THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) (13 page)

Roche nodded. ‘Yeah, fancy place. Likes to think it’s exclusive.’

‘He says he wants to do a deal with me.’

‘Are you going to go?’

Craddick thought about it. ‘I want my money back,’ he said. I may have almost lost the house, he thought, but I’m having that money whatever it takes. ‘I want you to take me.’

‘I’ll come inside with you.’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go in alone, otherwise I’ll lose my money.’

‘Alone? Is that safe?’

He took a gun out of his pocket. ‘Very,’ he said. He pointed the gun down at Barry, who spat out a fountain of water and stared helplessly into the barrel. ‘If I find out there’s the slightest link between you and this guy Ginetta you’re a dead man.’ He put the gun away and marched to the door. ‘And clean the puke up, Stocker!’ he called over his shoulder.

*  *  *  *

The gates to Red House swung open, but Steve Roche found the Jaguar’s path blocked by a dark-blue Ford Mondeo. He honked insistently on the horn but the driver didn’t budge.

‘Get the moron out of my way; I’m going to be late!’ said Donnie Craddick.

Roche left the Jag and marched up to the Mondeo. ‘Hey, arsehole!’ he called. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get that heap of junk out of here – you’re blocking the driveway, you idiot.’

A tall man emerged slowly from the Ford, unfolding his limbs like an insect clambering out of its pupa. He spent a moment calmly knocking something off his shoulder before turning to face the irate Roche. ‘Going out?’

‘Didn’t you hear me?’ said Roche. ‘I said move the car. We’ve got a meeting to attend.’

‘I just managed to catch you, then.’

‘Move it!’ said Roche.

‘Steve Roche…’ said the man.

‘How’d you know my name?’

The man smiled. ‘I know you, Roche,’ he said. ‘Is that Donnie Craddick with you?’

‘Who the hell are you?’

The man reached into his coat pocket, whipped ID quickly in front of Roche. ‘Detective Inspector Lavery. I need to speak with your master, see if he’s got a license to own you – Dangerous Dogs Act and all that.’ He brushed by Roche, who turned to the Jag and gave a shrug to Craddick.

Craddick got out, his face wreathed in angry lines. ‘Who are you? What the hell do you want?’

‘Inspector Lavery,’ said Roche.

‘Thanks, but I can do that for myself,’ said Lavery. ‘Donnie Craddick. I’d have known you anywhere. You’re the image of your father, when he was young, of course. He grew up to be dog-ugly. So make the most of the good looks while you’ve got them, eh, Mr Craddick? Me, I’ve never had those kinds of things to worry about – I was an ugly duckling, and I grew up to be an ugly duck.’

‘What do you want? I’m in a hurry. Got things to do.’

‘Just like your old man,’ he said. ‘Impatient to the point of recklessness. I need to have a few words with you.’

‘Can’t this wait?’

‘I’d rather not,’ he returned. ‘Now is fine.’

‘Don’t you guys have a life? It’s late.’

‘The law never sleeps, Mr Craddick,’ he said smiling broadly. Then his smile faded. ‘Do you know a Mr Duncan Winslade?’

Donnie Craddick stared him in the eyes. ‘Maybe.’

‘Is that a yes or a no?’

‘My father knew him, I believe.’

‘That much I am fully aware of, Mr Craddick. Their relationship was a long and often fractious one.’

‘What about him?’ Craddick said impatiently, glancing down at his watch.

‘I think you know him better than you’re letting on.’

‘Can we just get on with this? Look, I’ve heard of him, that’s all. I hear of many people.’

‘Same as I hear that it was you, or one of your pets, that beat him up recently, put him in hospital.’

‘Have you got evidence?’

‘Busted ribs, cracked skull…’

‘I didn’t beat up this guy Winslade if that’s what you’re here for. Can I go now?’

‘Can you explain why your car was seen in the vicinity of his house on the night he sustained his injuries?’

‘Fish and chips,’ said Roche quickly.

Lavery cocked an eyebrow. ‘Fish and chips?’

‘There’s a good chippy nearby. I was fetching fish and chips for Mr Craddick.’

Lavery’s lips stretched into a thin, knowing smile. ‘Nice to see you’re still in touch with your working-class roots, Mr Craddick. And your posh girlfriend, Miss Lucas, does she like a bag of chips too? Tomato ketchup bottles on the table, that kind of thing?’

