman approached, her head tilted to one side. Her expression indicated that she was listening to something. Leon leaned slightly and saw she was wearing an earpiece.

‘We safe?’ Morton asked her. ‘Nobody listening in?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Good.’ He dragged his foot off the table, slapped his knees and sat up straight. ‘The thing is, Leon, I’m a villain. I make a living from the proceeds of crime, and I’m proud of it. I’m also proud that in more than twenty years I’ve only spent three of ’em inside, and I don’t intend to ever repeat that experience. But what I won’t do is go sucking up to the filth. If my picture’s in the paper it means something’s gone seriously fucking wrong.’

More laughter, but Morton wasn’t done yet. He signalled at the woman, who stood at his shoulder, gazing serenely into the middle distance. She cleared her throat and began to speak.

‘Leon Race, age thirty-six. Born and resides in North Cornwall. Parents deceased. Undistinguished family, no accomplishments of note.’

Her voice was like a TV newsreader’s, calm and smooth. The words rolled out so swiftly that Leon barely understood them, but he felt a sick heat prickling the pores on his face.

‘Raised on a council estate, Race was a hooligan and small-time criminal until the age of seventeen. He then spent approximately three years living in Cheltenham as a result of meeting Terence Povey-Jones, alias Raymond T. Lockhart, disgraced peer, convicted fraudster and predatory homosexual.’

‘What about that, eh?’ Danny was addressing Clive and Glenn, realising they were in the dark. ‘Your boss shacked up with Pervy Povey, as I think he used to be called.’

Leon was rigid with shock. He’d never told anybody about the man who had set him on the path of a careful, lucrative and seemingly law-abiding career.

‘He was a poof, but he never went near me,’ Leon said. Danny Morton just raised his eyebrows and motioned for the woman to continue.

‘The exact nature of their relationship is unknown,’ she said, and somehow that snide phrase hurt Leon more than an outright accusation. ‘Following Povey-Jones’s death in 1994, from an AIDs-related illness, Leon returned to his home town with the funds to launch his first business. Originally involved in the drugs trade, in recent years his illegal activity has been restricted to money laundering on behalf of several long-term associates. His current earnings are primarily achieved through legitimate means.’ A brief smile, and she was done.

What followed was the most excruciating silence Leon had ever known. Danny Morton watched him through narrowed eyes, a born predator.

‘You think I’d let you come swanning in here without knowing anything about you?’ He shook his head. ‘Sure, you haven’t done bad, given your start in life. But you’re still a fucking hick, running a two-bit outfit in the back of beyond. What can you offer us?’

Fenton opened his mouth, shut it again at a look from Morton.

‘Either you’ve got ideas above your station, and you reckon I’ll agree to a deal where you do better out of it than me. Or it’s some kind of trick. Maybe your buddies in blue thought sending a dumbfuck yokel would make me less suspicious. But I ain’t falling for it.’

Leon didn’t respond. He wasn’t processing the words any more. Morton was just a noisy snarl of hate. Instead he concentrated on the voice in his head, working on him like anaesthetic, softly chanting:
You’re never gonna get him. You’re never gonna get him. You’re never gonna get him
.

Fenton made a last attempt at rescue. ‘Mr Morton, please. None of what you’ve said is relevant to the offer we have for you.’

‘So what is it?’ Danny said. ‘If you’re genuine, put your cards on the table right now. If you’re not, fuck off out of my sight and don’t ever come back.’

But Fenton wasn’t authorised to say. He sent Leon a silent plea:
Please tell him. Put us all out of our misery
.

Leon understood the desperation, but he couldn’t do it. He’d been humiliated to a point beyond his worst nightmares. He would rather die than give this man anything at all.

‘I don’t trust you,’ he said. He knew he sounded like an amateur. Compared to Morton, he
was
an amateur.

‘So what the fuck are you doing here?’

‘I-I thought we could talk—’

‘Ah, that’s nice. Get to know each other first?’ Danny put on a simpering voice, pursing his lips into a kiss. ‘You don’t go all the way on a first date, is that what you’re saying?’

Leon wanted to throw himself across the table and throttle Morton with his bare hands, but the men who guarded him were alert to that possibility. They’d cut him down in a second.

Suddenly Leon knew that never in his life had he felt as stupid and worthless as he did right now. There was no way back from this, no way out but defeat, and the only thing that allowed him to keep any pride or dignity at all was the knowledge that he could at least deny Morton the ultimate prize, even though Morton himself wouldn’t know it.

Joe’s all mine, and you’re never gonna get him
.

Sixty-Seven

JOE RAN THROUGH
what had happened since last Wednesday. He was cautious when it came to explaining how and why he’d gone to work for Leon Race. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the reaction he’d provoked from Patrick Davy, but if anything Alise was too excited about it.

‘So you see Leon, at the house? You can get close to him?’

‘Alise, I’m not going to assassinate him.’

With a certain reluctance, she nodded, listening patiently as he described his visit to Jamie Pearse.

‘He says Kamila called him, around the time she last spoke to you, boasting that she’d found someone else.’

‘Leon,’ Alise murmured.

‘Possibly.’ Joe paused. ‘Pearse also claims that Kamila ran out on him after stealing a lot of money and valuables.’

Alise sighed so heavily that Joe felt awful for adding to her burdens. ‘I keep asking her, how do you pay for this travelling? How much did this man give to you? Always she hid from the questions.’

She dabbed at her eyes, very gingerly, with the edge of her hand. ‘If Kamila did this, she would have a reason. It changes nothing for me.’

‘Nor me,’ Joe said. ‘And I’ll do what I can to help you.’ To avoid a
show of gratitude that he knew he didn’t deserve, he added, ‘But I’m worried about you staying here.’

She shrugged off the concern. ‘No one knows I am in Looe.’

‘Maybe not. But they’re probably monitoring the local news, waiting to hear that your body was discovered on the Rame peninsula. If they think you’ve survived, they might already be on the search.’

She absorbed the warning, her expression solemn, then said simply: ‘I will take the chance.’ The glint in her eyes told Joe he’d achieve little by arguing.

He could see she was getting tired, so he accompanied her back to her hotel, which turned out to be virtually opposite the railway station. Alise moved slowly and with difficulty, limping from a badly sprained ankle, her posture affected by a couple of cracked ribs. Joe did the best he could to help, letting her cling to his arm as she walked.

When it came time to say farewell, Joe kissed her on the cheek and promised to do everything he could to get answers for her.

Back at the van, he thought about how best to manage his absence. It was now almost three-thirty, and very tempting to make straight for Trelennan. If he chose to return to the depot in Glastonbury he was looking at another four or five hours on the road.

Then again, he decided, a late return to Leon’s might not be a bad thing.

Climbing into the van, he spotted the newspaper that Kestle had thrust at him this morning. He leafed through it, and quickly saw why Leon wanted everyone to have a copy.

Joe read the article in a state of incredulous fury. It took exactly the line that Giles had promised to take: portraying Leon as the unlikely poster boy for Little Englanders everywhere. It wasn’t so much fiction as a dangerous fantasy, and it made Joe determined to disprove every word.