The Reckoning (33 page)

The housekeeper didn’t move. ‘What happened to my darling girl? Is she dead?’

Marla didn’t reply but her face must have revealed the truth, because the woman twisted away, a muffled cry forcing itself out of her body. I recognised the hopeless urge to run and hide from bad news.

‘Lydia, I’m sorry.’ The inspector patted her shoulder. ‘I can’t tell you the details now, but we found her body this morning.’

‘Where?’

‘I need to talk to Gayle first. I’m so sorry,’ she said again.

‘Of course. Of course,’ Lydia turned back. Her expression was that of a sleepwalker waking up on the edge of a long drop. ‘Down the hall and through the sitting room. It’s on your left.’

‘We’ll find it.’

‘I should really show you.’

‘There’s no need.’

Small cut in. ‘Why don’t you go and make a few cups of tea, there’s a love. Hot and lots of sugar. Drink a bit yourself – get yourself settled. Nothing like a cup of tea to help with a shock.’

‘Mrs Skinner doesn’t drink tea.’ Her voice was still hoarse, but it was lifeless, her eyes vacant. ‘She doesn’t take anything with caffeine in it.’

‘Doesn’t matter. She might change her mind, see, when she’s heard. Better to have it ready just in case.’ He steered her towards the back of the hall and ushered her into what I presumed was the kitchen.

‘Thanks, Ray.’

‘Pleasure.’ He jerked his head to indicate a door on the other side of the hall. ‘In here?’

‘Absolutely.’

The sitting room was a symphony in cream – sofas, carpets, curtains, the lot. A huge room, it was as blank as the screen of the huge television that hung on one wall. It reminded me of a hotel more than a private house. There was no trace of the people who lived there, no sign of a personality in the choice of furniture or fabrics. It was the essence of luxury, though, and I couldn’t help checking the soles of my shoes to make sure I didn’t mark the carpet, smiling as I noticed Rob doing the same. Small had no such qualms. He wore heavy lace-ups with rugged soles that left a distinct pattern tufted in the heavy pile as he trekked across to the double-doors at the end of the room. They were glass and he took a wary look through, standing to one side so he couldn’t be seen. He frowned, then nodded.

‘This way, boss.’

Marla Redmond inhaled deeply, checked her face in the gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace and went to join him.

I didn’t even see Gayle Skinner herself when I first walked into the sunroom. The sunlight was dazzling – almost blinding. As my eyes got used to it, I could see I was standing in an octagonal room that was composed mainly of glass, including the roof. The windows were firmly shut; there wasn’t a breath of air. The temperature had to be in the thirties and I felt my throat dry immediately. Eventually, by dint of squinting, I made out Mrs Skinner sitting on a wicker sofa on one side of the room. She was wearing a white dress that was too fitted to come across as virginal, and a pair of sunglasses that hid most of her face. She didn’t seem to be much older than me, though it was hard to tell under the make-up and glasses. It made sense that she had been young when she got married. Skinner was the sort to want a much younger wife. Easier to control, for one thing.

DCI Redmond went across to her, her hand outstretched.

‘Gayle. Sorry to interrupt you.’

‘Oh God.’ It was a drawl. ‘You just keep coming back, don’t you?’

‘When there’s any news.’ Marla managed to keep her voice even and her manner friendly in spite of Gayle’s rudeness.

‘This is the woman who’s been investigating Cheyenne’s disappearance.’ Gayle waved a languid hand in the direction of the narrow-faced man who was sitting near her. He was leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed. His hair was a shade of black that was too dark, too uniform to be the result of anything but dye. ‘DCI Redmond, this is Kenneth Goldsworthy. Kenny’s a friend of John’s.’

‘Why does that surprise me?’ From her tone, Marla Redmond had evidently heard of him; we all had. Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire was Ken Goldsworthy’s own personal fiefdom. He was the main importer of drugs to both counties, the main recipient of the proceeds from the brothels of Luton and Stevenage, the main launderer of dirty money through a range of legitimate businesses, and the main target for the policing efforts of at least two forces. He was a slippery individual who could afford excellent lawyers and had never spent as much as a night behind bars, something he was very proud of indeed.