‘How’d you know about her?’ said Craddick.

Lavery ignored the question. ‘Duncan Winslade is missing.’

Roche and Craddick glanced at each other. ‘Missing?’

‘There’s an echo,’ said Lavery, putting a hand to his ear. ‘That’s what I said. Missing. Would you know anything about that?’

Craddick shrugged. ‘So an ex-copper goes missing, what do I care?’

‘I care, Mr Craddick. He’s my friend as well as a close colleague. And I suspect that somehow he’s mixed up in something with you. What exactly, I don’t know, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it. He’s missing, and I have a bloodied shirt of his, his blood on his sofa, all of which gives me cause for concern. If anything bad has happened to him, if you’ve got anything to do with it, then you have my promise I’ll be after your arse and won’t rest till you’re banged up. I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you, watching everything you do.’ With that he smiled. ‘Anyhow, thank you for your time. You obviously have to dash.’ He turned to walk away, then turned back, as if suddenly remembering something. ‘A little dickybird tells me Roberto Ginetta has set his sights on you.’

‘Who is this Ginetta?’ asked Craddick, his eyes narrowing.

He chuckled. ‘Come, come, Mr Craddick; I can’t believe for one moment you don’t know about Roberto Ginetta. Let’s say your father and he shared a stormy marriage of interests.’

‘I don’t know of anyone called Ginetta,’ he said.

He raised a brow. ‘Then you’d better learn fast, young man. He’s in town only because he’s obviously involved in something big and dirty. Possibly trying to fill the void left by your father if I know him. Take over his operations. They always had this tug-of-war here in Overthorpe. Bet he was rubbing his hands when he found out your father had died. They both thought they were something big and important, your father and him, but there’s no escaping it, they were dirt. Two big piles of shit Duncan Winslade and I were determined to clean off these streets. Your father died before we got the satisfaction, but Ginetta… I might get some satisfaction yet.’ He straightened his coat, jangled his car keys. ‘If you want my advice, don’t get involved with Ginetta. He’ll chew you up and spit you out for breakfast. That’s a ball game kids like you don’t want to play.’

‘I’m not scared of anyone,’ said Craddick, pushing back his shoulders.

‘Sure you’re not,’ he said. ‘But be that as it may, I want you to be afraid of me, Craddick. I’m watching you. And remember, if you’ve done anything to harm Duncan…’ He sauntered back to his car.

Craddick and Roche watched the car drive away.

‘Fish and chips, Roche?’

‘Sorry. It was all I could think of.’

‘In future leave the thinking to me,’ said Craddick, exasperated.

‘Do you reckon Stocker really has done something to Winslade? You got him all riled up, gave him a gun…’

‘I didn’t expect him to do anything,’ he snarled. ‘The man’s weak. They’re all weak. I had thought that Stocker might be able to help us get rid of Winslade eventually, to use his anger for my own ends, but not just yet. I thought he’d need a bit more working up.’

‘But maybe he got angry straight away… A man can do anything when he’s mad. Maybe he’s done it already.’

‘I haven’t got time for this. Get in the bloody car, Roche,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be late.’

‘And we’ve got the law watching us…’ Roche continued, taking up his position behind the wheel.

‘Are you getting cold feet? I hate people with cold feet.’

‘No, Mr Craddick. Just thinking that if Stocker has done something to Winslade and Lavery finds out, makes a link between you and him…’

Craddick thought about it for a moment. ‘I know.’ He tapped his thigh impatiently. ‘That idiot Stocker’s signed his own death warrant. Let’s get this meeting with Ginetta out of the way and then let me know how best you can get rid of Stocker, cleanly and with the minimum of fuss.’

‘You’ve got it, Mr Craddick.’

‘Now get me to Doncaster. If this Ginetta’s as powerful as Lavery’s made out then it might be best not to upset him. Not till I can get his measure.’

There was already a queue waiting outside the Silver Crucible Club. Mostly young women, he noticed, dressed reasonably smart, not like in some of the other clubs he’d been to where they were dressed cheap like tarts. The men were dressed casually, but there wasn’t a pair of jeans to be seen anywhere; all jackets and trousers.

Donnie Craddick went up to one of the two guys on the door letting people in, said he had to see Ginetta. The brawny man, dressed in a smart two-piece black suit and tie, nodded and said follow him inside. There were mild protestations from the queue about special treatment and Craddick shot a wink in its direction. The doorman took him to another guy, whispered something into his ear and then went back to the door.

