Risking It All (14 page)

‘Fran?’ Morgan was prompting.

‘I’ve told you everything,’ I said.

She drummed her fingers on the table and stared at me. ‘You met Duke. What did you think of him?’

‘Not much, a bit weird.’

‘Weird?’

‘Sort of creepy.’

‘But good at his job, presumably, because he found you.’

‘I suppose so,’ I said uneasily, not sure where this was leading.

‘Did you ask him how he found you?’

Now it was my turn to be startled. No, I hadn’t, oddly enough, either through fear of what he might say, or for the shock of hearing my mother was alive and wanted to see me. It should have been an obvious question but I hadn’t put it. But how
had
the wretched Duke found me?

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t think to ask at the time. I’ve no idea.’

‘Suppose I could suggest to you the way he tracked you down?’ She was eyeing me again, sizing me up.

I was even more uneasy, but I really did want to know, and said so.

‘In his wallet we found a newspaper cutting from the
Camden
Journal.
It was about your street being flooded just before Christmas. It gave the names of some of those who’d had basement flats and come off worst. Just a guess, but possibly your mother saw that in the local rag, figured there could only be one Fran Varady, and cut it out. She gave it to Duke and asked him to seek you out.’

‘Makes sense,’ I agreed, but my mind was running on. Belatedly my brain had woken up and was now throwing out ideas like sparks from a Catherine wheel. Amongst other things, I was miffed that Morgan had known all along about my being flooded out, but had still made me explain it to her.

‘So he spoke to you and told you about your mother?’

I nodded.

‘And he phoned you?’

‘No, I phoned him. I had told him I’d let him know if I’d go and see her. That’s what I did. He gave me the address. That was the last time I had anything to do with him.’

After all, you couldn’t count seeing him in his car lurking near Mrs Mackenzie’s house.

‘You had no idea he was waiting outside the garage in his car?’

‘No.’

‘Did you hear anything?’

‘I did hear a bit of a rumpus out there during the night,’ I confessed.

She hissed. ‘You see? I have to drag every bit of information out of you, Fran. It’s like drawing teeth! When? What time? What did you hear?’

I told her I didn’t know what time. During the night. ‘I didn’t get up and put the light on and the garage has no windows.’ I’d heard a funny noise which I thought might have been an animal, and a clunking sound which, yes, might have been a car door, and panting. Yes, panting! Of course I didn’t blooming well go and look! What am I? Crazy? It wasn’t the first time I’d heard noises during the night outside. I’d heard some a couple of nights before, someone running. It happened all the time.

‘People take the wrong turning,’ I said. ‘It’s a blind alley but they don’t know.’

‘This time was different,’ she said quietly.

I didn’t reply. I knew what she meant. This time what I’d heard was Rennie Duke being murdered. I felt very cold and knew I was in shock.

‘How exactly did you come to find the body?’ She sounded matter-of-fact, as if finding bodies happened all the time. It was beginning to feel as though it happened all the time to me.

‘I went to the shop to give Ganesh a hand with the morning papers. I told him someone had been messing around outside the garages and we went to check it out. You know, someone might have had the idea of breaking into the shop that way, or thought Hari stored things in the garage, the sort of things worth nicking.’

‘And you recognised Mr Duke straight off?’

‘Not straight away. I saw it was a Mazda car. We looked in. We thought the driver was asleep at first. It wasn’t until Ganesh tapped on the window . . . Look, I don’t know what he was doing there, all right? If I knew, I’d tell you. I’d like to know myself, so if you find out, tell me. I’d appreciate it.’

‘End of interview,’ she said suddenly. Cole switched off his little machine. ‘You’re going to be living in that garage for the foreseeable future, Fran? We’re going to be able to find you there?’

‘If Hari doesn’t chuck me out now,’ I said gloomily.

‘If you change address, you let us know straight away, right?’

‘Sure. I’ll let you know which doorway I’m sleeping in. Can I go now?’

They let me go. Ganesh had already left and was probably back at the shop trying to explain to Hari what had happened and why the cops were going to be round to see him at any minute. I didn’t like to think what sort of a state Hari would be in by the time I got back.

I was getting into a bit of a state myself. One big fat fact had detached itself from all the others and was running round and round in my head. Inspector Janice was absolutely right in saying it couldn’t be coincidence that Rennie Duke had been waiting outside my garage home. I knew that. He wasn’t to know I didn’t use the main doors. He’d expected me to emerge that way in the morning and was ready to jump out and nab me. I no longer had the slightest doubt he’d been the one tapping at the doors during the night and rattling the catch – something else I hadn’t told Morgan about. He’d wanted to talk to me in the middle of the night when no one else would be about. He’d wanted to talk to me urgently. He’d kept obbo outside, and as he waited, probably dozing in his car, someone had crept up on him and killed him. The way I worked it out, Rennie had been tailing me and someone else had been tailing Rennie. Oh yes, definitely tailing Rennie. This hadn’t been a mugging. I knew that because of something else Inspector Janice had told me. They’d found the newspaper clipping in Rennie’s wallet. A man who still has his wallet hasn’t been mugged.

I wondered whether Rennie had had any idea he was being followed. In his line of work, he ought to have been able to spot that kind of thing. Was that why he’d sought me out at dead of night? Gambling that whoever was watching him had to sleep sometime, and night was a safe period to contact me?

I couldn’t answer that one. The big question was, now that Rennie Duke was out of the picture, was the mysterious other person going to come after me?

If he was, I’d find out very soon.

