‘Oh, God, I’m bleeding! Help me somebody!’ The white satin sheets on his bed were slowly being dyed red.
‘Come on, boys. We’ve got a lot of work to do.’
As they left the room the young girl Estelle ran inside. When they left the house, her screams were even louder than Danny’s.
Geoffrey was sitting in his flat. He had poured himself a large Scotch and was sitting on the sofa remembering every detail of his life with Michael. One memory stood out like a shining beacon. He gulped his Scotch as he remembered a day almost forty years earlier.
He had been just coming up eight, Michael nearly ten. It was during the war, and their father had dropped them both through a hole in the remains of a bombed-out house. Mickey, as usual, had no fear. He just put his torch on and shone it around the debris-strewn cellar. The occupants of the house were lying around like lumps of bloody red meat. The stench had been unbearable. Geoffrey could still remember the way he’d felt that day, rooted to the spot with fear. His father’s voice had been coming from above, urging them to hurry up. Looting bombed houses was a serious criminal offence.
Michael dragged the body of a little girl off a tin petty cash box. She had been blown across it in the blast. He then passed this up to their father and quickly began collecting up anything that was useful, edible or saleable. He had gone about his work silently and quickly, calling softly to Geoffrey to help him move the body of a man. He had known it was a man by the clothes. The face had completely gone.
Geoffrey had found it impossible to move. Michael had gone to him and punched him in the stomach, winding him, urging him to hurry up and help him. Between them they dragged the man’s heavy body on to the floor. Geoffrey had been crying by this time. Michael had stripped the man of his wallet and watch. Then he had gone to the woman who had been grotesquely thrown to the floor. Her legs were wide open and her arms and neck lay in positions that would have been impossible had she been alive. Michael took her brooch and her wedding ring. Geoffrey had heard the crunching click of her bone as he had broken her bent finger to remove it. Then their father had pulled them both out of the hole. He could still feel the sting of his father’s belt later that night as he had been strapped for ‘being a baby’.
From that day on he had tried to emulate his brother. He had joined him in beating people, robbing the bomb-sites, everything. In all truth, Geoffrey admitted to himself, he had hated every minute of it. And it dawned on him now that Michael knew this, had always known it, and that’s why he despised him. In Maura, Michael had found a kindred spirit. Another loner. Another warped version of their father. He finished his glass of Scotch and sat back in his seat.
He couldn’t join Mickey now, that much was obvious, but he would sure as hell beat him. And that bitch of a sister! He had the knowledge and he would sit and wait, and then one day he would use it. He saw once more the looks that had been on the cleaners’ faces, and felt an urge to murder the pair of them.
Still, as his old dad used to say when they were small: ‘Don’t get mad. Get even.’ That’s just what he intended to do.
Maura and Michael were eating a late dinner in The Greek Revolution in Beauchamp Place. They had been discussing their day. They made a stunning pair. Even at thirty-five Maura was still as young-looking as ever. She dressed down, never wearing clothes that were in fashion but choosing plain and expensive classics, as only the very rich can. Her blonde hair was longer now, cut into a long bob. It hung just below her jawline, framing her finely boned face. With her lightness, and Michael’s dark good looks, they were the perfect foil for one another.
Even in his fifties, Michael was still a very attractive man. He dressed conservatively but well, sticking as he had always done to greys and blacks. Occasionally he wore something he termed ‘ostentatious’, but those times were few and far between.
‘Well, I think Geoffrey’s probably over his tantrum by now.’ Maura sounded worried.
‘Quite frankly, Maws, I don’t give a shit. He winds me up.’
Maura was quiet for a moment. She had felt the tension building up between them for months. It truly amazed her that Michael, who was usually so perceptive about everything, failed to notice what was in front of his eyes. Geoffrey was jealous of her and she knew it. But now he was also jealous of Michael, and she had a gut feeling that Geoffrey could turn out to be quite dangerous.