‘Mr Ginetta is expecting you. If you care to follow me, I’ll show you to the table he usually reserves when he’s in town.’

The club was already in full swing. The music pounding out, the lights swirling around, drenching the dancers on the dance floor in a lurid wash of vibrant colours. Craddick was led through a maze of tables dressed in white cloth towards the back of the room. He was directed to sit on a plush red leather seat, another table in front laid out with white tablecloth and cutlery that sparked silver under the flickering lights. He was asked if he’d like a drink.

‘Where’s Ginetta?’ he asked, looking around him.

‘You were late and Mr Ginetta said he had other business to attend to. He told me to tell you he will be joining you presently and to have anything you like on the house.’

‘Does he own this place?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ the man replied. ‘One of many. That drink, sir?’

Craddick ordered and sat watching the dancers. He looked at his watch. The drink was brought to his table, but ten minutes went by without a sign of Ginetta. He was starting to get irritated when a woman sat down beside him on the leather seat. He stared at her.

She was slim, attractive, about thirty, he thought; black, figure-hugging dress, short enough to show her slender legs and black silk stockings. Her hair was black, too, at least in the club’s subdued light, and cut short. Gold flashed like tiny fires at her neck and ears. When she smiled, her red lips revealed a wonderful set of even white teeth.

‘Forgive me, I saw you from across the dance floor. Are you Mickey Craddick’s son?’

‘Who are you? Are you with Ginetta?’

‘Me? No! Not that at all. You’ve got to be Donnie Craddick, right? You’re the spitting image of Mickey Craddick when he was young. I’ve seen photographs…’

‘I’m sorry, Miss…?’

‘She put a hand to her chest. ‘Oh, please forgive me; you must think me a mad woman. My name is Susannah Storey. I’m a reporter for
The South Yorkshire Chronicle
, you know, the newspaper.’

‘I don’t follow you,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

‘I have a column called
Susie Storey’s People Stories
…’ She cocked her head. ‘Yeah, I know it sounds lame, but I didn’t choose it. I write articles on people, prominent local people, important people, interesting people, that kind of thing. Thing is, I once wrote an article on your father Mickey. He was a councillor, a man of some importance in Overthorpe. He was very good to me, gave me all sorts of information, photographs, things like that. We got on really well.’

‘Look, I haven’t time for this,’ he said, pretending to study his watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting with someone soon. It would be great to reminisce about my father, but another time, huh?’

‘Actually, I wasn’t thinking about your father; I was thinking about you.’

‘In what way?’

‘I was sorry to hear your father had died. Such an important man to Overthorpe, but I was delighted to hear that he had a son who was in town. I was meaning to contact you, but so soon after the funeral I thought it insensitive. Then I saw you – I’m with friends over there – and I thought what the hell, I’ve got to come over and introduce myself.’

‘Nice to meet you, Miss Storey, but like I say, another time, eh?’

‘I’d like to run an article on you in the
Chronicle
. You know, how you plan to fill your father’s shoes, a bit of background on you, your plans for the future. If anything it’s guaranteed to raise your profile. It did with your father.’

‘Raise my profile…’ He mulled it over.

‘The
Chronicle
is one of the most widely read papers in the area. It will help put you on the map, so to speak. And I think people will be interested to learn about Mickey Craddick’s son.’

‘I don’t know; I don’t like publicity.’

‘Are you planning on running for councillor, like your father?’

He searched her eager face, brimming over with life, with ambition. A beautiful face. ‘Never gave it much thought,’ he admitted.

‘Oh you have to!’ she enthused. ‘That’s a sure way of getting you inserted into the establishment here. It would be marvellous to see Mickey Craddick’s son taking over from where he left off.’ She sidled up closer. ‘So what about that interview?’

‘I’ll think about it.’ He saw a man approaching, another bulkier shadow close behind him. ‘You have to leave now.’

She apologised profusely, rose from the seat as the man came closer. ‘Here,’ she said, taking a piece of paper from her bag. She scribbled on it with a pen and thrust it at Craddick. ‘That’s my private number; give me a bell if you’d like to take me up on the offer.’ She smiled sweetly at him, nodded an apology to the man who was now standing by the table, and scooted off to be lost in the crowd of people on the dance floor.