Chapter Seven

I’d had no breakfast, unless you counted the tarry tea, and there was a sinking feeling in my stomach. My way home led me past Reekie Jimmie’s. I wondered if Jimmie would condescend to do me beans on toast, as an alternative to a spud, provided I asked nicely. I ought at least to be able to cadge a coffee. But when I got there, the door was locked and a notice hanging in it read
Closed for Refurbishment
. Jimmie wasn’t letting the grass grow under his feet. He’d really meant it about that pizza place.

There was a movement inside. I peered through and caught a glimpse of Jimmie himself, fag glued to his lip, stacking the furniture in the middle of the floor. I tapped urgently. He looked up, waved the smouldering cigarette at me in acknowledgement, and came to unlock the door.

‘Come on in, hen,’ he invited.

I slipped in and Jimmie, after a quick look up and down the street in case a horde of customers demanding food threatened to follow on my heels, relocked the door.

‘Want a coffee?’ he asked.

‘Please. I was hoping you’d be open for business. I’ve been down at the copshop and haven’t had any breakfast.’ I sounded wistful.

‘Why didn’t you get the boys in blue to give you some breakfast? They do a good bacon and eggs down there in the canteen.’

How did he know this? ‘Do me a favour,’ I pleaded. ‘Do I want to sit down there eating with the fuzz?’

Jimmie took the point. ‘Come on through. I’ll fix you a sausage sarnie. Could do with one myself.’

That was more like it. In Jimmie’s dingy back room, in a cloud of nicotine, we munched hot greasy sausage sandwiches with lashings of mustard. They were better than anything Jimmie had ever served in the café.

‘You ought to put these on the menu,’ I told him.

‘They’re not Eye-talian,’ he replied deadpan. He was taking all this seriously.

Jimmie managed to smoke and eat at the same time, taking alternate bites and drags.

‘Having a wee bit of trouble with the polis?’ he enquired sympathetically.

Feeling my lungs seize up and wondering if I’d collapse over the table at any minute, overcome by smoke inhalation, I told him Gan and I had found a dead man in a car parked by the garages. News of the discovery would reach Jimmie soon anyway. I didn’t tell him we knew the corpse’s identity.

Jimmie took the information in his stride, commiserated with me over my bad luck, and turned to the matter uppermost in his mind, transformation of the premises.

‘The idea I’ve got is to paint the whole place red and white. The staff can wear white shirts and red waistcoats. I’m going upmarket, you know, attract a classier type of punter. Put the prices up.’

‘Staff?’ I exclaimed, not very politely.

‘I told you,’ he reminded me. ‘I offered you a job. You accepted. I’m counting on you.’

‘Did I? Oh yes, so I did. Does this mean I’ll have to wear the red-and-white outfit?’

‘You’ll look bonny,’ said Jimmie firmly. ‘Wearing one of those full skirts with coloured braid stitched round the hem. The Eye-talian peasant look.’

I asked him if he was sure Italian peasants dressed like that.

‘More or less,’ he said confidently. ‘All those folk costumes look the same. I’ve got a contact down at the market who knows someone who’ll run up the costumes cheap. I’ve got a load of other ideas. At weekends, I’m going to have live music.’

This was pushing the boat out. ‘A band?’ I asked incredulously.

He shook his head. ‘A band would be way too expensive. Just a feller playing the accordion, wearing a red waistcoat like the rest of you.’

‘You’ve got someone lined up for this?’

‘A friend of mine,’ said Jimmie. ‘For fancy fingerwork, you can’t beat him. He’s just done a wee spell inside so he’s looking for a job, a legit one.’

‘What was he inside for?’ Perhaps I shouldn’t ask.

‘He and a mate worked the racecourses,’ said Jimmie. ‘You know, lifting wallets.’

Fancy fingerwork indeed. As tactfully as possible, I suggested to Jimmie that there might be disadvantages in employing a known dip.

Jimmie reassured me. ‘It’s all right, hen. He’s given all that up. He lost his nerve. You’ve got to have the nerve for that sort of thing. He could still lift the wallets but then he started dropping them when he passed them to his partner. You can’t have that, can you? I mean, a runner’s no good to a relay team if he keeps dropping the baton, is he?’

Fair enough. But I couldn’t help feeling all this was becoming an obsession for Jimmie. Nobody can keep that level of interest up for ever. At least, Jimmie couldn’t. He was a man who’d made a lifestyle out of doing the minimum. I just hoped it wouldn’t, as Grandma would’ve warned, all end in tears.

I put my head round the shop door nervously. Gan was moping about by the till. There was no sign of Hari. I went in.

‘They let me go,’ I said, obviously. ‘Where’s Hari?’

‘Where do you think? Upstairs drinking herbal tea and having a nervous breakdown.’ Gan scowled at the ceiling.

‘He’s going to want me out of the garage now, isn’t he?’ There was always the room Norman had offered me, even if it was rather like proposing to stay at the Bates Motel. The owner of that had been called Norman, too. How many bad omens flocking in from the left did I need?

Tentatively, I mentioned it to Ganesh, who retorted that I couldn’t possibly lodge with Newspaper Norman. I’d get raped.

‘By Norman?’ I asked. ‘I don’t think he’s interested.’

‘No, not by Norman, by all the other psychopaths he’s got living there. You’re safer in the garage.’ Gan heaved a sigh. ‘It’s not Hari you’ve got to worry about. It’s the rest of the family. Once they get to hear of this, they’ll all be here.’ He paused. ‘I phoned Jay. I thought he’d be the best person to tell them what’s happened here. He wasn’t too happy about it but he said he’d do it.’