Part 15 (1/2)

Slipping off her coat, she chucked it over the arm of a chair, smoothed her hair, then stood in front of the mirror. She was surprisingly pleased and relieved to note the inner turmoil wasn't evident, the immaculate mask was intact. Diana had just returned from a fact finding tour: Charlotte definitely wasn't in any of her usual haunts. The discovery had dashed Diana's faint hope that their friend's CV had 'lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d' writ large, as well as blackmailer. She realised now he almost certainly wasn't bluffing.

Swaying slightly, she dimmed the lights, drifted to the CD player, decided she could do without musical distraction. Charlotte's abduction complicated matters. Diana was hardly in a position to go to the police. Her lip curved at the understatements. Hugging herself she paced the faded carpet, the pay-as-you-go clutched in her fingers. Think, woman, think. There had to be a way round it. Could her original plan still work? Sam shadowing her on the drop, pulling a knife at the handover, only this time forcing the b.a.s.t.a.r.d to reveal Charlotte's whereabouts before he was taken out. Taken out? Such a civilised euphemism. The thin smile turned skeletal. Call it what the h.e.l.l you like, the idea was the best she could come up with.

Yet so much could go wrong. She ran her fingers through her hair. Maybe the cops were the only option? No. She was a d.a.m.n sight smarter than the slime-ball who was holding her daughter. Scowling, she threw a log on the fire, curled up in Alex's armchair, willed the phone to ring. Pay-as-you-go? Oh, yes. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d would pay all right. Before being permanently despatched. For several minutes, deep in thought, she watched the flicker of flames and curl of smoke as the fire took hold. Charlotte would be fine. Diana closed her eyes, told herself again: Charlotte would be just fine. Failure was not an option.

Bev awarded herself ten out of ten for prescience, perfectionism and all round good-eggism. As she predicted, Liam Small had emerged squeaky clean from his grilling. The anonymous caller's st.i.tches had come adrift: Small's alibi was tighter than a cat's r.e.c.t.u.m not to mention he had the colouring of an anaemic albino. By way of a slap on the back, she'd treated herself to a cheeky little Pinot which even now lay winking from the pa.s.senger seat. She'd swung by Oddbins after dropping Mac at the nick. Hopefully it'd be the last she'd see of him until Monday. Unless there was a major break, she'd not be called in. And if there was she'd want to be there anyway. Win-win situation.

She slapped in a Kinks CD to celebrate, sang along to Sunny Afternoon. Moseley was gearing up for Friday night, flash motors were parked b.u.mper-to-b.u.mper either side of the main drag, music spilled out of wine bars and pubs, b.o.o.bs spilled out of lace and lurex. Bev's goose b.u.mps were rising in sympathy: it was minus five on the street. She lowered the window a tad just to take in the smells of pizza and curry: oregano, cardamom, cinnamon, coriander. She'd already decided on an Indian, fancied Rogan Josh tonight but it was early yet, she'd ring later. It'd be a bit coals to Newcastle for Fareeda but the girl could always fend for herself. Maybe she wouldn't even bother coming down if the migraine was as stonking as she'd made out on the phone.

”Thanks, Raymondo.” Smiling, Bev cut the Kinks, grabbed bottle and bag and fished out the new key. House felt warm, even though no one was on hand with the nibbles and red carpet. She guessed Fareeda was still nursing a sore head. Coat and bag ditched, Bev nipped upstairs, peeked into the spare room. Ten out of ten again. Give that girl a gold star. She dithered on the landing but only momentarily. Her mum suffered migraines, reckoned the only cure apart from death was silence and a darkened room. She'd leave the kid to it. And being brutally honest, she fancied having the place to herself for a night.

Five minutes later, she was curled up with Johnny Depp. Well, Depp was on the DVD, swashbuckling and timber-s.h.i.+vering, Bev was supine on the sofa, gla.s.s in hand, bowl of Quavers balanced mid-trunk. Would she walk his plank? Any time, matey. Her lascivious leer morphed into a testy frown. Was that the b.l.o.o.d.y door? Using elbow as prop, she listened out for the bell. Knowing the erratic hours she put in, the few mates she had outside the job never turned up on spec, cold and casual callers could go get stuffed; on past experience it was probably Jehovah's Witnesses trying to save her soul. Her lopsided smile suggested they'd have their work cut out.

The bell rang again, a persistent finger on the buzzer. Her eyes widened. What if...? Heart skipping a beat, the Quavers took a tumble as she shot up, swung down her legs. She had a mad idea it was Oz. Wouldn't be the first time he'd turned up unannounced, Khanie had a habit of springing surprises.

It was that all right. Confusion reigned. For a split second she thought she'd phoned Spice Avenue. But she hadn't called for an Indian and the grey-haired guy wasn't delivering a takeaway. He wouldn't need two henchmen for that.

Two seconds later the rupee dropped. It had to be a Saleem family outing. Had they come packing? If so, what were they carrying? Heart pumping, bowel on ice, she aimed for a disarming smile, made d.a.m.n sure it didn't reach her eyes, detected not so much as a lip twitch in return.

The old boy could've been carved from fissured rock; the hooded eyes were expressionless, certainly illegible. Quick scan showed the brothers had inherited the father's genes with time on their side: dark-haired, early twenties, tasty except they so knew it. Part of her wanted to slam their faces into a wall; part of her was bricking it.