Michael wiped his pitta bread around the plate, picking up the last of the tsatsiki, and popped the bread into his mouth. ‘So, tell me. What are you going to do for Jackie Traverna?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Michael. The poor bitch is in a terrible state. Give her some money, I suppose.’
Michael laughed. ‘You’re like a fucking social worker! I’d better keep a close eye on you, girl. Next thing I know you’ll be giving all our cash away to the starving millions!’
Maura smiled, knowing that Michael was deliberately steering the conversation away from Geoffrey.
‘Before I forget, Maws. Willy Templeton wants in on the gold plan. I said yeah. What do you reckon?’
‘Why not?’ She shrugged. ‘He seems to be in on everything else.’
She picked up a prawn and pulled its head off. ‘If that’s what you want, Mickey. I’m easy.’
‘He’s doing a great job down at St Martin’s Wharf. It’s a funny thing, Maws, but having a lord on your side certainly helps matters along. Don’t you think?’
His voice was cold and calculating.
‘Of course it helps. It’s like going to parties with famous people. Everyone’s a starfucker at heart. Stars included. They love us because we’re rough diamonds. Personally, I don’t give a monkey’s either way. I like Willy, though.’
And she did. She liked him very much and it was strange, because she knew that without him Benny would still be alive. Even knowing that, she still could not help liking and admiring him. He was what she had learned to term an ‘educated villain’. Through William Templeton she had met many more like him - rich, educated men who pulled off brilliant scams. Scams that were never allowed to get into the newspapers or come to prosecution because the firms involved would lose their credibility on the Stock Market with disastrous economic and political results. Instead the wrongdoers were given enormous golden handshakes and a big party as a leaving present. And their pictures appeared in the papers with the sob story: ‘Ill health brings the head of So and So corporation’s career to an end.’ ‘I want to spend more time with my wife and family’ was another favourite excuse. It was not only the big businessmen who were involved in these things, but politicians, judges . . . just about every profession had its fair share of con men. Gradually, through William Templeton, Maura and Michael were finding out exactly who they were. And they were learning a whole new ballgame.
The waiter brought their main course, kleftiko, and refilled their wine glasses. When he left them, Maura spoke.
‘I want an early start tomorrow. I’ve finally sorted out the last few wrinkles in the gold plan. If everything looks OK to you, we can begin to set it all up.’
‘I’ll drink to that, Maws.’ Michael picked up his glass of Chablis.
‘Cheers.’
They touched glasses. If you did not know them you would think they were planning a party, not the biggest bullion robbery England had ever known.
While they were sitting in the restaurant, Danny Rubens was lying in hospital. He had been sedated heavily, but one of the nurses was intrigued. Because, although he was in a deep, drug-induced sleep, his hand was still holding on tightly to his genitals.
Chapter Twenty-three
14 February 1985
Maura knocked on the door of Geoffrey’s flat. He lived not far from Michael in Knightsbridge. She had been there only twice before. Even though they had worked together and were brother and sister, they had an accepted and unspoken agreement: I don’t like you, so keep your distance. Up till now Maura had respected this.
Geoffrey opened the door. He seemed surp
rised to see her standing there. He looked terrible. He had not shaved for a couple of days, and being so dark-haired now had dark stubble around his jaw. Maura was shocked to see that it was tinged with grey.
He and Michael had been so alike all their lives, Geoffrey was like a watered-down version of his brother. He looked great, he was handsome, but when people saw Michael they seemed to overlook Geoffrey afterwards. Today he looked old and ill and Maura felt sorry for him. The lines around his eyes, so sexy on Michael, made Geoffrey look jaded and debauched. His dark hair, normally washed and gleaming, was greasy and lank. She watched him look her over from head to toe. It was a sneering look as if she was so much dirt.
‘And what do you want?’ His voice was belligerent. His face was close to hers and she could smell the sourness of the vast amount of Scotch he had been consuming since his fight with Michael.
‘May I come in?’ Her voice was neutral.