And he was, by reputation, no friend of John Skinner’s. Quite the opposite. They had spent the nineties engaged in a turf war that had been bloody, violent and ultimately resolved by Goldsworthy retreating from the areas of London he had infiltrated and selling up his businesses in Surrey, Sussex and Kent. Intelligence suggested they had agreed to keep to their own areas, with Skinner getting the lion’s share. For the last decade they had operated independently of each other, pretending the other one wasn’t there, but that didn’t mean Goldsworthy was happy about seeing Skinner’s empire grow and prosper. What he was doing looking comfortable and at home in Gayle Skinner’s sunroom, white shirt open to the third button and fat Rolex gleaming in the sunshine, I couldn’t begin to guess.

The four of us were still standing and it slowly became apparent that Gayle was not going to invite us to sit down. She shook out expensively layered hair that was the same colour as her daughter’s, dragging long white-tipped nails through it.

‘Was there something you wanted?’

Marla looked from her to Goldsworthy and back. ‘I wanted to speak to you in private, actually.’

‘There’s nothing you can say to me that I wouldn’t want Kenny to hear.’ She gestured grandly as she said it, ice cubes clinking in her glass, and I suddenly twigged that she was absolutely hammered.

‘It’s about Cheyenne. It’s not good news, Gayle.’ I would give Marla points for persistence if nothing else.

Behind the sunglasses, Gayle’s face went still. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that we found her body this morning.’

A tiny pause.

‘Are you saying she’s dead or something?’

Marla’s voice was gentle. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘Fuck off.’ She stood up, staggering a little, and pointed at us. ‘Fuck off, the lot of you. You’re wrong.’

‘I’m so sorry. I know this is hard to take in. I’m sure you’ll have questions for me, but just take your time.’

‘Don’t patronise me,’ Gayle Skinner spat. ‘I don’t want you here.’

She set her drink down and stepped out from behind the coffee table, unsteady on heels that were skyscraper high, then shoved Marla with enough force to send her staggering back a couple of paces. Rob reached out and steadied her, a courtesy that she acknowledged with an irritable nod. She was not having a great day as far as keeping her dignity went.

Ken Goldsworthy had uncoiled himself from his chair slowly, like a heat-dazed lizard. ‘Now, Gayle. Come and sit down. You’ve had a shock.’

‘Filth. Get out of my house. Fucking pigs. If John was here, you wouldn’t dare.’

‘I’m not here to make trouble, Gayle. I just needed to tell you about Cheyenne.’

‘Does John know?’ Her chin was quivering and two tears slid out from behind the dark lenses. ‘Did you tell him too?’

‘One of my colleagues told him.’

‘Oh my God. He’ll be going mental.’ She put one hand to her head. ‘I can’t think. What did you say? You found her this morning?’

‘Yes. At the warehouse where the nightclub was held.’

‘You mean she was there all along?’ Gayle pushed her glasses up onto her head, giving me a proper look at her for the first time. Her eyes were the same shape as her daughter’s but the rest of her face was finer, built on a different scale. Her nose was suspiciously neat, the end delicately contoured, and I was fairly sure I was looking at the upgrade, while poor Cheyenne had inherited the original. ‘You mean you just missed her?’

‘We don’t think so.’ Marla launched into a long, wordy explanation of how they couldn’t have failed to notice the body; how it looked like it had been left there recently but we wouldn’t know for a while; how really there wasn’t much else she could tell her except that she was desperately sorry not to have better news and that the investigation was being handled by a different team from this point on, and that Rob and I were representing the team.

I took my cue to introduce myself, then Rob, with a distinct feeling we was stepping into the firing line. Gayle shook my hand distractedly. ‘I was wondering who you were. I knew I hadn’t seen you before.’ She looked past me to Marla. ‘Who’s taking over? Why did they get rid of you?’

‘It’s a bigger case, now. It needs someone more senior to head it up.’ She sounded bitter. ‘The person taking over is Superintendent Charles Godley. He’s in charge of the murder squad.’

It didn’t seem to mean anything to Gayle but Ken Goldsworthy smothered a laugh, turning it into a totally unconvincing cough. ‘John must be delighted.’

‘He just wants to make sure his daughter’s murderer is brought to justice.’ The inspector sounded prim.

‘I’m sure that’s the case, yeah.’

A rattle of cups announced the arrival of Lydia. She put down the tray and then flung herself at Gayle with a howl, hanging around her neck.

‘Our poor darling. What are we going to do without her?’

It was enough to shatter Gayle’s fragile self-possession. For the first time she allowed herself to break down properly, sobbing and clinging to the housekeeper.

‘I think that’s my cue to leave,’ Ken Goldsworthy muttered to no one in particular.

