Until Death (17 page)

After a few moments a woman in a Network Rail uniform and a policeman came and hurried her away to wait for an ambulance.

K
elly sat on the back step of an ambulance parked outside King’s Cross. She was beyond calm now, deadened by her outburst, her tired limbs leaden, her throat sore. A paramedic was taking her blood pressure, checking her pupils. She rested her head against the hard metal of the door as he tapped her arm, trying to bring her round, like she was a faulty appliance that needed a nudge to get started.

She stood up uncertainly, apologised for taking up their time and moved away. She headed for the doctor’s for a repeat prescription and an hour later had her replacement pills. She wanted nothing more than to get into bed and go to sleep, but when she got home and came out of the lift, someone was already there.

Sylvie heard Kelly come back in to the flat – the mid-afternoon amble round doing nothing much must be over. She didn’t bother to call out, Kelly would find her soon enough. She continued to hunt through the bureau in the living room for the papers that Christos had ordered be found. Like
now
. She pushed one drawer shut and opened the one below it. It was an ugly piece of furniture that she would be glad to see the back of when she moved in here. She’d commission something special for this corner. She tried to sort through a heap of junk. Was there anything this wife actually did? She certainly didn’t clean out drawers. With pleasure, Sylvie heard Kelly’s high and reedy voice, pleading to know what Sylvie was doing in her house.

She turned casually and saw Kelly standing at the top of the stairs clutching the banister, dark-eyed and wild-haired. She looked like she’d shrunk, even from when she’d last seen her. ‘Oh hi, Kelly. I’m just looking for something.’

‘Get out of my house.’

The empty threats were tedious. Just a lot of hot air. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going.’

‘You think it’s OK to come into my house and start digging around in stuff?’

‘I’m picking up some papers for Christos.’

‘Where did you get the keys?’

‘Your husband gave them to me.’

‘You can give them back to me.’

Sylvie shrugged and handed them over. She wasn’t interested in Kelly any more. In fact, she bored her. Kelly had put up a fight; her running with the kids and quite a stash of money had shocked her and Christos. He had been unaware of the money Kelly had collected
and
the passports. Sylvie had noted that he didn’t have the greatest eye for the details, but then
she
did, so it wasn’t an issue – and she had insisted they now watch Kelly a lot more closely – but that problem had been dealt with and it was nearly all over, bar a little unpleasantness.

‘He’ll never leave me, you know, never let me go. He’ll never give up the children.’

Sylvie smiled. The wife was clutching at straws. She came towards Kelly and sighed. ‘Maybe that’s what you hope. Maybe you think I’m stuck in the mistress trap, hanging around to wait and please.’

‘I don’t care what trap you’re in.’

‘After all, why would he want to let you go? Tragedy has defined you, put you on a pedestal that no one can knock over. We always want what we can’t get, ain’t that the truth?’ She couldn’t resist, was close enough to Kelly to put out a hand and clasp her chin with her palm, as soft as a cat’s paw. Kelly didn’t pull away. Her eyes were large and brown and bloodshot, transfixed by Sylvie, as if she were seeing her for the first time.

‘Has he hit you?’ Kelly asked. ‘Tell me, has he ever?’

‘Jesus, Kelly, of course not! You need to see the doctor again—’ But she had clearly made up her mind, had the vanity to assume what befell her must happen to all of her sex.

‘You need to know what he’s like, what he does to women—’

‘Sshh.’

People tended to do what you wanted, if you just told them in the right way. Kelly was silent as Sylvie ran a finger along her jawline, still so firm, the skin smooth. She had always been fascinated by skin, the way it held everything in – yet what festered inside tended to pop out now and again. Skin to skin with Kelly was as close as one could ever get. She felt as if her fingers were merging with Kelly’s face, the tiny hairs crushed by her palm. How she would love to have skin like that. For an intense second she wondered how much softer the skin on Kelly’s inner thigh would be, or in the crook of her elbow. ‘You’re fucking beautiful.’ Sylvie sighed. ‘Beautiful people are so alluring, don’t you think?’

The spell was broken. Kelly staggered backward. Sylvie noted with detachment that she nearly fell down the stairs. ‘You sound just like him.’