He held the door open and watched her pass. For the first time in her life she was a bit frightened of him. He slammed the door shut behind her and walked into his lounge. Maura followed, unsure if she was doing the right thing. The room was in a state of chaos. The curtains were still pulled even though it was nearly lunchtime. She went to his oak bookcase and studied the titles for something to do. Her mind was trying to think of a way to defuse the situation.
Geoffrey pulled open the heavy curtains and the weak February sunshine lit the room. She carried on looking at the books, waiting for him to open the conversation. Give her some kind of inkling of how to go about pacifying him over what had happened.
‘Thinking of taking up reading? How about Crime and Punishment? You can borrow it if you like.’ His voice was sarcastic.
She faced him.
‘Why didn’t you turn in for work yesterday?’ She tried to sound ignorant of what had taken place between the two brothers, but as soon as she spoke knew she had said the wrong thing.
Geoffrey laughed.
‘Are you telling me that Big Brother didn’t tell you all about our little fight? Mickey even tells you when he gives his boyfriend one up the jacksey. I’m sure a good row with his brother would have been worth mentioning.’
Maura stared at Geoffrey for a few seconds before answering him. She decided to come clean with him. It was obvious that he was not going to make this easy.
‘Look, Geoff, he did tell me about it. And he really is cut up about it. You took it too much to heart . . .’
Geoffrey sat in a chair and began to laugh at her.
‘Oh, get stuffed, Maura. Cut up? He’d be more cut up if that mangy old dog of Benny’s died. He don’t give a toss about me, and from now on I ain’t gonna give a toss about him.’
‘But where will you work? What will you do?’ She went to him and knelt in front of his chair.
‘Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll still be working for you all.’ He stressed the you. ‘But I tell you now, and you can tell Mickey this if you like, I’ll not be at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day. When I’ve done my stint of work I’m off. And I won’t do any “heavy” work. If you or him want anyone roughed up or threatened, then you’ll have to get one of the others to do it.’
‘That’s fair enough, Geoff. I was thinking, how about you take over the docklands? I think you and Willy would work well together, and me and Mickey . . . well, we have other irons in the fire.’
Geoffrey grinned, a horrible smelly grin that made her feel sick.
‘So little sister has come to pour oil on troubled waters? You’re offering me the docklands because you think that it will make me toe the line. Be a good boy.’
‘No, Geoffrey. You could have had it before.’
He cut her off, his voice low and serious. ‘Do you realise that I am over fifty years old? I have never married or even lived with a woman. I just worked that business with Michael. And then you came and you took it all from me. You inveigled your way into his pocket and you’ve been resident there ever since.’ He was looking at her with a hatred that was tangible. Maura sat back on her heels and stared into a wrinkled, hate-filled face. In the grey sunlight he looked like a gargoyle come to life. But he had hurt her. Hurt and annoyed her.
‘Do you know your trouble, Geoffrey? You don’t know how to live a life. You act like a leech sucking everyone else’s glory. You lived in Mickey’s shadow, mate. You didn’t have to, it was your own choice. You could have married if you’d wanted to, but you didn’t. Not because of Michael, but because you knew deep in your boots that you weren’t fit to mate with anyone. Mother called me and Michael neuters years ago, and maybe she was right, but I think that you’re one as well.’
‘You bitch! How dare you come here spouting your crap?’
Maura stood up and smoothed out the creases in her skirt. Slowly and deliberately, she leaned towards him. ‘Just because you’ve read a few books don’t make you Magnus fucking Magnusson you know. You’re full of old shit, mate. You want to put down Herman Hesse and Tolstoy and go out of this flat and get yourself a bird. A real bird, not one of the high-heeled call girls you normally knock around with. A real woman, with a mind of her own.
‘You make me sick, Geoff. You’re always moaning about something. Everything in your life is analysed and picked over until you find a slight to you somewhere in it. Whether it’s a chance remark or a frigging so-called conspiracy, like the folder you read the other day. You’re paranoid, that’s your trouble. Now if you want to come back to work tomorrow, go to the offices at St Martin’s Wharf. If not, then that’s up to you.’