”My name is Malik Saleem. I think you know why I'm here.” He was in off-white shalwar kameez and a zipped blue nylon jacket. The brothers-in-arms wore street uniform: baggy denims, loose fitting hoodies, Nike trainers. Calculating the odds went like this: she despised bullies, was well able to look out for herself but if push came to shove it was three against one. Could be asking for trouble inviting them in?

”Best come in.” Standing to one side, she fought not to flinch when the old man raised a gnarled hand. It was only to turn down her offer.

”I want you to tell Fareeda she must come home.” He who must be obeyed or what?

”No.” Not even if he said please. How'd they found out where she was though? Had they put a tail on Sumi?

”I am not looking for trouble.”

Arms folded, she held his gaze. ”You ain't getting any.”

”Evening, Bev.” A loud yell from across the road. The old man who lived opposite was standing outside his house. ”Everything all right, girl?”

”Hunky, thanks, Mr Yates.” Alfie looking out for her improved the odds; the Saleems wouldn't do anything stupid in front of a witness.

”I want my daughter back.” Like there'd been no interruption. ”Tell Fareeda we can work it out. It will be better for her if she comes home.”

”Better than what? Getting beat?”

That stepped up the heat. She watched him cool it with a couple of jaw clenches. ”You should not interfere. You don't understand.”

Her turn to see red bulls.h.i.+t. ”d.a.m.n right I don't.” She was sick of hearing it. ”I don't understand how anyone can pummel a girl's face till it breaks. I don't understand why a girl's scared s.h.i.+tless to open her mouth. I don't understand why s.a.d.i.s.tic pieces of work get away with it time after time.”

”You are a police officer. Do you really think I would be here if I had done this terrible thing to my own flesh and blood?” She didn't know. He could be on the level or lying through those stained teeth. Unless Fareeda testified the old man was home and dry. He must know she hadn't spoken out or the police would be knocking on his door, not vice versa. If the girl returned home, Saleem could make sure she kept her mouth shut. Maybe permanently.

”Who did then?”

His eyes darkened. ”I will make it my job to find out.”

”Think you'll find that's my job.” Suns.h.i.+ne. ”And when I do, he's going down.”

”If that's an accusation...?” He didn't elaborate and she let it hang. Oz was right: she'd not a thread of evidence. On the other hand it looked to Bev as if the old man was having a hard time keeping a lid on it. He clearly didn't take to being challenged let alone contradicted. ”Fareeda does not belong here. Her mother misses her. She cries herself to sleep every night.”

”And your daughter doesn't?” She glanced over his shoulder. Alfie was sweeping the pavement. In the dark. Whistling. You'll Never Walk Alone.

”May I speak with her please?” Saleem senior was doing all the talking. The brothers knew their place: on the sidelines cracking the occasional knuckle.

”She's not up to visitors. Got a migraine.”

”You are lying to me.”

Cheeky sod. She'd had enough. ”G'night.” She made to close the door. They could be there till the cows came home then left on a world cruise. Unless Fareeda had a change of heart, it wasn't going to happen.

”My daughter does not belong here.” She recoiled at his garlic breath as he took a step closer, tried to put a foot in the door. ”Send her home. Soon.” The voice was low but had a sharper edge. ”Then we can forget about it.”

You might. ”Are you threatening me, Mr Saleem?”

”Good night, officer.” Bouncing on the b.a.l.l.s of their feet the sons moved aside so he could leave first. ”I hope it won't be necessary to trouble you again.”

Diana Masters stroked Sam's brow, ran her fingers through his damp tousled hair. His cheeks were flushed, he felt fevered. They stood face to face in the kitchen. She suspected his heightened emotion was down to fear. That he was running scared. More than ever they needed to stand strong, to stand together. A weak Sam was ornamental but no use, dangerous in fact. ”Sam, Sam, it will be OK.”

”How can you say that, Diana?” His eyes pleaded with her before he turned to cup his hands under the cold tap to take a drink. Observing, calculating, she waited until his focus was again on her.

”He won't kill Charlotte, Sam. It's just big talk.”

”And that's what?” The package he'd brought was on the table. Gone midnight, but he'd driven straight over when he found it pushed through the door of his flat.

”It's hair, Sam. It might not even be Charlotte's.” Stupid. Of course it was.

”You're in denial, Diana. It's her in the photograph.”

That was more... disconcerting. It was definitely her daughter gagged, blindfolded and bound to a chair. ”At least we know she's alive.”

”For how long?” He threw his hands into the air. ”There's no option now. You have to go to the police.”

Diana fought to conceal her contempt. It was vital not to lose him but he was acting like a lily-livered wimp. ”Get real. You're the Sandman for G.o.d's sake. If it comes out you'll go down for the rest of your life.”

”If he keeps his mouth shut it won't come out.” G.o.d. How could he be so dense? There was only one way to make sure the blackmailer kept his mouth shut. And she had every intention of taking it.

”You're not thinking straight, Sam. Watch my lips. There can be no police involvement. We get her back. We do what he says.”

She watched as he pulled at his bottom lip, working out where she was coming from. ”Pay the ransom you mean?”

”If that's what it takes.” Over Diana's dead body. She needed time to get Sam on track.