This angered her, Kelly’s misreading of where the power lay. ‘You got that wrong, honey.
He
sounds like
me
.’ She turned to pick up her bag, annoyed that she had been riled by her. She popped the handles of her orange bag over her shoulder and watched Kelly twisting with discomfort and outrage that she was here in her house. For the first time ever Kelly looked dishevelled and old, her padded black coat had a mud stain on the front, left from a clinging child’s rain boot or a football kicked in anger. How low women had to stoop to live the dream, how much children made you give. ‘Why do you have to wear those dark clothes?’ she snapped. ‘Can’t you mix it up a bit?’ She shook her head with frustration. She walked past Kelly, down the stairs, consoling herself by bouncing her fingers on the banisters as she went, in just the way she had seen Kelly do it.

G
eorgie was waiting for Sylvie to arrive at the Customs and Excise offices. She was late for their afternoon meeting, and Georgie was getting annoyed. It wasn’t like she had to come far, Malamatos Shipping offices were nearby. When she finally arrived she was ushered in and sat down on a swivel chair, swinging her legs slowly from side to side. The gaudy pattern on her tunic showed up the drabness of the surroundings.

‘Thanks for coming,’ began Georgie. ‘This is an informal interview. Do you enjoy working at Malamatos Shipping?’

‘What is this? A happiness survey? It doesn’t matter if I love it or loathe it, it’s my job, and I do it the best I can.’

‘Would you say it’s a happy place to work? Are the staff contented?’

‘If they don’t feel lucky, they should. The recession is hammering shipping, like everything else. They should be thankful they have a job.’

‘How long have you worked there?’

‘Three years.’

‘As Christos’s PA?’

She nodded.

‘So you work pretty closely with him, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘You’re a director of his charitable foundation, is that correct?’

Sylvie nodded, not taking her eyes off Georgie. ‘I’ve been doing it for two years.’

‘It’s an extra responsibility on top of your job?’

‘Yes. It’s voluntary and unpaid.’

‘Did Mrs Malamatos ever want to get involved, that you know of?’

Sylvie made a dismissive sound. ‘I doubt it. I’m sure it was just
too
much for her. After all, keeping house and looking after a couple of kids takes up so much time. Or maybe she just thought she was above it.’ The sarcasm was dripping from her.

Georgie frowned. ‘So Kelly was never much involved in the charity?’

‘That pill-popping wreck’s no good to anyone.’

Georgie glanced at Mo, who was twisting his watch strap round and round.

‘You’d think his wife would lift a finger, but in the end I did it. And I enjoy it.’

‘How often do you visit the charity offices?’

She thought for a moment. ‘A few times a year, for meetings.’

‘Have you ever seen any trucks in the yard opposite the charity’s office? Any unhitched trailers?’

‘I wouldn’t remember.’

‘The thing is, the shipment of illegal Brazilian rosewood that has been found on your employer’s ship had a destination that has an address opposite your charity, Ms Lockhart.’

‘I know nothing about that at all. The charity helps disadvantaged children – Christos has donated a large sum of money over the years.’

‘Do you have the dates of when the meetings took place?’

Sylvie wasn’t fazed. ‘Of course. I’ll refer to them myself, since I’m a meticulous record-keeper. I don’t have to get anyone else to look it up for me.’

‘If you could get that information to us, and let us know when Christos attended those meetings too.’

‘You know this investigation is going nowhere. It’s a dead-end.’

‘That’s not what the evidence shows so far.’

She shrugged. ‘Someone is trying to bring Christos down. They want to muscle in on his business.’

‘And who might that be?’

She gave Georgie a look like she was something unwelcome on the sole of her stiletto. ‘Anyone. Everyone. Shipping is facing tough times. People think it’s all Onassis and hanging out on yachts on the Riviera, but margins are tiny, risks are high. Christos has succeeded because he’s been focused and cleverer than the competition.’

‘He’s got big debts actually.’

Sylvie snorted. ‘Show me a successful businessman who hasn’t. It’s how money is made. If people have been badmouthing him it’s because success makes people bitter. It makes them want to take a slice.’

‘Is your affair with him taking a slice?’

She didn’t even blink. ‘An affair isn’t illegal, last time I looked, or any of your business, for that matter.’

‘But it must make it easier to overlook practices that other people might find unacceptable.’

‘Such as?’

