little chat had been interrupted. I lay thinking how I could get to her. I’d chanced my arm too often stalking her in Hampstead.
Could I lure her away somewhere?
But Kate was the real target. I couldn’t make a return visit to Onslow Square;
I’d be shot on sight. Could I tail her? Get her in her car and spirit her off somewhere? More than ever now I couldn’t rely on the rozzers to help me. It was all down to me.
It was seven am but it still seemed very dark despite my curtains being a fraction ajar. I got up and peered out at a real London pea-souper. Spring had come too early. The weather matched my thoughts. I couldn’t think clearly. Maybe I should abandon the trail and make a run for it; get across the Channel. Europe was still in such a mess that one more piece of flotsam would go unnoticed.
There was a knock on my door and it was opened before I could say yea or nay.
Mary sailed in. I suppose she was within her rights; it was her house. And she was carrying the right passport: two cups of tea. She put one down by my bedside table and sat on my bed, delicately holding the other. Mary had no social conversation; she came straight out with whatever was on her whirring little mind. I liked that. Usually.
“Time you go, Danny. Too many police after you. Too much trouble for me.”
I slurped my tea alongside her. “I know, Mary. You’ve been great, so you have.
And I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“You need money? I lend you money. Good interest.”
I bet. “Thanks Mary, but I’m OK for a while. I’ve got enough to get me out of here, out of London, maybe out of England.”
She banged her cup into her saucer, and put it on the table. “You give up? After all you do? Why you give up?” She crossed her little arms with an operatic gesture of anger.
“Because the folk I’m up against don’t play by any rules I know. Because they have money and power; I have bugger all. Because even the law is bent.
Correction: it’s broken. I don’t stand a chance.”
“Huh. You face Jonny Crane. That brave. You can do next step.”
“Mary, I need to question Kate Graveney or Liza Caldwell – both, preferably – and see where that takes me. But they’ll have protection round them that’s as tight as the King’s corset.”
“Huh.” She slurped some tea and studied me, as if the answer was on my forehead but needed interpretation. “So – Kate come here.”
“Why in god’s name would she come here, Mary?”
“Cos your pal Jonny ask her.” She smiled at me to show how clever she was.
“I think I might be pushing my luck with Jonny Crane, you know. And anyway, he doesn’t know her real name far less her address.”
Mary shook her head in pity. “Thought you smart. Not so sure.”
She wasn’t going to help me any further, so I sipped at my tea for inspiration.
I got it, finally.
“OK. So someone phones her from here, saying they’re calling on Jonny Crane’s behalf. We tell her Jonny needs to speak to her. But why? What would make Kate come over? What hold would he have?”
“You think of something.”
Nothing came. I drank some more tea and continued, “And anyway, what are we going to do when She’s here? Kidnap her? Mary, I thought I’d been enough trouble already?”
“I know other place. You fix.”
She described the empty flat she had access to; I didn’t ask how. Mary waited. I sat reading my tealeaves. In their depths a plan began to form: a daft plan, wild, high risk and bloody dangerous. Maybe I should stick to coffee.
I could think of a way of getting Kate to come over to Soho, but once here I needed some way of getting her to admit to some pretty unpleasant truths. I needed a lever. I knew a lever, a big one…
Mary left me to get washed and dressed. I came down to her room and walked her through the idea. When I was finished she looked hard at me.
“You madman, you know?”
“I know. But will you help? Just one last time?”
“You get lot of luck for helping madman. What you want? You want gun, I get you gun.”
It was tempting. An elephant gun preferably. “Not this time, Mary. Thanks. I just want you or one of the girls to make that call for me.”
We let Colette sleep till nine before waking her up. She came into Mary’s room blowsy and grumpy. It took two cigarettes and a pot of tea before she stopped grousing and began to take in what we were asking. Then her sunny nature began to show through and she entered the spirit of things. It was all part of the human drama that Colette lived for every day.
I gave her the little script I’d prepared and we crowded round the pay phone in Mary’s hall. We were praying Kate was at home. It wasn’t the sort of message you could leave with Millie. Colette put her twopence in and got the operator.
Colette gave her the Chelsea number and it began to ring. She pressed button A.
“Good morning, Graveney residence. Who is calling please?” It sounded like the butler that I’d brandished the gun at. He was back to his pompous self.
Colette’s rough accent jarred against the posh tones. “I wanna speak to Kate Graveney, please.”
I could picture him holding the phone well away from his cultured ear. “I’m sorry, Miss Graveney is not down yet. May I ask who is calling? Perhaps Miss Graveney can call you back?”
“Listen, you old fart, I want to speak to Kate, now! You hear? Tell her it’s about Sheila. She’ll know what I mean.”
“I need to know your name, please.” There was a bit of panic and anger creeping into his voice; no wonder, with Colette blasting his ear. He wasn’t used to having guns pointed at him or whores being rude to him first thing in the morning.
Colette upped the volume; I had to step back a pace.
“Look, mate, Kate is going to be really pissed off with you if you don’t fucking get her on the phone pronto. All right? Tell her it’s about Sheila. You think you can handle that?”
I don’t know if it was the scorn or the oath that did it, but butler boy beat a retreat to find his mistress. It took a couple of the longest minutes in the world, but then we heard the phone being picked up and that familiar cool voice came through. I stopped breathing.
“Kate Graveney here. Who is this?”
“Never mind, Katy dear, or should I call you Sheila?”
I signalled frantically at Colette who was clearly getting carried away with it all. She had to tone it down, or we’d lose her. Whatever Kate was she had mettle and getting her angry would just lose her.
“Unless you tell me who you are, I’m hanging up and calling the police.”
“I don’t think you want to do that, do you, Sheila?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Don’t you like your old street name?” I winced. Colette was way off the script.
Kate had the cool tone back. “Is this blackmail? I won’t stand for it, you know.”
“Blackmail? No. Not yet. Jonny wants a word with you.”
“Jonny who?”
“Why, Sheila, you know Jonny. Jonny Crane. Soho Jonny. Your old boss.”
The line went quiet. I pressed closer. I thought Kate had gone. Then there was a sigh. “What about?” So it was true then. Right up to that point I realised I hadn’t quite believed it. I was surprised at how disappointed I felt. Like finding out about Santa.
“Money, what else. He says you owe him. He wants to see you.”
“I owe him nothing! Why should I talk to him?”
“Sheila, I’m only the messenger, deary. He just wants a little word. Today. I know Jonny. If he says he wants something, he usually gets it. It would be easier for you. Otherwise he might come knocking.”