She started to walk from the room. His voice stayed her. ‘I hate you, Maura. I hate you so much I can taste it in my mouth. It’s like gall. Mother said to me once you weren’t like a normal woman. You didn’t have the normal feelings any woman has. And now I know it’s true. You even killed your own baby.’
She turned on him like a tiger. Her voice bitter, she said, ‘That’s Mother’s opinion, is it? Well, next time you two are chatting about me ask her this. Ask her who held me down on the table that day when a dirty old man scraped my baby away. Ask her that. And while you’re about it, ask her why she accepts money from Michael every week, yet won’t even acknowledge his existence. Ask her why she drove poor Carla into marrying that bloody Malcolm. Why she kept her and never tried to reunite her with her mother. I know what everyone thinks about Janine but I’ll tell you this much . . . once Mother got Carla into her house and had another little girl to dress up and take to mass, she would never let her go back home. You an’ Mother are like two peas in a pod. You’re both manipulators but neither of you could ever manipulate me or Michael. That’s what gets up your noses!’
Before he could speak again she had left the flat, slamming the door behind her.
Geoffrey sat in the chair for a while, thinking. All his instincts told him to forget Maura and Michael forever. But his devious brain told him that if he did not work for them he could not gather his information. And he would gather it. And he would use it. He would swallow his pride and go into work in the morning. But he would be biding his time . . .
Maura drove to Jackie Traverna’s house. She was fuming inside. Geoffrey was a pain in the neck. He always had been, and she had a feeling he always would be. She parked her Mercedes Sports outside Jackie’s block of flats. Locking it carefully, she went up the small flight of stairs.
As she walked along the landing towards Jackie’s flat she was aware of the attention she commanded. Women were standing on the landing chatting, children of all colours and creeds were playing both on the landing and on the concrete forecourt of the flats. Everywhere was the flaking paint and crumbling brickwork that denoted the conditions of poverty these people lived in. The women who were chatting looked at her burgundy Jasper Conran dress and quite obviously real fur coat, and were quiet and hostile. Maura had to turn her body sideways to pass them.
In their crumpled velour tracksuits and shapeless dresses they looked like old women, yet Maura could see from the t
ight skin on their faces that they were much younger than her. If her life had been different she could quite easily have been one of them. Then her mind rebelled against that thought.
No. She would never have allowed herself to look like these women. Most of them had given up hope at a very early age. No matter what had happened to her, she knew she would always have kept her self-respect.
Jackie’s front door was ajar and she walked inside, hesitantly. If those women who had looked at her with naked envy knew that she carried a gun in her bag, they might have had different feelings.
‘Jackie? Jackie love?’ Her voice was soft. She heard a noise from the bedroom and went inside. Jackie was lying on the bed. Her face had lost some of its puffiness and she looked better. Not much better but better than she had on Maura’s last visit.
‘Oh, Maura . . .’ Jackie tried to speak.
Maura sat on her bed. ‘I just popped by to see you, Jackie. Shall I make you a cup of tea?’
Jackie’s deep brown eyes opened in surprise. Maura Ryan making her tea? It was like expecting the Queen to wash your kitchen floor.
Maura smiled at her, guessing her thoughts. She found the kitchen and made a pot of tea. The room was tiny but relatively tidy. She noticed that there was hardly anything in the cupboards. Leaving the tea to draw she walked back out on to the landing. The women were still there and Maura guessed that they had been discussing her arrival. She strode purposefully towards them.
‘Do any of you happen to be friends with Jackie Traverna?’
A fat woman with long straggly brown hair answered her. ‘I am. Why?’ Her voice was hard and flat.
‘I suppose you know that she’s had an accident.’
The fat woman sighed loudly. ‘I’ve been taking her Debbie to school for her. Why?’
‘If I gave you the money, would you get her in some shopping?’ Maura saw the women exchange looks. ‘I’ll pay you to do it, of course.’
The fat woman shrugged. ‘All right.’