‘Containers dropping out of sight, so to speak. Mistakes in labelling—’

‘I’ve never seen such things, or participated in them.’

Georgie heard Mo sigh. They weren’t getting anything here. ‘If you could get us those dates, that would be great.’ She stood up. ‘Anything else you’d like to add?’

‘No.’ Sylvie turned and walked out of the room without bothering to say goodbye.

Mo let out a sharp breath which had too much of a hint of admiration in it for Georgie’s liking. ‘Now that is one ballbreaker, so help me God.’

‘Yes,’ added Georgie. ‘You have to have pretty big balls to have an affair with Christos Malamatos.’

Mo grunted. ‘Bigger than mine.’

Georgie frowned. ‘What about the wife? She strike you as having—’

Mo shook his head. ‘Just the opposite. Men like him, they marry the meek ones and fuck the high-maintenance nightmares.’

‘Maybe,’ Georgie said, not sounding convinced. ‘But in the war of the mistress and the wife, the wife has kept the man.’

‘Maybe he loves her.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. She must be a ballbreaker who doesn’t look like a ballbreaker.’

‘See?’ said Mo, throwing up his hands. ‘I’ve said it before: there is not a romantic bone in your body, G. Why are you frowning?’

‘We need to talk to the wife again. There’s something she’s not telling us.’

‘Anguish isn’t going to like it. I’m not going in there with you when you tell him.’

But Georgie’s mind was made up. ‘Call it women’s intuition, if you like, but I’ll get something out of her.’

G
eorgie had to cycle home at the end of the day in the rain; she was cold and soaked by the time she got back. She had to chain the bike to a lamppost. Ryan’s car was in the garage and there was no extra space to get the bike in as a new bag of golf clubs was blocking her path. She came in the front door, shaking water from her like a dog emerging from a lake.

She flopped down on the couch next to Ryan, pushing aside a PlayStation console and a
Nuts
magazine, dropping her wet bag on the floor, moving it so it didn’t get too close to the gas fire belching out its drowsy heat and causing rivulets of condensation to stream down the ill-fitting windows. Matt popped his head out of the kitchen at the back and did a double-take. ‘Bad day at the coalface?’

She grunted. He disappeared and a moment later reappeared, wordlessly holding up a can of beer. She nodded and he tossed it across the room at her. She couldn’t resist a smile. She took a long gulp of beer, kicking off her shoes and lying back for a moment, relishing a Friday night relax. She didn’t even have the luxury of a full weekend to look forward to, she was working again tomorrow. ‘Whose are those golf clubs?’ She saw Matt and Ryan exchange looks. ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.’

‘Then why do you ask?’ Ryan asked, head down, killing zombies.

She groaned in frustration.

Ryan, without even looking at her, threw his console on the floor, pulled her to him, his bulky arm round her shoulder, and squeezed her as tight as he could. ‘Moody G, I see.’

She fought him off, but not very hard and a moment later was snuggled into him, laying her head on his shoulder. ‘I’m tired.’

‘Uncle Ed’s coming round.’

She yanked her head off his shoulder. ‘Oh God, no. I can’t take that, not tonight.’

‘Oh, give him a break. You know Dad likes it – he brings him out of himself.’

‘I wish you … I wish …’ She tailed off, head sinking back on the couch. Her dad and brothers were hapless, slip-sliding over the line between right and wrong, skating on thin ice with rules and regulations. But Uncle Ed was over the line. Too far over, and he couldn’t get back.

‘I’m going out,’ she said, but the front door was already opening and loud voices were crowding the living room. She pulled her wet shoes back on.

Dad and Uncle Ed came into the lounge. ‘Hi, how was your day?’ Dad asked, heading for the kitchen.

‘G. How’s my girl, eh?’ Uncle Ed came towards her slowly, arms outstretched, luxuriating in his welcome. Seconds later she was face down in his camel coat, being held there by his strong hands for so long that she eventually had to pull away.

‘I’m just on my way out.’

‘Not so fast.’ He sat down in Dad’s recliner and pushed the footrest up. She was presented with the scored soles of his shoes, the Blakey’s wearing away on the heels. ‘How’s your job going?’ He was looking at her, his cold blue eyes unflinching.

Ryan shook his head. ‘I can tell by her body language. Not good.’