Rob was two steps behind him as he slid into the sitting room, and I was another step after that. The sitting room was blissfully cool and dim. Goldsworthy stopped to take off his sunglasses and I shut the double doors behind me, more or less in DS Small’s face. I looked through the glass with my best eff-off expression. It wasn’t his case any more and he knew it, but he wasn’t pleased.

‘Mr Goldsworthy, before you go, can I trouble you for a word?’ Rob said pleasantly.

‘Don’t think I have anything to say.’ He fished his car keys out of his pocket. Up close he was showing his age, with wrinkles fanning around his eyes and a looseness to the skin around his neck. ‘Give Charlie my best. How’s he keeping?’

‘I’ll tell him you were asking after him. Does John Skinner know you’re here?’

‘Not unless he’s got the place wired for sound. He’s banged up, I hear.’ A smile. ‘Poor old John. Not got the luck, has he?’

‘You could say that.’ Rob took a step closer. ‘It does interest me – you being here. You’re not exactly mates, are you? Why would you be here with Mrs Skinner?’

‘To offer her my sympathy. I had heard her daughter was missing.’

‘You hear a lot, don’t you?’

‘I keep myself in the loop. Knowledge is power, as a great man once said.’ He sniffed. ‘Don’t know who, if it comes to that. But he was right, whoever he was.’

‘You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything about who took Cheyenne, would you?’ It was a long shot, but I thought it was worth a try.

He shook his head. ‘Not a word. If I do hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.’

‘Very helpful of you.’

‘I do my best.’

‘Only we do have to consider that it was one of John’s enemies. You know, someone who has a reason to want to get back at him.’ Rob was frowning as he spoke, mock earnest. ‘Remind me, who won when the two of you had your little spat in the nineties? It was John who got the bulk of the territory, wasn’t it? You got left with Beds and Herts. Not what you’d call a goldmine.’

‘You’re looking in the wrong place if you’re looking at me.’ His voice was flat. ‘I don’t go after people’s kids. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t love John Skinner. I’m very happy he’s in trouble. But I didn’t have anything to do with the girl going missing.’

‘Why should I believe you? You’re up to something.’ Rob moved forward again, deliberately crowding him. He was taller and broader than Goldsworthy, who had foolishly come out without back-up. There was a time and a place for physical intimidation, and I was glad Rob was there to provide it. ‘Why are you here, Kenny?’

‘From what I hear, John’s not coming out any time soon.’ He jangled his keys. ‘Leaves a vacancy, doesn’t it?’

‘And it would piss him off if you slept with his wife.’

The smile widened. ‘I’ll tell you something. It would piss him off a whole lot more if he had to get divorced so she could marry me.’

‘That’s the plan?’

‘Is it hard to believe? She’s a very attractive woman.’

And you’re not exactly a prize
. ‘She’s stayed loyal to her husband for a long time, even though he’s been abroad,’ I said. ‘What makes you think things will be different now?’

‘Prison’s a lot different from sunny Spain.’ He popped a tiny breath mint into his mouth. ‘Not half as much fun to go and visit, is it? And with poor Cheyenne gone, what do they have to keep them together?’

‘No one knew she was dead until this morning.’

‘Nor did I,’ he said quickly. ‘I was just thinking when I heard that it would be hard for Gayle. Being on her own, I mean.’

‘Cold,’ I commented.

‘Spare me the disapproval. John Skinner wouldn’t behave any different if it was the other way round. You show weakness, you have to expect to come to grief.’

‘How is it weak to be in prison because you were trying to find your daughter’s kidnapper?’

Goldsworthy shook his head. ‘He should have kept out of it. That’s his trouble, you see. He can’t delegate. Can’t trust his men. You never get your hands dirty – that’s the rule.’

‘And you’re managing to keep to that, are you?’ Rob asked.

He held up his hands and turned them so we could see the front and back, then headed for the door. ‘Spotless. You won’t get anything on me, sonny. Many have tried. Better men than you.’ Over his shoulder, he threw, ‘Ask Charlie Godley about it when you get the chance. He’ll tell you.’

I would do that, I thought. There were lots of things I wanted to know about Godley’s past life as the scourge of organised crime. Goldsworthy would be a good place to start.

Back in the sunroom, Marla had made it into a chair. Small was standing but with his backside propped up against a window ledge. He had shed the jacket, I noticed. Gayle and Lydia were still on the sofa, but sitting apart now, both clutching a mug. Gayle looked up at us through spiky wet lashes. She looked tiny, hunched over like a child in trouble.